Page 14 of Song of Tenebrae

“Saw what?”

“The darkness,” he whispers, “it was the same as ours.”

Hail sees things, he feels things, and he can predict things. We’ve long been listening to him before making decisions because he has yet to steer us wrong, but he can’t see Sky. He can feel her just as much as I feel my demon if not more, but he can’t tell what he should or shouldn’t do. I will always be grateful to him for convincing me to let them go.

“Tempest is strong, forged inside that darkness, and yet she remains the abandoned little girl inside. That’s the part I’m hoping to affect.”

“You’ve already affected it by staying away, it reminds her of her mother.” He nods.

Her mother.

When I let Tempest go, I delved into her past and I uncovered things so similar to my own. The only thing different was, I had parents who loved me, and if they hadn’t died, I would’ve been raised in a loving home. She didn’t have that and her mother made sure of it the night she ran off with Randy Quinn. Sheila Verona was a hippie living in the nineties and she married Thomas Verona as soon as they were done with high school, six months later Tempest was born.

She was born during a rare tornado that ripped through Arizona and her mother named her as such. The moment she set eyes on the child with unnatural looking irises and black raven hair, she knew she was special. Special wasn’t good and both her and Thomas feared Tempest’s temperament as she grew. She felt her judgement with each look, those changing grey eyes burrowing deep, and pulling out her fears to the surface. And so, she fled.

I found Sheila Verona in a nearby trailer park in Arizona eight months ago and she had been there from the moment she left her family behind. When I questioned her, she had no problem talking about the child she feared came from the devil himself.

“What should I do?” I ask him, feeling the most vulnerable.

“The opportune time will show itself.” He lies back on his bed and scrolls through his phone, “Soon Raiden, we need to be prepared.”

Squall and Torrent have turned on some music, and the noise is a distraction from everything we’re having to deal with. I close Hail’s door, knowing the noise is not welcomed and head back to my room to shut it out as well.

Once I’ve shut the door behind me, I inhale, and rest my head on the door. My birthday is in ten days and the elders will expect a celebration in Dominica. We killed two of their top officials last year and when Kenny told them they were killed by Tempest, they demanded her head. It was Torrent’s idea to blame the stripper and at the time I had no better excuse, now I wish I said I did it myself. If anything happens to her, I will destroy everything on my way to Hell, and I’m taking everyone with me.

I open my messages and finally reply to Sky’s rant, she’s been going pretty much all morning. There are things beyond her and Tempest, beyond Deluge, and beyond the things that happened in Dominica. She doesn’t understand that but I know if given the chance, Tempest would and if I really listen to Hail, I will need to be prepared. How do you warn someone that doesn’t understand the world you come from? And how do you ensure that the one person you regard more than your own life is protected? It looks like things will have to rise to the next level and even though the danger is great, I can’t seem to help the acceleration of my heart.

I hover my thumb over her name and finally press it, my thumbs flying over the letters.

It’s time to return to the one place you were both changed forever.

Incognitus

As the sun slips down below the skyline, dusk settles like a heavy blanket around me, and I feel myself grow excited. It’s been a while since excitement was an emotion I experienced and I don’t want it to fade. It makes me feel like a kid again, the kid before the bad things happened. A sharp pain radiates over my skull and I stuff the thoughts back into the pitch-black corner. Not tonight, I won’t let them ruin my excitement.

I sit in my car, parked at the back of The Sanctuary, and watch the second story windows. Not much movement but I know there will be soon. The club will be opening and its star stripper needs to be ready to drop what little clothing she’s wearing onto the stage and flaunt the daddy issues she’s accumulated with each one of those stark white scars.

I thumb my knife in my pocket, the excitement roving over me once again, and chuckle into the interior of the car.

One day, I will add to those scars.

Tempest

Getting out of bed is difficult and getting my ass ready to go downstairs to dance for men is even harder. Especially after what happened last night. Someone came into my personal space and defiled it. Now I’m expected to go below and dance for men, one of which could've been the perpetrator.

I skim my fingertips over the scar on my stomach and roll my eyes, I’ve endured worse and I have the scars to prove it. I pull myself out of bed and away from lingering memories of the one who tried to kill me. My feelings for him grow more confusing as time goes on, like a double-edged sword, and no matter where I land, it’ll always be painful.

I throw on a tracksuit and head to the large steel door across from Tiny’s room. I don’t like using this entrance because it reminds the staff that we live upstairs. We’ve been using the back entrance and going through the front of the club to keep up the ruse, but tonight, I just can’t. I don’t want to walk around the back in the dark and I can’t bring myself to be brave. I need a few days to get over it and to summon the courage I’ve grown to use as a shield. Just a few days.

The dressing room is buzzing with a few girls and Tiny is in the center, telling them a story about The Temple.

“Our boss Carl was a fucking pushover and he loved tits.” The girls chuckle around the room, “the bigger the tits, the more you could push him. Ladies,” she grabs her naked tits in her hands, “I could push the motherfucker right over the Grand Canyon.”

I snort and head to my vanity, everyone turning to watch me.

“Boss lady here,” Tiny comes up behind me as I sit in my chair, “she’s not a pushover for tits.” The girls all laugh and my mouth quirks in response, “she likes dark and dangerous men, the ones that make your toes curl, and your mama’s panties wet.”

They all laugh and I can’t help the image of my bad boy pushing its way into my mind. The way his nostrils would flair with anger and those golden-green eyes would fill with rage. My dark and dangerous man.

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