Page 4 of Realm of the Wicked

2

STELLA

When I was seven, Grace was born, a perfect, pink, squirming newborn. Overcome with love for this tiny thing, I made a promise to my mother. I would do everything in my power to protect her and keep her safe, the kind of promise little kids make when they’re small and full of hope. And up until eighteen months ago, I had kept that promise. Of course, I never expected the lengths I would go to keep Grace safe.

As always, when I had something on my mind, I found myself walking the trail along the river. The sound of the rushing water seemed to drown out any of my own twisting thoughts, and the soft breeze always brought me back down to earth. Even when I passed families out for a walk, or someone with a dog, it never felt intrusive. Everyone floated by in their own bubbles, focused on their own problems.

The trail was my safe place.

October blew in colder than normal, and I hadn’t dressed for the weather when I rushed out the door, so I resorted to stuffing my hands in my pockets to protect them from the crisp air. I wouldn’t be out here long. I couldn’t expect Mrs Mullins to watch Grace all evening. Besides, if she woke up, I wanted to be there.

I sighed, marching over to one of the wooden benches that lined the riverbank. The dim light from the lamp post set a soft glow, a circle of peace over the solitary bench. Overhead, a raven flew, calling out to another in a mournful cry. Deep down in my heart, I knew hospice wasn’t the worst thing. I didn’t mind caring for Grace, truly. She would do it for me in a heartbeat. In the same breath, it was hard to be both a sister and a nurse. And if these really were to be Grace’s last days here, she needed me as a sister more.

Her last days.

A jagged sob ripped through my chest, all the fear and anguish and overwhelming sadness rushing through the cracks as the tears I refused to cry in front of Grace poured down my face. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Grace deserved to have a beautiful life. One filled with love, and happiness, and half a dozen kids running around. She’d experienced far too much heartbreak for her young life already.

At twenty-one, I’d gotten the call that changed our lives forever. I’d missed the first call. And the second, out celebrating the end of term with my friends. The third call I’d picked up back in my dorm room, sobering up immediately. My hand had trembled around my cell phone as I’d struggled to process the words coming down the speaker, the cop’s calm voice forever cemented in my brain.

A fire. Next of kin.

The fire that took my parents’ lives spared Grace’s, who had been spending the night at a friend’s house. To me, there was never another option. I’d taken care of Grace since, and still, it wasn’t enough.

I didn’t know how to accept losing my best friend. Was that something anyone ever really accepted? Or did we just pack it away to deal with at a later time, like the box of photographs our parents never get around to doing something with? Next week, they probably thought. Next week, I’ll put those photos into an album. Always next week, until the chubby-cheeked baby was an adult with a box of photographs of their own and nowhere to put them.

Maybe it was the same with grief. Next week, I’ll go to therapy. Next week, I’ll pack up her things. Next week, I’ll say goodbye.

I wasn’t ready for any of it. But time was ticking whether I liked it or not.

‘I don’t know what you want from me any more.’ I looked to the sky like there was someone up there who might actually be listening, when the reality was that I’d stopped believing in any sort of god the night I got that phone call. ‘Haven’t I given you enough? When does it end?’

The tears were coming harder now, dripping off the end of my nose and my chin. Grace was safe with Mrs Mullins, and the trail had been empty when I stepped onto it, leaving me free to drop the heavy mask.

Here, it was okay to be sad. It was okay to not make jokes, fake a smile or need to make someone else laugh. A therapist would probably have a heyday with me. I laughed to myself, thinking about the dollar signs in their eyes when I showed up to the office with a smile and years of repressed trauma. The trees above me shook as the ravens flew off, scattering in the cool wind, leaving me alone once more. I was too much of a lost cause, even for them.

‘Fuck.’ I didn’t bother trying to wipe the tears. I’d need to pack them away later, but let them come for now.

‘Bad day?’

I snapped my head up to see a man sitting next to me on the bench, staring at me in complete perplexion. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

My safe space intruded, I swiped away my tears with the back of my hand, sniffling as I prepared myself to lock all emotions back inside again. ‘I’m fine.’

I took a few moments to suss out my surroundings. We appeared to be alone on the trail, but the trailhead wasn’t far away, and the road sat just beyond that. I hadn’t run for a while, but I used to be quick. A few years of community kickboxing didn’t make me an expert, but left me unafraid to be alone with this strange man. Besides, he looked genuinely concerned.

He cocked his head to the side, sharp, dark eyes examining me. ‘You don’t look fine.’

Pausing, I took in my charming new benchmate from beneath my lashes. He was shockingly handsome, the kind of looks that made people stare, and very out of place here. His crisp dress pants were better suited to a high-rise in the city, not my tiny riverside trail. Old money, where the style changed little over the decades. His polished leather shoes looked too nice to be good for hiking. Black hair was pushed away from his face, dark eyes staring thoughtfully at me. What was he even doing on the trail in the first place?

He sat just outside of the streetlamp’s glow, casting him in half-shadows. The stranger didn’t shift back and forth. Didn’t stutter. If anything, he seemed overly confident.

He pulled away, rummaging in his expensive-looking trench coat, pulling out a small silk square. ‘Here.’

A handkerchief. I took it between my fingers, wondering who the Hell even carried a handkerchief any more. He didn’t look that much older than me. Old money for sure.

‘Oh.’