Page 46 of Cardinal House

“No, yes. No! I mean, I do recall!” he smacks his lips together anxiously, licking the dry skin. “She’s his niece, but I don’t drive her often. Ever! That was the only time!”

“Why?”

“Why don’t I drive her?” he mumbles, frowning further.

“Why that night?”

“I don’t know! I was dropping him home after a meeting and he requested I swing by the hospital to collect his niece on the way, that was it! I never even got a look at her!”

I hum, holding his gaze with a single lifted brow, “Now, Carlo, this little chat of ours…”

“I won’t say anything to anyone! I never saw you!” he squeals, and although it’s making my job easier, seeing as I truly believe this squealing man is going to keep his mouth shut, I’m almost a little disappointed at how easy this all was.

“And your foot,” I start, “your nose?” I raise a brow, his head nodding already.

“Fell! Drank too much, lost at biliardo,” he spits out, voice a quiver.

“Excellent,” I smile, slowly reaching down into the pocket of my slacks for the small pad of post it notes and pen I brought along with me from the hospital. “You don’t want to see me ever again, Carlo,” I start to explain, “So, write that shit down, and anything else you can think to tell me, I want to hear it and I want to hear it now.”

Large Sash windows line both the upstairs and the downstairs of the large, white, Victorian home. There’s a straight, red brick pathway that leads up to it, weeds growing between the cracked cement. On the upper floor, three big windows sit on either side of a rusted, white railing enclosed balcony. On the ground floor, there are three matching windows framing the front door. The balcony above is held up by two column pillars that stand on either side of the front door.

“What d’you wanna do?” Hunter asks from the front seat this time, me in the back, Thorne behind the wheel, all of our eyes on the house that my Little Moon came from.

Clearly, a house of horrors.

I think of her now, at home without me, her pale skin turning pink in the sun, those ice-blue eyes wide, wholly focused on me. I’d lay her out in the dry grass between the crumbling headstones, the sun on my back, my shadow eclipsing her. The warm breeze tightening her nipples, I’d peel off her clothes, lick every inch of her, and then drive my cock into her so hard it kills us both. Right there in the cemetery she likes so much.

“I’d feel better if the curtains were open,” I toss out, scratching fingers through my short stubble.

“That’s weird isn’t it?” Hunter comments, “the curtain thing? It’s the middle of the afternoon.”

Thorne remains silent, a million different things likely floating through his mind as he looks upon the house. Usually, I wouldn’t ask, but I’m wondering if he’s thinking the same thing as I am. Our mother would close drapes and blinds and shutters to hide her abuse from the world beyond the glass. Perhaps Hunter isn’t as caught up in his mummy trauma quite the way we are.

Good.

Thorne killed her. He was only seventeen. We’ve never spoken about it, even to this day. The way he hunted her down to make sure she met her end. I loved her, and I hate myself for it, because Matilda Blackwell was a horror only Satan could have produced, and even then I wonder if she weren’t just straight up infected with Lucifer himself.

It’s something, I think, that will remain inside me forever, this twisted, warped love for a mother who did evil, vile things to her devoted children. Six boys who were obsessed with her, even though she terrorised us.

I think she was sick. Hunter pretends she didn’t exist. Archer thinks she was a witch. Thorne won’t talk about her. Arrow says she did it because she was dealing with her own trauma, but Rainey? Our drug-addled, youngest brother, he says she was possessed by them. The other half of the Blackwell family and their cult, using blood magic to curse her.

The Obsidian.

“I think it means the house is hiding nefarious things, little brother,” Thorne finally says, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

And I know, right then, that he was thinking about Matilda too.

Chapter 21

Luna

Haisley has pretty red hair. Wild ringlets framing her face where they don’t quite pull up into the thick, high ponytail she’s sporting. Her eyes are green, these big emerald orbs split with oceanic blue, framed in thick strawberry blonde lashes. Her freckled skin is almost as light as mine, but you can tell she’s seen the sun regularly for there are criss-cross tan lines across her upper back, the royal blue sundress she wears now showing off the marks.

With my crayons and papers, like I’m a child, I’m still sitting in the grass as the sun starts to lower. But when we were inside after the men left, something that’s still making me nervous, the old stone building echoey and cold even in this heat, Haisley moved around the space like she lived here. She knows where everything is, she knows how to use all of the appliances, and how to find an old bookshelf full of gothic novels.

Watching her, so free, flitting around the space made my insides churn. I got jealous. Deep down, I know I don’t need to be, she’s marrying his brother, but Wolf is the only thing that I have, and he has so many people that care for him, and they all know him. The way Haisley has chatted about him today, almost gushing, has made me realise that I don’t really know Wolf Blackwell at all.

Back against a headstone, the rough sandstone grazing my skin with every shift in my shoulders, I watch the wildflowers sway, the tall grass swish, and that’s when she comes back.

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