The whole situation is far from ideal. I pace the room up and down. I feel muddled about my feelings toward Caria, and then there’s Mother, who tries to convince Jodelle to abandon me and return to her former home. In response, Jodelle scolds andscreams at Mother, unwilling to forsake me. I can’t pick either side; both are losing choices. As a result, I serve as an arbitrator in their screaming contests, doing my best to calm them down repeatedly.
“It’s not safe for you here, sweetheart. Why don’t you travel to one of the human towns down South? Fynn can follow you later when we have sortedourbusiness here.”
Mother gives Jodelle a feigned saccharine smile as she speaks to the woman, incapable of having an everyday conversation with her, another lousy attempt to motivate Jodelle to leave my side and not return. Since the beginning, Mother tried to get Jodelle to leave our room at the inn, knowing damn well she wouldn’t survive for a second the moment she’d step outside by herself. Without any form of protection, any vampire would jump Jodelle without hesitation and suck her dry. I sigh deeply. I run a hand over my face, trying to steady my turbulent thoughts.
“Oh yeah? What business? We are together, so how about you start acting like that, you old bitch!” she screams back.
“JODELLE!” I shout, agitated, my booming voice startling her.
“Language, that’smymother you speak to. Damnit, how many times do I have to tell you?! Can you behave for once? Act like you had some upbringing. Fuck. Why do you always have to act like a bitch to everyone in my life? Every woman? Even my mother?”
I massage my temples to restrain my bubbling anger. My mother squints her eyes at me, tilting her head in response to my outburst. She doesn’t say a word; she just studies Jodelle and me. It is as if we are a conundrum she desperately needs to solve. I lift my eyebrows at my mother, a question in itself as to whatshe’s getting at, but she keeps her lips sealed tightly while she observes us. Her eyes darting between the two of us.
“You always do this,” Jodelle pouts, demanding my attention, “You always choose others over me—your sister, that dumb hag, your mother. I am yoursoulmate; your stupid sister said so, but somehow, you have difficulty grasping that reality and acting like it. You’ve barely touched me lately.”
She folds her arms, challenging me with her statement. Daring me to argue with her, to tell her she’s wrong. It’s almost as if she’s finding enjoyment in our quarreling, an intimate dance in itself, one of defying me, provoking me. Her deliberate choice of words is a song of passion, smoke to draw me out, to engage in the fight. It is a way to persuade me to pick her, to provide me the opportunity to show her that, in the end, Idochoose her over everyone else. My jaw clenches as I feel the tension inside me rise.
Initially, I, too, found entertainment and pleasure in her behavior, particularly in the way she would rouse me and test my boundaries. Now, I feel like I'm standing at a crossroads, a bleak tiredness casting over me. A tinge of doubt is taking root in my mind: If she truly is my soulmate, shouldn’t it be… more effortless? Particularly in the beginning, yet as of late, I feel slightly less drawn to her. I nitpick at the things she says or does. Our relationship feels like a whirlwind; when all goes well, I revel in it, take in her beauty and singsong voice, and savor every inch of her, but when it goes wrong, it’s maddening. Each argument leaves a lingering confusion, a hesitation that eats away at my soul.
I sigh, and without saying another word, I leave the room, this tiny world I have trouble recognizing as mine. A tirade of swearing haunts me as I descend the stairs, none of it bothering me, as I have this peculiar feeling that Jodelle will not be ableto abandon me despite her anger. Mother brushes past me, not wanting to stay a moment longer in the room with Jodelle either, and I can’t blame her. She barely looks at me, but her outrage is palpable. Wonder takes hold of me when understanding dawns on me that I have no clue where that woman disappears to every day. I halt at the end of the stairs as I decide I want to pursue Mother, unravel some of her secrets, and look into the books she always takes with her like prized possessions. Harlot knows Mother is keeping information from us, information that could possibly determine our future.
Harlot. Her name alone awakens an instinct inside me. Will she be at that bloodsucker’s keep? That damn fortress I'm never able to set sight on because of that obnoxious forest around it. The little whore must be. I should lure her out somehow, get her alone. When I have her all by myself, even for a moment, I won’t need long; a sharp blade will do the trick, slashing her skin, bleeding her to death. I stare at the floor, imagining it colored a dark red, the scent of her blood filling my nostrils. Her wails of agony as I slash and slash, mutilating her body, her pleading for mercy, not to kill her. That abomination of hers is nowhere to be found in my fantasy.
A vicious grin forms on my face; I have all but forgotten about Mother: I’ll handle her later. I first need to find my sister and give her my full attention, just as she had wanted when we were still children. When I get my hands on Harlot, I’ll chop her into tiny pieces, carve her flesh, break her bones into small bits, and kick her to death. A cruel laugh escapes me, jagged and cold, devoid of any warmth. I sit down at one of the tables. How do I tempt the mouse to leave the cat that protects it? Besides him, what else is her weak spot… Mother perhaps? Should I spread a rumor that Mother has fallen prey to a vampire? Maybe Mother needs her to attend to her wounds because she almost died? Would Harlot be able to stay away from her doting mother,or would she bring her guard dog? I growl lowly, anger taking root inside me as I realize it’ll be hard to persuade my sister to meet me by herself without that bloodsucker around her. Even if Harlot wants to, I sincerely doubt that thing will let her roam unprotected. I slam my fist on the table as my jaw ticks with irritation.
“Fynn?” her voice, a light that removes the dark, weighing thoughts.
I turn around in my chair, and those captivating golden eyes meet mine. I look around the inn, but the guy is nowhere to be seen. Not seeing him gives me solace, and I return my focus to those shining eyes, two little suns that look at me with delight. A lightness I didn’t realize I needed.
“Are you all right?” she asks cautiously.
She goes to place her hand on my shoulder, then retracts with a grimace on her face. Panic courses through me; my atrocious thoughts likely heightened the protective barrier. Shit. The idea that I hurt her with my magic is the last straw that erases all my dark thoughts and Harlot from my mind. I get up quickly.
“Did I hurt you? Are you okay?”
Without thinking, I take hold of her hand to examine it; she withdraws it instinctively. Then, warily, she places it back, the block no longer there, our touch not hurting. Relieved, I exhale the breath I was holding. My liking, or perhaps love, for her and my unwillingness to wound her thankfully melt away the negative that casts up the blockade.
“I’m so, so, so sorry, Caria,” I whisper, still holding her hand firmly.
“Where were you with your head?” she asks, her voice filled with sadness.
“A place I’d rather not be,” I retort.
I give her a small, sad simper.
“Let's go,” she says, pulling me with her.
As we stroll along the enormous ancient city walls, Caria tells me about the wards she and the male witch built the other day to keep the humans out. She points them out to me. Silver glittering ripples cross the walls to prove her statement; they’re barely noticeable.
“What about my sister? Will she not be able to enter the city either?” I ask pensively.
Caria shrugs.
“Honestly, I don’t know how the bonding with that Umbra affected her if his being is infused with her. I could imagine he transferred some of his essence into her, making her no longer entirely human. Time will tell, I guess, when they try to enter the city.”
Not wanting to think further about Harlot and the atrocious act she performed, bonding her soul to some abomination of a creature of the night, I change the subject, one I’ve been meaning to ask her about.
“What about the fight yesterday? What happened? I heard so many stories and rumors.”
