by R. M. Webb
“Zoe! What the hell happened?”
I cringe from the harshness in his voice, it’s almost an accusation. He leads me over to sit on the couch. Too many emotions are fighting my body for control and sitting feels like a prison sentence, but he uses just enough force on my shoulders to keep me down.
“Calm down, or I’ll help you calm down.”
Well.
That might be the worst possible thing he could have said to me at this particular time. “Like you made me fall in love with you? Like that, Luke?” I’m up and off the couch and I rush at him, fists pounding against his chest, the stress and worry of the last couple weeks making it’s way out of my body and into his.
Luke stays calm. He grabs my wrists, his hands tightening around my bones like a vice. “I don’t think that’s why you’re here, Zoe. I think if you just calm down, like I told you, you’d realize that’s a conversation for another day.”
As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I stop fighting him and meet his eyes, opening my fists and holding them still until he releases me. Once my wrists are free, I wander his living room, spewing my story in bits and pieces, working hard to calm my racing thoughts and get the story out coherently. I tell him about everything that’s happened at Windsor. The garden. The remnant. Noah’s attempts to help me. I tell him about losing control at the coffee shop and about Daya’s insinuations that I could be in more trouble than I realize. I tell him about Becca’s text and he crinkles his brows.
“She invited you out?” There’s so much doubt in his voice that I pause.
“Ya. She said she wanted to explain about everything that happened.”
Luke shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense. That’s not Becca.”
“That’s the Becca I know,” I say, aware that it’s wrong to use the present tense but can’t bring myself to change it. “And it makes total sense.”
“You never knew the real Becca.” Luke says, and shrugs apologetically. “The real Becca wouldn’t have called you out unless she had another reason.”
“Well, I guess we’ll never find out her real motivations now because Becca’s dead.”
Luke stops pacing and stares at me. “You killed her?”
“No!” I’m appalled that he’d even think that about me, but considering in the short time we dated, I killed eight people, I guess I can understand how he jumped to that conclusion. I tell him about our night at Flannigan’s, the vampire that stopped me at the bathrooms and asked me such a strange question, and about what Becca said to me about Lucy. “And when we were leaving, the vampire just killed her. Just tore out her throat and wandered back into the bar and started killing the people inside.”
“And you came here?”
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Luke nods and makes his way over to me, moving slowly, careful to let me see his approach. I appreciate the effort he’s making, but it’s pointless now, I’ve calmed down. In fact, I just feel heavy. Worn. I’m just so very tired.
“Do you know why the vampire asked you to change her back?”
‘No.”
“Because there’s a rumor going around that you can. A rumor that says you are as proficient with dark magic as you are with light magic and that you can combine them to return vampires to their human state.”
I just stare at him. When I say nothing, he shrugs and continues.
“Why would people be saying that, Zoe? Is it true?”
I shake my head, but my thoughts are ticking away, swirling into little tornados of ideas and questions that seem to have very logical answers. What did I do with that remnant outside the movie theater? She was hollow. And I’m pretty sure that right before she passed on, she was light. I took the light and dark energy from the people coming out of the movie, and twisted it all up and used it to change the remnant and then pass her on. That’s like, really close to using both forms of magic to, what? Heal the death out of a vampire?
“What, Zoe?” Luke grabs my shoulders. “You can’t do it, can you?”
I shake my head, more emphatically this time. “No.” How honest can I be with him? I mean, what if I can cure vampires? What does that mean? And how did the rumor get started? Is there someone else out there who knows the truth about what I did to that remnant?
He stares at me for a second, his thoughts racing ever so transparently across his face. He’s not sure how much he should trust me, either. “Ok. Well.” He shrugs. “With that little rumor going around, getting all tangled up with whatever made Lucy want to keep control of you in the first place, well, sweetie, things aren’t looking very good for you right now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Think about it. If Lucy, a vampire, is the one who wanted you out of the way, and now here you are, very much back in the way, plus, all the vampires are thinking that you can make them human again…”
I come to the conclusion he’s trying to lead me to. “Not all vampires want to be human again. Especially not a vampire like Lucy.”
“Exactly. Someone like Lucy, someone who enjoys all the power she’s amassed over the years would very much not like having the playing field equaled.”
“But I can’t do that.” Or maybe I can, but at the very least, I haven’t tried, at least not with a vampire.
“Doesn’t matter. If she even thinks for a little bit that you can, she’s going to be out to get you.”
Shit. He’s right. I’m in trouble.
“How many offensive spells have they taught you?”
“None.”
Luke’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “None?”
“I can heal things. I can protect myself. I can levitate and transport myself, but they don’t teach offense at Windsor. Goes against their values or something.”
Luke snorts. “Not Daya. But she’s only there because of you. She’s all about the offensive stuff.” There’s an awful look in his eyes. His faintly red eyes.
“Could you teach me an offensive spell?”
He curls a lip into a smile. “Now that is my specialty. Folllow me.”
Luke leads me outside, chanting a series of protective incantations, trying to keep us as inconspicuous as possible. We hop into his car, while he explains that using magic leaves a kind of trail that anyone with any magic at all could use to follow us, and drives out of the safe part of town and into the grungy grimy, ugly part of town. The houses grow tighter together, yards disappearing as the buildings themselves eat up the space. Paint is chipping and gutters hang off roofs. Leaves go untended in the overgrown grass and empty flower beds. We come to an overpass and he pulls over.
“This is kind of homeless central, here. It’s where I come to practice.”
“Practice?”
“Ya. Magic gets rusty. If you don’t use it, it gets weak. Surely you know that.”
I nod. I know it, but I’m not so sure I like the implications of what he’s saying.
He wanders forward, his eyes sweeping the area until he finds a man tucked into a corner of the overpass, swathed in blankets, huddled over a fire.
With a slow wave of his fingers, Luke gathers his magic. “Serpentium mortem,” and the creeping, crawling fog that is Luke’s power rushes from his hand. It gathers at the man’s feet and sneaks into his nose and mouth. The man coughs, bending over and hacking, gasping for air, clutching at his chest and throat.
“Now you.”
“What?”
“Your turn, Zoe.”
I look at the guy, tears pouring out of his reddened face. I don’t think I have it in me to hurt anyone. I’m not sure I want to be the author of such pain. Using my magic to help, that’s good, and right, and all the things I should be. Hurting people, that’s bad, right?
“I don’t think I can.”
“You have to give into those darker emotions, Zo. They’re a part of you and if you continue to ignore them, then you will only be half of what you’re supposed to be.”
“Is reaching my
full potential, worth that?” I indicate the guy who’s spasming and choking on the pavement.
“Yes. You have no idea how good it is to live without bars, to live without consequence and questions. Just to know yourself and be yourself. It’s worth it.”
I can’t take my eyes off the guy. I reach out my hand, summoning my power, calling on the deep, dark parts of myself, the parts that Noah has taught me to bury over the last couple months. It’s just … there. Waiting and ready. I flex my fingers and it surges forward, covering the ground like a sickness. A swarm of locusts, ready to destroy everything in its path.
“That’s my girl.” Beside me, Luke smiles and I don’t like the way it looks. All toothy and wrong. Too wide. Too happy to be doing what we’re doing
I flinch. My magic pauses. I look at Luke, caught on the razor’s edge of decision and he curls a lip in disgust.
He clenches his fist and the man gags and then dies. Alone under a bridge, beside a fire so small it sputters and disappears when he rolls into it.
Chapter Twelve
The air crackles with energy, charged like lightning, and my feet tingle as if a current runs through the ground underneath them. Someone grabs my shoulder and I shriek, certain Lucy has found me and I’m living the very last second of my life.
“You’re gonna have to come with me, Zoe.”
I have just enough time to realize that it’s Daya’s hand on my shoulder and not Lucy’s before I’m wrenched from my spot near Luke and find myself in Daya’s office once again. I don’t know if it’s the after effects of the spell, or the result of seeing Luke kill that man - or maybe both - but I’m woozy and unbalanced. When Daya sends a chair sliding over to me with a flick of her finger, I collapse into it and hang my head in my hands.
Part of me is relieved. Like, a big part. The part that doesn’t want to die at the hands of Lucy, the part that doesn’t want to kill homeless people on the street with Luke. But there’s another part, a smaller part, that’s disappointed to find myself back in Windsor again. Disappointed that I’ll have to go back to holding my thoughts and emotions so tight that it hurts just so I don’t lose control.
“What the hell do you think you were doing out there?” Daya strides behind her desk and takes a seat, her eyes burning small holes into my forehead.
“Trying to decide if buy into your whole deal here.” The words are out before I even know what I’m saying. My stomach drops. I may have just buckled myself into a ride I really don’t want to be on.
“Excuse me?”
Oh, well. I’m all strapped in and the car’s leaving the station. Nothing to do now but hold on tight. “I’m tired of living here, only learning half of what I need, feeling like an outcast because I’m two things instead of just one. I want to go where I can be appreciated for what I am, for the duality of my nature, rather than be taught to be ashamed of what I am.”
“Is that what you think we’re doing here?”
“Are you trying to tell me that’s not what you’re doing here?”
Daya takes a deep breath and nails me to the chair with her gaze. I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that I just told her exactly what I’m thinking, but you know what? I’m tired of just standing in line and doing what I’ve been told. I’m tired of not asking questions and worrying about whether what I’ve done is right in the eyes of the people around me. It’s time that I start worrying about my choices being right for me, not for other people.
“Please,” I say the word and let it show on my face that I mean it, “tell me what you are doing then. Because I’ve been learning a lot, but I get the feeling you’re only teaching me half the story. Half of what I need…” I trail off and sigh.
“Sometimes, my dear, you just have to accept that there are people who know more about what’s going on than you do and trust them to make the right decisions.”
“Right. Except the ‘what’s going on’ deal? That’s me. And the decisions being made? Those affect me, too. I want to know more about me and it seems like you keep hiding all the answers. I mean, how many times have we had this conversation?”
Daya swallows and her jaw clenches against whatever it was she wants to say to me. I watch her fight her thoughts back into line, close off the swell of anger at my words. “You’ve grown brave as you’ve grown stronger. Just remember, girl, that while your potential is magnificent, you’ve been a witch for all of three weeks now. You will not out-think, out-power, or out-match me. You still don’t know what you’re up against.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I do know what I’m up against. I’m up against Lucy.” Take that Daya. I’ll show you what you do and don’t know.
“Tell me. Just how do you know it’s Lucy you’re up against?”
“Because Becca told me, right before the sweet little girl who’s actually a crazy vampire ripped out her throat.”
Well, that takes Daya off balance. Her lips tighten up and she cocks her head to the side a little. “I thought you snuck out to meet Luke.”
“No. I snuck out because Becca asked me to meet her so she could explain everything that happened to me. Since I’m not getting any answers here at Windsor, you know, in fact, all I find here are more questions, I thought ‘gee, I’d love to know why Becca pretended to be my best friend my whole life and find out who set her up to keep me hidden.’ So I met her. We had fun. She told me Lucy was the one behind the whole conspiracy deal, and then a vampire killed her right in front of my eyes.” Daya’s seething, but I’m on fire. “So, not knowing where else to go, because you know, you might be in league with Lucy, I go to Luke and ask for help. And his idea of help is trying to get me to kill vagrants with him.” My hands are shaking. “I’m done, Daya. I’m so done. I don’t know which way is up and what’s right anymore.”
Daya watches me and I can’t tell what she’s thinking. Her face is completely shut down. A smarter person probably would have censored what she said just now during that little diatribe. Daya’s right. She’s infinitely more powerful than I am and I have no idea what side she’s on. I should probably have used a little more finesse, but I’m so out of my comfort zone it’s not even funny.
“If Lucy is your enemy then it’s amazing you’re not already dead. I find it hard to believe that Becca - knowing that Lucy would kill her the moment her secret was out - would even consider telling you the truth about her being behind your captivity.”
Since every time I’ve opened my mouth today the wrong thing has fallen out, I take a cue from my old book and stay silent.
“Although,” Daya tilts her head and shrugs, as if conceding a point, “the fact that Becca died almost as soon as she told you says a whole hell of a lot, even if it does look like a coincidence.” She stands.
My eyes grow heavy and start to flutter closed. The room spins and the air is so thick - like being inside a locked car in Florida in August. I swallow and realize that my head is tilted towards my shoulders, so I pick it up and it wobbles around on my neck.
“You want things to get real?” Daya makes her way around her desk to stand in front of me. She leans down and places her hands on the arms of my chair, her nose just inches from mine. “Things will get real, my friend.” Just before my eyes slide all the way closed, Daya laughs. “Just remember. You asked for this.”
********
When I wake up, I have no idea where I am. All I know is that I’m cold and my body aches. A little bit of sunlight has managed to make it’s way through a filthy window high up on the wall beside my bed, illuminating a tiny gray upon gray room. The bed I’m in is no more than a cot. I sit up and rub my throbbing head.
Where the hell am I?
I survey the room, looking for clues. There’s a folding table holding a pen and a notebook, with a metal folding chair in front of it, both a utilitarian green-gray. There’s a cheap plastic bin, with stacks of clean clothes inside. There are four walls, one with a door, one with the filthy window, one with a huge mirror embedded into t
he concrete, and one that’s just stark and plain.
I’ve got a rough blanket pulled up to my chin, held tight in my clenched fists, but I shiver anyway because I know where I am. This has got to be the ranch. The place they took Noah and Luke and all those other children. The place I should have been when I was a little girl. The place where bad things happened and most of those kids ended up dead.
The door scrapes open and I stare wide-eyed as Daya fills the doorway. “Get up. Get dressed. There are clothes for you there.” She indicates the plastic bin. “Knock on the door when you’re done. I’ll be in the hall waiting.”
The clothes are nothing more than some olive green jumpsuit things and I get dressed without thinking, kind of numb from the inside out. A million questions are bouncing around in my head. The normal ones: Why am I here? What’s going to happen to me? Am I in trouble?
But there are some others as well.
Is Daya working with Lucy or against her?
Why would Becca risk her life to tell me who my enemy is?
And then one question, one that keeps floating back up to the top of my consciousness no matter how hard I try to ignore it. What would it have felt like if I’d killed that guy?
I find a hair tie on the desk near the notepad and pen and pull my hair back - scraping my fingers through the tangles and knots - and knock on the door of my cell to let Daya know I’m ready. It’s really funny how quickly we can adapt, you know? Here I am, in some strange place, dressing in strange clothes, following orders like I’d signed up to be here. I’m not blubbering in the corner or banging my fists against the walls, leaving little bloody smears when the concrete tears at my skin. Those are things for people in the movies, I guess.
Or maybe those are things for someone stronger than me.
There’s the thunk of a heavy key turning in the lock and the door swings outward, revealing Daya in all her psychedelic, grandmotherly glory. Her eyes brush over me and I get the feeling that I passed some kind of test I didn’t know I was taking. She leads me down a long hallway and our footsteps echo all around us. But ... I don’t know … it’s like more than our footsteps echo. The place is huge. Made for a horde of people. With just the two of us here, wandering through the dingey hall, dirt grinding under our heels, dust tossed around by our movement, catching in spider webs and floating through the flickering florescent lights, well, it feels like the whole place is an echo.
