Venom: A Dark Retelling

by Dee Garcia

  “Persia won’t help me, T. You know that. No one here will,” he counters gruffly, turning his head away. “I’ll always be on my own.”

  Wow.

  That...hurts. A lot. My head nearly snaps off my neck because of it, a surging wave of anger briskly overriding the pain. “So what does that make me then?” I snap.

  Peter’s eyes widen at my sudden change in temperament. He, of all people, knows how hard I strive to maintain this side of me in the shadows. I may show the world my markings more than my wings, but that doesn’t mean I want to tap into it all the way. That’s like playing with fire. Once the beast is triggered, it’s excruciatingly difficult to control.

  And I don’t want to be like my father.

  I’m not a leech. A soul-sucker.

  Never will be if I can help it.

  But right in this moment, after a blow like that, a vivid crimson is all I can see. Dark whispers of encouragement is all I hear.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Tinks. I’m just saying, I’ll always be an outcast. I could run into town on fire and no one would help.”

  He isn’t helping his case.

  “I’ll ask you again,” I grit, hands balling into fists. “What. Am. I? Do you not see me here, wanting with every single solitary fiber of my being to help you? Does that mean nothing to you?”

  “T…I…”

  “You what, Peter? What? Don’t want me to help you? Is that it?”

  “No, it’s just…”

  “It’s just what!”

  Snap!

  A twig, though there’s none around us.

  The sound came from behind me.

  Peter’s already glaring in that direction when I pivot around, searching the dense forest I ventured out from.

  There’s nothing, just the silence that comes with the territory of Lost Lake.

  Must’ve been a forest animal…

  I spin back toward Peter, intent on carrying out the rest of our conversation, but my anger has waned significantly. The sudden intrusion obliterated it, reemerging that sense of hurt that came with the initial slap of his words. He holds my gaze like a vise, so steady I’m expecting him to say something, anything, to make this right.

  But it never comes.

  “Enjoy your cupcakes,” I tell him, desperate to get home.

  It’s clear this is going nowhere for today—if ever at all—and I’m just done at this point. The hopeful, optimistic mood I woke up with vanished within minutes.

  And in its place is anguish, hopelessness, my doubts amplified more so than ever before.

  I don’t know if Peter and I will survive this. If it’s a mere bump in the road, a test of our strength, of our love.

  Whatever it is, I don’t care.

  He’s exhausted.

  Well, I am, too. I can’t help him if he won’t let me and I’m not about to beg more than I already have.

  He doesn’t want my help? Fine, so be it.

  I won’t push, I won’t prod. I’ll just be here, waiting for him to come to his senses.

  But what if he doesn’t, you say? I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just know I need to get home, before ire has the chance to best me again, threatening to trigger the rise of a monster no one on this earth could possibly want to see.

  ♫ Sail - AWOLNATION ♫

  I didn’t stay for whatever remained of their conversation.

  After the twig snapped—an accident, I should mention—I knew I had to get out of there.

  Now in the privacy of my terrace, I sit here, reliving that moment as I wait for Tinksley’s father to arrive. My stomach churns at the visual. The girl was all but on her knees, pleading with him to confide in her.

  To love her.

  To let her help him.

  The desperation in her voice; I can’t take it anymore. Can’t sit back any longer and allow him to sink his claws deeper, to dampen her spirit and take advantage of her heart.

  But Callan, the plan…

  I know, I know, and quite honestly, I don’t give a rat’s ass. The plan can go right to hell at this point. Besides, at the rate their relationship is going—if one could even refer to it as such—she won’t be able to carry it out anyway.

  We’ll have to find another way...

  Violet’s kindly voice rings out behind me. “Captain?”

  Setting my glass onto the small, circular table, I shoot her a glance over my shoulder and offer a small smile. “What can I do for you, Miss Violet?”

  “He’s arrived, sir. Should I usher him back here or up to your office?”

  “Out here is perfectly fine. No need for such formality at this hour. Be sure to offer him a drink as well, please.”

  “Of course,” she concedes, bouncing through a brisk courtesy.

  Not three minutes pass when I hear footsteps approaching.

  Rising to full height, I straighten out my crisp, ebony shirt and extend a hand as he makes his way over. “Phillipe, thank you for coming on such short notice.”

  The Fae Lord tips his head and accepts my hand, shaking it briefly before we sink down into the wrought iron chairs.

  Violet’s right on his tail, setting his drink onto the table beside my own before she addresses me. “Can I get you anything else, sir? Snacks, a fresh bag from the cellar?”

  I shake my head and wave a hand. “Not right now, thank you. Perhaps after our chat.”

  Another courtesy and then she’s gone, shutting the double French doors behind herself.

  Phillipe curls a hand around the glass deposited for him and lifts it up to his lips, taking a generous sip. All the while, those luminous, amber eyes rest on my form, never once straying. “So, tell me, Captain,” he finally says, hooking an ankle over his knee. “What’s this all about?”

  It’s now or never.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I catch a soothing whiff of both the blossoming garden and the choppy ocean, bracing myself for what I know is to come. “Well, there’s something you should know, and I feel it’s far too urgent to wait until the next meeting.”

  He nods as if understanding, but I can see the perplexed hint coloring his expression. Intrigue, too. “Go on, do tell.”

  A short pause and then, “Marlena was right,” I sigh.

  Phillipe’s brows cinch together. “Right about what?”

  “About Tinksley and Pan.”

  The mention of his daughter instantly squares his shoulders and straightens his spine. “Be more specific, Hook. What exactly does that mean?”

  “They’re...sleeping together.”

  His entire demeanor darkens before my very eyes. Those irises, they flash, glowing brighter than the most brilliant of golden treasures. The markings etched along his forehead do the same, much like Tinksley’s when she’s triggered. “How did you come to find this out?” he growls, the sound reverberating from deep within his chest.

  Knowing full well I can’t tell him I’ve known for quite some time, that I’ve been watching his daughter with a close eye, I play the only card I have in my hand. One I know he won’t dare question. “Samuel. He stumbled upon them during one of his rendevouz with two of The Sacred Six.”

  “What do you mean he ‘stumbled upon them?’”

  “He was chasing after the girls to Lost Lake. Evidently, they were going for a little late night swim, if you catch my drift. Just as the girls stripped free and jumped into the water, Sam heard noises—coming from Pan’s home.”

  “And he’s sure it was sounds of—”

  “Positive,” I interject. “I asked the same question when he brought it up.”

  Phillipe nods pensively and reclines into his seat, draining his glass to the last drop. His eyes no longer glow, but it doesn’t take a genius to see—or palpably sense—how enraged he is. “So, he heard it, yes? But did he actually see it? How does he know it wasn’t someone else?”

  “Samuel confirmed it was Tinksley. He saw her when she emerged not long after.”

  Shutting his eyes, I w
atch as his chest expands with a deep breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to kill him,” he grits.

  Wrong.

  “I can’t let you do that,” I counter, emptying my glass.

  “Why the hell not? That’s my baby girl! He put his hands on my baby girl!”

  “I understand that, but I can’t have some random slaying tainting our land, regardless if it’s him or not. There needs to be a valid reason.”

  “Defilement is a valid reason!” The echo of his timber reaches out to the sea, and yet, his words…

  I can’t help but chuckle. “Interesting you say that when your kind knows plenty about defilement.”

  He opens his mouth to protest, fury blazing through him once more, but I lift a hand, effectively silencing him.

  “As I said, I understand why you’re upset, knew you would be when I asked you to come here, but we can’t kill him. Or rather, I, in good consciousness, can’t let you kill him. If he were to mysteriously disappear, though…”

  That gets his attention, enough that he reins himself in from one moment to the next. With a clearing of his throat and a hand raking back his long, pale mane, he sits back and regards me curiously. “Elaborate,” he demands.

  “Same way in which he mysteriously appeared—poof, he’ll be gone.”

  “How?”

  “Send a message, one that ensures him you know of the atrocity he’s committed. His options are simple thereafter; either he leaves in silence and never returns, or he can stay and face the most gruesome of deaths at the hand of each faction,” I muse, mentally envisioning what something that glorious would look like.

  “And how are you so sure he’ll leave?”

  “If those were your choices, would you not choose your life, too?”

  Phillipe eyes me steadily, no doubt confused by my proposition, before finally nodding in concession. “You’re right, I would, yes. Anyone in their right mind would. However, are you certain the council will agree to such a drastic change?”

  “They don’t need to know.” I rise to my feet, what’s left of my sated appetite waning away. “If he disappears, our pesky problem is solved.

  The Fae Lord follows suit, adjusting the cape of his havelock coat. “This all seems fine and dandy, and I truly appreciate you going to these lengths, but answer me this, Captain: Why are you helping me?”

  A surreptitious smirk hikes up one side of my mouth. “Because Tinksley’s a good kid and that vile creature has done enough damage already. Spare her from having to stain her hands, Phillipe. From imminent heartbreak and tragic endings. Give her a chance to live.”

  Peter

  Blood. There’s so much of it.

  Puddled at my feet.

  Dripping from my hands.

  Pouring from her head.

  I should feel badly, should be consumed by guilt and fear. Any normal son would. But I’m not normal, and she fucking deserved it. She did this, brought this upon herself despite knowing where I stood in her mess.

  Her mess that I had no choice but to take into my own hands and muddle in tenfold, all in the name of love.

  But my little dove and I can’t be together if I don’t clean up after myself and get my story straight…

  What am I supposed to say?

  The whore is dead?

  Please.

  Bang, bang, bang!

  “Clara! Are you there?” Belts a voice I know too well, his banging frantic and anxious.

  Rising the tempo of my heart.

  I hadn’t been afraid until now.

  Why is he here? He wasn’t supposed to be here, no one was. Grandpa Julian is out playing Bridge. Wendy was supposed to be at the cinema with him—George.

  Her father.

  Bang, bang!

  “Clara! I know you’re in there!”

  Shit.

  Shit, shit!

  My hands fly to my hair, yanking the roots in full-blown panic. Trepidation quickly bests me, consuming me from head to toe, settling itself deep in every nook and cranny available.

  Squak!

  I shoot up from my bed with a gasp. Sweat beaded at my temples, heart hammering wildly in my chest.

  Again.

  Third time tonight it replays with a vengeance.

  No, haunts me with a damn vengeance.

  Squak!

  I gasp a second time, my head snapping toward the sound of its own accord, and take note of the grim visitor now perched on the carved sill.

  Lustrous, ebony feathers.

  Beady, observant onyx eyes.

  Sharpened black beak with a slip of white parchment trapped between.

  And I know who sent him. There’s not a single doubt in my mind.

  The raven cocks his head aside and shuffles to face me, intense gaze locking with my own.

  Squak!

  He drops the note, rustles his wings almost violently.

  Another squak, then his wings expel in entirety and he’s zooming around within the confines of my room.

  Out the window, disappearing into the night.

  Pulse still in a tizzy, I scramble out of bed and stalk up to the window, curiously snatching the note off the sill with shaky hands.

  What does he want now?

  Your truths have come to light.

  I know it all.

  Take this as your cue to leave and never return,

  or be prepared to deal with the consequences.

  ♫ Never Grow Up - Taylor Swift ♫

  The hearty, savory scent of roast quail fills my nostrils before I even make it inside the house. I have to stop right there on the porch and breathe it in, my mouth watering in anticipation. I’m suddenly starving, exhausted, too, after a long day of helping Persia with the littles at the sanctuary.

  A bit curious now as well, considering mama only cooks feasts like this for holidays and special occasions.

  Please don’t tell me my father’s here.

  “Ma!” I call out as I shut the door behind myself and hang my satchel on the coat rack beside it, relieved to see there’s no one else in the house.

  “I’m out back!” she hollers. “One second, I’ll be right in, dear!”

  Shuffling into the kitchen, I head right toward the oven and pull open the door. That delicious smell instantly hits me again, trickling up my nose, wafting through the air. The quail, potatoes, carrots, corn—it really is a feast.

  What is going on?

  “How was your day, honey?” Mama asks, startling me in the process.

  I yelp in surprise and all but slam shut the oven door, spinning around on my toes to face her. “It was, um—it was good. Tiring.”

  “Over fifteen headstrong little witches and warlocks in training. Sounds about right.” She chuckles, setting down a small basket of fresh blackberries onto the counter top. “Welcome to my life three times a week.”

  Just the thought of that makes me cringe. Don’t get me wrong, I love children, but I’m not interested in any of my own right now. Or any time soon. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “I raised you, right?” she quips, dropping my jaw to the floor with a scoff.

  “Ma! I was an angel!”

  Mama hums and goes about washing her hands. “Yes, was. I’m not quite sure what happened.”

  She meant that as a joke, the lilt in her voice assures that, but I’m stunned to silence.

  Peter happened, my subconscious whispers, reminding me exactly of what happened. Of when the rebellion began. I was always the good girl, the gracious daughter who lived by her parents’ rule, and I was tired of it. Being that girl got me nowhere, except a life filled with expectations I had no intention of fulfilling when I wasn’t free to love.

  “I was kidding, honey.” Laughing again, she pulls out the roast. “Stubbornness and all, you’re still the best daughter any woman could ask for.”

  My heart warms at her words, though I’m still utterly surprised. We butt heads so often, I just can’t see how she’d truly fe
el that way. “You sure you’re not just saying that?”

  Mama stills for a moment, then spins around and cocks her head aside, reaching out to gently cup my cheek. “You and I may not always see eye-to-eye, Tinksley, but you’re still my daughter, and I love you more than life itself. No relationship, whether familial, amorous, or platonic is ever perfect. Perfection simply doesn’t exist, in any aspect of life. Whoever tells you otherwise has no sense of reality.”

  “We just fight so often,” I murmur, heavy gaze falling to my feet. “And sometimes I treat you unfairly.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to love you, or that I’d ever stop loving you. Do I wish you’d take a moment to view things from a different perspective? Of course. But I’ve come to terms with the fact that I’m no one to judge, not when I traveled the very same road with my parents.”

  My eyes snap back up to her face. I vaguely remember her mentioning this when I first became hellbent on seeing Peter, but I’m positive she didn’t regale me with every detail. “What happened with Papa and Nana?”

  My mom sighs ruefully. “They didn’t approve of your father, and much like you, I continued to see him anyway.”

  “Because you loved him.” It’s not a question, but a proclamation of her truth.

  One she agrees to with a simple nod. “Very much so. They saw the bad of his kind, whereas I chose to see the good. The Fae aren’t always evil, honey. Yes, their...ways, are difficult for most to understand—it’s been years and I still can’t fathom how they do it without remorse—but it’s their lifeline, and death is part of the circle of life, is it not?”

  “It is, but they’re kids, Mom.” I wince as that harrowing image flickers in my mind. “Children, like sweet little Izzy. Not that slaughtering adults is any better, but children?”

  “They’re pure,” Mama counters. “Their purity is what gives Faes the most sustenance.”

  The way she says it, with such understanding despite stating she doesn’t...it makes my stomach flip in disgust. “Can we not talk about this?” I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Just like Peter is something you’ll never approve of, this is something I’ll never understand or approve of, either.”