by R. M. Webb
I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as inherently good as this little girl. I wonder what would have happened if I’d been here with her. Would she have cried for me, too? Would she have been disappointed in me? Could I have been as strong as she was at such a young age?
I don’t think so.
Celine kicks her foot off the wall and does a little back flip off the bed and dances over to stand behind me. She gathers my hair into her hand and piles it onto the top of my head, fluffing it up and arranging it into something that feels like a bun. “You have pretty hair. It’s like my mom’s. Her hair always looked like a sunset to me.” She lets it fall and gathers it into three sections and starts a braid. “So, why are you crying, Zoe?”
“This isn’t a happy place.” I purposefully use her words and hope she’s lived here long enough to read between the lines.
She lets go of my hair and places her hands on my cheeks - I expected them to be cold, but they’re warm - and tilts my face back so I’m looking up at her as she bends over to meet my eyes. “I know that. You know that. All the others know that. Tell me what happened to make you cry.”
When she releases my cheeks, I keep my head tilted back so she can see me smile, before I sit up straight and spin around to face her. “I should have been here with you. Here at the ranch. When I was little.”
“Why weren’t you?”
“Someone hid me.”
Celine’s face lights up and she claps her little hands together. “That’s great!”
I almost tell her that it’s actually not been great. I think about all the frustrating times I had growing up, being forced into silence, embarrassed more than I was ever comfortable, learning my life was a lie, but I stop short. Sure. Because whatever it was I dealt with, whatever it is I’m currently dealing with, at least I’m alive. At least I didn’t watch my friends turn against each other. At least I didn’t end up haunting an abandoned building, filled with the ghosts and memories of terrible things.
“Ya. I guess it is.”
Celine’s face grows serious and I see the beautiful woman she might have become. “Why are you here now?”
“I guess that’s part of why I’m crying. I don’t really know. I didn’t know I was magic until just a few weeks ago. I’ve been kind of getting the crash course on this whole witches and warlocks deal.”
“And you’ve got too much magic, right? That’s why you should have been here?”
“Ya. Except, at first, I was supposed to hide my dark magic. But now, Daya has me here and it’s like she’s trying to draw it out of me. I don’t know.” I explain to Celine all the things that happened leading up to me being here, just lay my life story out on the line for her. When I tell her about what happened today, her little face clouds over.
“She wants you to use both magics at the same time.” There’s something she’s not saying. Something that has her light burning out and her little body folding in on itself, arms wrapping tight around her stomach, shoulders hunching forward.
“I think so.”
“You’ll get lost just like the others. Just like my friends.”
“I have no intention of getting lost, Celine. I kind of think I might actually find myself.”
The girl just shakes her head and slinks into the corner. Her colors dim, like, she’s slowly fading into black and white and then, from there, into plain old gray. I squint a little because I kind of think I can see through her. But then she sighs and swallows and her light flares bright and her colors return, more crisp and clear than they were when she first appeared. “You know what?” she cries, unwrapping her arms from their post around her middle and springing up onto my cot. “I’m going to help you.” She widens her eyes and leans forward like she’s just told the greatest of truths and smiles. “You’re gonna be a-ok, Zoe, ‘cause it’s going to be me and you here.” She hops off the cot and starts running her hand through my hair again. “I’ve got you and you’ve got me, right?”
My experience with remnants isn’t exactly all that extensive and what little experience I do have has been, well, horrific. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do for Celine. I could just smile and nod and be happy for the company while I’m here for who knows how long. Or, I could help her pass on. Do I just smile back at her and accept the help?
She leans around my shoulder and catches my eyes. “I’m not ready to move on.” Did she just read my mind? Is that a thing? Can they do that? I know they can speak telepathically, but do they also hear telepathically? “Just in case that’s what you’re busy thinking,” Celine adds. Ok, so maybe she can’t read my mind, maybe my thoughts just flash across my face clear as day.
Celine picks up the notebook I’d abandoned on the table and as the pen clatters off to the side, I resist the urge to snatch it back from her. I feel a little itchy as she flips through the first few pages, but she ignores the words and stops on the drawing of me and Noah under the tree. I’m not a bad artist. Not great, but I can make things that look like the things they’re supposed to. Kinda.
“This is real pretty.” A blush works its way across Celine’s cheeks and somehow the rosy color just makes her look all the more beautiful. “This is you, right? Is this your boyfriend?”
I really don’t want to think about Noah right now because, well, I miss him and I’ve been missing him ever since I was stupid and got him all upset at me. “Not really.” I shrug. “I don’t know. It’s all … weird.”
Celine eyes me. I’m really hoping she doesn’t ask me what I mean by weird, because I’m not sure how I’d explain all the stuff that’s weird between me and Noah to an eleven-year-old girl. Celine’s eyes narrow to little slits and she studies the picture, almost desperate to discern who I’ve drawn with me.
“Is this Noah?”
When she looks up, her blue eyes are shining with tears and I know exactly what she’s going to tell me because the truth is written in her blue upon blue upon blue eyes. I nod and feel my tears answering her tears.
“Is Noah your brother?”
She nods and sniffs and holds the notebook close to her chest. “Is he ok?”
I nod. “And he’s the reason I’m ok.”
Celine traces the lines I’ve used to draw his face and it’s as if she’s praying. As if she could touch him. “I promised mom I’d take care of him. I stayed so strong for him and for her.” She looks up at me. There’s so much I want to ask her, so much I can tell she wants to say.
But then the room dims and grows cold and Celine’s face shatters in alarm. There’s a scritch-scratching at the door and suddenly I’m very sure that Celine and I are not alone and even more sure that I’m really going to wish we were alone.
She drops my notebook back on the table. “Don’t tell.” Her eyes dart to the picture of Noah. “Don’t.” Her voice is a whisper made harsh by fear.
Something creeps cold fingers up the back of my neck and I whirl, slapping at the air. There’s this awful smell of sulfur and decay and I turn to Celine, eyes wide, a question I’m not sure how to ask pressing against my lips. She pulls herself up to her full height and lifts her chin, trying oh so hard to look defiant and only managing to look fragile.
“I’m not afraid of you, Bo. I know it’s you.” Her voice is strong and her blue eyes shine.
Something … I don’t know how else to put it … something coalesces in the corner. It’s hunched and ugly and bulging in all the wrong ways. There’s a vague humanness to the outline, made all the more grotesque by the way it’s been distorted. The thing’s gaping maw of a mouth opens and a choking sound stumbles out. I think it’s supposed to be laughter.
“Can’t fool me,” the thing says in a voice like broken glass. “I scared you shitless back then and I still scare you shitless now.” I don’t see its eyes until it blinks and then I only notice them because they are big, dark, pools of nothing.
Celine grabs my hand and it’s like touching an angel. I am made of peace and bliss and joy and happiness. Bo
advances on her from the corner, this giant rolling movement that makes me gag in all its wrongness. I pull her tight, but she doesn’t flinch when the thing gets right up in her face and roars, spittle dribbling from its broken teeth onto the floor.
This thing has a name. This thing was probably once a child. And now he’s chosen to show himself as this nasty pile of ickiness. Is this what happens when you give into your dark magic? You become like this … thing?
Another remnant appears, this one scuttling along my ceiling like some overgrown spider, his head swiveling too far on his neck, his dark eyes vaguely reminiscent of Luke’s in that they are almost crimson. And then another and another appear, each of them just twisted and broken and ugly.
I’m shivering and goosebumps are taking over my skin and there’s frost showing up on the surface of my things in the room. Celine is a source of light and warmth, standing still and strong and holding my hand while the others cackle and chitter and chatter. Their voices are in my head and I really want them out ‘cause I don’t like what they’re saying.
‘Cause what they’re saying is that I’m just like them. That they’ve looked inside me and they see my in head and my heart and my soul and I’m not like Celine. I’ll give into my dark magic and join them and won’t it be so good when I do?
“Don’t listen to them, Zoe.” Celine gives my hand a squeeze and leans into my arm. “They’re nothing but meanness and lies.”
“That’s right. Meanness. And lies.” The voices of the hollow remnants echo through my room and my teeth start chattering in my head. “And you are, too, Zoe. Just wait. You’ll see.”
I gather my magic, feel it channeling bits of Celine’s energy, the two things blending together and becoming strong. I close my eyes and send it out away from us. Light flares through the tiny room and the hollows shriek. Although that word doesn’t do the sound justice.
And then, for no reason at all, the sound dissipates and they dissipate and it’s just me and Celine standing in my room.
“It’s gonna be ok.” Celine lets go of my hand and nods, trying very hard to look reassuring, but I’m not sure if even she believes it.
I climb into my cot without a word and pull the rough covers up to my chin. I flinch a little when she sits on the edge and starts running a hand through my hair, whispering little assurances my way. Whatever she’s doing is working, or maybe I’m just exhausted from the day or from my life or from using so much magic, but I start to fall asleep.
Despite Celine’s best efforts to calm me, I hear the voices of the remnants as I drift past the line of consciousness. “You’re just like us, Zoe. Just like us.”
And even though I do my very best not to believe them, part of me knows they’re telling me the truth.
Chapter Fifteen
I don’t know how I slept last night but I did. Although to call how I spent the night ‘sleeping’ isn’t exactly fair. I was mostly just scraping around near the surface of consciousness with my eyes closed. When the big metal door grinds open, I’m not at all surprised.
“Wakey wakey,” says Daya and while it’s the same thing my mom said to me each morning when I was little, there’s nothing sweet about it coming from this woman. “Get dressed. Let me know when you’re done.” And just like that, she’s gone. The door swings shut with a clang and I sit up, swinging my legs off the edge of the cot. Celine’s gone. Or not visible. I’m not sure how that part of being a remnant works. Can she be around and just not be seen? Since I’m not sure, I mutter a good morning to her and slip out of yesterday’s olive green flight suit before zipping myself into an identical one from the plastic bin. I’m not sure what to do with the dirty one, so I just fold it up and put it on the table. Sure, it’s weird to fold dirty clothes, but what about this situation isn’t weird?
When I bang on the door, Daya pulls it open and gives me a once over. “Not much sleep?”
I shake my head and try to rake my fingers through the tangles in my hair. I’d love a stop in the bathroom. A chance to brush my teeth. My stomach rumbles and I realize I didn’t eat yesterday. Without a word, Daya takes off down the hallway, stopping after just a few steps and pointing down a hallway.
“There’s a bathroom down there. I’ve set out a toothbrush and other stuff you might need. You have eight minutes.” Not sure if I’m thankful for the chance to clean up and use the bathroom or resentful of being held to a time limit, I race down the hallway and take care of my basic human needs. What feels like five minutes later, I’m wrapping my wet hair into a bun with a hair tie as I walk back down the hallway towards her, hopeful that our next stop might involve eggs.
“That was ten minutes. I said eight. That means you’ll skip breakfast this morning.” My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I’d already skipped an entire day’s worth of meals yesterday, but I say nothing and stare blankly into Daya’s face.
I won’t give her the pleasure of seeing how uncomfortable she’s making me. She wants a soldier? She’ll get a soldier. There’s just the tiniest brush of something against my cheek and I get the feeling that Celine is nearby. I’d smile, but don’t want Daya to see, so I let the smile happen in my heart and hope that Celine can feel it.
Daya purses her lips and turns on her heel, today’s voluminous dress swirling around her feet. She leads me down another set of winding and identical hallways before we come to a single door. Sunlight blazes through a window webbed with wires and blinds me. I have to blink away the bright spots when she pushes the door open and leads me outside. I hadn’t realized how dark it was in the ranch.
I can still smell yesterday’s rainstorm lingering in the damp earth and decaying leaves. I’d expected to find us smack dab in the middle of some dusty plain or in front of long fields filled with horses and cattle. Instead, we’re surrounded by rolling hills and massive trees. There’s dirt paths and gravel crunching under our feet until we enter the woods. These aren’t like the Windsor Woods. Those are beautiful and cultivated. These trees somehow seem sullen and rotten. Even with sunlight streaming down between the bare branches, illuminating the path before us, there’s this aura of dread and decay. Or maybe that’s just me, busy being scared and seeing scary things where there really aren’t any.
We walk for a while, Daya’s breath coming in little puffing gasps as she pulls up at the hem of her dress so it doesn’t drag in the dirt. It’s not long before we come to a little clearing and I see, just beyond the line of trees on the other side, a brutal looking fence made of rusting razor wire.
“The barbs are still sharp,” says Daya, watching me notice the fence. “And, there’s a bit of a magical fence there too, in case you were thinking about trying to make a run for it.”
In fact, I hadn’t thought about running away and I almost feel disappointed in myself for being so docile. The trees on the other side of the clearing, the ones just in front of the fence, they’re fruit trees of some sort. Apples maybe. It’s strange to see fruit on the trees, given the season. But I guess, when you’re dealing with witches, anything is possible.
There’s something else on the trees, something big and bulbous and too big to be fruit. I squint, curiosity overwhelming common sense. I should be more worried about what Daya has in mind for me today and less worried about strange things dangling from fruit trees.
“Yesterday was hard,” Daya says and then waits.
I guess she wants me to look at her. I keep my focus on the trees, watching the big dangling things and wondering if they’re somehow moving. When I feel like giving the Wicked Witch of the West my attention, I do, but not because I feel like I have to. More because I’m tired of standing in the woods and listening to my belly rumble. Maybe, if I can do whatever it is she wants me to do and be done with it, then I can get something to eat.
“Yesterday was hard,” she repeats once she’s sure she has my attention. “Today will be hard. But you and I,” she leans in and raises her eyebrows, “we’re on the same team. We want the same thing, even tho
ugh you don’t understand it all yet.”
I’m so sick of being told just enough to still be confused that I’m not at all impressed with her little speech. “Why are we here?”
“We’re making up for lost time.” She puts her hand on my arm and I flinch at the contact. “You want to learn how to use both forms of your magic? That’s what we’re going to do. The right way. Not out on the street, killing poor old men who’ve already suffered their fair share. Not bottling up half yourself and trying to ignore it. I’m going to teach you to be whole.”
And for the first time since meeting Daya, I kinda start to think I might actually end up liking her. She notices the smile sliding across my face. “You like the way that sounds?”
I nod, but that feels insufficient so I speak, too. “Ya. I do.”
“There will be pain. It will be hard. You’ll have to face ugly truths and do nasty things. It’s not going to be glitter and unicorns.”
“I’ve never been one for glitter and unicorns.” I say it and mean it to sound tough, but it sounds so funny coming out of my mouth that I have to bite back a laugh.
Daya wanders closer to the trees and I let her get a few steps in front of me so she can’t really see my face. I distract myself with studying the bulbous, writhing something’s that dangle next to the apples. She stops, still several feet from the trees and just as I notice a thick buzzing sound, I realize that I’m looking at beehives. Lots and lots of beehives.
“The orchard is spelled to withstand fall and winter so we could have fruit in all seasons. As soon as the bees started to colonize the trees, they fell under the spell as well. They won’t die.”
Ok. So she wants me to get the bees off the trees so she can pick some fruit. This I can totally do, rumbling belly or not. Although, I’m sure she’ll throw a curveball or seven at me while I cast the spell. What’s it gonna be? She’s already done raging thunderstorm and arm charring pain.
