Page 39 of Blood

Memphis’s strange lips twist into something that might resemble a smile. Again, it’s hard to tell with him.

“I’m a seer, dear child,” he confesses, his raspy voice seeming to echo around me. “And not just any seer—but the seer. That’s why Lucifer kept me around as long as he did.”

He waits for me to put the pieces together, to come to some inevitable conclusion that remains just out of my reach. But I can’t think beyond the words “seer.”

Just what has Memphis seen? Did he know about Mason? About this upcoming battle?

Alex catches on before I do. He stills beneath me, and I feel rather than see him suck in a ragged gasp, his chest curling in and then expanding.

“You had the vision about Violet ruling, didn’t you? The one about her reclaiming her throne? About Mason...?” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t need to. It hangs unspoken in the air between us, permeating it like a poisonous gas cloud.

“You knew Mason was going to die.” The words are nothing but a breathy whisper, nearly inaudible over the sudden racing of my heart, the repetitive boom boom boom that sounds like giants stomping down a hill.

Fierce anger ripples through me, transforming from a mere wave to a tsunami that threatens to swallow me whole.

“Fate can change at the drop of a hat,” Memphis says simply, seemingly uncaring or oblivious to the tension saturating the air. My bet is on the former. He’d have to be an idiot not to feel the daggers I’m hurling at him with my eyes. “Mason could’ve lived or died as easily as you could’ve. All I do is recite what I see and hear in my visions.”

“But if you knew about Mason—” I begin, tears holding me at gunpoint. I wiggle in Alex’s lap, suddenly desperate to go to Memphis and tear off his head, but Alex’s grip only tightens.

“And you’ve seen Violet freeing the Fomorians from their prison in Hell?” he asks. His hands inch under my shirt, and I feel the gentle caress of his fingers against my hipbone, rubbing circles into the skin there. I allow myself to relax against him, though my anger still balances on a precipice, one small shove from being flipped on its head.

“With Lucifer indisposed, Violet is the Queen of Hell,” Memphis replies simply.

And that...

That is what makes me begin to laugh hysterically.

I don’t know why.

Out of everything I’ve dealt with in the last few days, I don’t understand why this is the thing that breaks me. My emotions run rampant through me, and try as I might, I can’t articulate a single one of them. Anger, perhaps. Fear. Hilarity. Pain. Grief. They all culminate in this strange burst of sound that half resembles a laugh and half reminds me of a sob. Dread fills me like cement as I continue to laugh and laugh and laugh. Do I understand why I’m laughing? No. Not at all. But it’s like a maelstrom of violence and pain has been unleashed within me. All my indecipherable emotions burst out of me like a raging fire.

“Is she okay?” Memphis mock whispers to Alex.

“You. Are. S-so. U-ugly,” I gasp around my laughter. No idea why I said that. Apparently, hysterical Violet doesn’t think coherently.

But all I can focus on is that damn centipede smile of his. On that leathery skin hanging loose on an emaciated body. On those pinprick red eyes that seem to penetrate my defenses and see into my soul.

“Violet,” Alex chastises into my ear.

“She’s losing her mind, obviously,” Memphis drawls. “And probably her vision as well. Should we get a doctor?”

“M-me? Queen?” I hiccup and then begin to laugh again. Each burst of laughter pours another bottle of acid into my stomach. Is the room spinning, or is it just me? Why do I feel as if I’m going to vomit?

“Just let her get it out,” Alex tells Memphis.

Me...a queen.

Of Hell.

I knew what the prophecy stated, but I honestly never expected it to come true. Yes, I know this position is only temporary, but surely, there is someone better suited for the job than me. What if I accidentally free all the demons held captive in Hell’s prisons? What if I overbook Hell’s resort? How the fuck do I calculate Hell’s taxes? Is there an accountant for that shit?

Slowly, the hysteria begins to subside, replaced by a daunting sense of dread and despair. My heart feels sluggish and sticky.

I’m the queen.

Of Hell.

Fuck. Fuck.

---