Page 6 of Wings of Lies (Daughter of the Seven Circles #1)

Chapter

Five

“ W elcome to Greenwick’s one and only bed-and-breakfast. Greenwick’s Bed and Breakfast!” exclaimed a cheery young man at the front desk. He had warm brown eyes, a mop of brown hair, and a big smile. “I’m Zade,” he said, giving all his attention to Oliver.

Oliver practically skipped to the front desk and rested both arms on the countertop. “Hey Zade, I’m single and need a room.”

Wow. Oliver came on strong.

Zade’s smile widened. “A room for just you… or?”

“I mean, certain company would be?—”

I cleared my throat. We didn’t need any extra company.

Zade peered over Oliver’s shoulder, raising a brow. “Is she with you?”

“Yeah. She’s my… little sister.”

We looked nothing alike, but sure.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Enjoys playing in the dirt a little too much,” Oliver said behind his hand like they were sharing a secret.

Irritated, I glanced at the stairs—all four of them. My legs withstood the trek here—albeit stumbling and batting away Oliver’s hovering hands—but it counted.

“Does she need extra shampoo and soap?” Zade asked. “Maybe a brush?”

My teeth dug into my cheeks, and I glared. He was lucky I was focused on the stairs and not their faces. I contemplated turning around and doing something about my anger when hundreds of bugs skittered up my arms.

What the hell?

I peeled up the sleeve of Oliver’s sweater, searching for the reason behind the incessant itch, when it stopped.

Dirty pink skin greeted me, bugless. I sighed.

Stupid dirt. Little granules rained down on the tile of Zade’s lobby as I rubbed my skin, speckling the lovely white floors.

I smiled, satisfied. I left Oliver to grab extra supplies after he finished flirting and continued to the stairs.

I lifted my shoe off the ground, believing if I could scale twenty stairs, run through a forest, and walk here, I could climb up four steps. My foot hit the wooden lip. I stubbed my toe and cracked my knees against the carpeted edge.

“Are you sure she’s okay?” Zade asked. His high-pitched tone grated on my ears.

Oliver walked over, wrapping an arm around my waist, and helped me up the last three steps.

“She’s just clumsy,” he called over his shoulder. “See you later?”

“You know where to find me. ”

I rolled my eyes and glared at my arms as they erupted in that annoying itch.

I needed a damn bath, like now. A weird pressure pushed behind my eyes, reminding me a bath wasn’t the only thing I needed.

My impatience could attest to that. But before I sank my head into a soft pillow, Oliver and I had to hobble our way to our room.

Oliver unlocked the door and plopped me in the desk chair near the bathroom. “You want to shower first, or should I?”

Sweat, blood, and urine soaked my clothing, creating an acid-sweet smell that wafted off me in the most unpleasant of ways. Grime made my skin unbearably itchy, especially in the last few minutes. Add all that to the throbbing exhaustion peeling away at my senses, and I wanted to throttle Oliver.

“What?” I said, and the pressure behind my eyes increased.

He flinched, hands raising, backing up. “It was a joke! Just a joke. Bath, maybe? Yeah? You know, with your standing difficulty and all. Should I run you a bath?”

I trailed him with my glare as he retreated into the bathroom, turning on the faucet. My eyes glazed over as I waited for the tub to fill.

A hand interrupted me from my daze. “Your bath awaits you, milady. Would you desire help?”

“Are you always this energetic?”

He shrugged, smirking. “Depends on where my mood carries me. And tonight is a wondrous night.”

Not one ounce of my mind, body, or soul agreed with him.

Blankly, I stared. Taking the hint, his smile dropped. He picked me up, carrying me to the edge of the tub.

“Sorry. My mouth gets me into trouble sometimes,” he sighed, grabbing the plastic bag filled with supplies .

I snorted, not surprised.

“Here,” he handed me shampoo, conditioner, and soap. “Figured you might want that, little sister,” he winked. I barely refrained from shaking my head. As he crouched on his way out of the bathroom to avoid hitting his head on the frame, he sang, “ impulse control.”

The voice crack at the end eased my annoyance.

Once the door latched, I peeled off my clothing and dipped my toes into the warmth.

A small moan escaped my cracked lips as I slid in.

The water turned a murky yellow from the layers of mud loosening off my skin.

So gross. But the heat soothed the aches and pains, relaxing my limbs.

I lathered and rinsed every inch of my skin twice. Then, I did it for a third time after I drained the chocolate milk looking water and refilled it. After washing my hair, I was ready to come out.

My lips pursed, and my legs trembled while I dried off. I slipped on Oliver’s sweater. Luckily, it was long enough and not see-through, even if he did prefer men.

Curious, now that the mud monster had been washed away, I stopped by the mirror above the sink. Built-up moisture blurred my upper torso. Steam curled around my fingers as I reached forward, hesitating before wiping away the film.

My black hair fell in choppy, wet waves down to my shoulders.

Sharp angles and hollow cheeks made up my face—attractive but woefully malnourished.

At least my skin was unblemished, although the dark bags under my eyes and the pale skin made me look like a vampire.

Lifting my gaze from the bruised pillows under my lashes, I met my eyes and froze.

They were unnatural.

Two rings, one white and one purple, hugged my pupil.

The barely perceptible purple blended with the black dot while the white sat on top.

Outside the rings, a smokey gray colored the background, with white and lighter purple flecks scattered throughout.

They clustered near my rings and dispersed like an exploding star as they moved from the center.

Now I understood why Oliver asked if they were fake or real. But that still didn’t explain the knowing gleam I saw on his face or why my eyes looked like they belonged in a different world.

Or why I had flaming hands.

Walking out of the bathroom, I found Oliver sprawled on the second bed, mouth open and eyes closed. I huffed, picked up a pillow, and threw it at his face. It was the least I could do.

He jerked awake, blinking at me a few times. “Wow, you are older than twelve and can walk.”

I smiled, in a better temperament for his humor, and scanned him up and down. “Are you going to shower?” Dried mud speckled his jeans, his hair looked like he had rubbed it with a balloon, and drool crusted the corners of his mouth.

He shrugged. “Eh, probably wait till there’s more hot water. So…” Vivid eyes stared at me expectantly.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. But first, the voices. Who were they?”

I shook my head and sat on the edge of the other bed.

“They didn’t say. There was a woman and a man the first time.

They forced me awake. The second time, it was only the woman talking to me like you are now, but I couldn’t see her.

” I fiddled with the fraying end of Oliver’s sweater, unwilling to look up.

Self-conscious and contemplating brain damage, I didn’t want to see judgment reinforced in his gaze .

“What did she tell you?” he asked, not an ounce of disbelief in his tone, as if my tale was that easy to swallow. Would he continue this accepting curiosity when I mentioned the next part?

My thumb and pointer twirled the green strand. A scar exposed itself as I turned my wrist toward the light. It looked like writing but sharper and unreadable. I grazed my finger over the puckered skin. Where did I get this? Something about it tickled my mind. Something I needed to remember.

“Hello, earth to Lucille?”

I tore my attention away from the odd scar. “What?”

“The female? What did she say?”

“She mentioned a place and two people.”

“Where and who?”

Something about his tone made me peer up. He wore the same knowing gleam as he did in The Grind.

“In the café, what did you mean about my eyes?”

Edging toward the end of the bed, he clasped his hands between his knees. “How’d you melt the doorknob to escape?”

My face scrunched. “How does that?—”

“Bear with me, would you? I’m getting to that part.” The sass had me itching my arm. “How’d you do it?”

“I have pow…” It sounded insane. “Powers.”

Not surprised, he nodded, smirking. “Which is why Marcus took you, and you have that ring around your eyes.” His smirk grew into a full-blown smile.

“What do you mean?” I didn’t like the glee in his expression. It meant whatever he said was about to turn my world upside down. Again .

His smile held despite my irritation. “Do you see the purple ring around my pupil?”

I leaned off the bed as he leaned forward, staring into the unnaturally bright green hue. Around his pupil circled a dark purple ring.

The same purple ring that graced my unusual starry depths.

“Yes,” he said, noticing my surprise. “What if I were to tell you it signified the blood of a specific species?”

“What other species is there besides humans?”

Something sputtered inside me. A tickle fluttered around in the gaping hole of my mind, wanting to connect to Oliver’s words.

I knew at one point what he was talking about, but the answer hovered out of reach.

Although, the importance didn’t. This answer could help me and my mom; I knew it.

He just had to say it. I needed him to say it.

Oliver’s grin turned mischievous. I curled in my eager fingers, silently berating myself for the thoughts of violence.

“Many, Lucy. Oh, that’s what I’m going to call you from now on. Lucille is too long.”

Spoken, they were the same length.

Breathe.

But how the hell could I breathe when it felt like hundreds of tiny feet scurried along my skin?

Not to mention the rising pressure pushing behind my eyes and underneath the incessant itch.

It felt like what I’d imagine a snake wrapped in plastic would feel like—tormented by the need to shed its skin, only to be suffocated with it instead.

“Unless you have just woken from a long coma-induced slumber, were locked in a cage with needles sending god knows what into your blood”—my voice, the itch, and the pressure all rose—“and then ran for your life on pure adrenaline and willpower, exhausted, scared, and out of your mind, I’d refrain from the theatrics and tell me what the hell I want to know!

” I snapped into his face, happily watching his smile drop.

He was playing with a grenade whose safety pin had been pulled hours ago.

He had my answers. I needed those answers.

I stood and felt a snap. The pressure and itch eased while my tumultuous emotions rode me.

Barely towering over Oliver, looking down into his wide eyes, color washed from his face.

Unsatisfied by his sickly pallor and lack of words, I stepped closer.

A song whispered in my ear, coercing me to listen to its addictive melody of anger. Of violence.

My hand lifted. The seductive tune coming from the untouched depths of my soul consumed my mercy. Yet, my hand, inches away from wrapping around his throat, stilled. But not from the terror I witnessed on his face, from the change that occurred on my skin.

I sank to the floor in front of Oliver’s muddy shoes. The flashing colors disappeared from his wide, glassy eyes.

This time, it wasn’t just white. Dark purple intertwined and danced among the lighter flames. When the two colors heightened, specs of black manifested, deepening the already dark purple flame.

Stunned that I wanted to murder Oliver, the musical whispers disappeared, releasing me from their grip. The twining colors sank beneath my skin, removing the lingering itch and pressure. My lids fluttered, my head lolling to the side.

“Lucy!” Oliver yelled.

Groggy, I blinked up at him. He sat in the center of his bed—away from me.

He was scared of me. I was scared of me.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” I whispered .

Horror squeezed my stomach, pushing bile up my throat and slapping a bitter taste on the back of my tongue. I couldn’t believe I wanted to hurt him. But it consumed me. A sweet little tune puppeteered my actions.

“I’m unsure of your power. But I can tell you it has something to do with being an…” he hesitated.

“A what?” I whispered, wanting him to continue.

“An angel.”