"How do you know about Violet?" I asked, guilt and sorrow reignited in the pit of my stomach.
"Because she and Tansy were your father's sisters," Nanny Flo said, with a laugh that sounded too evil to be coming from my grandmother.
I threw my hand over my mouth, tears filled my eyes.
"No, you're lying, you said you didn't know who my father was...nobody did," I whispered between my fingers.
I refused to believe anything that she said, because everything she had ever told me had been a lie.
"Didn't you feel a familiarity around Violet when you met her? Blood connections are strong, even if neither of you knew who the other was," Nanny Flo said, beaming.
I rushed forward, ready to grab her by the throat. I needed to silence her lying tongue, but when I was within a foot of her, my feet felt like they were in quicksand, and I couldn't move.
"How could you have kept this all from me? Why do you hate me so much?" I hollered, trying to push through the force that held me back.
I clenched my fists tight, and the only thought in my mind, was that I had been responsible for both Violet and Tansy's death. Yet worse than that, was the idea that I would never get a chance to know them, to find out about my father and who he had been. This last revelation, made me wonder how many other unknown relatives I had in the world.
"Yet by killing the witch Tansy, the last of the Whitehead line, you have reduced the power of the Wiccan circle. Now, only the girl Elise is left, yet she is destined to be drained on the blood moon, "the brown-eyed Aswang said, ignoring my outburst.
"That was pure folly on your part. The Elder witches will never forgive you for this treacherous act," the three said together.
"I'm fully aware of that, and I am prepared to suffer the consequences," Nanny Flo said, angling her chin in their direction, and the courage of the act surprised me.
"And so you shall," the three said as one, then their eyes were on me.
They studied me for a few moments, as if I were a specimen under a microscope, and the weight of their stare was more than unnerving. The brown-eyed Aswang reached out a bony hand and snatched my wrist. I felt a distinct tingle of electricity start at my wrist, then rapidly surge through my body, making my skin twitch as it trailed through my system, before emerging back at the tips of the Aswang's fingers. She pulled her hand away, threw back her head and laughed. It was a breathy sound as if she didn't have the vocal cords to laugh.
"She is all that we had hoped for, and more," she said, surveying me, the longing in her eyes made my flesh crawl.
Atticus strode forward, curled an arm around my shivering body and despite everything that had happened between us, I was glad for his touch.
"Her power matched with mine will be as the prophecy predicted, my death will be exalted for eternity," he said, with a cunning grin.
His words caused even more tension to contract the muscles of my shoulders, because even though I was marked for death, I didn't want him to share my fate. If the smallest part of Dakota was somewhere inside Atticus, I had to save it.
"Your passage from the physical to the spirit world will pay the debt for your misdeeds and maybe, if they see fit, the Elder witches will not condemn you to the Underworld for eternity," the Aswang hissed.
I felt Atticus stiffen against my side. In that moment I actually pitied him, because if the Elder witches wanted him, they would have him, and when they did, an eternity of pain and suffering would follow.
21. ATTICUS
He felt the Aswang's eyes on him, and it made him instinctively want to draw in on himself, but he knew that any sign of weakness would set off alarms, and the Aswang might replace him in the ceremony. He wasn't deluded enough to think that he was indispensable. The Aswang probably had half a dozen druid masters waiting in the wings, ready to step in at a moments notice. The one thing he had in his favor though, was his three-year connection with Elise. In some ways his plan had been perfect, if you ignored the fact that he had been trapped in his body for three years.
Years before, when Mira had first approached him, he had been wary. It had been quite a while since he'd been thrown out of the Magickal circle for the ritual he had tried to perform on his own, and he never expected to be brought back into the fold. But when Mira had told him about all he chanced to gain, the choice had been easy.
Florence had filled in the details about Elise, and how she was just a few years away from magickal maturity, and that the closer she got to age twenty-four the more valuable she would become. Every Magickan in the world would be on the hunt for her, to seize on the opportunity to use Jade's daughter to open the Cauldron of Magick.
Atticus's task had been to hide his own true essence, and bind it with Elise's, effectively cloaking both of them so their combined magick was shielded behind the part of him they had named Dakota.
Atticus, Mira, and Florence had carefully constructed a false identity for Dakota, but, for the spell to be truly effective, Atticus was forced into hiding, and had to allow the newly created Dakota to take over. Even before he went through with the plan, Atticus knew that allowing Dakota to have control for three years was going to be tough, but only after he was too deeply entrenched to escape, did he realize how very horrible it would actually be. Of course Florence hadn't told him he would be helpless in his body, and a witness to everything that went on, and for that alone he wanted to kill her.
Over and above his relationship with Elise, he had another and more intimate advantage over other druids. He had touched Elise's energy, had it course through him like a thousand volts of power, until his whole body hummed with it and he remembered now, how he had never felt more alive. The added benefit of having tapped into Elise's latent power before, made draining her all the more easy.
"I pray the Elder witches will forgive me too," he said, coming back to the present. Tyanak's blue eyes seemed to bore through him, and it was all he could do not to cower.
"See that she remains pure," the brown-eyed Aswang named Kikik said, focusing on Atticus's arm, draped around Elise's waist.
If anyone other than Kikik had made that comment, Atticus might have seethed, but he knew better than to show even a hint of displeasure with the Aswang. They wouldn't hesitate to punish him viciously for his insolence; in fact they would absolutely revel in reprimanding him.
He had already born the brunt of their wrath, back when he had tried to perform the ritual on his own, and after weeks spent stretched prostrate on a rack, where they had sliced through his flesh with their claw like nails, almost sucked him dry of blood, and licked every part of his naked skin with their acid covered tongues, he had vowed never to allow himself to be put in that position again.
"Of course your Grace," he said, with sugary sweetness, that barely masked the contempt in his tone.
"She's still under the spell that forces her to guard her virginity," Mira said, slipping her arm around Atticus's waist. For once, he welcomed Mira's interruption.
"A spell to guard my virginity," Elise said, breaking away from his hold.
Mira broke into raucous laughter.
"Nanny Flo planted the diary with all your mother's prophecies. Most of what was there, were Jade's authentic predictions, but Nanny Flo added the virginity clause herself. Besides that, we had your legs practically spelled together for added insurance," she said between giggles. "You couldn't get it, even if you wanted to."
"You bitch," Elise screamed, taking a swipe at Mira, who easily dodged the blow. Mira swung out and there was a loud smack when she slapped Elise square across the face.
"This is to be our carrier?" Wakwak, the amber-eyed Aswang, said in a voice that could have broken glass.
Her anemic rope-like tongue, snaked from between her teeth. Almost three feet long, the lethal appendage just missed making contact with Mira. Knowing that if Wakwak started feeding on Mira, that she might not stop, Atticus shoved Mira out of reach before Wakwak's tongue made purchase. Wakwak had always been the most vo
racious of the three, and if she killed Mira, all Atticus's plans would die with her.
The force of Atticus's shove was enough so that Mira landed butt first on the sofa. Elise launched at Mira in retaliation, but Atticus easily caught her around the waist, and threw her over his shoulder.
"I do apologize for their behavior, I will take care of this," he said, directing an arctic glare at Mira, who shrank back against the couch.
Wakwak's eyes had turned a shade of crimson, and her thick tongue flicked the air a few times, before it snapped back into her mouth.
"Put me down you asshole," Elise shouted, pounding the muscles of Atticus's back, but he was so charged with adrenalin that he hardly felt the blows. He marched out of the room, and away from the Aswang. The more distance he put between he and the beasts, the more he relaxed.
He strode to Elise's room, and threw her on the bed. She bounced hard on the mattress, but was back on her feet in seconds.
"All this time I thought I was saving myself for a purpose, and it was all a damn spell..." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes glistened, but no tears fell.
"I can't believe that Nanny Flo did this to me."
Elise rubbed her temples with her fingertips, then shook her head madly. "They say Karma's a real bitch, well I guess I'm getting payback in full for all the lies I told as the Skeptic."
Seeing the expression of anguish on Elise's face stirred something in Atticus, and without thinking, he reached out and ran a thumb down the smoothness of her cheek. She flinched, and stepped back a few paces.
"I want Dakota back, and I want to go back to my apartment and my job, even if that means I have to confess that I've been lying, because nothing I have to face there is half as horrible as this."
Atticus closed the distance between them, and gathered her against him. He didn't blame Elise for being upset; it had been a rough twenty-four hours. One where she had seen him kill the old woman.
He hadn't wanted to kill her, but Elise had forced his hand. If the truth be told, he would have much rather killed the old bitch Florence instead, and when the time came, the task of eliminating her, would be as easy as running a hot knife through butter. But for now, nothing and nobody could botch the ritual. It was his last chance to make things right. He had been shortsighted when he had attempted the task on his own, years before, but not anymore, he'd had three excruciating years to plan, and nothing was going to get in his way this time. Tomorrow, when the blood moon rose, the stage would be set, and all the dominoes he had positioned would fall in quick procession.
"Don't do that, don't touch me," Elise spat, struggling to free herself from his grasp, but he held on until she finally collapsed against him.
"I don't want to die, I haven't had a chance to do anything but work. I want a life, I deserve a life..." She buried her face in his chest. Her tears wet his exposed skin, and it stirred an emotion that wasn't supposed to be in him, compassion.
"What is this?" he boomed, pushing Elise away.
He had to get hold of his feelings, and stamp out whatever emotions Dakota was stirring within him. He couldn't care about Elise; it wasn't part of the plan, yet he was having a difficult time trying to rid his mind of the urge to protect her.
"Stay here," he ordered, pointing a finger at her. "Leave this room and I'll kill everyone who lives on the road leading to this house."
He shot her a scathing stare, and she reacted as though he had hit her. She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes, distress written all over her expression, and seeing her so upset made him want to kiss every tear away and make her..."
"Fuck," he said, clutching hanks of his hair.
He stalked out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him so hard, that the whole wall rattled. The fog in his brain cleared with every step he took away from Elise, and he was thankful for the ability to remember that she was a means to an end, nothing more. He gave a mirthless chuckle, cracked his spine, and thought that a good dose of Mira's body all over him would be just the remedy for all of his unwanted thoughts.
Before he entered the living room, he braced himself to meet the beasts again, but was relieved to see that everyone had vacated the area. He wasn't thrilled that the Aswang had already arrived, because no living being in the universe could rankle him like they could, and he needed his full attention and wits about him if he was going to follow through with his plan.
With less than twenty-four hours left, his focus had to be razor sharp, it was imperative that he shield his thoughts, and keep the Aswang out of his head, and ignorant to his scheme. And that was when he remembered that he had dropped his black duffel bag when he had broken up the fight between Mira and Elise.
A surge of panic coursed through him. If Mira and Florence managed to find the suspicious item hidden in his bag, they would probably have no idea what it was for, but if the Aswang had decided to peek through his things, they would clue in immediately, and everything would be over.
He did a quick scan of the living room, and locked on the bag, a shiver of relief ran through him, when he saw that it was exactly where he had left it. He reached the bag in a few strides, snatched it up, then kept walking until he had exited the house. He had planned to hide it before the Aswang arrived, but they had taken him off guard, and now he had to make it disappear as fast as possible.
Atticus walk-ran down the gravel road, refusing to check behind him, because if he did, and someone was following, it would be a sure tip off that he was up to no good. His heart raced, and his breath felt stunted with tension, and it only made him despise the Aswang more for making him feel this caliber of fear. Only when he had almost reached the old abandoned house, did he slow his pace a little. He cut off the main road and dipped into the close-set trees, grateful for the camouflage.
The steps leading to the front door were rotten with age, and complained beneath his boots, but they held his weight when he mounted them. He turned the handle to the paneled oak door, that was cracked and peeling, and stepped into the house. The remains of the day filtered in through the jagged glass of the window frames, making them look like sharp-toothed monsters. Dust motes drifted through the air like tiny sparks of light.
The house had been stripped of furniture, and a thick carpet of filth covered the bare floors. The place where a chandelier might once have hung, had only a snarl of wires dangling from a hole in the ceiling.
As had the rest of the place, the kitchen to his left, had been stripped clean, and parts of the wooden counters and cupboards had been ripped off. Bits of wood hung on rusty hinges against empty shelves. Fragments of green and yellow paisley wallpaper peppered the walls. Mounds of debris, where rats had built nests, littered the space, and bits of broken glass, grated under the soles of his boots.
He made his way to the fireplace, that he suspected hadn't been used in a very long time. Ignoring everything but the task at hand, he knelt at the hearth and unzipped his duffel bag. He dug deep into the bag, found the edge of the fake seam that lined the bottom, and ripped the Velcro open withdrawing the bolo knife he had hidden there. He drew in a deep breath, and ran his thumb along the blade. A thin line of blood immediately sprang to the surface of his skin, he smiled, then shoved the weapon as high as he could reach, into a nook in the chimney.
With the knife safely hidden, Atticus sprang to his feet, eager to leave the place. Before he turned to leave, he heard movement behind him. Overwhelming terror reared its horrific head, and he slowly turned to face whoever had followed him. As he did, he reasoned that if it was either Florence or Mira behind him, he would have no choice but to kill them. But if on the other hand, it was one of the Aswang, he would be the one to die.
When he spotted Elise, a few feet away, staring at him suspiciously, he released a sigh of both exasperation and relief.
"I told you to stay in your room. Do I have to bring you the heads of a few more people for you to take me seriously?" he asked, rushing toward her.
He seized her should
ers in an iron grip, and gave her a violent shake.
"What were you hiding in the fireplace?" Elise asked, then shifted her head until she was peering over his shoulder at the fireplace. He shook her with so much force, that her head bobbled back and forth.
"Stay the fuck out of things that don't concern you," he growled, before releasing her.
She staggered, but regained her balance, and was on him in a second.
"Don't push me," she hissed, shoving him hard enough that he took a step back to stabilize himself. He chuckled at her fiery temper, and oddly, seeing her like that, excited him.
"Don't laugh at me," she said and slammed her palms, and her full body weight against his chest. This time he did falter and fell back. He jerked out a hand and caught the front of Elise's blouse, and she sailed down with him. Atticus landed flat on his back and it felt like something inside him had splintered, he winced in pain.
Years of dust puffed up around them and made them both cough. Elise, who had followed his graceless dive, had landed on his chest. She drew in quick breaths between hacks. After she had managed to catch her breath, she rolled off him and onto her back. Winded and recovering, the two lay still on the floor, side by side.
"Feel better now?" Atticus said, before sitting up.
Elise wheezed, and a pained expression twisted her face.
"No... I want answers...if I'm going to die, I deserve to know why," she said, between pants.
"Why would I tell you anything?" he said, then spat out the dirt that had somehow managed to get into his mouth.
Elise gave him a long stare, then threw back her head and laughed. Tears streamed down her dirt-smudged cheeks, and Atticus wondered if she had hit her head when she had fallen. When after a few minutes she hadn't stopped laughing, he poked her in the ribs lightly, her only response was to giggle harder. When her laughter finally faded, she gazed over at him. A dazzling smile curved her lips, and he wanted to kiss her.
Seemingly unaware of the effect she was having on him, Elise closed her eyes, and leaned back against her outstretched arms. She tilted her face, now splashed with healthy color, to the ceiling, and Atticus couldn't help but notice how the fading daylight cast sparkling highlights of every shade of autumn leaves through her tangle of auburn hair. Before he could stop himself, he snatched a lock of hair, and rubbed its silkiness between his fingers.
Skeptic Page 21
