Page 53 of The Black Lotus (Fatal Florals Duet #2)

SERENA

A fter leaving Cynthia’s body with Zephira, she left and we haven’t heard from her since.

She put on a brave face, but something broke in her that night.

With her already so damaged, I worry. I hope she isn’t falling into the darkness that almost consumed me.

I know it’s different, but we both killed our mothers.

Her out of hate and mine out of love, but it changes you.

I just hope she reaches out soon, if not I will somehow find out where she lives and drag her back into the light.

Aster and I both agreed she needed time to process everything.

In the moment, filled with rage, it’s easy to kill anyone, but that was their mother.

Her silence is proof that she’s taking it harder than we thought.

Aster won’t admit it, but I can tell it affected him.

It’s in the way he spaces out sometimes, claiming nothing’s wrong when I ask.

It’s the way he disappears for hours at a time.

Honestly, I’m beginning to get worried, and if he shuts me down one more time, I know ways to get him to talk.

I’m not opposed to using my womanly charm on him.

But I have one more thing up my sleeve, a surprise for him that I hope will break this spell he’s been put under.

The sun is sitting high in the sky, the heat a blazing inferno keeping me plastered to the couch. I have my feet draped over Aster, tucked under a blanket despite the AC being on full blast as we watch a new crime documentary on Netflix.

I’m grateful Aster is like me and treats the sun like the plague, avoiding it unless we need to go shopping for anything.

The world will see us again once the fall begins, and that is when we will begin hunting.

I’m grateful for the break we’re getting after everything our bodies have been put through, this time a full recovery is just what the doctor ordered.

And by doctor, I mean Aster. He said we needed to lay low and prepare.

Reluctantly, after some persuasion on his end, I conceded.

Aster pauses the show and lulls his head toward me. “What were you thinking for lunch?”

I’m about to answer by telling him that I’m not hungry, that we need to leave soon, but my stomach betrays me.

Aster chuckles and gets out his phone, scrolling through takeout options.

He still has all the cameras up and running, along with the sensors, but since Cynthia is dead, the hit has been called off.

Zephira triple checked and split the money into offshore accounts for us before she disappeared.

The amount of money that we were given made my eyes bulge, let's just say our future generations are going to be set for life. But we don’t want to live like we're part of the one percent. We will still live as we always have just adding a few extra things here and there. Like a new section to our house for an art studio, a room big enough for us both. With the threat gone, Aster has been more relaxed, letting strangers come bring us food, although it isn’t often.

“I’m craving Chinese food. How does that sound?” He hands me his phone and I laugh, shaking my head as I scroll. Chinese it is. I scroll until I find what I want, adding my items to the order.

Handing him back his phone, he goes over it one more time before adding payment and relaxing back into the couch. “Food will be here in twenty minutes.” I nod, getting back into my comfy position with my hands pressed together and my cheek resting on them as Aster presses play.

Not even ten minutes go by when the phones go off and me and Aster share the same look. He takes out his phone and tenses, making me immediately sit up. “What’s wrong?” I ask, the hairs on my arms standing up.

“That’s not the delivery driver.” He zooms in on the video and grabs the knife we keep in the drawer of the coffee table. “Stay here.”

“What do you mean ‘stay here’? I’m not going to let you die on your own,” I whisper harshly. This man is always putting himself in harm's way . Even after I told him not to and he agreed that if anyone ever comes after us again, we’d never leave the other alone.

I throw the blanket off myself and grab my knife from the coat rack by the door.

Having hidden weapons in multiple places in our home has come in quite handy.

He looks at me out of the corner of his eye, giving me a ‘I’m going to punish you for not listening’ look and I roll my eyes, pointing at the door.

Aster presses the voice button on his phone. “Who is it? What do you want?”

The young and startled man looks around, finally finding the camera, and holds up a box. “I have a package for Aster Graves.”

His body tenses as his grip around the knife tightens. “Who is it from?”

The kid reads the label on the box and his eyebrows lift.

“S-salem State Prison.” Every bone in my body locks up, until I remind myself that Cynthia is dead and not to freak out.

I just hope it isn’t some kind of last ditch effort to take me out.

I could see her doing that, but then again, she was too vain to even think she would lose.

I take a deep breath, shaking that thought from my head. We are safe.

“Leave it on the porch,” Aster demands as he watches the camera and waits for the kid to leave.

The prison. The same one his parents were at.

The news has been reporting non-stop about finding the escaped convict, Cynthia Balcom, and the death of her husband, Adam Balcom.

Authorities speculate she left the country after killing Jason, but we know the truth.

We know where she’ll rot for all eternity.

We went back the next night to get Jason’s body and dumped it somewhere else for the police to find.

It took them a few days, which meant he was barely recognizable, but we didn’t care.

He was a dirty cop that helped Cynthia escape; he deserved far worse than he got.

The service for him only held his family, all of the other officers turned up their noses, wanting nothing to do with him, and I don’t blame them.

When the car is off the property and Aster checks every other camera, he snatches the box on the porch and stiltedly walks back to the couch. He places the box on the table, and we just stare at it.

“What do you think it is?” I ask, anxiously tapping my fingers as I wait for Aster to open it.

“I’m not sure,” he mumbles, his fingers twitching like he wants to tear into it, but isn’t ready to see what’s inside. Should I nudge the box towards him or leave it be? Like he was reading my mind, Aster slides the box onto his lap and slowly opens the lid.

His brows crease as he lifts a single piece of paper. Unable to stop my curiosity, I lean over to read it over his shoulder.

“What does ‘hide and seek’ mean? Is it the game?”

Aster places the note back in the box, and without saying a word gets up and leaves the room.

What the fuck? I pick up the note and examine it for any hidden meaning but find none.

It has to be something only he knows that no one else would catch on to or be suspicious of, but a note by itself from a mass murderer in prison is suspicious regardless.

Aster bounds back down the stairs holding a little black book and hands it to me with tight lips, his grip loosening as my fingers wrap around it.

“What does hide and seek mean?” I ask, placing the book in my lap.

Aster looks up at the ceiling as if he's reliving the memory.

“When I was little and Dad wanted to give me something to keep hidden from Cynthia, he would use the code word hide and seek.” He clasps his hands in his laps, looking down at his fingers.

“I hid so much stuff in that spot over the years, and honestly, I forgot about it.” He points to the notebook.

“This was the last item we ever played the game with. He hid it in our spot and when he used the code word again, then I could seek it out to see what it was.” A sad laugh slips past his lips as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Even after death, he made sure to get this message to me. Like he knew what Cynthia was planning,” he whispers the last part, “I wish I could ask him.”

I place my hand over his and give him a sympathetic smile. “Isn't this last gift meant for you? Why give it to me?”

“It’s all the victims my parents had. I looked over it upstairs, and… there is something you should see.”

Reading through the dates and names, I drop the book when I see someone I had forgotten, the faceless woman in my dream coming to the forefront of my mind as tears fall down my cheeks. Aster wraps me in his arms, cradling the back of my head.

“Tina Raven,” I whisper, “she… she was my aunt.”

All the questions my parents had with no answers, the very reason we moved to Salem in the first place after she disappeared when I was six.

She was killed by Aster’s parents.

She was the reason I have a love for art. She was the person I looked up to most, and her disappearance crushed me. I remember it all; every holiday, every moment spent with her, the pain when my parents stopped bringing her up. Soon after, she was a forgotten memory.

I sniffle and look up at Aster. “She was my dad’s sister. They were inseparable, and I… I forgot her.”

He places his hand on my cheek, pressing his lips to my forehead. “It’s okay; you remember her now. Are you going to tell your dad?”

I nibble my lip. I want to, but if I tell him who killed his sister, he will want to know how I found out and opening that can of worms is something I’d rather not deal with. “No.” I shake my head.

“You can if you want. You can tell him I’m the son of the Patchwork Killers and what was sent to me from my dad and what I found. He deserves closure after everything he’s been through.”