by Maya Daniels
“I want you. I don’t know what is going on with me, but I have never wanted anything more in my life,” he growls, and my blood freezes in my veins. He sounds possessed and acts more like an animal than a man. Fuck! I need to get myself out of this. Talk, Al, fucking talk! Get his mind off whatever it’s stuck on, my mind screams at me.
“Philip, you need to stop and let me go. I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t even like me, remember? Stop, please. Let’s talk about this,” I say it as calmly as I can. His body is still pressed to mine, and while he never takes his eyes off me, I feel him move. I thought I got through to him, but he only moved so he could slide to his knees in front of me, and still staring into my eyes like some sort of predator, he slides both hands under my shirt. I grab his wrists. “I asked you to stop!”
“I know what you asked, Al, but I’m telling you, I can’t. You’re right. I don’t like you, you and your know-it-all attitude, and ‘I’m too smart for you’ remarks. I was there in the hospital for a whole week because I felt responsible for you being hurt. Then two days ago, before you woke up, something happened. I could smell your skin from across the room like it was luring me to come taste it. I’ve had many women in my life, Al, but I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s been driving me so crazy that I almost locked us in the hospital room, but I had to wait until no one could disturb us. Now I can taste you as much as I want.”
He’s talking like he’s giving a confession on his knees in front of me, and I’m glad, because as long as he’s talking, he can’t do anything else. Lifting my shirt, he starts kissing my stomach and moving up towards my chest. My body starts shaking.
“Stop this, Philip. This is not like you. Maybe you were hurt more than they thought. Stop it!” I scream the last part, trying to push him away with my legs. I only move a little, but his body flies back like a rag doll. He slams into the armchair closest to the door and drops unconscious to the floor. Holy shit! I have to get out of here. I grab the door and fling it open, slamming face first into someone’s chest.
Chapter 7
“You’re in a hurry.” I look up into the face of no one else but Thomas Bail.
“I waited a week to see if the problem was solved, but no such luck with you. A person just can’t kill you and make it look like an accident, can they? You have to stay alive.” His cold eyes are looking at me like I am a bug he is planning to squash.
“Mr. Bail, what are you doing here?” I say out loud, but inside I’m screaming, Think, Al, think if you want to live.
“I came to make sure that you are not here, or anywhere for that matter, but I see if I want something done, I need to do it myself. At least that bitch grandmother of yours was easy to get rid of,” he gloats, then laughs at the shock on my face.
“Aw, poor little Alexia,” he mocks. “You’re stupid enough to believe that you had something to do with her death.”
He keeps laughing. To be honest, I don’t remember anything from that night apart from my grandmother jumping up in the middle of our lesson, telling me to grab the three butterfly figurines from the dresser in her bedroom, and sending me to the attic. Years ago, we had painted the sigils on the attic door together for fun and she used to make me go inside and sit there as a game we played. I’d sing a song she taught me while she tried to open the door with spells. It never worked. I always had to open the attic door from the inside and she was always very happy that I won. She also made sure that after each time we played this game, I would sit on my knees in front of her with my palms up and she would bring an offering bowl full of sea salt. Standing in front of me, she would start mumbling words I never understood, but they sounded more like a snake hissing than her talking, while she held a pinch of salt between three fingers circling my head over and over. When she stopped talking, she would throw the salt over my left shoulder and repeat the process three times. When that was done, she would make me lick her finger that she had the salt on. It always made me act like I couldn’t exactly remember what we actually did that day. That night was different. I ran and did as she asked, and as I was opening the attic door, I heard the front door crash open, the windows throughout the house burst like a bomb had exploded, and I crouched down covering my head with one arm while holding the figurines against my chest with the other.
“You will not have her this time, Tiamat, you are too late,” I heard my grandmother say and the screech that followed was so loud that my ears bled from the sound. I got such a horrible headache and I thought I would pass out right there at the threshold.
“You’ll tell me where she is before you die, witch!” said a raspy woman’s voice that sounded more snake than human. “You’ll tell me while you beg for your life!”
The threat chilled me to the bone. I got up to go help my grandmother but her next words stopped me. “No, pussycat! Go, sing,” she said in her native tongue.
She always said that when she wanted me to hide in the attic and sing that song. I debated whether I should obey, but I knew her. If anyone could deal with that creature—whatever it was—it’d be her. So, I turned, entered the attic, and closed the door. I had no idea how long I sat there singing, but after a while, the crashing sounds stopped, and I stopped. Everything stopped and there was only silence. I waited for a long time for her to come get me, but she never called out for me to open the door like she used to. I was fifteen years old. When I finally came out, the house looked like a tornado had hit it, and in the middle of the broken pieces was her body, all twisted. Her open, unseeing eyes were staring in my direction like they were accusing me of being a coward, and I was. I should’ve stayed to help, but no, I hid and she died for it. I’ve carried my guilt and shame for years, and now this … this person—whoever he is—is telling me he knows what happened. If I’m smart, I’ll push him out of the way and run for my life, but as you already know, I have a death wish.
“It’s okay, love, I’m with you.” This time, I’m very happy to hear the husky woman’s voice in my mind, and I reply, “Mother.”
“I see I got your attention,” says Thomas.
“Yes, as you can see, you did. What do you know about my grandmother’s death?”
“Let’s go inside. We don’t need an audience.” He pushes me inside and I stumble back just as I hear Philip swearing behind me. Shit. I forgot all about him.
“You bitch!” he starts, but he shuts his mouth and widens his eyes when he sees Thomas Bail looking at him.
“Mr. Bail? What are you doing here?”
I guess he remembers he is on the floor in my apartment, so he continues like it’s the most normal thing in the world to nap on the floor of an employee’s apartment.
“I helped Ms. Semiramis home from the hospital, but I guess my
concussion is not healed yet. I must have zoned out or something.”
I want to laugh at how stupid that sounds, but I don’t have a chance because Thomas speaks.
“Yes, I’m sure. Maybe that’s why she stinks like you. I’m sure she was helping you walk,” he says sarcastically.
Philip goes red in the face, either with embarrassment or fury, but I can’t really tell which.
“Well, it’s really none of your business, now is it?” he snaps. “Why are you here? Making sure your investment is protected?”
“No,” was the short reply.
Thomas grabs my shoulder and leads me further inside the small, one-bedroom apartment. I wasn’t planning on living here long, so it serves its purpose, but with these two standing in the middle of it—both over six feet tall—it looks crowded. They are staring at each other like roosters squaring off. Thomas pushes me onto the sofa and I slam into it. He is much stronger than he looks.
“I’m going to make a phone call, and then we will sort this out once and for all. None of you move,” he says and walks a few steps towards my small kitchen. As soon as he starts mumbling in a strange language, I turn to Philip.
“You need to leave. Right now!” I say, m
y voice filled with urgency.
“Why? You like older men?” he spits at me.
“Philip, please. I’ll forget everything that happened if you just go. I’m begging you.”
Instead of leaving, he sits next to me and puts his hand on my thigh. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re mine.” The possession in his tone is so absurd that I can’t help it. I laugh. If the history with my grandmother repeats itself, we are probably both going to die, and he’s still thinking with his penis. Men!
“I’m glad that you’re in a good mood, Alexia. I do hope we can do this nicely and you’ll cooperate,” says Thomas, obviously finished with his conversation since he is walking towards the armchair.
Before I even say a word, Philip opens his mouth, “Who is Alexia?”
“I see you two are very close, but not first name basis close.” Thomas chuckles and looks at Philip. “Your little sweetheart over here. Her real name is Alexia Semiramis.”
He looks at me as he speaks my name. The moment his eyes land on mine, the now-welcome wave of energy rises from the soles of my feet to the top of my head, and when it thrums through my body, Philip starts breathing heavily next to me.
“Stop it!” I snap between my teeth at him. What the hell is wrong with him? His injury must have been much worse than just a concussion. He’s lost his damn mind. He’s a very good-looking guy, with a tall, athletic body, wavy brown hair, and the face of an angel. It’s not like he needs to walk around forcing himself at women because they’ll jump on him every chance they get.
“Your name is Alexia?” He growls. “I like it.”
I slap his hand that’s crawling up my thigh and Thomas laughs again, looking pointedly at Philip’s crotch. It’s kind of hard to miss, if I’m being honest, but that’s the least of my worries. I can see we are all stuck here, but I want information, so no looking back now. I’ll deal with the ramifications later.
“You were going to tell me about how I had nothing to do with my grandmother’s death,” I say to Thomas, and Philip stills next to me.
“Ah! Yes! Margaret!” says Thomas, almost like he’s talking about a lover. My stomach churns. “You see, I knew her long before you were born. She was a feisty little thing, only too smart for her own good.”
Philip butts in. “The woman you thought was a ghost?” He looks from me to Thomas like he’s watching a tennis match.
“Yes. You see, Alexia looks exactly like Margaret, only at the time I was so shocked I didn’t notice the height difference. Alexia here is much taller, but that face … I will never forget that face.” He narrows his eyes at me.
“Well, you can’t have Alexia, sorry,” Philip says, as if he’s talking about an object, and I gape at him. The guy seriously has a problem.
“Oh, don’t worry, chap, she’s all yours—or what’s left of her if she doesn’t tell me what I need to know,” Thomas informs him casually, like we are discussing the weather.
“I thought you needed to tell me something, not the other way around,” I say as calmly as I can, but my hands start pulsing.
“Considering the situation, I don’t see why not,” says Thomas. “You see, we’ve been looking for three potions that are very important to us.”
“Who’s ‘us?’” I ask, but he continues like I haven’t spoken.
“Those potions were made a very, very long time ago and the recipe is long lost so they can’t be made again. They were passed from generation to generation among a family of witches and every time we got close enough to take them, the witches hid them from us. So, when we couldn’t find the potions, we made sure we destroyed the vessel.”
He notices my jolt at that word, smiles an evil smile, and I see his eyes flash red for a second before he continues with his story. “Yes, I see you know what I’m talking about. In every lifetime, when the potions are hidden, you die, little witch. Every lifetime, they’d rather sacrifice you than give them to us. This time, I imagine Margaret got too attached to you, her precious little granddaughter. She would rather die than let us get our hands on you. You see, even if she gave you away, she would still have died, only maybe a less painful death. But we all pay for disobeying the gods, don’t we?”
My mind is going three-hundred miles an hour with everything he is saying. What potions? They asked my grandmother to let them kill me? They have killed me in all my lifetimes? Where are these potions and what do they do? I guess the last one came out loud because Thomas answers.
“That stupid creature, Anzu, stole the Tablets of Destiny, and Tiamat wants to make sure she finds it before Enlil, but the only way to find Anzu is by traveling to the realm where he is hiding. Those potions are the only way anyone, even the gods, can travel there and back without being wiped out from the web of life. That bitch Inanna made sure to beg her father Sin to hide the gateways, so only the one willing to sacrifice everything for his passion—that being the passion for the vessel—can find them, but the key is in those potions.” His tone rings with annoyance.
“So what now? You going to kill me? Be my guest. I’ve had enough bullshit to last me ten lifetimes this round,” I say as I stand up.
“Over my dead body,” says Philip as he jumps to his feet beside me, reminding me he has been there the whole time.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I snap at him.
“I’m planning to put this grandpa on his ass.”
He takes two steps and swings at Thomas. I am expecting Thomas to be knocked down, to be honest, but as Philip’s fist flies towards his face, he just raises his hand and Philip is on the floor, unconscious again. Poor guy.
“Well, now that the human is out of the way, let’s get to business,” says Thomas as he steps over Philip’s body to sit in the armchair.
“Where are the potions, Alexia?” he asks sternly.
“I know as much as you do.” I shrug.
“I know Margaret told you, I’m sure of it. You meant too much to her not to. So, think hard if you don’t want her fate. Remember the stories she might have told you, the favorite places you should visit … or anything else you can recall.”
I keep thinking about the butterfly figurines on my dresser, but those have no liquid in them or anything. They’re solid. I should know, since they’re the only things I own that mean more to me than my life.
“Her fate or not, I don’t know what to tell you. I’ve never heard of any potions until you told me about them just now.” I brace myself. This is it.
He lifts his hand again and my throat contracts. I can’t breathe. I grab it with both hands as if that will help, but nothing. I’m starting to see dark spots within seconds.
“Let go, love. I need your trust. Let go of your control.”
I hear the husky voice in my head and I instantly obey. I relax, even as the darkness is closing in on me and I’m suffocating. Suddenly, I can breathe. The pressure around my throat disappears, leaving Thomas frowning. His mouth opens as if he is about to say something when the front door swings open and in walks a lady around my age, thirty five, maybe thirty six. She is short, around Remi’s height, with brown hair cut in a bob and green eyes that look like the might spit fire at any moment.. Storming in, she raises both hands, veering straight for Thomas.
“Repeat after me, sister!” she says, and instantly I nod.
“Darksome night and shining moon, hearken to our joyous tune. North, East, South and West, we call ye forth to bless. Earth and Air, Fire and Water, come and join your daughters. Body, Mind, Spirit, and Heart make sacred this space, a world apart. Great Spirit, Divine One, Creator of all, answer our most reverent call. The light is unbroken; freeze the time. Our magick is spoken.”
We say this in unison and Thomas freezes like a stone statue. I have no idea how I know what to say, and I look at the woman who’s smiling at me.
“Well done, sap, now let’s go. This won’t hold the warlock for long,” she says with a British accent, her eyes glistening like stars.
“I’m Jezzinta
, by the way,” she adds.
Gaping at her, I’m frozen in the spot I stand.
“Don’t just stand there, sis, move! We have to go!” She reaches for me but I pull away.
“I have to get a few things,” I say as I run to the bedroom.
I grab my little roll-on suitcase, throw some changes of clothes inside, grab a few things from the drawers, and add a couple of hand towels. Jezzinta is looking at me from the doorway.
“Planning on going on a holiday? I’m sure they have towels,” she says jokingly.
I ignore the comment and start wrapping my butterfly figurines. When she sees them, she stops smiling and comes to help.
“You need to work on your sense of humor, sis. It’s nowhere to be found,” she mumbles while wrapping the last figurine.
“I know. I left it in my other pants.”
She laughs again as we put everything in the bag and step towards the door, but my eyes land on Philip sitting in the middle of the living room, holding his head. He is mumbling something, but I don’t have time, so I walk past him towards the front door with Jezzinta at my heels.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he yells after me. I turn around to tell him to go home, but as I open my mouth, I see his eyes roll to the back of his head. It’s lights out again for him.
“Are we going or are you two planning on standing there all night? I can’t leave you alone for an hour, Alexia. Look at this mess.” I turn around and Remi is standing at the open front door with her hands on her hips.
“Hello, sister,” says Jezzinta as she leans in for a hug.
“It’s been a long time,” says Remi.
“Let’s go,” they both say at the same time, and with one last look at the two men and my apartment, I walk out of the life I had known and silently close the door.
Chapter 8
“He actually did all that, and the only thing you could think of was to zap him??” Jezzinta looks appalled by my reaction to my story about Philip’s sticky fingers … and other parts.
