Page 38 of The Clash of the Damned
I would have loved the speed of my cheetah form today, but a wild animal running through downtown Chicago with a bag in its mouth would draw too much attention. Instead, I switch to a black and white Border Collie, knowing their speed is close enough to what I need, and if people see me, they will think I’m a stray. When I finally get to the cemetery, I find a quiet spot to shift back to my human form and dress quickly, discarding my bag.
I’m early.
Spotting the church building, I do what I don’t think any Supernatural has done willingly and enter it. Searching for guidance, confession, I don’t know.A sign.With the parishioners leaving the church after the service concludes, it’s mostly empty as I approach the confessional booth, and finding it open, I enter.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” The darkness of the confessional booth protects both our identities, but I know that won’t stop the father from recognizing that he doesn’t know my voice.
“How can I help you today, my child?”
Shit, I didn’t think this through. I cast around for the first thing in my head. “I’m marrying a man I’m not in love with.”
The father’s silence speaks volumes. “Tell me why, child. This is a judgement free zone.”
Humanity seeks comfort in religion in their darkest moments, even willing to start wars to defend it. Their faith remains the most important thing to those that believe. Are they right, and we’ve just been doing it wrong this whole time?
“Well, my father, the biological one that is, he wasn’t a good man. Imagined himself to be a modern day Capone and damaged me how only a father can. He’s dead now, rest his soul, but this marriage was his idea.Even after his death, I could see the value in this. But I wonder how good of an idea it is if I’m in love with someone else, someone that isn’t good for me.”
“Ask for forgiveness, my child. That’s all you need to do.”
That’s it? All this fuss for a conclusion I could have reached on my own? How underwhelming.Message received.I’ve got to take care of this my way. No one is coming to help me. Thanking the father, I leave the confessional and make my way back into the heart of the cemetery.
A tour guide’s voice carries in the air. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she says, pausing in front of a weathered mausoleum, “Welcome to the final resting place of Chicago’s most infamous son, Alphonse Gabriel Capone.” The tour group shuffles closer, camera phones rising like a slow wave.
While it’s difficult to know how many cemeteries there are in Chicago, with my late father’s fascination with Capone, I’m not surprised most of our families are buried at the one place rumored to be a gangster burial ground. Headstones dot the extensive landscape like crooked teeth, and angel statues lean toward the ground. Capone’s grave sees a lot of traffic, even if it isn’t flashy; it’s a flat, rectangular stone flanked by a rusting flagpole. A cluster of coins has been left behind as though this would appease the ghost of “Scarface.”
It never ceases to amaze me how humans have a lack of self preservation and survival skills. History has shown us time and time again how easily they are picked off when they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. With our murder rate, I’d think they would stay away. But this tour group is doing the opposite. The local tour company had to start offering tours on Sundays to keep up with the demand.
“Capone died in Florida,” the tour guide explains. “But his body was brought back here in secret. His family buried him next to his father and brother. Some say his ghost didn’t like being moved. That’s why people still hear footsteps behind them on this path.” A few tourists chuckle nervously. One steps a little closer to her partner. The wind whistles through the trees behind the wrought iron fence. The guide tilts her head as if listening. “Or maybe it’s just the wind,” she says. “Either way, don’t stray from the group.” She turns to continue the tour.
Capone is buried amongst some pretty important figures. Notably, my ancestors, Luca’s dad, Dominic’s Dad, Lexie, Luca’s mom, and my parents. So many of them are dead, and the Supernatural community becomes smaller and smaller. We’re all vying for power in some way. Some will never admit it, pretending they’re above it. Power is something we take; it’s our strongest currency and helps us rise to the top of the food chain. Then there are idiots like me who believe in the best of people and have their power taken away. I know better, but I was naive to hope for something different.
Lexie was the prime example of that, and while my late father was inconvenienced by her being a female, that didn’t change her brutality that could rival the strongest of Druids. There were rumors in my childhood of how Eric Rhodes was inspired by the feud between Capone and Aiello, but instead of taking the direct approach as Capone did, my father went the more subtle route. He took power of our empire by suffocating his father one night. It was never proven of course, but the implication was enough to keep us all in line. Emotional warfare was so much more effective than physical. He would preach about the nobility of our kind, and after years of playing us against each other, I now recognize the steps Lexie took toprotect us, like I’m doing for Brooklyn now. She may have never been big on words; she preferred action.
It was Lexie who saw how miserable I was and convinced Father to let me go to school. For two years, I did nothing but study, skipping all holidays and chances to come home. Luca was my only connection to the life I left behind.
Every step that led me here was dictated by someone else. After today, I’m done being everyone’s pawn. I’m one of the most powerful Druids of our generation, and it’s time I start acting like it.
Walking towards the Rhodes’ Family Crypt, I want to kick myself for not wearing gloves. Blowing on my hands, I see my breath hang in the cold air, and I tie my trench coat tighter. Seeing Sloane in her matching red beret and jacket, waiting at the entrance of our family crypt, makes me want to kill her, but I know I can’t. One day, sure, but that isn’t today.
“You will show respect for my ancestors when you walk in, do you understand?”
“Like you’ve shown for mine?” Sloane retorts before she sighs. “Fine. I will behave.”
The wrought iron door to the crypt creaks when I open it, and not for the first time, I wonder if I should get it locked when I see how easy it is to walk in. I stop at the votive candles burning at the entrance and light one for Lexie, saying a prayer for her soul to the Druid ancestors as Sloane trails behind me. Descending the marble steps, I’m assaulted with the scent of damp earth as we step into the center of the crypt.
The walls are lined with dark stone and engraved with faded names with Lexie’s casket on the marble altar at the center. Eventually, her casket will be moved to the wall of the crypt and enclosed to make space for the nextdead Rhodes, which I should have done with my parents. But I couldn’t do that to Lexie, and being the head of our empire, I changed the rules. My parents went straight into the wall crypt, and I still have what’s left of my sister. Staring at Lexie’s casket, I almost let myself believe she’s only away on a European trip and will be back any moment to tell us about her fabulous time. The three sisters would be reunited again, and all would be right in our worlds.
“I guess I should thank you for easing up on the mind control.”
I keep staring at Lexie’s casket as I try to ignore the woman who has caused me nothing but grief these past few weeks.
“Things have changed,” Sloane pauses, choosing her words carefully. “Mind control and dead bodies aren’t my doing now; that’s all I have to say about it.” She stares at me, a beat longer than necessary, until she adds, “You got flashes of your missing memory on Thanksgiving didn’t you?” My jaw clenches; I hate that she’s right, and I give her the smallest nod. “I can give you your memories back permanently, if you want them?”
I’m not sure if I want to remember murdering Supernaturals like Parker. Sometimes being naive works in my favor. But Sloane giving me a choice is new. She reaches into her pocket for a bracelet, similar to the one she had on me in the past, and I flinch. “Relax, it’s not what you think,” she chides as her hands glow with magic before she offers it to me. “If you break the bracelet, you’ll get your missing memories.”
Taking it from her, I’m conflicted, but I pocket it. “You should make yourself scarce. He’ll be here soon.”
“Jude…I–”
