Page 19 of A Touch of Gold and Madness (Celestials of Arcadia #1)

Chapter 18

Gray

A n hour of crunching through dead leaves in silence passed. We approached a verdant pasture with an out-of-place wooden cross erected in its center.

Griffin refused to elaborate further on why he needed my help. Even more curious was why he thought I’d be a willing participant in the plan he’d concocted. Plus, what the fuck happened back there? He’d convinced me that he might legitimately be insane, looks be damned.

I hadn’t figured out my own plan regarding my father aside from staying alive. And then there were Scarlett, Hazel, and Cotton. Fear for their safety gnawed at my mind. All I could hope was that they’d followed my instructions in order to escape the king’s wrath.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Griffin planned on slaughtering all the humans in this speakeasy. As excessive as it sounded, that was the image he’d earned himself after the attack on the King’s Palace all those years ago. As calm and personable as he appeared with me now…I couldn’t forget that fact.

Griffin Silas was a ruthless monster.

I watched as he slid the cross to the side, exposing the wooden hatch door beneath it. He hefted it up with a creak and disappeared below. His black hood peeked over the edge of the ground before submerging to the depths.

Dusk approached. Red, orange, and pink hues painted the sky, pitching a beautiful autumn tint onto the surrounding landscape. I took a deep breath, bracing for the bullshit that, undoubtedly, was to come. I could use a drink—or two.

I tuned my senses into nature, letting the wisps from the breeze caress my face. Birds sang in the distance, and frogs croaked until their voices sounded raw. The sounds eased the tension in my chest, as they always did, bringing a sense of serenity I wished I could hold onto. Since I couldn’t remove the bracelet to renew my strength, I took a moment to allow nature to ground me. The damp earth provided steadfast reassurance and comfort in ways I’d never found from anything besides Slate.

I snapped my head toward the woods. A lingering presence in the near distance piqued my attention. They concealed themselves from view, and without my abilities, I couldn’t detect the energetic signature. But I could feel their faint energy thrumming with life. My first instinct was to run toward them to see if they were a threat. Suicidal as it may seem, it was second nature for me to eliminate the threat before they had the chance to surprise me. I looked between the speakeasy entrance and the woods, torn about which way to go.

In the end, I convinced myself that it was most likely a random human arriving at the speakeasy. And upon seeing me at the entrance, they must’ve gotten spooked at the stranger in their territory. I let them go and ignored the sinking feeling in my stomach as I followed Griffin and descended the ladder.

The humans had built this particular ladder from metal pipes rather than wood like the previous one. The chilling temperatures made it cold to the touch. By force of habit, I reached for the black crystal necklace around my chest. I relaxed at the feel of the cool stone and continued my descent into the stifling tunnel.

Griffin waited for me at the bottom, and once my feet thudded to the wooden floor, he set off through the torch-lit passage. Our distorted shadows cast along the walls made us appear like the warped monsters humans believed us to be.

Like the previous speakeasy, a heavy wooden door barricaded at the entrance. Naturally, Griffin flung it open with ease, and I suspected it wasn’t as simple as he made it appear.

This speakeasy was larger than the last, but it was still claustrophobic. A staircase constructed of wood and plastic crates led to a second level where more humans congregated. People sat in mismatched, salvaged—or stolen—chairs pushed against wood barrels that had been transformed into tables. Two bars faced each other across opposite sides of the room. I marveled at the lamplights illuminating walls filled with jars of moonshine, casting the room in a colorful glow.

The air was thick with the nauseating mixture of alcohol and dirty sweat, which poured from the unwashed bodies occupying the confined space. I resisted the urge to cover my sensitive ears to the booming and raucous voices, intensifying as the moonshine loosened their vulgar tongues.

I hung behind Griffin, keeping watch on his movements, ready to intervene if he attacked. Scanning the patrons, I checked for rebels, noting the telltale signs of a few in the mix. But overall, it was bedraggled humans that gathered together to make the most of their lackluster reality.

We both kept our hoods intact, as it would be foolish to think my father would not have placed spies in every speakeasy in the region. Our faces were high-profile; therefore, it was likely we would be recognized.

Griffin sauntered to the nearby bar as I trailed behind. He motioned to the runner with a casual wave. Their voices were too low for me to hear, but I caught the hand gesture from Griffin, signaling for two drinks. The runner narrowed his eyes at me, his head tilting slightly before offering Griffin a challenging glare—questioning him about my presence.

The Elemental was silent as he stared down the runner. His posture stiffened as he exuded power, even through the suppression of his magic. “Get the drinks, Jesse. Now ,” he snarled, the maliciousness in his tone raising the hairs on the back of my neck. He looked ready to lunge over the bar .

For several tense moments, I thought I’d be forced to fight a horde of drunken humans. Jesse dropped his shoulders and took a step back. His nostrils flared, and his lip curled as he looked at me again, but he was wordless as he retreated to snag two jars of moonshine.

One glass slid to me across the bar. My hand slapped it to a stop before I removed the lid. Just before it touched my lips, I halted, suspicious whether they had poisoned it with redfern .

“It’s fine.” Griffin’s smooth, deep voice caressed my ear. The vibrations from it sent warmth throughout my body. “See?” He took a long, savoring sip from his own. His tongue slipped out and licked the remaining moisture from his upper lip. It took my brain a moment to catch up with my body, which traitorously began to heat as I leaned in toward Griffin.

Seriously?

I forced my spine to straighten, rolling my shoulders and silently cursing myself for yet another lapse. “You’re an Elemental. Your poison is different from mine,” I argued, still hesitating to take a swig.

“Mhmm,” he agreed, shrugging with a smirk before walking away. He sipped his moonshine with an unnerving grace as he slunk through the clusters of tables stuffed with humans.

I was tempted to follow him, but I took the opportunity to observe him instead. Griffin appeared to be comfortable amongst these humans. These were humans who despised us out of misplaced fear. Surely, they weren’t aware of what he was because, if they were, the pitchfork mobs would be swarming him. I waited for a beat while I watched him wade through the crowd, then moved to follow him at a distance.

Eventually, I found an empty table in the corner that allowed a clear view of him standing at the side of the bar. I studied him, leaning against it with a casual arm propped on the edge as he waited for someone.

When several minutes passed, and no one showed, I assumed I’d let my bias get the best of me. Perhaps he wasn’t up to anything nefarious. Maybe I was just being too cautious. But as the thought entered my mind, Jesse appeared beside him .

Griffin, who was over six feet tall, towered over Jesse’s squat frame. His beady eyes glared up at Griffin, while Griffin penetrated him with an icy look of dismissal—a blatant reminder of the killer he was.

Jesse waved his hands about as he spoke, suggesting there was a dispute of some sort between the two. Griffin stood in menacing silence, boring the weight of his lethal gaze into Jesse, who fell to abrupt stillness.

“Yer kind ain’t welcome here.” A rough feminine voice laden with a heavy southern accent snatched my attention from the posturing men. The woman who stood at my table was what I’d describe as “scrappy.” Her clothes were stained, worn, and had holes that needed patching. Through a particular hole, a bright red bra peeked out from the dingy tee. Her weathered jeans sagged low on her waist, their bagginess almost swallowing her legs. Dark sandy hair sat in a grease-filled mop in a lopsided bun. “This is yer only warnin’. Leave,” she said with a sharp glare.

I propped my chin on my fist and graced her with a close-lipped grin. “Afraid I can’t do that yet,” I said, bored with the situation.

‘Scrappy’ bared her teeth and shook her head. “The arr-o -gance and self-righteousness of yer kind is disgustin’. No regard for anybody but yer damn selves. Git. Out.”

“And what is my kind exactly, Scrappy?” I raised my eyebrows, curious to hear her colorful response.

“The devil kind. The kind that’s an abomination to our god-given planet. The kind that destroyed ev’rything for ev’rybody. Ya don’t fuckin’ belong here. Now, git.” Her sunbaked skin crinkled on her forehead from her hard scowl. When I didn’t move to leave, she jerked an arm, pointing to the exit.

“You sure have a lot of balls to talk to someone you believe is the ‘devil’s kind.’” I was uneasy and outnumbered. And apparently, humans had discovered a way to make bullets to kill us, as I’d learned with Dash. I refused to let her see it, though. Showing weakness was what got you killed in this world .

Heaving unrestrained breaths, she launched herself at me from across the wooden barrel table. I dodged to the side, leaping from my seat, and watched her sail over the top, crashing to the floor in a heap.

Nice.

I didn’t have any weapons on me, which left me vulnerable, nor did I have my magic freed. I could fix that, but it’d open more doors for trouble that I didn’t think I’d be able to escape.

Scrappy scrambled to her feet and lunged at me again, this time slinging a fist at my face. I jerked my head to the side and caught her fist, squeezing it in my palm as my eyes locked with hers, filled with rage, hatred, and fear.

I kicked her in the gut, and she stumbled back several feet before her back slammed into the corner wall.

I stalked toward her as she gasped for air. One of her hands braced her weight against the wall, and the other clutched her abdomen. I grabbed her by her oily roots and slammed her head into the wall. She dropped to the floor with a scream.

Suddenly, the loud chatter of the speakeasy muted.

I squatted until I was at eye level with her and said softly, “I wasn’t here to hurt anyone.” She cradled her head in her palm as I watched her. “ But you pissed me off,” I continued with a shrug. “Can’t really blame this on me.”

Before I could do anything else, I was snatched by my arm, hauled to my feet, and came face to face with an irate Griffin. His crystalline glare seared into me, burning me to the spot, his grip on my arm bruising.

“Let me go, asshole,” I growled through clenched teeth.

He didn’t. Instead, he jerked me toward the exit without a word. Angry faces and outraged voices yelled obscenities and death wishes at me as we shoved through the establishment. At some point, a hand snagged on my hood, jerking me backward to a halt. Griffin continued to yank me forward like he was in a game of tug of war.

With limited mobility, I pivoted on one foot and threw a high kick that struck a guy’s head. A tall, broad man sailed backward, taking several others out with him as he crashed into a cluster of dirt-stained humans who demanded my death.

Griffin pulled me forward again. Fury poured from his aura in waves, which only fueled my own. Those surrounding him backed up despite their brave words. When we reached the door, he hefted it open and slung me through into the torch-lined tunnel.

“Move,” he ordered, latching onto my biceps again while pulling me toward the metal ladder.

“Let go. I’m not a fucking child.” I yanked my arm from his grasp. Griffin didn’t fight me as he ascended to the ground above. I climbed after him, right on his heels, waiting for the mob to follow us out.

Reaching topside, Griffin whirled on me. Any hints of the kindness he’d displayed up until this point were gone. He was the embodiment of wrath with clenched fists and a coiled posture.

“I could’ve told you lounging in a speakeasy was a bad idea,” I said, shaking my head. I couldn’t believe he was mad at me for what happened back there. An ice-blonde lock broke free from its loose knot and drifted into my face. It blocked my view of him, so I shoved it aside with a growl of frustration.

“You have no fucking clue what you nearly cost…” Griffin cut himself off and pinched his brow between his fingers. His chest heaved as he worked to calm himself. After several harsh breaths, he finally looked at me. “You nearly fucked up everything and almost got yourself killed in the process,” he snarled, throwing his arms wide as if trying to physically expel the rage radiating from his aura.

I opened my mouth in indignation. “ I didn’t do a damn thing except defend myself. And what business do you have with humans, anyway? You looked pretty damn cozy with Jesse in there.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“You couldn’t just keep your mouth shut, could you? Can’t you at least pretend to be nice to the people who are actually suffering? No wonder…” He shook his head. Instead of finishing his sentence, he turned around and began storming back the way we came .

“No wonder what?” I hurried to keep pace with his rushed, long strides.

He said nothing, so we moved in tense silence. I wanted to press him, but I needed to calm down before I reacted out of anger and ended up in another compromising position. I couldn’t afford any more slip-ups at this point.

Finally, Griffin spoke. “I need supplies. There’s a scorse nearby. Think you can behave?” He didn’t so much as spare me a glance.

A scorse?

Scorses were human bartering locations. However, they also sold black market shit, such as drugs, guns, and ammo, as well as prostitutes. The vile trade of human trafficking functioned in networks that made coordinated stops through designated scorses. The stops were random, making it difficult to predict when the trade would pass through one at a given time. The fear of getting captured and put into slavery was another element of the world’s reality that kept many humans living in groups underground. The leaders of these trafficking rings were ruthless, and they instilled more fear and control into their race than our own. Even the scorse owners had to bow to their whims or risk death—or worse, risk their family’s freedom.

“Maybe I’d behave if I knew what the endgame was,” I snapped. “But instead, I’m stuck with the psychopath who killed…” I choked on the rest of that statement. “With you , going to human hangouts while I’m being hunted by the Royal Domain. My powers are suppressed, and I’m supposed to just tag along with no questions?”

Griffin cleared his throat and seemed to weigh whether to divulge any information. “Why are you being hunted?” If I didn’t know better, I would have thought there was a note of softness to his tone.

“Because I failed to kill you .” I kept my gaze glued to the shadowed line of trees ahead of me, refusing to look at him.

A quiet chuckle escaped him as he shook his head, unamused. “Of course, he’d kill his own daughter. Once you became a liability, you were to be terminated. You’re too powerful to keep alive, so that makes you a threat now. Nothing else.” He sighed and met my eyes with his icy blues. “So, tell me. Who’s really the psychopath, Gray?”

I didn’t respond. My nose stung, and my face flushed as my eyes threatened tears. All the wounds from my father’s mistreatment rose to the surface. I ground my teeth to fight it off.

Never show weakness . Especially in front of Griffin, even if he’d made a point.

Night had fallen, and the nocturnal creatures were out to claim the land. An owl hooted in the distance, calling for its prey as I stared at the abandoned home.

Vines and foliage devoured the structure. The windows were knocked out, and jagged shards of glass formed mini daggers along the sills, daring anyone to enter.

At one time, this was a nice, middle-class home that sat on several acres of property. A pang of sadness stung my chest at the sight of a tire swing hanging on a beautiful oak branch. Moonlight glinted off metal in the corner of my eye. In the tall grass by the porch sat a small, rusted, tricycle abandoned by a child.

I pictured three children of various ages. The parents were probably the doting type, always wanting to capture every moment of their children’s childhood—every smile, laugh, and accomplishment.

A heaviness in my heart took root as deep as the oak tree’s. It was a fantasy I’d always longed for. I’d always believed that if only I could make my father proud…

“We should be safe here for the night,” Griffin said, breaking me from my spiraling thoughts. “At dawn, we’ll leave for the scorse . ” His voice was nearly a whisper, but it still shattered the woeful quietude of what once was.

I nodded and walked up the brick steps before reaching the remnants of the front door, Griffin trailing close behind. The door hung from its hinges awkwardly, indicating the home had been raided. I wrestled it aside to make a large enough gap to squeeze through.

Despite the darkness, we could see overturned couches scattered across the living room alongside the dusty cotton from their innards. Shredded papers, books, and magazines littered the floors, and wooden tables were split in half.

I took careful steps in pursuit of the stairs, avoiding shards of glass or any of the belongings strewn across the floor. It felt disrespectful. I felt somehow responsible, even though this was Griffin’s doing.

Perhaps I was guilty by association.

I headed for the room at the end of the upstairs hallway in the hopes that it was the main bedroom. The last thing I wanted was to sleep in a child’s room with its ghost haunting me in my sleep, begging for answers.

With a light shove of the door, I froze at the sight that awaited me in the bedroom. Cast in the silver glow of the moon’s light, a skeleton lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed. The white carpet around him was stained brown from aged blood. Upon the mattress, another sprawled at a twisted angle. Raided in their sleep. I presumed the husband had tried to protect his family. He’d been too late.

I closed my eyes at the distant horror. I struggled to keep the walls up around my emotions. Too much had happened, and I hadn’t had a chance to truly process it all. I was barely keeping it together, but this was the first moment I’d had to myself since I’d encountered Dash, and the cracks in the dam were threatening to unleash the onslaught of my emotional suppression.

I took a deep breath, following it with a shaky exhale. On the farthest side of the room, a large walk-in closet opened into the darkness. I trudged past two shattered glass balcony doors beside the bed. Goosebumps skittered along my flesh at the cool breeze wafting through them. I inhaled again, breathing in the scent of pine and decaying brush that infiltrated the room.

In the spacious closet, the couple’s belongings lay ransacked on the floor and shelves. I dropped my duffel and used it as a pillow to curl up on the carpeted floor of the bedroom. At last, I allowed my mind to sift through recent events. The aftermath of everything finally began to settle, which granted me the chance to ponder Griffin’s motives—and how I’d kill him.

Because I would kill him, no matter the cost.

Images of all the disheveled humans at the speakeasy crossed my mind. Images of Dash…of Scrappy. What type of lives had they lived before Devolution Day? What all had they lost? Who had they lost? More grief for people I’d never known hurt my heart as I lay in the cold, dark closet. I sniffed as hot tears slid down my cheeks before the cool air chilled them, causing me to shiver.

As I drifted into a restless sleep, I wondered how many more innocents would have to die before the world could be set right again.