Page 34 of The Clash of the Damned
“Kyla was closer to your age than mine, but she was the only friend I had. When we parted ways, we got caught up in the moment and had sex. I didn’t think much of it. We were both sad at the time, and we never brought it up again. It’s what Jude and I connected over, my sadness at losing a friend, and we started dating not long after. I didn’t even tell her about it.”
Clark turns his back to me and strides over to another part of the dining room. Ice clinks against glass, and I’m confused at the out of place sound at breakfast. My brother turns back and offers me a tumbler of freshly poured whisky.
“Well congratulations, daddy. Don’t fuck it up the way our parents did.”
Chapter 25 | Tainted Love
Sloane
“Don’t get caught” is the most obvious survival rule. Yet a surprising amount of Siphoners haven’t taken it seriously, which is one of the reasons why there are so few of us left. But if one really wanted to level up their survival skills? They can’t believe the good times will last and need to be prepared for the shit to hit the fan, figuratively of course.
The latest example was during my brief stint as Dom’s fiancé he gave me spending money, and a lot of it, to help keep up appearances. It’s a good thing I know how to work on a budget, so I funneled most of that money into a different account. One he doesn’t know about. He probably doesn’t even realize the money is gone because he has so much of it.
His donation is what keeps a roof over my head as I move to a new hotel every night, and it definitely beats the alternative, which would have been homelessness. But it does little to soothe the ache in my chest from missing him. Glancing down at my hands, I see the chips in my nails, and I would give anything for a manicure. But I can’t afford sitting still for so long, so I will magic myself one later.
Does he miss me like I miss him?
Probably not. He’s got bigger problems after Thanksgiving than his fake fiancé running off.
“Sloane? You should really pay more attention to your surroundings,” my father chastises. Meeting William Lavenza in person wasn’t something I expected this far into our plan, and it’s only years of living with his constant disappointment that keeps me from reacting to his criticism.
“There is a family opposite us at the swings and a couple walking into the park on my right side. One aware Siphoner is hard to attack, two are even harder. I’m always aware, Father. You taught me that.”
“Don’t talk back to me, girl! Do as I say!”
I bristle. I’ve been working my ass off to make our family great, putting myself in danger while he sits hidden in safety like a fucking coward. My father’s poor treatment has to be more than just the loss of my mother. I know it’s always been a sore spot that he’s the human amongst us, but even then, he’s Marie Leveau’s descendant, so it’s not like that doesn’t come with power in its own right.
No, play his game. Let him show his hand first.
“I’m assuming you didn’t come here to let me know how disappointed you are with me?” I prompt. His nostrils flare, and the lines in his face become more pronounced as he looks down on me for a moment before turning to scan the park again, then he sits next to me. It’s like he doesn’t trust my observation skills, but somehow trusts me to be undercover in enemy territory. It makes no sense. I know now is definitely not the time to tell him what happened on Thanksgiving. I need to let him think everything is okay, and that he’s the one in control.
William Lavenza is an impressive man, well, he used to be when my mother Helene was alive. He was the epitome of what every Siphoner should be. Fit, strong ancestral ties, a great leader, unstoppable. I think my parents loved each other, they must have. Losing my mother unraveled my father in a way I never saw coming. Judging by his larger potbelly, living in hiding can’t be as bad as it used to be. When was the last time he communed with his ancestors on his side of my heritage as is expected?
“We lost Nevis. He was watching those twins of yours, and while they disappeared, someone took him. Our best estimation is that he was beaten to death at one location and then dumped at another. It was a broken neck that killed him, and we think the Rogues are behind it.” He looks at me sharply. “You didn’t tell them about the rest of us, did you?”
Swallowing my grief for the fallen Siphoner, I try to remain calm at his insinuation. Spending an extended period of time with my father always gives me emotional whiplash. My voice turns monotone as the realization hits me, but ever the dutiful daughter, I still answer. “No, I would rather die than give up our location. Dom knows about me and you, but he thinks we’re the last of our kind and feels obligated to help us.”
Most parents would be relieved to know their child, who’s undercover in a dangerous operation, is okay, but not my father. He’s never cared about me; he only cares about his power, which I can see now. I gave up the one chance of happiness I had with Dom forthis. “Good to know. I wasn’t sure where your loyalties lay after our last conversation, so I moved the rest of us up to Chicago. We’re ready to join the fight on your signal.” An awkward moment passes between us as he defers to me for guidance, which is out of sorts with the reprimandings I’ve experienced in this conversation. Thefact that my whole family is here and they never told me stings more than I thought it would.
“I’ve been following The Children of Christ’s movements. It looks like the collaboration with them is progressing well. When do we dispose of them?”
Grateful for the change of subject that could take me into dangerous territory, I grasp at the new topic. “Yes, sir, I saw an opportunity to exploit their hatred for anything different, and have used that to do as much of the heavy lifting for us as possible.” He is silent, impossible to read, but I thought this would make him happy. “Plus, I enjoy tormenting the families after everything they’ve done to us.”
Ever since I ran on Thanksgiving, I’ve tried to convince myself to sell the ring Dom gave me and use it to feed my family. It’s money better spent. But now, as my father glances at the ring on my finger in distaste, I realize what an oversight that would have been. Then I would have to explain why it’s missing, which I don’t have the energy to deal with today.
“You’re playing with your food, that’s beneath you. You need to go after the heirs now; cut off the empire at the source.” My father sneers. “The Undead would specifically be good to start with as she’s the last of her bloodline. The Druid also wouldn’t be a bad idea, seeing as she’s one sister down already. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how close you’ve gotten to the Sorcerer, especially knowing what their kind did to us…I want them all dead. Get it done or consider yourself stripped as my heir.” With that, he walks away, and I stare at his retreating form in shock, clarity, or a combination of both. He didn’t even say goodbye or stay safe. The words would have been empty, but they would have been nice to hear.
I’m never going to be good enough forhim.
My father has only ever cared about me when I could improve his image or further his agenda. Maybe when my mother was around, it would have been different, but wishing what could have been doesn’t change what is. In the few weeks Dom and I were together, he showed me more kindness than I’ve ever experienced from my father. I threw it away for a dead relative that I don’t care about and this pointless vendetta that should have ended years ago.
I’ve worked hard to win his approval, and this is the thanks I get. Now it’s time to do things my way. Maybe, when this is over, I’ll have a chance to earn Dom’s forgiveness. Resigned to my fate, I know what needs to be done.
***
The Children of Christ have been gaining so much popularity that it’s almost become common knowledge that there are two daily sermons, one of which I’m just in time for. While I prefer to operate from the shadows, it’s necessary to show my face so I can accurately judge where this cult is mentally. Hate is a powerful motivator when guided by the correct person.
Of course, I’ve made it my business to know which sermons Eden preaches at, and I’m relieved to see her greeting church goers as they enter. She’s abandoned her normal pale pink suit, and today, has kept it casual with a blazer and jeans, looking closer to her age than I’ve ever seen her. She starts when she sees me, but to her credit, she keeps up with her holy act as she greets me as a stranger too, and we all proceed inside the church for the sermon. Seated in a pew, I watch Eden walk to the front and mic up.
