by Isla Jones
“Many things,” he said. “I fear that she has acquired the power to drain.”
“Drain what?”
“Power,” he said, moseying up the hill. “When a witch kills so many of their own kind, their own strength grows beyond measures. It isn’t long before they discover that they can take power from other creatures, too.”
Blake slipped. The murky soil came rushing up at her, but before it could collide, she was tossed up in the air. Blake shrieked as a solid object slammed against her stomach, but then she realised that it was Theodore’s shoulder. He’d grown impatient and decided to cart her up the hill himself.
Dangling over his shoulder, Blake entertained the prospect of resisting his help. But her legs were exhausted, her eyelids heavy, and her arms limp. She lay lifeless over his shoulder and watched the back of his shoes move as he walked. “So, if she can drain or whatever, does that mean she can steal magic from your world?”
“Indeed, it does,” he said, reaching the tip of the hill. He didn’t let her down; instead, he continued to carry her across the carpark. “From the elementals,” he added.
“But not from your kind?”
“My species has no drainable power. However, that does not exclude us from the danger she poses.”
“What do you mean?”
“The witch’s necromancy abilities are a threat to us. In the laws of your world, we are dead. We have no beating hearts to crush, nor souls to take. The witch does not require rituals and symbols to turn us. If one of her army bites us, or if the witch touches us herself, we join her army of golems.”
“But you killed that thing at the manor,” argued Blake. “The golem?”
“I did not kill it,” he said. “They are already dead, thus cannot be killed. I dismembered it, but, I imagine the witch sewed it back together afterwards. She is what keeps the golem alive. While she lives, her dead puppets dance.”
Blake sucked in a breath through her teeth. He heaved her from his shoulder and dropped her onto the gravel. Landing on her feet, she glowered up at him, but he paid no attention. He clicked a button on his keys and a car honked behind her. Blake whipped around to see the familiar sleek black car.
Theodore pulled open the door and gestured for her to climb in. “Thanks,” she muttered and clambered into the passenger seat. Before she’d even clasped her seatbelt into the lock, Theodore was in the driver’s seat, starting the ignition. His speed was an anomaly she couldn’t get used to.
As the car swerved and sped out of the carpark, Blake pulled her feet up onto the edge of the seat and hugged her knees. A few seconds into the car ride and she’d gotten mud all over the window, door and seat. Theodore didn’t seem to mind.
Resting her chin on her kneecaps, she stared out of the windshield. “There’s one thing I still don’t get,” she said as the car veered onto Bayou Boulevard.
Theodore raised his brow, surprised. “Only one?”
“Ok, a lot,” she conceded. “But, it’s just … If Bethany wants to open the gateway with the diadem, won’t she need me to do it?”
“No.” Theodore brushed his thumb over the steering wheel. “The witch is born of magic, like the elementals. She may be able to open it herself, as the old coven had done before her.” He turned to look at her. “But, she will need you to find the diadem, as it was your ancestors who hid it.”
“She hired a couple of Wolves to kill me. Hunter told me. If she needs me, why would she want me dead?”
“I don’t believe she knew what you were at the time,” he replied, driving over the tracks into the west side of town. “The scent of your hunter and myself were too strong on your body. It masked the faint fragrance of your own magic.” He glanced at her. “I killed those men.”
Blake frowned against her kneecaps. “Why?”
“I learned what the witch had asked of them. Your hunter had demanded that they decline her proposal. But I decided that I could not risk the threat to you.”
Blake hummed and gazed out the window.
A familiar pickup truck sped past them. Blake placed it in her memories as one from the car lot at Belle-Vue High. Just an average student, likely headed to the reservoir to enjoy regular activities—swimming, perhaps, or even a sneaky snogging session. A spark of envy ignited within her. A few days ago, Blake had yearned for a higher purpose in life, to be anything but normal. She’d wanted to be great. But now, seeing that car drive by, Blake wanted nothing more than to be normal again, to have her old life back.
Theodore swerved off the main road, into the middle-class streets, and glanced down at her. “The witch has since realised what you are,” he added, mistaking her forlorn state for one of confusion. “With the tale you told the Sheriff, the witch will know you have the sight. We can only assume she has connected the clues already.”
“And she’ll want to kidnap me,” whispered Blake, gazing out the windshield. “And use me to find the diadem.”
Theodore turned the wheel, and the tyres rolled over the road. “She will drain you of whatever power you have, which isn’t much. If you survive the drain, she’ll kill you to remove loose ends. That way, she can find and operate the diadem herself.”
Blake bit her lip. Her watery eyes shifted to the side as she turned her head and gazed out the passenger window. Bubbling and boiling inside of her were the tears she’d fought to keep at bay. Blake shoved them back down.
“No matter what I do,” she whispered, “I die. Hunter wants to destroy the diadem, and me along with it. Bethany wants to steal my magic and kill me after. And you—you’ll just kill me for the hell of it. It’s what you do. And my soul will be gone forever.”
“Your soul will not be lost,” he said. “When one of my own consumes a human soul, it powers us. And when we return to our lands beneath the earth, we release the souls. Your kind have a name for the place.”
“Hell?” she asked.
“Purgatory.”
Blake scoffed. “That’s great. I feel so much better, thank you.”
Theodore pulled into her street, and rolled the car down the block. “I might not kill you in the end,” he said quietly.
Blake laughed to hide the grimace, and buried her face against her knees. Theo parked the car in front of her house and switched off the ignition. He twisted his neck to the side, his secretive steel eyes sweeping over her tousled, dirtied hair. Blake watched him from the corner of her eye as he plucked a twig from her waves and dropped it onto the floor.
“Do you need to cry?” There was a touch of sincerity to his voice. “We have time.”
Sniffing back snot, Blake sat up straight and scowled at him. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Theo cocked his head to the side, inspecting her like one would do to a barking monkey. “You do not need to cry?”
“I need to live,” she spat. “I need to get my dads and survive this whole nightmare.”
Theodore hummed as he considered her. “The need to survive is a basic human urge,” he observed. “I understand that.”
Incredulity morphed at her features. Blake gaped at him in a mixture of a scowl and a glare. “You understand that?” Her voice jumped up to a shrill pitch. “Are you shitting me!”
Theodore regarded her. “I will make you a deal,” he said after a pause. “If you locate the diadem, open the gateway, and grant me passage, I will let you live. Additionally, I will kill the witch and her golems.”
Suspicion slitted her teary green eyes as she snivelled. “Why would you do that?” she asked. “A few minutes ago, you were demanding I help you, and offering me nothing in exchange. You even said yourself that everything comes at a price.”
A spectacular grin brightened up his face. His shiny white teeth sparkled much like his eyes as she shuddered. “At times, I wonder how naïve you are. You surprise me each time. Cleverer than you appear, I confess.”
Blake clenched her jaw and gritted out, “What’s the price, Theo?”
He only laughed and ex
ited the car. Blake cursed at him under her breath—which she had a sneaking suspicion he heard—and unbuckled her seatbelt. As the strap sucked back into the holder, the door swung open and Theodore offered his hand to her.
“You know,” she mumbled, ignoring his extended hand, climbing out of the car, “for a psychopathic, supernatural creature from another world, you have some manners. Not many guys open doors for girls these days.”
“A habit I acquired in my early years in this world,” he said with a smirk, and slammed the door behind her.
Blake hummed and stomped by him. As she reached the pavement, a deep growl rumbled up the street. Theodore appeared in front of her, the white shirt on his back obscuring her vision. The growl drew closer, and Blake leaned to the side, looking around Theo’s arm.
A motorbike crept up the street.
Hunter straddled it. His black eyes, darker now that night had come, fixed on her and held her gaze as he pulled up to the sidewalk.
13
The Pact of Silence
“Thought you didn’t want to help me anymore?” Blake watched as he jumped off the bike.
Hunter shoved his keys in his pocket and glowered at her. “Don’t put words in my mouth, Harper. I didn’t want you to go with a creature that sucks out souls for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
Blake shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you here, Hunter?”
“Exactly why I just said.” His words were taut with agitation. “I don’t want you to be alone with that monster.”
Theodore smirked and looked down his nose at Blake beside him. “She has yet to complain about my company. In fact, she has approved of my gentlemanly ways.”
“Oh, shut up,” she snipped. “I didn’t approve, I made a comment. Get over yourself.”
Theodore continued to smile at her. It unnerved her, twisted and tugged her tummy. Blake swallowed and flickered her gaze to Hunter, who was attempting to throw daggers at the feeder with his lethal stare alone. If looks could kill, Theodore and his entire species would have dropped dead on the spot.
Whacking a dirty blonde strand from her face, Blake spun on her heels and stormed up the driveway. Abe’s car was parked in front of the painted-white garage roller door, but Jack’s was nowhere in sight. His car could be parked in the garage, she pondered.
Theodore and Hunter followed her in silence. The tension between them pressed against Blake’s dewy back, but she ignored it to the best of her abilities. As she neared the steps on the porch, her gaze dashed around the quiet and quaint home. Not a single panelled window leaked light. It didn’t look like anyone was home.
“They must be out,” she thought aloud, stepping up the wooden stairs to the porch.
Hunter jogged up the steps to reach her. “Where would they be?”
“At the garage, maybe,” she said, shrugging. “The Sheriff might’ve called them in to the station. They’ll know I’m not at Harmony by now.”
“Wouldn’t they wait here?” argued Hunter as they approached the white door. “In case you came back?”
Blake pursed her lips and clasped her fingers around the doorknob. “I guess not,” she murmured, ignoring the sting that stabbed at her heart. As she craned her wrist, turning the doorknob, a warmth touched her neck. Theodore stood behind her, his breath brushing over her prickled skin. He reached around her and placed his hand over hers, stopping her.
“Wait,” he whispered. Hunter glowered down at Theo’s hand as it removed Blake’s from the doorknob.
“What is it?” asked Blake in a hushed tone. “Did you hear something?”
Straining her ears, Blake listened to the quiet street. A dog barked a few houses down; an incessant yappy sound, but not out of the ordinary. A whisper of cars whizzed by down on the main road, a few blocks away. Blake could even hear the soft murmur of a tele playing programmes at the next-door neighbour’s house.
Goosebumps rippled over her skin as Theodore slipped his arm around her waist and guided her away from the door. “No,” he whispered, eyes fixed on the door. “I smell something.”
Over her head, Theodore and Hunter shared a look. Blake caught it, and shimmied out of Theodore’s hold. “What do you smell, Theo?”
He dragged his gaze from Hunter to Blake. “Wait here.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument.
Stepping around her tense form, Theodore twisted the doorknob and opened the door. It creaked, revealing the hallway, doused in darkness. Inside, the house looked normal. It was just as Blake had left it. The buffet table sat against the cupboard under the staircase, and beside it was a rarely used door. Next to the front door, the key stand stood, and the bowl atop it was filled with random spare keys, buttons, and her own car keys. A door on the left wall opened to the lounge, above which was an antique clock, striking 7PM. Straight ahead, at the end of the hallway, was the swing door which led to the heart of the home—the joined kitchen and dining room.
Blake was denied a warm welcome from her home. The comforting atmosphere had vaporised, and the regular aroma of Abe’s cooking failed to waft through the closed doors. Theodore’s grimed shoes connected with the floorboards. As he stepped inside, no sounds creaked out. Blake hovered in the threshold, Hunter by her side. Something was off, she realised. Not only the darkness and stillness of the house told her so, but also the tiny hairs on the back of her neck that stiffened, and the steady determination of Theodore. The further Theodore moved into the hallway, the closer Hunter inched toward her, until their arms touched and the warmth of his skin seeped through the fabric of her sweater. It wasn’t for comfort. Blake suspected that he’d guessed her thoughts.
Theodore reached the end of the hallway, and pressed the palm of hand against the squeaky swing door. He looked inside the kitchen for a moment before he released the door and shook his head. Tilting back his head, Theodore gazed up at the ceiling and sniffed the air. “Blood,” he said, confirming her worst fears.
Blake sprinted past Hunter, and bolted up the stairs to the second level. Hunter chased after her, a hair’s touch from her back, as Theodore watched from the hallway. Blake knew that if Abe was home at seven o’clock at night, alone, he wouldn’t be in the kitchen. He would be in the studio, painting.
“Dad!” hollered Blake, scrambling up the stairs. “Dad, it’s me!”
As she stumbled onto the landing, Hunter snatched the back of her sweater and halted her in her tracks. Theodore whirled through the air, coming to a stop at the landing, staring down at her.
“Don’t touch me!” she grunted, kicking her leg back. The sole of her shoe connected with Hunter’s stomach, but he barely winced. His arm stretched out as he lunged forward and tackled her to the stairs. “DAD!” shrieked Blake, writhing beneath the weight of Hunter’s body.
“Shut up,” he hissed into her ear, pinning her to the steps.
Theodore sighed and watched the struggle. “I told you to wait,” he scolded.
“Fuc—Ow!” Blake whined as a sharp pain pierced her wrist. Hunter lessened his strength in restraining her.
“What the hell are you doing,” growled Hunter. “You can’t just—”
Blake didn’t get the chance to find out what she couldn’t do. She’d jerked her head back and smacked his nose with her skull. No sympathy struck her as he grunted and hollered. She was certain that she was in an equal amount of pain herself. A lightning bolt of agony had struck her head from the impact. Groaning, she cupped her hands over head and waited for the pain to subside.
“Jesus, Harper!” bellowed Hunter, cupping his bleeding nose, his voice muffled by his hands.
Blake climbed to her feet, rubbing the back of her head still, and peered up at Theodore. He wore a simple smile of amusement as he remained at the top of the stairs, studying her.
“Move,” she moaned, placing her hand on the bannister. “Get out of my way.”
Without argument, he stepped to the side and allowed her passage. Her suspicious eyes stayed glued
to his calm expression as she slinked past him. He didn’t stop her. Abe’s study-turned-studio was at the very end of the hall, opposite her bedroom. She staggered by him and broke out into a sprint down the corridor.
“Stop her!” Hunter shouted at Theodore. The feeder did no such thing. He watched Blake race down the hallway, traces of Hunter’s nosebleed clutched onto her tresses.
Theo’s calm voice flittered behind her, “I strongly advise against this, little waitress. You will not be pleased at what is on the other side of that door.”
Blake snubbed his warning and collided with the studio door. Fumbling with the iron handle, she muttered under her breath and wrenched the door open. Before her eyes could focus on the inside of the room, she was thrust out of the doorway by Hunter charging at her. Blake’s back slammed onto the floor as she and Hunter landed in a tangled heap of limbs. Her lips parted and a raspy wheeze raked through the hallway.
“Sorry,” muttered Hunter, pulling his arm out from under her back. “But I am not letting you go in there.”
Soft thuds drew closer as Theodore waltzed down the corridor, hands in his pockets. Hunter glared over his shoulder at him, Blake still wheezing, attempting to catch her breath.
“Oi,” barked Hunter. “Want to make yourself useful, feeder? Make sure that room’s clear.”
“Oh,” droned Theodore. “I don’t need to look to know what is inside. I can smell the blood from here.”
Blake’s groans and raspy breaths erupted into a manic scream. With newfound vigour, she fought Hunter, flailing her legs. Her fist connected with his head as desperate rage consumed her. “Get off of me!” she wailed. “DAD!”
Theodore bent and grabbed Hunter by the scruff of the neck. With a gentle tug, he’d thrown Hunter from Blake, down the hall. He collided with a decorative set of drawers, Abe’s favourite in the house.
Theodore watched Hunter climb to his feet and said, “The lady told you not to touch her.”
Rushing to the door, Blake whirled by Theodore and staggered into the studio—
