Chapter 56 #2
“What the hell are you talking about?” I snap, shaking my head. “She didn’t—she would’ve told me if you’d been the one—”
I cut myself off, closing my mouth.
Maybe she wouldn’t have told me. Not those details at least, especially after I made it clear how I felt about them interacting. What if I scared her into silence, and that’s why she wound up getting hurt?
“Suppose she didn’t tell you I was the one who brought her and the Blackwater girl as offerings to you that night,” Jean-Louis continues, disgust lining his features.
He pauses, coughing harshly into his fist, and his skin comes away covered in blood.
“A shame you had to go and fall for her. I really had hoped she’d be rejected and our plight with the Anderson curse would be over. ”
“The curse isn’t real,” I say.
“It’s real. You can try to convince yourself otherwise, but misfortune doesn’t favor fools for no reason. Just ask Beckett over there. You think your soul is stained, son? Surely, multiple attempted homicides is the sort of thing that alters a man’s character.”
Ice solidifies in my veins, sending a wave of nausea through me.
My heart hammers erratically against my ribs, and I look at my brother—my baby brother, who used to smile more.
He used to be happy, and now, with tears pouring down his face, he looks like he’s being eaten alive by the weight of his poor decisions.
The desire to be loved is dangerous when the people around you use that emotion as a weapon.
“Think you can forgive him still?” Jean-Louis asks, walking closer. He slings an arm around my shoulders and slips something out from the inside of his jacket, wedging it into my ribs.
A gun.
My eyes find Beckett’s, whose own are wide and horrified. Which means Jean-Louis didn’t let him in on the entire plan, pushing a tiny sprout of hope inside my chest.
I can’t forgive him for what he did to Elle. I haven’t even had time to process the fact that he attacked her and forced her into that ceremony before she was ready. But the fear etching his face right now is something.
Maybe he’s not completely lost.
“See, I got Ms. Noelle blacklisted from Hollywood in the hope of sending her right into our waiting arms. My intent was for her to be here when Beckett killed the Anderson boy last semester, and we could just take the three of them out and be done with the bullshit line forever. But neither of those things happened, so when I learned she was here this semester, I started hanging around more. Attending meetings. I figured she’d be drawn in by Death’s allure eventually. It’s like catnip to an Anderson.”
Nostrils flaring, I jerk my head to the side, trying to dislodge his hold.
He jostles me, gripping my chin. Rage boils in my blood, but I don’t react. Don’t give him what he wants.
“I watched you two together. Noticed how you couldn’t seem to keep your eyes off her, so when she practically dropped in my lap in Tartarus, I decided to try and kill two birds with one stone: I offered her as a Maiden.
If you rejected her or the Director learned her last name, she’d be sacrificed just like your sister. ”
My stomach lurches. So he did know.
“And if you still somehow managed to claim her, the Director would reject that and kill you both. Which would free up Incarnate’s space for Beckett, giving me power by proxy. I knew you’d never do what I asked as their leader. Didn’t want to risk losing more control.”
Mustering as much strength as I can, I drive my elbow into his side, hitting the tender area beneath his ribs.
He grunts, losing his hold on me, and I hurl myself away from his immediate reach.
The gun falls to the ground, and he dives for it at the same time as Beckett, who seems to have pulled himself together enough to join the scuffle.
Despite being so sickly, Jean-Louis lands a punch to Beckett’s jaw, but my brother manages to headbutt him in the mouth, momentarily stunning him.
I freeze when Beckett grabs the pistol, clutching it between trembling hands. He’s on top of Jean-Louis near the quarry’s edge, his eyes wild and manic, like he isn’t fully aware of what he’s doing.
Face caked with dirt and bruising fast, Jean-Louis lets out a crazed chuckle. “Who are you working for now, kid? Me? Sutton? Do you have any independent thoughts inside your brain, or do you just do whatever anyone says? What’s it like to be so spineless?”
Beckett’s gaze hardens. “Shut up.”
Lifting his arms, Beckett presses the mouth of the gun beneath Jean-Louis’s chin.
I edge closer, not sure this is something I feel like cleaning up if Beckett goes too far.
Not sure I’ll be able to pull Beckett back if he does.
“Pathetic, both of you.” Jean-Louis hacks up more blood, glancing at me. “You’re lucky I never got my hands on that slut of yours. I’d have ruined her pus—”
The heel of my shoe connects with his cheek, making his head snap to the side. Grunting, he vomits pure crimson and spits out a tooth before smiling up at me, one canine missing.
“One day, that jealousy’s gonna get you into trouble.”
“Why did you come here?” I ask. “Just to taunt us?”
“I wanted to see if Becks here had fulfilled his end of the task, since he fucked up so royally last semester with the other Anderson kid. Unfortunately, Pythia seems to have failed me this time as well.”
“Pythia?”
He gives me a strange look. “You didn’t recognize her last night?”
Familiar eyes flash in my mind, though they don’t match the owner of the journal. The one I gave to Quincy.
How many Pythias are there then?
Beckett brings his wrists back, abruptly slapping Jean-Louis across the face with the side of the gun. “You talk too goddamn much. Apologize to my brother or else.”
“Your brother. That’s still the official party line, huh? No one’s ever going to ask why Sutton and Bellamy didn’t resemble me at all?”
Staggering back a half step, I frown. What the hell is he even talking about?
His laugh is tinged with wetness, and he spits more blood, letting it run down his chin.
“Guess not. You two keep paddling along in your deluded little worlds, oblivious to everything around you.” He shifts, trying to buck Beckett off, but my brother maintains his position.
“When Avernia and Fury Hill burn to the ground, you’ll only have yourselves to blame. ”
Beckett smacks Jean-Louis again, earning a growl from his throat as his head is whipped to the side once more.
Before he can recover, Beckett’s hands come down a third time. Then a fourth. A fifth, until Jean-Louis’s entire face is marred by crimson liquid, making him less recognizable.
“This is all your fault,” Beckett cries. “You set Bellamy up, you set Elle Anderson up, and you set me up. I wouldn’t have done any of this if you hadn’t put the ideas in my head.”
“Beckett.” I’m saying his name before I realize it. “Enough.”
“No, it isn’t!” he screams, the sound echoing off the tops of the trees, scaring a few birds.
I shift forward, the sensation of being watched settling on my shoulders.
Quickly scanning the tree line, I don’t note anything out of the ordinary, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
At Avernia, someone is always watching—even if that someone is the forest itself, waiting for the moment it’s able to reclaim you.
“Beckett,” I repeat, more forcefully this time, reaching for his arm. If he continues, he’ll kill Jean-Louis, and while I’m not opposed to that at the moment, I don’t think Beckett will be able to live it down. Especially not in his current state.
He jerks against me, frustration tearing from his chest in the form of a deep, agitated groan.
“It will never end,” he says, the blood spatter across his face being diluted with his tears. “The founding families will never be happy, and you’ll never look at me the same after this.”
“You don’t know that.”
“She was waiting for you,” he replies, sawing my heart in two.
I’m not sure which she he means.
“Stop.” I yank on his arm. “Stop fucking talking about her and just get up. We can—”
Sudden movement, a shadow dancing in my peripheral vision, cuts off my sentence. Or maybe it’s the horrified look glinting in Beckett’s blue eyes, the scent of fresh blood permeating the air, or the grunt of effort exerted by Jean-Louis as he drives a dagger into my brother’s stomach.
My own scream echoes off the tops of the trees, shaking the mountains. Fear and adrenaline speed through my veins, sending me forward; I grab Beckett’s shoulder, dragging him off Jean-Louis, and drive my fist into the older man’s face.
He grips my shirt, chuckling, blood spraying from his nose. His head tips backward, like he’s falling.
Falling.
No, not just him.
My knees separate from the ground, losing purchase.
We’re falling.
Beckett’s guttural cry is the last thing I hear as we’re catapulted over the quarry edge, plunging into the deep, dark waters below.