by Keary Taylor
I stir the mixture periodically, making sure I run any condensation back into the pot.
When the hour is up, I take the pot off the heat and strain the herbs.
“Don’t throw them out,” Imogen pipes up. She scrambles to her feet and searches through the drawers in the kitchen. Finally she comes up with a piece of cheesecloth. I scoop the herbs into it, carefully squeezing the remaining liquid out and back into the pot.
As soon as we’re done, she disappears with her small satchel of used herbs.
“Freakin’ weirdos,” Michael mutters.
Following what little is left of the directions, I let the emerald green liquid cool and then pour it into a large glass bottle.
And then we wait.
Over the next five hours, we have to wait for the liquid to fade from green to clear.
Rose leaves the house just before noon. Tove hovers in the living room, assumingly so that I won’t try and escape.
Imogen hasn’t come out of her room since I gave her the sack of herbs.
“Where are we exactly?” Michael asks as he flips through a book lying on the coffee table.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” Tove responds. She, too, reads through a book, though this one looks nearly as ancient as the one in the kitchen.
I just lie with my head on the arm of the couch, watching the glass bottle on the table slowly turn into a lighter shade of green.
“I just mean, how long of a trip back to Boston are we talkin’ about?” Michael pries. “I can smell the ocean, it’s close. But are we talking a two hour trip, or a twenty minute one?”
“More than twenty minutes,” I say quietly, not meaning to speak it aloud. I look over to meet Michael’s questioning eyes. “I’d know if we were only twenty minutes away.”
Michael looks back to Tove.
“More than twenty minutes away,” she responds with a little bit of a smirk.
A few tense moments pass, though I don’t think Tove is bothered whatsoever. It’s just Michael that’s been ready to snap for the past five months straight.
Poor guy.
He’ll probably never be able to relax again.
Three hours later, I grab the bottle from the table, satisfied that it’s as clear as it’s going to get, when Rose walks in the front door. Her face is splotchy and red, and she looks utterly exhausted.
Michael and I exchange a look. She’s been up to something, and he wants to know what. But I don’t want him asking questions.
“How is it going?” she asks as she takes her jacket off and hangs it on the coat stand beside the door.
“Getting close,” I say, setting the bottle back on the kitchen counter. I lean over the book, scanning back down the instructions, looking for my place.
The next steps are the most complicated and I have to take it slow, hoping and praying I’m filling in the blanks correctly. I have to separate the mixture into several batches. Then it’s a few droppers-full of oil of wormwood, a few of anise essential oil. Some peppermint. Each in different bottles, each in different amounts.
“I know that last part might sound strange,” Rose says as she walks into the kitchen thirty minutes later. “But I know it’s important. And it’s the only clear instruction left. Don’t skip it.”
Strange, it is.
I take the big bottle once more, place a sugar cube into it to block it up, and slowly add in the mixed oils, watching as they work their way through the sugar cube, and drop by drop, the big bottle begins to fill again.
What we end up with is a milky green mix, thick and cloudy.
“Okay, it just needs to sit overnight,” I declare as the last of the drops ripple into the bottle. The little hairs on the back of my neck are all standing up. Goosebumps rise up on my arms. I’m cold, but too hot on the inside. “It’s done.”
Rose smiles, something deep and creepy climbing out onto her face. She picks up the bottle, holding it close to her body, studying it.
“I’ll admit, I haven’t seen a complete batch in years,” she says. And I swear the air around her grows electric. “But as far as I can tell, it looks correct. Just one more thing.”
She carries it out the back door, and I follow her. She crosses a huge deck and stops at a little table beside a chair. She sets it down. “It just has to soak in the moonlight over night.”
I swallow, unsure of what to say. Moonlight…
Rose looks over her shoulder and smiles, knowing how she’s twisting my insides. But she only winks and we walk back inside.
“It’s done,” she declares as we cross the threshold.
“But you won’t let me go until morning?” I ask.
She looks up, a different kind of smile on her face now. “We have to make sure it works once it’s settled, don’t we?”
Michael straightens, but I hold up a hand before he can move an inch or breathe a word. “But the second you check it, you’ll call my people, right?”
Rose nods. “I promise.”
The ceiling above my head has two cracks in the plaster. One stretching from one corner of the room to the center. The other crack begins above the window and only reaches out about a foot.
I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours.
In the past fifteen weeks, falling asleep has been beyond easy. But with every second ticking down in my head, so painfully present, sleep is the furthest thing from my mind.
And the whispers in the middle of the night got my mind rolling. The quiet, quick murmurings of three mysterious women down the hall made it difficult to relax.
I’m trying to tell myself that it was just a dream. Only echoes in my restless mind.
But I know I heard my name breathed over their lips. And that scares me.
I’m trying very hard to keep that door closed.
But they keep pushing against it from the other side.
Three days. Three nights spent in this house. When I’m so close to home.
I roll over and look at the clock on the bookshelf across the room.
Six AM.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” Michael asks through the dim morning light.
I shake my head, knowing it will be enough of a response for him.
“Just a few more hours, little bird,” he says, reaching up from where he lies on the floor and takes my hand in his. “I know there’s a lot of unknowns about to go down, but I promise, we’ll figure this out.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. My throat tightens and there’s a sting at the back of my eyes. “Thank you for being here for me through all of this, even if you didn’t want to be. I’m really grateful for you.”
He’s quiet for just a moment. Michael is far from an emotional guy. Maybe that’s why we’ve gotten along so well. “It’s been my pleasure.”
There is a little knock on the door and when I call come in, it opens just a crack, and Rose’s face appears.
“You ready?” she asks with a knowing smile.
I only nod, and slowly sit up so I don’t puke everywhere. Michael pulls me to my feet when I’m ready, and steps outside so I can get dressed. I think it’s Imogen’s clothes I’ve been wearing. She’s close to my size.
The house feels fresh and crisp when I step out into the hall, as if the world knows this is the day I will get to go back home. The air smells cleaner, feels lighter. As I step into the living room, my heart beats faster.
The oil sits on the dining room table. Tove and Imogen scurry around the kitchen, gathering things, which they set on the table.
“We drink it, though no one wants to drink straight oil,” Rose explains as I take a seat. “The mint and soda water make it bearable.”
I nod, watching as she takes the glass, mixing the three ingredients. It looks thick, and smells off, despite the mint. All three women sit close together, watching in anticipation as Rose stirs the concoction.
When she’s done, she slides the glass in front of Tove. Her eyes are a mix of fear and excitement. Her hands trem
ble slightly as she raises the glass to her lips. She takes a tiny sip at first, lets her eyes slide closed, and then downs the entire thing.
The glass slips from her hand and shatters on the floor. She slowly relaxes back into her chair, her head tipping back, her eyes staring up at the ceiling.
A cold draft rushes through the house, and I swear, all of that air is being sucked into Tove.
I scramble back from the table, knocking over my chair in the process. Cold prickles all along my skin, instantly picking up goosebumps. A feeling of dread washes over me.
“What the hell is that stuff?” Michael growls as he, too, leaps back from the table. His hand clamps down around my wrist, and I feel every muscle in his body tense. He’s ready to bolt at any second, and drag me along behind him.
“Congratulations, you’re going home,” Rose says with a smile as she pulls her phone out. “What are your people’s numbers?”
My mouth isn’t working because my brain can’t get around this scene that I cannot explain. Tove is still sitting in that chair, eyes wide open, unblinking, just staring at the ceiling.
“Elle,” Michael hisses. “What’s your brother’s number?”
I mutter something, and it must be the right thing, because a few moments later, Rose is talking rapidly to someone on the other line.
I blink, trying to refocus myself.
What is happening in front of me doesn’t matter. I don’t want to know what that stuff was that they wanted me to make. I don’t need to understand what is happening to Tove at the moment.
I’m going home.
“They will meet us at your apartment shortly,” Rose says, ending the call before I even clear my head enough to think of asking to speak to either my brother or Lexington. “You did your job. Let’s get you home.”
A big breath suddenly escapes from my chest. I blink again, telling my brain to ignore Tove at the table, frozen as if she’s in a coma. I take Michael’s hand, and we head for the door, Rose and Imogen behind us.
I climb into the backseat of the SUV with Michael, Rose at the wheel, and Imogen riding shotgun. And almost too easy, because nothing about my return home has been easy, she backs down the driveway and pulls onto the road.
I should be paying attention. Trying to figure out where in Massachusetts we are.
But I’m not even seeing anything.
In my mind, I’m already back in Boston, stepping through my front door, running into the arms of my family.
Michael rubs small circles into the back of my hand, but I hardly notice.
Time is meaningless and I have no idea how much of it has passed when familiar skylines come into view. The bridge. The skyscrapers. My heart leaps into my throat and I lean closer to the window, resting my hand against it.
I know these buildings. I know that ocean.
This is my town.
This is my home.
Rose cuts through the city with the help of the navigation system on her phone. It’s the only way anyone can get around the city without getting lost and turning the wrong direction down a one-way street.
And then there’s Boston Common. And I can see the road that leads up to my shop.
We turn down my road, and roll past one block and then two.
And I don’t cry, but tears are at the back of my eyes as my building comes into view.
“Don’t get out of the car until I say so,” Rose says. And the way her voice grows quiet, the edge to her words, they cause ice to drop into my stomach.
“He’s here, isn’t he?” Michael growls.
A sweat breaks out onto my skin, and the breath catches in my throat.
It’s brilliantly sunny outside. But now that the words have been said, I can feel him, somewhere out there, lurking in the shadows.
Charles.
“You said you’d help her,” Michael hisses, sliding closer to me. “What you got in mind?”
Rose locks the door to the SUV as she pulls to a stop in front of my building, her eyes sweeping the road. She turns the engine off and shifts in her seat.
“It’s already been done,” she says, but there’s a shade of doubt in her tone. “I just want to make sure there aren’t any cracks. Wait here for just a minute.”
Rose opens the door and climbs out. Imogen immediately locks the doors again. Looking ready to kill, ready to unleash havoc, Rose walks down the road.
And down four blocks, I see a figure step out. He wears a trench coat and a pair of sunshades. His red hair shines brilliantly in the daylight.
I see his lips moving, but he’s so far away and I’m inside, I don’t have a prayer of knowing what is being said.
“Can you hear anything?” I say quietly to Michael.
He gives a tiny shake of his head. “She’s whispering some mumbo-jumbo, but Charles is too far away.”
But suddenly, I hear a demonic cry of pain rip through the city.
I lean forward, compelled, as I watch Charles collapse to his knees as Rose continues walking toward him.
“Charles won’t bother you again, not until after the baby is born,” Imogen says. “He can’t come any closer to you than this while the child is still in your womb.”
“You trying to say you all gave him some kind of witchy allergy to his own heir?” Michael asks doubtfully.
“Something like that,” she says seriously as she looks out the window, back at Charles and Rose.
He’s on his knees, glaring death up at Rose as she stops at his side.
“You can go home now,” Imogen says as she unlocks the doors.
My eyes are transfixed on the man who has taken away my human rights, and the woman who once terrified me but has saved me.
My fingers hook around the door latch.
I pull it open, and slowly slide out.
I see Charles down the street, and the moment I step outside of the SUV, his eyes lock with mine. He lunges toward me, as if to run and snatch me up once more. But instantly, a cry of agony rips from his lungs, and he collapses to the ground.
His fingers hooked into claws into the concrete road, he looks up at me.
His eyes are brilliant red. Black veins sprout from them. But they stretch clear down to his neck. I see them race out over his hands.
“You can’t touch her,” I faintly hear Rose’s voice carry down the street. “Unless you have an appetite for death.”
I swear the brightness of his eyes grows more intense.
“This isn’t over, Elle Ward,” he bellows. And if looks could kill, I’d be six feet underground. “I will get my heir, and I will have your head.”
He suddenly cries out in pain, and I note the intense look in Rose’s eyes.
Charles scrambles back, tripping over himself as he attempts to put some distance between us. Finally, he climbs to his feet. Our eyes lock, and I know he will keep the promise he has made.
This is far from over.
But slowly, he backs away, one step at a time, before turning, and the next instant, he disappears.
The vice I didn’t even realize was there suddenly loosens from around my throat. I feel myself sag, and Michael hugs me to his side.
“I’m sure he’ll try and find a way around this,” Rose says as she walks back toward us. “He’s a stubborn man, and you do have his Royal heir.” Her eyes drop to my stomach. I’m wearing a regular t-shirt today, and my belly bump is only growing by the day. “But I promise, he won’t be able to come closer than that until the child is born.”
Rose stops just in front of me. Her eyes rise from my stomach to my eyes. “It will give you time to figure out what you want to do. Where things will go from here. This is still your life, Elle.”
I bite my lower lip, because it suddenly wants to tremble.
This is my life, but it’s all spun so far out of control I’m having a hard time getting a grip on it again.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She reaches up and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “You might feel
a little lost right now,” she says. “But you’re still Elle Ward. You’ll find her again. I don’t think it will take very long.”
I want to nod, but for some reason it’s hard. Instead, I just watch her give me a little smile and a wink. And she climbs into her car, and pulls away from the curb.
“The past few months have been pretty damn weird,” Michael says as we watch them drive away. “But the last three days certainly take the cake.”
“Yeah,” I breathe in agreement. And finally, we turn, and walk up the steps to the door. I enter my code, and it unlocks. Up the stairs and finally, my own front door is in front of me.
I find the key hidden in the vent across the hall, and with it, I unlock the door to my home.
I knew no one was going to be inside, because if they had, they would have heard everything going on out front and come to intervene. But my heart still sinks when I open the door and the apartment is empty.
“They’ll be back soon,” Michael says reassuringly as he places his hands on my shoulders.
I bite my lower lip and nod as we step inside.
There’s a laptop on the coffee table and a jacket hanging on the banister that are the only clues that anyone has been here since I last left it, just before Christmas.
It’s the first of June now.
Despite how badly I wanted Lexington and my brother to be here when I got home, relief still floods through me.
I’m home.
And for the next five and a half months, I’m safe from Charles.
“You’re home, Elle,” Michael says softly. “You can breathe now.”
I let out a little sob-laugh and nod my head.
“You go take care of yourself,” he says, ushering me toward the stairs. “They’ll all be here soon.”
I nod once more, unable to speak. I head up the stairs.
Despite how amazing the shower feels, I barely take time to scrub my face and wash my hair. I dry off and step into the closet to look for some clothes that might still fit. I’ve just pulled on a pair of stretchy leggings and a loose fitting tank top when I hear footsteps in my bedroom.
I think all my internal organs disappear. Suddenly I’m lightheaded and the only sensation in my body is my heart pounding.
