Page 141 of Priest and his Anarchist

“That she could hear them. I figured it was the voices in her head or whatever it was that went on up there. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”

“Mmm. Maybe.” Pop leans down, his finger hooking into a metal loop. The scrape of concrete screams through the air. “It’s time.”

I’d thought about it the entire time flying here. Luna may be the first thing that I ever felt. Not Darling. Darling was crazy, she excited me, but as quickly as it was there, it was soon forgotten. Replaced by the hatred I felt for Luna. All along, I thought it had to do with my obsession with Darling, skipping right over the important detail of emotional reactions.

Hate was one. And to have it trump what I thought was love, an emotion that fueled even the coldest artists, only meant one thing.

I could love her with the same ferocity. A fucking weakness I could not hold. Since she was gone forever, this would be a hurdle I couldn’t jump every day.

Walls cave in around me the more time passes. The lack of activity means everything feels repetitive.

I hit the end of the path and swing the door open to the cart that takes you all the way to Perdita’s best-kept secret. Everyone assumes that the island itself is as simple as it is. Dark. Alluring.People who live a nocturnal life. If you look close enough, the hints have always been there. The truth of Perdita. Where streets are hidden among overgrown trees with pathways made of dirt, as if stepping into a mind trip of enchantment, and the township smiles to the end, where the leader sits in her castle, surrounded by Lost Boys who help maintain conformity and peace. Small businesses litter the main strip, lined by fairy lights and small cubby cars. Everyone is uniformed in strange attire, and from the outside, it probably seems as simple as that is their allocated style, but if you manage to shift the veil of the island even a smidge, you’ll notice that it has less to do with fashion, and more to do with what sanction each fell into or were born into.

Perdita means to be lost or as our ancestors named, purgatory. It’s neither here nor there. A prison with a lifestyle, and that’s the main wing of Perdita, not counting this side.

Which so happens…to be underneath.

River’s smirk is the first thing I see when the glass doors open onto the Beehive. The main area of Del Morts is an encasement of glass, allowing you to see the earth’s clay. At the very center, a projector with one hundred screens spreads out in tiles before twirling up to the ceiling, where a walkway circles from above, offering a direct view of the happenings down below.

There are three levels, and they’re all occupied for a particular field.

My feet stop when River carries herself down the steps, taking two at a time.

“How’s it feel?” I ask, knowing how much River had been counting down the days to the ritual so she could take over. It didn’t come as a surprise how our fathers decided to split tasks between us all, since we all came in twos.

River is simply the better choice for operating Del Morts, which is the first level of the Beehive in a twist of long hallwaysand tunnels, doors passage off into separate sanctions that she trains the Slayers in. They live by a code. One I know Luna would have taken with her to the grave, since I never did manage to get out of her what I already knew. A Slayer with disorders as serious as hers is how we landed in this mess in the first place, and now Darling has gone rogue and no one can find her, which brings me to here.

The honey pot. Even if they don’t know exactly the extremities of how deep we need to go.

Tapping on the keys near the maze of TV screens, one after the other, they all blur to life in a range of static.

River climbs the final step up to me. “You do know Stella is going to kill you for pushing her into a rabbit hutch.”

I snicker, hitting the bottom keys until all screens push through the static. “I tried. My hands just—let go.”

I keep tapping the same key, refreshing after I’ve searched each one.

“You and I both know that she’s got a mean right hook.”

“Left,” I murmur, my head tilting to the side when one catches my eye. “She’s left-handed.”

River’s head swings between me and the screen I’m looking at. Her steps are careful when she draws closer, her long blonde hair pinned up in a high pony. You’d think War would be the one to take hold of this place since he was the one who had no issue playing butcher and River was always the soft, well-spoken of the two. Turns out, her control is unmatched.

“I thought you lost her in the forest?” River asks, turning back to me.

I stare back at the screen. “I did.”

River sighs, lowering herself onto the main chair. The Beehive is dead because we haven’t started the intake yet. Needing to wait out Vaden’s current issue with his demons, we can’t risk opening the doors until he’s back in control.

“This was what you wanted, Priest. Her like this.” She pauses, her lashes fanning out over her cheeks. I never considered how it felt for River to lose Luna. They were closer than close. “You know Dad let me train her. She was my first student.” River’s smile beams wide. “I mean, of course I thought I had her under control. We allowed Killian to come in often, when she needed her”—River twirls her hand above her head—“she was doing fine. I recognized her possible triggers.”

“Which were?” I ask, studying her closely.

River’s body stiffens. River is loyal to her core, a trait she gets from her mother, but I’m not mistaken. The two of them share a bond that I’m aware could very well be the reason why River would keep something from me.

“Uhm, snow. Small spaces—” All things I knew. “Oh, and a sound. It was…weird. As if she could hear.” Our eyes collide. “Anyway.” She shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

I tap at the keys, shutting off her camera. “Sorry. You lost her too.”

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