Page 119 of Demise

Asher’s face turns to stone.

“How the fuck does she know that?”

“I’m assuming Liam’s dad?” I guess.

“Elders are never supposed to share practices…ever,” Ronan says.

I nod. “I figured, so I kind of threatened her. Told her I’d be telling Christopher about what a fat mouth her husband and her have.”

Trailing off, I turn to Liam as I shake my head.

“I won’t, obviously. I know that your relationship with them is strained but—”

“Fuck them,” Liam says, cutting me off.

I turn my head to the side in surprise as his jaw clenches.

“My dad can burn in fucking hell for all I care. My mom, I….I thought she was better than that. These years in her position, in the Brethren, they’ve changed her.”

He closes his eyes, shaking his head as a new fire forms in them.

“If it comes down to you or her, I will choose you.”

“I don’t want you to choose between me and your family, Liam,” I say.

“You are my family, all of you,” he says as his eyes move to Asher before Ronan, Wesley and even Vincent.

I smile sadly at that as he cups my face, bringing his lips to mine. He holds me there for several seconds before standing up.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“To set the record straight with my mother. She will be apologizing to you, and if she steps a toe out of line again, I’ll let Vincent cut it off.”

Vincent perks up at that, the promise of bloodlust rousing him from his typical sour mood.

“Name the time and place,” Vincent calls out as Liam bends down, placing a quick kiss to Asher’s mouth before he’s gone.

A heavy sigh comes from Wesley as he shakes his head.

“I need a drink. Anyone else?”

All of our hands shoot up, and he nods, moving to the kitchen and mixing cocktails.

After three of the strongest drinks I’ve ever had, I decided to lay down in my bed for a while. Wesley mixed apple cider, brandy, a swirl of caramel, and topped it with whipped cream…suffice it to say, I got a little more than buzzed. I ended up sleeping for a little over forty-five minutes, and when I wake up, I’m groggy as hell.

I don’t feel like really getting up and doing…whatever I have to do with my day. So, instead, I stay in my bed. That is until thememory of Thomas’s journal comes to the forefront of my mind. Pushing myself up, I crawl beneath the bed, lifting the loose floorboard to find it exactly where I left it.

Cracking open the pages, the musty smell of parchment and ink permeates my nose. I thumb through it carefully as I find the next entry.

June 10th, 1692

Bridgete Bishop was slain as the early morning dew rose. With thy wickedness slain, God favorably looked down upon the town of Salem. For with the world now purged of her evil, we shall bask in his glory and the promise of a prosperous future. Let the word travel with haste that any man, woman, or child consumed with the darkness of evil shall too be slain, giving more room for God’s divinity.

Holy shit, the way they celebrated innocent people’s death is just….disgusting. They acted like it was God’s will. Like God would be proud of them. I’m not sure what kind of bibles they were referencing back in the day, but from the ones I’ve studied, that doesn’t add up.

My finger trails along the seam of the page, noticing a small rip. My brows furrow as I trace over it again and again. It’s almost like…there is a page missing. Examining the seam, I’d guess several are actually. I flip over to the page before, noticing that the date is March 6th, 1692, three months before the next? Flipping backwards and forwards, it appears Thomas was writing in this thing almost daily during the trials. So why the three month gap?

“What are you doing?” Ronan asks from the doorway stiffly.

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