Skeptic

by Denise Mathew

  "We need her," Mira said. This time she seemed closer, and it was enough for him to snap out of the trance of his rage. Suddenly, the skin on the old woman's neck felt leathery and paper dry, and it disgusted him. He recoiled, and took a few steps away, pressing his fingertips against his forehead.

  "I...I lost my way," he said, shaking his head.

  Mira threaded her fingers through his hair. It was enough to calm him and the cloud of vengeance that had driven him to destroy the old woman, lifted. He gazed at Nanny Flo, puffing and struggling to catch her breath, and was amazed that she was still standing. Faint reddish-purple bruises marred her scrawny neck.

  "That's better," Mira said, gliding her fingers along the length of his face.

  He sighed, forgetting his reason for trying to kill the hag.

  "Everything is going to be fine," Mira purred.

  "Do that again and I'll geld you," Nanny Flo rasped.

  She clutched her throat, and coughed, then in a smooth move, tossed the bowl, and everything in her hands into his face. Luke warm water splashed over his head and chest, and the ceramic bowl hit him square on the nose, blood spurted instantly.

  "No," Mira screeched, but once again she was far away. Electricity danced between his fingers, like miniature bolts of lightning, and he levitated a few inches off the ground.

  "You have pushed me too far, old woman," he bellowed, then reached for her.

  But before he had a chance to grab her again, she flung her hands at him, crashing her palms against his chest with enough force that it threw him off balance.

  "My sentiments exactly," she snarled.

  Then, with sudden and unexpected swiftness, he was shuttled back to his prison, and there was no way he could stop it from happening. As the shackles closed around his wrists and arms once again, he realized with grim clearness that not only did Elise have the gift of controlling minds, but so too did her grandmother.

  20. ELISE

  Like a lion catching its prey, Atticus's hands were on Nanny Flo's neck. She struggled to breathe, it had all happened so explosively fast, that I gaped at the sight of it. Mesmerized by the scene, I watched the color drain from my grandmother's face and petechia splotch her cheeks and neck. I knew he was killing her.

  Instinct told me to flee, but love made me pause. A part of me wanted to save her, because no matter what had happened between us, she was still my grandmother. Yet I knew that it was those kind of thoughts that had almost got me killed less than an hour before. Pity had no place with survival; I had to run. I dashed to the kitchen, and out the back door of the house. I heard Mira's voice, fraught with panic, and hearing her anxiety made my legs move even faster.

  As I raced across the driveway, my head throbbed and the more I pushed myself the worse it got. When I spotted Dakota's car, I stopped and turned my pockets inside out, searching for the car keys, but all I found was the gris-gris. With no choice but to escape on foot, I swerved toward the dirt road and jogged along the gravel surface.

  Realizing that I was a sure target on the road, I veered off the track, into the lush forest that lined it. Spongy moss squished beneath my flip-flops and though they weren't the best for running, I was grateful to have something on my feet. The few beams of sunlight that slanted through the thick growth, spurred me on, because as long as it was still day, I could find my way to a phone. I glanced down at my watch, and saw that it was already four-thirty, which meant I had little time to find help before nightfall.

  Too tired to keep up the pace indefinitely, I walk-ran as I maneuvered through the tangle of brush and as I did I wondered if Atticus had killed Nanny Flo. Just the concept of her being dead, sent a pang of sadness through me, but knowing I needed my full focus, I pushed the thoughts out of my mind; I couldn't worry about what was going on back at the house. Yet the concept that she had been coming to dress my wound, made it difficult not to think about her. I felt the back of my skull. My hair was matted but thankfully the bleeding seemed to have stopped.

  I headed toward the main drag, and my too fast pace pressed hard on me. As I moved forward, I wished I could have somehow been transported back to the morning, when my only worry had been getting recognized as the Skeptic. But even more than that, I longed to go back in time to the last investigation I had done at the Maple Plantation, before Tansy had accosted me on the plane and before my whole life had gone to hell.

  A few steps later I locked on the weathered slate roof of the long thought haunted house, and I couldn't help but think about the moment Dakota and I had first passed it a few days before, and how those moments now seemed a lifetime ago.

  Then without my bidding, the first night I had met Atticus came to the forefront again, only this time, new and unfamiliar images filled my consciousness. Unlike my other memories, these were less clear, as if I had stored them in a part of my mind that I hadn't been able to access before. I quickened my stride, and as my legs pumped, it felt like a veil was lifted from my thoughts. I was transported back to the first time I had witnessed the grayish black mist around Atticus.

  The mist had come when I was still on the floor, and I had watched in horrified amazement, at what seemed like a storm cloud, complete with shards of electric blue lightning, had encircled Atticus's body. Even with my blurry vision I knew I wasn't hallucinating, and that he was somehow drawing dark energy to him. The others in the room moaned, and motioned toward him.

  "Gather your strength and energy as quickly as you can," the ghost had said to me. I had shook my head. I didn't know how to gather my energy, or even what energy he was talking about. The sensation of power that had surged through me moments before, had passed, and had left me freezing cold and exhausted in its wake.

  "How can I?" I whispered. His smile warmed me, and for a moment muted my terror.

  "My sweet Elise, find the place where your spirit tethers you to the earth, and draw on the power of Mother Earth."

  I shook my head. "I don't know what you're talking about, I have no idea who mother earth is," I said, tears springing to my eyes.

  The ghost reached for me, brushing a translucent hand across my forehead, when he did, warmish air puffed across my skin. The explosive crack outside the cabin that came next, reignited my fear, and the trance that had held Atticus's followers, disintegrated. Their chants quickly changed to questions.

  "Focus," Atticus boomed, and despite their obvious fear, the women attempted to bring their attention back to their leader. The cloud that had swirled around Atticus dissipated, becoming grey and filmy, and another bang shook the cabin.

  "They've come," the ghost said, and faded away.

  "Wait," I called out, but Atticus's demands for order drowned out my voice.

  Mira pushed through the group, and into my line of view. She was wearing her black robe again, and moved with the confidence of someone who had everything under control.

  "Do it now Atticus, make the sacrifice before its too late."

  She grabbed his wrist, and thrust Atticus's hand holding the athame, into the air. He brought his full attention to Mira, studied her for a moment, then his lips moved, but no words came. The ranks of his followers had come apart, and they milled about the room, pointing at the closed door, as if they expected someone to come bursting through at any minute. The third boom came abruptly and felt as if the earth beneath the cabin had shifted. Everyone made a mad dash for cover, and gathered in the corner, farthest from the door.

  "Now Atticus," Mira yelled over the din, her eyes wild with anticipation.

  She licked her lips, then rapidly flicked the tip of Atticus's knife across her palm, cutting a deep gash. The sight of her blood transfixed Atticus, and an evil grin spread across his face. Mira and Atticus turned as one, and their full attention fell on me. Atticus strutted toward me as if nothing else in the universe mattered but me, and even with the dripping knife in his hand, he exuded pure sex appeal. The muscles in his thighs flexed against the body contouring leather, and I swallowed hard. I knew th
at he wanted to hurt me, but I couldn't help but ogle his trim physique.

  He and Mira went down on their knees on either side of me. I dragged my gaze from Atticus, to Mira.

  "Mira help me, let me go, we're friends..." I said, but she clamped her hand over my mouth before I could say anything else. Her skin smelled of the rose water she used for perfume.

  "Everybody loves a rose," she'd always told me when she dabbed it on her wrists and throat. "And they never expect the thorns until it's too late."

  "Your death won't be for nothing," she said, and I detected a note of sadness in her tone, but I knew by the determination in her gaze, that nothing would stop her from following through with her plans.

  In a sudden move, Atticus shoved Mira to the side, then straddled my waist, keeping his weight on his knees and off me. He sliced my t-shirt down the middle, letting the fabric fall to my sides. I inhaled, embarrassment outweighing my fear, because my bra, the only garment covering my budding breasts, was in plain view. Mira might have been comfortable parading around naked, but I wasn't ready for a strange man to see me naked. He brought the knifepoint downward. I braced myself and struggled to speak against Mira's hand, but she held fast.

  But instead of cutting my bra away, Atticus traced a design in my upper chest with the tip of the blade. I knew that he had cut me, and that it should have hurt, but I didn't feel much more than the pressure of the athame against my flesh. When he had finished, he brought the knife to his own palm, and gave it a swift cut across, then pressed his bleeding hand against my fresh wound. Electricity shot through my body, and I bucked from the strength of it. My uncontrolled move forced Atticus's hand away from me, and he grinned. His breathing quickened, and his chest heaved with exertion, then his hand was back on me. Once again power coursed through me, as if I had stuck my finger in a light socket, only this time it left me weak. Atticus, on the other hand appeared energized. He forced his hand back on my chest, and my body didn't react as violently as it had before, and I knew he was draining me, and somehow absorbing my life force. Mira moved her hand from my mouth, but I no longer had the strength to call for help.

  "Please," I managed to whisper, knowing the next time he touched me, it would be all over.

  Atticus raised his hand over me, but before he brought it down again, an invisible force tossed him aside, as if he were weightless. When I looked up again, Mira was gone. People began shrieking and with my still bleary vision, I couldn't see well enough to know what was going on around me. I heard wood splinter, more screams, glass shatter, then an arctic wind swept over me. A male voice that could only have been Atticus's, made a sound so filled with agony that my blood felt like it had clotted in my veins, and it made me even more desperate to see what was going on around me.

  "If you have harmed her Atticus, the Underworld itself will not provide you refuge," a woman screeched.

  "I am sorry your Graces," Atticus said, and I heard the unadulterated terror in his tone.

  I closed my eyes, and tried to open them again but this time I couldn't, and even amidst Atticus's pleas for mercy, an onyx curtain pulled tight around me, drawing me into its darkness.

  A branch snapped nearby, and my attention crashed back to the present. When I heard another crack of wood, much closer now, then a rustle of leaves, I broke into a lurching sprint. Frantic to escape, I dodged trees in my path and tripped a few times in my haste. My breathing came out in ragged huffs and my legs burned. And not for the first time, I wished that rather than working every waking moment on the Skeptic, that I had paid more attention to keeping in shape.

  Not long after, I was forced to slow down and catch my breath, and as soon as I did, I heard the sound of pounding footsteps coming toward me. I willed my body forward, but my legs turned to lead. My already fatigued muscles couldn't get the oxygen they needed and they cramped. Spent, I almost gave up, but a few steps later, I spotted hope.

  The colonial style house had been restored with a newly tiled roof, beige aluminum siding, and a paved driveway that could accommodate at least eight cars. The royal blue shutters were probably original but had been newly painted. There was a classic white picket fence surrounding an area that probably served as a garden during the summer season. I didn't know who lived in the house, but it didn't matter, I needed a phone.

  Just as my muscles threatened to give out, I made it to the cedar stained front deck. I mounted the stairs and as soon as I could, jabbed the round lit doorbell several times, before glancing over my shoulder. I drew in a long inhalation when I saw that there was nobody on the path. I spun back around and hit the doorbell, until the chimes sounded like a jumbled song. When no one answered, I panicked.

  "Come on," I yelled, hammering the door with the side of my fist.

  I threw another glance over my shoulder, this time I was positive I had seen movement in the forest at the edge of the drive.

  "Can I help you dear?" a woman said, and I almost fainted at the sound of her voice.

  I whirled to face her. She had curly silvery hair and was as wide as she was tall. Her cheeks were full and rosy, and she wore wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of her thin nose. A flour dusted, red and white checked apron, with ruffled trim, covered her light blue short-sleeved house dress. For a moment I just stared at her, unable to believe that she was real and that I was going to be okay. A cramp cut across my stomach. I bent at the waist, allowing my lungs to fill with fresh air.

  "I...I...need to use your phone," I said between gasps.

  "Are you all right?" she said, her tone filled with concern. I felt a soft hand against my sweat drenched back, and a wave of relief washed over me. In a few minutes I would call Jim and he would pick me up, and all of this would be just a horrible nightmare.

  "Oh, hello young man," the woman said, and I froze mid-inhale. Before I had a chance to stand, I heard his voice.

  "There you are Elise, I've been searching the woods for you."

  I jerked my body up, and turned to face him. When our eyes met, Atticus shot me an artificial smile that sent me over the edge.

  "Get away from us," I shouted, slipping into the space behind the old woman. She stiffened, clearly unsure of what was happening. Atticus's eyes narrowed to slits, and he shook his head.

  "Bad mistake Elise, now this innocent lady has to die."

  "No," I murmured, moving further away until my back was against the front door.

  "I think you ought to leave young man," the woman said.

  She stood her ground, framing her thick midsection with her pudgy hands. Atticus sneered, cocked his head to the side, then shot forward with amazing speed. Before I could move a muscle, his pale hands were on either side of her head. He gave the old woman's neck a rapid twist and there was a sickening pop, then she collapsed into a heap, her eyes wide in death.

  "No," I breathed, staring at the woman, then up at him. "Why?" I started to say but then my instincts clicked in, and I dove to the side, attempting to skirt around him. Atticus snagged my arm with impossible strength. He brought his lips to my ear.

  "Keep running Elise, and more people will die," he said, his voice empty of emotion.

  I stopped struggling, and the weight of what had just happened converged on me. I went limp, and stared down at the woman who had been alive just moments before. Her glassy eyes seemed to be fixed on me accusingly, because she was dead and it was my fault.

  "That's better," he hissed, wrenching me toward the dirt road. "Do you know the trouble I would have been in if you had escaped? I don't want to hurt you, but if you force my hand again..." His voice trailed off and he tread forward, practically dragging me behind him. I tried to match his rapid pace, but instead stumbled repeatedly, until he finally scooped me into his arms. I wanted to fight him, force him to put me down, but I was spent, both emotionally and physically.

  "Why can't you just let me go? I'll pretend this never happened. I'll go back home and you'll never hear from me again," I said.

  "The sh
ow can't go on without the star," he said, in a condescending tone. "No, your grandmother Florence." He paused and shot me a brittle smile. "Well, she's not exactly your grandmother now is she?" He shrugged. “Either way, she would be extremely displeased if I let you go, not to mention the others."

  I stiffened in his hold. "What do you mean she's not my grandmother?" I said, blinking rapid fire, as I struggled to understand what he had just said.

  He strode forward, tiny pebbles crunching beneath his combat boots.

  "Exactly what I said, there is no blood connection between you two. Your mother wasn't Florence's daughter."

  I had hoped for answers that made sense, but instead he had managed to confuse me even more.

  "I don't understand," I said, spotting the roof of Nanny Flo's house.

  Intense dread kicked me hard in the chest, because if I chose to believe what Atticus had just told me, then even the story of my lineage had been a lie.

  He cut his gaze towards the house, then put me down. For a fraction of a second, I saw Dakota's eyes instead of Atticus's.

  "I really shouldn't be telling you this," he said, and I noticed indecisiveness in his expression, as if he were waging a war within. I wondered if Dakota was somewhere inside, forcing Atticus's hand.

  "But I'm feeling a little generous today so..."

  We stopped walking and stood a few feet apart. His expression turned reverent.

  "To understand why your mother was given to Florence, you must know a little of the history of magick."

  I didn't follow what he was saying, but I nodded all the same. A dreamy expression crossed his face when he began to speak.

  "A long time ago magick was infinitely stronger than it is today. Anyone with the slightest inborn talent could perform magickal spells, that even the most gifted in present time can't manage. Back then, magickal energy was as common as the air we breathe, and people came to rely on it for everything. Many wonders of the world came into existence during those times, Stonehenge, the Great Pyramids, and so many others."