by Gina Shafer
“Remember Karina, deep breaths,” Soren’s tranquil voice flows through the room like a wave of smoke in the wind, nearly dispersing before it hits me. I take his words and breathe them in, so deep that my lungs burn.
Once I am calm enough, I begin. I have no words. I haven’t learned or become comfortable enough with spells that I can rattle them off the way McCade can. I’m not ready for that. For me it takes preparation, and this I haven’t prepared for.
“I feels… different,” I say, screwing my face up uncomfortably.
“It will. This time you’ll have more control. You’re ready for this,” Lincoln tells me.
I try again. I look at McCade’s drooping face, heavy with sleep. Soren knocked him out after about five minutes of him distracting me.
He looks peaceful, though. I wonder for a moment if I look this peaceful in my sleep, despite the memories that plague me. I wonder if we all do. I peer at the men around me, wondering what they look like, with their eyes shut softly, the weight of their problems set aside while they sleep.
Then I wonder if Elijah still looks the way I remember him when he sleeps. His brows almost furrowed, his soft lips full and pink, the heat that comes to him when he sleeps, and the little bead of sweat that sometimes finds its way to the small angled scar that mars his otherwise perfect face.
Then, it hits me. I feel raw energy coursing through me. The power fills me, charges me… almost burns me. Soon the wave comes. It forces its way out of me like an uncontrolled sob, and it takes everything in me to direct it toward the demon tied up in the chair. My magic rips around me, and I fight the urge to fight against it, controlling it.
A palm wraps around my shoulder, pulling me back. I hadn’t noticed until now I’d been moving closer and closer to McCade, and he’s woken up.
Panic splits the seams that bulge inside of me, holding my magic inside. Holding me inside.
“You won’t win this one. Magic or not, you’ll never be strong enough. You’ll never give him children,” McCade tells me, his voice smooth as the warmed butter my grandma used to spread on my biscuits in the morning. “You’ll never be her.”
“I never wanted to be her,” I say and then I open the floodgates. The others gasp as energy sizzles and crackles through the room. It gets hotter, brighter, and it isn’t until I look down that I realize the light is coming from me. The walls literally droop, the paint nearly melting off the wood. I wipe the sweat from my neck and focus until McCade finally gives in, slumping. His breathing becomes even, and he doesn’t move.
“Baby girl,” Beckett says from the other side of the room.
When I look at him, I realize how hot I made it. Lincoln, Soren, and Beckett are coated in sweat, their faces reddened. Willow whines, and I close my eyes, reeling in the magic that I allowed to flow freely through the space.
“I’m sorry,” I let out, as soon as I feel composed again. The air drops in temperature immediately, and I suck in cool breaths.
“You did well,” Lincoln says, passing me to stand directly in front of McCade. He pokes McCade harshly against his eye. When he doesn’t flinch or pull away, Lincoln surmises that he’s officially out.
“Let’s go,” Lincoln says. We all untie McCade. Soren and Beckett go for his feet, and Lincoln and I firmly take hold of his shoulders. Willow brushes the door open with her nose, leading the way. We lay him behind the backseat of our SUV and tie him back up. Then we set off for, well, I don’t know where we’re going. I only know we’re walking into probably one of the most dangerous missions I’ve ever come across.
We’re coming, Elijah. I force the thought out, hoping it finds the man it’s intended for. And with the start of the engine, Soren drives us into hell.
7:45.
You can imagine a hell of a lot in forty-five minutes. For instance, could they have crashed? Gotten intercepted by Sicarri? Perhaps Vara changed her mind.
I glance at my watch, the one Lincoln tossed my way about ten minutes ago when my incessant questioning of the time had finally driven him crazy.
7:46.
Where the hell could they be? Of course we’d arrived early, allowed for enough time to scope the place out, though honestly, there’s not much to see. The house Elijah grew up in looks more like a barn going through hard times during a hurricane. Pieces of the porch are broken and crumbling, most likely from termites. The roof is almost non-existent, and the house tilts to one side, as if the frame is sighing due to years of neglect.
It makes me sad, only because I know the love and family that once filled that house. The plans Elijah’s dad had to take out the demons, to give his children or grandchildren the chance at a better life.
Speaking of, my gaze rakes over Soren as I watch him battle between unease and preparation. I can almost hear the war going on inside of his head as he prepares himself for what’s to come, but expects the worst. He’s not sure if we’ll get Elijah back. He’s told me so in fewer words than that.
It’s like he doesn’t want to hope but can’t help the fact that no matter how hard he tries, hope blooms inside him at the mention of his father. And at this point I’m sure the very same is reflected in me.
I let my gaze roam freely over the vast expanse of plains that surround us. The only thing breaking up the monotony of dead grass is the small lake that in the backyard. It’s one of the darkest, deepest blues I’ve ever seen. So much so that unease drips down my spine when I look at it.
7:50.
Finally, a large charcoal gray SUV pulls up in the distance. Immediately my eyes widen and my stance changes. Defensive. That’s all I feel as we watch the car eat its way through the ground that separates us. My expression must tip off the others because they all turn, almost synchronized, toward the vehicle. Moving as one, we block the path to the still unconscious McCade, lying in the dirt behind us.
No sooner do the tires screech to a halt on the gravel does Vara pop out of the passenger seat. The sight of her fire-red hair makes my stomach roll. No matter how many times I’ve imagined her in my mind, I can never get that color exactly right. It’s burnt with a bit of orange, a startling contrast to her green eyes.
Soren is the first to speak. “Where is he?” His voice is hard and cold.
Vara communicates with her driver, who happens to be an enormous, dark-skinned, extremely gruff-looking man. I have to bite back a smile when I realize she brought her scariest-looking goon. She must be afraid; she must want to warn us off.
The man steps out of the SUV, and Vara shuffles behind him as they move to the front of the vehicle.
“Where—” Soren starts again, but Vara interrupts.
“Soren,” she says, her voice tender, almost reverent. I almost believe she’s happy to see him until I get a good look at her and realize she’s searching for McCade.
“Mom,” Soren growls, and my eyes dart to him.
He’s emotional, and I’m suddenly worried. Please don’t do anything stupid, Soren.
I shift toward him, and I feel a hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently. Lincoln gives his head a soft shake and I nod, agreeing. I’m worried about Soren, and here I am, about to give in to my own emotions. Lincoln must sense my emotions are in check because he backs off slightly.
“Come with us,” she says, lifting the side of her mouth in a gentle smile.
“Give me back Dad,” Soren barks.
“But Soren, don’t you realize? He’s not really your dad,” she says, still holding that smile.
What the fuck? Did I just hear that correctly?
Soren’s eyes narrow. Though I know he must be flooding on the inside, I can see it in his eyes when I glance at him.
The pity is, Vara see’s it too.
And so I intervene.
“Give us back Elijah, and take your bullshit somewhere else.” My teeth stay gritted through my words, and I purposely clench my hands into fists, allowing Vara to believe I’m closer to snapping than I really am.
“We’re not buying it
.” Lincoln backs me up, and I hear a groan from Beckett on my right.
Vara sneers, and her goon cracks his knuckles. “Whatever.” Some weird energy crackles through the air when she gazes at Beckett, but I’ve had about enough. I step aside, revealing McCade, and she gasps.
“What have you done?” she yells, fighting against herself to rush to him. It’s the most real thing I’ve ever seen from her, and it sends a chill down my spine.
“He’ll wake up soon, Vara. As long as you give us Elijah, we’ll make sure nothing happens to him,” Lincoln tells her, and in an instant her expression hardens. She motions to her goon, and they walk to the trunk. It pops open, and for a spilt second I feel utter terror.
What if this is a trick? There could be weapons back there, more soldiers, anything. What the hell were we thinking?
They return, carrying a body. A torn, bruised, and exhausted body.
The body of the love of my life.
Elijah.
I fight back the gasp. He’s okay. Well, he’s alive. Worn, but alive. He looks at me, at Soren, at all of us. His eyes dart between our faces like he can’t believe what he’s seeing is real. I battle against the part of me that wants to run to him, grab him, and take him as far away from here as possible.
Vara pushes Elijah down into the dirt between us, and he throws his hands out just in time to save him from landing on his face. “Bring McCade to the middle, and we’ll switch on three,” she orders.
Everyone but Beckett helps place McCade in front of Elijah. When his back hits the ground, he groans. He must be waking up, and when he does, we better be long gone.
“Okay,” Soren announces.
“On three,” Vara says, looking at us suspiciously.
“One,” Soren says.
“Two,” she says.
“Three,” Soren finishes.
We rush to the space between us, each of us grabbing hold of Elijah and pulling him as fast as we can to safety.
Once he’s behind us, he and Soren embrace in a tight hug. The shuffle must have woken McCade, because I can see his lips moving as he whispers something to Vara. He’s still weak, and Vara’s goon lifts him into the vehicle.
“You took his magic!” Vara screeches, nearly shaking the ground beneath us. Elijah throws an arm over Soren’s to steady himself.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, confused. We only temporarily stopped his magic. He should have had back now, hence the reason I’ve been itching to get the hell out of here.
“He should have never had that magic in the first place, Vara, and you know it. Your father knew it—we all did,” Lincoln says.
“Beckett, do it now!” Vara screeches.
My gun slips out of my holster, and not by my own hand.
I hear a gunshot. It’s loud, and it almost feels like it’s coming from right beside me. Strangely, I try to turn, but my body won’t cooperate. Like something has me stuck. Before I know it, I’m falling, hard, and someone catches me. Elijah, I think.
Tires screech against gravel in the distance. My shoulder hurts. I feel like falling asleep, tiredness seeping into my bones. Only before I close my eyes, Elijah’s face clouds my vision. He’s got me, and all I can think about is the comfort that envelops me being back in his arms.
“Karina, can you hear me?” His voice flows through my mind like a dandelion seed in the wind, winding and floating… dancing. I want to answer him; I want to tell him I’m okay. I’m just sleepy. Doesn’t he understand?
“I can’t believe he shot her,” Soren says, and then suddenly it’s like I’m fully awake, and I can remember what just happened.
I was watching Vara when suddenly Beckett swiped my gun from the holster at my back, the one I was keeping there in secret. He must have seen me put it on earlier. The way his hand went straight for it, he just… he had to know.
I remember now: I turned…I saw his face. His eyes were wide and full of fear when he pulled the trigger, shooting me in the pocket of my right shoulder. I saw the betrayal. He threw the gun down and scurried towards Vara, but she’d already jumped back into the vehicle. They were halfway down the road by then.
Beckett was set to run; I remember how he tensed his feet, but Elijah grabbed hold of his jacket, pulled him in tightly, and shoved that rusty nail he was holding in my vision deeply into the vein in Beckett’s neck, killing him in seconds.
I saw every moment click into place as I realized my father had been working for Vara the entire time. Working against us. My father. He’d tried to kill me. Just like my mother.
Just like my mother…And now he’s dead. Elijah killed him.
In an instant the world around me goes black.
I’m dreaming. I know it. I have to be. It’s a vision, something magical. Because I can smell him, I can feel his presence. Elijah. I open my eyes and see his face, his beautiful face. I’m nearly stunned at the sight of it.
“Hey there, sleepyhead.” His lips move like twin pillars embellished with ornate carvings, steady and sure but more delicate than I can explain. I try to move my arm, bringing my hand up to graze those lips, but pain sluices through my right side. That’s when I remember the gunshot, the look on Beckett’s face, the ruthless way Elijah stabbed that old nail into his neck. I wonder, briefly, what they did with his body.
No, I’m not dreaming… not anymore.
“You’re here,” I half whisper, half sigh into the space between us.
Elijah sits on the edge of the bed and wipes the hair from my forehead, tucking it behind my ear.
“If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to hurt myself getting to you,” I tell him, and to punctuate my sentence, pain rips through my shoulder once more.
“Still so bossy.” He laughs and leans in, lingering over my lips for a breath before those twin pillars meet with mine, crushing each other in the process. His lips feel like fire against mine, warm almost to the point of burning, and I invite in the heat, like I’ve been dying without it.
“Karina…” Elijah moans, and I can tell he’s holding back, so I push harder, fighting against the pain.
“You’re hurt,” he whispers as he pulls back, caressing my cheek.
I’m okay.
“No, you need to heal,” Elijah tells me.
“You can still hear me,” I cry, wrapping my arms around his neck and drawing him close. It’s not easy, and my shoulder fights me the entire time, but in this moment, I have to be near him.
“I heard everything,” he says as he lays tiny kisses all over my face, so gentle that it feels not much different from a light breeze.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Elijah looks over his shoulder at the door. “Come in,” he calls out to the person on the other side. The outside world is becoming real again.
The door creaks open and Soren appears. It’s only then that I take in the room. It’s strange. Floral, bubblegum pink ruffles hang over the top of the windows, and the walls are paneled with a deep cherry wood. Crocheted art pieces cover the walls with little figures of country-style houses and fruit. The bed fits the space perfectly, a yellow quilted duvet with giant magnolias patched over the whole thing. The sheets smell like fresh linen and lavender. I inhale the scent as I shimmy down farther in the bed. It’s cozy, despite the busyness of the room.
“You’re awake,” Soren says, coming in. He perches on the edge of the bed. Willow makes her appearance, shoving her way past the half-closed door and jumping on the bed. She’s careful as she inches toward me before lying down. When she’s close enough, I l give her a light scratch under her chin. I’m rewarded with a wag of her tail.
“How are you feeling?” Soren asks, smiling.
Elijah’s brow furrows as he reaches up and feels my forehead, like I’m a child who might have a temperature. I try in vain to swat his hand away. As much as I find his presence and care comforting, I can’t stand being fawned over like this.
“I’m fine, to all of you,” I say, biting back a smile when Elijah and
Soren look at me sheepishly. Willow lets out a huff and lies on her side, closing her eyes. “What the hell happened anyway? How did we get here?”
“Well after your—after Beckett, we escaped as quickly as we could. I held you in my arms in the back of the car, and Lincoln drove all night while Soren and I worked to stop the bleeding in your shoulder. He brought us here. An old friend of his said we could stay as long we needed to,” Elijah explains.
“What did you do with him?” I ask, obviously referring to Beckett.
“By now he’s fish food in my grandparents’ lake. We didn’t want the thought of him following you here,” Soren tells me. “Should have known it would, still.”
I swallow hard, imagining my father floating, bloated with water as fish pick at him. I fight back a disgusted shudder and bite back tears that shock me with their appearance. “And where the hell are we?” I laugh, trying to break the intensity in the room, gesturing to the pink ruffled curtains.
A heavyset woman barges in, brushing past Soren and taking Elijah’s place on the bed next to me. “You’re in my house, ma’am. And while you’re here, you ain’t to bleed on these nice new sheets I just acquired.” She looks to be in her mid-fifties, with crazy, wiry blonde hair on the verge of going gray. She has a long scar down the side of her face.
I’m sure I look as frazzled as feel when I turn my head to Elijah trying to gauge his reaction. By the looks of it, he’s used to this routine by now because all he does is step back, grabbing hold of the bandages the woman brought in with her.
“I’m gonna have to remove your shirt now, and it ain’t gon’ feel very good. You can bite down on the this rag here.” She gestures to her hands with her head and I follow the movement. She waves a floral dishcloth with lace around the edges. “Or you can do without it. Either way, I promise I’ll be outta your hair as fast as you can yelp.”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I try my best not to offend with my tone, but this woman is about to take my shirt off, and I can already feel that I’m not wearing a bra, so I’d like to at least know her name.
