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𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘 : 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓

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I watched Beatrice fade to a complete nothingness as the color seeped back in through my eyes and Ace was moving again, no longer frozen in time. He dropped his hand when he noticed the knife wasn't in my hand, rather, he dropped his hand because he noticed things were not as they seemed one second prior.

"Ghost?"

I nodded with a grim smile. "Beatrice, yeah. She came to explain things to me, mostly just to tell me what things were."

"Like what? You mean the special knife hidden in the oldest leather jacket I've ever seen?" he laughed when I nodded. "It looks like one of those sacrificial knives cults would use-" he reached for the blade and I grabbed it, shaking my head as I murmured, "Better I be the only one to handle it for now."

He held up two hands with a nod. He dropped both hands onto his knees, going through the different candles that ranged from red to black to green. But, this time when he reached for one of my mother's journals, I couldn't stop him from taking hold of one and he let out a strangled yelp.

He clutched his hand, seething through clenched teeth as I winced. "Yeah, about those...only a blood relative can open them, some sort of blood lock."

"Think you could've told me that one before I grabbed it?" he hissed, rubbing his blistering palm. He got to his feet, shaking his head, "I'm going to grab a first aid kit-?"

"Under the sink," I muttered.

He nodded, backing out of the room before turning on his heel and moving swiftly into the kitchen. I turned back to the box, grabbing the first journal and opening it carefully. The pages were older, discolored slightly from age and wear. The first page was blank, save for a small coffee stain in the corner. I flipped to the next one, seeing a small date written in the corner and a strange warmth filled up my stomach.

It was my birth year, written in my mothers handwriting.

I casually flipped through the pages, seeing how much had been written and was shocked to see the entire journal filled to the very last line on the last page. I don't think in my whole life I'd actually filled out an entire diary like this. I could hear Ace rummaging around in the kitchen as I started to read to myself, feeling a sense of comfort and dread seep through me at the idea of what secrets were incorporated in these small pages.

I'm pregnant. Cage told me we had to wait, he had too much work going on and I just started at the hospital, but I'm pregnant. I just got back from my doctor's appointment and she told me I'm six weeks so far.

I hope it's a girl.

I flipped the page, seeing the same year but a few months later.

I told Cage we should move today, before the baby is born. His work is getting increasingly more dangerous and I'm not sure how much I can take. The men are growing restless and devil sympathizers have been circulating our town more and more as if we're some hotspot. It's almost as if we're living on top of a hellmouth.

Cage told me not to worry, that him and Archer have it under control, but I don't believe them, not when I'm carrying this life inside me that is dependent on our survival. We need her as much as she needs us.

We found out it's a girl and if what Cage and Archer have told me, I wish it wasn't. Not when we know what her birthright will be, not when we know what she'll be forced to do when she's old enough to understand why we did the things we did.

I think I'll name her Elizabeth.

I like the name, my aunt was named Elizabeth. She was a fearsome woman, strong and bright and eager in life. She terrified me to my wit's end but she was the strongest woman I knew. She knew more than me and held so much wisdom, it seemed as if her brain was some great vastness space made for consuming all and everything. She had a temper like a devil and could fight like a storm. Yes, I like the idea of my daughter sharing the same name as her.

My daughter will share her wrath.

I fought back a surge of emotion knowing that my mother thought so highly of me before I had even been born. That she knew what my right would be and that I would be powerful, that I would have years of wisdom and rage in my veins. 

Elizabeth Blaire Lake.

Seven pounds, two ounces.

She has the roundest cheeks I've ever seen and her eyes, god, her eyes are like the forest. She's so small and warm in my arms, it's hard to believe that she's really mine. This tiny little creature is all mine.

At the bottom of the page, in a smaller writing than her normal, she wrote a small p.s. that made my cheeks hurt from the smile.

P.S. Cage passed out in the delivery room. Made sure the nursing staff got a picture for me. It'll definitely be on the Christmas card this year.

It seemed so strange to hear about my mother's life as something so mundane mixed with such frightening horror of the anxiety she faced when thinking about Cage's work life. She mentioned the devil so calmingly that it didn't even seem out of place when she would go from that to wanting her daughter to be safe. It all seemed so normal.

There's something different in the air this morning. It felt as if the earth was shifting and growing, expanding like it was getting ready to hold something far bigger than it. A new life an old life, was coming back, stronger and far more powerful than before.

I called upon the Triple Goddess tonight and got no word, not even a small sign of knowing what was to come. It seemed not even the all knowing and powerful could understand what we would soon face.

I'm afraid for my daughter if she's going to inherit Cage's gift.

He's one of five left, that we know of. They've been dropping like flies, dying or being killed one after the other since her birth. It's like they knew something we didn't, something that terrified me to my very core.

Tonight, I'll send prayers to Diana, hopefully she will shed some light for me. Her wisdom has always granted me with ease and comfort, I felt her with her when I gave birth to Elizabeth and I feel as if she could help me with this one.

If not, I don't know who else to turn too.

I can only hope that this feeling I've been having has all been a mistake. Maybe nothing bad will happen, that the necromancers dying was just on their own accord, that the shift in the earth was just some otherworldly divinity staking their claim, and maybe, the fear I see in my husbands eyes is not one from oncoming thoughts of our future but ones from his job.

His stupid, stupid job.

The Morticianers are all on edge, constantly. It's like their little secret rendezvous at the dead of night haven't been doing it for them like they once had. But I know they sense what I'm sensing too, I can see it in Archer's eyes and Victor's too. They all know something I don't, I'm nearly sure of it. They speak in whispers and act as if I'm someone completely new, some person passing by who could accidentally hear some of their secrets and expose them.

It's as if they don't know me at all since I've had the baby.

There's something different in the air here and I intend to find out just what is making this shift feel so dangerous.

I flipped the page, stopping for a moment to look out into the kitchen to see the light off and the sound of snoring coming from the living room. I crawled across the floor to get a good look and shook my head with a laugh, it seemed that both Pandora and Ace were asleep now.

I went back to the journal, looking at the names my mother had mentioned. Besides the obvious ones I knew, she had said the name Diana. It wasn't the only name or title that had struck me confused as I let my eyes travel back up to the words that stood out to me the most.

The Triple Goddess.

From what I knew about goddesses, neopaganism, and Wicca, the great deity was split into three parts: the maiden, the mother, the crone. It was something I grouped in with my understanding of witches but Louise Lake wasn't a witch. She didn't practice magic and she certainly wasn't a part of a coven, I would've noticed if my mother was a witch.

Except, I didn't notice much to begin with.

There was a growing panic inside my gut beginning to spread and move with my every breath. I didn't know anything about my own family, I was here, with them, and I still didn't know a thing. I didn't know anything, why didn't I know anything-

My phone ringing made my breath hitch in my throat and I coughed. I scrambled up onto my knees, digging into my back pocket for my phone and bringing it out, squinting at it's bright light. I scowled, confused because it wasn't the phone that was ringing.

I dropped the journal to the ground, jumping to my feet and moving through the room and towards the staircase. I ran up them swiftly, taking two steps at a time until I got to the top and was scrambling towards my room.

When I got to my mother's phone on my dresser, the screen flashed and I noticed the 'missed call' notification. I couldn't contain my scowl as I picked it up as it began to ring again and I hit decline, watching Crow's familiar number flash away as the screen went black again. It didn't take long, not even ten seconds, before he was calling again, the phone vibrating and I clicked accept and more aggressively than I intended, put the phone to my ear.

"What?!"

I could hear the steadiness of his breathing on the other line, and he waited a moment before saying cooly, "Don't ever decline my calls again." There was another pause and I could almost see the smirk across his face, "It's rude."

"I'll show you rude," I muttered under my breath before hitting the end call. I knew it was childish of me but I couldn't help it, well, I might've but I was too infuriated.

I kept the phone in my hand as I made my way back out into the hall. It rang again and I answered, hissing out in a soft voice to keep from waking my friends, "Stop calling me." I hung up and kept moving down the staircase, running my free hand against the railing.

Once I had made it back inside the office, I closed the doors softly and when the phone rang for the fourth time tonight, I answered. "Why are you so insisting on calling me, huh? I told you today, I don't want anything to do with you."

"I don't believe that."

"You should."

"I'm not going to give up on you just yet," he cooed and I heard the creak of a bed from his end. I could nearly picture him, lounging back with an arm tucked under his head and his long legs stretched out in front of him. I would imagine he would be shirtless if he was laying in bed and the thought alone made my cheeks flush and a deep regretful pit opened in my gut. This man killed Cage and, god, who knows who else. "Believe it or not, Blaire, you're important to me."

"You don't even know me," I whispered, feeling the strain of emotion in my throat. I didn't like how he affected me this much, how his voice could send a strange warmth through my skin like a flame. Or maybe it was like ice, so cold it burned.

"I don't need too," he said. "Not yet."

"Not yet?"

"Mmhm, you and I, we're tied together and I know that's hard for you to believe, but our paths were meant to cross," he explained and I thought, just for a moment, that he would finally tell me everything. But, of course, I was usually always wrong. "What I have to do, it's all for a bigger picture. You'll understand that soon enough."

I laughed, a hollow sound from within my throat. "You know I hate your riddles."

I heard him chuckle back and the sound, the sound, sent a ripple of a shiver down my spine like he was here with me. I foolishly checked behind me, as if he would be lurking in the darkest corners again, waiting, ready to pounce and strike. "Tell me, necromancer, what are you still doing up?"

"I went to a party," I said, not being able to stop myself from sharing the details of my life. It was like he was the outlet I needed to vent, to release this tension and I could admit to myself and anyone who asked, that hitting him today? That punching the ever loving crap out of him? It made me feel good. It opened something inside me like a chest being cracked apart and its golden contents finally spilling out.

"How did it go?" he asked. "You don't sound too thrilled about it."

I crouched back down to the floor, grabbing the journal I had dropped in my rush to get upstairs as I mumbled into the phone, "Why are you trying to make small talk with me?"

"Can't I just get to know you better?"

"Knowing me better so you can kill me later?" I laughed, shaking my head. "No, I don't think so." I shifted on my spot on the floor, resting my free hand back behind me so I could lounge easier. "But why even call me? Checking to see if I've plotted to kill you since the funeral?"

"Potentially..." he trailed off before murmuring, "...I doubt you have, since you went to a party and all. I do like the image of you downing a beer while thinking of me, though."

"As if."

"So, no drunken thoughts about me? Not a single one?" he cooed with ease and I felt my cheeks flush because I had. I had thought of him and nearly lost all function.

I rolled my eyes, hoping he could feel what energy I was exuding. "Not a single one."

"I find that hard to believe, considering how close we were getting in the morgue."

"We were only close because I didn't know who you were-"

"If I had been someone else entirely, you're saying we would've gotten closer?" he mused and I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. I could picture him, sitting up in sudden interest, the stretch of his back and his muscles moving with his breath and laughter. I shuddered at the image, hating myself.

"No," I snapped out, shaking my head with a hard breath as I continued with, "no, okay? I wouldn't have gotten close to you or 'not you' or anyone else. Whatever you're implying or trying to imply isn't even on my brain right now, don't you think I have more pressing issues to deal with? Like, I don't know, my impending doom thanks to you and your stupid little group?"

He was laughing, booming with it, the sound coming straight from his chest. "You want me, Blaire, just admit it-"

"Yeah, I want you. I want you dead."

"Aw, I'm touched. Flattered even."

"If you don't start being helpful or even slightly more tolerable, I'm going to hang up on you again," I hissed, the journals in front of me itching to be touched, to finally be opened.

"How can I be at service to you, great necromancer?"

Not again with that stupid title.

"How can I, Archer Crow, help you tonight?" he continued with a hidden snicker.

"Tell me more about my mother," I whispered, flipping open the first journal to its first page. The inner cover had a delicate floral design of golden roses and I ran my finger over the pattern with a wisp of a smile. "I've found some things that belonged to her and...and I don't know what to make of it and you knew her."

"What did you find?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"If I don't know, how can I actually help?" there was a pause in his breath, like he was frowning as he said, "Why should I help you? What do I get in return?"

I grinned, tilting my head to the side. "You get the chance not to be killed tonight or tomorrow, sound good for you?"

"Not good enough."

"Then what could you possibly want that I can give?"

"Answers."

"Answers?"

"Yes," he laughed, and I heard another creak from his end, like he was getting more comfortable in bed. "It's only fair that I get answers in return for the ones I'm giving you."

"But what type?" I laughed, shaking my head. "Because what if I don't want to answer?"

"Then you won't get the answers you're looking for."

I huffed, puffing my cheeks up softly as I thought over his ultimatum. What if the answers he needs are ones that will get me killed? What if he wants me to tell him what I know and everything I've found out? It could jeopardize me and my friends, it could send me to any even earlier grave. I rubbed my forehead with my hand clutching the phone before bringing it back to my ear and I sighed, "Fine."

"Perfect," he said and I could see him smiling like he'd won. "What do you want to know about your mother?"

I flipped through the journal to the last entry I had read and scanned it until I found the name. "She mentions the name Diana in this journal of hers, did she know anyone named that? I can't picture a 'Diana' anywhere, not even a coworker at the hospital."

"Diana?" he wondered aloud and I heard the tapping of a pen like maybe he had been doing work in bed before calling me. "How does she mention her?"

I kept my finger on the name and muttered out, "Tonight, I'll send prayers to Diana, hopefully she will shed some light for me." I lifted my finger and crossed my legs, arms going to my knees. "I'll send prayer to her? Have any clue what that means?"

"Ah, yes, Diana," Crow mumbled and I heard the tapping start again, steady and rhythmic. "Diana, goddess of the hunt, moon, and fertility. She can be, usually, considered a triple deity merged with Selene and Hecate, goddesses of the moon and underworld. Your mother probably mentions her in relation to the Triple Goddess, she's another branch of that symbol."

I frowned, biting my bottom lip as I looked at the pages. Why did my mother care about this? Why would she write and dedicate her prayers towards this? "Don't tell me you're saying that..." I eased up on my lip and rubbed my forehead with my freehand. "...that my mom was a witch?"

He was silent.

"Crow?"

He sighed, deep and loud. "You said not to tell you."

"H-how?" I stammered, shaking my head. Could my mother really have hidden this from me too? What else was she hiding? What else did she know about our bloodlines that she's kept from me?

"From her mother's side of the family," he explained and I heard him shift again and the flutter of papers. "They were descended from a bloodline of witches from Salem, like most were in those days. Your mother considered herself Wiccan, while her family mainly focused on Modern Paganism, meaning she practiced magic and witchcraft while they didn't. She might not ever mention this in her journal, but she helped me out with a few witch related...issues when your father worked for me. She was incredibly powerful when she was your age and her magic only evolved throughout the later years. Last I heard, at the time of your birth, she was attempting to create her own Book of Shadows, like the ones most Wiccan's used or created on their own, like a grimoire or dictionary of spells."

Then how come I hadn't seen her grimoire in the box? Did that mean there were more boxes with more secrets hidden somewhere else in this house?

Crow continued on, seeming very open and gratuitous with all the knowledge he was so eager to give, "She focused her energy and magic within the points of the pentagram, since each point represented one of the five elements; water, earth, air, fire, and spirit. I'm sure you must've noticed the differences she'd been planting? The changing in the air on full moons? The faint smell of crackling electricity and something sweet? The abundance of sage, vervain, and rosemary in your kitchen? Hell, I'm sure you must've noticed the bouquet of flowers she would bring into the home on every full and new moon? The bundle of lavender, poppy, roses, and that pinch of mint?"

When I didn't say anything he breathed out, "Jesus, Blaire, how could you have not noticed? She was practically painting you the picture right in front of you your entire life."

How did I not notice? Sure, I was curious about the flowers but I just assumed she was bringing them home from work. Nothing seemed different or out of place to me, but maybe it was because I was so used to it all. The constant changes felt like second nature. I did, however, feel the change in the air when she died. The staleness that wafted through the air, the strange settling of something heavy in the atmosphere as if it missed her.

I cleared my throat, feeling it tight. "Did she perform rituals? And what type of work did she do for you, anyways?" My eyes traveled to the glass office door and I stared out into the dark, not taking my eyes off the trapdoor in the stairs. Maybe that tunnel had more purpose than holding ghosts.

"She usually performed small rituals during the changes of the moon, mostly just during full and new moons. She was big on cleansing and healing, sending help and offerings when and where she could. She'd help me exercise some of these...offerings when things became too difficult-"

"Too difficult? Like, what? You couldn't kill your target as easily as you wished?"

"More like, summoning the power to help some of my former initiates consecrate their rights to kill. Some, when we were first starting, had trouble balancing the moral concepts of what we practiced. She helped ease those tensions, she was a pillar of peace and calm when she'd come in with your father."

It seems like my mother was more involved with the Morticianers than she let on. She'd go in and help them, help Cage navigate his job like she was their manager. What I didn't get was why? Why would she associate with these men, knowing who and what they are? Was there something I was missing? Was the picture bigger and more complicated than I thought?

"Now that we're done with this history lesson, I have a few questions I'd like answered," he murmured, his voice deep and laced with something I could pinpoint exactly.

"Ask away."

I heard the shift and creak of his bed and I let out a breath more shaky than I imagined. I wasn't sure if I was ready to expose myself, to answer whatever horrifying questions he could come up with.

"Do you know how to kill us?" he asked, his voice deep and rumbling, I could picture the dark look in his eyes.

"No," I answered, lying as my eyes caught the glint of Spiorad laying dormant next to me. I averted my eyes, glad he wasn't in the same room with me to see the lie across my face. "I know as much about you as I do ghosts."

"Which is...?"

I sighed. "You and I both know what I am and what my special little 'job' entails, but I know as much as you, probably even less because you had my father show you the ropes I bet."

"Cage didn't tell us anything. He barely let us see him work."

That's surprising, I thought to myself, frowning. Was this line of work more secretive? Did I need to keep it hidden like he did? Or was Crow just lying so he could keep what he knew a secret for a little longer?

"Well, I guess we're both in the dark about that," I mumbled, my fingers drawing lazy circles against the floorboards. "Me more than you because I still don't know much about demons to begin with."

"Did Wrath tell you about demons?"

I shook my head, my finger pricking against an uneven board. "Cage did, actually. Said it was part of the job to know all and see all."

"But how can you see us? Is it the same way he could?"

"Pretty much."

"Hmm, so you would know who was a demon and who wasn't if they were around you long enough?" he asked, and the tapping returned. Was he writing all of this down?

I shrugged even though he couldn't see me. "Doubt it, mostly because I'm so new at this that I'm not sure if I'll notice at first or even after a while."

"Interesting," he mumbled under his breath and this time, I heard the scratching of a pen on paper. "Do you know the identities of the men in my group besides me and your father?"

"Macabre," I said, suppressing an oncoming yawn. "That's it."

"Oh, tired now are you?" he mused with a chuckle. "I'll let you go for now, but expect a call from me again in the future."

"Can't you find some other teen to bother?"

He laughed again, and I pictured him shaking his head. "I can't give up my favorite girl, now can I, love?"

"Don't take this personally, because I like that you've been feeding me information, but I hope you die," I murmured, thinking of the look on Cage's face when his friend drove a knife through his gut. Did he kill him with Spiorad? Or just a normal, mundane kitchen knife?

The idea of Cage dying at the hands of a kitchen knife made a pit open up in my stomach and threaten to swallow me whole. The way he's been treated as if he was a living legend and then only to die by a silly knife like the ones used to cut carrots and steak seemed so embarrassing.

"Hope you have a nice night plotting," he purred before he hung up and I was left in silence. I turned my phone off and put it aside, racking my brain for everything he told me tonight.

It seemed that Louise Lake was hiding more than just the secrets inside her box. She had a whole other life documented in these journals and I could only imagine what else was hidden amongst the floorboards and drawers.

I ran my fingers across the uneven floorboard I had pricked my finger on while I had been distracting myself on the call, frowning as my fingers caught the unevenness again and again. Was it a coincidence that this box was placed right here, in the middle of the room? Or was it just a mere accident?

I got onto my knees, pushing my things away from the boards and let out a deep breath before taking hold of the end and yanking. It creaked loud and angry, barely moving as I pulled again.

Once. Twice. Three times.

The plank came free and I gasped, falling backwards and onto my butt. I held the board in my hands in astonishment before dropping it to the side and going towards the little opening I had created.

I grabbed my phone, turning the flashlight on and peered inside the little hiding place and couldn't contain my grin. "Louise, you sneaky bitch," I laughed to myself, shaking my head as I reached inside.

The journal inside was labeled a golden four, it's leather black instead of the old brown like the others. Underneath was a black leather bag, with one long strap, it's material faded and old just like the leather jacket I still wore. It was light in my hands, telling me there wasn't anything inside but I opened it up just in case, feeling around inside and across the bottom and pockets.

I frowned, feeling not just one thing or nothing, but multiple objects. I kept the bag opened and dumped the contents out, separating them so I could get a good look.

There was a large coin, at least the size of a half dollar and I picked it up, running my thumb over its smooth surface. A pentagram stared back up at me and when I flipped the coin over to see the other side, I was staring into the eyes of an old deity, carved and smoothed into the metal. Three women, side by side, the one on the right facing the sky, the left facing the ground, and the one in the middle looking straight forward.

I set the coin down and moved to the next object, surprised to find an old wooden wand. The handle was made of emerald and clear crystals, the tip looking like it had once been pointed but smoothed down over time.

The last object was an old chalice, like the ones you'd see knights and kings drinking from. Like the coin, the three women were on this too, their faces bigger and illuminated by the gleam of the flashlight. I knew who they were, the three women being the Triple Goddess. It seemed that Crow's history lesson and my mother's journals were more handy than I'd like to admit.

The inside of the chalice was stained a deep red, like whatever my mother had put in it last had seeped into the metal's very core. I set it aside, reaching for the fourth journal and opening it and bracing myself up with one arm as I sat on my knees to read.

If you've found this, that means I'm dead.

She had prepared for this. She knew her demise had been coming.

Inside this bag are some tools I used when practicing magic and performing rituals. You'll need all three to complete any ritual you wish to do in the future, alongside your knife, Spiorad. The blade has multiple purposes, it even shares a common name with what some sisters in past covens and families used.

Spiorad: the demon killer, killer of spirits and all things evil, the spirit blade, but also an athame. An athame is commonly used during ceremonial magic traditions. It represents fire, but it also brings in the connection of spirit as it's one of the five elements.

The chalice = water

The wand = air

The athame/Spiorad = spirit

The Pentacle = earth

The Pentacle must've been the coin. It was strange to me, how all of these objects, ones you might pass by in an old thrift shop, could mean something so much deeper.

Inside this journal are spells, incantations, and little tips that might help you once you get the hang of the gift your father passed on to you. Elizabeth, you must be careful, there are forces out there that want to see you stopped, that want to kill you and hurt you but you have to fight back. You can't stop protecting yourself and the ones you love, you have to fight back with everything you've got and more and I'm hoping, not that the blade is finally in your rightful hands, you can start doing that.

Fight hard and fight strong, my little ghost seer, and don't stop.

I'll see you again some day, when things are better and the world is finally at peace again but for now, know that I love you. You're my girl and always will be my girl, don't let anything stop you from achieving your goals and what you want from life. You're strong and beautiful and brave and nothing can stop you.

You're our necromancer now, just as your father was before you and the people before him. There aren't any left, my dear, you're all we got now. The necromancers have been a dying breed for decades and it seems that you're the last one standing. Show the world why you're the only one left, show the world that you're stronger than her and everyone else standing in your way. Send the ghosts back through the geata, listen to them, speak through them, they're here to help you as much as you're here to help them.

These men have nothing compared to you and the strength that flows freely through your veins. Show them how much stronger you are when they come to face you, because they will. They will come for you, to snuff out that power they're so afraid of, and when they do? They won't be able to handle you and the gifts that have been passed down from your ancestors and their ancestors before you. Their gifts, their sight, move through you, growing and changing and adapting. You're the one they've been waiting for. Show these men what you're capable of and don't stop until they're dead.

Now it wasn't just Cage telling me to kill, to fight, to take control. My mother wanted the same thing, which only made me wonder what they both knew in the days leading up to their deaths. What threat was so terrifying that they had to tell their only daughter to stand up and kill and kill and kill?

I know it's scary and I know this all must be so hard for you, but it's how the fates have written it to be. We no longer have any control over our futures, not the way we had wanted. You were our little gift, our little surprise and now the world is yours and no longer ours. It's your time to be the fighter, the supporter, the warrior, the wisdom. I wish I could be by your side, to hold your hand and explain all of this the way I wanted but like I said, the fates had different ideas.

My magic will help you as much as it can. It still moves through our home, in our things, in you. It'll protect you for as long as it can, until you take it upon yourself or it moves on with me. You have my blood running through your veins, you have my gifts too.

Your father wasn't the only one who had power.

Use what you can, but even though you might have my blood running through your veins, you still have your father's too. His is greater and his is more useful, but his comes with dangers and people who don't understand or want to kill you just because of the threat you might cause them.

Don't let up, Elizabeth. Never stop.

The note was signed by her in small, cursive letters followed by a heart. It seemed that the only thing my parents could give me besides strange, otherworldly power was warnings. I needed to be careful and that started with me ending my phone relationship with Crow. I couldn't afford to slip and tell him something I should've kept quiet.

Sure, it was better to keep your enemies closer but not when your enemy wants your head on a pike.

I flipped the page and I couldn't contain my smile because this was it.

This was what I needed if I was going to start taking action, if I was finally going to have the upper-hand.

My mother had written out a list of names and descriptions of every known Morticianer working under Crow. It seemed that she knew exactly what I needed and when I did. I scanned the list quickly, running down the names and frowning, because there was a single line drawn through one name with no description.

Archer Crow: thick black hair, light brown eyes. he's tall and muscular, broad shoulders and chest, he looks strong, more put together. almost always wears a suit, usually all black. he's handsome with a sharp jawline.

Cage Lake

Victor Macabre: black hair, graying. dark brown eyes. usually seen in a priest outfit or a dark suit. he looks older than the rest. he's smart and cunning, but he could be a potential ally if things go that way.

Jonathan Blood: brown hair, spiked with gel, has his nose and ears pierced. his eyes are narrowed and sharp, he has a scar across his cheek and he's usually always seen wearing a leather jacket, dark pants, and a scowl.

Michael West: greased black hair, pushed back. he has gray eyes and crows feet, his teeth are crooked and there's a scar on his upper lip. he wears dark suits that usually match the color of his hair, he likes his outfits to be monochrome.

John Walker: thick brown hair, slightly curly, he's young. he's still in high school, usually wears his letterman jacket or something simple over jeans.

It was still hard for me to comprehend how John was one of them, a demon! He seemed so normal, so much like a high school teen but I guess, in a way, so did I. We both had secrets we were keeping, darker ones than our classmates expected.

Andrew Stone: long blonde hair, usually in a ponytail, pale blue eyes, blonde/brown beard. he's usually seen with a flask or joint in his hand. he doesn't care much about work but he's still to be feared. he wears clothes that are one size too big on him and even larger jackets, he goes for grunge clothes, like the ones worn by Kurt Cobain.

Aiden Tobias: short blonde hair always perfectly cut and styled, brown eyes, dangerous, dangerous, dangerous. he's seen as second compared to Archer. he almost always wears either a suit or a short sleeved shirt in any neutral tone.

Jeb Reed: sandy brown hair, almost gray, brown eyes, hawk like features. his eyes are small and narrowed, his nose is slightly crooked. he wears dress pants and usually, a neutral colored collared shirt. he's not one to be seen in a suit.

Eric Conner: brown hair, stubble across chin and cheeks, hazel eyes. wears slacks and sports coats, usually seen wearing old baseball caps.

West, Reed, and Macabre all cover as priests/preachers. If they aren't seen in their normal attire, they're wearing outfits to blend into the church.

There were only nine of them left. Only nine that needed to be hunted and killed before they killed me.

How hard could it be?

can we just pretend crow is normal for once BAHAHAHA

how do we feel about him and blaire....b honest fr  and louise's secrets...anyone guess it b4 this chapter or no??

lolll vote/comment and ill kiss u!!!