Charming Devils - Katie May Page 0,3

took had my chest constricting. My hands brushed the cold door, currently locked shut.

“Please let me out,” I sobbed, pounding my fists against the steel. Through the slats, I could see their grinning faces, nothing but mirth and wicked excitement reflected back at me.

Shaking my head, I reluctantly follow Nana up the ladder, the wood in desperate need of sanding.

“Home sweet home!” Nana cheers once my head finally breaches the hole. She’s standing in the center of the desolate room, a wide, enigmatic smile on her face. “Well? What do you think?”

I think…

That this is going to be a long fucking school year.

I can tell that Nana and her men at least tried to clean it, but I still catch a myriad of spider webs hanging from the low rafters. It’s a large space, at least horizontally, though there are some sections where I’ll need to duck down in order to get by. A single triangular window rests against the similarly shaped wall. Ambient sunlight pours through, mixing its light with the single bulb hanging from the wooden ceiling. A bed sits directly beneath the window, with fresh blankets and pillows. Besides that, there’s nothing but a dresser, desk, and nightstand. It’s cute and practical, but not necessarily homey. There’s no mold, fortunately, but the wooden ceiling rafters look like they haven’t been dusted in years.

Still, it’s better than what it could be, and I know better than to take little things like housing for granted.

“I love it. Thank you, Nana,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around her waist. She startles in surprise, a soft noise escaping, before she hugs me back just as fiercely.

“I missed you, kiddo.”

“I missed you too.”

I don’t know how long we stay that way, but it’s long enough for Gabriel to clear his throat from down below. At least, I’m assuming it’s Gabriel. He seems like an asshole.

“Well…” Nana steps away and fidgets with the tie on her bathrobe. “I’ll let you settle in for a bit. Is there anything else you need? Anything at all?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” I reply, my mind already elsewhere. At this point, there’s really only one location it wanders—to them.

“Dinner will be ready in a couple hours. Polo is a great cook. Absolutely divine. If you don’t need anything else…”

“Get back to your boyfriends, Nana. I’ll be fine,” I assure her, my eyes latched on the immense trunk sitting at the foot of my bed.

“I love you, sweet girl. Always remember that.” With a tenderness I’m not used to seeing, let alone experiencing, she kisses my forehead. She trots over to perch herself at the edge of the hole and, forgoing the ladder, jumps into one of her men’s arms.

Honestly, I don’t know if I’m disgusted or proud of her relationship with three significantly younger men. I suppose that I should be happy for her. Love is love, after all, and they’re four consenting adults.

But damn, if it isn’t strange to see my nana getting her rocks off with three men only a few years older than me.

Once more shaking my head, I drop to my knees in front of the ancient chest before me. The black paint is chipped and turning a rustic red with age. A single lock secures the contents, a green tint surrounding it.

Licking my lower lip, I open my palm and aim my hand at the lock. The entire chest begins to vibrate as I push my magic into it with the intensity of a lightning bolt. After a moment, the lock drops to the ground with an audible clank and the lid flies open.

I peer inside at the contents, a wicked grin pulling up my lips. The first thing I see is a picture, freshly printed. My four tormentors pose for the camera, scowls marring their hideously handsome faces. With the pad of my thumb, I trace their features before pulling my hand away as if their pictures alone are poisonous.

“School starts tomorrow, boys,” I say darkly, removing object after object from my chest. Newspaper clippings. Photographs. Needles. An ancient spellbook. And then, finally, the four dolls I made just the month before. They almost resemble gingerbread cookies in shape, the brown fabric pulled tight over stuffing. Simple black buttons make up their eyes.

But wrapped around each of their necks, distinguishing one from another, are four different colors of hair. Red on one. Blond on another. Black on the third. Brown and purple on the final one.

“Let the games begin,” I whisper under

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