Grave Signs (Hellgate Guardians Book 4)

by Ivy Asher

  Grave Signs

  Ivy Asher

  Raven Kennedy

  Copyright © 2020 Ivy Asher and Raven Kennedy

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the author, except in cases of a reviewer quoting brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Polished Perfection

  Book cover by Raven Covers

  Chapter headings by Eerilyfair Design

  To that one person who reviews ALL of our books with one star. If you hate them that much, why you still reading bro? Let it go.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Also by Ivy Asher & Raven Kennedy

  Also by Ivy Asher

  Also by Raven Kennedy

  Ivy Asher

  Raven Kennedy

  Prologue

  Medley Bell

  Gotchya swirls around the darkness of my mind like a wayward leaf on the wind.

  I try to reach out and grab for it so I can understand why it’s floating around, but I miss, and it swirls with other echoing words: you will be quiet and you will come with me.

  The orders twist and dance around in my head, while a power I find myself trying to swim through makes my thoughts and limbs feel heavy.

  I shove through the bleak darkness of my mind, my body immediately starting to shiver as I start to wake up. There’s a bitter cold seeping into me, and I feel like I’m wading through quicksand as I try to figure out what’s going on.

  Rough, cold stone lies under my cheek, and my stomach roils as fear and worry sit like jagged rocks in my gut. The heaviness of those emotions anchors me to the here and now, and I feel the ripples of alarm spreading through my body. It’s as though something scared me so badly that the imprint of it is in my every fiber.

  My mouth is dry and chalky, and a barely-there whimper leaks out of my cracked and chapped lips. I struggle to open my eyes, and it takes a moment to blink the blurriness away. As soon as I do, a terrified tear falls from my eye, and I can practically hear it drop to meet the freezing stone beneath me.

  Metal bars condense into focus in front of me.

  Wherever I am is damp, and dark, and ominous, the very air oppressive. I prepare myself to force my body up so I can separate my skin from the frigid temperatures that are bleeding into me from below, but I’m surprised when it’s not a struggle to sit up.

  So my body is okay, but my mind went twelve rounds with Manny Pacquiao. Strange.

  “You will call your scythe and sit up if you want this to stop.”

  I freeze at the sound of the quiet, menacing voice as it snarls. Something in the tone makes me feel like I have ants crawling through my veins.

  My eyes search out the source, and I land on mud-colored wings and the back of a head that’s filled with black dreadlocks.

  No. Not dreadlocks, my brain screams at me. Snakes.

  Morax.

  Terror slams through me, making my chest tighten and my lungs constrict. Frantically, I look around me, forcing myself to see exactly where I am, and my gaze zeroes in on the bars surrounding me.

  A cage. I’m in a damn cage.

  Biting my lip, I drag my eyes away from the metal bars and see that my cage appears to be inside a large cellar with no windows to speak of, and at the far end, I’m staring right at the back of the Ophidian.

  His words are met by silence, and I realize he’s talking to someone else. I can just make out a small, frail looking body on a metal table that he’s standing over. All I can see from my vantage point are legs with lines cut into the flesh all over, leaving behind dozens of blood-red slices. Disgust and anger start to boil inside of me on behalf of whoever this monster is torturing, while horror threatens to burst my heart in my chest.

  The word gotchya continues to ring through my mind, and devastation claws up my throat. How did Morax get me? That last thing I remember is staring into Alder’s loving eyes as flowers and plants sprung up between us, and now...I’m here, in this dark, dank room filled with nothing but agony and shadows.

  A sob works its way up my esophagus, but I close my mouth and swallow it down. I need to get out of here. I look around for something that will help me, trying to drown out Morax speaking as he continues to issue orders to whoever is on that torture table. It’s clear that he’s getting more and more frustrated every time he’s met with silence. When he lifts his hand up, I catch sight of a long, sharp dagger in his grip, the metal glinting from the lit torches anchored into the walls.

  I shiver at the sight of the weapon and the power I can tell he’s pouring into his voice, but it’s not aimed at me, and my body doesn’t betray me by listening to him. Silently, so that I don’t tip him off that I’m awake, I sit all the way up and search for something, anything to help me out of this.

  My gray eyes land on a shape in the corner of my cell. Hope explodes in my chest at the sight of my scythe. Yes!

  I dive for it.

  Except...my body jerks to a stop after moving barely an inch. Blinking in surprise, I try to reach for it again, but my body refuses to listen, staying frozen in place.

  With a determined frown, I focus all my efforts on my fingers, my hands, my arms, but I can’t get a single part of me to move toward my weapon, toward the one thing that could protect me from Morax and his evil intentions.

  Tears of fear and frustration drip down my cheeks, and a brutal headache blooms behind my eyes, but no matter how hard I try, I can’t force myself to grab my scythe.

  Morax must have used his power to keep me from using it, to keep me from touching it, and that realization terrifies me. He left it here, right within my reach, just for the mental torture it would bring me. It’s like he’s dangling a carrot on a string in front of a starving horse, and right then, I know exactly what sort of being I’m up against. Evil. The Ophidian is evil.

  Slumping back, I give up on the scythe and wipe the tears off my cheeks as
I quietly scoot back in my cage. Delta said Morax’s power wears off with time. Just like that night he approached me in the club, I had to wait for the effects to fade away. My only hope is that with time, I can take back control of my body and hold my scythe in my hands once again.

  I flinch in alarm when Morax suddenly bellows out in rage, and I cower down onto the floor to make it look like I’m still sleeping in case he glances over here. Peeking through my lashes, I see him throw his dagger clear across the room where it crashes against the stone wall before clattering to the floor.

  In his fury, he doesn’t even look my way, and a small puff of relief moves through me as he storms across the room to a shadowed doorway and leaves, slamming the heavy door behind him.

  My heart beats hard and fast in my chest, but I wait a moment, making sure he’s really gone before I scramble up and rush forward to the bars. My hands close around them as I look around, searching the room for anything else I can use to try and get out of here.

  I freeze when my eyes land on the woman that’s strapped to the table. She’s in only her underwear, and cuts of all shapes and sizes mar her skin. I see what looks to be healing burns and bruises peppered over her as well, and my stomach churns at the sight.

  I press one palm to my stomach and the other over my mouth as I take her in. I blink back more tears, and the image of the woman on the table changes. Suddenly, she has deep purple wings underneath her that are so dark they could almost be black. The hair blanketing her shoulder is the same purple-black hue as her feathers, and my eyes widen at the sight as I quickly dash away my tears, making sure that I’m not seeing things.

  My gaze skips over the bruises on her neck and lands on full, slightly parted lips, looking as chapped and cracked as mine feel. My stare moves up to her nose, and something sparks in the back of my mind.

  But then I see her eyes.

  It’s then that a sob tears out of my throat, because I know those eyes. They’re my eyes, Delta’s eyes...Sable’s eyes. Horror rages through me like a tidal wave, as I take in the blank, gray stare.

  When I blink again, the wings are suddenly gone, and her hair is no longer dark purple, but now just a simple flat black with bangs swept across her forehead, but her eyes are still staring at nothing. I drop my frenzied eyes down her body to her chest. Is she breathing?

  Nothing moves. I watch for a beat, holding my own breath as I wait. The longer I wait, the more pain settles in my soul.

  What did he do to her? How long has he had her?

  More sobs rip out of me, and I bring my watery gaze back up to the pair of lifeless eyes that seem to be staring right through me.

  “Sable,” I whisper shakily, my voice shattering with emotion as I stare at my lost sister—at the triplet that we just found out about and have been searching for. But nothing happens as her name takes flight on the stale sulfuric air floating in this room.

  We were too late.

  The Ophidian stole her away, and now he’s ended her before Delta and I ever had a chance to know her or to love her the way she deserved.

  And I’m next.

  1

  Serenity Peaks Asylum, New York

  Sable Pierce

  One week earlier

  Every time I’m in this room, I look at the same picture hanging on the wall behind Dr. Gupta’s desk. Serenity Peaks is painted at the top in pretty calligraphy over a landscape of lavender mountains with a calm river running through them.

  I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes every time I see it.

  I can guarantee that a patient made it, and the good doctor hung it up like a proud father displaying a preschooler’s terrible drawing. There is no serenity in this place, and there sure aren’t any gorgeous mountain peaks in the distance of Diregrove, New York, either. If you ask me, the doctor is unhealthily supporting some other patient’s delusions, which seems unfair since he’s never supported mine.

  “Are you listening, Sable?”

  My eyes drag over to Dr. Gupta across from me, the sound of a low hum coming from his computer.

  “Yes, I’m listening,” I lie.

  He presses his lips together, the skin around his brown eyes tightening. “Serenity Peaks is closing at the end of the week, and you haven’t spoken about it at all.”

  I tap my finger against the inside of my elbow where my arms are crossed in front of me as I level him with a look. He’s got smooth burnished skin and is aging gracefully with only a few frown lines and silver strands combing through his black hair.

  “What is there to say?” I counter defensively. “Serenity is closing, so what?”

  He sits back in his chair, making it squeak slightly. This office is small, and everything in it hasn’t been replaced for a good twenty years. The water stains on the ceiling, weird Southwestern art on the walls, and a scratched-up wood veneer desk comes as no surprise with a state-run facility like this. I’ve grown accustomed to it, though, and I’ve definitely been in worse places.

  Unfortunately, those places have monsters.

  “Sable,” he says with a sigh—a sigh that I know he would’ve suppressed if it weren’t for the fact that he won’t have to see me again. I guess the gloves are officially off in this last session. I prepare an epic sigh of my own, ready to deliver it whenever Dr. Gupta gets done offering his healthy dose of useless advice.

  No wonder this place lost its funding and is now closing. It’s not like it’s cutting edge or even particularly successful in treatments. This is where the crazy ones go to be hidden away from society. We’re just dirt being swept under the proverbial outdated rug. Now, the patients are all being shipped off elsewhere while this place closes down for good. I’m sure Dr. Gupta will be off to enjoy retirement, probably going on old people cruises around the Caribbean. Lucky bastard.

  “Don’t worry about me, Doc,” I tell him dryly. “I’m not going to snap just because my routine is getting messed up or because I have to be in a car and be driven to...where am I going again?”

  Dr. Gupta looks at the screen of his computer briefly. “You’ll be going to a facility in Massachusetts.”

  “Right. Anyway, the point is, I’m fine. I’ll be a good little insane person and not go batshit crazy on the way.”

  He shakes his head but otherwise doesn’t address my snarky words. “I don’t want you to internalize this, Sable. You’ve been at Serenity for the past four years.”

  “Yeah, and before this, I was in the real world on my own for six years, and before that, I was in a different nuthouse from the age of three until eighteen,” I remind him. “I’m not internalizing it. I just truly don’t care. My crazy will still be crazy whether I’m in New York or Massachusetts. It doesn’t matter.”

  He watches me with disappointment, so I glance down and mess with the ends of my straight black hair just so I don’t have to deal with the judgment in his deep brown gaze.

  I’m not completely lying—I really don’t care where I am. Here or there, it makes no difference to me. I’m locked up in a mental ward, and if I have anything to say about it, I will be for the rest of my life. My stint out on my own from eighteen to twenty-four proved that I can’t be trusted in the real world. But Dr. Gupta believes that I’m trying not to think about the move because it’s upsetting, and it is—but not in the way he believes.

  At Serenity, I know exactly who I have to be careful around. I know exactly who and what can trigger a hallucination. At this new place, who knows who’ll set me off? It could be another doctor, or an orderly, or a patient, or hell, even the gardener. Until I get my bearings and can figure out who I need to avoid looking at, I’m going to be on pins and needles, swallowing down nothing but anxiety and bile as I’m forced to get the hang of things again.

  I meant what I said, though. I’ll be a good little insane patient and try to keep myself together as I figure out how the new place does things. Serenity means nothing to me, but the people here aren’t as hard on their residents as some places are. I feel li
ke Dr. Gupta wants me to be more upset about everything though, like he wants me to admit that I came a long way here and at his guidance.

  Too bad I didn’t.

  I’m just good at faking it. This place harbors nothing but bouts of bad memories and loneliness, and the new facility probably won’t be any different. Why would it? It’s not like my mind has suddenly decided not to be broken. There hasn’t been one treatment, medicine, or stubborn doctor that’s been able to cure me, and I’m not holding my breath that this is going to change anytime soon, or ever.

  “This new facility will have completely different practices,” Dr. Gupta warns me. “I don’t know what kind of therapies they do precisely, but I’ve spoken with the doctor who will be taking over your case, and I know he practices more unconventional and radical treatments paired with some alternative forms of medicine.”

  “Sounds like a blast,” I say sarcastically.

  Dr. Gupta waves a hand. “Apparently, he has good results with his patients. Maybe this is exactly what you need to put these hallucinations behind you.”

  I shake my head tersely, because I know better. I will never see the world the way that I’m supposed to. I can try to ignore the things I see like usual, but I know it’s only a matter of time before I can’t differentiate between the delusions and reality. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.