Page 38 of A Harmony of Procellarum

When the doors open, the first thing that hits me is the incense. Frankincense, myrrh, and patchouli swirl around my head, making me feel a little dizzy with the strength of their scents. I’m guided out of the elevator and into a long corridor. Candles are lit along the walls, the flames bending to the will of the breeze. The significance isn’t lost on me, reminding me exactly of my disposition the first time I came to this building and how willing I was to bend over backwards for anyone who offered us a life better than the one we had.

Hindsight is both a curse and a blessing. I wish I could go back and shake the younger version of myself. I would tell him to turn and run, that he could make his own life and anything would be better than moving from one institution to another, but the curse lies in the fact that there’s no changing the course of anyone’s decisions. The path is paved and once you’ve hit that dead end, it’s too narrow to turn around and try again.

I can’t completely hate the life I’ve lived because while my mind was clouded by murky morals and beliefs, I enjoyed it and I spent most of it with the three men I consider my only family. I also met a woman who cleared away the haze of ritual beliefs and made me question the life I was living. If I hadn’t found Tiny, I don’t know where I would be, but I do know I’d have been a lesser man.

We enter through two double doors, the color a deep, rich mahogany and the handles large and ornate. The farther we go, the more ancient things begin to look, and even though I’ve been here many times, this time I know it’s different. The room we walk into spans out ten times bigger than the corridor we were in, and it feels like the length is vast, carrying on forever. Candelabras glow with the yellow illumination of candle flames and the incense cloud so strong I nearly choke on the scent. Hooded figures line the walls, all of them humming and the vibration slips through the skin between my ribs, encircling my heart and forcing it to beat to the rhythm. I’m led to a throne, one carved out of the bones and skulls of sacrifices made over hundreds of years. Jagged bone cushioned by tortured souls has created a seat so coveted, many have killed for it. The woman sitting upon it now has her hands covered in black lace, hiding the ugly scars I know exist underneath. Her locs are gathered back into a long ponytail, their black and gray coloring illuminated under the large candelabra looming over the back of her throne.

“Welcome back, Squall.” She gives me an eerie smile, her eyes traveling from me to the three figures on their knees in front of her. Each has a bag over their head, two of which I know as well as the back of my hand.

A small whimper escapes Tiny as her body trembles, fear emanating off her in thick waves, suffocating me and stealing the air I need to breathe. “She doesn’t belong here.” I fist my hands and look Shereen square in the eye. “You know she has no part in this.”

“I think when we join the Order we are selfish,” Shereen says as she pushes up off the throne and slowly walks toward me, almost as if she’s gliding on air. “We decide our lives are superior and no one else matters. We live for ourselves and everyone else surrounding us be damned.” She speaks quietly, but the closer she gets, the clearer her facial expression becomes. It’s not an arrogant woman I see, but one filled with despair. Her eyes seem to reflect my own and she looks troubled with thoughts of what I can only assume stem from her past all the way to the present.

“I know that.” I nod. “Truly I do, but the Order doesn’t deserve to covet the pure ones, Shereen,” I plead with her, hoping me saying her given name will remind her of where we came from. “Tiny is pure.”

“Maybe so.” She nods. “In some capacity, but would you agree there has to be a part of her that calls to the depraved? She found herself within your grasp.”

“No.” I shake my head adamantly. “No, you’re wrong. I forced myself on her. I saw her, and I needed to own her.”

“But…” Shereen’s laced fingers glide along her cheek, her skin a dark ebony and rich under the dim glow of the candles. “Would you feel that way if she somehow found herself in Torrent’s grasp?”

“Yes, it’s because of me that they’re in each other’s presence.” Another whimper escapes Tiny, making my eyes skip over just in time to see Torrent reach out a hand to wrap around her wrist in a comforting touch. My stomach rolls at the sight.

“Ah…” Shereen steps back, her hand moving out in front of her slowly, pointing toward the two people who mean the most to me. “But what happened while they were confined?” she asks.

I can’t help the feelings of jealousy and betrayal that bubble up inside of me, burning up from my stomach into my chest cavity, scorching its way through my esophagus. I swallow back the bile as my eyes slip over to Torrent and Tiny, his hand still resting on her forearm. I may love him and her separately, but seeing them together? I can’t stop the sudden rage tipping over inside of me, obliterating any other emotion. They’re both mine, but not together.

Chapter twelve

Tiny

ThewarmthofTorrent’shand wrapped around my wrist provides some relief against the conversation I’m hearing between Squall and Sky’s Aunt Shereen. They call her the Luciphia, and from what I understand, she rules everything. When I was brought here as a prisoner, I thought it was some grand scheme to lure Squall and trap him, but now I’m realizing it was way more elaborate. I was locked in a room with my lover’s lover, forced into tight confines and to endure him, but at the same time, I was tested. I can admit I failed. I can admit that because the way Torrent’s hand encircles my wrist, giving me his reassurance and his touch, promising me protection, is all the proof I need. I failed whatever test I was set up to take, and now I’m here on my knees, forced to hear as the man I love’s heart breaks because I’m falling in love with his boyfriend.

It’s all a sick game, and I can’t call out to Squall to tell him I love him, to reassure him that this was not what I wanted because I’ve been gagged, Torrent is gagged, and I know there’s a third person with us who I assume is also hooded and gagged. I long to reach out and wrap my hand around Torrent’s, showing him affection reciprocated, to feed the young boy who’s starving inside of him for the love he deserved, but I can’t do that for fear it would tear apart Squall.

I’m the pinnacle of this love triangle, one forged by the woman who’s making it her life’s mission to rip apart the men me and my best friends care about. I begin to tremble with anger again, wanting nothing more than to stand and rip this hood off my head. It’s my fear of death that’s stopping me. I don’t know what’s stopping Torrent and the other person beside him. Some warped sense of respect?

“Come, Squall, take a seat.” Shereen’s voice is sickly sweet and my skin pebbles with the sound. Torrent releases my wrist and once again I am thrusted into the unknown.

“What’s this all about?” Squall asks. “We don’t need Tiny here. Let her go.”

“Soon,” Shereen promises, the declaration empty. I know as well as she does I won’t be leaving here with my life. I am the sacrifice today. At least one of them.

There’s movement close behind me, and when I feel a hand rest on top of my head over the hood, I stiffen.

“I’m sorry,” Squall whispers, the sound tortured. “I will get you out of here.”

Another whimper escapes me when his hand is removed, and then Torrent’s hand is back around my wrist, squeezing me in reassurance. I promise myself that if I do get out of here, I will blow this organization out of the water, go on every TV show and radio station. No matter how crazy I fucking sound.

“Remove the hoods,” Shereen demands. “Not that one.”

The sack over my head is slowly lifted, and I immediately gaze around the room at my surroundings. After Torrent left earlier, I was awoken by another knock at the door and was told there was no time for me to change. So here I am on my knees in only a pair of panties and a shirt. Torrent’s shirt. My eyes find Squall and he’s already looking at me, his eyes scanning my attire. Does he recognize this as Torrent’s?

Next, I quickly skim my eyes over Torrent and find he is not gagged like I am, but his head hangs as if in shame. What is going on? I try to see the other person kneeling beside him, but it’s hard to make out anything in this dark room.

“Torrent James, you have one final Magistrate to dispose of. Am I correct?” Shereen slowly sits on the throne made of skulls and bones, the sight making me want to empty the contents of my stomach.

“You’re the boss, Luciphia. You tell me who to kill and I do it.” He shrugs, the apathy in his tone sounding cold and calculated.

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