Chapter Fifteen
Sage
There’s a moment when you first wake up where your brain isn’t at full capacity.
The world is a happy place, the people you love are fine, and just a few more minutes with your eyes closed will make getting up easier.
But then it all hits you. The truth comes crashing around like a tsunami, destroying the happiness you’ve built in your memories.
Trina died yesterday. No, Trina was murdered yesterday by something Hack called a lamia. A fucking supernatural being. Banshees ransacked my apartment, the hot but creepy and no longer hot professor was like their weirdo leader, and Danika was somehow kidnapped.
My whole universe has been flipped and shredded apart and all I have left is a demon who thinks I’m his chosen. Was I supposed to die yesterday too? Is what he said about me dying before I turn thirty true?
“Oh, goddess, what about George?” The thought pierces through my mind and shoots through my lips at the same exact time and I sit bolt upright, soft sheets falling to my waist. I’m not talking to anyone other than myself, and despite my inner turmoil, I’m pleasantly surprised at my view.
I try to remind myself of one of the many mantras Trina instilled into me as guilt begins to creep in.
Both things can be true.
I can be devastated about the losses, and I can be happy about the fact I’m alive and not in captivity.
The walls of the room are decorated with shades of gray; lighter at the top and darker at the bottom, and there are a few deep-purple accent pieces that match the armchair in the corner of the room.
It has a matching footstool placed in front and a pale gray-purple fluffy blanket carefully folded over the back.
There’s a floating shelf beside the mirror on the dresser, matching the dark wooden beams, and the three intricate trinket boxes remind me of the one I have at home.
Only, that’s beneath my bed because I’d have crushed it beneath my pillow—where it is technically supposed to go so that all my written dreams inside will come true.
Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong.
Or maybe not…
I wished for orgasms…check and check.
I wished for a sign to help me find purpose in life other than running the shop…if this isn’t a sign then I don’t know what is. My new purpose in life is to find my best friend, avenge Trina’s death, and figure out why the fuck Danika was kidnapped in the first place.
I also wished for a man to love and who will love me unconditionally.
Trina and George were absolute couples goals, but as far as this wish goes, the jury is still out on it being granted, because as much as the demon says he loves me, something inside me tells me he’s lying.
How can a man I have such strong feelings of hatred for be the love of my life?
It can’t all just be a hex or whatever. I’d know if there were magical hexes on me, wouldn’t I?
Okay, so that feels like the dumbest question of the century.
What I should be asking myself is why would someone put a hex on me to hate Hack? Maybe he has some crazy ex. I mean, if the supernatural really exists, then the ex could be a vampyre or another demon or, well, anything. It seems the supernatural world is extensive and I could be in serious danger.
This is all too much for first thing in the morning without a coffee in hand. I’m so out of my depth it’s unreal. I don’t know what line of thought I should be concentrating on because everything is totally fucked.
I spy a door to the left of the bed and one to the right.
They’re both the same and I’m left to guess at which one is the bathroom and which is a closet.
I need to pee, then I’ll find my way to the kitchen in this huge maze of rooms and make a coffee before hunting Hack down and demanding he does… I don’t know yet. Something.
Climbing out of bed, I take a chance on the left door.
The pastel-purple carpet beneath my feet is plush and bouncy, making it feel like I’m walking on clouds.
There’s no denying the quality of everything in this room.
And the bed itself is a four-poster, all deep mahogany like the bedside tables and dresser.
The chiffon curtains hanging at the corner posts are tied up so beautifully, I would never want to untie them for fear of never having them look this good again.
In the bathroom, which also screams luxury with its marble counters, the golden accents, and the huge pane of glass surrounding the shower with a thousand heads, my emotions all come at me at once.
My heart breaks again as I picture Trina’s dying face, as I recall myself turning to find my best friend gone…
Tears stream down my cheeks and I sit on the toilet, resting my head in my hands and just feeling everything.
Trina was the kindest woman in the entire world.
She and George could have rented out the apartment for far more than they let Danika and me pay, but they could see how desperate we were and became family.
And now George is all alone. But does he even know?
All I know is that the shop and the apartment were trashed when Hack made me leave, and Trina was dead.
Gone. Lying on the floor of the apartment she loved, covered in blood and goo from the banshees, and frozen from whatever the lamia did to paralyze her.
I sigh, remembering how much of a warrior Trina was before she died. She fought those things off almost as well as Hack. I think I need to speak to George. When she’s discovered, there are going to be a lot of questions from the police and I don’t know how to answer them.
I’m racking up my own questions to ask Hack, but they can wait. I can’t change the outcome of something that’s probably already happened.
Sniffling into some tissue, I use the toilet I’ve been perched on before standing and staring at my reflection. Very different from a few days ago. My mismatched eyes are red and puffy, my dark hair a bird’s nest, and I’m so pale I’m close to seeing my veins.
A shower might help, but I don’t like my chances with the multitude of heads and all the nozzles.
With my luck, I’d find a way to break it and flood the bathroom.
Instead, I choose to freshen up using the sink, then wrap myself up in one of the large, fluffy purple towels hanging on the hook.
There’s nothing I can do about my hair, I can’t find a brush, so it stays in the messy nest on top of my head.
I look in the mirror again and more tears fall as I try to keep my chin held high, preparing myself to face the day ahead, because if Trina can fight with all that she is to her last breath, then I should only do the same.
My chin wobbles, but I keep breathing through it, my hands against the counter for support.
Finally, I pull myself together enough to stand up straight and look myself fully in the eye. I don’t speak, but I do give myself a firm nod of encouragement before walking out of the bathroom.
“Ah, fuck!” I pause in the doorway, my hands clutching at the towel, because I did not expect Hack to be standing beside the bed holding a mug of what smells like fresh coffee. “Do you know how to knock?” I bring one hand down to my waist and cock my hip, giving him my best stern face.
“Why would I knock to come into my own bedroom?” He smirks and shrugs.
“Because you have a guest in here. And I’m hardly ready for the day ahead.” I gesture up and down my body, pointing out the lack of clothes. The tank top and panties are still in the bathroom because I didn’t feel like putting on dirty underwear after going to the trouble of cleaning myself up.
“You aren’t a guest.” Still with the smirking.
I’ve gotta say, that statement kind of stings a bit, though.
“You don’t have to be rude about it. You brought me here.
” I want to huff and run away, but I have nowhere to go, so instead, I approach him with confidence and take the offered coffee.
“Thank you.” I can’t help the gratitude that slips past my lips as I head for the armchair in the corner of the room.
Being angry at someone doesn’t mean you can’t be polite.
Hack’s chuckle is low, but it fills the otherwise silent room and reminds me of all the things he can do with his mouth.
“Satapti, you aren’t a guest because this is your home too.
Granted, the longest you’ve ever spent here in one go is about a day and a half.
” He closes his eyes and shudders. “That was the time you decided to sneak out for groceries. You wanted to make dinner for me and my brothers, and cars were only just becoming a thing so you walked. It only took us thirty minutes to find you when we realized you’d gone, but by then it was too late.
Slay wouldn’t let me see your body, but you had been shot in the head and robbed.
Safe to say, the family responsible didn’t last long.
Think I even gave Lizzie Borden the whole axe murder idea. ”
“Why do you seem pleased about that?”
“Demon.” He points to himself as if that’s all the answer he has to give, which I guess it is…
The coffee is helping to bring my thoughts into something more cohesive than before, and yes, this is all freaky as fuck, but I decided yesterday that I will get through this.
All the pacing was completely necessary because my racing mind needed to concentrate on something mundane like trying not to fall over or walk into shit.
“Okay, demon. We need to find Danika, and I think I need to speak to Baba Yaga, my original mother.” Even saying it is weird, but apparently this is my life now.
“Slash is talking with Desdemon, an—”
“Oh, Goddess, I forgot he was doing that. Is he okay? Is Desdemon okay? No, of course he’s not…”