Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 160578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 642(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 803(@200wpm)___ 642(@250wpm)___ 535(@300wpm)
I hadn’t realized the car had slowed until the faces of people become clearer. Of course, they all move out of his way, but I don’t miss the looks on their faces when they see who’s behind the wheel.
Bishop was worshipped among his people, he always had been, but Priest…Priest is feared. Ever since he’s taken the gavel, I’ve noticed the streets emptier than usual. Were people that terrified that they’d up and move away from the safety of their homes? Being a King offers protection, sure, but if you remove yourself from the family and village, you’re a fish swimming in unknown waters, and as much as the Kings are feared and respected, they’re also hated. An enemy to one, is an enemy to all, after all.
A passing sign catches my eye, carved in brilliant cursive white. Happy Winter Solstice.
I notice it now. The candles, decorations of pine cones and holly, the sprinkling of mistletoe, and the large yule tree prodding out through the middle of the street.
Priest drives us around it, and I turn to him. “You guys celebrate winter solstice?” My distraction runs rogue when my eyes land on the three statues in front of the cathedral, frozen in time, as if preserving their triumphs and reminding everyone exactly who they belong to.
Hayes, Vitiosis, and Malum.
“Yeah, it was something Dad signed off on. Brantley’s wife, my aunty, I don’t know if you remember her”—white hair, would steal her clothes, gentle smile, it’s hard not to—“she’s kind of a witch, in a way. She made some changes and brought it forward to the family that this be added into the event calendar. It kind of stuck after the first one, gave a lot of small businesses the chance to have a weekend of the year to create, release, and let go.”
It’s probably the most human thing I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth.
“That’s real sweet.” I smile, and when he pulls us away from the colorful lights of the town, everything turns dark around us, with nothing but the illumination from the dash.
Unzipping my top, I toss it into the back seat before working on my pants, leaving me with nothing on but my underwear. It’s not like he hasn’t seen it all before. To every detail and scar.
“Where are we going? And if you say you’re taking me somewhere to kill me, Priest.” I turn, even though his eyes are on the road. His jaw and cheekbones are sharp enough to send me crazy, but I continue with my threat because I mean it. “I’m much harder to kill now.”
“Your ease to die was never your problem, Madness.” He doesn’t turn when he answers, shifting gears and leaning on the window. As if on brand, the fact that I’m basically naked doesn’t excite him the same way it would most. “It was never the problem.”
Music plays between us as I pull up my stockings, thigh-high white frilly socks, black boots, and white pleated skirt before shoving my face through the hole of a casual black knitted sweater.
Tapping down the mirror, I’m aware of the silence that sits between us. It should bother me, but it doesn’t. It never has. We both simply exist and the other does the same.
After swiping my face with a wet cloth, I clip my hair away from my face and get started on my makeup.
“Are you going to ask me how I know about you being at Del Morts?”
I should have touched wood.
Dabbing concealer beneath my eyes, I shake my head. “No. I learned a long time ago that if you wanted me to know something, I’d know. My effort to find out would only kill me in exhaustion, much like swimming up a rip instead of out of one.” I fan mascara through my lashes, line my lips, and gloss. The song shifts to Slipknot’s “Vermilion” and we both pause. Neither of us willing to say anything. Does he know what this song means? Does he remember? Does he know…
“Interesting, but okay.” He palms the side of his face, and I sigh, pushing my bag back on the floor.
“He told you I was at Del Morts, but he didn’t say what I was doing.”
He snickers. “Better fucking not be what I think you were doing.” When I don’t answer, he turns his head, moving between me and the road up ahead. “Fuck. And to think I thought I was the reason why you were so fucked up.”
I tap the camera logo on my phone. “It wasn’t terrible. I guess I had no idea of the place.”
“Del Morts?” His tone hikes. “No one fucking knows of the place unless you’re meant to know. It’s the machine that keeps us running.”
I know that all too well, but I try to keep myself busy in other ways that won’t allow my mouth the chance to slip. I snap a photo of my black ribbon on my thigh where my holster usually is, the strap marks still indented in my skin. Opening Instagram, I type out the caption, Vermilion 1 & 11. The car idles to a stop, and I look up in time to see Priest pulling us through the entrance of high arches that read Cirque de Diavolo. It’s a colorless theme park with nothing more than dead promises of fun and laughter.