Chapter 8
Eight
Lydia- 20 years old
B ack in our tent, at the furthest point of Dolent, I anxiously pace the small space waiting for Ziggy. He should have been only a minute or two behind me, and now it’s an hour later.
Did my father catch him? If he did, does that mean he’s being tortured? I’ll slaughter them all.
The thought catches me off guard. Yeah, I’m attracted to Ziggy—I have eyes. But, am I really willing to kill for him? Not too long ago I would’ve slit my own throat before even thinking about saving him, but now…
Godsdammit.
The pounding of boots against gravel has me running outside. Ziggy is running up the hill with a scowl and crazed eyes. He looks like he’s just witnessed the murder of his family.
Launching forward, I try to grab his hand but he pulls away and keeps walking. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer me.
I’m not letting this stubborn fuck blow me off. Marching behind him, I punch him in the back when I catch up. “Ziggy!”
Well, that gets his attention.
Spinning on his heels he throws his arms out wide and screams at me. “What?!”
“Don’t you take that fucking tone with me, Zigmund,” I grind. “You don’t get to show up an hour late with murderous rage radiating off your body and ignore me.”
I watch as his emerald eyes shift red and his face relaxes, turning into something much more sinister. “Oh, my little thief, you don’t want to talk to him right now.”
I blanch back as if he just burned me. What. The. Actual. Fuck.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Ziggy cups my cheek in his palm, stroking his thumb against my skin. The gesture scares me.
“With me? Nothing at all. But I’m assuming you mean Zigmund. He found out some very interesting information from dear ole’ daddy.” The timber of his voice is much deeper and as smooth as butter.
Something is very wrong here.
“And exactly who might you be?”
Ziggy sucks his teeth, tsking me like a child. “I’m offended you don’t remember me, darling.” Running his hand up into my hair, he tugs at the roots. “We had a little run in four years ago. Even then Zigmund was fighting for you.”
My blood runs cold. “No,” my voice comes out barely a whisper. I try to pull from his grasp but that only makes him hold on tighter. “No, no, no. You—you tried to kill me.”
Ziggy, or whatever the hell is inhabiting his body, smirks. “To be fair, I did think you were going to kill us first.” He releases my hair, stepping away from me.
“Fine. I’ll play nice,” he groans, running his hands down his face. “No you cannot come back until you’ve calmed down. We need someone who is capable of making decisions without their emotions running wild.”
He’s talking to himself.
Ziggy huffs. “Stop whining, child.” He turns around calmly, and approaches me with his hand extended. “Zigmund would like for me to introduce myself. I’m Malachi.”
I don’t take his hand. I don’t speak. I barely breathe.
Retracting his hand, Malachi , uses it to smooth down his outfit. “I’ll give you a moment to digest the situation. When you’re ready to hear all about how you were just sold to a demon, I’ll be inside.” Grunting, he strolls into the tent.
Absolute panic washes over me, ringing ears and blackness speckling my vision. Us ? Sold to a demon? Falling to my knees, I curl into myself, taking deep breaths.
In. Out. In. Out.
I stay like this until the sun sets and the air becomes frigid. I can’t avoid him forever.
Malachi
Laying with my ankles crossed, I read through the small journal I snatched on my way out of Ebrius’ office. I initially hoped it would be his, but I’m much more pleased with what I’ve found. This journal belongs to Locren, and was undoubtedly stolen. Every page is filled with all types of goodies. A full layout of the campsite and the tunnels beneath, lists of The Collective’s contacts and patrons, even his plans for the future of Camp Dolent. Locren must have thought he was so smart, putting a locking spell on the book, but it was a pathetic little barrier. The little magic Ziggy can access broke through it in seconds.
Licking my finger, I turn the page to continue my research when Lydia, finally, returns.
“Feel better?,” I ask, not bothering to glance up from the page.
Pushing my legs to the side, she sits down on the foot of the cot. “If we’re going to work together I need to know everything. I need to know who you are, how many of you there are floating around inside that body, and…” she pauses, building up the courage to demand what we knew was coming all along. “Your past. And you’re going to do this by letting me see for myself.”
Snapping the book shut, I slide it under the pillow, and sit up. “Okay.”
“I don’t want your excuse—wait. Okay?” she squeaks out, her crystal blue eyes search mine for the truth. “That’s it? You’re not going to fight me? Tell me I don’t deserve your memories, your best and worst moments? You’re not going to pin me down and tell me to go fuck myself?” That last part comes out with a bite.
“I really don’t like to repeat myself, Lydia. I said we are willing to agree to your terms.”
Lydia’s jaw hangs open, completely awestruck. Blowing out a sigh I take her hands and place them on our temples.
Then I open our mind to her.