He takes my hand, his fingers like a vise around it, and pulls it toward him. His touch is ice-cold. Maybe it is the Grim Reaper after all.
“I have something for you.”
He stretches out my hand, reaches into his pocket and I watch in shocked silence as he forces a ring onto my finger.
“What—”
It’s too tight, but he doesn’t stop until he gets it past the knuckle.
“There.” He releases me.
I pull my hand back and look at it. At the large teardrop-shaped dark stone on my finger. At the skeleton-like fingers that seem to hold the huge rock in place. Like bones. I glance at him, then instantly try to pry it off.
“It’s no use,” he says, watching me.
I still try. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of it. And when he moves to stand, I swear I see that smile again. A dead man’s smile.
I feel the blood drain from my head, my vision fading as the room begins to spin.
“You belong to me now, Ivy Moreno, for better or for worse. Until death do us part.”
5
Ivy
I’m exhausted when I wake up. My head hurts as I look at the sliver of light coming in from the window.
Panicked, I check the time. I don’t want to miss Evangeline before she goes to school. It’s half-past seven. Today is Friday, which means she catches the school bus at eight.
I throw off the covers and hurry out of bed, but then stop. I look down at my hand and the foreign object there.
And I remember.
It wasn’t a dream. Did I really think it was?
I sink onto the bed, my heart racing, my eyes locked on that ring. A huge teardrop-shaped rock. A salt and pepper diamond, I think. And clutching the stone are bony fingers. I peer closer. It's so detailed, such intricate work. I try to pull it off, turning my palm when I do, but it’s impossible.
Something’s written on the band. I’m not sure it’s English: Aeternum.
Santiago De La Rosa had been in my room last night.
He’d come to give me his ring.
No, not give. He’d come to force it on my finger.
I remember how he’d looked. How he’d worn those robes and that hood over his face. He’d scared me half to death.
But maybe that was the point.
A glance at the clock tells me I need to hurry. I get up and go into the bathroom.
Between my visitor last night, thoughts of my father, and Abel’s plans for me, my mind is racing. Dad’s had health issues for a long time. He doesn’t take care of himself like he should and overindulges in things he shouldn’t. I remember the doctor telling him more than once that he needed to watch his diet as he prescribed pill after pill to manage his cholesterol and high blood pressure. And although I haven’t seen him since being away at school, he told me he’d been more active and more careful with his diet. As careful as he could be while still enjoying life, he’d said. I’d laughed, but I’m worried.
He’s in his fifties. Too young to die. I haven’t had enough time with him. And Evangeline has only had thirteen years.
I hope it’s not as bad as Abel made it out to be and I comfort myself with the knowledge that when I talk to the doctors I’ll know more.
I switch on the water to take a shower and strip off my pajamas and underthings. I glimpse my reflection in the mirror when I turn to grab a bottle of shampoo and see the bruise around my neck. Abel’s fingerprints. At least it’s not too dark, and I can cover it up. But maybe I shouldn’t.
The one on my cheekbone is worse. It’s swollen and blue.
Looking at my stomach and thighs, I find bruises in various stages there too. They don’t hurt. I’m used to them and try to make a joke of it when I knock into things.
When I told Abel it’s worse with stress, I wasn’t kidding. I’m not sure how I’ll actually get through a wedding to a stranger.
But I push that thought out of my mind and step into the shower. I hurry to shampoo and condition my mass of thick dark hair and use the last of the body wash. After my shower, I dress in a pair of jeans, choosing something generic because it’ll piss off Mom and Abel. Mom because she likes to keep up appearances, Abel because he told me to wear a dress. I twist my hair up into a clip and make sure some hangs down over my right eye, then step out into the hallway and go to my sister’s room. I smile genuinely for the first time when I knock on her door and hear her squeal as she throws it open.
“Ivy!” She practically jumps into my arms, and I hug her hard, my smile widening.
“Eva! I missed you so much.” I didn’t even realize how much until just now.
“Me too. God. Me too.”
I hear her sniffle, and when we draw apart, I see she’s been crying. The delicate skin around her eyes is puffy.
“I wanted to call you, but they wouldn’t let me. Mom took my phone,” she starts, that smile morphing into a frown as tears spring from her eyes. “I wanted to tell you about Dad.”
“Shh.” I pull her in for another hug. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re not to blame. I’m here now.” I want to reassure her somehow, but I don’t know what my presence here will do for her.
We separate again, and I tuck a strand of hair back into a hairpin. The nuns won’t excuse a hair out of place, even considering the situation.
“Are you okay?” I ask, looking her over. Given how Abel’s been with me, I want to be sure he hasn’t raised a hand to her.
“I’m scared for Dad. Mom and Abel won’t tell me anything. I can go see him after school today, though.”
“Abel’s taking me to see him this morning, and I’ll talk to the doctors. I’ll find out what’s going on and tell you. I promise.”
She nods, wipes her tears. “Ivy?” she asks hesitantly
“Yes?”
“Is it true? You’ll have to marry that man?”
I don’t know how to answer her.
“I’ve heard rumors, Ivy. He’s deformed. A monster.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Everyone knows about the explosion. Everyone knows he’s hardly been seen in public since.”
I know that much too.
“You can’t do it. You have to find some way to get out of it.”
“It’s not as simple—”
“Evangeline!”
I exhale in relief at my mother’s interruption because I’ve heard the same rumors. I know about the explosion where so many sons of The Society were lost. Where Santiago’s own father and brother perished.
And although Santiago did survive, he didn’t quite walk away uninjured. There are rumors about what happened to him and what he did to cover up his scars. Talk of how hard he’s become, how bitter.
I remember my brief first encounter with him took place in my dad’s study. I’d given him the gift dad had bought him, and as I’d dumped the box on his lap, I'd told him what I’d thought of him. I’d been just mad enough about everything to blurt out the truth, that I didn’t like the school The Society made me go to because I knew it was him or his family who’d arranged for it as a thank-you gift to my father for tutoring Santiago. And I hadn’t stopped there. I told him I didn’t like him, either.