Page 141 of Wings of Lies
He was right. But that didn’t make it any easier.
I tried to hold onto my anger as I grabbed the cast iron skillet filled with cold potatoes. The pan required two hands. Feet slapping into the wet puddle, I stood behind my ice-encased father. Parts of him remained iced over, while others were thoroughly soaked. The white of his clothing hung close to his muscular frame. Potatoes slopped onto my sparkly flats and into the water as I raised the skillet. Winding back, I waited. Drip by drip, my father thawed. Each drip made me flinch.
I couldn’t do this.
He hurt you first,he said.
But… The doubt continued to seep in. My wrists shook with the weight of the iron. Hovering over his neck, sweat forming with my increasing heart rate, the last of the ice melted. And it might’ve worked. Maybe we could’ve left with no one the wiser, but the moment the glistening sheen fell away to soppy clothing, I hesitated. In that moment, I truly realized the value of my mom’s lesson on hesitation.
His movements blurred. My body slammed into the pans and plates of food on the table. A broken plate cut through my dress and into my back, staining my no longer pure white dress with blood. Black and white spots dotted my vision from the force of my head hitting the pot. My father used one hand to pin both of my wrists down. He moved so fast I didn’t even notice the large white feather gripped in his hand coming for my arm. Its needlepoint was dipped in black, like a quill, and as if my arm was the missing parchment, he stabbed it into my skin, dragging it up and down.
“You will never have access to your powers again, and once the Council of Righteousness is through with you, I’ll not only be rewarded, but I’ll never have to see your sinful face again.”
Shrieking from the hot agony, I tried to squirm out of his hold. But I didn’t stand a chance.
He sawed at my skin with his feather, warming my mind and taking my energy.
Fury that didn’t belong to me erupted without its piercing cold.I will take pleasure in seeing him burn in hell for his sins. Mark my words, child, his days are numbered.The stranger’s voice weakened the more my father carved.
I will find you again, my sweet Lucille. And maybe by then, we’ll both have an explanation.The last of his words faded.
A deafening bang echoed through the air. My father fell to the floor, taking his angelic feather with him.
“Lucy? Lucy?”
I gazed into her glossy eyes, now green, tears mirroring mine. “Mom?”
“Oh, heavenly. My sweet girl.” She hugged me and pulled back. “We need to leave.” My mom hauled me off the table and dashed intothe bedroom. Tired and dizzy, my legs gave out. I scrambled back from my father’s unconscious body, winced at the pain in my wrist, and looked at the damage.
A bloody Binding Rune cut into my soft flesh, taking away all my powers. I was practically human.
My mom rushed out of her room with two backpacks and a pair of keys.
She hauled me from the floor, shoved calm emotions into my body, and dragged me as quickly as she could through our front door and to our only vehicle. Not a word was said, not an explanation of where we were going or what had just happened. She pushed me into the passenger side, buckled me, ran to the driver’s seat, and we left.
Him. The house. Everything we owned.
We left it all. I had no words as my mom broke all the speed limits to escape, hoping he wouldn’t catch up.
I gasped,jolting upright from the horrible memory Oliver put me through. Beside me, Aspen writhed on the ground, not yet out of his own hellscape. He didn’t moan or cry out. But the reflective lines leaking out of his tightly squeezed lids were evidence of his pain. A pain that I shared with him as I remembered a mom who loved me and betrayed me and a father who wanted to kill me.
“Wake up, Aspen.” He jerked on the forest floor. I could feel his pain and couldn’t stand it. “Oliver, wake him up, stop this.” But Oliver was on his hands and knees over a pile of puke.
“Oliver?” holding my side, I cringed as I stood and approached him. Whimpers interrupted his heaves. “Oliver?” I touched his shoulder.
“I forgot,” he said in a broken whisper.
I sank behind him and gasped as I pulled him away from his puke. He let me, slumping against my chest. His weight made my ribs throb, but with the heart-aching noises coming from his mouth, I couldn’t help but let him rest against me.
“He was just a boy. He came to our house,” he whispered.
“Who? Who did you see?”
“My mother,” his voice cracked. “Being burned alive by Marcus’s flame.”
Goosebumps pebbled my arms, and I stilled, knowing exactly what memory he was talking about.
“I never saw it happen. I was—she pushed—” Oliver heaved in between his cries.
