Page 46 of Shadowface

Whispers fill the room, and she lifts her hand to silence them, aware of the significance she holds within this order and what she represents. She approaches me and gently places her arm on my cheek, lifting her head and projecting her voice so everyone, including our dark one, can hear. It is time to reveal the name of his new sacrifice.

“Being marked by the Order of the Shadows is a sacred act, binding her forever. Are you absolutely certain?” she asks.

I am not aware of what happened between her and Summer’s father, but a hint of malice hits her lips.

I am ready…this is what I woke up for.

I nod and my jaw clenches as I fight back the maddening itch that crawls beneath my skin. Tilting her head, she scrutinizes me, but I keep my face obscured, hiding my eyes beneath the deep shadows of my hood. If she catches a glimpse of me at this moment, she will recognize me, and everything will be ruined.

With a wave of her hand, she says, “So be it, then.”

LINCOLN

It’s eight PM on Tuesday night, two days since the rave. I’ve spent the last hour clicking my pen in my basement bedroom, twirling around in my chair at my desk, staring down at those two words.

Two words, when I have thousands to read, and even more to write, if I plan to defend my thesis against the most aggravating, egotistical group of academics I’ve ever met.

Two words that have consumed my thoughts for the past hour as I stare at the candle on my desk that’s nearly wicked out, the wax dripping molten liquid on my mahogany desk.

Two words as I sit in my windowless bedroom, my classical music playing softly, which muffles the muted, and rather annoying, sobs of the little blonde problem I have tied up on my bed.

Two words that were penned by my hand, yet are words I have no recollection of writing. I’ve read those words as if they were written in scripture, the handwriting so foreign.

Two words that merely say, she’s mine…

A dark laugh skims the surface of my psyche. A mocking laugh, as if to say, fuck you, I’m still here. His laugh is followed by the visceral rage he embodies. I can’t deny it anymore⁠—

Mikael’s back.

This world isn’t ready for his kind of madness.

Flesh and carnage.

I can sense his emotions as if they are an object I can grasp as a critical observer.

“You’re so fucking dramatic,” I mutter, knowing just how close he is to the surface and how easily he can take back control. His emotional baggage from whatever happened at that rave with Summer has lingered for days, giving me the worst hangover.

“You have no idea, psycho boy. You soulless prick.”

His voice echoes inside my head, causing me to jolt. His words chill me to my core, since this is the first time he’s ever spoken to me directly in years. I tilt my head and wait for him to say something else, anything I can latch onto and use to silence him as I’ve silenced all the other alters that have tried to take control.

Little old ladies, children, fragments. It pained me to do it, but I had to control the system for her. So before they could fully form, I muted them.

I’ve ripped myself to shreds trying to figure out how to silence him, but it seems he is invincible, despite our attempts at suppression.

The girl on my bed eyes me curiously as I frown at her, turning my attention back to clicking my pen and staring at those words as the fire from the candle dances in my periphery.

I place my wrist over the flame until it burns and blisters, holding strong and biting down on my cheek until the pain is unbearable, and even then, I keep it there for seconds longer. He thinks his emotions make him powerful.

“You want to feel something? Feel that, motherfucker,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

Finally, the sensation of him settles down, and he disappears into oblivion. My point is firmly made.

Music starts to pump upstairs, and Cali squirms even harder, trying to break through her binds as she watches me burn myself.

Her eyes begin to droop, and her motions slow from the sedative I gave her a few minutes earlier with her food. Her head hangs down as she falls asleep. Her body is still so bruised from when he took her a couple weeks ago, she almost looks as though she’s dead.

It’s easier for me if she is sedated. We both share this sentiment—neither of us wants her to be here. But she’s seen my face, and he has no impulse control, so here we are…