Nocticadia

by Keri Lake

“No. No quiet sounds from you. I want to hear you fucking scream. You’re in the throes of fire now, Little Moth. Show me how much it burns.” He loosened his hold just enough that I let out a hoarse and throaty moan.

I loved him. Every cell, every fiber of my being couldn’t hide that truth. Even if I wasn’t bold enough to say it or brave enough to risk the universe stealing it away from me, the words were as real as my fears. The words I kept secret like all my other trinkets–safely tucked away.

In the distance, the ferry boat approached, and I ran my hand through my hair and down my face. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t fucking do it, because all I could think about, all that mattered to me, was the girl. The beautiful girl with her autumn hair, and eyes that reminded me of both the sea and the sky. And she was everything. The earth, the sun, the moon. The air I breathed, and the tenacious beat that kept my eroded heart pumping.

While you’ve always known me as Francesca Vespertine, my real name is Vanessa Corbin. I was born on a small island off the coast of Maine called Dracadia, where generations of our family have lived. In fact, we are descendants of the first colonists. Which would’ve probably been a cool conversation to have, if my past weren’t so riddled with dysfunction.

Then about two weeks ago, I went home for my mother’s funeral. I know you thought I was looking into surgery for Bee, but telling you the truth at the time was complicated. Again, forgive me. I only wanted to see my mother one more time and perhaps find a way to secure the home that I grew up in, a place where you, me, and Bee could live freely. Unfortunately, the house had gone into foreclosure and it turned out the new owner was your father.

The blackness from before shifted inside of me. I somehow felt less alone, less heinous. He’d hurt Angelo for hurting me. Could Devryck have been considered a murderer for something like that? Who knew what Angelo would’ve done to me when he’d eventually come to?

I also planned to administer a dose to Lippincott. Because there was no doubt in my mind that he’d put Angelo up to killing Lilia. And the connection between the two bastards had me believing he’d likely also been behind Caed’s kidnapping. So blind in my pursuits and desperation to cure my illness, I’d failed to see what was in front of me the whole time.

He’d fucked with the only two people in the world who’d ever mattered to me, and for that, he would die a slow and painful death. As he was well known to stop into my office for a drink, I figured the means of inoculation would be relatively simple. I’d call him in to discuss the new variant, offer him a drink, then watch his world crumble.

His eye twitched. “That’s a fantastic idea.” He spun Gilchrist around to face the fireplace. As he strode toward me, he peeled off his shirt. Tattoos and scars colored his chest and abdomen–a skull jester, a dagger piercing a heart, another skull in barbed wire with gears and a clock’s face, and two pissed-off looking dragons at each flank that disappeared behind his back.

“Evangelists. Looking to spread the word,” I said in a humorless tone. I twisted my arm, checking the seal of the tape, when I heard her give a small chuckle that withered to a sigh. I wanted to ask what the hell she was doing back at my father’s home, but wasn’t interested in engaging her.

My mind scrambled for another solution, another means of saving her life, because there was no fucking way she was going to be killed on my watch. I’d burn the whole damned project down and walk away with a smile. Fuck the consequences.

It could’ve gone either way. There’d only ever been one female member prior to her–a ruthless woman who’d had far more money than Lilia. They could’ve easily told her to fuck off, killed her, and attempted to force me to reveal the black rock discovery. Of course, they’d have had to torture me at that point. No fucking way I’d give them what they wanted if they dared to lay a finger on her. I’d carry that information to the grave on the promise that Lilia and I would reunite in the afterlife.

The razor thin edge of the knife scraped against my stubble, casting a slight burn where he must’ve cut me. Body shaking with adrenaline, I stared up at him, into eyes that held so much enmity and hate, I was certain he’d slice me open. “Impervious,” I gritted, the rims of my eyes stinging as I lifted my chin, giving him full access to my throat.

“It’s when I’m not with you that scares me, though.” The forbidden words tickled my tongue, begging to be cut loose. I dared myself to say it. To put the curse out into the universe and risk everything that had brought me happiness these last few weeks. “I love you. And I don’t think I can stop loving you.” I leaned forward to kiss him, but hesitated, uncertain if I’d confessed too much.

I stroked a hand across his dampened forehead, studying the adoration I refused to see before. The veneration of a powerful man. One the monsters in my head feared the most. It was in that moment, I believed him when he said he belonged to me. Like a vast ocean claimed by a single grain of sand.

For so long, I struggled to accept and give love. I’d become jaded. Stingy. Untrusting. And because I so rarely relinquished a piece of myself to others, it hurt worse when it was stolen away–the times when the world reached its greedy hand into my life and tore away the pieces of what I loved most. I’d come to learn that at the heart of life was suffering, and pain was an inevitable consequence of love. A slow gnawing ache that began the moment we dared to admit what it was. The shadow behind every adoring glance. The anguish that punctuated those fleeting moments of peace.

Love was also a sickness. An incurable disease. The kind that crawled inside the muscles and bones, and persisted long after death. As much as I wanted to bury the love of my mother, to harden myself so I wouldn’t have to face the crippling truth, I couldn’t. Burrowed deep into the roots, it blossomed from the wounds of my broken heart, tearing through the stitches that burned with memories of those who’d tried to hurt me. Sometimes, the pain was too much to bear. But sometimes it felt good, because it meant that I was capable of feeling something.

I hadn’t come to Dracadia with any notion of falling in love with my professor, or Death, as some had referred to him. Perhaps that was the nature of the world, to take so cruelly, then swoop in and blindside us when we least expected it. There was an implicit truth in the dead teaching the living, though. It was my mother, my refusal to accept her death, to accept what the world had taken from me, that had brought me to Dracadia in the first place. And it was there that I’d faced death head-on. So smitten, I fell in love with him–his abrasive heart and blood-stained hands. The dangerous and erudite professor, with fiery eyes and cold steel flesh. We hid away in shadows, stealing kisses under midnight stars. He taught me passion and courage, and to seize what I wanted by the teeth.