The graveyard clung to the earth like a forgotten secret, shrouded in the heavy mist of dusk. Ancient oaks loomed overhead, their gnarled branches clawing at the fading light, while crumbling tombstones jutted from the ground like broken teeth. At the center of this desolate tableau, a small, ornate urn rested on a weathered stone pedestal, its surface etched with delicate swirls that seemed to dance in the dim glow of the setting sun. Inside were the ashes of Jace—wild, untamed Jace—who had once burned through their lives like a forest fire, leaving nothing but scorched memories in his wake.
Vivian stood tall beside the pedestal, her sharp, angular features cutting through the gloom like a blade. Her black coat billowed slightly in the evening breeze, and her silver hair, pulled into a tight chignon, gleamed with an almost metallic sheen. At sixty-two, she carried herself with the unyielding authority of a queen, her piercing gray eyes glinting with something between grief and mischief. Beside her, Margot shifted restlessly, her shorter, curvier frame wrapped in a deep burgundy shawl. Her dark eyes, framed by thick lashes, darted between the urn and Vivian, a storm of emotion brewing beneath her composed exterior. At fifty-eight, Margot was no less formidable, her lips often curled into a smirk that could cut glass, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in her posture tonight—a crack in her usual armor.
“Well, darling,” Vivian began, her voice a low, smoky drawl that seemed to curl around the gravestones, “here we are, standing over the ashes of the only man who ever made us both scream in the same night. Quite the send-off for a boy who couldn’t keep his trousers on for more than five minutes.”
Margot snorted, folding her arms across her chest. “Boy? Jace was a bloody hurricane. A walking disaster with a cock that could start wars. And don’t pretend you didn’t love every second of it, Viv. I seem to recall you begging for more on that rickety pier back in ’82, while I had to keep lookout for the bloody coast guard.”
Vivian’s lips twitched into a wicked smile, her gaze sliding to Margot with the precision of a predator sizing up its prey. “Begging? Oh, sweetheart, you’ve got a selective memory. I was orchestrating. You were the one whimpering his name loud enough to wake the dead—and not in the poetic sense. If I recall, I had to shove my scarf in your mouth to keep you quiet.”
Margot’s eyes flashed, but a laugh escaped her, sharp and bright against the somber air. “You’re a vile creature, Vivian. Always have been. But damn if I don’t miss those days. The way Jace would just… take over. All that raw, stupid energy. Like he was plugged into the bloody sun.”
Vivian’s smirk softened for a fleeting moment, her fingers brushing the edge of the urn with an almost reverent touch. “He was a force, wasn’t he? A beautiful, reckless idiot. The way he’d pin us down, one after the other, like he had something to prove. I swear, I still feel the ghost of his hands on my hips some nights.”
Margot arched a brow, her tone dripping with playful scorn. “Oh, spare me the melodrama, Viv. You’ve had plenty of hands on your hips since then. Don’t act like Jace was your last supper. Though, I’ll admit, he was a feast worth savoring.” She paused, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Remember the barn? That summer night when he had us both bent over the hay bales, laughing like a madman while we cursed him to hell and back?”
Vivian threw her head back and laughed, the sound rich and unapologetic, echoing through the graveyard. “How could I forget? I had straw in places straw should never be. And you, darling, were no saint—moaning like you were auditioning for an opera. Poor Jace nearly lost his rhythm trying to keep up with your theatrics.”
Margot smirked, stepping closer to Vivian, her shawl slipping slightly to reveal the curve of her shoulder. “Theatrics? I was inspired. And you loved every second of it, you domineering harpy. You were the one barking orders at him like a drill sergeant. ‘Harder, Jace. Faster, Jace.’ I’m surprised the boy didn’t collapse from exhaustion.”
Vivian’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement, her voice dropping to a purr as she leaned in, her breath warm against Margot’s ear. “And yet, he didn’t, did he? He kept up just fine. Kept us both on our knees—literally and figuratively. But let’s not pretend we didn’t run the show, darling. Jace might’ve been the flame, but we were the ones who decided how high it burned.”
Margot pulled back slightly, her gaze locking with Vivian’s, a challenge sparking in her eyes. “Speak for yourself. I never needed to play puppet master. I took what I wanted from him, same as you. And now…” She gestured to the urn, her voice catching for the briefest of moments. “Now he’s just dust. Hard to believe something so wild could be reduced to this.”
Vivian’s expression hardened, though the glint of mischief never left her eyes. She straightened, her hand resting possessively on the urn as if claiming it—and Jace’s memory—for herself. “Dust, yes. But not gone. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
Margot frowned, tilting her head. “What’s that supposed to mean? Don’t tell me you’re planning to snort him like some sort of twisted party favor. Even you aren’t that depraved, Viv.”
Vivian’s laugh was low and dangerous, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the urn’s surface. “Oh, Margot, you underestimate me. I’m not talking about something so pedestrian. No, I’ve got something far more… intimate in mind. A way to honor our boy that’ll make even the devil blush. A ritual, if you will. Something to bind us to him forever.”
Margot’s brows shot up, her lips parting in a mix of disbelief and intrigue. “A ritual? What are we, witches now? Going to dance naked under the moon and summon his spirit with a bloody incantation? I’m not in the mood for your theatrics, Vivian.”
Vivian stepped closer, her presence overwhelming, her voice a velvet-covered blade. “Theatrics? Darling, this is devotion. And yes, it might involve getting a little… bare. But I promise, it’ll be worth it. Think of it as the ultimate farewell—a way to feel him one last time. You in, or are you too scared to play with fire again?”
Margot hesitated, her sharp gaze searching Vivian’s face for any sign of jest. But there was none—only that fierce, unyielding determination that had always made Vivian impossible to resist. Margot’s lips curled into a reluctant smirk, her voice laced with defiance even as she felt herself capitulating. “Scared? Please. I’ve never backed down from a challenge in my life, least of all from you. But if this ritual of yours involves anything too ridiculous, I’m blaming you for the rest of eternity. And trust me, Viv, I’ll make sure Jace haunts your arse for it.”
Vivian grinned, a predator’s smile, as she looped an arm around Margot’s waist, pulling her close with a possessiveness that left no room for argument. “Oh, darling, I’m counting on it. Now, let’s give our boy a send-off he’d be proud of. Something so outrageous, even the angels will turn their heads.”
As the mist thickened around them, the two women stood over the urn, their laughter and sharp-edged banter weaving a spell of their own. Whatever Vivian had planned, it was clear it would be no ordinary farewell—and Margot, despite her protests, was already caught in the web of her commanding charm. The graveyard held its breath, waiting for the fire of their past to ignite once more.
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