Sancte Diaboli

Saint

There has to be fifty or so people floating around the room, as soft classical music fills the space. Waiters are passing around small finger foods and alcoholic drinks, and every now and then I find people staring at me. Of course, I don’t see what they look like behind the face paint, but there’s no mistaking their openly glaring at yours truly. I find myself drifting in and out of focus. I haven’t heard from Brantley or Bishop at all. My anxiety is rolled into a nice little package in the apex of my gut, and no matter how much I sip on this champagne, it doesn’t seem to settle.

“Hey.” Tate slides up beside me. “Have you seen Tillie? I think she’s still upset with me.” Her eyes are swinging around the room as she taps her French-manicured fingernail against her martini glass.

I sip on my champagne. “She’ll come around. Just give her time.”

Tate exhales, before turning to face me. “Do you know Tillie? That bitch holds on to a grudge harder than Nate’s initial commitment issues.” Liquid shoots up my throat when I stifle a laugh, swiping the excess from my lips. She continues, her tone softer. “I just wanted us to be okay for Madison.”

I squeeze her arm. “I promise. It’ll be fine.” We’ve been here for three hours, and The Kings are still not back. I catch people looking at their watches and phones to check the time, and every now and then, Scarlet and Elena pass worried looks between each other, so I guess it usually never takes this long. The lights dim and people stop talking. Scarlet is beside me in a flash.

“Saint, the piano is yours now.”

“Oh.” I hand her my champagne flute. “Thank you.”

The room remains silent as I sashay across the floor, making my way back to the small stage I spent an hour at tonight without burning out my voice.

I clear my throat slightly, adjusting the mic. I assume the boys are back, since everyone is eerily silent. So my fingers float over the keys to the intro of “Familiar Taste of Poison” by Halestorm. I’m so lost in the lyrics and hypnotic tune of the song that I don’t realize when the song is almost finished. I slowly open my eyes mid-chorus and catch Bishop staring from across the room, his mouth snapped shut. I don’t need to be near him to know I’ve struck a nerve.

Good. Well done, Madison.

I pelt out the rest of the song, keeping my eyes on him as I sing through every lyric. I feel Madison’s pain as I drag each note out, but I can’t acknowledge her pain without being consumed by his. When the song is finished, I watch as he remains frozen to the spot. Nate, Eli, Cash, and Hunter are behind him, with Brantley slightly beside.

I take a sip of water, stretch my neck and fingers, before I slowly begin the final song.

The song I chose.

This time, my eyes are not on my broken brother, but rather on my dark King.

I allow the begi

I sing through the song, hitting the chorus and notes perfectly while surprising myself. I go through the whole song without allowing myself to catch his attention. It’s not until I’m close to the end that I snap and allow our eyes to co

I finish the final line when the light above me completely cuts out. There’s a pause of awkward silence before clapping breaks through. I thought they were silent because of The Kings, but that wasn’t the case.

It was because of me.

And then I remember the face paint I’m wearing. Half-Vitiosis, half-Hayes.

Hands are on my stomach, pulling me into a hard chest before I can even make it across the room.

Brantley’s mouth is on my neck, his teeth across the thin skin that stretches over it. “Miss me?”

“A little,” I say truthfully, turning in his grip. We’re standing near the table when Scarlet takes the stage with Hector. “How was tonight?” The lighting remains low, everyone seated silently.

“You don’t want to know…” he growls, his fingers flexing on my belly. I look down at his hands, at the ring that’s now on his finger.

I trace it with the tip of my finger. “I would want to know.”

He hardens against me, and I take it as he understood my double-edged answer. “You think you do, but you don’t.”

I suck in a deep breath and lean to the side so I can look up at him. “Brantley, I would want to know. You think I’m weak.” I pause, pinching his chin with my thumb and forefinger to bring his face lower to mine. “As if you forget who raised me.”

His eyes come to mine, searching them lazily. If only I knew what was going on inside his head.

The lighting further darkens, and there’s a spotlight that’s pointed on all of The Kings who are on the stage.

Brantley releases me, bringing his lips to my head before ducking to my ear. “We’ll talk about this later.” Then he pushes off me and I watch as he makes his way onto the stage. He stands beside Bishop and Nate, with Eli on the other side of him and Cash and Hunter beside him. Hector stands beside Bishop, with the other older Kings beside him. Scarlet is behind Hector.

Hector opens his mouth, and I listen carefully as Latin fluidly falls from his mouth. “As I step down from my throne, my son will rise up. Blessed be the EKC.” Everyone chants beside him and I watch as a metal bowl is brought to the stage by a young boy in a cloak, with the attached hood over his head. Chills break over my flesh and I find myself searching the room. For what, I don’t know. I just know that something feels off. Like an entity inviting itself into a space where it is not welcome. I shift uncomfortably, standing visibly straighter. I find Tillie, who is smiling up at the stage. Go back to Hector, who is dipping his hand into the ancient style bowl and bringing his finger up to Bishop’s head. I then watch as all of the boys cut themselves, dropping blood into a goblet before taking a sip.

Unable to remain still, I begin pacing back and forth, searching for anything. Something. Why am I anxious? My stomach coils into thick knots, my throat burning like I swallowed acid as I attempt to contain the scream that wants to shred out of my organs.

Something is wrong.

I dive into my bra, pulling out the piece of paper. Something is not right. People are cheering, clapping, and yelling, but I’m making my way to the stage, needing to give this paper to him now.

Right now.

It’s burning against my flesh.