Skeptic

by Denise Mathew

  "What happened," he said, his breath catching.

  "I froze time, but I connected with you, so you didn't succumb too," Jade said.

  She swept her hand forward, and grasped his forearm.

  "I will overlook what you planned to do to my daughter, but only because you will be her protector from here on out."

  Atticus almost laughed. Protecting Elise, or anyone else for that matter, was absurd, but he knew to nod in response.

  "There are things they don't know about her, about who her father was. I've hidden the truth for so many years, but I fear they are getting close to discovering what will make her as valuable as they once thought I was. I know they will figure it out, it's just a matter of time," Jade continued, desperation in her eyes.

  "Her father? But he's dead isn't he," Atticus said.

  Her lips curved and she shook her head.

  "I won't tell you any more, words have power, and once spoken they are carved into the universe for anyone to view."

  She cut her eyes to the Aswang who remained in suspended animation.

  "I have to work quickly."

  When she turned to him again, her face lit with a smile so brilliant and entrancing, that she seemed to glow. She placed her hands against the fabric of his gown, and he felt the heat of her touch on his chest, as if they were flesh to flesh. Though her hands didn't move, something beneath them seemed to hook and bore into his sternum. The pain was immediate and excruciating, and although he tried to move away, he felt like a fly tangled in a web. Acid seemed to fill his veins, pumping through him, scorching every part of him, until every nerve ending in his body screamed in agony. He cried out, his voice wrought with distress, but she didn't stop.

  "Please," he managed to whisper, locking on her eyes, that had somehow transformed into radiant blue gems.

  Jade didn't answer, continuing to psychically sift through his body, and it felt nothing short of having his internal organs sliced and diced. He threw his head back, arched and writhed to be free, yet he and Jade stayed glued together. Then as quickly as it had come, the pain lifted, and a rush of overwhelming insight, washed over him. He knew exactly what she was doing and though it hurt, it was a necessary pain.

  Then he was shuttled back to a time when he had been so very tiny and scared. The younger version of Florence grinned down at him. She placed her wrinkled hands on his head, and it felt wrong. The Aswang were there too, showing the teenager Jade what they wanted her to do. And even with his infantile mind, Atticus recognized the fear marring Jade's innocent face, and that she didn't want to hurt him.

  "No," Atticus murmured.

  He began to relive what Jade had done to him, how she had cleaved his soul into two parts, then bound the light part of it, while giving the dark domain. He hadn't been born without a conscience, Jade had created him, and had essentially turned him into a monster that the Magickal circle could use to do things that no one with a sense of right and wrong, would ever do.

  Everyone had sworn to him that he had been born that way. They had told him that he was special, and that even if he had wanted it, it wasn't possible to fix his soul, because the caliber of magick required to perform such a feat didn't exist. But as the thought formed in his brain, he knew they had been lying, because not only was it possible, Jade was doing it. Somehow she was fusing the pieces of his shattered soul back together. Where once there had been two, now there would be one, and it frightened him, because when Dakota's thoughts and feelings became his, how would he know who he was anymore?

  "I'm sorry for what I did to you all those years ago," Jade said, in a soothing tone.

  As a tear slid down Atticus's cheek, the first of his life, all Dakota's love and devotion for Elise, rushed through him, mingling with the parts that had once only been Atticus. And he knew everything and nothing, and what once had been foreign, became familiar. In the end as the final bits of his soul reconnected, he felt something he had never truly experienced before, peace.

  28. ATTICUS

  "Atticus," Jade said, her voice fraught with urgency.

  Atticus blinked open his eyes. It took him a few moments to gauge where he was, but as soon as he did, he knew exactly what he had to do. When Jade had repaired his soul, she had shared a swath of knowledge with him, and he now knew all her plans, but more importantly, he saw how his quest for infinite power would have killed him, if she hadn't intervened.

  He locked on Jade, who was just a few feet from him. She was drenched with sweat, and her face was distorted with strain, it was obvious that the spell she had cast to freeze time, was draining her. Atticus sprang to his feet, raced to the fireplace, and retrieved the bolo knife. Even before he made his way back to Jade, she collapsed into a heap. Knowing he had run out of time, Atticus charged at his targets, just as the Aswang reanimated.

  When they saw the bolo knife, the only weapon that could kill them, they hissed and began to transform. But since they had recently gorged themselves on the witch, their shift was sluggish, and it gave Atticus the leeway he needed. Before they completed their change, Atticus reached Wakwak, and in one quick move stabbed her through the back, between her wing buds, knowing it was the only place where she was vulnerable. The blade bit deep into her sinewy flesh, but when Atticus tried to pull it free to stab the others, he found it was stuck. Struggling to dislodge the blade, Atticus wasn't focused enough to dodge Wakwak, who even in the throes of death, managed to rake her talons across his chest, ripping strips of his flesh away, as if they were tissue paper. He was sure that if she hadn't been near death, she would have easily tore his heart from his chest, instead of just injuring him.

  Wakwak continued thrashing like a captured animal. Her eyes flashed red, then switched to the more human amber. As the life sped from her body, her talons retracted, her hair turned pure white, her body withered, becoming a papery shell, and the bolo knife slipped out of her back with a soft sucking sound. Atticus heard the gasps in the room, followed by cries of distress.

  He spun to face Tyanak and Kikik, clearly too stunned by their sister's sudden death to retaliate. But even as Atticus raised the still bloody bolo over his head to strike the next one down, they both screeched, and their wings sprang from their backs. Their wingspan was too wide for the confined space, and their leathery appendages knocked over both people and candles in their path. The ancient wooden floor quickly ignited, and the hundreds of wax candles acted as catalysts for the spreading fire. Acrid smoke clouded the room, and only served to cause more panic and confusion, as everyone made a mad dash for the exit. The clot of people attempting to flee, slowed the Aswang enough that they were unable to get their claws on Atticus.

  Seeing their full focus on him, and hearing their crazed screeches and squawks, brought all the memories of his past torture at their hands to the forefront, and fear paralyzed him. Unable to move, he saw both Kikik and Tyanak begin to make headway against the throng of people in their path, and he knew he was running out of time.

  He turned toward the closest window, just feet from him. Panic finally gave way to his survival instincts, and he wrapped his gown around his fist, and knocked away the last shards of glass in the window frame. Just as he swung one leg over the ledge, he felt a hand clasp his bicep, and he whirled around with the bolo knife posed for attack, but when he saw Jade, he lowered his weapon.

  "Get Elise and go as far away from here as you can, I'll deal with the Aswang," Jade said. Her eyes were dull, her skin almost colorless.

  Atticus scanned the room, and realized that most of the magickal leaders had already managed to escape, and unimpeded, Kikik and Tyanak drew closer. Smoke was rapidly overtaking the house, as the fire raged unchecked.

  "No, come with me, they'll kill you for your betrayal," Atticus said, but Jade pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

  "Protect my daughter," she said.

  Over Jade's shoulder, Atticus saw that Kikik had closed the distance between them, and was now just a few feet away. Flames li
cked the air, and had already ignited parts of the ceiling. Smoke burned his eyes, and lodged in his throat, making him cough violently, and he knew that he had to get out of the house before the poisoned air overcame him. Without another word, Jade spun to face Kikik, and suddenly a shimmering wall that looked like it was made of water, appeared in front of her.

  Atticus popped his head outside, sucking a long drag of clean air, and judged the drop down was about ten feet. He swung both legs out over the ledge, and let his body fall into the overgrown grass below. He landed hard, the bolo knife, skittering out of his grasp. Pain raced up his shins, but with no time to spare, he ignored it, left the knife where it had landed, and broke into a lurching run.

  When he approached Elise's house, he noticed that the outdoor lights, and a few interior lights were illuminated. Breathless, he pressed on, using whatever dregs of energy he had left. When he spotted his car, still parked in the driveway, his heart leapt with hope. But his optimism dimmed when he saw that Nanny Flo's truck was gone, and the screen door was now hanging by one hinge.

  He took the steps three at a time, and hollered Elise's name. Once inside, he dashed from one end of the house to the other. When there was no answer, and no sign that Elise had been there, fingers of cold dread trailed down his spine, and he wondered if Nanny Flo and Mira had taken her somewhere with them. With one place left unchecked, and his heart pounding erratically, Atticus raced to the garage.

  The lock on the door was gone, and lights flickered within. Scared of what he might find inside, he threw back his shoulders, and stalked forward. Even before he passed over the threshold, the pungent tang of burning herbs, and fresh blood, assaulted his senses, and his tension quadrupled, when he saw a black-cloaked figure facing the altar. Fresh blood dripped from the edge of the slab surface, and Atticus knew that someone or something had been killed there recently.

  Before he could say, or do anything, the woman whirled around, and he was beyond relieved to see a flash of auburn hair, and Elise's marble white face beneath the hood. He took a step forward, but when she threw out her hand to stop him, his grin fell away. He gazed into her vacant eyes, that seemed blind to his presence.

  "She's gone, and you'll never find her," Elise said, in a robotic tone.

  "Who?" Atticus demanded.

  "Nanny Flo," she said, staring at a space a few feet to his right, as if someone was there.

  "I don't care about her, I'm here for you," Atticus said, taking a step closer.

  Elise's face contorted, then went slack.

  "No." Her voice was less than a whisper.

  "What's wrong with you?"

  Elise's expression remained inscrutable, but she extended her arms to him mechanically. Warning bells sounded in his head, but he ignored them, reasoning that she was still doped up from whatever they had given her before. He pulled her rigid form against his chest, and released a relieved sigh, before planting a kiss on the top of her head.

  "Get away from me," she barely breathed, clinging to the back of his gown.

  Atticus cupped her chin, tilting her face to his, and he saw torment flash briefly across her face.

  "We need to go," he said.

  He guided her out of the garage, and just before they were out, he spotted a decapitated chicken thrown in a corner. The puddle of blood pooled beneath its severed neck, said the kill was fresh, and he was sure that Mira and Nanny Flo had managed one more spell, before they had fled.

  With Elise's hand firmly in his, he moved as quickly as he could, toward the house. They made their way through the deserted hallways, and toward the spare room, where he had left his suitcase. He found the door to the room shut tight, and even before he opened it, he prayed that the keys were still where he had left them.

  Atticus waited until they were both in the room, before releasing Elise's hand, then flung the thin mattress, and dusty bedspread, away from the metal-framed bed. A relieved smile spread across his face, when he spotted the car keys, and he quickly snatched them up, and spun around to leave. And that was as far as he got.

  The blade of the athame cut him deep, and judging by the pain in his chest, it had punctured his heart. His keys tumbled from his hand, making a soft jingle when they hit the hardwood floor. He heard his heartbeat, that had just moments before, been pounding a staccato in his temples, slow down. Blood bubbled from his mouth, and even without looking he knew it was pouring from his chest too. As he fell to his knees, with the knife still planted in his chest, Elise pushed the handle even deeper, and he stared at her in utter disbelief.

  He blinked his eyes a few times, trying to will away the curtain of darkness, that he knew he would never wake up from, yet it kept coming. He touched her hand, leaving a stain of red on her fair skin. His mouth filled with the taste of copper pennies, and a gurgle sounded in his throat.

  With the last vestiges of his strength, he latched his eyes on hers, pleading for her to stop. But even as he gave in to death, Elise shot him a malicious grin, and gave the blade a final twist in his chest.

  "Goodbye," she said, and as Atticus fell sideways on the floor, the chilling sound of her hysterical laughter rose to a crescendo, until it filled every crevice of the old house.

  29. ELISE

  I watched as the life drained from Atticus or Dakota whoever he was, and every part of me wanted to stop what I was doing, pull the blade out, because I didn't want to kill him. I felt my lips curl into a snarl, and heard my crazed laughter pierce the air, but it wasn't my voice, it couldn't be mine, because that would mean that I was enjoying what I was doing.

  The smell of blood was all around me, hot, thick and nauseating, and I liked it. When the blade of the athame hit his backbone, it made a revolting clunk, and the muscles in my forearm juddered. I knew I was having a nightmare and soon I would wake up, and see that it had all been just a horrible dream.

  His body fell with a dull thud, and now flat on his back, his eyes stared straight up at the ceiling. I gripped the athame with two hands, and drove the point deeper, until my palms were flush against the muscles of his chest. Blood coated my hands and forearms, and giggles slipped from my mouth.

  I jerked the blade out of his limp body, then drove it in again and again, until my arms grew tired, but still I stabbed him. Even more blood sprayed my face and hair, and when my arms were too weak to stab anymore, I spread open the gaping hole in his chest, reached in to finger his insides, searching for his heart so I could rip it from his chest. When I couldn't find his heart, I painted my face and body with his blood. Tears streamed down my face, and I wanted to stop. I prayed for someone to pull me away.

  "What have you done?" A shrill voice said from behind me, but I couldn't stop, I had to make sure he was really dead.

  "Stop Elise, now, I command you."

  A tingle began behind my eyes, like a precursor to a migraine. The feeling spread through my head, but instead of pain I felt a feather soft tickle gather at the back of my eyes, then move up and around my scalp, then it went back down my shoulders and to my spine, down my arms and legs, and finally exploded deliciously out my fingertips and toes. I fell to my side and released the athame. The sound of my insane laughter died, and I rolled away from the body, repulsed by what I had done.

  "Kill me," I said in a hoarse whisper, then curled into a ball, squeezing my eyes shut.

  I wanted to escape the spoils of my insanity, but even with my eyes closed, I saw the macabre scene replay like a too real, horror movie. I jerked away from the hand on my shoulder, and my sobs filled the silence.

  "It's okay my sweet." I heard my mother say, and I wanted to scream. Because I had no right to kindness. I was an animal who needed to be put down for what I had done.

  "It wasn't you Elise," she murmured in a tone, that given different circumstances might have comforted me.

  "I...I killed him," I managed between choking sobs. Just saying the words made the already unbearable pain, worse.

  "It wasn't you, Florence and Mira cast a
spell on you and..."

  "He's dead and I killed him," I shrieked, pulling my knees against my chest.

  I felt her hand leave my arm, and I thought she had left me, too revolted at what I had done to be around me.

  Suddenly my mother began to sing, her voice soft and melodic rose, as the most beautiful song that I had ever heard, filled the air. Though I didn't recognize the foreign words, the harmony was familiar, as if I had heard it many times before.

  As she sang I felt a soft breeze stir the air, and I cracked open my eyes. My mother straddled the body, her long legs were pale against the ebony of his gown. As she sang her mournful ballad, she separated the shreds of fabric and pressed her hands against Atticus's mutilated chest, and as soon as she did, she threw back her head, and her eyes rolled until just the whites showed.

  Her spine arched, and her flaxen hair quivered in the breeze that was quickly gaining strength. The single window in the room shattered into a million slivers of sparkling glass, but instead of spraying into the air the pieces floated like a multitude of diamonds, before falling soundlessly to the floor. The bed and all the furniture flew against the walls, glued into place by what seemed like a tornado force wind, but oddly, other than a ruffle of my hair, I was unaffected.

  Her face turned grey and her whole body shook as if she were having a seizure, but even more dramatic than her torturous movements, was the wave of red, that looked suspiciously like blood, pouring down her arms and into the wounds on Atticus's chest. And I watched in awe, as color filled his waxen face.