by Gina Shafer
He blinks, a flash of silver before returning to their normal blue, and I’m reminded of the insidiousness that lives inside him.
“You remind me of someone,” he says.
“Who?
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He smirks.
“I would,” I say, drawing closer to him, trying to understand the recognition in his eyes when he regards me.
“There was someone once, a long time ago… a little girl. She had that same fire in her eyes that you have. It’s nice to see, ignis gerit.”
I nearly blush at the sincerity in his voice. I decide to press my luck and see what else he feels like sharing, since he’s being so open. “What happened to her?”
“I don’t know. No one does. One day she just disappeared. She was my niece.” I see resolution cross his features. He’s done talking about this.
I move on, not wanting him to go back to shaking the walls with his screams. “Where is Elijah?” I ask again.
“He will never return, girl,” McCade tells me, and I straighten.
Someone taps on the door behind me, and my eyes flick from McCade to the door before frustration and curiosity gets the best of me.
“I’ll be here,” McCade throws out, returning to his roaring as soon as the door closes behind me.
Lincoln waits sheepishly for me at the bottom of the stairs. He gestures toward the living room, and I follow him up the stairs. Obviously he has something to tell me, and he doesn’t want McCade to overhear, though he probably couldn’t over the sound of his screams.
Lincoln keeps walking when we reach the living room, and I struggle to keep up with him. As soon as we make it outside and my shoes hit the damp grass, creating little beads of water on my boots, Lincoln spins toward me.
“It’s the Sicarri,” he says gravely. “They called Soren. They can’t handle the attacks alone anymore. They’re thinking about striking a deal before more innocent people are hurt. Soren and Willow are heading there now to try and talk some sense into Marcel, but it’s not looking good.”
Lincoln’s chest moves with a deep breath, and his eyes nearly bore holes into mine. What is looking for? Some miraculous answers that will help solve this bullshit? I don’t have it. “I—”
“Before you talk, there’s something else I have to say,” Lincoln says, and by the look on his face, it’s obvious I’m not going to like it. I purse my lips, waiting.
“I have to go back to where we found Beckett, look for any clues that could possibly lead me to my daughter. I’ve followed you and Soren around, put my search on the back burner, but I can’t anymore. I have to find her, and I can’t have all of these leads sitting around while she’s rotting somewhere.” he tells me.
“We’ve been separated for decades. If there’s a chance something could be happening to her, that she’s not okay…. I just have to find her, okay? If you were a parent, you would understand that. I would do anything to rescue her.”
“Lincoln, no one ever said she’s rotting…” I say softly.
“I don’t care, Karina. We’ve been separated for decades. If there’s even a chance that something could be happening to her, that she’s not okay…I just, I have to find her, okay? If you were a parent, you would understand that. I would do anything to rescue her.”
I would be lying if I said Lincoln’s words don’t sting. They do, badly. But that doesn’t make him any less right about it. I don’t understand it, but I can relate. I would do anything to get Elijah back, and imagining that he could be gone for decades makes me sick to my stomach. “But McCade—”
“I’ve already spoken with Soren. He’s going to call and check in on you every day. You don’t answer once, and an entire Sicarri army will rain fire upon this place.” He motions behind us, to the small house we’re squatting in.
I consider it for a moment. It’s small. Old. But something about it is completely charming. The big oak tree in the front would be perfect for a tire swing. The shutters could use a coat of paint, and the front door needs fixing because the latch doesn’t close properly. But the place has character. I could imagine a family here. I could imagine Elijah here.
“I don’t know anyone more capable of keeping McCade contained than you,” Lincoln says.
“But I don’t know how—”
“It will come to you, I can promise you that. It will come,” Lincoln tells me, referring to my magic and the control I have yet to master.
I have nothing left to say to him, no more excuses. I give him a curt nod and march back to the house, leaving him without a goodbye. I’m not angry with him. I’m not angry with anyone but the demons that cause all of this strife. But I’m sick of goodbyes, and I’m sick of all this separation. It makes me uneasy, and that isn’t how I want to feel when I’m dealing with McCade.
I lift my head and trot back down into the basement, ready to find the answers.
Ready to find Elijah.
You hear me, Elijah? I’ll find you.
Slap.
“Tell me what you’re planning, or I take a fingernail,” I order, clenching the pliers I found under the kitchen sink in the hand that doesn’t sting from smacking McCade across the cheek.
In reply, he spits in my face.
I rip off his fingernail, and just for good measure, I take another one, dropping them to the floor.
His screams are all I hear as I trudge up the stairs and drop down into a chair, tossing the bloody pliers on the tabletop. I found this dinky dining table out in the shed behind the house, hosed it off, and brought it inside. It’s where I’ve been eating my meals every day for the past two weeks.
The phone rings, and I look at it. Lincoln left me a cell phone and a few other necessities before he left. Soren’s name pops up on the screen, and I stare for a moment before lifting it to my ear.
“Hey,” I say.
“Karina, is everything all right?” Soren’s voice fills my ear, and I take a deep breath, trying to remove myself from what just happened downstairs.
“Yeah….” I sigh.
“I know it’s been hard. I’m heading back today, okay?”
“Wait, what? I’m confused. I thought you were staying there to help Marcel for another week or two.” I adjust in my seat. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’ve actually been counting down the days until his return. Since I haven’t heard from Lincoln, Soren’s return is pretty much the only thing I have to look forward to anytime soon.
“I know. It’s just not working.” He hesitates. “I’ve tried to lay everything out for him. I even went as far as to rearrange all his combat moves. But he’s convinced the Sicarri will fail, and I don’t know how to bring him back from that. For now I think he’s changed his mind about making any deals. If things were different… if my dad were here—”
“Soren, you don’t have to explain.” The Sicarri are my family, and they always will be, but I’m just one person. What can one person do against an army of demons? How can we be expected to make any difference when we’re already operating at half our numbers? We’re missing Elijah, and he’s a much larger chunk of our operation—of my life—than I ever could have imagined.
Movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention. Beckett.
He stumbles in through the side door, rattling the glass pane when he bounces it against the wall. How there is still has any alcohol here beats me.
Soren’s voice rattles on in my ear, but I’m not paying attention. I’m watching Beckett stumble around the kitchen, grabbing a drink of water, spilling it on himself, and cursing up a storm. How the hell is this man my father?
“Karina, are you listening? I’m heading your way now. Should be there in an hour or so,” Soren says.
“Shit, yeah. Sorry.” I give my head a tiny shake, focusing on Soren.
“How’s McCade?” Soren asks.
“Fine, other than the fact that he’s missing two fingernails.” I groan, leaning back in the chair and holding the phone against my shoulder whil
e picking at a thread on my jeans.
Soren chuckles. “Any info yet?”
“No.” I sigh. Is it any wonder? I had to resort to bodily harm, and for what? He has no reason to talk.
“I’ll be there soon, Karina. We’ll keep trying. He’s our biggest lead so far.”
“See you soon.” I end the call, dropping the phone onto the table and sitting forward in my seat.
“Soren?” Beckett slurs.
I nod. I drag my chair across the floor so it screeches and knock it to the ground in a loud clang. Beckett regards me drunkenly.
I don’t have an explanation for my mood. It’s just bad. Awful. I’ve never missed Elijah more. I stomp across the hardwood floor, my boots stirring up a loud echo, and I don’t look back at the chair that still lays lopsided against the linoleum of the kitchen floor.
I need a break, so I walk the acreage that surrounds this house. I walk until I’ve rubbed my feet raw and a new blister emerges on my heel, red and angry. Still I don’t stop. I walk until I can’t even feel that blister anymore.
I can see the house in the distance. Beckett sits guard on the front porch, a glass of amber liquid in his hands.
I lie down in the grass, feeling the soft blades between my fingers. I’m reminded of the blades of my sword, and I pluck a piece from the earth, holding it up in the sunlight. Twisting it between my thumb and forefinger, I bring it to my nose, inhaling the scent of sweet grass.
In the next instant, something breaks inside me, and I’m not sure what it is.
I rip at the earth around me, the grass flying in clumps. The dirt packs itself under my fingernails so hard, it begins to hurt. I claw like a madwoman, taking it out on the ground below me. I sit up and punching the dirt, my tears and sweat mixing with it, creating an earthy cocktail spiked with pain.
I tear at the world until I’m exhausted and then I lie in a pile of myself until I hear Soren’s truck pull up along the long gravel driveway. The moment he skids to a stop and jumps out, slamming the truck door like he’s about to break it off the hinges, I know something is wrong.
I break into a sprint, my body just barely keeping up with my feet. I’m sure my face is covered in dried tears and dirt, but I don’t care. What if it’s something to do with Elijah? What if something happened?
“Soren!” I yell, catching his attention. His head swings towards me, and I’m close enough to see the absolute and utter grief that shrouds him. It’s almost like looking into the eyes of a fucking demon.
“What—” I start, but Lincoln interrupts me. I haven’t seen him since he left to search for his daughter, but he’s here now. What the hell does that mean? I skid to a stop in front of them. “What happened?”
“We found something,” Soren declares.
“Tell me right now.” I can barely speak.
Soren rounds the back of the truck and pops open the tailgate. I follow him, walking carefully, my eyes suddenly unblinking, even though they still sting from my breakdown earlier.
What I see….
If I had only known what horrors I was about to be faced with… that breakdown was nothing compared to how I feel right now.
The bodies of Mya and James are in the truck bed. Stiff and inhuman, they’ve been this way for a long time.
I stare. Longer than expected. My eyes searing into at Mya’s beautiful blonde locks, one small curl matted with dried brown blood. I weep. I weep so hard that I feel like I’m no longer connected to my body. l’m light-headed, like I can’t get a breath. I weep for these two innocent children.
But I never fall, and I don’t release the scream that’s sounding from somewhere deep inside of me.
No.
I wipe my face and I move, my tears halting their downpour from my eyes.
“Karina!” I hear someone call from behind me, but I’m not stopping. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure I’m physically unstoppable right now. If someone were to get in my way, I would walk right through them, I know it.
Soren and Lincoln must know that too, because they follow closely behind me and don’t stop me.
I move through the house like driftwood in the sea during a storm, angry yet peaceful. I’ve accepted my fate.
I’ve accepted drowning.
As I pass, I swipe my blade from the side table, unsheathing it on my way downstairs. I swing open the door to the basement, and without a single word, I hold the sharp end to McCade’s throat, nicking the skin.
His eyes widen as he clearly reads my volatile mood. He’s afraid, as well he should be.
Lincoln utters my name, and McCade’s eyes flick to his, breath catching.
“Why?” I ask him, redirecting his attention to me. Every muscle in my body is clenched in anger. All it would take is one slip of my blade and….
I’m met with a sinister smile. “Why what?” McCade asks. His smugness would be much more effective had I not had a blade piercing his trachea.
“The children.” I can barely speak, yet he only smirks again.
He glances at his fingertips, the ones where I earlier removed the nails, dried with blood and still quivering. “I’ve been here,” he answers.
“They’ve been dead much longer than that!” I scream in rage rising from my chest like a tsunami.
“Must have been Vara,” he says, still grinning at me.
I rear back and slap him so hard, I feel it all the way up my arm and into my shoulder. “Why? How would she know to kill them? Dammit! They were innocent!”
“And what makes them any more important than me? We’re all on our own sides, Karina. You should know that. I’m fighting for what I believe in, and so are you. What makes you right?” McCade asks, thick brows furrowing over his smoky gray eyes.
“They were children. Children should be kept out of it,” I say, tightening my hold on the blade.
“Karina.” Soren’s soft voice interrupts my anger but only for a moment. It reminds me I’m not alone in this… in my grief.
“No, Soren. I—” But I never finish, because all sound gets caught in my throat. And it doesn’t take me even a second to realize what I’ve done. I’ve said his name.
Soren.
McCade lets out a sigh and a chuckle before dropping his head. “Soren,” he whispers, laughing and shaking his head. I’ve taken the blade from his throat, though it’s still fixed on him.
I turn to Soren in shame. I’m so sorry, I mouth.
“Tell me, brother, did you teach him this little trick? Switching bodies without burning… it’s quite impressive.” McCade says, his head still downcast.
What?
For some reason, my eyes drift to Willow, all but ready to rip McCade’s head off if we say the word. Brother?
Brother…. Lincoln.
As soon as I look at his face, I know.
I just know…
“Oh, you must not have told them,” McCade says. “That demon you all love so much. The one you all claim is one of the good guys. Lincoln.” McCade spits his name. “He’s my brother, and he started this, all of this. Remember that, brother? Remember your wife, your daughter?”
Willow let’s loose a loud growl.
“Lincoln?” Soren asks, his voice so low, so fucking grave, that a shiver runs up my back.
“You’re his brother,” I say, “and you never told us? Why?”
“Soren,” Lincoln pleads.
“Get the fuck out,” Soren snarls.
“Now wait just a minute,” Beckett pleads, his hands out, like he’s trying to pacify Soren. At least this situation has sobered him up.
“You don’t get to say a word in this, Beckett. So I would back the hell up right now.” Soren grits his teeth through his words. “Don’t. Get. Involved.”
Beckett looks to me, almost like I’m going to back him up. I’m not. When he realizes this, Beckett turns and trudges back up stairs.
I sheath my sword, crossing my arms and looking Lincoln square in the face while his eyes flick between us, looking f
or a crack. He doesn’t find one. For a moment, the heartbreak on his face almost has me reaching out to him. McCade chuckles again, and my resolve is back.
“Looks like you’ve lost your family, brother. Again.”
Lincoln zeros in on him. “I should have killed you long ago. I should have taken you the same way you took my family from me. But here’s to making up for lost times,” Lincoln says, saluting his brother.
“Get the hell out of here, Lincoln. Don’t fucking come back,” Soren huffs
Lincoln spins on his heel, ducks his head, and just like that, he’s gone, and we’re no fucking closer to finding Elijah.
I let out a frustrated howl and exit the room, screaming obscenities the entire way. I move until I’m standing in front of the bodies of two innocent children, so full of life the last time I saw them that it’s difficult to connect these bodies with my memories.
How the hell did they know about these kids? How did they know it would hurt so much?
Elijah? Can you hear me? I need you, do you understand? I need you so fucking much. I will the words out into the space around me until it feels like they have weight of their own. Until it feels like they exist beyond the walls that are my lips.
I don’t get an answer, but I don’t dwell on it. There are more important things than my heart right now. I go to the shed behind the house, digging through it for an old rusted shovel I saw here a few days ago.
The next thing I do is dig. I find a spot underneath a beautiful old tree that will give the graves shade. I’m not sure why I think this is important, but I like shade better than baking out in the sun, and I think that Mya and James would appreciate it too.
After a while, Soren comes out to help, digging the second grave in half the time it takes me. By the time we finish, we’re covered in sweat and dirt and sadness.
“What do you think happened between Lincoln and McCade?” I ask. We sit on the edge of the holes we’ve just dug, sipping warm water. No ice here.
“I don’t know,” Soren whispers.
“Where do you think he’ll go?”
Soren only shrugs. I pick myself off the ground and help Soren up too. We dust off and return to the truck, carefully carrying the children to their graves. After we lay them in their permanent beds, Soren douses them in gasoline and lights their twin graves on fire.
