Page 21 of The Sea Witch’s Son (The Villains of Wolf Hollow #1)
Chapter 20
MELODY
An electric blue corvette pulls onto Freya’s driveway.
Christina Aguilera’s Genie in a Bottle blares out from powerful speakers, the tinted windows vibrating under the heavy bass of the song.
The brand-new sports car looks completely out of place in front of the modest bungalow. The custom rims and paint job scream a fortune much greater than the property it’s sitting on.
The sunlight catches the gemstones lining the dark crown of Tahira’s hair as she unfolds herself from the car. A belly button ring sparkles against the smooth surface of her stomach, the mauve colour of her top a perfect match for the accessory.
“Did you need a ride?” She glances down at the muddy state of my sneakers, “The trails are dreadful after a rainfall.”
“No. It’s only a ten-minute walk down the road.”
She pulls a face, “The lawns are much nicer inside the gated community.”
“The grass looks pretty green from where I’m standing.”
Falling in step beside her, I only come up to her shoulder. What the heiress lacks in etiquette, she certainly makes up for in height.
“All about perspective, I suppose.” Tahira steps up to the door and bangs the brass knocker, “Did you have a good time with Marlin last night?”
My cheeks flush, “Excuse me?”
“I would be asking myself the same thing.” She smirks, pointing to the edge of my turtleneck, “Might want to reapply the concealer. People will start mistaking you for a blood source.”
Tugging up the neck of my sweater, I silently scold myself for the hundredth time.
This is why you don’t kiss the town psychopath. Forget the fact it was a great fucking kiss, the man is a walking red flag just waiting to burn you to the ground.
Marlin Seaborn is a danger zone and I need to stay as far away from him as possible.
It’s about time my libido got the memo.
“Does it snow here?” Clearing my throat, I point to the snowman smiling at us from the front porch.
“God no. Could you imagine?” Tahira shudders, “The house was a present from Freya’s godfather. The man lives in the northern hemisphere and foolishly thinks everyone should appreciate frigid weather. ”
I glance at her, “Who is Freya’s godfather?”
“A prince of the Southern Isles, although the title is used loosely. The man is thirteenth in line to the throne, so he is desperate to make a strategic alliance through marriage.”
“I didn’t know they still do that.”
“Arranged marriage? Oh, it’s very popular among the wealthier members of society.” Another grimace, “Father has already made plans for my own match.”
The door swings open before I can inquire further. Frizzy hair and a deathly pale face greet us, Freya’s haggard complexion made worse by the thick bandage sticking out of the slit in her nightgown.
“You didn’t want to clean yourself up before answering the door?” Tahira tilts her head, taking in the bare state of Freya’s feet, “You look like shit.”
"It's always a pleasure to see you.” Rolling her eyes, Freya gives me a nod, “Glad you’re still alive, New Girl.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I bite my lip, watching the way she sways uneasily in the doorway, “Should you be walking around?”
“I’ve been cleared to start moving again. A few steps here and there to get the blood flowing properly.”
“It looks as though you’ve hit your limit for today.” Lifting a brow, Tahira nods towards the darkened interior, “Are you going to let us in?”
“Guess so.” Shuffling painfully to the side, Freya lets the door swing open .
I follow Tahira’s lead, stepping carefully over the mantel and following the heiress into a small living room.
Snowflakes are painted along the pale barnboard floors, making it look like a winterized version of farm chic. The worn-down sofas are covered in blankets of varying shades of blue while a long dining table brings a white palette to the room. Crystals hang down from the low ceiling, the long blades of glass made to look like icicles sparkling in a frostbitten room.
Picture frames hang along the far wall, each one showcasing a middle-aged man proudly shaking hands with different celebrities. I recognize a few of them, Winter Haven the influencer-turned-businessman, Violet Johnson the rising Canadian actor, and Gaston Cartier after his Mr. Universe victory, but the rest of them are unfamiliar.
“The orange hair makes it easy to pick out a Clementon.” Freya shuffles next to me and points to another photo, “That’s my father and his cousin.”
I study the grainy image of the two men clasping hands. One of them is wearing a military uniform with a royal crest stitched along his chest.
“I thought the prince was your godfather?”
“He is, but he’s also a relative. My father abdicated his title when we moved here.”
“Didn't Anton get stripped of his title after the insurance scandal?” Tahira fluffs up a cushion before leaning back against it, “Something about stealing tax money from his loyal subjects. The man was running from fourteen years of prison time, if I remember correctly.”
Freya shrugs, “That too.”
I stare at her, “And he’s the town mayor?”
“Yeah, but he’s mostly clean now.”
Tahira scoffs, “More like he’s terrified of the Dragon. Imagine if she found out he was stealing from her beloved town?”
She makes a gruesome sound and slices a finger across her throat, “Anton Clementon would cease to exist.”
Freya glares at her, “The Drache women have done nothing to earn their position in this town. Male-
“Do not say her name.” Tahira sits up, her dark eyes blazing, “The Dragon has cleaned up the streets and brought the black market back to its former glory. Without her, your father would have no citizens and no tax money to play around with. So, show some fucking respect.”
A tense silence falls upon the room. I shuffle my feet awkwardly, trying not to make eye contact with either of the fuming women.
“Freya, you should probably rest that leg.”
She jerks her head and shuffles over to the opposite sofa. Tugging uncomfortably at the straps of my backpack, I clear my throat.
“Is there a bathroom on this floor?”
Freya doesn’t spare me a glance, “To the left of the kitchen. Past the stairs.”
“Thanks.” I duck my head and scurry from the room .
Terse voices fade to a dull murmur as I quickly lock myself into the washroom.
A painting hangs on the wall behind the toilet, a watercolour portrait that looks like something you buy at the craft store. Swirls of ice flow around the figure in the picture, a delicate woman in a translucent dress with a long blonde braid falling down her back.
I stare at it before turning my attention to the mirror cabinet above the sink. Pulling it open, different pill bottles stare back at me, the no name brands giving me no clues into the man who runs this town.
Once I finish washing my hands, I bypass the kitchen and take a peek into the small office space just beyond it. To my surprise, the door is already pushed open, just waiting for someone to slip inside.
Through the glass panes I can see an ancient filing cabinet standing off to the side, it’s chipped lock long past the state of use. I think about the files stored within my reach, the personnel reports that would give me insight into every resident and homeowner in Wolf Hollow.
Listening to the voices echoing from the other room, I take one last breath and slip inside the open door. My feet pad softly against the hardwood, every sound accentuated by the thunderous beat of my heart.
Hurrying past the desk, I head straight for the filing cabinet and pull the first drawer open. Faded yellow folders line the entire drawer, each one organized in alphabetical order .
The entire top shelf is dedicated to campaign strategies and names of sponsors, so I move on.
Luck strikes me in the bottom drawer. Tax slips attached to family names stick out from the dividers and I quickly pull out the Seaborn file.
A mug shot slips from the folder. Picking it up off the ground, I study the woman staring at the camera, her dolled-up face oozing amusement while her expression remains neutral.
Ursela Seaborn. Born 1968. Arrested for unlawful interrogation techniques and attempted manslaughter. Returned to Wolf Hollow after posting bail.
The document beneath it goes on to describe her torture methods in such detail I start to feel sick. Flipping through the pages, I find nothing about Marlin except an old IQ test stamped with his name.
Disappointed with my findings, I put the folder back and rearrange everything the way it was. I’m just about to slip out the door when a stray file catches my eye.
Pausing next to the desk, I stare at the file marked with a familiar name.
Calista Drache
I cast another glance at the door before flipping it open. There’s nothing but a small white envelope clipped to the back of the folder.
Gently unclipping the envelope, I start pulling out photos, each one starring a little blonde girl staring up at the camera .
“Oh my God.” Clapping a hand over my mouth, I can barely keep the nausea down.
The little girl is tied to a bed, her body completely naked except for the gag tied around her mouth. Her legs are spread wide enough to see the blood dripping between them, the edge of a knife peeking out from the corner of each frame.
The photos get worse the further I go, the close-up shots of Calista’s face showing the tears running down her cheeks and the blood leaking between her legs.
“Melody! Did you get lost down there?”
Swallowing the disgust creeping up my throat, I shove the photos back into the envelope and return it to the desk.
“Sorry, I got caught up looking at pictures.” Hiding my trembling hands behind my back, I return to the living room, “What’s with the ice queen in your bath-
My mouth snaps shut when I see who's sitting beside Tahira.
“As you can see, I have another visitor.” Freya says drily, “Didn’t realize I was so popular until today.”
Calista smiles, her green eyes sweeping over me. I stare back at her, taking in the tight sports bra and nonexistent spandex shorts she’s wearing.
“You make it sound like I wasn’t invited.”
Freya crosses her arms, “You weren’t. None of you were.”
“Oh dear.” Calista lets out a sigh, “What an awkward situation. ”
Tahira snickers next to her, but I can’t bring myself to reply. My eyes are glued to the grotesque marks breaking through the soft skin of Calista’s thighs.
Furious scars twist and turn along the inside of her toned legs, the puckered edges hideously uneven and nauseatingly deep. Starting at the top of her knees and disappearing into the fabric of her shorts, Calista’s scars end where the tail of her dragon tattoo begins.
I’m staring at the most vicious woman in Wolf Hollow, but all I can see is a little girl tied to a bed. A little girl crying while some man did unthinkable things to her pre-pubescent body.
I think I’m going to be sick.
“Sorry for intruding on you, Freya.” Breathing through my nose, I force myself to swallow, “We just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”
“ Melody was concerned about your well-being.” Tahira lifts a shoulder, “I have some business we need to discuss. And now that Calista has finished her run, we can begin.”
Those green eyes lock on mine. There’s a teasing smile pulling at her lips, but even that doesn’t shake the turmoil crashing through my body.
“You are welcome to stay, Melody. I’m sure you would love to be better acquainted with the town.” A pink tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, “I know I would love to be better acquainted with you. ”
The salacious invitation goes sailing over my head. I’m back staring at her legs, staring at the scars that prove Anton Clementon has many secrets of his own.
Calista shifts on the couch, spreading her legs that much wider. I swallow thickly, forcing the chunks back down my throat.
“I better head home. I have laundry and... stuff. Lots of stuff to do.”
I’m fumbling my words and tripping over my feet as I head for the door. Tahira watches in amusement while Freya glances between me and Calista, visibly confused.
I give her weak smile, trying my best to ignore the desperation rising up inside me.
What kind of monster is running this town?