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My father had guided me through hell, only to die and to get me to her one last time. His final apology. And my last words to him would haunt me for the rest of my days. You aren’t my father. While Minnie’s words and hands were a balm to my shame, proclaiming I was enough, allowing me my goodbye. But clearly, I was a fool. A fool who’d just been played by my father one last time, only this time for my benefit and not his. He’d forfeited what he’d loved most, my mother, in favor of me.
The alpha wolf transformed, not needing a moon. Perhaps Blythe was his moon.
My relief was palpable as we strolled the stands of shifters, inhaling the smell of clove and nutmeg, and passed by a coven of vampires who, for some reason, bowed to Onyx as they passed. “What’s that about?” I asked. “I paid them twenty dollars to do that in front of you. You know, so I’d look cool,” he said, buying a caramel apple and passing it to me.
I took her lace-gloved hand into my leathered one and kissed her knuckles.
“Leather and lace,” Mortala breathed. “Always.” “Always.”
Every bit the reaper of nightmares and the most beautiful and haunting creature I’d ever beheld.
“My lace,” he whispered. “My death.”
“I’m pretty sure Marcelene is trapped in hell, yet you’re still vandalizing her home?” “It’s tradition,” Wolfgang purred, kissing my cheek as the guys laughed. They were hopeless brutes, truly.
lol
We trick-or-treated for a few more houses, then walked up a dark hill to a looming, multi-point black house. The guys grew silent on our walk up, and I stopped at the gate. “I don’t think anyone’s home… plus it looks creepy here.”
I bet this is Onyx’s new house that Ames built
“I know you said you’re not a white picket fence girl. But what about a spiked wrought-iron gate girl?”
Onyx reached into his pocket and dangled keys in front of my nose. “I hear it’s haunted.” Ames snickered. “It’s certainly about to be.”
“It’s ours, little one.” Ames opened the door to a dark candlelit corridor and smiled a rare and beautiful smile. “Welcome home, little ghost.”
Why am I about to cry
Gothic black and purple wallpaper adorned the walls, up to the high pointed ceilings and iron chandeliers dripping with clear jewels. Ornate rugs covered dark hardwoods, and everything looked so antique. Some of it I felt I recognized. Furnishings from the floating castle in Belladonia. The end tables and artwork from Lamb’s Blood Church, and a bear skinned rug in the homey living area by the raging hearth.
Every room I passed kindled revelations in my mind, visions I now knew weren’t only daydreams or disassociation or some fantasy world I was building in my head. The visions were true, and they were of things to come. By the fireplace, I flashed to a scene of wool stockings and a big black holiday tree decorated in bones and pumpkins.
When I took in the candlelit bedroom with the plush lavender bedding, fireplace, and flowers, I laughed through my tears and picked up my stuffed bat from between the pillows.
We found Onyx’s room draped in dark green silks and filled with guitars reflecting the fireplace blaze.
“Have you been looking after my dolls?” Wolf, Onyx, and Ames bit their lips to hold back laughter as I mustered up my response, holding her hands lovingly. “Ellie, I have been to hell, I’ve fought ghouls and demons, I’ve even contended with the devil himself… and nothing scares me more than your house of dolls. I’m sorry.”
And he was there, too. Watching. The devil was always watching me. I knew from the way my coffee, no matter how long it sat out, never got cold. I knew it from the red tint of every mirror I gazed into and from the letters left on my black silk pillowcase at night.
The journey in writing this series was like cleaning out a haunted attic in my soul.
