Undone: The Complete Duology, page 21
I shoveled in another pastry, but before I’d swallowed it down, I wanted the braised vegetables and then a goblet of red juice.
We didn’t need wine; no alcohol would compare to the Feast.
Next to me, Mac picked at the slab of roast before taking a tentative bite.
Reality washed away from him. He rammed the next bite into his mouth and then the next, before abandoning his silverware in favor of his hands.
I had too. I stuffed my mouth with bites of a dozen different dishes, unable to swallow down fast enough to keep up with the demand in my brain, in my body, in my soul.
I want, I want, I want.
I hunched over my plate, lost in the world of flavor and greed, and with it I drifted away as if intoxicated. The heady sensation overwhelmed me. With dirty fingers, I clamped on another goblet and raised my head just enough to down the drink before shoveling more food into my face.
Warmth filled my belly and traveled lower. In my peripheral vision, Mac had lost himself to the food, just as designed.
Nothing had ever been hotter.
I want, I want, I want.
I grabbed one of Mr. Jimenez’s donuts before turning to Mac, offering him a bite. He lifted his attention from his plate and with a grin, wrapped his fingers around my wrist to steady the donut as he bit down, cream oozing from its center. I leaned forward and licked the cream off the corner of his mouth, and he locked me into a kiss.
The world narrowed again and again, until it was just me and Mac and the intoxicating food that we continued to eat, continued to feed each other, continued to consume just as it devoured us. I straddled his lap as we shared with animalistic abandon a slice of layered chocolate cake, followed by more drink, followed by more food. We would never be full, never have enough.
The sensation of being endlessly empty and desperately trying to fill it felt as amazing as it hurt.
I wanted more. More food, more drink, more Malachi.
I felt nothing else.
His expression was long lost to the pleasures as I slid his shirt up and over his head. He fed me whipped cream from his fingers before I leaned down and bit his chest. He sucked in a breath, his hand in my hair, and fed me another mouthful of cake before I resumed my way gnashing across his shoulder so hard I drew blood.
He wrapped his arms around me as he slid off the bench, landing on the grass on his back, with me straddling his waist. Someone passed me another goblet and I drained it. The red juice dribbled from the corners of my mouth as I leaned down and trickled juice from between my lips onto Mac’s tongue.
I rode against him through our clothes, his hands on my hips, as the Feast continued in a blur of mingled lusts.
The horn sounded, the same one that announced the arrival of the day.
Around us, people tottered to their feet and stumbled away from the field.
“Come, come,” I whispered, urgently, in Mac’s ear as I tried to find my body. I floated in a haze as I helped him to his feet and together, we staggered after the others. I could not keep my hands off Mac, couldn’t stop touching him, kissing him as we made our way towards the woods.
Mac wobbled along in the drunken cloud, grinning as he continued to halt our progress for another kiss, for another rub against me, groaning in my ear as he resisted the urge to finish what we’d started right here.
I led him with the others, my body on fire with need though the longer we walked the more I couldn’t tell which desire burned stronger: the one for Mac, or for what was about to happen. We passed through the trees where we’d made love for the first time, in the rain when I had not reconciled how badly I wanted the man I was destined to destroy.
The splashing of water grew louder. Mac halted, then recognition lit his inebriated expression. He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me tighter to him.
“We’re here,” he said, his words little more than a slur.
“Yeah, we’re here.”
Mac had wanted to investigate farther that day of the picnic, to follow the sounds of the water and stop at the riverbank. The river, however, was off limits every day but one.
The water came into view: churning chaos intercepted with boulders that peeked from under the current before being submerged again.
I eased Mac to a halt, waiting for him to take in the rest of the scene. He scanned the river as if searching for something, over and over, before finally raising his gaze to the glimmering objects in the air around us.
Suspended by invisible magic, a hundred knives with sharp blades and thick hilts set with gemstones. The knives turned ever so slowly in the air, like ornaments in a savage Christmas display, beckoning our awe.
The air left Mac in a soft woosh against my hair. “Gracie…”
Around us, the townspeople plucked knives from the air as they made their way to the river. They did this every year, their entire lives. No one hesitated.
I knew I should back away, but I couldn’t. I’d consumed too much of the Feast. For today, I belonged to Thorn Tree.
Mac reached for one of the knives, still bespelled. As much as I wanted to grab his arm and keep him from joining in, I didn’t have it in me. We would do this as one, like we did everything else.
I took my own knife and together, Mac and I waded out into the water with the other townspeople.
Someone made the first cut, tinging the water with red.
It was always redder than it should be.
Without another thought, I gouged my arm. Heat welled through me, flaring from the wound. I grit my teeth as I held my arm out, letting the blood flow. It fell in a thick line and hit the water. The current agitated the blood around, mingling with the others, with Mac’s as he stood next to me, pouring his life into the river that lapped it up and demanded more.
The churning of the river grew stronger, angrier, hungrier. It pushed and yanked at me, welling up to my chest, cold water rushing around me. I knew it was cold, but it didn’t bother me, not like it would have any other day.
The heady sensation grew heavier, the world around me darkening. I never knew what happened after this. There was no point in trying to resist. The river would win, as it always did.
I forced myself to relax and let the darkness take over. The world narrowed from the edges of my mind, smaller and smaller, until it disappeared altogether.
2
GRACE
Every year on the Feast, I dreamt of the same pair of red eyes, glowing from the darkness around me. I could not see the beast on which they belonged, but the eyes were larger than a truck tire. The creature had to be enormous.
Its warm breath filled the air around me as I stared at the monster dead on. When I was younger, I would tremble before it and bow my head. Now, I stood in defiance, daring it to reveal itself. My body still shook with barely repressed terror.
These were the eyes of Thorn Tree. The people who watched, who waited, who convened in the shadows to decide. This was the collective mind who determined what was right and wrong, and who was in and out.
This was the fate I could not escape.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I whispered.
The eyes flared with fire.
I woke with a gasp, rolling onto my side under the beams of sunlight that sliced across the wet grass. As I curled the fingers of one hand in the mud near my face, I realized where I was.
I shot upright, feeling around for Mac as my vision returned. He groaned, lying next to me outside my house, his arm draped over his eyes.
“Mac.” I shook him. “We’ve got to get moving.”
A few flies buzzed around where Amelia’s body lay a few feet away. I skittered back, closer to Mac. He latched his free arm around me, still not uncovering his eyes.
“I had the weirdest—”
“It wasn’t a dream,” I said, cutting him off.
He groaned louder, as if he had anticipated I would say just that but had to try.
“That’s the Feast,” I said. “I told you not to drink or eat anything.”
He shifted his arm enough to peer at me with one eye. “But you did.”
“They were going to hurt you.” Panic welled in my chest, and I shook him again, even though he was awake. “They’re going to come for us soon. It’s almost sunset, and with the sun goes our immunity. We need to go.”
He pushed himself upright and brushed his palms together before rubbing his eyes. “Go where? We’re trapped in the town, if I recall.”
“The woods. We have to go into the woods, setup camp. We have to be ready to move at all times, stay ahead of them.”
The words came in a rush as memories flashed in increasingly rapid succession.
“It’s still two weeks until the full moon,” I continued. “We can’t let them get to us before the full moon. We have—”
“Gracie, stop.”
I collapsed in on myself, staring down at my lap with my legs sprawled on the grass.
“I’m not going to let them hurt you.”
His words were so sincere, but anger flared in my chest.
“You can’t stop them,” I snapped, reeling on him. “You are so far in over your head. Good intentions don’t matter in Thorn Tree.”
Hurt crossed his face, but he pushed it under. “Fair enough. How about this—I’ll do everything I can to protect you from them?”
My shoulders slumped as I looked back towards Amelia. When night fell, predators would dispose of her body. It would be the largest contribution to the world she ever made.
“You don’t know who they are,” I said softly. “You don’t know what they’ll do. What they’ve done.”
He stroked his hand down my bare arm. “Tell me then.”
I clenched one fist on the ground near my thigh, trying to strangle the life out of the memories. The more Mac spoke, the less successful I was at shutting them down.
“If they’re going to come for me too, then I deserve to know,” he said.
We both knew it was a cheap shot, but it was enough to crumble the last of my resolve.
“It wasn’t always like this,” I said, breathless as I fought down the tears.
He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me between his legs so my back tucked against his chest as we sat molded together.
“I understand,” he said. “They pretended to love you once.”
I shook my head. “They didn’t pretend. They did love me. I was one of them, and that was all they cared about. That was all I thought I cared about. Then something…something happened, and I went to them. I knew for sure they would guide me, protect me, like they always did.”
“And the entire town turned on you,” he said, tightening his hold on me like he could somehow save me from the past.
He had no idea how late he was to the battle.
“They demanded I apologize during congregation and when I didn’t, they kept pushing and pushing. Everyone told me again and again that I would regret not doing what was asked, but I couldn’t. I would have but…they were wrong.”
Mac nodded against my head but didn’t speak. He was giving me space to share the story my way.
I’d never told anyone else. There had been no one to tell.
“A group of people came to my house in the night and dragged me from bed.”
Mac’s chest heaved a breath against my back.
“They bound my hands and marched me through the dark streets, door to door. Every time I refused to apologize…they did worse. They were so angry.”
Mac tensed, and I could tell he wanted me to stop the story, but it was too late.
He had the right to know, after all.
“I was bleeding…bruised. Two broken ribs. When they gave up, they stripped me and dumped me in the field across from Honey and Hive. I thought I was going to die. I probably should have. Eventually, someone came and cut the restraints. I couldn’t walk, could barely move.”
Mac reached for the hand at my thigh and gripped my fist in his, like he could hold me together.
“I crawled home. No one helped me. Some of them, they thought I got what I deserved. Others, though, I saw the fear. They were terrified they’d wind up on the wrong side too. I hid in the woods.” I stared down at his fist over mine. “They’re going to destroy you, Malachi.”
“Oh, they can try,” he said, but the arrogance was gone. In its place was determination.
He finally had begun to understand what we were up against.
“We have to go into the woods,” I said. “It’s the only chance we have at staying a step ahead of them.”
With one arm, he tugged me closer to him. “There’s going to be a blizzard soon. Being out in the woods is a dangerous idea.”
“I can’t stay in there.” I nodded towards my house. “That’s even more dangerous.”
He remained silent, taking deep slow breaths, lost in thought. I was careful to blank mine.
“Okay,” he said, “let’s do it your way. We will get a tent and supplies and set up camp in the woods.”
I started to stand, but he gently pulled me back into place, angling around to look at me. I turned until we were face to face.
“I need you to understand that we’re not doing everything your way,” he said.
I started to reply—something noncommittal—but he held up a finger.
“I mean it, Gracie. There are going to be things I think we should do, and I’m going to need you to cooperate then even if you don’t like them.”
Mac still refused to see how in over his head he was in this town.
A dozen retorts lined up on my tongue:
I could agree to anything, but that didn’t mean I would do them.
He could run into the fire alone.
Did he know I was going to kill his brother?
Instead, I nodded. Mac had been nothing but kind to me, but that didn’t mean I was going to hand over the reins to him. There were factors at play he wasn’t aware of, and certainly wouldn’t agree to.
I would burn that bridge when I got to it.
I stood and, stepping over his leg, headed towards my house. Something unpleasant tickled my nose. When I opened the front door, the stench slammed me in the face and rushed around me.
I gagged, covering my mouth and nose with one hand.
From behind me, Mac said, “Oh, god, we forgot about the…”
“Hand,” I finished for him. “Well, chop, chop, chef.”
When he didn’t reply, I tipped my head to look up at him.
“Are you just a little green, officer?”
He puckered his lips in a tight grimace. “Where did you say you keep your camping gear?”
“In the—” I snapped my mouth shut.
The camping gear was down in the basement, along with the chair where I’d recently kept his brother, a spilled vodka bottle, and a dozen or more pills scattered across the floor. He might not put together what went down in the basement, but he would know something had happened.
I didn’t need to start that wheel turning.
“I’ll get the camping supplies,” I said in a rush.
He laughed, nudging my shoulder. “Are you seriously leaving me with the…?”
That wasn’t my intention, but it was an angle I could work with.
I gave him my best pleading eyes, though I wasn’t sure those even worked anymore.
He released a deep sigh. “Okay, you get the camping gear, and I’ll…”
“Thank you!” I pecked a kiss to his lips and bolted for the basement before he could change his mind.
Downstairs, I halted on the steps. I could grab the chair and sneak it off to Bobby as soon as Mac turned his back, but that could lead to questions why a piece of furniture disappeared. Maybe I could tell him I used it as firewood?
Too much potential for questions. I would have to come back later and pick up supplies to keep my cave creature alive for a few more days.
Bobby was such a pain in my ass.
After dislodging a dusty, musky stack of random small appliances, damaged cardboard boxes, and a forgotten lawnmower, I found the bundled-up tent. Tugging free the sleeping bags caused a landslide that landed me on my ass and a box of papers spilled in my lap.
One might think some mystery would be revealed in the mayhem, but one would be wrong. This cluttered basement was nothing more than a testament of how my father tossed everything he didn’t want to deal with into the basement.
As I stood, dusting off my legs, I snickered at the chair still in the middle of the room.
Like father, like daughter.
My heart sank, all humor wilting away. I wasn’t like my father at all. He would have been mortified if he knew what I had become.
Perhaps his surprise death was just another sign that I was meant to evolve. I could have never done any of this, mentally or physically, if he’d still been alive.
One of the sleeping bags was chewed through by a rodent. The other bag was intact but smelled like mold. Hopefully a bottle of perfume on it would suffice.
I hauled the tent and one usable sleeping bag up the stairs. Mac stood by the counter, frowning down at a strange octopus-looking thing propped in the center of a plate.
The hand.
“Doesn’t it just fall right off the bone?” I asked, then smacked my lips.
He stared at the disembodied appendage as if he couldn’t blink or it would scurry away.
“It’s clean enough,” he said, sounding doubtful.
I nodded towards the sink. “Just rinse it off and throw it in a baggy?”
He stretched his neck side to side, then grabbed tongs from a drawer and held the hand, now mostly bone, under the faucet. The finger slipped from his hold and the hand clattered into the sink.
As I passed by him, carrying the tent and sleeping bag, I reached up and grabbed another bottle of vodka. I clunked it onto the counter.
“Have at it, champ.”
Leaving the hand in the sink and the faucet on full blast, he chugged a few gulps of vodka before turning back to his task.
I loaded up the jeep with the camping supplies, lighters and lighter fluid, blankets—I was running out of those—and cans of food with eating utensils. Mac scrubbed the skeletal hand with a bristle brush I used on the backsplash tile.
