Page 48 of Cuervo's Carnival
I laugh. Fuck, does it feel so good to laugh with her again. She strokes my cheek, and the warmth of her touch slowly begins to break the ice that feels like it has formed over me.
“Abuela, where are we?” I ask, my face still cupped in her hand.
She takes a slow breath, as she looks over her shoulder. Two dark silhouettes begin to cast a shadow, and with the eerie presence comes a deep, muffled mumble.
“We don’t have much time,” she begins as the muffled noises around us become more pronounced. “Do you know the greatest gift of all?” she asks.
“Intuition…” I answer, though my tone trails as if I am asking her a question rather than answering.
“That’s one of them and one that I want you to use, because you are going to need it for the days ahead,” she warns. She rubs my cheeks once more before dropping her hand back down to my side. “Besides the voice inside our soul that guides us that, remember, comes from us, no sky daddy bullshit,” she laughs. “Please, the only daddy I will honor in the sky, his first name starts with Pedro, and his last name is Pascal,” she jokes, letting out a deliciously infectious laugh.
I love how even in this absolutely bizarre moment, she can still resort to her no-nonsense humor. Something I always loved and admired about her.
She continues. “Love. The kind of love that shocks your soul to life, the kind of love that honors you and supports you even on your darkest days. The kind of raw, unashamed love that is so strong that even a cataclysmic disaster cannot falter it. That is one of life’s greatest gifts. True love doesn’t have a look because true love is a feeling. It is a feeling that not only fights for you but fights with you. True love shares what it means to be broken so that someday, you can live your own version of wholeness together. Or, in your case, in threes,” she jokes, making me smile a Cheshire Cat grin.
She parts her lips. “Speaking of threes, I might have scared your two halves with my text messages. I’m still getting used to this whole spirit thing. I wanted to warn them, and since I know they don’t have the gift inside of them to see me, I texted them,” she says with an amused chuckle. “I must admit, I had a little fun with it initially. I was on a big Stephen King kick before I…” She clicks her tongue and motions at her neck, sliding her thumb in front. “You know, kicked the bucket, as they say. So, I messaged them a quote from The Shining.” She smiles.
“Which one?” I ask, giggling. I realize it is probably not important at this moment, but this feels so nice, to be able to just talk to her again.
“Monstersarereal, and ghosts arerealtoo. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win,” she breathes. “Pretty fitting if you ask me, but anyway, as I said, we don’t have much time. So, when you are as fortunate as you, my dear, to have that kind of love hit your heart, not once but twice, you fight like hell for it,” she says with a warm smile.
“Abuela,” I whisper.
She lifts her hand and makes a ‘shhing’gesture. “Save your strength. You are going to need it. I love you, Lola. And remember, your bloodline creates you, but it is up to you to approach life, death, and all the creatures that inhabit both with your own eyes. Blood runs through us, but it can also betray us,” she says as the muffled noises around us intensify. An obnoxious beeping sound penetrates my eardrums so violently that I slam my eyes closed and lift my hands to my ears.
“I need to go, they are here for you,” she begins, floating above the cloud-like bed we have shared. “Swift and sinister like a raven, you will swoop down, executing your reprisal. You inherited the gift of premonition, use it, and run wild. My sweet and fierce Lola, things haven’t ended. They have only just begun,” she whispers as she fades into the darkness above us.
The sound gets louder and clearer, and with it, I feel a force yanking my arm, calling my name.
“Lola,” the raspy voice cries.
“Pax, get over here. She’s awake.”
Fuck, yes. I’m alive. We are all alive.
24
Cillian
“She’s awake!”I shout to Paxton, even though he anxiously waits behind me to touch her.
Despite being in a coma because that good-for-nothing traitor shot her, she looks ravishing as ever. I stare at her beauty, which never dulls. It never could. Lola Grimmrose’s beauty washes over her supple olive skin and trickles into her strength, perseverance, and feisty attitude that never could be tamed, nor would we ever want it to be.
Our sweet and wicked Lola. Much as her name alludes, her life has been drenched in sorrow. Misfortune was handed to her, but it will not become her. She will overcome this pain, as she has before, making it her weapon. Making her a lethal force. And when she is healed, she will have to pry us off her, because we are never letting her out of our sight or letting go of her, ever.
“Cillian,” she breathes, trying to lift her hand up to mine, but it is caught in a web of cords sustaining her.
“No, Lola, you need to rest.”
“What happened?” she asks, a prominent and fair question, but my stomach fucking sinks.
I don’t want to tell her, but I have to. I delay answering her question by clenching the scratchy linen sheets of the hospital bed into my fists, twisting the fabric as I try to cool down the rage I have been attempting to suppress since that night at Plutonian’s.
I still can’t believe how deceived we were.
“It’s okay.” Pax grabs my shoulder from behind. “I’ll tell her.”
“Tell me what?” Lola interrupts, her tone stronger sounding this time.
