Covet the Night, page 24
A dozen thoughts converged in her head at once as she began to sift through the dense foliage. The rain came in fat drops, thankfully, not in the pouring sheets as before. A flash of electric heat and light blinded Gwen, chased by a deafening crack. She screamed and collapsed, wrapping her arms over her head to protect herself.
When her heart stopped its hammering, she rose slowly, blood running cold at the damage done. The nexus of the oasis was gone. Static covered every spare inch of her as she looked in the blackened crater that remained and the figure at its center.
Her father.
Gwen careened back, her slippered feet struggling for purchase until her back hit something solid.
A dizzying numbness consumed her as large hands clasped her upper arms. Each finger fell in a cadence, ending in a punctuated squeeze.
"Gwenny," a hoarse voice whispered in her ear.
"Daddy?"
She spun around. It can’t be, she thought desperately as she stared into her father's disapproving eyes. He was just in the center of the crater. He couldn't be here. She couldn't be in his clutches now—but she was.
He was dressed in a plaid shirt and khaki slacks, his dark brown eyes lined with age and regret.
"Dad, let me go," she whispered.
His face crumpled, just like it had when she told him of her diagnosis. He shook his head.
"Stay, baby girl. You can't leave me too. Let me take care of you like I took care of your mother."
Gwen wiggled in discomfort as her father's grip tightened. "You have to let me go, Dad. I'm going to be okay. I can take care of myself."
Same words. Same clothes. The world flickered in her periphery to an outdated living room with stained carpet and yellow lighting. Put the past to rest.
"You want to break my heart, don't you?" Bitterness turned his eyes to stone. Anger furrowed his brow. "You've always resented my love, and now this? You'd leave me? You're a disgrace, Gwendolyn. Your mother would be ashamed of you if she were alive to see it. She didn't raise a quitter. Now be a good girl and stay."
Gwen ripped herself from his viselike grip. There'd be bruises there; she was sure of it. She could feel the angry words crawling up inside, begging to relive this moment again and again. But she stopped herself, choking on the hurtful words that craved release.
She'd never confronted him about his treatment of her. She'd been too scared, convinced he'd bully and sweet-talk her out of her decision. Instead, she said hateful, prideful things, leaving their relationship in tatters before she walked out the door. This was her chance to say her final piece.
"You did everything you could, Dad," Gwen said, wrapping her arms around herself. She took a step back. "And it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough for you, and you weren't enough for me." She smiled sadly. "She was the glue, Dad. Everything you did to hold us together only pushed us further apart in the end. It was suffocating, Daddy."
Her expression pleaded with him to understand.
"Let me go," she whispered, the wind throwing her words at him. "I'm meant for so much more."
For one long hope-filled moment, she thought he would concede. His chin quivered, and the slope of his eyes declined.
Suddenly, his image flickered. Gwen flinched back as the rain pelted down on them, and distant thunder sounded.
Her father's eyes turned to stone as his visage glitched again.
"You're not leaving this house!" he shouted. In a blink, his hands were upon her, fingers digging into the same spots as before. "You're not leaving me. Not ever!"
A crazed wind whipped around them. Gwen squinted past flailing hair and pouring rain at her father's ruddy cheeks.
"Ever!"
His voice boomed alongside the crack of lightning and thunder, reverberating off her bones and smashing into her brain with a splitting headache. Gwen struggled to break free.
"Let me go!" Her shirt ripped as she tore away.
Her father froze, the furious expression on his face tacked in place as his eyes fell flat. Gwen watched, chest heaving. His body swayed as the wind spun around them. It made her head throb as it howled in her ears.
Then he was gone.
"What the fuck?" Gwen rasped aloud, staring at the empty space in disbelief and shock. Was this the grand finale? Had she passed? She thought the conversation would go differently once she flipped the script.
The storm was intensifying, the air darkening with an undercurrent of energy that drew up her hair. She needed to leave, but where was she supposed to go?
She whirled back around, hoping to find some clue in the vestiges of the blackened oasis, but it too was gone.
"What. The. Fuck?"
Gwen's fingers tangled in her knotted hair as she swiped the errant red strands away. Endure and go back the way you came. Look for some kind of sign.
Firm in her resolve, she tucked the flask in close to her chest and started on the perilous journey back.
"Oh, Gwenny, my beautiful, brilliant star. Look how you've grown."
The flask slipped from her grasp, landing on her feet with a painful thump.
It was her mother.
"No." Gwen's throat bobbed. "You're dead."
She pressed her lips into a shred of a line. It was her mother's corpse, to be exact, standing some three feet in front of her. She was all bones, wearing the tattered remains of her funeral gown made of black satin.
The skeletal head cocked to the side. Its jaw did not move as it spoke in a strange phantom voice that crowded around Gwen from all sides. "And you're dying."
It was only for a split second, but for that brief moment, Gwen swore she saw her mother untouched by death through the slanting rain. Her breath caught at the beautiful illusion. Warm brown eyes stared back at her with a face framed by long garnet tendrils. Gwen's eyes flitted to her mother's chin, oddly emotional as she spotted the cleft she'd inherited.
The skeleton returned. "We'll be together soon, darling. You've nothing to fear."
"We won't. I won't be put in the ground. Not like you," Gwen said. A menacing rumble echoed in the air. "And I'm not afraid of dying."
"Don't lie to me, Gwendolyn," her mother scolded, the pits of her eye sockets going dark.
Gwen's teeth clicked together as she glared at the corpse. "Fine," she spat, inching back as the corpse jerked forward. "I am afraid, all right? I'm terrified. But I don't have anything to lose anymore. You were right, Mom. I'm dying, and there's nothing that will stop it. I may as well have the final say in how I go."
"You poor thing," her mother's phantom voice murmured, coiling around Gwen. "Do you think they'll save you? That they can love you? They're not capable of love, Gwenny. They're monsters—soulless, ravenous creatures of the night. You don't belong with them. You belong with me."
Its rickety arms rose to embrace Gwen.
"They are capable of love." Her thoughts immediately turned to a certain Scotsman who didn't know how to quit, then to Laurel and her soon-to-be sisters. "I've received more care and compassion in these last few weeks of my life than I have in years. And I won't give it up, not if I have a chance to keep it for all eternity."
Gwen didn't wait to hear her mother's retort. Something deep in her gut told her the breaking point in their conversation was coming, as it had with her father. Trembling, she snatched up her flask and ran, scrambling up the nearest dune and out of her mother's reach.
The longer she lingered in this realm, the more the environment turned into a deranged nightmare.
Gwen had endured. She'd laid to rest her past, and her flask was full! So why was she still here? The test was verging on outlandish and tasteless and very much outside the Roux's signature style. Travel through a desert to confront their past—yes. Be assaulted by a storm and ghosts of her past—not likely. Laurel gave her water to prepare, not boxing gloves.
She eyed the top of the dune as she tucked the flask in the waistband of her pants, hoping up high she could make out a landmark or sign to escape this hellscape. The blinding flash of lightning and boom-clap of thunder that accompanied Gwen's final push to the top made her shout in agony and fall. She clutched her head, consumed by pain.
She groaned. It felt like someone had taken a hammer and smashed it into her brain. The pain was sharp and acute but faded into nothing a minute later. Blinking away the stars in her eyes, Gwen was completely disoriented as she gazed listlessly at her hands, waiting for the world to make sense again. Yet, the longer she stared, the more transparent her hands became. A shiver danced up her back. She could see tendon and muscles—bone. Nausea flooded her system.
No, no—
A hand infiltrated her field of vision, palm open. Gwen grabbed hold without a thought and was pulled to her feet by none other than her ex, Jeremy.
"What are you doing here?" she asked breathlessly, eyes running over him furtively.
Jeremy was an old boyfriend who had a cruel way with words that ultimately ended their short-lived relationship. She'd put their toxic rendezvous to bed long ago. So why was he here?
He glitched in and out of view as he gave a sardonic shrug, bottom lip jutting out as he released her and folded his arms behind his back. "Don't tell me you're not happy to see me."
Her jaw dropped. He hadn't changed an ounce. "Why would I be? We’ve been out of each other’s lives for years."
"Out of your life, out of your heart, but not out of here, have I?" Jeremy tapped his temple.
"That's not true."
His answering smile was saccharine sweet. "Liar," he sang.
Color rushed to Gwen's face. "You're wrong. I'm over you."
"You might be over me, but not what I said to you, are you? Those words have stayed with you all this time, haven't they?" He paused, eyeing her discomfort with relish. "And all this fucked-up shit inside your head?" He spread his arms out wide, glitching in the process. His head tweaked erratically from side to side as he flickered in and out of existence. The desert darkened. "You think you're gonna be able to survive eternity with all that up there? Do you think you belong here? You're not fucking special. ‘Oh, poor Gwen, with her mean old man’—gimme a break! You can't do this. You're a spoiled princess, and all you're gonna do is run back to him like you always do."
It stung to hear the words again, slightly modified but the sentiment still the same: she didn't belong, she wasn't good enough, and when things got too tough, she'd go running back to her dad. Those words were true weeks ago, but now?
Gwen stood taller and dragged her eyes over her ex with an unimpressed sneer. "Fuck you," she said in clear dismissal and started scanning the desert for an exit.
"What did you say to me?" Jeremy's form malfunctioned again like he was stuck on the wrong channel. Glancing at him gave Gwen another headache.
"That's not how the story g-g-g-goes, Gwen." Ominous shadows fell from Jeremy's body in rippling waves, tainting everything they touched to inky black.
"Welcome to the new narrative, Jeremy," she muttered.
With a roar like thunder, he stormed toward her. Gwen yelped and startled sideways as his arm raised high above his head, poised to strike. He'd never hurt her before—not even in their most heated arguments had he laid one finger on her.
This wasn't the narrative.
Gwen waited for the blow to come, her body seized with paralyzing fright and shock as she squeezed her eyes shut. But it never came. Hesitantly, she peeked through her lashes in time to see Jeremy topple backward over the dune's edge. He flickered out of sight before he even reached the sand. Her savior was bent at the waist as they panted.
"Are you all right?" Gwen asked tentatively while shifting back.
The stranger straightened and turned as lightning struck the valley nearby, illuminating everything in a half-mile radius. As her eyes readjusted, Gwen gasped. Her savior was… herself. Her double wore a pair of black leggings and a nondescript oversized hoodie with her hair swept up in a messy bun. It was the exact outfit she’d worn when she left.
"I don't understand," Gwen said in astonishment. "What are you—what am I doing here?"
"You have to get out," her double responded. "You can't stay."
More lightning. More thunder. It racked the earth with a powerful jolt. Gwen's knees wobbled as she braced herself, arms out and core tight.
"I'm trying to!" Her shout barely sounded over the howling wind and pouring rain. "How do I leave?"
"Just walk out the door!" Her double pointed to an object over Gwen's shoulder.
Gwen spun and saw said door within arm's reach behind her. The next sane step would have been to jerk it open and return, but something held her back. Her double's words curdled in her gut.
Why am I hesitating? What am I waiting for? Gwen berated herself and latched on to the handle with ease.
"If you don't do it now, you'll never leave. Go!"
Gwen's grip tightened. Those words—each and every one of them, from the pitch to the speed and inflection—she'd said to herself in the front of the hallway mirror before she left.
Somehow, she knew the door would bring her back to the Dark Court and reality, but it was also the easy way out. The Roux expected her to lay all her past to rest, no matter how tiresome the task.
With a shaky exhalation, she released the handle, and the heavens opened.
Water pelted from the sky like bullets. Gwen readied to confront her double, but she was already gone. Lightning punctuated the landscape with frightening frequency. The resulting thunder was almost too slow to catch up. With every electric strike, a figure was left standing in its wake. Shielding her eyes from the rain, she tried to count their numbers. When she passed twenty, she stopped.
A sense of resolve pulled back Gwen's shoulders.
This wasn't tasteless or outlandish at all. The Roux wanted to put to rest every insecurity and doubt that followed her from her past. And the test wouldn't be complete until she did.
She wasn't afraid. She would endure for the Roux and her future.
Firm in her resolution, Gwen waited for them to come to her. She would face them all.
In the next instant, lightning struck. The bolt hit with staggering force, slamming her to the ground and filling her with unimaginable heat. The world narrowed and eclipsed into bright white, then black.
She came to while gasping in the room of tombs. The cold black marble at her back cooled her inflamed nerves. Around her, the soft glow of candlelight provided a serene reprieve.
I did it.
A smile lit up her face, and Gwen slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her maniacal laughter. She'd done it. She'd dug deep inside herself and come out stronger for it.
After a few more inhalations, she drew to her elbows. The flask poked into her stomach and—oh. Oh, dear God.
Gwen looked around the room in horror. Long streaks of blood lay claim to the floor and over the tombs, all seeming to lead into the far back corner of the room.
"Hello?"
The other tomb tops were empty.
I’m the only one left.
A low noise vibrated through the room.
Or not.
XIV
G
wen strained to see where the source of the noise came from and, for a wistful moment, thought she imagined it. She softened incrementally as the room held its silence. She eyed the bloodied floor with a grimace; she hadn't imagined that. With no signs of foul play on her person, she breathed a sigh of relief and slipped the flask out from her waistband.
Gwen slipped off the tomb cautiously with her tapered candlestick in one hand and flask in the other.
Swaths of blood decorated the floor around the four tombs, suggesting a struggle that ended somewhere in the far corner of the room where the shadows seemed particularly dark and foreboding. This was part of the test. The Roux had been acting like overactive mother hens since the Cellar debacle. They wouldn't risk putting them in unnecessary danger. And if Madame Roux trusted the sorcerers enough to use them, then someone from the outside must have found their way in.
Avoiding the blood on nimble toes, Gwen kept a tight hold on her prize and a small source of light. She needed to get back to the Roux suites and alert them to—
She whipped around; her attention stolen by the same rumbled disturbance as before. Her pulse throbbed in every inch of her body as she stared into the black abyss. There was something in there. It could be one of the girls… or the sorcerers… or the thing that made this mess. Whatever it was, she wasn't sticking around to find out.
Gwen peeled her eyes away from the shadowed corner and toward the front of the room where they'd arrived. The wall-like door was cracked open. Bloodied footsteps traced a path out. She whimpered and forced herself forward before fear kept her locked in place with a dark something lurking in the corner. Maybe someone survived, she thought as she walked alongside the footprints. Or the murderer escaped.
She hoped she didn't find out.
The stone corridor had been awarded the same treatment as the hidden room. Only the sparsely lit passage told a more meaningful story. Red handprints marked a tragic journey along the wall accompanied by multiple footprints on the floor. There had been a fierce struggle here—and someone lost by the amount of blood spilled.
Gwen peered ahead to the upcoming corner. She had nothing to protect herself with save the element of surprise. Just great.
She pressed herself against the far wall and crept onward. She craned her neck forward as she neared, spying something out of place. It was a stick.
She paused. It wasn't a stick. It was a wand.
In one smooth stride, she was around the corner and staring at its owner.
"Oh God," Gwen breathed and rushed to the fallen sorcerer's side. Crouching, she set down her candlestick and reached out to him, stopping mere inches from his still body. What am I supposed to do? His body was slumped—almost toppled—over itself. Blood fled his abdomen, soaking through his tattered clothes and robe. A ruby halo pooled around him. "Hello? Can you hear me? Hello?"
