Everbound Book One, Chapter Four: The Destiny You Know & The Angel You Don't. Part 1.1.

Hello Hello, I meant to post this yesterday, but got called away for the night. I know this took a while and is still rough with lots of chunky dialogue. I will be honest, writer's block hit hard and I am not super happy with it, but still proudish enough to share. Happy belated birthday, Lilian, and hope ya'll enjoy! ( I will leave a part one summary  in the comments as a refresher, btw) 

Tw: very light references to Arguments with and mistreatment from a romantic partner. 

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She had been here before.

It was a thought coated in a twisted nostalgia so thick it threatened to choke her like the lump in her throat. Even the growing ache in her back seemed far too familiar as her cramping muscles swapped the door for floorboards. Small changes crept in through lightning streaked shadows chasing the rain and her fleeting breath. In some ways, it was a shattered illusion of safety being pieced together before her eyes and a glimpse into paranoia-fuelled nights covered in the soft sweetness of baby’s breath.

However, the fading warmth of cinnamon served as a reminder that there was no wine to dull jumping nerves, nor ears for pre-planned accusations to fall onto. For all of that was a grim memento from long, tearful nights and hours spent staring at unchanging text exchanges much like the blurring contact names in front of her current self. Still, the notes of old oak and honey flooded her tongue all the same, as if waiting for past screaming matches to return when her shaking hands hit the name in front of her: Pandora.

The ghosts of white wines and disappearing exes past might have to wait; not that she would pick up considering all those late “work nights” where she woke up alone. She had bigger, more dramatic, and snakelike fish to fry. Ones that couldn’t be real, because, damn it, her mother’s old wives’ tales could not be real. One way or another, something told her the coming argument would hit far too close to home.

A bitterness hung in the air as Lilian’s lungs constricted around forming words guided by her settling heartbeat. The cold chill that pricked her rust-stained skin did little to stop it from wanting to break out of her chest. It lurched with every rumbling engine or shifting pattern forged by headlights as they floated across her wall. There was a thinness within her that came with every twitch of a finger or cramp in her jaw, as if it would split the world apart in floods of smoke and golden heat.

Although their grasp was unsteady, her hands did what her mind could not as light bells broke the silence. The ringtone filled the corners of the room, unaware of the tossing dread that churned in her flipping stomach as lingering terror and shame blurred together. It was going to be hell to explain what had happened without the baggage, but how many more times could she be pushed into the deep end by these things, these horrors, before someone else made this call?

The excuses for empty chairs at dinners would have been one thing, but damn it... She was a ticking time bomb, and she didn’t need old fables or-or warnings that sang her to sleep when they might have known. Here she was haunted by nightmares, and they might have known.

Something closer to a ragged laugh broke from her chest and split onto her buzzing nerves as the world spun. Her thoughts swirled as her bones settled with every hard swallow that forced down the growing baritone amongst the bells. It clung to her senses like a phantom’s embrace, cold but heavy, until it turned into once uttered words.

“But if you wish, give Morgan my regards.” Even as a figment, those words dug into her core.

He knew them by name. It might be unwise to trust the devil, but they had to know. She couldn’t escape and now she’s stuck on the end of a fing phone call...

In a minor act of mercy, those light notes faded into shuffling papers and the soft click of keyboards.

“H-Hey Dad, I know you're neck deep in cases, but do you have time to talk...” Lilian’s voice felt as if it belonged to a different place, a different person who used to peek behind beat-up door cracks.

For just a second, her finger twitched with every heartbeat that seemed to both freeze and pound in her ears. Their lawyers — how could they know, or did it change the fact that they might?

“Now what kind of family lawyer would I be if I can’t make time for my own? However, is this a give legal advice, ask questions later talk, or do I have time to guess there’s more trouble in paradise?” Her father’s voice seemed to steal all the steadiness she lacked.

A second laugh broke through her body before she could grasp it in its bitter glory. The lukewarm coffee, on her bated breath, etched a further dryness into her throat.

“Oh, please, for me to fight with Pandora, she needs to be here, and that … hasn’t happened in little over a month. So could this be an ‘I ask the questions, you supportively judge me later’ talk? “

What started as a mercy shifted into an act of pity as typing became pointed. The once-reliable sound melted into a soft inhale, coated in a honeyed melancholy. Still, it held a sense of precise focus all the same, as the noise stretched on, taking the dead air in her lungs with it. If it wasn’t for her heart, the only sign of life would be the dull ache in her tensing shoulder blades.

“I-I’m sorry, my dear, we could have your old room fixed up by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Can we please not start with pity or lectures? I get it, your offer stands, and I will visit someday, but that’s not why I called.” Lilian’s voice failed to hide its tremor. “I just need answers, please.”

The words felt heavier, lingering in the air than they did digging into her tongue.

“I’ll try my best to keep a level head no matter what, but if she did something you don’t want to tell me, I can get your mother.” There was an unexpected timidness that laced her father’s voice.

A whisper of a memory stirred under flashes of flames and silk. Rather, these fragments were made from breathless screams set against neon-licked shadows. For once, it wasn’t the ghost of wine or fruit syrups that churned her stomach.

“So what if I don’t stay? Are you going to go running to mommy and daddy? Go on, I always knew you would!” Even without being in the room, Pandora’s voice took up all the air in it.

“Honey, we can only help if you tell us...”

“Things got rough near the end, but there are lines even she wouldn’t cross. Look, this isn’t about my cursed love life, I... I just can’t ask Mom this,” Lilian tried to find the words among her shadow spinning on the ceiling." Do you remember when I stole your car and went to Salem? You know I wanted to know more about the stories she told. There was always a hardness in Mom’s eyes, like it was real, but it wasn’t right?"

“Oh, there’s no such thing as a cursed love life. Sometimes the cards don’t lay right, and you need to reshuffle the deck. However, where is this going? We don’t bring up the past for a reason, Lilian?”

Where objections should have been was struggling breath, speared by the ache in her spine. It seemed to pierce through bone and the bundled nerves in her shoulders, straight down to her burrowing heels. All the while, shadows stirred across plain walls much like the urge in her limbs. Even if it brought the ghost of sun-kissed fingers on her throat. She needed something more comfortable, more sturdy, but not the door. She’s too trapped against the door.

“I’m not asking if you killed someone o-or if you were in a cult, Dad! I just want to know if it’s true.” Frustration rose in Lilian’s voice as her feet teetered onto shaky ground.

For just a second, the world fell into a sharp inhale and the sound of crowded streets moving on below. It refused to tumble like her still twisting stomach and spinning head. Even as she now stood to greet the shadows on their terms rather than them towering over her crumpled form.

“If someone has been filling your head with this stuff, you need to tell me. There’s a reason we left that side of the family, and it’s not for you to deal with; you’re still my little girl.”

“For Christ’s sake, Dad, I’m not a child! I have a right to know if it’s bad.” The slow roll of anger began to wash the static from her wobbling steps. “Maybe he was right, and I am woefully unprepared, as you can’t even claim that we’re normal! You know, my earliest memory is watching you do a tarot reading through a door crack. Not in some nice open office, but a shitty, run-down apartment. I just want to know that the devil isn’t real and my great-grandpa did not make a deal with him. “

“Who was right, dear? We have no friends nor family from Salem. That ship sailed long, long ago; for once, I may need to pry. This is serious. ”

Even though she rose above the shadows, the ache still ate away at her bones like sparks under her skin. Ones drawn out by the light grasp of wind, whisked rain and gashes of building lightning that formed a sort of heartbeat under her feet.

“Does it matter? You’ll still dance around the question and think I am crazy. Maybe I am, but can you just tell me how great grandpa Johnny made his money, as it seems the story about the devil sends mom his regards!”

Shit, shit, shit…

By the time her hands sank into the leather of her couch, answers refused to come. Instead, the small pocket of the outside world was reduced to fast-paced mutters and the feverish squeal of office chair wheels. All while the fabric consumed the beating of her heart and the growing impatience that tapped morse code out with her foot. The noises seemed to break through the shadows as every hard swallow was coated in the sting of burning plastic and thick copper.

“Lilian, you need to listen to me very carefully. Do not engage. Anyone claiming to know us is dangerous. Even you should know when the tower appears in the deck, you leave it damn alone. “Her father’s voice sharpened into a point, carrying the whine of a flung-open door and footsteps. Words seemed to sink past her in favour of some third party long gone. “He can hide behind forbidden fruit and incense, but he is not about to go back on his word. Open arms mean nothing, especially if he thinks he can hold our daughter over our heads like he made us...”

The blood in Lilian’s veins went cold before her breath could have formed.

They knew this whole time. She spent her whole teenage hood crouched around makeshift altars, and they knew.

“You know, maybe you should let us handle this. It isn’t good for your health. The last thing you need is some prank from one of your mother’s old colleagues to cause a cough to flare up or have you chase a world of occult nonsense. “

How many times did she try to clean the offering stains from her fingertips, and they chose to focus on how the other girls didn’t like her…

In a second, her shaking, rust-stained fingers began to shift into an old memory. The chill of leather shifted into the dull blade of a kitchen knife set against dusty shag. A lump formed in her throat like the sticky remains of pomegranate seeds and the bruised crimson of juice.

Although it was not the same poster-riddled popcorn ceiling as this window into the past, it still spun. The heartbeat that once belonged to the thunder seemed to merge with her own.

“I thought this was a listening to me talk. “For a moment, her words felt foreign in her voice.” Just I-I don’t … What the hell, you knew!?”

“I know this seems overbearing now, but this is not something for an already stressed young lady to handle…” Her father’s voice was lost to the rain and the blood stirring in her veins.

“Don’t start, the we did it to protect you act. I am an adult. All you had to say is No, you’re not going crazy, the devil isn’t real, and you’re great-grandpa worked for the mob.”

But of course they won’t, as that would be fiction. The two people who were supposed to actually protect her lied, and it led the devil to her door... She could have been taught or at least warned. As they damn well knew.

The taste of hours-old coffee hesitated near her lips, unsure if it wanted to crawl out. It seemed to slice through her faint breaths in a held-off stream of bile. All while her stomach began to churn like her blurring vision or indecisive heels.

“Just.. don’t start, please, not when you knew. That’s not protection, that’s hiding something. “Lilian’s voice was more of a whisper than anything else.

For just a second, those footsteps fell short.

“There’s nothing for you to know, because it won’t involve you. Sometimes people go to extremes to rouse sleeping dogs, kiddo.”

Something like a misshapen laugh slipped past the tightness in her throat. It seemed like the fading sound of someone else as it bounced around the shadows. All the while, it shifted into a frustrated sob as if some uneasy spirit were pushing her away.

“Are you sure? Because you think I really would be having this call, saying any of this, if it didn’t involve me?”

The words hung in the air once again as rain threaded through the sky in heavy sheets. It worked its way into closed-off lungs, never quite acting as a balm amidst slow rumbles of thunder. Even so, the storm for just a moment split her nerves, making her tense fingers twist in curls away from the leather. Instead of finding a new home through bleached, frazzled plaits, in a scene much like  the changing shadows carried through copper-tinged air. However, they did not hold warmth behind their eyes or have their muscles pulled taut.

When the devil showed up at her door, it was a little too late not to be involved..

“I’m sure that it is complex and you don’t need that stress.”

“Really, because it’s not going to get any simpler, and it sure as hell seems like you knew who I meant without even a letter to his name.” Lilian’s words were coated with rising anger. “If you’re so worried that he will hold me over your head, then maybe you should have said something, anything. You know, maybe when I stole your car to visit a coven, because old stories are all I had. “

The warmth behind her eyes began to tip over and retrace now dried but still fearful trails. It seemed to mix with the stirring of her blood, kissing her skin with a shallow warmth. One that fought under her veins like her jumbled words and withheld screams. All while the sting of wind swept copper consumed her thoughts and senses.

However, there was one thing that would guarantee answers, and she’d lied about it once already, but... she’d be as crazy as they were.

“I didn’t want to dig this all up, but I’m scared because I was never prepared for this, Dad. After all, I’m twenty-six, but I don’t know how we made enough money to get through the great depression o-or even how my own parents met. “

Lightning struck, shadows played in the silence, warping shapes through iron-thick air. It left the rain to murmur against her breath and the mindless rhythm of her feet. Their heels ached to pave new paths while the room refused to settle its spin. While reality shifted, her tense nerves almost missed the weary sigh and fingers slipping from a doorknob. Although it rang out on the other side of the phone, it felt more like a world now long forgotten.

“Well, there are a few things I can tell you. The devil is real, but he hides behind charming smiles or silk suits; even with that, his followers are just human... with all the good and blinding envy that comes with it. “Her father’s words seemed to melt away with the panicked anger in his voice. “Or how I was terrified when you were born. You were so small, and I was just a 21-year-old who took your mother away from what she knew. However, I would never change a thing, and I think I knew that from the second I pulled the lovers card for your mother, journal tucked under her arm. “

A sea of blood rushed under her skin, and reality seemed to shatter. However, this time it refused to come in one swift movement of buckling windows and shattering lights. Rather, it came in the form of echoing farewells that rose above the pounding in her ears.

Of course, that’s why he would send her his regards... Please don’t let him and Destiny be right.

“She had a journal? Was it a big, hulking thing of old leather and inlaid red thread that kind of looks like a nest?”

“H-how did you know... Not that it matters, it isn’t what you think. Your mother was the closest thing they had to an archivist. Well, at least one who wasn’t going to keel over.”

Why had they just said something now, after the intruders, after that damn store... after the coven?

“Is that why they asked me how it was treating me? You met my mother in a coven while she was dealing with the Devil’s journal, and you didn’t think it would bite you later? “

For a second, the murmured swears that filled the room was a mix of her father’s voice and her own. All while the weight of her phone slipped from her fingers and every one of her muscles begged to join it.

“Some stories aren’t meant to be told. Please, just please don’t engage further. “

His words faded along with the rain as the world seemed to drag forward in its broken state.

“Lilian! Damn it, Lilian!”

***

Reality returned through lung-twisting heaves that rendered her throat raw. It was a pitiful sound that fought against the rain filling her ears and the fresh, iron-heavy copper digging into her nerves. Broken words were a ghost that slipped through her fingers like the saliva pooled on her tiles. Shadows seemed to bend and wrap around her showerhead like an unknown spirit waiting for her hunched muscles to choose their path. All while her fingers twitched against the door frame as silver hair nested into her neck.

This was insane. It should have taken more than three days to drop into this level of delusion.

For such a small room, it seemed to stretch before her. The never-ending walls were haunted by hollow stares and old confrontations. However, this time there would be no steam or scalding water working through her skin. In its place stood flickering yellow-tinted lights and the snap of her shoes against the slate coloured floor. There, the sound would hide in her rattling breaths like the acrid scent of singed brick that days could not wash off.

It didn’t take her three years; no, it took three days, and here she was yet again. Because she couldn’t pick just one poison, in fact, the devil clearly wasn’t enough. Perhaps it ran in her cultist bloodline....

Her thoughts swirled as if to chase remnants of sandalwood and lilies of the valley. It would rest on her tongue lighter than the stench of blood and unanswered questions, even if they slipped from her lips through exhausted laughter that rested with her leaning form. Her limbs were pale and sunken as the edge of the sink bit into her pounding veins. Although the air began to settle in the wake of her steps, her chest refused to follow. The cold chill of porcelain seeped from her fingertips into her core like whispers of a non-existent witness.

All except for the stare that ripped through the bones that her lungs wanted to break. It pressed into her being through watermarked glass, somehow both meek and hard-set graphite. There, that gaze sat above dark, swollen rings, trying to capture sleep, much like the judgment held tight in her tensed jaw and tightly pulled brows.

“Look, I am not going to judge myself for this. Talking to myself is bad enough. Even if I look like I’m half of a warmed-over corpse, it doesn’t mean I’m brain dead.” Lilian’s voice was reduced to a sob-like gasp." A-at times like this, when everyone is lying, you have to do some drastic things."

It’s not like she wanted any of this.

What little colour remained in her fingers drained, gone with this morning’s swill. A churning feeling cut through her ragged throat, morphing into a rage that bleached her knuckles white. For a second, it blended into the make-up-stained sink her curling fists pounded into. Allowing the sound of skin hitting its target to climb out of the overcast rain, while blushes and eyeshadows painted the air. The candied pastels seemed to mingle with the sobbing scream that split the room.

She didn’t want this; she didn’t want any of it. One straight answer, and none of this had to happen. None of it, none of it, none of it!

The spin of her thoughts threatened to dissolve under the wave of pain that flooded her. Her screams were reduced to rattling heaves and buzzing nerves that leached into her skin. Copper rushed to calm her burning lungs, but instead coated her throat in a harsh but pigmented reminder. All while coughs spilled onto the floor and hazy air. The blur of her senses and shaking knees mixed into reality as it seemed to unravel.

Now she had to play into it, as ludicrous as it was. What other choice does she have? Ignoring it won’t work; hiding it won’t.

Her gaze seemed to drift back to her reflection, where a long-lived exhaustion looked through her being. It clung to gritted teeth and sure to bruise fingers, seeming to rise with her chest. The new uneasy silence waited for her twin to speak or sigh before her muscles forced her choice. However, something quicker than her swirling doubts crept in amidst the settling powders. Even if it was a flickering ghost compared to the yellow lights.

Oh great, not only was she going to use her own blood for God knows what, but she’s still seeing shit.

There, smeared against her neck, was a tangled mass of glowing crimson that rose and fell with her being. It spooled from her blue-tinted veins in shifting strings, eager to wrap around her panicked nails as they scraped against scoured skin. A returning choice laid alongside the warmth that seemed to blur the line between those shifting tones and the very thing she came here for. It sat against her skin as a silent push that wrapped around her arms and rested on her ring finger. With every gulp of sour air, those whispers of energy would jump and shatter into half-lit paths.

It was ludicrous, but it didn’t matter as she had lost it fully, and yet even her brain was lying to her.

Her thoughts plummeted along with her stomach as a dying pink traced a thin, web-like thread. It moved with hurried fingers or wide darting eyes, splitting points disappeared into the half-painted shadows in a lax nature, as if someone had let go. Other offshoots seemed to brim with life, drawing warm sunspots on the floor as they weaved around pipes and cabinets in strained curves. For just a second, it seemed to drink up the copper-heavy air as it played with scarlet-streaked glass with an ease her heart neglected. Sweat pierced her neck as if to freeze the lump in her throat.

See, see, see! She had to be delusional because, of course, it would just lead her here. Everything else in this sick game did, and of course, this-this thing looked like the string around the devil’s finger…

What little air that remained in her lungs drained from her not in a hiss or trembling grasp but like water leaking out of a beached ship’s hull. Those sun spots began to leave with it, allowing the muddled yellow-stained grays to spin in lurching shapes eager to pounce on her slamming heart. Reality seemed to linger on her trembling legs and cracked lips as if unspoken words wrapped around her teeth would become mundane.

How does the brain draw the line between trick and truth? She felt it all — the smoke in her lungs, the glass on the bookstore floor or the chill of metal against her chin. God, even the grit of chalk against the same fingers that smeared fresh ink on bristol board or sun-kissed hands on her neck.

It was her legs that screamed before she could, as everything ended how it started. Not lost in the embrace of a flash bang, but with crumbling knees driven into the tile rather than hardwood; hands outstretched in shaking circles. Still, some part of her tried to crawl out of the nonsensical shambles, much like the cries in her throat or the pounding of her heart that could be felt in every heavy muscle. However, there would be no singed bricks to see her on the other side as lightning rolled like a distant memory.

Instead, she dragged her hunched form through rose-tinted shadows. Her eyes no longer stuck between shelves wrapped in a blank canvas. Now that the world refused to bend in grotesque angles, all that was left to see was the incandescent fractals wrapping around her trembling hand. There it would stay, scraping against the trail it made before her, posing a silent question. One that seemed to burn through her nerves thanks to the jolts that threatened to choke her as she reeled back in fearful instinct. Realizations seemed to sink in with every cramp or desperate gasp cut short.

This was too ornate for stress, breaking her brain. It was the smell of incense or the weight of paper or the feel of skin against hers. Not all at once or in panic-fueled flashes, but it combined into something … something real.

A primal urge pierced her twisting form like that accursed string through the jar’s stained glass. Leaving in its place a buzz that consumed every atom of her body as glimpses of herself stared back. Small glimpses of red rimmed eyes that dug into her crumpled muscles before being lost to a sea of tar-like blood and misshapen clots. For a second, it seemed like a silent ghost begging her to draw closer; begging her to reach through the rain pounding on the walls as if it was just a wine glass held in leather gloves.

If it really wanted to hurt her, it would have already. The other stuff was more touch-and-go, sure, but what harm could some blood do?

Whispers of rain promised to fill her ears but not shrink the world into tunnel vision. In its stead was an unblinking stare as her trembling hands passed through long, faded plumes of golden flames. Although there would be no flashes of cinnamon as copper scraped against her whitened knuckles. Even without the acrid sting of smoke, an ember seemed to spread through her nerves while her curling fingers paused near shimmering glass. That tar-like blood seemed to push against the glass in hefty thrashes as if to soothe the suffocating lump in her throat and consume her faltering wrist. It seemed to hold its own angered breath as it slammed against the glass, leaving something glinting in the aftermath.

Amidst the quickening mahogany waves were little rivers of gilded flakes, forming smears that appeared more like rugged cracks in some holy marble statue. One that seemed to emit an arcane calmness that did little to stop the strangled confusion lodged within her throat. Instead, it built into a jumble of unsaid words and laboured breath as those waves threw themselves at her, nearing fingertips. All while the frenzied burbling of blood seemed to hiss out comforts burnt into her memory.

“Be not afraid. “The blood seemed to plead in low voices, “Be not afraid.”

However, those pleas seemed to lack the calmness they once held as they were buried under the pounding in her chest. It slammed against her bones as if to free her heart from the buzzing, dead air under her skin. All while the ember in her nerves seemed to tip into a fever pitch, dragging out pained cries from her tensed jaw. The warmth that burned through her muscles and bones seemed to belong to late nights filled with yellowed pages and red looping ink. Instead, those flashes of horror would be held in the shifting cracks traced by her fingertips with no chill in the lapping waves to soothe her. Rather, it seemed to add a further layer of desperation as gold deepened and the heat pushed through her being. Leaving low voices to morph into demanding screams as her grip stiffened.

Where those little rivers once stood was now buckling glass, soaked in a vibrant red. Spilling the smell of iron and a deafening truth spelled out in half-formed shards across her damp skin. A sense of discord was threaded in the new stillness as a cool spread across her twisting nerves. Thoughts rested heavily in her wide-eyed reflection, caught between wine coloured shadows and spiderweb fractures.

It was real, wasn't it? It was goddamn real! And now she had a book to pick up…