39. Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Eight

Skyla

V incent called Ronan and Wesley when we were driving home. Asher was already at the house, and he was able to get Liam to come out of his room. I’m sitting on the couch beside Liam with Vincent on my other side, Asher sits on the coffee table facing me, and Ronan and Wesley stand to the side.

“She said what?” Liam snarls.

I nod with a sad smile.

“Sorry, baby. I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Who the hell does she think she is to threaten you? And I am NOT engaged. You know that, right, babygirl?”

“Of course.” I nod.

“Well, if you do. I’ve acquired a knack for disposing of fiancées.” Vincent shrugs and I shoot him a look as Ronan grimaces.

Despite Annie being awful, I know he feels guilt for it. After all, she was Madison’s little sister. The family has now lost both of their daughters, and Ronan, my sweet teddy bear, hates that both of their deaths had something to do with him.

“Not helpful,” I say to Vincent. “Maggie would never forgive you. I would never forgive you.”

Vincent rolls his eyes. “Between your happiness or Bartlett’s, do you really have to ask me whose I’d choose?”

“Liam and Maryia might not be the worst thing,” Asher butts in. “He’ll be forced to marry and produce an heir at some point. If it’s Maryia, you guys can be together in the public eye, and behind closed doors, she can be with Maggie, and you can be with us.”

Asher says us so simply, so easily. It makes my heart warm, and apparently Liam’s too. I see a small smile spread across his face, the first one I’ve seen since his induction ceremony.

“There is more,” I admit. “She said that you had developed a skill or something for killing,” I say to Asher. “I think she was referring to your induction.”

Asher’s face turns to stone.

“How the fuck does she know that?”

“I’m assuming Liam’s dad?” I guess.

“Elders are never supposed to share practices…ever,” Ronan says.

I nod. “I figured, so I kind of threatened her. Told her I’d be telling Christopher about what a fat mouth her husband and her have.”

Trailing off, I turn to Liam as I shake my head.

“I won’t, obviously. I know that your relationship with them is strained but—”

“Fuck them,” Liam says, cutting me off.

I turn my head to the side in surprise as his jaw clenches.

“My dad can burn in fucking hell for all I care. My mom, I….I thought she was better than that. These years in her position, in the Brethren, they’ve changed her.”

He closes his eyes, shaking his head as a new fire forms in them.

“If it comes down to you or her, I will choose you.”

“I don’t want you to choose between me and your family, Liam,” I say.

“You are my family, all of you,” he says as his eyes move to Asher before Ronan, Wesley and even Vincent.

I smile sadly at that as he cups my face, bringing his lips to mine. He holds me there for several seconds before standing up.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“To set the record straight with my mother. She will be apologizing to you, and if she steps a toe out of line again, I’ll let Vincent cut it off.”

Vincent perks up at that, the promise of bloodlust rousing him from his typical sour mood.

“Name the time and place,” Vincent calls out as Liam bends down, placing a quick kiss to Asher’s mouth before he’s gone.

A heavy sigh comes from Wesley as he shakes his head.

“I need a drink. Anyone else?”

All of our hands shoot up, and he nods, moving to the kitchen and mixing cocktails.

After three of the strongest drinks I’ve ever had, I decided to lay down in my bed for a while. Wesley mixed apple cider, brandy, a swirl of caramel, and topped it with whipped cream…suffice it to say, I got a little more than buzzed. I ended up sleeping for a little over forty-five minutes, and when I wake up, I’m groggy as hell.

I don’t feel like really getting up and doing…whatever I have to do with my day. So, instead, I stay in my bed. That is until the memory of Thomas’s journal comes to the forefront of my mind. Pushing myself up, I crawl beneath the bed, lifting the loose floorboard to find it exactly where I left it.

Cracking open the pages, the musty smell of parchment and ink permeates my nose. I thumb through it carefully as I find the next entry.

June 10 th , 1692

Bridgete Bishop was slain as the early morning dew rose. With thy wickedness slain, God favorably looked down upon the town of Salem. For with the world now purged of her evil, we shall bask in his glory and the promise of a prosperous future. Let the word travel with haste that any man, woman, or child consumed with the darkness of evil shall too be slain, giving more room for God’s divinity.

Holy shit, the way they celebrated innocent people’s death is just….disgusting. They acted like it was God’s will. Like God would be proud of them. I’m not sure what kind of bibles they were referencing back in the day, but from the ones I’ve studied, that doesn’t add up.

My finger trails along the seam of the page, noticing a small rip. My brows furrow as I trace over it again and again. It’s almost like…there is a page missing. Examining the seam, I’d guess several are actually. I flip over to the page before, noticing that the date is March 6 th , 1692, three months before the next? Flipping backwards and forwards, it appears Thomas was writing in this thing almost daily during the trials. So why the three month gap?

“What are you doing?” Ronan asks from the doorway stiffly.

I jump at his voice, scrambling to hide the journal, but it’s too late. He crosses the room in a flash, gripping my hands with one of his as he grabs the journal from me. His eyes skate over it, going wide as realization hits him.

“What the FUCK! SKYLA! Are you fucking insane?” he roars.

I cower beneath him. He’s never raised his voice with me, never yelled. The look in his eyes is a new one as well. It’s unfiltered rage, it’s a crazed look that chills me to my bones. Several pairs of footsteps run up the stairs, and as one, Vincent, Asher, and Wesley peel Ronan away from me.

Asher comes to my side, examining my arm like he’s expecting to find bruises or something before he faces his uncle.

“What the fuck is your problem?” he snarls.

“THIS IS MY FUCKING PROBLEM!” Ronan rages as he shakes the journal in his hand.

Asher stares at it for a second before his eyes go wide. His gaze snaps to mine in disbelief, as does Wesley’s, when Vincent speaks.

“What is that?” he snaps.

“This,” Ronan says as he addresses the room. “Is Thomas Putnam’s journal. My family’s most prized possession, my brother’s most prized possession. How the fuck did you get it?”

All eyes come to me as I lower my head.

“I found it,” I mutter.

Ronan lets out a humorless laugh that is so unlike him as he shakes his head.

“You found it? Where? On his person? Because that’s where it stays, always.”

“It was in his desk…under a hidden compartment.”

Asher shakes his head and Wesley winces as Ronan tips his head to the sky.

“How long?” he asks.

“How long what?” I ask.

His crazed eyes come back to me once more, clearly no patience in them.

“How long have you had it? When did you take it? How long has my brother already been, no doubt, searching for it?”

I guess I hadn’t thought about when he would notice it missing, though I probably should have.

“Last night. At the party. I told Asher I was going to the bathroom but I…snuck into his office through the kitchen entrance.”

A hurt look passes across Asher’s face as he shakes his head.

“What were you thinking, princess?”

I run my hand through my hair and sigh. “I wanted answers about…everything. Things in the history books don’t add up to the Brethren’s practices.”

“No, shit. Because they don’t go off history, siren. It’s a goddamn cult,” Vincent says.

“It is not,” Wesley, Ronan, and Asher defend.

He laughs bitterly and nods. “Sure, whatever. Delude yourselves.”

“What kind of answers were you hoping to find, little one?” Wesley intervenes.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. Something about my mom and her family, maybe?”

“This again?” Ronan huffs. “Horris Hutchinson mentioned the rumor of Skyla’s mom being a witch, that’s why she was killed.”

Understanding passes across their faces and they all nod like it makes sense.

“You all knew about this rumor and didn’t tell me?”

“What’s there to tell you, princess? It’s bullshit, just like half the rumors are in the Brethren.”

“While the other half are truth,” I point out. “I just wanted to make sense of everything. Get some answers on her death. I just…I don’t know. I feel so out of my depth. I’m a pawn on a board I’ve never had the chance to fully study.”

“Well, this is not the way to get your answers,” Ronan says, shaking the journal in his fists as he huffs in anger. “I’m going to return this and hope to fucking God that my brother hasn’t already figured out that it’s missing,” he says.

“I’ll go with you for backup,” Wesley says. “We’ll come up with some bullshit story if we have to.”

“We’re gonna have to do something because of her stupidity,” Ronan barks as he storms out of the room, his feet thundering down the steps as the front door opens and slams shut.

I wince at the slam and Wesley bends down beside me, rubbing his hand over my knee.

“He’s not mad at you, little one. He’s scared for you. We’ll get it sorted. Did you take anything else?”

I shake my head.

“Alright. Just sit tight. We’ll be back as soon as we can,” he says.

I nod and he cups my chin, squeezing it gently as he presses a kiss to my forehead.

“Good girl.”

With that, he takes off after Ronan, this door slam being a lot less aggressive. Vincent, Asher and I sit in silence for several seconds, and I finally chance a glance to Asher to see him looking at the floor.

“Let’s go for a drive,” he says as he stands up.

“To where?” I ask.

Asher looks to Vincent before back to me.

“To the Salem Witch Museum.”