“Now wait a minute-
“I mean, you’re alright. I’d personally rank you as a London seven,maybean eight on a good day, but this goddess?” He looks at her and sighs, “An easily ten across the board.”
“She’s way out of your league, mate.” Jasper nods in agreement, “I’m surprised she looked at you at all.”
I glare at the pixelated assholes I call my family.
“Well, this has been a marvellous conversation but I think I’m ready to leave now.”
“Awe don’t be a poor sport! We’re just having some fun.”
There’s laughter and jostling in the background. The screen remains the same, the small square that bridges the hundreds of thousands of miles between us.
A bridge that’s starting to feel smaller every damn day.
“Shit. Is it that time already?” Shifting the monitor so it better faces him, Jasper leans forward, “Sorry but we’ve got to go.”
“Burnout?”
“Every Thursday.” He sighs, running a hand through his wiry hair, “Trying to keep these kids in line without you is a pain in the ass. We need dad to come back home.”
“Daddy Deville.” Horace quips up, grappling for a shred of attention, “That’s got a nice ring to it. Maybe you could ask Calista-
“Get out of here.” I cut him off with a laugh, “Before I hop on a plane and beat your ass.”
“You promise?”
A glimmer of hope shines through the screen and it hits me right where it hurts.
“I promise.”
A heartbreakingly wide grin spreads across his face.
“Good. And before you leave, make sure to applaud the scary dragon lady for giving her daughter the perfect name.”
I frown, “What do you mean?”
“I mean her first name is a prophecy come true, just like the movies.” He sighs, ever the dramatic, “Clearly my parents didn’t put much stock into my name. It means-
“Horace, focus.”
“Right, sorry. Calista means fairest or most beautiful.” He holds up the picture again and lets out a low whistle, “Talk about manifestation.”
My brows pinch together, “But that doesn’t make sense. Why would the Dragon name her daughter-
The call ends and I’m left staring at a cracked screen.
A cracked screen that looks an awful lot like a broken mirror.
Will he stumble, will he fall? Or will he catch the fairest one of them all?
Everett White’s riddle echoes through my mind, the creepy child voice singing the words back to me. It’s a memory of his voice cloning device but there’s something wrong with the memory.
Because instead of a little boy singing the words, it’s a little girl.
Unsettled with my thoughts, I roll out of bed and wander into the hall. Distant voices chatter in the distance, my mother’s screech penetrating the walls between us.
With renovations being close to finished, tarps and construction equipment are piled in all corners of the lavish Chateau. Black and white prints consume every available wall space, their modern style an aggressive contrast to the classic chandelier and polished furniture.
