The Ghosts We Made

10.

The soles of my shoes slap against the rain-slick pavement as I stumble down the street, the furious cries of the Fae mob still ringing in my ears. "Killer!" "Murderer!" Their accusations mingle with the distant wail of sirens and the incessant patter of cold rain against my skin, each drop feeling like an icy dagger, a reminder of the blood on my hands.

I suck in a shuddering breath, the chill air burning my lungs. As I do, Lily's face flashes through my mind, her vacant eyes staring into nothingness, crimson blood staining her porcelain skin. The memory sears into my brain, a sickening reminder of my failure, my guilt. I have to clear my name. I have to find out who did this to her, or I'll be joining her in the grave. The Langston warehouse looms in my thoughts like a beacon of truth, the only hope for salvation in this hellish nightmare.

A flicker of movement in the shadows snags my attention. I whirl around to see a throng of protesters emerging from the darkness, their faces twisted with righteous anger and bloodlust. Recognition sparks in their eyes, quickly igniting into an inferno of fury as they spot me, the object of their vengeance.

"There he is!" one of them shrieks, pointing an accusing finger. The cry ripples through the crowd like a spark to a powder keg. They surge toward me, claws flexed and wings whirring, a tidal wave of rage and condemnation, their protest signs thrust forward like the pikes of an advancing army. I can see the hunger in their eyes, the desire to rip me limb from limb, to make me pay for sins I didn't commit.

Primal fear detonates in my veins. I bolt, tearing down a garbage-strewn alley, my pulse roaring in my ears. The fetid stench of rot and stale alcohol clogs my nostrils as I careen past overflowing dumpsters and piles of cardboard that disintegrate beneath the unrelenting rain. Each step is agony, my muscles screaming in protest, but I can't stop. To stop is to die.

The slap of the mob's feet against the puddled concrete crescendos behind me, their furious shouts reverberating off the graffiti-scarred brick walls until it sounds like the howls of the damned, baying for my blood.

"Get him!" "Tear the monster apart!" "Make him suffer like our kind suffered!"

I spy a dumpster, its paint peeling and pockmarked with rust, and fling myself behind it. The stink of decay is overpowering, hot and thick, as I press my back against the slimy metal and try to quiet my ragged breathing. I can feel the heat of the mob's fury, hear the scrape of their boots against the debris-strewn pavement as they close in. It's only a matter of time before they find me, before they drag me out into the streets and exact their twisted version of justice.

"Come out, come out, little mouse," a woman's voice croons, dripping with sadistic glee. "We have so many games to play with you."

I squeeze my eyes shut, my heart slamming against my ribs like a caged beast. I can't let them catch me. Not now. Not when I'm so close to the truth, to redemption. An image of the Midnight Rose club shimmers in my mind's eye. If I can just get there, get to the back exit, it'll be a beeline to the Langston warehouse. It's a desperate gamble, but what other choice do I have? It's either risk it all or let them tear me apart right here in this filthy alley.

Sucking in a breath that tastes of fear and desperation, I explode from my hiding spot and sprint for the alleyway mouth. I hear their startled curses, the renewed frenzy of their pursuit. I burst out onto the main street and plunge into the neon-washed night, shouldering through the teeming crowds. Every face is a potential enemy, every shadow a threat.

The garish crimson sign of the Midnight Rose cuts through the rain-blurred chaos like a beacon. I throw myself at the door, nearly gagging on the nicotine-laden air that envelops me as I stagger inside. Music pulses against my skull, the clamor of a dozen shouted conversations battering me from all sides. But I can't let my guard down, not even for a second.

My eyes dart around the room, squinting against the haze. There, in the shadows of a corner booth, languishes Seraphina, flanked by her grotesque entourage. Ghouls, Fae, and things I can't even put a name to, their warty faces better suited to a nightmare than reality. They watch me with predatory interest, like vultures eyeing a dying animal.

Seraphina's eyes lock onto mine, glittering with cruel amusement as her lips curve into a smirk that says she knows far too much. But there's no time to decipher her games, no time to wonder what fresh hell she has in store for me.

I shove through the crowd, my skin crawling as I brush against clammy bodies. Shot glasses and curses fly in my wake. Every second feels like an eternity, every step a mile.

Seraphina points one elegantly manicured finger toward the back. "Careful, little mouse. They'll hear you scurrying," she warns with a mocking laugh as I stumble past. I can feel her eyes boring into my back, a silent promise that this isn't over.

I careen into the kitchen, the cacophony of shouts and sizzling grease crashing over me. The odors of burnt oil and spilled beer roil in my gut. I narrowly avoid colliding with a scowling cook, sending a tray of shots cascading to the floor in a riot of shattered glass. Every delay is a death sentence, every misstep a nail in my coffin.

Finally, blessedly, the back door appears. I slam through it, the cold air slapping me like a physical blow. But there's no relief, no respite. An impenetrable wall of enraged Fae blocks the alleyway, triumph glinting in their merciless eyes. The mob has outplayed me, outsmarted me at every turn.

The door at my back crashes open. I spin to see the other half of the mob spilling out, their faces contorted into snarls of pure hatred. There's nowhere to run. I'm trapped, caught between two tides of gnashing teeth and damning accusations. This is it. This is how I die, torn apart by a frenzied mob, guilty until proven innocent in a world that wants my head on a spike.

Suddenly, the night explodes in a blaze of violet light. The mob reels back, shielding their faces as the arcane blast sears the air. Through the fading afterimages, I see Seraphina striding forward, dark energy still crackling around her hands. She thrusts her palms outward, unleashing another surge of eldritch power. The mob crumples like rag dolls, their bodies slamming against the brick walls. But I know it won't hold them for long.

"Vic Thorn." Her voice lashes out over the stunned quiet, the mob struggling to pull themselves upright. She stalks forward, darklight swirling around her clenched fists. "I suggest you run along before I decide to redecorate this alley with the insides of your skull."

Shock crashes through me, followed by a surge of wary hope. "Why are you helping me?" I force out through a throat raw from fear and exertion. I can't trust her, can't trust anyone in this godforsaken city.

A razor-edged smile cuts across her face. "I have my reasons." Violet sparks hiss and spit as she positions herself between me and the gradually regrouping mob. "Now get the hell out of here before I change my mind."

I don't wait for her to reconsider. I run, each breath burning my lungs, my feet nearly skidding out from under me on the rain-slick cement. Behind me, I hear the renewed eruption of furious shouts and the bone-rattling concussion of dark magic. Seraphina is buying me time, but at what cost? What will she demand in return?

Confusion and adrenaline war in my skull as I flee, my thoughts spinning like leaves in a hurricane. Why the sudden change of heart from Seraphina? What's her angle? I can't shake the feeling that I'm leaping from the frying pan into the fire, trading one set of enemies for another.

But even as the questions churn, one truth emerges with crystalline clarity. If I want to find justice for Lily, if I want to clear my name and keep my own heart beating, I'll have to navigate a treacherous labyrinth of enemies and unlikely allies alike. Trust is a luxury I can't afford, not when every shadow hides a knife aimed at my back.

Somewhere in the rotten heart of this city, the truth is waiting, festering in the shadows like a corpse. And I won't rest until I drag it out into the unforgiving light.

The night swallows me as I run. I've walked through hell, and the worst is likely yet to come. But with Lily's memory burning in my heart and the promise of justice on the horizon, I know one thing for certain—I won't stop. I can't. Not until I make her killer pay, not until I clear my name and wash the blood from my hands.

Even if it means painting the streets red with my own.