Chapter Thirty
What I’d said in the common room seemed to get through. When we collected the clipboards, we ended up with a list of mostly sensible new identities – Quinn had chosen ‘Attila the Hun,’ but I expected that.
“You have five seconds to pick a sensible name or I’m choosing it for you.” I thrust the clipboard at Quinn’s chest. “I think you really suit ‘Humphrey.’”
“You wouldn’t.” Quinn looked to Trey for help.
Trey opened a freezer and removed one of his fancy heat-and-eat meals, which he threw in the oven. “I was thinking Aragorn, from Lord of the Rings. Did you know that’s Quinn’s favorite book?”
“Oooh, Aragorn Smith.” I picked up my pen to write it in. “That has a nice ring to it—”
“Fine, fine.” Quinn threw up his hands. “Put down Quinn Waite.”
My heart stopped.
Quinn Waite.
“You can’t call yourself that.”
“Why not? It’s a good name. Short and pithy and not the name of a fantastical king. It’s your name, Hazy. You won’t choose between the three of us, which means you’ll never be able to marry me and take my name. So this is the next best thing. Besides, I can’t be the only one who’s not part of the family.”
Quinn… he’s thought about marrying me.
Shit.
I’ve made a terrible mistake. I never should have kept my pact with the god a secret. I’ve let him become attached and now…
A lump formed in my throat as I glanced down at the paper. The names at the top read, TREY WAITE, AYAZ WAITE.
My breath caught. Tears welled in my eyes. How I wished that could be my future. How I wanted to be with the three Kings for the rest of our lives. How I wanted us to build a family on the ashes of what we’d lost. But it could never be. In giving them their freedom, I’d lose them forever.
They want to marry me, and I’m leaving them. It’s killing me, and it’ll hurt them so much…
Quinn flashed me his lopsided smile. “You okay, Hazy? You don’t like my name?”
How can I tell them? How can I even begin to explain?
“I love the name. More than you could ever know. But Quinn…”
My phone beeped.
I jumped. My heart thrashed around in my chest.
Okay, it’s a distraction. That’s good. You need to step back for a bit, decide rationally if it’s a good idea to tell the guys.
Newsflash – it’s not a good idea.
“It’s Zehra. One of her texts must’ve got through.” I swiped my tears away as I read the message aloud. “She says, ‘tell Quinnanigans he’s welcome,’ and there’s a link to an article where—”
I scanned the headline and dropped the phone in shock. Quinn scooted over and grabbed it. “C’mon, Hazy. Don’t leave me in suspense.”
I tried to grab the phone back. “I don’t know if you should—”
Too late. Quinn was already scrolling, his eyes widening with every word.
“Well?” Trey demanded, his icy gaze sliding between me and Quinn. “What’s the news?”
“My dad’s maid is suing him for sexual harassment and physical abuse.” Quinn’s voice came out breathless. “A whole horde of witnesses are coming forward to testify against him. His secretary. Three law clerks. My old nanny… Holy shitballs, he’s going to pay so much money in damages that he’ll have to declare bankruptcy…”
A wide smile broke out over Quinn’s face. He tossed the phone at Trey and grabbed me, swinging me around the room, planting kisses all over me. “Someone finally stood up to him. And they will win. No matter what happens now, I already feel as though I’m free. He can’t come after us now, Hazy. You and me… we’ll be able to have our happily-ever-after in peace…” he grinned at me. “With these two bozos as well, of course.”
My stomach churned. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t tell Quinn what I’d done to give him his happily-ever-after. I wasn’t yet ready to break his heart, even though mine was already shattered into a million pieces.
In the days and weeks that followed, the messages from Zehra kept on coming. Next, she went after John’s father. A national newspaper ran an article on the senator’s love for extorting third-world governments for campaign funds, based on information leaked from an ‘unknown source,’ and he was removed from the senate. A string of high-profile fraud cases followed that bombshell, unseating many Eldritch Club members from executive positions and company boards across the country. There were the illicit photos of Barclay’s dad taken at the secret Pony Play Ranch which cost him his bishop’s appointment, and the Honduran drug cartel that took out Amber’s father when they discovered he was ripping them off.
Every night the Kings and I walked down the peninsula until we found decent reception and we’d hold hands under the moonlight and scroll through my phone’s newsfeed, taking in the carnage in real-time.
She’s hanging them with their own rope, watching and waiting for them to do what they do best and using that as ammunition to destroy them.
For twenty years the students had been collecting this dirt on their parents, storing it away for when it might be advantageous to them. Even though they hadn’t known the depth of the Eldritch Club’s deception, they’d been taught from a young age how vital it was to wield power over others. After all, the rotten apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
Now they came to us in droves, handing over their families’ dirty laundry for Zehra to air in the public eye. In the final week of classes, Zehra took down three more parents, sending their fortunes into freefall. We gave them no choice but to obey our summons.
“Your sister is something else,” I said to Ayaz after I finished relaying Zehra’s latest conquest. He trailed his hands across my shoulders – his fingertips stained with paint and ink. He’d spent every spare moment he wasn’t studying creating a beautiful graduation poster, which we’d sent out to all the parents as an invitation.
He beamed that rare and beautiful smile of his. “She is. And so are you.”
The first message came. An envelope, delivered by a terrified driver into Ms. West’s talons. She read the four words it contained and passed it to me.
What do you want?
Instead of writing a reply, I folded one of Ayaz’s graduation flyers and placed it in the envelope for the poor sod to take back to his master.
More messages came, although never in person. Letters delivered by fear-stricken staff. Recordings on old cassette tapes played through the school PA system for everyone to hear. Desperate parents seeking answers. Where had their fortunes disappeared to? What could they do to ensure they wouldn’t be next?
The answer was always the same. Come to graduation.
Meanwhile, I worked my old contacts, trying to source all the documents the students needed to be free. I must’ve had the entire Philly criminal underground on my payroll.
On the last Wednesday of classes, while I studied in the library with Ayaz, my phone beeped. My contact had come through with the passports. We just needed to make the exchange.
We waited until class finished on Friday to make the trip. Greg wanted to come too, but I knew he’d stick out too much. At least I could dress the Kings up like gangsters, but where we were going Greg would have a fist in his face as soon as he stepped out of the car. He agreed to stay behind, as long as he and Loretta could walk with us down to Arkham, where we’d be borrowing Deborah’s car (it was much less conspicuous than Trey’s Porsche).
“I’d really like to meet your aunt,” Greg beamed.
My aunt. I still wasn’t used to the idea that I was related to Deborah. My family legacy already weighed heavy on me. It was like Courtney had said, family was forged in fire and blood, and Deborah and I were still in the process of that forging.
We took our normal route down the mountain – Trey walking in front carrying the sigil, Quinn and Ayaz flanking me, eyes darting across the trees, hunting for any danger. Greg and Loretta behind us, their bows slung over t
heir shoulders. Under Greg’s tutelage, Loretta had become an unnervingly accurate archer. She said she found it calming, but I think she just liked the powerful feeling of holding a weapon in her hands.
Because we’re the murderers.
We circled around the town and emerged at the rear of the motel block. I texted Deborah that we were there, and she ushered us inside, shutting the door behind her.
“I’m sorry for the security,” she said. “It might just be my overactive imagination, but I feel as though I’m being watched.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Have you seen anything unusual?”
“It’s probably nothing, more a feeling than anything else. Roger has been a bit more alert than usual, but there are lots of exciting new smells so that could be nothing. Please, help yourself to snacks.”
Greg and Loretta set down their bows and plowed into the snacks. The dogs jumped on Trey, throwing him to the ground and attacking him with rough tongues. Quinn dived in, rubbing stomachs and scratching behind ears. Ayaz hovered in the doorway, uncertain.
“This is Ayaz.” I waved him in.
Deborah rushed over and clasped his hands in hers. “Welcome, Ayaz. Hazel’s told me very little about you, but that’s her way. I understand you had some amnesia.”
He nodded. “The headmistress did something to me that wrote over my thoughts. I remember these things about Hazel that aren’t true. I can feel reality lurking behind the lies, but I can’t reach it. Ms. West says I never will.”
Deborah went over to her purse and pulled out a small container of pills. “These are currently being developed by the people who create drugs for Alzheimer’s patients. They’re not technically legal right now, but I know people and I figure it can’t hurt an Edimmu… take one of these twice a day with food… oh, actually, I suppose you don’t need the food. They might help you recover your memories.”
“Thank you.” Ayaz looked genuinely floored as he stared at the bottle. When he looked up at Deborah, his dark eyes revealed deep gratitude. “For this gift, and for everything you’ve done for us.”
The softness in his voice, the way Deborah had managed to bring all my Kings to her with kindness… for the first time, I saw a glimmer of what the future might be like for my Kings, and it wasn’t all broken hearts and betrayal. When I was gone, she’d still be here for them. She’ll give them everything they never had from their families, and her connection to me will ensure they’d protect her with their lives.
Even without me, they’ll be a family.
Just like that, my mistrust of Deborah Pratt flicked off like a light bulb, replaced by the empty ache that had gnawed at me ever since I’d accepted the god’s proposition. They’d be a family, and I’d be somewhere far away.
“Hey, auntie… this is for you.” I kicked a bag across the floor toward her.
Deborah’s eyes widened at my use of the word I’d avoided until now, the word that still felt foreign on my tongue but that I wanted to get used to saying while I still had the chance. But she knew me better than to acknowledge it aloud. Instead, she peered down at the bag. “What is it?”
“Two-hundred thousand dollars. Zehra needs it – you’re probably better off not knowing what for. Can you drive it down the coast to Innsmouth tomorrow so she can pick it up?”
“Of course.” Deborah took the bag, staring at it like it was a bomb about to go off. She glanced at the time. “As much as I wish you’d all stay with me longer, shouldn’t you get going?”
“Yeah. We’ve got a long drive.”
She tossed Quinn the keys to her Jeep. “Just watch it in third gear – it’s a little sticky. And I apologize in advance about the dog smell. It comes with the territory, I’m afraid.”
“We don’t mind. Quinn, give me those,” Trey grabbed for the keys. Quinn dangled them out of his reach.
“Nah-ah. Deborah trusts me.” Trey lunged, but Quinn was faster. He sprinted out the door and dived into the driver’s seat, letting off a stream of maniacal laughter as Trey tried to pull him out the window by his shoulders. Deborah laughed.
“With those boys protecting you, you hardly need me at all.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” I touched her hand, the sensation of her soft skin sending a fire through me. I’m touching my mother’s sister. My mom’s name was Jessica. “Thanks. For everything.”
“You’re welcome. I just hope it’s enough.” Her kind eyes flickered over mine – eyes that looked so much like my mom’s.
It’s enough to free them. And that’s what’s important.
I just wish I had time left to get to know you, to be a family, to read my mom’s journals and cry over them with you. But wishing is pointless.
Deborah pulled my hand to her lips and pecked the knuckles, the gesture reminding me so much of Mom that my chest ached. “Be safe, Hazel.”
“I will,” I promised. With one final scratch behind the ears, I said goodbye to the dogs and climbed in back with Ayaz, the second bag of money stashed between us.
“We’re off.” Quinn cranked up the volume on a CD of 90s gangsta rap and gunned the engine. We pulled out of the parking lot and drove out of Arkham in the direction of a place I never wanted to see again. A place where ghosts clung to every building and street corner, where my past had been written in blood and fire.
Back to the badlands of Philadelphia.
Chapter Thirty-One
It could have taken us two-minutes or ten hours to reach Philly – the car journey passed in a blur of spinning thoughts and nausea only partly caused by Quinn’s driving. I had no sense of time or geography, only a growing terror that crawled across my skin. I was speeding toward a place that every bone in my body urged me to avoid.
We wove through the outer suburbs before I recognized the skyline and realized we’d arrived in Philly. I wasn’t used to seeing the city from the outside in – in the Badlands, we all knew that we were never going to escape unless it was under police escort or in a body bag.
Not even I had escaped. Not really. I still carried the Badlands around like a shackle. My fingers tightened around Ayaz’s, and he squeezed back.
As we drove deeper into the heart of the Badlands, Quinn’s fingers gripped the wheel tightly. For the first time, I saw the burned-out cars, broken houses, kids playing on the street, and graffiti everywhere as the Kings must’ve seen it. Ayaz had been exposed to poverty in Istanbul – from what he’d told me, Turkey was very different from America – but Trey and Quinn had been sheltered by their privilege and never had to contemplate what it meant to live with a legacy of poverty.
As above, so below. The cycle of horror and violence drones ever on.
I dug my nails into my scar as the memories assailed me. Dante and I skipping school to wander the streets together, laughing at our own private jokes. Me as a ten-year-old having driving lessons from one of Mom’s old boyfriends in the empty lot behind the old railway station. I’d barely been tall enough to see over the hood. Mom taking her stripping clothes down to the laundromat and paying extra for fabric softener – the only treat she allowed herself.
The Badlands were part of me, etched into my bones. I might have gotten out, but I never really left this place behind. Even from across the universe, its ghosts would still haunt me.
“This is where you lived?” Trey was trying to sound bored, uninterested. But he couldn’t tear his eyes from a grey concrete duplex with windows blacked out.
I nodded.
“What a shithole.”
I bit back a defense retort. He wasn’t wrong. It was a shithole.
“It’s not all bad.” I pointed to the corner store. “There’s love and community if you know where to look. That store is where we got groceries when Mom got paid. The owner was this jolly African American guy named Tee who was always singing. He used to give free ice cream to the neighborhood kids.”
At the end of the main drag, a neon sign with half the bulbs blown advertised naked women. “That’s the club w
here my mom worked. She used to sing in a jazz club in downtown Philly as well, but stripping paid better. It’s a total dive, but the girls look out for each other and the bouncer, Manny, is pretty cool. I brought my first ever bag of weed from him – I got so high I ate two whole pizzas by myself.”
Trey’s eyes darted around the street, and I knew he was trying to see this place through my eyes. I doubted he could do it, but Trey Bloomberg sometimes surprised me.
“There’s my school.” I pointed to a squat grey building surrounded by a high chain-link fence. It looked more like a prison than an institution for learning. “Before you get inside, you have to step through metal detectors, drug dogs, and security guards on constant watch for weapons.”
“Holy Great Old God,” Quinn whistled.
“Yup. Pretty different from Miskatonic Prep. But then, they never sacrificed anyone to a cosmic deity, so I guess that makes things even. This is where I hung out with Dante and where I worked my ass off so I could get into a good college. Joke’s on me.”
“What do you mean by that?” Trey pressed his face to the window, fascinated by this world he’d never known existed.
Oh, just that it’ll be hard to go to college when I’m in another universe.
Quinn snorted. “Yeah, have you seen the points table lately? You’re right near the top. You’re probably going to be valedictorian, which means you’ll get into an amazing school.”
“All I meant was that I never thought I’d look at my old school and think, ‘safe.’”
Ayaz reached across the backseat and squeezed my hand. “One day, when we are free, you will come with me to Turkey, and I will show you around where I used to live. We’ll walk the old city walls and relive the ancient tales of prophecies, wars, and vengeful gods, then sip coffee in a cafe beside the Süleymaniye Mosque. In spring, millions of bright tulips bloom across the city, and in summer we can swim in the azure waters.”
Fuck, that sounds amazing. I swallowed a hard lump in my throat. “Yup, one day.”
Ignited: a reverse harem bully romance (Kings of Miskatonic Prep Book 4) Page 22
