by Ian Fortey
“How are you here?” Vincent asked. Dezzy smiled and his body rippled. Vincent’s face smiled back.
“Not Dezzy. My name is Asnage,” the Vincent double said. Vincent looked at the first Asnage.
“I don’t understand what’s happening here.”
“My great grandson. He was named after me. Stanley did me such an honor. He was always a good boy. But Asnage here was not meant to be. His life was measured not in years, but in breaths. When he passed here, the Prince took him under his wing. But since the baby did not get to become who he wanted to be in life, the Prince let him be who he wishes to be here.”
The shapeshifter changed again from Vincent to Selena.
“You are Stanley’s son?” Vincent said. The new Selena nodded. She changed once more and now looked like Stanley.
“I have not met my father. But I will one day. I hope we can be friends,” Stanley said.
“I’m sure you will be,” Vincent agreed. Stanley had told him that his family was in service to the Prince of Nothing, though he did not understand how or why. He also did not know that meant all of his Scions were Stanley’s dead relatives.
“Are you able to show me what happened?” Selena said.
“There is only one who can show you the way back. The Rear-Facing Scion sees all that was,” the young Asnage said. “She will take you.”
“And where is she?” Selena asked.
“Here,” a woman answered. She stood apart from the others, between the group and the Void. Vincent recognized her face, though they had not spoken. She had been one of Bogdan Dalca’s monsters in Alder Falls. Before that, she had been Stanley Crisp’s wife.
“Mrs. Crisp,” Vincent said. She smiled, causing the scar on her lip to curl just slightly. Stanley was right about her. She did look like she was smiling all the time.
“Vincent Donnelly. It is good to see you away from all that necromancy. I need you to know that I feel I owe you a favor, and so that is why I am doing what I am doing now. There is balance to be restored, and the Prince of Nothing respects that balance above all else. He will allow me to show you the way back, Selena.”
“Your Prince is a being of balance. Like my Goddess. I’m glad to hear it,” Selena said. Faith nodded her head and held out her hand.
“Come. I will show you what you need to see.”
Vincent took a step forward and Asnage the Elder put a hand on his chest.
“Not you. You are not truly dead in this place. That spark of life holds you rooted to the mortal world. Soon you will be back.”
“But how am I supposed to see what happened?”
“You are not, Vincent. This is for Selena. It is her truth as well. She will learn what she needs to learn. Your answers have to come from somewhere else.”
Selena glanced over her shoulder at Vincent.
“Has your plan backfired, Vinny?” she asked. He sighed and shrugged.
“Not really a plan. Good luck,” he said. Selena reached out and took Faith’s hand. Both women blinked from existence. Vincent stood in the fearsome wind, staring at the distant Void with the four Scions around him.
“What happened to Jacob?” Vincent asked, noticing the lack of the third Scion he had met previously.
“Didn’t think he needed to be here,” Teresa said. Vincent laughed. The Scion of Patience was a bit of a testy man.
Power shuddered inside the Void. Vincent had seen Abigail summon forth a lot of energy, and the Font in Alder Falls had been even more powerful. But the Void was like nothing Vincent had ever imagined before. If the Font were a matchstick, the Void was the sun. He didn’t understand how anything could survive entering it. But then again, nothing that entered it was even alive.
“What’s in there?” Vincent asked. He had heard many things, but nothing clear. Beings that could wield blood magic. The Bloodless who returned after some kind of schism. Even something called the Illuminated. But those were just things.
“Eternity,” Asnage the Younger said. He was still in the form of his father.
“But what does that mean? Is it a place? Is it a forest? A planet? Hell?”
“One day you will see,” Emmanuel said. “One day everyone sees.”
The group of them stared at the Void as the Bloodless climbed the steps before it and stood at the edge. They were so far away that Vincent could not clearly see them. Some entered the tattered doorway. Others seemed to fall from the steps into something below.
“What happens to the ones who don’t enter the Void?”
“Desolation,” Asnage the Younger said. “Timelessness for all time.”
“That sounds bad,” Vincent said.
“It’s like Limbo,” Teresa said, trying to sound reassuring. “There are worse things.”
“You don’t look like Stanley. How do you know him?” Vincent asked the woman. With her short, honey blond hair and her Midwest accent, she didn’t seem to fit in with Crisp’s family. But they were a diverse bunch, so Vincent was likely being unfair in his surface judgments.
“Glad I don’t look like him,” Teresa said with a laugh. “He’s a sweetheart but ‘elderly male mortician’ is not really my aesthetic, you know?”
“Makes sense,” Vincent said.
“Faith was my mother,” Teresa said. “When she met Stanley, I was twelve. So he was kind of like a dad to me, for a while. I was a real dick to him, though. Teenagers, you know?”
“Sure,” Vincent said. He did not know, really.
“We got closer later though, when I was older. When I realized he was a good guy and he was good for my mom. But tragedy follows Stanley Crisp like a shadow, so…”
She drifted off, just staring at the Void. Vincent didn’t feel the need to pry further. He knew Dezzy had been Stanley’s nephew, and he died in a car accident. It looked like Asnage the Younger had died shortly after birth. It was obvious a similar fate had befallen Teresa. How they all ended up as servants of the Prince of Nothing was another matter, however.
“You are nervous,” Asnage the Elder said suddenly. Vincent looked at him and shrugged, the fierce wind of the Void whipping his hair about.
“I’m afraid of what she’s going to see,” Vincent said.
“Why should you fear the truth?” the old man asked. His accent seemed to weave in and out of Cajun and Haitian.
“Because what if the truth is bad?” Vincent said plainly. He might be a murderer. And with the powerful people he had assembled in that field, he could very well have been something so much worse.
“The truth is neither good nor bad,” the old man said. “It is the truth. It informs those who wish to do good or bad, that is all. Truth has no motivation, no plan or intention. It simply is. What you do with truth is what makes it good or bad.”
“And if I’m a murderer? If I was trying to end the world or enslave mankind or summon the Devil, what then?” Vincent asked. The old man laughed heartily at that. Vincent was being serious. In truth. he was terrified of learning that he was a monster.
“What then? No, what next? Trust an old man who has been dead for many years, Vincent. You cannot live in the past. You live for the future. That is where your truth will take you. You just need to choose the path. Same as every soul that comes to this place.”
He patted Vincent on the shoulder and smiled. Vincent felt a warmth from him and, despite where he was and what he was going through, he smiled back. He could see why Stanley had thought so highly of his grandfather. He had a genuine kindness about him. Even in this chaotic place, he felt like someone Vincent wanted to know.
“I’m afraid that I killed Selena. And she’ll see what I’ve done and know what kind of man I was. And it won’t matter how I move forward. I have no right to ask her to trust me.”
“Maybe,” Asnage said, nodding. “Maybe this is your truth. And you cannot make anyone feel what they do not feel. You cannot make trust, or love, or joy. This is the thing the Bloodless so often c
annot grasp. You are only you. Your whole universe is you. And your influence may reach across time and space but in the end, it is never about control. You do not control anything except yourself. Know this, Vincent. Know that you control Vincent Donnelly and nothing more. And then the order of the universe is much easier to grasp.”
“Sounds kind of hopeless,” Vincent said. The old man laughed again and shook his head.
“Or maybe it is the only place where you find hope.”
Asnage rested his hand on Vincent’s shoulder and then gave him a light shove.
“Come for a walk with me,” the old man said. He started moving and Vincent walked with him, leaving the other Scions behind. They headed towards the Void, looming massive and chaotic in the distance. The old man kept his hand on Vincent’s shoulder as though to steady himself.
“There once was a brave warrior,” Asnage began. “He was strong and fearless and he could hunt and run and jump like no other. He was a hero. One day on a hunt, he came across some mysterious tracks by the river. But he was a fearless man, so he followed the tracks in the mud.”
Asnage led them on a parallel path to the Bloodless on their journey to the Void. The abyss was miles away, but its size was staggering even from afar. The wind that howled around them came from it. Then at other times the wind seemed to be going towards it, like it was breathing in and out.
“The warrior followed the trail down the river and into the deep forest. All day and night he traveled, following the tracks. He knew that if he could find whatever made them, he would be cheered by his people and they would be in awe of his skill and power.”
The old man glanced at Vincent, his hand still on his shoulder.
“Were you that warrior?” Vincent asked. Asnage rolled his eyes.
“Of course not. I was born in Louisiana. Now listen. Another day passed, and the warrior was growing weary. He had not brought food or water for such a journey. He had not been prepared. He was just focused on the tracks, on following the trail so that he might slay the mystery beast and prove his worth. And by the end of the next day, he was weary from thirst and hunger, and he stumbled to the ground and saw that the trail had ended.”
“He found the beast?” Vincent asked.
“He found nothing. The trail simply stopped. And he was days from home. And he had no food or whatever. He rolled onto his back and he stared up at the sun and he cursed it and the gods of the wind and the clouds and the forest for tricking him.”
“What happened then?”
“Nothing. He died. Alone in the forest like an idiot,” Asnage said.
Vincent looked at the old man. Asnage shrugged.
“He was trying to prove he was great to people who already thought he was. And he died doing it. For nothing. You have one voice you need to listen to, only one. And that’s your own. That’ll steer you where you need to go.”
“I hope you’re right.”
They stopped walking and Asnage turned back the way they had come. The other Scions were all at Vincent’s side again, as though they had never left.
Faith and Selena appeared from nowhere, popping into existence like some effect in a movie. Selena’s expression was unreadable. She stared at Vincent for a long time.
“I killed you,” Vincent said. It wasn’t a question. Selena smiled at him then.
“I will help you stop my sister, and Maggie.”
Her eyes were red. They darted to Faith for a brief moment, and then back to Vincent once again.
“Please tell me what happened,” he said quietly, the words lost to the wind as soon as he spoke them. He knew she heard, though.
“I can’t,” she said. “I won’t.”
“I need to know!” he said loudly. “I need to know who I am!”
Asnage put his hand on Vincent’s shoulder again.
“You know who you are. And if you stay here much longer, you’re an idiot. Who’s dead. In the forest.”
Emmanuel separated himself from the other Scions and came towards Vincent. He took the man’s hand and then Selena’s. The raging red desert of the Void disappeared. The three of them were in the forest once more. The other Scions were gone.
“I never get to say this. Please tell Dezzy I said hi back,” Emmanuel said. Vincent smiled at the boy.
“I will,” he said. “Now what?”
“Now you come back to life.”
Vincent looked at Selena, and the world flashed white. He was no longer standing but lying on the ground. Dezzy’s mouth was pressed to his as he forced a mouthful of air into Vincent’s mouth. It smelled like gravy and cheese.
Vincent coughed, rolling over onto his side and spitting into the leaves. Dezzy laughed and clapped for him.
“Oh man, see? I know CPR.”
“You gave me mouth-to-mouth?”
“Yeah, I choked the life out of you, man. But you’re back! Did it work?” Dezzy asked. He grabbed the mirror off of the ground where Vincent had dropped it and held it up. “Are you helping us out, lady?” Selena’s reflection looked back.
“It worked, Desmond. Thank you for doing that. It was helpful,” she said.
“Death is helpful sometimes, no doubt,” he agreed.
Vincent sat up, rubbing his throat and coughing. Dezzy clapped him on the shoulder. His hand felt the same as Asnage's.
“So, what now?” Vincent asked the mirror.
“My sisters. We have to determine if they are with Abigail and Maggie. If they join me, I can overpower her, even with blood magic. If they are with her, then we may be in serious trouble.”
“You could always do to her what she did to you,” Dezzy suggested.
“Toss her in a basement?” Vincent asked. Dezzy smiled.
“Maybe! But first, slip her a magical jab, man. She came at you with primal and blood. You guys can fight her with primal and necromancy. Mix your mojo, man.”
Vincent looked at Selena’s reflection. He was expecting her to immediately reject the idea, to tell them that her magic and necromancy don’t mix. But she did not.
“Let’s find Charlotte and Mary-Ann first,” Selena said. “Maybe they’ll listen to me.”
Chapter 7
Mary-Ann piped icing onto a red velvet cupcake, watching the buttercream bulge out of the tip of the piping bag in neat little blobs. She had a very steady hand and could do this for hours. It helped her keep her focus. Focus was a thing Mary-Ann always needed. Too often, she lost it and ended up with her head in the clouds, off task and unsure of how to get things back in order.
When Selena had led the coven, Mary-Ann felt like she was focused. Selena had been the eye of the storm that was her life. When she learned that magic was a real thing, and that she could tap its power, she felt like she would lose her mind. No woman born in Burnham who discovered magic could feel any different. The town that killed witches was no place for someone like that.
Mary-Ann had panicked. She’d feared anyone finding out, even her friends and family. She’d wanted to tell her mother, to ask her what it meant and what she should do. But she hadn’t dared to. She had seen those stupid plays every single year. She knew local history. The witches of Burnham. Their own families had put them to the torch or hung them from the tree. No one trusted a witch. And it seemed, to Mary-Ann, that a would-be witch could trust no one.
She didn’t know how the power came to her. It was not a thing she sought. Selena told her that was very rare. A natural-born witch was something to be proud of. It meant the Goddess saw something in her and wanted to gift her with the power of primal magic. Mary-Ann just feared it meant she would become a monster.
Selena had been the calm in the storm during that time of Mary-Ann’s life. She had been a teacher and a friend, and she had helped her control and understand her newfound power. For that, Mary-Ann would always love her. Learning about Selena’s death had been like learning of her own mother’s. It was an open wound and it hurt.
W
hen Abigail had told her that the man who’d killed Selena was coming to town, she was terrified. Was he coming to kill them? Was he one of the Witch Finders of old, ready to execute a new generation? Surely, anyone powerful enough to kill Selena was a danger to the entire coven. Selena was leaps and bounds beyond anyone, even Abigail. That this mystery man had ended her life was shocking.
Seeing the man for herself, Mary-Ann had been confused. He was just a man. He did not seem malicious. He did not attack them. But he held Selena’s power. It made little sense. Mary-Ann knew Charlotte felt wrong about keeping Vincent Donnelly in the basement of the house. Keeping him until they could craft the proper ritual to remove Selena’s power from him. It wasn’t right, but she didn’t know why.
Abigail was adamant. She had been almost frenzied since she had learned of the man coming to Burnham. But even before that, something had been off. Sometime after Selena's death, something changed in Abigail. There were times when she was herself, the sweet and thoughtful friend that Mary-Ann knew. But other times she seemed so cold and angry. Abigail was not normally that kind of person. They had all dealt with Selena’s death in their own way, but to become so harsh was out of character for Abigail.
The woman had thrust herself into work. She wanted to make the bakery bigger and better. She wanted more output. She was baking constantly and selling products cheaper than she should have. It ensured a lot of customers, but profits were slim. She was fanatical about it, though, making sure they met the demands of the tourists. These were the same people she seemed to loathe for their crass celebration of Burnham’s history. None of it made sense.
Charlotte tended to customers at the front of the store with Sandra’s help. Only Mary-Ann was working in the kitchen. Focus on decorating, she thought to herself. Abigail had returned to the house when she felt something amiss with the curse. She said it was no problem, and she’d handle it herself. She expected it was just Donnelly making a vain attempt to escape.
The frosting coated the cupcakes in perfect swirls, again and again. She really had a knack for decorating. In another life, she might have been blissfully doing such a thing for the rest of her days. In a world with no magic and no friends being murdered in faraway fields. In a world where things made sense and being a simple baker was an attainable goal. For all the power she possessed, that was one thing the Goddess would not do for her, it seemed.
