51. Seraphina
51
SERAPHINA
“THE SECRET LOCKER”
1 week later…
I bring my forefingers to my temples, pressing down to try to stave away the headache that’s been trying to push forward all day. I’ve barely slept all week—something that’s not normal for me now that I have Orion—but it’s for a good cause, so I have no room to complain.
Over the past few days, Orion, Ghost, Brett, and I have been working tirelessly to shut down the trafficking rings run by the Sanctum. By now, we’ve stopped the import and distribution of X, but finding and stopping all the organizations running the child trafficking have been harder to stop. Every hour, every minute that goes by, children are being abused in this city—and I can’t rest until I stop it.
The sound of footsteps draws my attention to the doorway, and I’m met with Dorian’s worried hazel gaze. “You okay, boss?”
I nod tersely, dropping my hands from my head and giving him a bright smile. Dorian is head of the Reapers, and one of my trusted Masks. He and Ezra—the newest Phantom—are truly integral in bringing down the evil in the city. From their knowledge of the criminal organizations, to their top-notch information-acquiring skills, they’re truly irreplaceable.
“I’m okay. Just a little headache—how’s the melting process?”
“It’s going… slower than expected.” Dorian shakes his head, tossing his dark red hair from side to side. “Most of their gold had already been incorporated into other materials… wallpaper, flooring, pillars… so we’re having to separate it before we melt any of the gold down.”
“I was afraid of that.” I blow out a breath, my mind whirling. One of the first things I had the Masks do when I took charge was melt down all the gold the Sanctum had hoarded. With this, we’ll be able to pay for infrastructure and care for all the children we eventually save.
But we have to be able to melt it first.
“How much longer do you think?” I ask, staring at a spot on the wall just past his shoulder.
He shrugs. “Don’t know. Me and the other Masks are having a meeting later to go over different tactics.” Noticing the expression on my face, he clears his throat, drawing my attention back to his face. “We’ll figure it out, Seraphina. I promise.”
“Thanks, Dorian.” I force a smile onto my face. “Is there something you needed?”
He shakes his head. “Orion asked me to come and check on you.” His expression turns into a sheepish one. “He also told me to tell you… to get some sleep.”
I raise a brow, watching with amusement as Dorian all but cowers under my gaze. “That’s a good idea.”
He lets out a breath of relief. “Okay, good… I’ll talk to you later, boss.”
When Dorian leaves, I sit back in my chair with a heavy sigh. I gaze around my office, my eyes catching on the little black duck sitting square in the middle of the shelf, at the small silver urn that rests next to it, holding Vee’s ashes. My hands find my desk drawer, and I pull it open, staring straight down at the silver storage locker key.
What do you open? I pull it out, twirling the little key between my fingers, watching as the light catches and bounces off the slight grooves in the metal. When I first found it, the pain of losing Vee was too raw—I didn’t even want to think about the thing.
But now… now, I have to know. I have to see what’s in that locker.
I’m running out of my office before I realize what I’m doing. Halfway down the hall, I run smack into Orion, nearly falling on my ass from the force. Orion reaches out, steadying me with strong arms, an amused smirk spread across his handsome face.
“Where’s my little dove flying off to now?” He reaches a hand up to tuck my hair behind my ear. “And will you allow me to accompany you?”
My pulse spikes as I gaze into his bright blue eyes, a warm feeling spreading from my chest to my fingertips. “Of course.” I press up on my toes to place a chaste kiss against his lips. “I would love that.”
He grabs my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine. “Lead the way, beautiful.”
We exit the Sanctum headquarters, the chill spring air nipping at my exposed skin, drawing goose bumps to the surface. Orion runs his hand up and down my back, giving me some much-needed warmth as I lead him toward his dark blue truck parked off to the side.
He opens the passenger door, helping me inside before climbing into the driver’s seat. “Where are we off to?” he asks past the roar of the engine.
I look down at the silver key in my palm, reading the smudged letters written in Sharpie on the front of the key. “Hidden Treasures Storage.”
“No one has asked to see this unit in years, ” the woman at the front desk tells us. “Are you related to Elvira?”
I go to shake my head, but Orion pipes up, “She’s her granddaughter.”
“Oh. Of course.” The woman smiles kindly, pushing up her thick-framed glasses. “It’ll be through those doors, just down the hall on your left. Number 342. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you.” I take Orion’s hand and head through the sliding glass doors. We walk down to room 342, and I stop in front of the door, my hand shuddering around the key.
“It’s okay.” Orion wraps his hand around mine and leads it toward the lock. “We’ll do this together.”
I take a deep breath as I turn the key in the lock, then let it out as I push it open. My mouth falls open as I take in the contents of the storage locker. Dozens of extravagant red silk gowns line the back wall, the gold stitching glinting gently in the light streaming into the small space. On the left side sit two large file cabinets, and just below—lying on the floor in the dirt and dust—is Vee’s golden Venetian mask.
I step toward it, picking it up with shaking hands. It’s tarnished and chipped from age, but yet it’s clearly a Madam’s mask. So Ghost was right… she really was a Madam.
I place the mask on top of the file cabinet, then start pulling open the drawers to inspect their contents. Gold-plated daggers, armor, and hundreds of vials of Vespyr fill the top drawers. But it’s the content of the lower ones that cause my heart to seize.
Files. Files upon files of information. On Vee. On me.
I pull the first folder from the drawer, my hands shaking as I run my finger of the faded blue ink at the top. Annie Smith - “Seraphina Valez.”
Annie Smith? I flip open the folder, my eyes going wide as I take in the picture of the little blond baby clipped to the front. She’s smiling, holding a light blue pacifier in her chubby fist—but it’s her eyes that cause me to freeze.
Eyes… eyes like mine.
I flip through the file, emotion clenching my chest as I read more about the little girl. About me.
Annie Smith, born to Tom and Annabelle Smith. Acquired by R-159 on October 12, 1998. Biological parents were paid a sum of 70k and were given a week's supply of X for the commodity.
Below, in the margins, there’s a handwritten note.
Psychological evaluation: prime candidate for future Madam.
I frown, reaching to the back of the cabinet where a folder with Maggie’s name sits. Unlike mine, her first name hasn’t been changed. And at the bottom of her page, her evaluation is much different from mine.
Psychological evaluation: prime candidate for fodder/training other Madams
I throw the folder back into the cabinet, my stomach twisting with disgust. They knew from day one who they wanted to be their next Madam… and they knew Maggie would die.
Shaking my head, I close the cabinet and step back, moving my attention to the other file cabinet. This one is empty, save for the bottom drawer.
Inside, I find only a small glass vase and a dove feather. I twirl the feather between my fingers, a memory from over a decade ago crashing into my mind.
Maggie… Maggie gave me this feather. I remember now. The day the Madam cut my face, this was the thing Maggie wanted to show me.
The urn weighs about the same as the feather as I pull it out. I bring it up to the light, noticing something small and white peeking out of the lid. Frowning, I lift the top off, surprised to find a note attached to the base of the lid.
Even more surprised to find the vase contains ashes.
“What the heck?” My brows furrow as I stare down at the remains, utterly confused as to who they’re supposed to belong to. Maybe Aaron, Vee’s old love? Shrugging, I place the urn carefully onto the cabinet and fold open the note, my eyes taking in the handwritten words hungrily.
Dove,
If you’re reading this letter, it means I am no longer in this world.
It also means I have some apologizing to do.
First, for never explaining the contents of this locker. For never confiding in you about my past. You must realize—as someone who was almost forced to become a Madam herself—how secretive we are about the organization that raised us. How, even though we hate them, we still carry a shred of loyalty to them. You and I may be the only two people who know it. For we escaped. We survived.
Forty years ago, I was tasked with selecting a new Madam. Knowing I would have to end my life, knowing it was what the Sanctum expected of me.
I was a coward—or the bravest person alive—but I ran the day after selection. I grabbed my possessions in the dead of night, and I took to the streets. I hid in plain sight, knowing the Sanctum would never expect to find me there. Not a Madam—with her taste for finery, with the extravagant life of luxury I was allowed to live.
What fools they were.
I had resigned to live my life alone and on the streets of Moriton when I came across… you.
When I saw you ten years ago, scrawny and dirty and rummaging through the trash—I knew exactly what you were. I could see so much of myself in those eyes of yours—so much of the anger, the hatred I carried with me to that day. But when I saw you, it all fell away. And suddenly, I wanted to be good. I wanted to help you.
And so, I did.
The more I got to know you, the more I realized how truly alike we were. You see, we have both lost someone dear to us. Someone we swore we would protect—and we failed. I was not allowed to have anything of my Aaron’s—even the little duck he gave me was burned to ash by the Sanctum. I was not allowed to keep his remains, or bury him in a dignified way. I was not allowed to mourn.
So when I found out about your Maggie—you do like to talk in your sleep—I knew I had to do something. I snuck out one night, to the place I know they keep the remains of fallen Madam and Mask trainees… and I took your Maggie back for you.
I know this will offer no comfort—will take away none of the pain—but at least now, you can have a piece of the girl you loved. The one you will always love.
Mourn her, Seraphina. Take as much time as you need. And when you’re ready… let her go. You have lost so much already, but I’m hoping this will offer you a shred of comfort.
I know my death must be painful as well—and I so wish I was there to hold you, to tell you it will be okay. But I am not, so I must leave you with the only thing I have left. My advice:
You will never escape the things they did to you. It will hurt. It will hurt deep, and it will hurt long. It will consume you until you think you can’t blink, breathe, or be without feeling that sharp, painful ache.
But it only hurts because you survived.
So keep surviving, my darling girl. Show them all who you are. Show them what it means to be good, to turn your face from evil. Show them what it means to have strength— and not the kind that comes from brute force, but the one that comes from within.
You have a powerful heart, Seraphina. One capable of so, so much love.
Give it to someone. If it’s the last thing you do—if you only do it for me—just promise me you will.
There is no better cure in the world.
All my love,
Vee.
Tears fall freely down my face as I finish the contents of the letter. I fold it neatly, hands shaking and making it nearly impossible to stuff it into my pocket. I reach for the urn—the remains of my precious Magoo—and I hold it to my chest like a lifeline.
Orion steps over to me, throwing his arms around me and pulling me deep into his chest, keeping me in one piece as my sobs fill the air. They’re sad cries—but also relieved, and I’m such a mess of differing emotions, I’m not sure what to do. When they subside, he pulls back, blue eyes shimmering with barely contained worry.
I know he wants to talk—to know about the contents of the letter. And soon, when it stops hurting so much, I’ll tell him. Until then…
I look up at him, the warmth in his gaze thawing my blackened heart.
“Let’s go home.”