Skeptic

by Denise Mathew

  "She had her reasons, most of which I'll never know...but when she fixed me..." He paused, his face softened, and his eyes brimmed with tears. He swiped at his eyes with a fist, and huffed. "This teary eyed shite is one thing I could do without," he said.

  I locked onto his profile. "You mean when she brought you back to life?"

  He nodded, and a single tear trailed down his chiseled cheek, and it was almost beautiful to witness.

  "That, and something else…she mended something that I hadn't known was broken." Suddenly his jaw tightened, and his face turned to stone. "That bitch Florence, forced your mother to do something horrible to me, when I was just a baby and it wasn't right. Damn her to hell for what she did to you, and me...but I'll make sure to send her to the Underworld someday soon, that's a promise."

  He gripped the steering wheel, until his knuckles turned white.

  "What are you talking about?" I asked, more confused than before.

  He ground his teeth together, as if he were chewing on something tough.

  "We all have good and evil within our being, it's never equal portions, there's always an uneven balance of one or the other, and it effects who we are and what we do. Depending on the balance, a person could be a serial killer or a saint, but most people fall somewhere in between. Then there's free will, upbringing, nature versus nurture. But what if the balance was tipped only one way?" he asked, glancing over at me.

  I opened my mouth, not sure where he was going with the question.

  "You'd have something like me," he said, and pain rippled across his face.

  "I don't understand."

  He swallowed a few times.

  "Your Nanny Flo knew that Jade could cast a spell that no one else could, and she and the Aswang forced your mother to split my soul into two pieces, separating the evil and good. They bound the good, or what you knew as Dakota, and nurtured the Atticus part of me, the part that had no conscience, just a never-ending thirst for power, and essentially turned me into a psychopath."

  The anguish in his expression told me that he believed wholeheartedly what he had just told me, and I couldn't help but pity him.

  "I didn't think that was even possible..." I started to say.

  "Magick makes many things possible," he said, creasing his brow. "And with the things I've done, I should know."

  Before I could stop myself, my hand was on his cheek, and he leaned into my touch, his skin cool against mine.

  "So what does that mean, who are you and where's Dakota?"

  The question sounded stupid even to me.

  He shrugged and sighed heavily, then covered my hand with his, kneading my fingers.

  "To be honest, I don't really know. Dakota is in me, part of me, not separate anymore, but I'm not him. I was Atticus for too many years to be anyone else, but it's different, because now I have all Dakota's desires and feelings entwined with mine and..."

  He paused, and drew in a long breath. "It's pretty fucked up."

  I blinked a few times, trying to absorb everything. I wondered if he felt like a schizophrenic who assimilated all their personalities into one.

  "There's a gas station," he said, pointing ahead, and I was thankful for the diversion. We pulled into the fully automated station. It had a substantial convenience store, and from what I could see, was open.

  Atticus parked. "Hang on for a second, while I nip in and get you something to change into."

  Before I could answer, he threw open the door, and stepped out. He went around to the back of the car, and popped open the trunk, retrieved a black duffel bag, and disappeared inside the store with the bag in his fist. Seeing how tattered and bedraggled he looked, I wondered how he was going to get in and out, without someone calling the police on him.

  I glanced down at my own clothes, and noted that I didn't look much better. I chewed my lip, and crossed my legs, since my bladder was now near bursting. Not long after, Atticus strode toward the car with a couple of grey plastic bags clutched in one fist, and the duffle in the other. His hair was wet and spiky, and he had ditched his black gown, and was wearing a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, that hugged his chest, and his combat boots.

  "I got you some new clothes, and some snacks for the road. But you should change as fast as you can. I don't want to spend too much time here, just in case anyone is on our trail," he said, shoving one of the grey bags my way. "There's a bathroom around the back."

  He motioned with his hand.

  I stared down at the bag, then up at him. Where in his gown had he managed to stash his wallet? As far as I knew, we had left the house with just the clothes on our backs, and even with that fact aside, how had he managed to buy new clothes without causing a ruckus?

  "How..." I started, and he placed a long finger against my lips.

  "You'd be surprised at how handy Glamour spells can be in times like these, and as far as my clothes go, I always keep a spare set in the trunk for emergencies."

  I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. I hadn't actually heard about keeping extra clothes in the trunk for emergencies, maybe a spare tire and a medical kit but...

  "A Glamour spell?"

  He nodded, and shot me an impish grin, and I shook my head. Without another word, I exited the car, and made my way to the bathroom behind the station.

  The single room bathroom, stank of urine, and cherry air freshener, but would serve my purposes. I locked the door behind me and stared into the rectangular metal-framed mirror, positioned above the tiny sink. Florescent lights buzzed overhead, and highlighted my paper white skin, and the blackish-blue circles beneath my eyes. There was dried blood on my face and neck, and my gown was blood soaked and stiff. I sifted through the plastic bag, and found a grey sweat shirt that said Born to Ride, navy sweat pants, that just managed to stay above my hips, cotton panties two sizes too large, white sports socks, and white canvas runners.

  I used a bar of soap and travel size bottle of shampoo to wash the blood, bits of flesh, and things I didn't want to know about, out of my hair, and off my body. Even though it was a spit shine, it lifted my spirits to finally be rid of the clothes. By the time I left the bathroom, dressed in my new attire, with damp hair, and smelling like mint toothpaste and cheap shampoo, I almost felt human again.

  I made my way back to the car, hitching at my pants with every step I took. Before I reached it, Atticus jumped out, and held the passenger side door open for me. He smirked.

  "You look great," he said, closing the door after me, then jumped into the driver seat and geared out of the parking lot. I was surprised at the grin that curved my lips, and the laugh that bubbled out of me.

  "I guess anything's better than blood and cotton," I said sarcastically, but as soon as I had, I regretted it. How could I joke so cavalierly about the blood that had been his?

  Determined to keep my mouth shut, I relaxed back against the black leather seat, and closed my eyes.

  "It wasn't your fault you know," Atticus said quietly. I opened my eyes.

  "You were under a spell, and there was nothing you could have done, hell if they'd have told you to kill a baby you would have."

  Though I knew he was trying to make me feel better, I shuddered at the image his words conjured.

  "They've had years of experience in witchcraft and other sorcery," Atticus said.

  "I just wish it had never happened," I said, trying to shut out the memories. "Every time I close my eyes I see..." My voice broke, and I couldn't go on, because I knew if I did I would start crying.

  "If it's any consolation I've done worse things than you can imagine, and I wasn't under a spell when I did them... and it's pretty damn hard to accept, but what else can I do. I have to believe that it will eventually get easier."

  His words hit home, and assuaged my guilt infinitesimally. Since any more discussion of his shady past would have probably freaked me out, I changed the subject.

  "I know the ceremony didn't go as expected, but if it had, what would have happened?"
>
  Atticus kept his eyes focused straight ahead.

  "I was supposed to drain your latent magickal power and with it your life force. Since it was supposed to be too much for me to contain, I was going to impregnate Mira, then release our combined magickal power and life force into the child."

  "Child? Is Mira pregnant?"

  His eyebrows knit together.

  "No, she isn't pregnant, the plan was that we would copulate and create life. Mira's been on both standard medicine, and fertility drugs for a while, not to mention that the Aswang were going to perform some very powerful spells to ensure success."

  I shook my head. " I don't really see Mira as the motherly type..."

  "Oh she wasn't going to let the baby go to term," Atticus cut in. "When the baby had grown sufficiently, the Aswang called Tyanak, was going to suck it out of Mira and absorb the magickal power."

  "But you just said the magick was too much for any one person to contain," I said, disgusted by how truly depraved they all were.

  "Elise, the Aswang aren't people, they're monsters, and they're also the only living sorcerers, strong enough to contain the energy because of their vampiric anatomy."

  He massaged his temples, as if he had a headache coming on.

  "I see everything so differently now and I..."

  His lips quivered, before he regained control. "How could I have been part of it all?" His breath hissed out between his teeth.

  I laid a hand on his forearm, and felt his muscles tense beneath my fingers.

  "Why would they all go through so much trouble, why couldn't the Aswang just drain us themselves?"

  Atticus smiled thinly. "Only druids have the power to manipulate magickal energy and life force."

  I brushed my thumb over his skin, and he seemed to relax a little.

  "And the Aswang can only get their magickal power from unborn babies."

  I grimaced. "That's really disgusting."

  "I have to agree with you there," he said, grinning half-heartedly.

  "They seem pretty damn powerful already, why do they need more?"

  "To do the one thing that up until now has eluded them. They want to get their hands on the Cauldron of Magick."

  "I thought you'd made that story up, since it sounded too much like the Holy Grail to be real."

  "The Cauldron is the Holy Grail."

  He cast his gaze my way. "And it's not just a story, it exists. I've seen it with my own eyes, at a safe distance of course, and the energy I felt when I was near it, was like a mix of pure adrenalin, the most intense orgasm possible, with a side of absolute ecstasy..."

  He closed his eyes briefly, and breathed in, then released a mirthless laugh. "And you know how the rest of the ceremony was supposed to go."

  I nodded.

  "I'm just lucky your mother intervened and stopped me. If I had absorbed your energy and it combined with mine, I would have imploded, it's just too much for a mortal to handle."

  The mention of my mother put me on edge, but I forced the emotions away.

  "Will they try again?" I asked.

  Atticus nodded. "I would put money on it." His eyebrows hiked up. "They'll need to regroup of course, but I'm sure they'll come back swinging. They'll want revenge for Wakwak's death, which means I now have a bounty on my head. The spell that they cast on you, showed how much they want me dead."

  His words frazzled my nerves even more, but Atticus didn't seem bothered.

  "Aren't you scared they'll catch up with you?" I said.

  He nodded.

  "I'd be a fool if I wasn't, but I can't let fear paralyze me. I need to strategize and..."

  He straightened in his seat, and a satisfied smile spread across his face.

  "We're here," he said. I turned my focus back to the road. I had been so engrossed in what he was telling me, that I hadn't noticed that we'd veered off the main stretch. The sun was just beginning to set on the horizon, and was shockingly beautiful against the backdrop of the countryside, that was nothing more than long stretches of golden hay, rippling in the wind.

  "But I thought you were taking me to my mother's house," I said, studying the fields for a sign of life.

  "It's there," he said, pointing to a spot in the distance. I followed his finger, and locked on the center of the sea of hay.

  "Where..." I started to say, but the words stayed on my lips when Atticus waved his hand in the air. Sparks of blue and silver electricity, jumped from one finger to the next, and the scent of ozone filled the air. I watched as the fields shimmered, like a mirage in the desert, then a gravel road leading up a steep hill, appeared in front of us.

  "Nice trick," I said, more than a little freaked out by Atticus's abilities.

  The car climbed the road, then crested the hill, and a quaint cottage, much like I had always pictured the cottage in Snow White and the seven Dwarfs would have looked, came into view. It wasn't a large place, probably only a few rooms in total, but the lush, well-tended gated garden, showed me that the owner had been an avid gardener. The roof was terra cotta, and the shingles that covered the exterior looked to be whitewashed wood. The single pane asymmetrical windows, had teal blue shutters, and a misshapen chimney, completed the storybook appearance perfectly.

  "Shoot," I whispered. "Did you make it appear like that?"

  "No, it was there, I just removed the cloaking spell. To be honest, it was more instinct than planning," he said, shrugging. "I think your mother left quite a bit of herself in me."

  He winced, and cut me a sidelong glance. "Sorry, this must be hard for you..."

  I dismissed his words with a shake of my head.

  Atticus stopped just a few feet from the glossy red front door. Its pewter knob and hinges gleamed as if they had recently been polished. Suddenly, a multitude of emotions surged through me, and made my head spin. I imagined how different it would have been to grow up in this house, to have known my mother by more than a name, and bitterness burned in my chest. Everything was happening so fast, that I was having trouble keeping up.

  I slipped out of the car, even before Atticus turned off the ignition. I moved quickly to the front door, driven by the need to see who my mother had really been. When I tried the handle, it clicked open, and the door swung wide. The aroma of fresh bread, and apple pie, wafted out around me.

  I took a step forward, but before I was all the way over the threshold, a ghost flickered and materialized in my path.

  "Tansy," I said, to the spirit who was as frumpy and harmless as she had been the night I had seen her die. All I could feel, was pity for the woman who had been sacrificed to satisfy Nanny Flo and Mira's voracious need for power.

  "Don't go in there," Tansy said, waving her specter hands in front of her ample bosom. Her eyes were wide with warning, but even as my brain registered the message, I was over the threshold.

  "Well, fancy meeting you here," Mira purred.

  Her face showed a mix of surprise and amusement, as if she hadn't expected me, but was glad I had come all the same.

  She cast her gaze over my shoulder, as if she were looking for someone.

  "How did you get..?" I started to say, but the rest of my sentence stayed trapped in my throat, as the answer to my question came to me with sickening clarity.

  "Atticus," I said in barely a whisper. Mira's nostrils flared, and her top lip curled into a sneer.

  And that's when I knew that it had all been lies. Atticus had led me into Mira's trap, and as the saying went, three times was the charm, my luck had run out.

  30. ELISE

  The house was dimly lit and sparsely furnished, with a dusty blonde wooden table, and a matching chair. There were no appliances, and the ceiling was a mass of cobweb-covered bare rafters, daylight peeked through several holes in the roof. A single naked bulb burned overhead, and flies buzzed in the stifling space. The smell that had at first been enticing, had shifted to something between spoiled food and rotten meat. There were doorways to other rooms, but it was too dark
to see inside them.

  Mira threw her arms up into the air, and a cloud of smoke formed over her head. She snatched it out of the air as though it were solid, then tossed it toward the door. There was a sound of splitting wood behind me, but I didn't bother turning around, instinctively knowing that I needed to keep my sights trained on Mira.

  She was skinnier than before, her face gaunt and strained. Her eyes were dark, almost inhuman. She wore no makeup, and her skin had lost its healthy glow and had a sickly grey undertone. The lilac and black flowered halter dress she wore, was smudged with dirt and grime, and her hair was flat against her scalp, with thin patches where it looked as if clumps had been yanked out. The bandage that covered her broken arm, was half falling off and filthy, but more disturbing than her appearance was the hint of fear in her gaze.

  I slowly backed away, but I hadn't moved very far, when I slammed hard into what felt like a rock wall. I spun around. An undulating barrier that looked like heat rising from asphalt on a hot day, blocked my way.

  "You're not getting away this time, you little bitch," Mira said, with a maniacal laugh.

  "Where's Nanny Flo?" I asked.

  Sorrow flickered across her face, but before it had a chance to take hold, she transformed it into a cold, hard, glower.

  "Gone," she said, in a low voice, laced with hatred. "And as always, it's all because of you."

  My eyebrows knit together, and the instant rage that made my blood boil, surprised me.

  "Because of me?" I said.

  Her eyes turned wild and unfocused, and she wrung her hands together in a distinctly un-Mira way.

  "It was always about you...you and your damn mother. I have power in my blood, but no, she decided to shove me and my mother aside, and take in that mongrel you call a mother. It's not right, blood should be stronger than anything else."

  "What are you talking about?" I asked, bewildered.

  She skewered me with her stare, and for a second her eyes appeared to have turn from brown to coal black.

  "Nanny Flo is my great aunt, she's my blood, but instead of giving my mother and me a place in her home, in her heart, she chose to shove us aside, and treat us like second class citizens."