Heroes of Veritas: Necromantic Inclinations (Book 3)

Chapter Twelve: Pass

The scene outside the Desrouleaux townhouse when Lydia and Harmon arrived was one that Echo and Cadence’s upstanding neighbors would probably whisper about for years to come. 

In the dying light of a warm Brekesday afternoon, two identical catton men stood on the stoop of the Desrouleux townhouse, their arms crossed, glasses pushed up onto their long noses as they glared up at a much bigger man dressed all in scarlet. The man in scarlet’s long frock coat fringed with gold braid, and embroidered on the back with a lion rampant. Under the big man’s arm was an enormous hat with a white plume that waggled wildly as he gesticulated at the skinny cattons blocking his way.

She could clearly hear the shouting even over the purring of the Beast’s engine. The three men were all so focused on each other that they hadn’t even heard the Beast as it pulled up, despite how loud its engine was. Dia groaned, dragging both hands down her face before disengaging the Beast’s engine and kicking the motorbike's stand down. She let Harmon climb off before settling it onto the stand and dismounting herself.

While part of her was surprised to see Killian and the twins, another part of her was well aware that it was only a matter of time before they figured out where she was - and as much as they hated each other, all three of them were possessive when it came to Lydia. It wasn’t really that surprising that they’d come here, apparently, to try and take her home - or something.

For the twins, it wasn’t anything romantic. They were tight, true, but the twins were the closest thing to siblings that she had, and Lydia was absolutely certain that they felt the same way. She figured they were probably just there to check in on her, make sure she was as ok as she’d made herself out to be when talking to her parents.

Really, it was more of a surprise that it took them so long to figure out where she was. Looking back on her flight, it was a little embarrassing how poor of a job she’d done covering her tracks. Then again, it’s not like she had a whole lot of places that she could have fled to - not safely anyway. 

Lydia probably should have called the twins like she had her parents; it might not have stopped them from coming all this way, but she could only imagine how worried she would have been if their roles had been reversed. They were her best friends after all, but they’d been on the outs after the pair of them flat-out refused to attend her wedding. In the end, it had simply been too embarrassing to ring them up when she knew they would rub in her face just how right they had been about Killian. 

Still, it warmed her heart knowing that despite their recent disagreements, and the undoubted ribbing to come, Marlo and Angelo were still very much on her side.

“Let me pass, you annoying little twerps! What I have to say to Lydia is no business of yours!” the privateer shouted, for all the good that did him.

The twins glanced to each other, snorted as one, then turned their attention back to the red-faced Killian.

“You...” Angelo said, lifting his chin defiantly as he spoke, his fluffy ears flattening against his head.

“Shall not...” Marlo hissed as he narrowed his eyes at Killian.

“Paaaaasss.” Lydia said breezily as she shoved past Killian and hopped up the short set of stairs to the Desrouleaux’s stoop. “Whatever you have to say, I don’t want to hear it. Take yourself and your ‘business,’ as you call it, elsewhere.” 

Then, because she was a lady, she spun around and added, with a polite if mocking curtsy, “Please and thank you, your grace.”

The jerkface had always chided her for her lack of traditionally ladylike grace. Well, he could take his manners and stick ‘em where the sun don’t shine.

Killian pursed his lips as he took in Lydia’s appearance. Her outfit was, in her opinion, perfect, though she could tell from the disdain that flickered through his eyes that her ex-fiance disagreed. It was a little bit flashy, a little bit fitted, but still comfortable. Selene had crafted for her a whole new wardrobe with a darker color palette that seemed to give her an air of sophistication that suited her new life in the city. Today she was wearing a snug fitting pair of moto leggings in a combination of leather and black denim with zippers up the calves, a long black asymmetrical sweater with beading at the shoulders that was reminiscent of epaulettes, and a thick studded belt that cinched at the waist to emphasize her generous hourglass curves. The buckle was a huge black silver skull and crossbones with a crown of flowers and little rubies glowing from its sockets. That was not one of Selene’s creations, but a piece that Lydia already owned, and always carried with her - a death ward. 

It was her coming of age gift from her parents, custom made based on a design that her father drew up. People always assumed she got into artificing because of her mother, a well known crafter, but it was actually her father’s talent for design that had inspired her. The theme for her big coming of age party, which her mother had insisted on despite Lydia’s ardent protests, had been Dia de Los Muertos. It was, apparently, an ancient foreign holiday that celebrated the dead, and even though she never admitted it out loud, Dia had very much enjoyed the party. Yes, it was kitschy - and yes, it more than hinted at her natural talent for necromancy - but well, it was fun. 

Especially the part where her Uncle Moltar showed up with his face painted to look like a skull. He wasn’t the only one who had dressed for the occasion, but he was definitely the one who had put the most effort into his outrageously goth costume. He’d even decorated The Beast to match, though the burly redeemer had disappointed Lydia deeply when he refused to hand over the keys. She thought for sure it would end up being her coming of age gift from him, but when she asked he laughed in her face and handed her her actual gift - a big ass chest of rare mana crystals. It wasn’t The Beast, but it certainly eased the sting - especially when Moltar grunted something about saving the money and materials to invest in creating her own Beast.

Then, as now, the appearance of Killian only disrupted her life. That was the day he made his grand re-entrance to Veritasian society, after all. He’d swept into the party with no costume or gift, just a boatload of charm and whispered words when he finally got her alone that set her s*x on fire.

Well, there wasn’t even a spark left of that fire now. As Dia looked up at the broad shouldered privateer, she realized that whatever charms he had no longer held any sway over her. It was odd; she’d been expecting to feel something when she next saw the bastard - though she had seriously hoped to avoid him the rest of her life.

They’d been broken up for little more than a day; shouldn’t she be bursting into tears about now? Killian certainly looked like he’d been crying. He had dark circles under his hazel green eyes, and his square jaw, which had been clean shaven for the wedding, was now scraggly with a day and a half’s growth. His long red hair had been tied back, but that didn’t disguise how greasy it was. He probably took off from the temple as soon as he could and spent the last day and a half searching for her.

She had no idea why he bothered. Though she couldn’t remember exactly what she said before fleeing the temple, she felt certain that she’d made her intent clear - she wanted nothing more to do with him.

“I’m not leaving here without you, Lydia. You’re mine. You have to come with me.” Killian growled, almost snarling when the twins each slid an arm around Lydia’s waist. 

He’d always hated how touchy-feely Angelo and Marlo were. The privateer’s possessiveness, which had been carefully restrained before, was palpable now. It made the air sizzle with tension.

“The only thing I have to do, your grace, is stay goth and die.” Lydia said, lifting her hand up to stop him when he stepped toward her. “Though if you want to take on that last bit for me, please feel free.”

“But…” Killian whined, his voice growing desperate. It was not a good look for a man his size - or any adult, really. “We’re best friends. That letter you wrote, I...I read it after you left. It brought me back to my senses. I remember all those things, too..the truly important things. I admit, I was an idiot...but that girl meant nothing to me. She could never replace you; no one could. We’re meant to be together. It’s destiny.”

Lydia’s lips parted slightly as she remembered all the things she wrote in that letter. There was the feeling she’d been waiting for, though it wasn’t the tidal wave of pain and sadness she’d been expecting. Instead, the hurt washed over her like a gentle tide rolling in.

She’d poured everything into that letter; it was a torrent of emotions, which were running high on the morning of what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. Her throat constricted; it was hard to breathe. 

How the void was she supposed to respond?