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Saint
“You’re late.”
I take the final step down the glossy marble staircase, my fingers resting on the gold swirls of the rail. “By a few minutes.”
Veronica’s eyes narrow slightly. “Don’t make it a habit.” She curls her finger and turns, gesturing to follow her. “I don’t like tardiness, Hecate. It’s a lazy form of disrespect. If you want to piss me off, at least be theatrical about it. Draw some blood. Commit a murder. Burn down a church. But tardiness?” She turns to look at me over her shoulder while opening two adjoining doors. “Is too basic for my taste.” I was right. She’s Morticia.
I jump at the crashing of the doors being swung open, and before I can answer her about her rant, I pause.
Three girls sit around what is clearly a lounging area. From the cracking of an open fire to the large oversized sofa, it’s about as cozy as a Hallmark movie. It’s cozy, but there’s still an uncomfortable ambiance that hovers around it.
Probably from Veronica.
“Welcome to The Daughters of Noctum, Saint.” Veronica voices, lowering herself onto a single black chair with oversized wings that curve around her shoulders. “Your coven.”
“She looks more like she belongs to Lux, not to Noctum,” a girl snaps, and I find myself studying her. Brunette hair, a heart-shaped face, and bright blue eyes that almost look unreal. She is very pretty.
“Frankie, shut up. That’s what you said about Ivy, and how very wrong you were about that.” A girl with dark skin and green eyes stands, making her way toward me. I’m momentarily paralyzed by her beauty, and not just the obvious beauty, but there is something about her energy that feels euphorically charged and real. Every footstep closer to me is like a rhapsody of light. She wears a gold sequin short dress that hugs her perfectly curved body, but that’s not the first thing that catches my eye.
It’s her necklace.
Just like mine, only where ice falls down my crown, fire is around hers. My shoulders relax.
She stops a few steps in front of me. “Ahh, you’ve just noticed my family heirloom.” Her arms wrap around my shoulders as she pulls me into her chest. “Welcome, Saint. Welcome home, girl.”
She finally releases me and I fall back slightly, my eyes flying around the room to all of the other girls. They’re dressed in gowns as if they’d been out to a ball.
One stands from her chair, brushing her hands down her body while making her way to me. “I’m Alessi,” she says.
Alessi has copper-gold hair that’s twisted into curls and falls to her small waist, bright green eyes, and flawless skin that has a natural tan to it. She points to another girl who is sitting in front of the fireplace with her ankles crossed together.
“That’s Ivy, she doesn’t speak and is almost always reading. And the girl who just pushed her way into your bubble is Ophelia.” Alessi turns around and waves her hand toward Veronica. “And you already met the Wicked Witch of the West—literally.”
I clear my throat, lowering myself onto the large L-shaped sofa. “What am I doing here?”
Veronica pulls a cigarette out of a gold packet, bringing it to her lips and lighting the tip. While she busies herself with her cancer stick, I take in the designs in the room.
“Am I in Rome?” I ask, distracted by the gold, white, and rose gold colors that are artfully painted on the ceiling. The floor is a bright white marble, so shiny that it could almost be a mirror. Everything bleeds opulence. From the furniture to the Neoclassical architecture.
“Yes,” Veronica says, flicking the ash off into a silver tray. “But no.”
Cryptic. This is going to be a long conversation. “Okay. I don’t know why I’m here, but if I could talk to Hector, I’m sure I could make sense of—” I look around at the girls. “Something.”
Veronica shakes her head, sucking more smoke while keeping her eyes on mine. “Hector will not return. Not at least until I say so.”
“So why am I here then?” I demand, my hand coming to my neck when a shock of pain rips through my vein. “Please, just tell me what is going on.”
Silence.
Ophelia sighs, falling onto the chair beside me. “Well, I’ll tell her, since none of you want to be honest.”
“Ophelia!” Veronica snaps. Though her voice is forceful, her smile and eyes remain on me. “Quiet.”
Ophelia’s mouth slams shut, the muscles in her jaw tensing. She brings her hand to mine, resting on top protectively. “She deserves to know. How can we have a sisterhood but keep one out of the truth?”
Veronica’s eyes flash to her finally, narrowed and ready for war, before her cheeks relax and her shoulders shift. “Fine.” She goes through another couple of puffs before finally starting. “You are still in Riverside—on the west side, commonly known as Riveredge. This home was built in the early seventeen hundreds and has housed generations of generations of witches since. Hector, your father, brought you to me for two reasons. One, he knows you are safe here, and two, this is your home.”
“I have a home already, and it’s darker than this.”
Veronica studies me, her eyes falling down my body. “Hmm, so as it may seem you do, though I can reassure you—”
“—you’re awfully chatty tonight.” The voice that drifts in from behind me freezes me to my core. Hearing him, feeling his energy around me, the energy that once comforted me, forces me to my feet. I spin around to face him. I think in the back of my mind, I wanted him not to be here. I wanted to think that I didn’t see him in that limo the night I was shot, but I was wrong. Because there he stands. All six-foot-I can’t remember of him. Dressed in black, with his hair in the way I’ve come to love, and his jaw as sharp as I remember. He doesn’t look at me, though. Not when I stand. Not when I make my way to him. And definitely not when my hand is flying into his face.
Slap!
My palm stings, but I don’t care, because betrayal? Betrayal hurts more. He doesn’t so much as move as his eyes remain on Veronica. Anger. Anger bubbles beneath my skin and I ball my fingers into a fist. “You—”
“—Saint, let’s show you around the house and leave them to talk, yeah?” Ophelia says, hooking her arm in mine. It isn’t until we’re walking down the giant corridor filled with more artistic paintings and giant colossal pillars that I realize my cheeks are wet from my tears.
“It’s okay, Saint.” Alessi is walking on the other side of me, heels clicking against the marble. “It’s going to be okay.” I turn to look over my shoulder and see a blank-faced Frankie and a disinterested Ivy, but even if they think whatever of me—they are still here.
We make our way through the large foyer, breaking through the colosseum-styled pillars that line both sides of the hallway—if you can even call it that—before we reach the master stairs. White marble, more art on the ceiling, and flowing vines and plants overflowing the railing. There’s one grand staircase before it splits off into two others, which lead to opposite sides of the house.
“We can show you outside tomorrow, but let’s start with our wing.” Ophelia gestures up the stairs, and I block out her voice when my mind drifts back downstairs to where Brantley is with Veronica.
“—so we all stay on this side, with the other for V and her—whatever you want to call her obsessions. We prefer it better this way because we like to stay close to each other.”