Page 50 of Priest and his Anarchist

Chapter Thirteen

luna

loving him was like swallowing hellfire.

Istare back at myself in the mirror. It’s times like this when I find it hard to imagine a life where things are different. Gone is the little girl who wished to ride dirt bikes and loved her best friend, and here stands the woman who was promised skulls and suits in exchange for the one thing that’s irreplaceable in this world.

Time.

Perfumed flowers that bloom at midnight balm the scent of a vacant home. It reminds me of him, yet I’ve never been able to let it go. It was like wearing the memory of him.

With one more swipe of crimson, I twist the lid back on my lipstick and place it near my makeup on the vanity when the valleys of L’embruix light up my phone screen. I tap answer.

“Hello, friend.” I smack my lips and cut the edges using my nail.

River’s relief blows through. “Wow. I wasn’t sure you’d answer me.”

“Why would I not answer!” I push up from my chair and head to the other side of the bedroom, straight to the walk-in closet. In an illumination of unpacked boxes and discarded hangers, I consider backing out of the space to save my perfectionism the heartache. “We were both there to do what we were supposed to do. I’d never be mad at you for that.” I’ve not seen her since, but has she already forgotten who I was? Or that I rarely care for the normalities of general human nature.

“Still…” A car door slamming closed in the background blends with the clapping of her heels. “I should have reached out, fought more, done better, I just—” She pauses. I need to change the subject.

“You couldn’t have, River, and I wouldn’t have let you if you tried.” I give up on my closet.

She’s huffing and trying to catch her breath. “Well, I guess at least I had it wrong, and he didn’t kill you.”

I swipe a fresh grape from the fruit basket, where Mom’s note sticks out. A well-fed lioness doesn’t crave to be feasted by the kingdom. It smells of freshly painted walls and candied popcorn-scented candles. “Where are you? I was going to say the gym, but the heels threw me off.”

She breathes out a sigh. “I’m so glad you asked. Open the door.”

Placing my phone on the counter, I peek through the hole in my door. My cheeks ache from my smile when I swing it open.

River launches at me, her arms flying around my neck. “Oh my god, I’ve missed you!”

All the tension that's coiled through me eases as I step to the side and rush to close the door, half-tempted to lock it behind her.

“I wanted to see you before the party tonight.” Her long blonde hair flows down the slender curves of her back like oat milk, and her bronzed skin glows beneath the warm light.

“Party?” My brow curves, resting my hip against the kitchen island. “I know it’s been a while, but I’m much the same. Still despise parties.”

River waves me off. “I promise you it won’t be a wild one. It’s at Priest’s, so I’m sure people are too scared to attend anyway.” She reaches forward and plucks a grape, popping it into her mouth. She flinches, sliding up to a barstool. “Tactless. Sorry.”

I shrug, tightening the silk tie around my robe. “Don’t be. It’s history. But I’m not coming to this party.”

River holds my stare, the corner of her eye wrinkling and her smile turning sarcastic. “Yes. You are.”

* * *

This house is a vessel for the dark and damned. With bleeding black walls and flooring paved for hell, it’s like stepping through time instead of the front door. A chandelier of fire rains down above, and the checkered marble floor of the entrance shifts the hands of time back to the young girl who stumbled over them like a lost lamb waiting for slaughter.

A shiver moves over my spine the longer I stand, so I grab onto River as she pushes us through the swarm of people. Locked in an alternate universe, it’s eerily similar to my birthday party all those years ago. Will people be mad that I’m here? I haven’t seen Halen and Stella since the ritual, and gathering Halen’s lack of knowledge with everything that went down, how much longer until she finds out and hates me all over again.

Halsey and Post Malone play through the house as River shoves a group of guys out of our way, separating their meaningful conversation about who they were going to lay tonight.

She pulls out a velvet stool beneath the kitchen island, grabs a bottle of—something—from the fridge, and places it on top of the obsidian countertop. I can’t help it. My eyes find the corner where my cake once swallowed the space.

“Do you remember our old friend?”She rubs the tall amber bottle as if it were something else…

I squint at the label.

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