Chapter 10 Wake up, Bitch
Wake up, Bitch
“Wake up, bitch.”
I groaned and opened one eye to see Astrid straddling me over the blanket.
I had shorts on, too. And my old Nexcom was turned on with the camera watching the door.
I hadn’t seen Soren again after he’d threatened Zade’s life yesterday. My Nexcom hadn’t spotted him either.
Soren had vanished right after his warning not to touch Zade without an inkling of explanation, ignoring my questions without even glancing in my direction. By the time I had thrown on my pajama shorts and tried to run after him, he was gone without a trace.
Dragging my sanity and well-crafted plans along with him.
“I’m still mad at you,” Astrid pouted, bouncing on my shins. “But it’s Graduation day, and you promised to let me dress you. So let’s get a move on.”
I whipped my legs up to my chest and rolled into a ball, snuggling deeper into the fresh, clean scent of my sheets now saturated with the warm smell of unfinished dreams.
“Too early,” I mumbled.
The clock said 8:07 A.M., and the ceremony didn’t start until 7 P.M. I didn’t care how pissed Astrid was—this was complete bull.
Friends didn’t wake friends up before 10 A.M.
Astrid earned another gripe out of me when she ripped the blanket down.
“Busy day ahead, Elle!” The crazy wench took the duvet with her as she scrambled off the bed to invade my closet. “Let’s see if you have an outfit worthy of outfit-shopping.”
Two seconds later: “Dang, slut! We seriously have to update your wardrobe.”
“Those are all your clothes, Astrid,” I croaked with my hoarse voice and wiped sleep out of my crusty eyes.
Pushing myself to sit, I watched helplessly as my blond psycho roommate tossed a Farinici dress and Boscatelli pantsuit onto the floor—both items she’d bought me a couple of months ago to make me look “worthy of being her friend”.
“I know we haven’t talked the past few days—because you’re a complete ass—but did you see the news?!” When Astrid turned back toward me, she held a pink miniskirt at her waist and juicy gossip in her cobalt eyes. “That hottie from the ice cream shop and his ugly-ass friend are terrorists!”
I yawned, my fists digging into my armpits as my elbows hiked up in a stretch, only pausing for a millisecond at her exclamation. “Yeah, of course I’ve seen it.”
I know their names, too. He’s been in my room. And we are all practically besties.
“And you wanted to fuck him,” I say instead, trying to draw some of the heat off me and onto her.
“Still do,” Astrid shrugged and threw the skirt at me.
A heavy, acidic knot tightened behind my sternum.
I’d spent the past twenty-four hours continuing my mostly useless research, packing a bag that now lay hidden under my bed, and discreetly looking up how to masturbate effectively and enough to get it out of my system.
I didn’t act on it, but I might have also wasted too much time fantasizing about what would happen if Soren showed up in my room unannounced again, especially if I were doing… that.
I know.
Weird way to occupy what precious little time I seemed to have before my impending kidnapping, especially considering I’d done so well avoiding the whole ‘sex’ trap all through my high school years when my teenage hormones should have been at their peak.
I’d been so thrown off by my primal, unkempt needs yesterday that I even researched why I was suddenly having these urges after successfully avoiding them for so long.
Apparently, it was a normal reaction to stress or trauma.
Personality shifts could serve as a protective measure that one’s mind took to piece together a fractured reality.
It was temporary.
Thankfully.
It’s not that I’d never had these kinds of thoughts. I just never let them take up much space in my head or time in my day. I certainly never acted on them. I knew that hormones and everything that followed them were only roadblocks on my path toward redemption.
Even still, the idea of Astrid touching Soren made me want to punch her in the throat hard enough to grab hold of her trachea and rip it out.
“Do it,” hissed the voice.
Astrid tossed a pair of glittery sandals toward the bottom of the bed. “And what about that letter you got? Did you ever open it?”
My throat was still too dry, so my lie came out thick and hard. “Just spam from one of those marketing groups.”
All the while, that letter was in the duffel under my bed. I’d snagged it from Zade’s locker at Artemis while he was out on rounds. I had no real use for it now, but reading it—again and again—was one of the biggest reasons I’d packed that bag.
That and Soren’s warning.
He was going to come and get me, even if I didn’t want to go.
Because he wants me with him.
He was going to take me.
Well, no one else was making that decision for me. As a strong, independent woman, it was my decision to go.
Ain’t nobody taking me for themselves.
I’d leave first thing tomorrow morning and head for the inn on my own. I’d already written a note for Soren to find when he showed up.
Dear Soren,
You lose.
No kidnapping for you this time, sir.
Astrid stopped rummaging through my vanity table to turn and glare at me. “Eliana!” she shrieked. “Get off your ass and start getting ready!”
After two hours of hair, makeup, and caffeine (no breakfast), we climbed into Astrid’s HovCraft.
“Don’t forget movers are coming to pack our stuff for The Hills tomorrow at five,” Astrid reminded me as she touched up her lip gloss while hardly keeping her eyes on the road.
She had a habit of putting all her trust in the autopilot feature.
“I scheduled it after you get off work, so no excuses. Whatever you did the other day, better not happen again.”
“Mmhm,” I hummed.
I still hadn’t thought of what I would tell Astrid or Zade about my upcoming absence. Maybe I wouldn’t tell them anything and just let them think I’d disappeared or ghosted them or something.
Easier than confrontation and not entirely out of character for me.
“Don’t you think we’re a bit early for shopping?” I asked as I checked the back seat, just in case Soren was as stalkerish as he’d seemed so far.
It was empty.
“Disappointed?” hissed that same inky voice.
No.
Well, maybe.
“I have to stop by Dagon’s to pick up my Merrillo pumps first and shoot a live with him.
You can work on your socials while you wait.
” She shot me a look as she flipped through music on the dashboard.
“You really need to start taking that more seriously, Elle. With all the attention you’ve been getting for your LPE scores, you should be milking it right now.
Your socials will rocket us to the tippy-top of The Tower, and you can get us our ticket to a life of luxury if you let me help you play your cards right. ”
Soren had been right when he said my scores had attracted some attention. I’d been on the highlights of Tower Chronicles and Tower News Network since the news first broke. I had even ended up trending in some of the darkmos forums.
That was another reason I’d decided to say yes and join the guild. I might need help dealing with some of the aftermath of my scores.
I preferred to fight from the shadows, not center stage.
Most of the comments were complete nonsense, but there was that one thread.
Usurpurper078_ had stirred up a bunch of conspirators in a thread titled Eliana - Daughter of the Scepter. Over 200 users posted insane theories about my LPE scores, my dual-blood status, the mark on my chest, and my supposed destiny to bring down The Tower.
While I wasn’t buying all that religious mumbo jumbo—prophecies be damned, I was acutely aware of the increase in stares and whispers. I was attracting way too much attention.
I’d never admit my plan to rise to the top with my perfect scores was flawed in any form or fashion.
It wasn’t.
I simply needed to lie low for a bit. Hearth Haven could be just the place for me to fly under the radar while refining my Plan A to bring Azazel down. Besides, Veda helping me kill Azazel might not be the worst Plan B.
As long as she knows I’m the one who gets to drain the life from his eyes.
Four TayTay songs later, we pulled through the gates of Watersham Estate and rolled up the cobbled drive toward a mansion big enough to house an entire graduating class at Babel.
Two butlers in white masks with black holes for eyes opened our doors, and Astrid dropped her fob into the hand of the one who helped her.
“If there is a single scratch, I’ll repay your balls in kind,” she sing-songed.
“Yes, ma’am,” the butler replied with a bow.
Big oak doors swung open, and Dagon emerged with another masked man. These masks had always been the icing on the creepy cake for me when visiting Watersham. Dagon refused to explain, and Astrid said we shouldn’t question it because she found it kind of hot, like being watched by anonymous men.
Feeling right at home, Astrid shoved past me and clip-clopped up the granite steps, huffing and cursing the whole way.
“Act normal,” she barked at her boyfriend before holding out her hand and turning toward it with a smile. She had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss Dagon. The kiss, of course, was recorded by the chip in her wrist and sent straight to her Visex.
They were the perfect Pulse couple, with blond hair, blue eyes, and Rockefeller blood coursing through their matching smiles.
Jealous commenters would curse their good genes and beg for that kind of love to find them. A few bitter lowlifes would outright criticize them for being so fake. Hundreds of sponsors would solicit their help in advertising products.
None of that was worth the hassle to me.
Astrid wanted to use her social skills to get to the top, but I would use my lack thereof and a hatred so deep that no one could dodge its destruction.
The moment the photo-op ended, Astrid raged. “You better fix that stubble before I record a live with you! It’s gross. You look like a 300k-er.”
Dagon laughed and rubbed his hand along his jaw. His laugh turned into a scoff as I reached the steps.
“Hey, Mutt,” he spoke too loudly. “Did you rethink that date with my buddy yet? Would be dumb to pass on a chance to meet up with another mutt, especially one with money. No one else is gonna wanna make mini mutts with you, ya know?” Dagon was rich and handsome, but the idiot didn’t even realize we ‘mutts’ weren’t allowed to procreate.
“I’m good, thanks,” I replied dryly. I bit the inside of my lower lip to suppress the smile that crept up at the thought of Soren threatening Marlin Bloomberg-Chen, Dagon’s high school classmate.
If Soren had threatened to kill Zade because I held onto him on the bike, wouldn’t that mean I wasn’t supposed to touch a douchey 700K-er who had a thing for girls with small tits and a history of screwing them in front of a crowd?
Why do you even like the idea of Soren hurting someone for you? You’re reading too much into this.
Dagon shrugged and reached out to muss my hair. “Just don’t forget what happened with Amin Ambani. Don’t want you to get your heart broken. Again.”
Astrid turned a dark shade of red and spewed out some angry sounds when she caught sight of Dagon’s hand on my hair. She cursed him six ways to Sunday as she rushed to fix my curls, which she’d worked on for forty-five minutes that morning.
“Leave her alone!” Astrid barked. She looked comical, growling through her placid smile. “I swear I’m breaking up with you the second I find someone richer. Now, where’s that bracelet you said you got me?”
Not waiting for his reply, she shoved past him into the house.
“It’s on my nightstand, my love,” he called after her.
Then he turned back to me. “Really, though, Eliana. You should probably cover the scar better. Mods are cracking down on religious nuts, and you don’t want to be lumped in with the cults.
Especially now that you’re all over the news.
” Dagon’s eyes darkened, and tight lines pulled at the corners.
“Wouldn’t want you to end up on the Founder’s radar.
I heard he’s looking for a certain mutt who’s bound to cause him some problems.”
The wink that followed had me retreating down a step.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Dagon’s laughter rang louder than his shouting voice. He shook his head with each burst and then turned to disappear into the house.
I only wandered inside after I was sure he’d disappeared up the grand staircase and made it halfway toward the bedroom he’d prepared for Astrid when they started dating six months ago.
Everything about that guy gave me the willies, including his estate.
He had once given us red wine at a dinner party, only to tell us later it was blood.
Rich people were buying it on the black market at exorbitant prices, and we were supposed to be grateful that he shared.
I’d shoved my fingers down my throat and barfed it all up in one of the twelve bathrooms as soon as I could.
Rich people are sick.
The next hour and a half dragged on as Astrid and Dagon filmed a live on Pulse while I just scrolled through more darkmos archives for anything I could find related to The Way and the Guild of Sharona.
Damn it. I forgot to ask Soren about my grandmother again.
I placated myself with the fact that in less than twenty-four hours, I would be back at Hearth Haven Inn and able to ask all the questions I wanted.
I then wondered if something was wrong with me.
I had always been a little obsessive about my interests.
Still, going from not knowing or caring about anything about The Way a week ago to reorganizing my entire life to learn more about them—it seemed a bit unhealthy.
So is living your entire life just to kill one person.
My point exactly.
Though shopping was absolute torture for me, it was a luxury vacation compared to sitting in Dagon’s house on a chaise lounge while watching him and Astrid pose.
So, when Astrid finally rescued me from that hellhole and dragged me off to the mall, I followed her around like an obedient little puppy for at least the first three hours.
Then I kept my complaints as muted as possible for the rest of it.