Page 63 of The Sea Witch's Son

I smile, “You say that as if we aren’t included in that description.”

“Oh, Marlin. Wearethe filth of this town.” She lets out a cackle, “Get it done by the end of the weekend. I want a name and a drop-off location by the time I see you Monday morning.”

“Understood.”

Setting my phone down on the desk, I pick up the highlighter and circle the last shipment that went missing. It’s the only one that doesn’t fit the pattern, the only one that purposefully draws attention to itself.

Greed is a common denominator, as is the need for recognition. So, was the last shipment supposed to be a message or did someone make a mistake?

Either way, there will be no mercy for the perpetrator caught on the end of the guilty line.

Especially once the Dragon comes out to play.

Packing up my things, I leave the college library and head west. It’s in the opposite direction of the Seaborn Mansion, cutting through the overgrown trails until I reach the poor side of town.

A run-down house comes into view, the shingles barely hanging onto the roof while faded paint peels off the exterior. It’s a house that ought to be torn down, partly for aesthetic purposes, but mostly for the safety hazard the wooden structure poses.

I duck under the beam barely holding the front porch together and slot my key in the front door. It’s a spare, one I stole before the residents moved in.

The door no longer squeaks thanks to the lubricant I placed on the hinges, but I still wait ten seconds before stepping inside.

Dodging the floor planks that groan, I make my way past the grand piano and creep up the ancient set of stairs. The interior is not much better than the exterior, the floral fittings a travesty that match the wallpaper perfectly.

I pause at the top of the stairs, listening to the whispers of the house.

Some say spirits reside in abandoned structures, forever haunting the residents who remain, but I’ve always found thespirit lies within the house itself. The walls which have seen unspeakable things, the floorboards who have been walked on by every shoe imaginable, they all come together to form a symphony that echoes the stains of the past.

That is to say, no one holds more secrets than an abandoned home.

Gently twisting the doorknob of the smaller bedroom, I slip inside. A small body rests peacefully beneath the covers, the steady sound of breathing filling the silence of the room.

Walking over to the dresser, I make quick work of the seashells and starfish sitting on top. Each one gets shifted to a new location, the useless ornaments finally serving a purpose.

Hope I didn’t disturb you.

There’s a smile staining my face when I pull open Melody’s underwear drawer. She has quite the collection of lingerie, delicate thongs and erotic G-strings kept in every colour imaginable. I rifle through the drawer, hunting for my favourite pair.

A crude heart made of red lace adds the finishing touch to my message. I step back, admiring from afar, when a quiet murmur echoes from the bed.

“So many scars. Not enough pictures. Why were there pictures?”

She goes on, whispering questions that lack clarity and context. I wander closer, studying the way her dark hair fans out across the pillow.

“I trust you. Didn’t I say I trust you?”

Herlips move while her eyes remain closed. This is the first time her sleep has been restless enough to initiate sleep talking, something I find strangely disappointing.

The words trail off into heavy breathing but I find myself unable to look away. Her cheeks are flush against the pillowcase, her pale skin tone luminous in the dark room.

I reach out and brush back the hair from her face. Melody doesn’t stir at my touch, so I do it again, softly stroking the skin hidden beneath red strands.

My hand slides down the slope of her neck, where the evidence of our kiss remains. I touch the bite mark gently, caressing the bruise my teeth left behind.

At the time I wanted to brand her. Mark her as my own so Finley wouldn’t get the chance. It was entirely selfish and brilliantly manipulative, but I did not expect to enjoy the kiss quite that much.

Nor did I expect to still feel the urge to claim her after it was all said and done.

“I could take you right now, little saint.” The whispered words fill the room, “I could tie you to the bed and do whatever I want to you. No one would be the wiser.”

---