by SF Benson
Last night, Antoinette was in the emergency room, but she should be in a room by now. I recall the girl with the broken body and soulful chestnut-brown eyes. Instead of the crimson trail covering her face at the scene of the accident, I envision a smile. Something tugs at me, gathering my particles. Suddenly, I’m on a quiet floor. In front of me is a solid white door. Passing through the surface, I see the monitors. I listen to their steady beep. She’s still comatose.
Antoinette’s family is with her. Perched on the edge of the bed is an attractive older woman—most likely her mother. She holds her daughter’s hand as the tears curve down her face. Pacing back and forth is a man on a cell phone.
“No, Antoinette’s not awake. She’s still in a coma… Doctors say it’s too early to tell… No. There’s swelling in her brain… Her spine is broken along with her legs and an arm.”
Not good news. Tuning out the rest of the conversation, I drift over to the bed. Antoinette’s body is braced, and a plaster cast is on her right arm. Around her head is a bandage. Deep down, my heart aches. It’s more than that. Pain like I’ve never felt before weighs on me.
Why?
In my lifetime, I have seen plenty of people die, and not once did it move me. Not once did it motivate me to help someone. Viewing death was no more horrendous than watching a dagger slip and accidentally cutting someone. Yes, I admit it’s a callous and cold way of seeing the world, but it’s the kind of young man I was back then.
At twenty-three, I was the youngest Praetorian Guard. My purchased commission was another example of how life was handed to me. The status had its perks, however. Beautiful women along with the best wine and food and even the best chariot during races. I lived the good life, and I never thought twice about anything I did. I thought I was above the law. Hell, I was the law. But who could blame me for my illicit behavior. My easy life came courtesy of my parents. Blame them.
Antoinette’s father speaks to his wife and disrupts my thoughts. “That was Rob.”
Who is Rob?
“Is he coming to the hospital?” her mother asks.
The man’s jaw clenches along with his fists. “No. You’d think her boyfriend would want to be here. I shouldn’t be updating him over a goddamned phone!”
“Matt, watch your tone.” The woman pats his hand. “We don’t know what Antoinette can hear.”
He jerks his hand from his wife and rakes it through his hair. “Oh please, Natalie. She can’t hear anything right now. I’ll be back. I need some air.”
A ripple passes through me as Mr. Leoni storms out, leaving his wife staring at the floor. If anyone ever asks why I did what I’m about to do, blame it on her tears. I’ve always been a sucker for a woman crying.
Spirits have one rule and one rule only—do nothing to change a human’s life. We can scare. If our tactics alter a person’s existence, then it’s considered a consequence. But under no circumstance can we choose to intervene. Fortunately for Antoinette, I remain above the law. My intervention won’t transform my afterlife.
Healing is a skill I stumbled across one day. I was bored and attempted to rearrange a solid surface. Unknown to me, a homeless man stood on the other side of the brick wall. Somehow, I rearranged his cellular structure instead. The alcoholic with only months to live became a whole man. Thanks to me, he regained his health and gave up the need to drown himself in a bottle.
Moving closer to the bed, I let my tendrils float over Antoinette’s head. Little by little, the dark threads penetrate her skull and seep into her brain, reducing the swelling. Once I’m sure the damage is fixed, I extricate the mending vines. In all honesty, I think I’ve done all I can for this human. Now, it’s up to the Fates. I’ve never been one to pray. Hell, such a pursuit might have earned me an earlier death during my day. But if it will change things for this woman, I’m willing to bend the figurative knee and lift up my voice.
Now, it’s time to go back to my normal existence. Deal with my own shit.
CHAPTER THREE
Uraeleus
Days and nights blur by without any meaning. Resisting the temptation to go to the hospital requires great strength. Involving myself in a human’s life is outside of my modus operandi. Wraiths and other night spirits don’t exist like other supernaturals. We don’t have homes or significant others. You won’t find us zipping around town in cars or sitting in restaurants enjoying meals. Spirits spy on the living, watching life from a distance. It’s why most of us are angry when humans stumble upon us. Being without material things is the best punishment ever invented. It’s a soul’s personal Hell on Earth.
While the rest of the Night Terror Society traipse around Falls Creek scaring the hell out of humans, I bide my time at Crucifix Island. It’s the perfect destination for a lone soul. Nights are spent in solitude, watching life proceed from the shadows. Days allow me to linger inside the ruined mausoleum without disturbance. When boredom threatens, I visit Cherina or simply drift about town. My usual existence. It’s routine. Dependable. Dull.
Ever since the accident, however, I welcome boredom. Venturing back to the hospital requires answering questions. Without a clue as to why I saved a human, it’s best for me to stay put. No roaming around town. No visiting my only friend.
Keeping my distance from others is nothing new. Solitary confinement suits me. Well, let’s be honest. I don’t have a choice in the matter. Avoiding couples in love and young families with children makes my sentence easier in some twisted way. Every time I see a man with a woman and a child, what’s left of my shriveled heart aches. I’m reminded of a life I couldn’t have. Memories are more painful than seclusion.
The rusty metal gate leading into the crypt creaks open. Clicking heels cross the concrete threshold. “Marcus? Are you in here?”
Cherina’s soft, pleasant voice draws me out of the shadows. “What do you want?”
She brushes a few decaying leaves off a stone bench and sits down. Her floor-length, black skirt rustles in the wake. “I haven’t seen you in a week, Marcus.”
“Funny since no one has seen me in centuries,” I quip.
Cherina huffs and crosses her legs. “You know what I mean. You normally come by at least once every few days. I miss your company.”
“Well, you’ve seen me. I’m fine. Now go.” I turn and begin to melt into the murkiness.
“Not so fast, Marcus.” Cherina pushes her hair off her shoulder. “Why haven’t you attended any Council meetings? There were two last week.”
Obscurity can wait. I stop merging and say nonchalantly, “I didn’t feel like going.” Not really a lie. I’ve grown tired of listening to Luc’s rhetoric on what’s best for humans. “Are you done? I don’t need an update on Council business.”
A flicker of irritation and impatience shines in Cherina’s dark eyes. She purses her lips for a moment and says, “I’m not here to update you. Rumors are spreading through the community.”
Pulling myself together into a more agreeable form, I sit beside her. Cherina was right when she said discussions are easier face-to-face. “What is it now?”
“Seems there’s a human in the hospital who’s had a miraculous recovery. She was in a horrendous car accident two weeks ago. Doctors thought she’d remain hooked up to machines for the rest of her days. If she recovered, they assumed she’d never walk again. Yesterday, however…” Cherina’s eyes narrow, and she studies me, looking for a reaction. When I don’t give her anything, she continues, “She came out of her coma. The patient still can’t walk, but her brain is healed. It’s like there wasn’t any injury to it. Do you know anything about this?”
Cherina’s news lessens the load on my spirit. It’s a relief to know my efforts weren’t in vain. “Can Antoinette have visitors?”
My friend tilts her head to the side. “Marcus, what have you done?”
Clasping my hands in front of me, I stare at the ground. “I told you the night I came to see you. Without my help, Antoinette would have died.”
&n
bsp; “Marcus, what I taught you about healing…” Cherina frowns. “You weren’t supposed to use it. Healing arts weren’t meant to be used on humans.”
My head whips up. “You’re joking, right? How many supernaturals need healing on a daily basis?” Tapping my fingers on my leg, I say, “If you didn’t want me to use it, you should have kept your damned knowledge.”
“If I didn’t help you perfect the skill, you would have continued unknowingly healing people, causing problems for you with Council.”
“Fuck Council. What more could they do to me?”
“Council could have made your existence more uncomfortable. Your spirit could have been bound and sent to Hell.”
An unsettling thought.
Cherina places her hand over mine, stilling my fingers. “A supernatural needing help is rare, but it happens. The only humans entitled to healing are the Founding Families. Healing arts are meant for their survival, not ours.”
“Yeah, right.” My gaze flickers to the ceiling. Once again, the ugliness of Falls Creek comes to the surface—humans before supernaturals. What Cherina should have said was, “If Council deemed it appropriate, one of its members could be healed.”
Cherina shifts her position and squeezes my hand. “What’s going on, Marcus? You’re starting to worry me.”
“Trust me, I’m doing enough worrying for the both of us.” It’s not a lie. I’ve spent too many days within the confines of this space, trying to make sense of my actions as well as my emotions. Unfortunately, I can’t come up with any answers.
Why would I suddenly care about someone else, especially a human?
“Cherina, I don’t know what to do,” I admit. “Antoinette stays on my mind day and night. I don’t know why I worry about her. If she’s out of her coma, I have to see her.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Cherina shakes her head. “What do you hope to gain, Marcus? You saved her life. Let it be.”
On some level, it registers I can’t do anything more for Antoinette. But I’ve never been a quitter. Sometimes you simply have to act without a fucking good reason.
As I wander past the front desk and down the halls of the hospital for the first time, I’m glad to be a wraith. It would be hard to explain my presence to the nurses, especially since I don’t know why I’m here.
Confirmation your intervention worked.
Outside Antoinette’s room, I hear her parents speaking to the doctors.
“I don’t understand why Antoinette isn’t speaking,” Mrs. Leoni says.
The doctor hesitates before saying, “Give her time. She’s been through a lot. Let’s talk outside, shall we?”
The door opens and out walks the doctor followed by the Leonis. I pass through the surface and enter the room. The low beep of monitors fill the space. A single IV is attached to her arm. No longer do I sense the spectre of Death. Antoinette’s chest rises and falls as she sleeps.
I’m content she’ll survive. My help will give her a second chance at life.
You have proof. Now leave.
Ignoring commonsense, I move closer to her bedside and take a seat. Despite the scrapes and bruises, Antoinette is a beautiful young lady. She reminds me of…
It’s not her. Go.
Antoinette’s eyelids flutter. Lingering any longer is wrong, but I just want to see the color of her eyes. Cordelia’s were a captivating shade of brown.
Antoinette’s head turns in my direction, and her gaze widens. In a voice just above a whispers, she asks, “W-why? Why did you d-do it?”
She must be delirious. I’m not visible to anyone.
“I’m talking to you, mister. Answer me.” This time Antoinette looks directly at me. Her brow wrinkles for a moment. “You don’t think I can see you, do you?”
Sudden cold hits me all the way down to my core. How is it possible for her to see me in this state? “What do you think you see?”
“A man with dark hair. You must go to the gym a lot.”
Fuck, she can hear you too.
I relax against the chair. Normally, no one can see wraiths and other spirits unless we’re scaring humans. Unfortunately, this isn’t the time to figure it out. Antoinette’s question needs to be answered to the best of my ability. I materialize, wearing jeans and a casual black, V-neck sweater.
Her mouth falls open as she stares at me. “What are you?”
It’s not a question I care to answer. Besides, what I am doesn’t matter to anyone. It shouldn’t matter to Antoinette. Ignoring her question, I say, “You asked me why I saved you. To be honest, I do not know.”
“Lame.” She sighs heavily, and lets her head roll away from me. “You should have let me be.”
“Antonia.” A slip on my part. I know her name. Back in my day, her name would have been Antonia.
Stay focused. This woman isn’t Cordelia. You’re not back in Ancient Rome. Snap out of it!
“Antoinette, I’m sorry.”
When she doesn’t face me again, I walk around the bed. Maybe I shouldn’t have, for now I see the tears. My heart breaks for her. “Honestly, I thought saving you was the right thing to do. You have a bright future.”
“I have shit,” she spits back. “Ballerinas can’t dance from a wheelchair.”
Antoinette’s distressed voice nearly severs my pattern. Her ingratitude is unexpected. Perhaps I made a mistake in healing her.
“Leave me alone.” She sniffles.
“How do you know this isn’t temporary?” She might be ready to give up, but I’m not.
Why is that?
I sit beside her and say the words Antoinette wants someone to tell her. “You might dance again.”
Wishful thinking to be sure. From my vantage point, I see the damage within her body. Antoinette’s future will be filled with lots of therapy and confinement. The reality is depressing.
“So you know how I feel?” Her voice is harsh. “Go. Leave me the hell alone.”
Fine. I’m not wanted here. Pushing to my feet, I walk to the door. “I’m sorry saving your life brought you so much grief.”
Time for me to see someone who actually cares.
Cherina’s hand flies to her chest when I open the door of her shop. Tilting her head to the side, she gazes from my head to my toes and back again.
“Before you ask, I went to see Antoinette. I needed a body.” Walking down the hall to her kitchen, my heavy footsteps make the wooden floor creak and moan.
She enters the room behind me. “And I guess you forgot how to change back?”
“I couldn’t lose it in broad daylight.” Taking a glass from the cupboard, I turn on the faucet. The water runs for a moment before I fill the container. The cool sensation sliding down my throat is appreciated. Finishing the liquid gives me a chance to think before I give Cherina the news. “Antoinette could see me.”
“Hell, I can see you,” Cherina declares.
“Of course, you can see me now.” Setting the empty glass in the sink, I take a seat. “Antoinette saw me before I materialized.”
“Oh.” Cherina’s mouth hangs open as she takes the seat across from me. “How is that possible?”
“You tell me. I’m hoping you might know the answer.” Drumming my fingers on the table, I realize something that’s been nagging at me all the way from the hospital. “I messed up, Cherina.”
She reaches over and stills my hands. “How so?”
“Antoinette hates that I saved her,” I murmur. Saying the words out loud stun me as the reality sinks in. Sometimes people don’t want to be saved.
“A bit harsh, don’t you think? Give her time. She’ll be grateful she got a second chance.” Cherina rubs a thumb over my flesh. Her lips press into a thin line while her brow furrows. Before she speaks again, her eyes flash to meet mine. “Maybe your touch enabled her to see you.”
“Huh?”
“You reached inside this girl and touched her heart. Correct?” She pauses for a moment as I nod my head. “Marcus, you cre
ated a connection between the two of you.”
Shit.
“If that’s true... Cherina, I healed her brain too. I may have done more than create a bond.”
My friend’s eyes bulge. “Another reason why you’re not supposed to do these things. It’s one thing to keep her from dying at the scene of an accident. That alone wouldn’t have allowed her to see beyond the veil between the worlds. You took it too far, Marcus. Who knows what all she’ll be able to see now? Who knows what she could do?”
I raise my hand. “No need to say it. I fucked up.”
“Yeah, you did.” Cherina squeezes my hand. “Now let’s figure out a way to fix this.”
An hour later, Cherina and I don’t have a clue how to fix my mess. Customers enter the shop, and she has work to do. I, on the other hand, have an audience with Luc. The lanky vampire came by the shop during the rush. Just my luck, Cherina directed him to the kitchen.
“You’re slipping, Uraeleus, and I want to know why.” Luc folds his hands on the table.
I cross my arms and tap my foot. “And I’d like to know how many times a vampire must die before they stay buried.”
Luc Duquette, the colossal pain in my ass, lowers his brow but doesn’t speak right away.
When Luc came to Falls Creek with his coven, he brought a certain arrogance—common with vamps—to our community. But his brand of self-importance stinks of entitlement. Most of the supernaturals despise him and his ways.
Hell, there are quite a few of us who would prefer it if Luc was no longer head of Council. He’s the one working to undo the fabric of our town from the inside out. Luc promotes the notion humans and supernaturals should live openly amongst one another. He thinks if supernaturals respect the lives of humans, they will in turn respect us. I cry bullshit. This vamp pushes rules benefiting humanity, but to what end? Nothing he proposes helps our kind in the least bit. Frankly, supernaturals are getting tired of his shitty regime. And I want to know what his real purpose is.
