Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 150546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 753(@200wpm)___ 602(@250wpm)___ 502(@300wpm)
“I have never seen face muscles before, okay!” Stella’s hands are flying in the air. “I’m sorry, but I am who I am.” They all hesitate, before War climbs out of the hole and shoulder barges past me.
Once everyone is back to their own corpses and the attention is off me, I mouth a silent thank-you to Stella.
She winks, casually going back to digging. I kind of want to know who she has down there.
An hour later, everyone has their bags filled with rotted corpses out of the graves. The girls go first and we prop ours against the concrete hedge, climbing to the top, before dragging it over as we jump to the other side. The boys make it look easy by throwing theirs over their shoulders as if they are a sack of potatoes. Theirs are considerably lighter than mine.
After our robes are secured back on, my sweaty palms slip on the handle of the bag as I start dragging it back to the tomb. Static prickles the nape of my neck when the penetrating gaze of the starless night whistles over my spine.
With a rush of unease, I twist around, expecting the harsh glares of War, but I’m met with the watchful shadows of this godforsaken cemetery instead. To be fair, a lot of the ghosts that haunt this place would hate me by association.
“Halen!” River calls out loudly from up ahead.
“I’m coming.” I drag my eyes away from the dark forest, heading back inside the tomb. The air grows thick once again, but the music vaporizes rather quickly. Waiters duck around the crowds of people, balancing rock glasses filled with whiskey. With nothing but the sound of plastic chafing across concrete, we’re back in formation on the platform.
Dad’s eyes bounce over each of us. What could he possibly want with dead corpses?
“Phase two, which is important for the finale. Unzip your bags and place the remains in Noctem.”
My knees hit the ground as I unzip the bag. Death has long since passed their bodies, but it does nothing to stop the smell of decayed liquid flesh and dusted bone marrow. I think I prefer theirs to the perfume of rotten eggs and rust.
With my bag now half open, the ambience of one thousand candles showcases Stella’s expertise. Jesus. She really did a number on him. I need to stay focused. If I allow distractions to slip into my head, it allows a window of opportunity for one of them to ride in with it.
Dad’s shoes come into view before he kneels to my eye level. “Amica mea…”
Everyone had already tossed theirs in Noctem and I was still staring back at the nightmare below.
My tongue sticks to the bridge of my mouth as I tremble on fragile legs. Dragging the bag up the bowl of metal while stepping around the side to use my foot as an anchor to haul him up, I pull back until it unfolds in. Unzipping the other half, his body rolls out of the plastic.
After tossing the bloody bag to the side, I stumble back to my place in line.
“Kneel.” Dad’s demand is as powerful as his energy, and we’re all once again at his mercy.
He flicks a match against the metal before tossing it inside. “Recite the tale that’s in front of you.” I shuffle backward until the Latin passage is as clear as day. Sable and gray smoke clot the already swollen air, as death settles around the charcoal fragrance of rose and oud wood. The herbs. I’ve never—seen them—
The room becomes cloudy, and my eyes burn as the riddle leaves my tongue. “Here I kneel, for you to take, accept my sins as payments, until my final date.” Weighed down by the dense congestion of air, my chest caves in as everything tilts in threes.
What the fuck.
Delirium too thick to swallow, I’m suddenly weightless, before everything turns black.
Something heavy and long slaps my cheek with cadence. Cotton replaces my tongue as my eyes open to opaque movements and a throbbing head.
“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Stella wiggles her finger above my face, her midnight hair tied to the top of her head.
Stella has the aesthetic of a demonic goddess. Even during times when we should all look like shit. Like after fainting. “You were out even longer than I was.”
Rolling to the side, I push up from the ground with my palms. I’m still trying to brush away the fog from whatever the hell that was, when the lingering smell of ash and lavender lulls me awake.
War sits on a slab of concrete, with Mom directly beside him. The buzz of a tattoo gun draws my attention when she dips it into the same copper bowl we all drank from and brings it to his chest.
Stella squeezes my hand. “Look!” She turns her head to the side, exposing the EKC insignia on the side of her neck. Stella has no tattoos, but as per usual, she goes to the extreme. Things like slicing up a man’s face like she’s Scissorhands and getting her first tattoo on her neck. The familiar shading of a city built on top of a skull. It’s up to every generation what tattoos they decide on, but they all have to match. I don’t remember what Dad’s is since all three of them have so many tattoos they look like a walking sketchbook.