Storm Gods - G. Bailey Page 0,36
Hugo is dead and it’s my fault. Hugo is dead and it’s my fault. Hugo is dead and it’s my—
“That bastard,” comes Peyton’s voice, sounding broken and ragged, drawing my attention and forcing me to look away from Killian. “That conniving, selfish son of a bitch.”
“He doesn’t care about anyone or anything,” Mads concurs, and I see that she’s rubbing his back, doing her best to soothe him. “That much is clear.”
“My poor baby,” mum wails, dropping her head as her shoulders heave with sobs. Dad does his best to pull her away from Hugo’s body, but she’s not having any of it, flinging his hands off herself without so much as a second glance as she allows her grief to take her over. Damien is standing in the far corner of the room, tears silently streaming down his face, and I see that his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. His face is a mask of pain. He and Hugo were always close, closer to each other than I was to either of them. Their relationship always reminded me a little of my own relationship with Peyton, and my heart goes out to him even as it breaks. He had a life. He had a partner. He had people who loved him. And now he’s been snatched away because I was too stubborn to realise when I was outmatched.
Before I’m even aware I’m doing it, I’m turning to look at Hugo’s body, and an instant later I’m regretting it. The hole in his chest where the lightning struck is still smouldering, the noxious smell of death and scorched skin permeating the entire house. His muscles are already going rigid, and his eyes are wide and staring, glossing over right in front of us. His face is frozen in an expression of panic and surprise, his mouth twisted in a half-grimace that hurts me more the longer I look at it. “Close his eyes,” I say, my voice shaking. I’m not even sure who I’m talking to. “Please, just…close them.”
Dad swallows hard and nods to me before squatting down and smoothing his palm over Hugo’s eyes, gently urging them closed. It helps, but only a little; it feels like my guilt has taken on human form and is now staring lifelessly up at me, coaxing more and more tears out of me. “I…,” I say, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears. “I can’t… He’s…” But nothing coherent seems to form, and even doing something as simple as remaining standing suddenly feels like too much. For a moment I sway on my feet, and Killian, who was in the process of going to help them move the body, turns back around. Storm gets to me first, though, putting his muscular arm around my waist and allowing me to sag against him, my legs now feeling like jelly.
“Karma,” the weather god murmurs in my ear, his voice gentle but firm, “you need to lie down.”
The suggestion rubs me the wrong way, and I find myself lashing out without meaning to. “No, I don’t,” I snap, trying desperately to free myself of his grip. “Get off me! I need Hugo! I need my brother! I need…” But Storm’s grip holds fast, and he gently fends off my flailing arms, taking hold of my wrists and pulling me into his arms. I begin to sob again, the fight going out of me, and this time when Storm pulls me away, I don’t resist. Moving slowly, he puts an arm beneath my legs and lifts me up, carrying me like a child as he takes a few steps back.
“I’m going to take her upstairs,” he announces. “She’s in shock, I think.”
Mum doesn’t even seem to hear him, but dad manages to look up through his tears and give Storm a curt nod. Neither of the justice twins objects as the storm god carries me upstairs, away from the sounds of grief, and takes me to my room. Even after he closes the door, I can still hear my mother’s wailing downstairs, and the sound just makes me cry harder. For all the pain I’m in, hers must be worse; no mother deserves to watch her own child die in front of her.
Gingerly, Storm deposits me on my bed, the sheets still rumpled from our hasty departure when the attack happened. It already feels like a lifetime ago, even though it’s only been a few minutes. He moves to sit beside