by Abra Ebner
“I haven’t been honest with you.” Her voice was almost foreign as it cut the silence. I was so lost in my own guilt that I’d nearly forgotten she remained beside me. I cursed myself, knowing that her words should have been something I’d initiated. Especially after a night like tonight where I allowed my own demons to rise. I had plenty of explaining to do.
I swallowed.
“I dream about death, Max, like your grandfather does.” She paused as though waiting for my reaction, but I remained still. She went on. “I feel as though I should have died with my father in the car wreck. I’m here without a purpose, because my purpose was to pass on.” Her words were like a knife, sharp and to the point. “As I told you before, my father died when I was seven. What I didn’t tell you was that I was also there. I think I have Sheol magick.” Jane began to cry. “I should have died, Max, but someone saved me.” She looked deep into my eyes with a knowing stare. “I don’t know why I was saved, or why my father had to die, but I know what I saw. I know who I saw.”
She must know it was me. I tried to read her thoughts and find my proof, but the wall put up by the ring was only strengthened by her current emotion. I desperately wanted to tell her that it was me. I felt the words well in my throat, but my mouth refused to speak.
“I believe in angels, Max, just as I said. I believe that there is more happening to me then I can ever understand, but I want to try. When I dream, I dream of death, and I…” I saw her face twist. “I’ve seen you there, and your brother. Until now I couldn’t understand why. The people in my dreams are dead, but, then why were you there? Why are you alive?” She paused, seeing the look on my face. “You are there, aren’t you? Just like me. You see me.”
I opened my mouth, but she thwarted my words a second time.
“And now my sister is hearing things, but I don’t see how. How can Emily be magick if she never had an experience like mine?” She looked at me, her eyes so innocent and young.
I knew so many of the answers she was looking for, but where to start? “There are many forms of magick, Jane. Like my grandfather said. Hereditary. It could be from a parent.”
I saw her face twist even deeper. “A parent? You mean, my mother?”
I felt every muscle in my body tighten. “No, more likely your father.”
“My father?” It was as though something had clicked, and her body language changed.
“Yes. He probably kept it from you because it wasn’t safe. He likely distanced himself from Emily to keep her from finding out, because Emily would know.”
“How do you know this?”
I bit my lip. “It’s just a guess.” Why couldn’t I just say it? “Your mother probably had no idea.” Which in truth, she didn’t. Nowhere in her thoughts did John ever tell Sarah about his own gift of clairvoyance. The same gift he passed to Emily.
Jane was the one at a loss for words now.
I pressed on. “Jane, have you ever considered that maybe your father was murdered?” The word murder was rough on my tongue.
She leaned forward and pressed her palm against the dashboard, as though trying to slow the car down—as though stuck in fast forward. “I—yes, I have.”
She’d had the notion since the day of his death. “Why?” I pressed, trying to bring her memory to the surface, trying to get her to admit that it was me she had seen saving her.
Her mouth hung open, her face sickened. “On the day my father died, my body lay beside him. I saw us both from above, as though I’d already died, but then there where two more people there—”
“Who?” My jaw tightened.
Her head was shaking. She didn’t want to say it. “Angels.” The word sounded painful for her. “One of them saved me, and one seemed to look upon our dead bodies with pride and satisfaction.” She looked at me, her brown eyes deep and revealing. “The type of satisfaction you would expect to see from a murderer. It was never an accident at all, but no matter how hard I tried to explain that, no one believed me.” Her eyes filled with tears, the pain in Jane’s heart flooding into my own. “Why, though? Why did my father have to die? Why didn’t the one that saved me save him as well?”
“Jane…” I pulled the car off the road, the gravel of the shoulder flying into the wheel wells as we skidded to a stop. I shut the car off, the silence of the forest around us creeping in as the dust settled. “Magick is supposed to be dangerous, Jane, but as you know, it isn’t. Nothing about what you have and what you see is in any way dangerous. There are two sides to it, just like anything else. And just like anything with two sides, one side wants to destroy the other.” I made two fists with my hands to signify the good and the bad. “Like my grandfather explained, one side wants magick to remain a secret, the other wants to use it to take over all things, and presume a role of power.” I shook one fist, signifying it to be the bad side. “Just like any war, it’s a give and take. There is a dark side, Jane, along with a good, and if your father did have magick, it’s likely it was the good kind.” I looked into her eyes, dropping my hands into my lap. “He died because of this war.”
Her eyes fluttered forward. She unbuckled and rubbed her neck, probably feeling agitated and confined. I rolled the window down, hoping the fresh air would help her to relax. I wanted to wrap her in my arms and ball her against my chest where she would be safe forever. Since the day I first laid eyes on her, it was all I wanted. I knew this was a lot for her to take in, but it had to happen.
“Your grandfather tells you this?” Her voice was pitchy. I could tell she was still denying what her heart knew: that I was one of the two beings there that day. She refused to believe it, refused to remember.
I nodded. Thinking of her father John, and remembering him from the Priory. “Jane, I haven’t been honest with you. I don’t really know you, or rather, you don’t know me. I’m afraid to scare you away. Afraid you’ll never speak to me again if you know who I really am.”
I saw her hands grip the seat, readying herself for what she knew would be a shocking revelation. I hadn’t told her about the nature of my parent’s death, knowing that mentioning the involvement of my brother in all of this would come as a detriment to our relationship, especially when Greg would always be there.
“My parents didn’t just die in a car accident, Jane; they were murdered.”
Her eyes shot to mine, her mouth agape. “What?”
I bit my lip. “The story is complicated, so try to follow if you can—and try to understand that I’m not a danger to you.”
I felt her spine stiffen, and her eyes searched mine. I knew she heard me, but was frozen by my previous confession.
“Jane, my parents had three boys. My brother Greg and I came first. We were the twins. And then our younger brother a few years later.” I didn’t yet want to reveal that my younger brother was the man she assumed to be my grandfather at this point. “My twin brother, Greg—who you’ve met—was always jealous of me.”
Her lips moved. “I know about Greg, but a younger brother? You didn’t mention a younger brother before.”
I touched my hand to her lips, opening the doorway to her thoughts. We both leaned into the connection, wanting nothing but to weave together. “I’ll get to that,” was all I could say. I brushed my fingers from her lips to her ear, relishing the feel of her warm skin.
“But…” she tried to protest, but her voice faded. I felt her breath against my hand, warm and moist. My jaw tightened, wanting so badly to kiss her, to feel happiness with her. “But then where is your younger brother?”
“He’s around.”
The fear on her face faded. She had first assumed he’d died with my parents since I hadn’t mentioned him, but she was relieved to hear he was alive.
“Oh.” Jane looked confused, her mind flashing with images of Denver. She figured he was there. “So, who murdered your parents, and why? If they didn’t have magick, like you said, then what was the reason?”
I compressed my thoughts and let it out. “Greg murd
ered them.”
Jane gasped, her hand covering her mouth. She slunk down in her seat. “That’s not true. It can’t be. Why isn’t he in jail?”
I pressed on with the story, ignoring her questions and letting it pour out like an open wound. “Like I said, Greg was always jealous. He thought my parents loved me more than they loved him. He hated them for that. As we grew older, he never allowed himself to see that they loved us both the same, and his denial and hatred grew until…” I felt my throat begin to choke up, the thought of the day painful. I’d never told anyone about what had happened. “Until the day Greg learned that my mother was also having an affair, but not just that; the man she was seeing had magick. Greg did not approve of the fact that my human mother was cavorting with his type. In his rage, he set the library on fire with us in it. He didn’t mean for our younger brother to be a part of it, and in fact, I don’t believe he meant to kill my parents at all. I think more than anything, he was trying to prove a point, but as the flames blazed in his eyes, something inside him changed. Greg locked us all inside that burning room, sending us all to our death, except our younger brother, Erik.” I winced as I said his name. “I was able to save him before the flames engulfed the room—he lived.”
“Erik? Named after your grandfather?” Her voice grew clear. It would have been the logical explanation.
I said nothing, and I fear she took it as a yes.
“But, you got out. You’re alive,” she added. “And Greg. So, you mean to say, everyone but your parents lived.”
I shook my head and her face wrinkled. “Erik, the man you know as my grandfather, is not my grandfather at all. He’s my younger brother.”
She blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. “What?” She gasped again. “That’s not possible.” She was shaking her head. “Erik is… old!”
I felt her body heat rise, her mind struggling to decide if I was a liar or if my story was true. She eyed the forest outside the door, considering her options. I knew she was terrified by what I was telling her, but in my defense, we both had a terrifying secret—mine just happened to be bigger.
I touched her arm, causing her to freeze. I hastily grabbed her face, feeling I was losing her. I forcing her to look at me. “Erik is my younger brother, Jane,” I reiterated, my eyes searching hers, my hands pulsing honesty into her blood. “He’s been touched by a Sheol magick that does not prevent his aging, as it does to me. Erik grew old, and I did not.”
Jane did not try to pull away from me. “Then…” She started speaking before she let it sink in. “Wait, what? Prevent aging? You have Sheol magick?” She jerked out of my grasp, struggling between breaths. “What kind?” There was an appalled twang in her voice.
I bit my lip, leaning back into the seat and letting go of the wheel. I felt the jeans under my hand—they were cold. I avoided her question, saying anything I could to distract her, but at the same time calm her down. “Erik is like you. He was touched by death because of that fire. He has been inflicted with a lust for it, not unlike your own.”
She froze. “Lust for death?” The term had done just what I’d wanted it to; it had hooked her.
“A lust for death, because he should have died with my parents, in 1928, but—”
She finished my sentence, whispering, “But he was spared…” She drew in a sharp breath of air, her eyes wide and accepting. I could sense the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place in her mind. There was a distinct veil of clarity filling the space between us.
I felt the anxiety in my chest release. She was accepting this. I put a hand on her shoulder out of instinct.
At first she did not seem to notice, but as her thoughts slowed, she jerked away.
“What are you?” she snapped, her face now a deepening shade of red. Her thoughts floated around the idea of what I was, but her mind refused to accept it.
“Something else, something much deeper,” I uttered. Wincing, I clasped my hands in my lap. I’d left her only one option of what I was.
“What. Are. You?” She demanded for a second time. “You know what I am. So, tell me.”
I pressed my back against the seat even harder, the butt of my palm pressing against the steering wheel. “I, well…” I didn’t want to say it. I knew the words were there, waiting like a tidal wave that was about to crash to shore, but I was afraid she would never talk to me again. This was the moment I’d been waiting for all these years, waiting for her to come of age so that she could understand, so that we could fall in love as I’d hoped.
I saw her become overwhelmed, and her thoughts compressed as though she’d shoved them away to a place where they were no longer real. My heart rate quickened. I’d lost her understanding.
“You know what, Max? Forget it. I don’t think I want to know what you are.” She put her hand up to silence me, looking away with disgust. “Just take me home, Max.” Contempt lingered in her wavering voice.
Her thoughts screamed at me through the wall of her mind.
A lie.
She thought it was all a lie.
I felt it. I knew it. My heart shattered. I was in no position to question her, or force more information on her already brimming mind, especially when I wasn’t ready for her to know why we’re here now, and why we’re connected. I took a deep breath and put both hands on the wheel, wishing I could rip it apart in my frustration. I started the car, skidding from the shoulder as I whipped it around toward home.
I was angry; but most of all, I felt like a failure.
* * *
She was running through the woods, the twigs below her feet snapping. The breath in her lungs twisted and stung its way up her throat. She was sweating, but her arms felt cold.
The Black Angel swung down through the canopy, large branches the size of small trees crashing to the ground behind him, shaking the Earth. His eyes glowed with the flames of Hell, his chest bared, exposing the unmistakable sign of the Black Knights on his skin.
She knew this was finally it; he had found her. She knew they would come one day, but she tried to hide, tried to fit in. He was faster than her. There was no use. She stopped, turning to face the Black Angel, her fists tight at her sides. She was prepared to die now; what other choice did she have?
She grit her teeth as he took her, his vengeful laughter echoing in her ears as he crushed her bones, her body disintegrating in a cloud of dust and ashes.
* * *
Wes:
I woke with a start, sitting up in bed. I heard a delicate moan beside me, and I looked down, seeing Emily was still asleep. I looked under the covers. I had my clothes on—that was a good sign. The last thing I wanted was to take advantage of Emily when I was loaded on the hormones of my condition, not to mention the adrenaline of the night.
I calmed my frantic breathing, bringing my arm across my body and touching my hand to Emily’s face. I brushed her long auburn hair back and behind her ear, trailing my hand down her neck and across the soft skin of her chest. She moved, but still, she did not wake.
There had been a scream in my head, but I couldn’t be sure. I’d never felt or heard anything like it before, and I began to wonder if it wasn’t the resonating memory of Alexis’ intoxicated scream of laughter. The air in my room was cold, the window coated with a dewy film.
I saw the light in Jane’s room turn on. She had shut her blinds on me, and a part of me was hurt by it. She had been my best friend—a part of my life for as long as I could remember. Never would I think that it would crumble over love.
My feelings for Emily were growing fast, in a way I never would have thought before, but that didn’t mean I no longer carried a torch for Jane. I cared about her because for ten years, she had been my best friend, but the truth was that she didn’t love me the way I’d always loved her. Our relationship had climaxed to a point where it could no longer progress. It had become volatile, and the ease of happiness we once shared had disappeared.
I had to let go.
Emily twisted
beside me, her brows creased. I lay down, wrapping my arms around her stomach and pulling her close, cupping her inside the curve of my body. I didn’t know if she had heard my thoughts, but I hoped that in her sleep, she would forget—or at the very least, think of it as nothing but a dream. I nuzzled my nose into her hair, breathing deep.
She was beautiful.
Emily:
In the morning, I snuck out from under the covers, trying hard to be silent. I watched Wes as he breathed, his chest rising and falling, his arms sprawled across the pillows. His skin was a pale grey in the dull morning light, and smooth like gun metal. I shivered as I grabbed my coat off the back of his desk chair, delicately fishing my arms into the sleeves and fastening the buttons. I tiptoed to the door where I snuck out, leaving it slightly ajar behind me.
Downstairs, I found the house was still sleeping. His foster parents were more like grandparents, so they slept late. As hard as they had tried to be trendy parents, they weren’t always quick enough to keep up, or understanding of their teenage son whose interests were decades ahead of their own. I know they tried to understand Wes, but it was almost comical to watch, as though they’d adopted him in an attempt to stay young.
I’d met them a handful of times over the years, but tried my best to avoid them, not really knowing what to say. They had loved my father, talked with him everyday over a cup of coffee. Though I tried to pretend his death didn’t bother me, it did, and their attempts at comforting me always grew ironically uncomfortable.
I walked out the front door, shoving my hands in the pocket of my plaid coat as the faux fur around the hood tickled my cheeks. The grass under my feet gave as I crossed the lawn, walking around the large evergreen trunk that shaded our front porch.
