Chapter three
Josephine
“No, I haven’t finished moving yet, but we should be done in the next few weeks. You know work has been busy,” Vivian muses. She has a giant smile plastered on her face. At least it’s genuine.
“You two look so in love, ugh. I’m so jealous, aren’t you, Josephine?” This girl is Vivian’s coworker. I’ve probably met her dozens of times, but I can’t recall the first letter of her name.
“So jealous,” I mumble. I stir the tiny thin straw in my crystal glass of whiskey, the ice clanking loudly on the sides. I hate whiskey on the rocks. The ice immediately starts melting and the whiskey gets watery, diluting the flavor. That was Vivian’s intention. None of us are supposed to get too drunk.
I tune the redheaded girl out as she peppers in more questions and coos congratulations on my sister’s engagement.
Four years ago, I never would have imagined how things have unfolded. I had no idea how well Vivian would do in the capital away from her home, but she bloomed. Starting brand new lives was exactly what she needed.
Settling in hadn’t been a piece of cake, but once we had jobs it was easy to keep our minds occupied. Vivian decided to pursue a career in medicine and ended up working as a healer in an infirmary. It suits her. She’s fucking good at it. All those years with Kate really taught her a lot.
I ended up working with Stafford, which is how she met her now fiancée, Bella.
Bella is a little taller than Vivian, with butter blonde hair and ice blue eyes. She’s a well-versed healer for Remnant criminals in the Underground. Remnant by association. It’s how we met and became friends. When I introduced her to my sister, she was immediately smitten.
Their relationship has been full and beautiful. Exactly what Vivian deserves. Bella courted Vivian with flowers and dates until Vivian finally caved. They’re so in love that it would make me sick if I didn’t adore them so fucking much.
I can’t help but be a little bitter. Vivian is going off and getting a fresh start with her own family. My self-pity is a little dramatic if I’m being honest. We’ve been codependent for so long that it’s like losing a limb, but you can still manage to live without an arm.
Her coworker’s whiny voice weasels its way into my brain, giving me a headache. I fucking hate parties.
“I think I’m going to go greet someone,” I interrupt abruptly. Vivian’s smile falters for just a second before giving me a nod. The girl doesn’t even notice, just keeps running her mouth.
I make my escape to the bar and order three shots of vodka. The only way I’m going to survive this is if I drink until I’m complacent. The bartender places them in front of me and moves on to a couple on the other side of the bar.
“One for the stupid fucking night,” I murmur, tossing it back. “One for my inhibitions, and one for the Fates who clearly have it out to get me.”
My old friend Clo seems like a faraway dream now. I wonder what happened to her. I like to think she’s doing something wild like owning her own bar where people dance and sing on the counters. Maybe she’s a stripper at some classy club. Wherever she is, I hope she’s having a good time.
“Still participatin’ in that ridiculous ritual?” Stafford slides up next to me. “I would think ya would tire of it.”
“You’re late.”
“I was busy.” He drums his fingertips on the counter, getting the bartender's attention. He gives Stafford a displeased look. “Two whiskeys. Neat.”
My fucking savior.
The two golden canines gleaming from Staff’s grin make him look like a wolf of a man. His chestnut hair is tucked behind his ears. Instead of his typical dirty pub owner look, he’s wearing a gray tweed suit that screams seedy businessman.
I don’t truly know how old Stafford is. In the Underworld, age is irrelevant. He’s a little older than me, maybe in his early thirties, but it’s hard to discern. He hasn’t changed much since the first day I met him almost nine years ago, other than his haircut. I just know him better now.
“Ye’ve got blood on your hands, lass,” he retorts. He isn’t wrong. My nails are stained red.
“I’m an artist,” I reason.
He snorts. “Yeah, the art of torture.” The bartender sets down the drinks, and hurries away lest he be my next victim.
“Did you pay for this place?” It’s a beautiful venue. High ceilings, crystal chandeliers, and art decorating the walls. So opposite of who we are as people.
“It was a weddin’ gift. I figured only one of ya would get married so might as well spare no expense,” he teases me.
After our relocation, Stafford became a staple in our lives. It seemed like he felt he had some sort of duty to stand in where Killian was missing. He saw my pain, and gave me an outlet for it. I earned his respect, and he earned mine.
“It’s ostentatious. Do you even know what that means?”
“I love it when ya say big words.” Always such a flirt.
“Get away from me. Go make a friend.”
“Ya are my friend.”
I roll my eyes. “Ugh, I feel bad for you.”
“So, it’ll be a pity fuck tonight? I s’pose I’ll take what I can get.” He looks at me over his glass as he sips.
“They’re all pity fucks when it comes to you,” I remind him.
Bella strides up to us in her navy suit with gold embroidered swirls. “Staff, good to see you. Glad you could make it out.” They shake each other’s hands.
“How are you holding up?” I ask her.
“Besides Vivian making me drink water and criminals disguised as affluent members of society?” She gives us both a pointed look. “I’m alright. This place is a little ostentatious don’t you think? But if it makes Vivian happy…” She pulls at her collar, trying to loosen it. We order her a whiskey neat and sneak it across the bar. She takes it appreciatively.
Stafford gives her a mischievous grin. “Don’t worry. We’ll ruin it in no time.” Alarm flashes across her face.
I jam my elbow into his ribs. “He’s kidding.”
Vivian makes her way toward us from across the room. She looks like the sun in her silky golden floor length dress. Her brown and gold curls float around her head like a halo and her caramel skin glows.
“What trouble are you three getting into?” Her hazel eyes lock onto Bella’s drink and she shakes her head.
“It’s called celebratin’, lass.”
“I know what your celebrations look like, and it includes my sister dancing on a bar and going home with you,” she says cooly.
“A man’s gotta eat,” he grins. I drag my hands over my face.
Vivian features fill with disgust. “Ugh.”
“Come on now, sweetheart, she’s much more tolerable when she’s getting laid.” Bella wraps her arm around Viv’s waist, pulling her in.
“I’m right here,” I interject, exacerbated.
“I’m sorry. I’m stressed. I just wish…” Vivian’s voice trails off. We’re all silent. We know exactly what she means. She wishes Killian, Kate, and her mother were here. Bella rubs her back in circles.
“A toast,” Staff suggests. “To those we’ve loved and lost. That they may be here in spirit.” We all murmur in agreement.
“We’d better get back to it,” Vivian sighs. “Did you both get a card?”
She was set on forcing us all to play a game where there is a fact about each person at the party. We’re supposed to mingle and find out who each one belongs to.
“Yup.” We hold up our cards and she smiles brightly. “Don’t take off without saying goodbye?”
“O’ course,” Stafford promises, giving her a hug. She drags Bella to greet some people who just came through the door.
“Isn’t a party enough? Why do we have to play a game?” I groan.
“Oh, come on now, lass. Get into the spirit.” He squints, reading something on the card. “Which one o’ these sheep do ya think is really into cats?”
“Is that what it says?”
“Says she’s got four o’ them.”
I cringe. “It’s not a woman.”
“Can’t say I’m shocked with this lot.” He chuckles deep in his chest.
“Guess which one is mine?” The liquor is starting to warm my face. He scans through the statements, settling his finger about halfway down.
“Likes to read,” he decides.
“How did you know?”
“Everyone likes to read. Ya like to blend in. It’s what makes ya so valuable.”
Despite what everyone thinks, we’ve never had sex. We both work all of the time and neither of us like commitment, but we do like to flirt and take jabs at each other. We’re good friends who just need company sometimes.
We spend the rest of the night making guesses about who the statements belong to, but we make no move to speak to anyone. By the time the party is nearing its end, I’m drunk enough that it’s time to bow out. Staff tucks me into his side and we bid Viv and Bella goodbye.
“We’ve gotta take care o’ some business. Mind if we stop by the pub?”
“Of course not,” I sigh.
We walk through the cobblestone streets. It never ceases to amaze me how there are always people roaming around. Crowds of them are going about their own business or socializing. Stafford’s pub in Asphodel is a mimic of the one back home. Ody’s sits just outside of the Remnant community and is the centerpiece to a hub of trendy shops and restaurants.
It’s busy, per usual, and we’re dressed too fancy not to draw attention. We squeeze between patrons and head to the back office. Stafford’s private workspace is exactly how one would imagine it. Burgundy walls filled with memorabilia. There are filing cabinets stacked with papers. Half of them look a century old.
“You should clean this place out.” I pick up a few pieces off the top of a dusty stack. “You can’t find shit.”
“Don’t touch that, lass.”
Staff strides over to a metal door locked with a bunch of security devices. It leads to a vault full of valuables either waiting to be transported or waiting to be sold on the black market, and money, of course. He types in codes and turns locks until it finally clicks, and he swings it open. Muffled shouts erupt.
Sometimes it holds captives.
“You’re a hoarder,” I call out behind him. “I’m going to hold an intervention.”
I lean casually in the doorway of the vault as Staff opens the secret wall in the back. He was busy earlier. I descend the stairs behind him into the basement. I’m welcomed by the scent of blood and fear. A man with a bag over his head is tied to a chair in the center of the room, surrounded by bright heat lamps. Staff pulls off the cover and pale green eyes beg me to let him go. That this is a mistake. Dirt cakes his face and is clumped in his purple hair. A oily red gag has been placed in his mouth, tied tightly at the back of his head.
“What’s this one in for?” I study the guy. Tribal tattoos that look like he did them himself cover his arms.
“Was braggin’ ‘bout a dagger. Matched the description of the one ya saw that night.”
The dagger that killed Kate and Killian. Revenge prowls around me, scratching up my legs and clawing into my soul. That dagger took everything from me. Stafford may not know the details of it all, but he knows enough to keep an eye out. He knows I want to get to the bottom of what happened even though I say I don’t.
“He was, was he?” I walk into the ring, rip the burlap sack from his head, and take the small knife Staff offers me. It’s covered in flaking blood and rust from past sessions. The man starts to protest, yanking at the ropes that are already making his wrists welt.
Staff leans against the wall, watching me with a smirk.
“You gonna jerk it?” I tease him.
“If you insist,” he snickers. “Watchin’ ya work is like seein’ Magic.”
I slide the knife down the man’s cheek. Tears streak themselves through the dirt and I slice the fabric gagging him, not-so-accidentally nicking the skin. Blood dribbles in the corner of his mouth and slides across his lips, coating his teeth with red.
“You’re the Rem Dog,” he whispers in terror.
I clutch my chest with dramatic excitement. “So you’ve heard of me?”
“Please,” the man whimpers. “Please. I have a family. What they say ain’t true. You got a heart. I know you do. I don’t know nothin’ about no dagger.”
I crouch in front of him, the knife poised over the rope securing his legs. “A family? Oh no, Staff, that can’t be. I can’t kill a man with a family,” I say with bewildered eyes.
“That’s right.” The man trembles. “Hayden is seven, and Deerak is—”
I tilt my head. “What’s your name?”
“Th-Th-Thad,” his voice shakes.
“Figures,” I snort, driving the knife into his calf. Staff covers Thad’s mouth with his hand while he screams. His emerald eyes are giddy with the thrill.
“I knew a Deerak once,” I reminisce dreamily. “Met him the same night my family was murdered.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about that,” Thad’s muffled voice struggles through Staff’s grip.
I give him a skeptical look. “I don’t believe you.”
With an evil grin, the darkness surges forward, wrapping me in its breathtaking embrace. The knife in my hand seems to work on its own in my nimble fingers. The sound of the flesh on his stomach splitting, alongside his screams, is like music to my ears. It’s a high, holding life in my hands and feeling the blood trickle through my fingers.
I straddle his lap, lightly running my nails over his cheek. His chest rises and falls with choked breaths trying to muddle through the pain.
“Now, Thad, I’m fucking tired. I came from a party, and I fucking hate parties, so my patience is wearing thin. If Staff says you were bragging about a dagger, then you were bragging about a dagger.”
The man’s shaft is hard under my thigh despite his compromising situation. It’s funny how they always seem to manage an erection, even when death is staring them in the face.
“I-I-I’ve seen a million daggers. What did this one look like?” Thad searches my face, trying to read my mind.
“Oh, it just has one of those cool, wavy blades and it’s made of Tartarian stone.” I caress his cheek. “There are rubies laid into a bone handle and markings on the blade.”
“Yeah,” he gulps. “Yeah, I seen it. A week ago. Was dealin’ with some guys out on the river Styx and they had it in their shipment.”
“Names?”
“They-they’re triplets,” he shivers.
“Helon, Auron, and Moron.” I consider what he says. “Weird. I killed them before the last moon.”
I take the knife and shove it up into his mouth from underneath his chin. The man’s eyes are wide with terror as his life slips away. I withdraw the knife, lick the blade clean, and toss it to the side.
I push the chair over, leaving the man’s limp body sprawled as much as it can be under the circumstances. “Really?” I storm up the stairs with Staff on my heels.
“I thought I had somethin’. We grabbed him for stealin’ shit. He wasn’t harmless.”
I stride into the office and wait. The darkness is quenched for now, but I’m still not any closer to figuring out what the fuck happened. This has only fed my irritation.
Staff sighs, disappearing into the vault and reappears with a stack of cash in his hands. “Here. I haven’t paid ya yet.” I take it and start to tuck it into my breasts. “Ya can’t carry a purse?”
“Sounds tedious. Someone can grab a purse. You can leave it on a table. If it’s on me, they can fight me to the death.” I shrug. “No bloody bills? I like those the best. They make a statement.”
“You are a psycho. Sometimes I worry about ya. Lettin’ ya do all the hard jobs.”
I tuck the last few bills into my underwear like a stripper. “Why?”
“I don’t think it’s what he’d have wanted for ya.”
“It’s too late to have reservations now,” I snort, dropping the skirt of my dress back over my legs.
“I thought they were too hard on ya, but now I wonder if I ruined ya.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Staff.” I think about that night briefly before smashing it back down. “I’ve always been crazy, but I hid it well. I would have ended up here one way or another.”
“You’re really easin’ my soul,” he deadpans.
“Killy would understand.” He wouldn’t. I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. “Now walk me home so I don’t have to kill a weirdo in the street and make you bury the body.”
He grabs his coat, throwing it over his shoulders, and holds the door open for me. We squeeze our way back through the crowd and out of the pub, and head toward my decrepit building.
“Why don’t ya move out of this shit hole?” We lean on each other to make it up the steps.
“I like my shit hole,” I growl defensively.
It’s the same place we rented the day we made it here. It’s a two-bedroom apartment on the shitty side of Asphodel within the Remnant enclave. Even though we’re in the capital, far away from our roots, we’ve still managed to partition ourselves off, functioning in our own part of the city.
He shakes his head. “O’ course ya do.”
We crash onto the couch, ready for it to suck us in. Viv and I found it on the side of the road years ago.
“Sorry for the dead end,” he yawns.
For years Stafford has been trying to collect any information that could pertain to Killian and Kate’s untimely deaths. None of it ever pans out, but the effort is nice. I keep trying to move on, but my hunger for revenge is impossible to ignore.
“Another dead end,” I sigh, flipping onto my stomach.
“Don’t worry, lass. Someone out there knows somethin’.” He reaches over and pats my head. In a matter of moments, he’s snoring.
Sometimes I wish I could be inherently happy. That I could have accepted love and devotion when it was given and cherished it. I wish that I had been able to let shit go instead of obsessing over things that didn’t matter. Easy to say now that no one is watching out for me. The night of Killian’s death was when I realized that there has always been something dark inside of me. It was dormant, deep down, quiet and stifled. Kate must have known, all that time, that I was capable of such destruction. That’s why she was always so fucking preachy.
Or maybe I imagined it. It’s a constant argument that I have with myself. Vivian never said a word when I came to. Maybe it was a dream and it never happened at all. It’s a lie I’m willing to perpetuate when I’m in a decent headspace.
The darkness hasn’t lashed out since that night, but I know it’s there, and I’m determined to figure out the things Kate and Killian so desperately kept from me. Even if I pretend I don’t care.
I’m still living in their shadow, and I’m fucking tired of it.