What am I doing?My mind and heart are at war, both seeking a different direction, so far apart that I cannot follow both.
“Give me a sign, anything, so I know what to do,” I murmur into the blackened night.
A shooting star streaks across the night sky, leaving behind a glowing trail. It appears suddenly, like a bright flash, and then disappears just as quickly. It is a brief moment of magic in the darkness, a sign, a wish—the exact thing I asked for.
“I wish Harlot would die, whether by my own hand, by someone else, or by accident, as long as I can bury her,” I whisper softly.
I shake my head. I’m a fool. Instead of asking for guidance on this fickle path of love, I go with my first thought, which is my sister’s death, as if such wishes come true. I’m no longer a child holding on to such expectations. Yet, a small part of me hopes the shooting star is an actual sign, one that forecasts Harlot's life ending sooner rather than later. Maybe her bonding with that monster, that abomination, will get the better of her. Caria did mention no human should be able to survive such a happening; perhaps his soul will consume hers eventually, and there’s just a delay in her having her last breath. With that in mind, a newfound hope, I get up and return to the inn.
When I enter the inn, I catch a glimpse of Caria, who’s chatting with a customer, another Blood Witch, a male. They are laughing and talking together. His touch is comfortable, indicating they know each other well, almost like close friends. He’s a handsome guy with different markings than hers, meaning he’s not from her coven. Jealousy boils inside me as I watch her and him. How casual she is with him, even more so than with me. I despise myself for it. I hate that I don’t want her to look at another man, yet I am with Jodelle; it’s unfair of me. She makes short eye contact before she focuses back on the man in front of her, one who makes it clear he is only interested in her.
I go upstairs to find Mother fast asleep; Jodelle stares at the ceiling, pretending she doesn’t hear me come in, still moping.
As I sit down on the bed, she opens her mouth.
“Why did you feel the need to spend the evening with her and not me?”
An accusation. I let her spill her pent-up emotions. I do my best to keep my focus on her, on the words leaving her mouth, as my heart wants to reminisce about earlier.
“Don’t tell me you weren’t with her. I saw you stalking the street through the window, searching for that girl. I wanted to go downstairs, rip her away from you, break whatever spell that witch holds on you. That’smyspace. I belong there, not she.”
Jodelle looks at me now, her eyes teary, as she places her hand on my chest—my heart,her space.
“I had to Jodelle. I had to ensure she was all right; she is my friend. Why can’t you understand that?”
“She’s just a friend? Nothing else? You swear to me, baby?”
“Y-y-yes,” I stammer, the words hard to speak, stinging courses through me.
“Fynn! Your nose!” she exclaims.
Jodelle jumps up, grabs a cloth from the bathroom, and presses it against my nose. The fabric is a bright red, a reflection of my body’s reaction to the lie I have just told, a spontaneous nosebleed. Jodelle peppers me with kisses, her face a worried expression.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have doubted you. Are you okay?” She looks at me, and I can only nod.
We crawl into the bed together, and it’s the first time I feel no desire to make love to her; my mind is a devastated mess as I press the cloth against my nose to stop the bleeding.
Exhausted, I get out of bed. Jodelle is gazing at me cheerfully and is wide awake. Mother has already left for the old Gods know where. She’s been doing that a lot lately, disappearing without leaving a note about her whereabouts, nor has she found a place to stay yet. At least Mother always leaves coins before she performs her vanishing act, one thing that’s a certainty.
“There’s a fair in town, baby; I would love to go there together.” Jodelle looks at me expectantly.
“Sure, babe, we can do that; I’ll get myself ready.”
After a quick wash, I put on some clothes, comb my hair, and take Jodelle’s hand. A knot forms in my stomach as we descend the stairs. I’m unsure if I'm willing to face Caria after last night; the feelings that stirred me awake are still present. Jodelle pulls me to the exit; a quick scan leaves me feeling relieved and worried at the same time: Caria is not here, and if she’s not here, then where is she?
The fair has gathered quite the attention, which is understandable as it’s not normal for humans to trek through vampire-dominated lands voluntarily. I keep Jodelle close to me as vampires and witches surround us, snarling and keeping their distance. The supply of random humans keeps them satiated, but they are predators, meaning none of them will object to a hunt, even if it’s just for a game.
As I eye the creatures around us, I hear my sister's annoying voice screaming our names for all of them to hear and remember.
Jodelle turns around, waving at her, but I refuse to do so; I keep scanning the area, searching for red hair, flaming red hair, I realize. I can’t stand not knowing where she is orwhoshe is with. I am a fucking asshole. I hold no claim on her, yet here I am acting like I do. I should focus on Jodelle, the one that is mine, the one I did claim.
An eruption of whispers makes me whip my head around, only to see my sister in a disgusting display of public affection with her monster lover. Caria was right about that; I see his shadows emerge from him, covering Harlot as if she were his possession. It’s sickening to watch her disgracing herself like that.
After telling her that, I reach for her; even if I need to restrain myself from not killing her on the spot, I refuse to let her tarnish our family name. The pain registers first, before I see his long, strong fingers wrapped around my wrist, the sheer force breaks my bones, snaps them like twigs. I cry out in pain as his hold does not loosen until he has warned me not to touch Harlot, ever. Delirious from the hurt, I apologize, not knowing what else this monster wants to hear. He lets me go, and I pull back my arm.
Confused about why his flesh did not scorch at the mere touch of me, I ask him how this is possible. A hint of fear laces my voice against my will;heis supposed to be the one crying from pain.
“I’m not one ofthosemonsters... I’m worse. I could tear you apart if I wanted,” he retorts.
