Page 46 of Her Wicked Knights (Their Hallowed Queen #3)

Rev

It's been a weird couple of days since Audrey's murder.

Whit gathered us at the church last night, before the funeral arrangements were delivered.

Carson, Nick, and Mark were clearly losing patience with him.

"We made the final sacrifice. When do we inherit the power?"

They sound like petulant children at their great aunt's will-reading with their hands out in expectation.

Whit assured them that it was just going to be a few days, that we had to wait until the sun rose in the west or some shit like that, that we'd gather again after Audrey's funeral had passed, and inherit the rites. I could care less about any of that shit; I just want Marley to be okay.

I'm watching her from the corner of my eye, and I half expect that she's going to fall forward at some point, unable to take it anymore.

She doesn't cry fresh tears; her eyes are already red and swollen from doing that so much these last few days.

Instead, she sits there with her hands folded neatly in her lap, letting her sister grab her intermittently, almost like she's just checking to make sure she's still there.

It was just less than a year ago when we were here for her parents' funeral.

I don't listen to a word my father says as he talks about a life stolen, Audrey going home to her father, and eternal rest. If there's a heaven, I'm not sure Audrey is there after the lives she took.

She certainly didn't seem like she'd repented before she drew Marley into the trap we used against her, and I know for a fact she didn't make it right in her final moments.

But I don't really care what comes after this.

My father has spent his entire career preaching about what comes after life, but I know something he doesn't. I know that life can recycle, that sometimes people reincarnate.

That's what's happened to us- Tripp, Colton, Whit, Marley, and me.

We've gone from one life to the next like it's an endless cycle, and if we've been bound through those lifelines because our souls are tethered, then it's no wonder my soul is so goddamn tired.

I'm silent as I watch Audrey's Nan, a tiny little woman with clouds of white hair pulled back in a barrette, draw up to the stage.

She speaks slowly, and with a strange accent that makes it hard to identify half the words she says.

She gives a eulogy, making some sort of tribute to her granddaughter, and then Marley stands with Hadley at her side.

I rise from the pews too, in case she needs the physical support, but Marley's face is fixed in determination, and she stares straight ahead, dauntless as she and her sister move together toward the coffin.

It's uncomfortable, sitting on this hard bench in this ridiculous suit, watching her suffer further when I know the reason for her suffering is, at least partly, my fault.

I tug at the tie around my neck, loosening it enough so that I feel like I can breathe.

It's stuffy in here; the air is full of the cloying scent of hair spray and too much perfume.

Tripp's parents and Axel sat this one out, as did Colton’s mother Geneva, but it seems like the rest of the town showed up.

And even people from other towns, since I don't recognize many of the faces that I see when I venture a glance around.

It's a highly publicized death, though. Whit said we needed it to be public, and it has been from the start to the end.

The constant news bulletins and sharing on socials and netizen theories have made damn sure that Audrey Graves is a name that Serenity Hollow won't soon forget.

By killing her, we seem to have turned her into a martyr.

I knew we'd have to deal with Marley memorializing her best friend as some kind of saint, but I didn't expect that from everyone else.

Although, in hindsight, I should have. Audrey's death was given a spotlight by the public nature of her death, the fact that she was an avid social media user, and because she was young.

Granted, Jenny Clark's murder didn't have this sort of buzz surrounding it, and I'm not sure anything was ever really said about the one I killed, either. The one we all killed.

I don't know what happened with Whit in the haunted house.

It was like he turned into another person once that knife was in his hand.

.. or like his real personality started to slip through the facade, showing through the cracks of who he's been pretending to be this whole time.

He's been so insistent on making us all complicit, on being sure that we share the burden, so for him to abandon that and go full tilt on murdering her in that frenzy. ..

I trust him less now than I did before, which is impressive, because I really haven't trusted him at all since he slipped into my head and started tinkering with it to make me bend to his will.

We've taken up guard, watching Marley's house, just in case. It's an old past-time for Colton; now he can just do it more openly.

Marley shakes herself free from her sister's touch as she turns, her eyes set on the double doors like they're the escape she so desperately needs.

She teeters on her heels, looking unsteady, and I move to follow her, but Tripp catches me in the ribs with his elbow.

When I turn to face him, he nods toward the coffin, a silent reminder that people are watching.

We need to act like we care; we need to pay our respects.

The three of us move toward the casket together, unsure how her Nan could have possibly thought an open casket would be a good idea. I saw Audrey in her final moments, and they weren't pretty. Neither was she, after Whit was done with her.

I don't know how he did what he did, but more importantly, I don't know why he did what he did. To make a point? If so, I'm not sure who it was meant for.

He effectively dismembered her, which was entirely unnecessary.

But as we draw up to the casket and I get a look at her, it seems she's been pieced back together.

It's so eerie that I don't look at her face, at first, too busy looking for the needle marks as my mind conjures images of the patchwork doll from Halloween movies I used to watch as a kid.

But when Colton stifles his laugh, it draws me out of my thoughts enough to get a look at what he finds so funny.

I wouldn't say it's funny, so much as fucking weird.

Audrey's red hair has been dyed over with a deep, rich chocolate color that's so similar to Marley's that I want to reach out and touch it, just to make sure it's not her.

Beyond the hair, though, her face doesn't look like her.

She's too soft, the makeup trying too hard to look sweet, when Audrey was anything but.

She was manipulative, a seductress who used her looks and tits to get what she wanted from weak-willed men.

She shouldn't be laid to rest in makeup that looks like she was going for the girl next door.

And then, as if everything else wasn't bad enough, I spot the dress.

That fucking dress.

I remember holding a fistful of it as I clung to Marley at her parents' funeral, trying not to cry because I wanted to be strong for her.

I remember Colton saying how he wanted to bend her over her father's coffin, how fucked up he knew that was.

It's Marley's dress, and it doesn't fit Audrey in more ways than one.

It's awkward on her, drearier and less demure.

"Did you choose that?" I ask Colton coldly, quietly enough that we won't be overheard.

As her boyfriend, I know he's under scrutiny right now. Everyone is watching him, but thankfully, they're also hanging back to give him space to grieve, so nobody hears the question I ask him, or the answer he gives.

"Why the fuck would I have chosen her dress?"

He's been helping Nan, who's too old and feeble to do much by herself.

In fact, before the funeral, he picked up some stuff that she said she couldn't bear to have lying around anymore.

I don't bother explaining my logic to him, though, because I can't stand here any longer and look at her.

I need to see Marley, to get some fresh air, to stop imagining Audrey being pulled apart at the joints as Whit let her body fall from the ceiling.

Colton and Tripp apparently feel the same, because they turn when I do, and we step outside together, exiting into the afternoon light as the line behind us proceeds to the coffin.

But when the doors shut behind us and I feel like I can finally take a fucking breath, I still can't, because Marley's nowhere to be seen.

I understand that she was overwhelmed; it's a lot, and after seeing her the same way we did, Marley is probably struggling too. It makes sense that she couldn't stand there any longer, that she needed to get out of there. But we drove her, so where is she?

We split up without saying a word to each other, Colton going toward the parking lot, Tripp veering to the right of the building, and me going to the left.

I've only taken a few steps when I look up from my feet and see her limp body pressed against the wall, Jake's body holding her up with his hands around her neck.

I don't think, don't hesitate. I just run at them, yelling for him to let her go. But I don't think Jake hears me, because he doesn't drop his hands or try to run. He just tightens his grip, squeezes her throat harder, and Marley's eyes flutter.

She falls to the ground when I pry him off of her, shoving him out of the way without even delivering a single blow because she's all that matters right now. I sink to my knees in the mulch beside her.

"Marley?" I ask, rubbing her cheek, tapping, trying to get her to open her eyes.

I know she's breathing, still, despite Jake's fucking handprints on her neck, the red blazing against the creamy color of her skin. I'm going to fucking kill him.