Marabella
One week later
Jonah drops me off at the hotel; my brother is still here, and we are still no closer to finding a way to open that damn coffin. It has become stressful, and I feel like time is running out. Kyan has been on edge and very observant. I have even had to be careful with my thoughts and control my moods, knowing he is constantly watching.
He is suspicious. The more time I spend with my brother, the more he questions me. Yet now, we aren’t sure we can even open the coffin. I am now debating this entire thing. Is this attempt futile?
I am anxious, and it feels like everything is slipping from my hands, one side of me is wondering if the whole thing is doomed, the other side is not ready to give up, ever! I really want this to work. Not just to prove I am right, but for Kyan. I know how much his father means to him. And if there is a chance to prince him back, I need to make sure I have exhausted every avenue.
The grimoires offered nothing, and Dominic’s presence has become less and less. I don’t like it. His voice, which has been with me for years, is now almost completely gone, and barely heard. I miss him. This in itself is the reason I have to make this work. I need to figure this puzzle out. I can’t stand the thought of failing and losing him forever.
Dominic is having trouble coming through to me, and half the time is spent trying to decipher what he is telling me as of lately, it is like static interference. I live for those moments, yet they are short-lived and frustrating given the little moments we have, and the pressure and weight of figuring this out.
He can never stay long, and he tries to tell me it is because my bonds to my mates are sealed entirely now that his bond is slowly being repressed. It makes no sense to me, but he explains the more I rely on my mates, the less I need him, which is quite bothersome because I need him to figure out how to open the damn coffin. I fear he will be completely gone before I get to make this work.
Stepping out of the elevator, the apartment door is wide open. The hotel has been shut down since the incident while it undergoes renovations and repairs. Jonah and Kyan can’t obviously risk someone falling out a window, but most of the repairs are done, and as I step into the apartment, men are finally fixing the windows on this level. It has been a weird and long week.
Eziah sits on the couch with one of the grimoires in hand, flicking through the pages. He has been different the last couple of days, his moods change rapidly, which isn’t helping me. We have been clashing, and then I get home only to argue with Kyan about when Eziah is leaving, which is driving me insane.
I hate being caught up in the middle, yet nothing I say puts Kyan at ease. He wants my brother gone, and doesn’t understand why he is still here. Yet I can’t tell him the truth, at least not until I know for sure.
It is exhausting, and I feel like I am putting little fires out the whole damn time. He hates my brother, which is understandable, but if he knew why he is here, maybe he would have a change of heart. Yet, if I can’t open the damn coffin, it is for nothing, and he will be even more angered that I dug his father up for nothing and disturbed his grave. Ugh, this is becoming too much. We need to figure this out now!
Mom has also been fiddling with the fates, trying to see ahead, but besides the occasional nosebleed and headache, she can’t see much because Eziah and I are directly involved in that future, our futures she can’t see clearly. Though I appreciate her help, it has led to yet another dead end.
“Hey,” I tell Eziah, falling onto the couch and sitting next to him. His aura radiates out angrily, and he stinks heavily of liquor. I glance at him to find his eyes bloodshot and huge dark circles under his eyes. A frown falls on my face as I look at my brother.
Why did I never notice this? I am concerned about him. Something has changed in him lately. Gone is his normally bubbly, carefree attitude. To be honest, he looks as depressed as I used to feel.
“Are you okay?” I ask him gently, nudging him with my shoulder.
“Yeah, just not sleeping well,” he mutters, glaring at the workers who are nearly done and are now cleaning up the mess from replacing the windows. The strange expression on his face makes me wonder what is on his mind. He is clearly not okay. Should I try asking him again? But I shoot the idea down. Maybe later when no one is here, and he is in a more talkative mood.
“Find anything helpful,” I ask instead.
“No, it is mostly in old Latin.” His reply is followed by a heavy sigh.
“You mean Italian?” I ask.
Eziah shakes his head. “No, Latin is similar, but it is mostly a dead language. Few speak it anymore, and then some are in old Gaelic, which makes no sense since they are completely different languages. Don’t suppose Dominic is around to translate,” he asks, looking at me expectantly.
I shake my head, and Eziah sighs. “Why couldn’t it be ‘Open Sesame,’ or something easy?” Eziah laughs darkly, and his eyes flicker oddly. That’s weird. What’s going on with him?
The men leave and shut the door behind them, and Eziah gets up off the couch. “Fucking finally,” he groans, heading to the cupboard and pouring a drink. His behavior is so off. When did he get like this? I take a look at the time and I frown.
“Eziah, it isn’t even 10 AM,” I scold, watching as he sniffs the bottle he just opened. He makes a face, and the smell of potent vodka reaches my nose. Ugh, gross. Not ideal on an empty stomach, especially so early in the morning.
“Leave me, I have hardly slept, and if I have to sit here trying to work out what the heck those stupid symbols mean and whatever language that crap is, I will do it drunk,” he says, raising the glass. “Cheers,” he says with a wink, before downing the glass. I shake my head, looking at the open grimoire.