Page 90 of Wicked Salvation
Surprisingly, it’s not a novel.
It’s some kind of journal.
A handwritten journal belonging to someone by the name of Magnolia Thompson. It’s a strange thing to give to someone, especially saying itasked for me.Not to mention that the whole concept of reading someone’s journal feels oddly invasive.I don’t know who this woman is, other than the fact that Augustine Diocesan Academy crest on the very first page.
But I decide to read it anyway. I need to lose myself in something and even though it’s a long shot, maybe Magnolia’s life is shittier than mine and I’ll feel better about my own.
XIX
LUCIAN
The steps to my cottage are cracked, the stone chipped at the edges like ancient teeth.
Every member of the Augustine-Beaumont family who attended the Academy lived here. My great-grandfather probably walked on these steps. My wrought iron bed frame was moved into this cottage by Lord Thomas Hanover’s footmen.
Now, I sit on those very steps, elbows on my knees, joint burning slow between my fingers. The cold seeps into my bones through my cotton long-sleeved jumper. I could’ve put on a coat. But I deserve to be cold. I’ve earned it.
From here, I can see the ruins of Augustine.
The charred skeleton of the boys’ Dormitory, the scorched bushes in the rose garden, the ashes of the trees that once surrounded the chapel. The empty classrooms with broken windows. The gutted hallways, the nuns sequestered in their convent.
The silence.
To others, it would look like a graveyard.
But to me? It looks like justice.
My family calls it the aftermath of a tantrum none of them cared enough to stop. My mother especially was unfazed. Shecalled it an exorcism of the emotions I’ve never expressed, and was relieved that I ever felt so strongly about something.
About someone.
Was it worth it?
I exhale, letting the smoke curl into the grey sky. My throat burns and my lungs ache. The sedative nature of this strain of indica kicks in soon after, though. The fire in my blood cools, the anger that kept me going for the past few weeks finally starting to subside.
Was it worth watching the institution rot from the inside out? Watching every member of the Order flail, their secrets surfacing, their blood spilling everywherebutthe altar of their god?
Was it worth losing her?
That last one echoes.
The look on her face after my “toast” at her engagement party last night would have brought lesser men to their knees. In fact, I had to take a breath after I stepped out of the hall. The walk to my car was a fight—every other step I wanted to turn back, to shelter from her life collapsing in on her. But I didn’t. It had to happen.
She deserved it.
Because the truth is, Eden never gave me a fair chance.
I would have burned the whole place to the ground for her. I almost did. If she had been open with me, we could have been best friends first. Losing her inheritance wouldn’t matter—my mother would have welcomed her into our family, marriage or no marriage. Eden is intelligent and beautiful enough to make her own way in the world, all she needs issupportnot someone in her life controlling her.
But she chosehim.
After all he did to her, she chosehim.
I toss the roach, and pick another preroll from my pocket. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve smoked so far—but the twenty pack I brought back with me from London feels so much lighter than when I got it.
But it doesn’t matter.
None of it does.
