Chapter Twenty-Four : The Dwindling of Time
Corinne
Hints of dawn shone through every crack and crevice of the house, and yet despite the early hour, all the Witches of the house stood downstairs as they examined the flame.
The candle flickered and shone brightly in the dimly lit room, but the wax pillar itself was still the same height. Not a drop of wax tainted the wrought iron surface of the table. It was almost as if the flame was flickering without the candle truly burning down, which should not have been possible.
"Merde." Marie voiced the sentiment that seemed to encompass each of us.
"The candle needs to burn down for the spell to be complete before the Three Nights in Hell spell runs out." Brenna laid out the facts that we all knew, deepening the nail in the coffin that held my mounting guilt.
Defeat washed over me, erasing every other emotion in its wake.
"I'm going to call grams." Zoey's offer was filled with sorrow, and I had to swallow down the nausea that was building inside of me - had to press back the bile in the back of my throat.
Zoey breezed back in, her hands clasped before her as if she needed something to hold onto, and in the wake of her panic, she found only herself.
I held myself still, willing myself to breathe through my panic - breathe through my failure. The sounds of the household washed over me - the teaspoon clinking against the mug, the light footsteps of someone walking down the stairs, the flush of a toilet. The normalcy of it all was near crippling, and I found my hand clutching the cool metal of the table's surface in an attempt to steady myself.
"Grams is going to look through some books and see if we can fast-track the process and get the candle to actually burn." Zoey's voice was a shock of ice water to my soul, freezing my emotions until they were numb.
I blinked once as I came back to the moment, taking in Zoey, Brenna, and Marie before me.
Even in sleep, Brenna was put together in her white silk boxer and camisole sleepwear set. Marie's legs were visible beneath a large white t-shirt that hung to her thighs, and I wondered which one of her boyfriends she had taken it from. Zoey, by contrast, wore a black t-shirt that declared her to be thatVoodoobitch with cotton sleep shorts.
My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and even as I flicked the tip of my tongue against the roof of my mouth, my willingness to talk seemed to dry up instantaneously.
"I hate this room." Zoey banded her arms around her own body, hugging herself in a soothing motion.
How often had I done the same thing? How often had I wrapped my own arms around my body in the semblance of a hug? How often had I soothed my own aches and pains?
The awareness of Zoey's loneliness barrelled into my chest with an impact that left me breathless. And I wondered how I had never noticed before.
"Why?" Brenna snapped, as if the mere idea of Zoey being uncomfortable in a room offended her somehow.
"Because this is where Arlo resides."
My gaze snapped up to meet hers as I silently demanded an explanation.
The stack of silver bangles she always wore jangled against her arm as she shifted uncomfortably, as if she only now realized what she had said - what she had admitted.
"Arlo's here?" I kept my voice even, in an attempt to not give anything away.
"Don't worry." Zoey offered me a tight smile before she seemed to exhale in one of the wrought iron chairs that matched the table, her entire body relaxing against the metal. "He knows he's not your favourite person, but he's still happy that you're here."
I clenched my jaw, willing myself to work through the influx of emotions that surged through my system. Arlo had been a master manipulator - a smooth talking old man that had technically been the leader of the Bratva, even if Dimitri had been the one doing all the work.
The problem was that Arlo was Dimitri's grandfather, and up until a few weeks ago, Dimitri's only immediate family that was alive.
There was no possibility of me telling Dimitri that his deceased grandfather had been an asshole who had manipulated all of us. So, instead, I offered Dimitri support and comfort during his grief - even if that comfort had come in the form of Dimitri driving himself into me over and over again.
But I had not mourned Arlo and I had not suffered from the loss of him. Even the Bratva did not pause their motions entirely to bid their leader peace and tranquility in the after-life because Dimitri had filled the role of leader far longer than any of them had realized, and perhaps that had been the old man's plan all along.
The only person his death truly impacted was Dimitri, and his loss was what I grieved - his pain was what I felt.
"I don't want to know what he has to say." My voice was neutral as I spoke because I did not want to be burdened with any more of Arlo's secrets, and I had a feeling that even in death he would strive to manipulate.
"He wants me to tell you - "