Page 100 of Priest and his Anarchist

This is to certify that Luna Nox Rebellis, new surnameHayes

And Priest D’Mon Hayes

Were Married.

His words die out. “How?”

I turn to him, folding the paper back up and shoving it into the envelope. “And fucking why?” I’ve never been angry before, but furious doesn’t even cover the rage I feel.

“Luna!” Nate’s back in front of me, the car pulling to a stop behind him. His hands are on my cheek. “From this day onwards, all that I’ve trained you in needs to come into play. Are you ready?”

Pretty sure I told him I wasn’t.

The wind whips me across the face, slapping the rage I felt moments before away. “I’m ready.” I turn in time to see Mom’s SUV through the dust of gravel.

“Luna?” Nate calls out once more. With one last glance, I try not to look at the ancient archway that leads to the very place I’ve been for four years. “When you start, you go all in.”

I turn back, swallowing my nerves. “You didn’t train me any other way.”

My mom’s wide eyes are on mine when I slip into the passenger seat. “Sorry the Papas couldn’t be here. I flew up their ass about it, but because it was last minute notice, they probably wouldn’t have been able to make it in time anyway.” She drives us forward. I fight with myself to not look back. To watch the one place I have called home disappear out of my view. Truthfully, Del Morts wasn’t as it seemed. I’d silently prayed to get out.

“That’s okay,” I say, tossing my duffel bag into the back. “I’ll see them when they get home.”

Mom turns to face me, lifting her sunglasses from her eyes. In any light, Mom’s eyes are unique, but even more so when she’s sitting right in front of a burning sunset.

“You okay? Something happen?” Her lilac eyes almost match my gray. Jessica had once said I had flecks of lilac like Mom’s, but she had smoked a lot of weed that night so I’m sure she was tripping.

“Nothing happened.”

She relaxes, her index finger tapping the steering wheel. “Good.” A maniacal laugh bubbles from her lips. “Would hate to kill a Malum.”

“What?”

The woman looks at me as if she didn’t threaten a King. “What?”

I roll my eyes.

Her laughter is infectious when she turns the radio on to a G-Eazy song about Tumbler girls. Being a one-hour drive from this side of the island to the other, Mom loses herself on this week’s drama of Midnight Mayhem back in Spain. It didn’t take them long to fall in love with L’embruix. It’s hard not to. With cobblestone streets, antique architecture, lanterns for streetlights, and the smell of freshly baked bread, it’s hard to imagine any place being as beautiful as L’embruix.

The drive to the airport is fast, and within thirty minutes of arriving we’re up in the air with a direct flight to Spain.

Flights are long, but because I’ve done this one as often as every second week, I know the path like the back of my hand. I use this time to flip through TikTok, ignoring my Instagram. I lose myself for the remainder of the trip, passing on coffee and asking for whiskey. I hate to start early, but the nerves racking through my body kind of need it.

Especially with the death sentence burning in my pocket.

After landing back in Spain, Mom directs us down the main street of L’embruix, where cobblestone streets curl around ancient buildings. Withered in terracotta reds, fading from the thousands of summers it’s stood through. I push my window down and inhale the breeze that carries laughter and gentle strums of music, dancing through the smell of spilled red wine.

She stops the car. Tucked above concrete archways, our home is a blend of ancient history and graceful luxury. With ornate iron gates with growing ivy, the private courtyard is picturesque.

Turning in her chair, she blinks back at me. It’s silent but not unsettling. I can’t imagine there being an uncomfortable silence between my mom and I, but I know she’s going to ask me something. I hope without either of my dads here that she will understand to not push hard. She doesn’t have a lot of maternal instincts, but I couldn’t ever imagine having another mom.

“This…whatever this is that’s happening.”

I remain silent.

Her head tilts to the side. She usually only does that when she’s about to go off about something she’s passionate about, and in this day, we’re thankful she has things to be passionate about. Mom has been through a lot—to say the least—throughout her years, but she tries. Mainly it’s her finding weird hobbies, loving them for a period, and then eventually getting bored and starting something new. With the range of knitted blankets, handmade jewelry, oh—and one of the throwing stars sitting peachy against my thigh—Ma has always in one way or another tried to create hobbies that find a way to help me.

“I know you can’t say anything. I want you to know that you can to me, because I don’t give a flying fuck about Nathanial or any of the Kings for that matter.” She bats her lashes, tucking pieces of my hair behind my ear.

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