Page 35 of The Black Lotus (Fatal Florals Duet #2)
TWENTY-EIGHT
SERENA
I t’s been three days since Aster was taken.
Zephira has been trying her best to find him, but no matter what she does, she comes up empty.
Everytime I ask her for updates and she shakes her head with a sympathetic smile I deflate a little more.
The person who took him definitely knows how to cover their tracks .
When I went back to the studio, I found fucking nothing.
Even the scuff marks seemed to have disappeared like there was no crime committed.
Zephira and I have been growing closer, as close as someone who is helping her mother kill me can get to a person .
I’m staying cautious with everything she does, eyeing her skeptically when she does it.
She has been rather motherly, making sure I eat, stay hydrated, and reassuring me Aster will make it out of this.
She’s trying to comfort me during this time of duress and honestly, it’s a little unnerving. Crazy, flirty Zephira who loves to tease and taunt is the girl I’m used to and have gotten comfortable with. But this version of her, this personality switch up will take some time to get used to.
I hope this isn’t some kind of trick to get me to lower my guard for someone else to strike so she could have a front row seat to my execution . That thought alone has me keeping her at an arm's length.
I walk into the room and Zephira scrunches her nose. “You need a shower,” she grumbles, eyes glued to her laptop.
Lifting my arm, I sniff my armpit and flinch.
“Maybe you’re right.” I can’t remember the last time I bathed myself.
I haven’t even thought of stepping under a hot stream of water, for fear of spiraling in the one place I can be alone.
Being Zephira’s helper has been the only thing keeping me grounded, but maybe a quick wash wouldn’t hurt.
She rolls her eyes. “I ordered us some food, so make it quick. And…” she glances at me before focusing on her screen. “I have some news you’re not going to like.”
My heart drops, my hopes of finding him dimming, her words making me queasy. I nod once and make my way to the bathroom.
After my shower, I find Zephira placing pineapple pizza on paper plates, the box left open on the couch. A sad laugh bubbles up as she looks up with a tilted head.
“What’s so funny? And are you crying?” She sits down and pats the spot next to her.
“Nothing; it’s just… that’s our favorite pizza, and the last time we had it, well…” My cheeks heat, my breaths shallow as I swear I can feel Aster thrusting deep inside me.
She puts her hand up, not wanting to hear anymore.
“I don’t want to hear about my brother's sex life, no offense.” She hands me a plate with two slices, her eyes unfocused.
“It’s my favorite, too.” She forces a smile, whispering around a mouthful of food so quietly I barely made out the words.
“I wonder what else I have in common with my brother.”
Even though Cynthia has her claws embedded deep in Zephira, I can tell she wants to be close to her brother.
I push back the urge to place my hand on top of hers as I busy my hands, slowly chewing my pizza.
There is no way to form the relationship she wants when she is helping their mom keep tabs on me.
Sure, she may not be actually attempting to kill me, but that’s beside the point.
“So… how did you and my brother meet?”
I look up at her, eyebrows raised. Is she trying to make small talk?
I swallow my bite before answering. “We met at a bar called Boozy Books. But you know that already, don’t you? Haven’t you been watching us this whole time?”
“Nope,” she answers, popping the p. “Only after I bought the painting from you at the market.”
That’s surprising . I thought she’d been keeping tabs on him and feeding Cynthia information since she’d made contact with her. If she isn’t the one who is the informer, I wonder who is?
Zephira’s blonde hair falls around her shoulders as she sits back on the couch, her back pressed up against the cushion to eat the rest of her food. “Are you going to tell me, or will I have to force it out of you?”
“Surprised you haven’t already.” I tease, a small smile lifting my lips. “He approached me at the bar, we flirted, then exchanged numbers, and I didn’t hear from him for two weeks.”
“It took him two weeks to text you?”
I laugh. “No, it took him two weeks to stalk me on a date and crush the guy's hand for trying to kiss me.”
She covers her stomach, laughing as she says, “He killed him after I bet.”
“Actually, yeah; he did.” That makes her laugh harder, and I find myself joining in. Surprised by how easily we can fall into comfortable and ‘normal’ conversations, I relax and enjoy the moment, hopeful there will be more.
“My brother must really love you to kill a guy for you.”
I place the empty plate down beside me. “I really love him too. Plus, I killed that guy’s brother, so it evened out.”
She stares at me wide eyed, her mouth dropping open. “ You killed him? I’m impressed you have a dark side, too.”
“If only you knew how dark I can be.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Why don’t you tell me?”
I bite my lip. Can I trust her with the truth of my beast? Will she keep my secrets, or will she run straight to her mother and tell her everything? Maybe if she tells Cynthia that might get her to cancel the hit and accept me. Or it could just make her more mad and come for me herself.
“He wasn’t my first victim,” I whisper, my heart in my throat.
She whirls toward me, grabbing my hands, excitement shining in her eyes. “You’ve killed before? You have to tell me your serial killer journey!”
I nibble my bottom lip before telling her everything from my first kill to Sharon.
“I would have killed Jessica in high school, made her fear me the way she made you cower from her.” She places her hands behind her head as she lets her head fall back to look at the ceiling. “You had the patience of a saint.”
I nod my head, letting that be a good enough answer. I wish I knew Zephira back then; I feel like we would have been amazing friends . She probably would have helped me kill Jessica. If I’d had a friend like her, maybe I wouldn’t have been as broken as I was.
I shake that thought away. The person I am today, the reason Aster fell in love with me, is because of my past. As lonely as I was back then, I don’t regret a single moment. Without the hell I went through I wouldn’t be the killer I am.
We fall into a comfortable silence, both of us reminiscing about our kills, before I remember what distracted me into forgetting. “Zephira…What’s going to upset me?”
She scratches the back of her head, her hesitancy making me nervous as I stare at her, waiting for her to answer. “I… can’t find Aster.”
My breath catches in my throat, my world crashing around on me. My heart is beating out of my chest as the oxygen is stolen from me. If Zephira can’t find him, who can? It’s already been three days. I don't think either of us can go much longer without getting him home.
“Don’t panic, but… I know how we can find out who took him.”
I look at her with a blank stare. “How?” I whisper, my lip trembling.
“This is the part you’re really not going to like…” She hesitates, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. “My mom.”
The world spins as her words crash through me like a wrecking ball. My body sways as I blink several times to come to terms with the only solution. She’s right. I don’t like it, but if it means finding Aster then I will swallow my pride and let her ask Cynthia.
“Do it.” I say, getting up and walking up to our room.
The urge to do something, anything, overwhelms me as I pace the room, chewing on my fingernails and biting them off. I find myself walking to our dresser, pulling out all the newspaper clippings of Aster’s kills.
Before I can stop myself, I begin taping them to walls until every inch is completely covered. With my chest rising and falling, I glare at the worn paper. It needs more.
I rummage under the bed until I find the supplies I haven’t touched in so long; my paints. Some semblance of familiarity relaxes my body as I pull them out. “I’ve missed you,” I whisper, gliding my fingers over the bottles as I pick up a paintbrush, a sad smile crossing my features..
Newspapers aren't the best kind of canvas to paint over, but I find myself lost in the movement and dance of it all. Creating nothing and everything all at once, I let all my feelings and emotions come to life on the wall.
Chest rising and falling, the paint dries slowly as I stare at it, still not satisfied with the result. It’s missing something. Tapping the end of the paintbrush against my lips, my mind whirls as I contemplate what to add.
I drop the brush and fall to my knees scrambling for a pencil. I know exactly what’s missing. Standing back up. I begin doodling all the weapons the killers have used against us.
A light knock taps against the door, and Zephira pops her head in. “I know who has Aster,” she says. I whip my head in her direction, my eyes lighting up as my hope for finding him reignites.