Chapter 10
10
Raze
D ilapidated stone crumbles beneath my shoe as I stride down Landry Street for the first time in weeks. eyes focused straight ahead to avoid the disgusted and horrified stares of those in my path. They scatter out of the way, stumbling over one another like vermin waiting to be exterminated in hopes they won’t find themselves as my next victim.
One thing my fellow Nocturnians have never understood is that I don’t decide who dies.
They do—their highly revered leaders who smooth talk their way into power only to crush them like bugs the moment they step out of line. I’m only the knife that delivers their fatal blow.
Once my neighbors and classmates, the people I’ve grown up beside now cower in my presence. I’ve grown tired of trying to prove to them I’m any different from the nightmarish stories they’ve heard. I’d be lying, anyway.
For that reason, it’s rare that I find myself walking among those who would rather throw themselves into traffic than catch a sliver of my attention—a feeling that is mutual, if I’m honest. I have a home on the outskirts of town, backing up to the mountains where I can access it without running into anyone. It remains empty most of the year as I keep myself sequestered on the grounds of Ravenshurst in my modest faculty apartment. It’s easier to blend there, where students are none the wiser about the small town politics happening less than a mile away from them. In fact, I seem to have the opposite effect on those who reside on school grounds. I can’t escape the unwanted attention.
I’m not sure which is worse.
Today’s an exception, though.
Today is my mother’s birthday. We have a long-standing tradition of spending it together, especially now that it’s just the two of us.
Her bakery sits directly across from the town’s center—a spot my father killed to get her. Literally. She was content with converting an old laundromat a few streets away that was more aligned with her budget. But it was out of eyesight and more likely to fail. Never afraid of hard work, my mother is nothing, if not humble.
Dad refused to accept that for her. I was young when it happened, so I’m not clear on the semantics, but I know there was a successful coffee shop there before he muscled his way in, run by a grumpy old man who met a mysterious, untimely death.
Mom’s business took off either way.
I don’t have an inkling of an idea how her sweet, delicate soul was capable of carrying and delivering such evil into the world when she had me. Or how she managed to find an ounce of good in my dad. I nearly killed her on the way out. The Whitlock bloodline is poison to her, but she was head over heels for my father, and that was enough.
Still, she made sure to name her two sons exactly what they were destined to be.
Bane and Raze.
Death and Destruction.
Something only a mother could love. Although Bane would have made something better of himself. He was far too good for this world and the hand fate dealt him.
“Raze,” her soft voice greets the moment I step through the door.
The customers waiting at her counter share a worried glance, shifting on their feet as she boxes up their order. I step to the side and pretend to flip through one of her portfolios, unwilling to chase anyone away.
She quickly finishes up, then follows them out and locks the door.
“I don’t want anyone to interrupt,” she explains with a sheepish smile, but I see right through the lie.
She doesn’t want me to scare anyone else off.
Her reputation has been scarred by the Whitlock name, but her charming personality has always overshadowed the nasty rumors. Still, most of Nocturne Valley keeps her at arm’s length, tolerating her presence, and reluctantly welcoming her into their community, but never diving fully into true friendship.
Leaning up to her tippy-toes, she places a quick kiss on my cheek as she passes, then taps the spot three times. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten.”
“I’d never forget your birthday. Just got caught up at the office a while longer than I wanted.”
I follow her around the showcase and toward the back kitchen as she calls over her shoulder, “How are things at the school? Kay has been ranting at the city meetings about that dance they put on. Says the girls are getting more demanding each passing year. She isn’t looking forward to this one.” Shaking her head, she goes to the fridge and pulls out two casserole dishes, then stacks them so she can close the door. “Such a shame that she can’t find anyone to give her a hand.”
I swiftly take the dishes from arms right before they topple onto the floor and set them onto an empty counter. “They’re having trouble with admission rates. Seems they’ll accept anyone with an ounce of gifted blood just to keep their numbers up.”
She purses her lips, reaching up high for two plates that are stacked on the top shelf. I step behind her and pull them down to hand over to her. “Interesting. I hope they tighten things up soon, or else they’re going to be hearing about it. No one is happy.”
I chuckle at that, earning an irritated scowl from my mother. “What’s so funny?”
The school doesn’t give a single fuck about what the town thinks of their students. As much as they’d like to believe they have power over their politics, the people of Nocturne Valley are at the mercy of the Syndicate, and the Syndicate only cares about the bottom line and their energy source.
Their tax dollars are a drop in the bucket compared to tuition rates and donations, and Nocturne Valley has been depleted of energy for a long time.
I don’t bother reminding my mother of that little fact. She already knows as well as I do; she doesn’t like to admit how powerless she really is to the organization that took everything from her.
“Nothing. I’m expecting another long weekend for us. Are you ready?”
“Always,” she whispers, and we fall into a weighted silence as she unwraps all the dishes. “I’m sure you don’t want to talk about work,” she relents, swinging a serving spoon around. “I hope you’re hungry because I made enough to feed a family of bears.”
“You didn’t have to do this. It’s your birthday. I’m supposed to serve you a meal.”
Keeping her attention trained on scooping a mountain of her famous sweet potato casserole onto a plate, she shrugs. “It’s easier this way. Fewer eyes on us.”
Fewer chances of people getting spooked or spitting in our food. It’s hard, loving the town’s social pariah.
We keep the conversation casual for the rest of the visit, never delving deeper than the small talk we’ve grown accustomed to using. She knows better, having been married to a man who couldn’t tell her anything about what he did when he stepped away.
This is the side effect of being in the Syndicate: a complete lack of personal connection. Not if you aren’t willing to have it ripped away in the blink of an eye. My father made that mistake and was punished handsomely. I refuse to repeat the cycle.
The Whitlock curse will end with me.
By the time I sing her happy birthday and we share a piece of her favorite cake as she opens the diamond tennis bracelet I picked for her, the sun has set. We kiss each other goodbye and she makes me promise to stop by more often, to which I lie and agree. It’s the same tradition we follow each year, knowing nothing will change so long as I remain in the Syndicate.
The streets are much less busy than they were earlier and I hardly run into anyone as I head back toward Ravenshurst, just in time to receive my new kill assignment.