Scarred (the Spellbound Series Book 3)

by Rene Lanausse

  Scarred

  By Rene Lanausse

  © 2015 Rene Lanausse

  All rights reserved.

  For the people who’ve always supported me,

  The people who pushed me to continue writing,

  And most of all you, the readers.

  Thank you.

  Part One: The Ashes

  1

  There isn’t much left of the city I once knew and loved. At least, not to me. The buildings are still intact for the most part, there are still way too many cars on the road, and the occasional wind still kicks up the smell of burnt pretzels, roasted nuts, or piss, depending on where you’re standing. But to me, it’s always been the people that make this city so special. And out of the eight million people I’ve come to either love or loathe, only eight of them remain.

  It’s been a few days since the soul of everyone in New York City was corrupted and stolen from them, and their bodies vaporized. Even from the street level, the city looks like a hollowed out husk of its former self. There’s no one to push past on the street. No cab drivers coming dangerously close to running me over. No horns blowing, no sirens, no shouts, no crying children, no life. And it’s because of me.

  Guilt isn’t a strong enough word for the lump in my throat, or the accompanying choking sobs that I can barely contain as I walk down Lexington Avenue. I’m ashamed of myself.

  Maybe coming here to collect my things was a mistake. But there’s something else I’ve come back for, something far more important. One way or another, I’ve come to say goodbye.

  I used to consider myself a hero. I used to be an unstoppable force, a well-read warrior. I used to be the love of someone’s life. And for a brief few months, I was even preparing to become a mother as well. But now that all of that’s been stripped away, I don’t know what I am anymore. I guess I’m what remains of Heather Santos, the girl who let millions of people die. An empty girl wandering the streets of an empty city.

  My destination looms overhead, and I stare up at the glittering skyscraper as I walk, the metal crown turning a brilliant orange in the rays of the setting sun. I keep hoping someone, anyone, will crawl out of a pile of debris, or call for help, or even just let out an unintelligible scream. But no one ever does. The only survivors have taken shelter in a hotel in White Plains; the New Yorkers who didn’t make it out are all black marks on the ground, ashes in the wind.

  I’m standing on aching feet, and brushing aside the hair that’s plastered to my face by the time I stop in front of the Chrysler Building. It looks much bigger in person than I’d assumed it would, but that’s a good thing. It should be high enough to serve the purpose I have in mind. I focus on one of the great iron eagles on the 61st floor, and in the blink of an eye, I’m impossibly high above the city streets I just occupied. I’d have teleported all the way here, but in the past few days, I’ve been reluctant to use the power surging through my veins. Besides, I didn’t mind walking to my destination. I almost felt as if I owed it to the city to experience the wreckage firsthand.

  I hug the corner of the building for balance as my eyes sweep over my surroundings. There’s something humbling about looking down on the grid of city streets, and seeing the tops of the buildings as opposed to just their sides. It gives you a sense of just how small you really are. I take a tentative step out onto the eagle’s head, and peer down at the dizzying drop. If my hunch is right, then I should come out of this unscathed. If not… well, there aren’t many people left to miss me. And I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t. I know I wouldn’t miss the person who ruined my life, and ended millions.

  I regret thinking that even as I step onto the edge of the iron sculpture, and spread my arms out wide. The few survivors keep telling me I shouldn’t blame myself, but I do. I can’t look at Rachel without seeing the rest of her red-haired family turning to ash. I look at Emma, with deep brown eyes so reminiscent of her brother’s it pains me, and I picture her entire family going up in smoke. I can’t even look Landon in the eye, my last remaining link to my mentor and my boyfriend, both of whom would be alive if I had been strong enough.

  I close my eyes, and a face appears before me, etched into my memory forever. Copper skin, silver piercings, and cold brown eyes framed by jet black hair. The woman I should have been able to stop. Lily.

  Like me, she’s a spellcaster. Human beings that can tap into the power locked within all of us, and use it to reshape or destroy the universe around us as we see fit. But Lily and I are in a special class of spellcaster, the Nephilim. Our powers are amplified far beyond those of a normal spellcaster because of the angel blood coursing through our veins, and mingling with our human blood. And part of the reason I lost the fight against Lily was because she’s the only one of us to have spread her wings.

  I have the feeling that I’ve come close to sprouting wings of my own, though. Every once in a while, I experience a crippling pain between my shoulder blades, as if there’s something within me desperately straining to come loose. And I’ve noticed a pattern; the pain only comes whenever my life is truly in danger. So if I have to come close to death in order to compete on her level, then so be it. With my eyes still screwed shut, I step off the eagle’s head into space, and let gravity pull me towards the ground.

  My hair whips violently in the wind as I fall. My clothes ripple behind me, and when I open my mouth to scream, too much air is forced down my throat to allow any sound to come out. The familiar crippling pain in my back returns with a vengeance, but this time, I embrace it. I welcome the sensation of my skin ripping apart to allow the transformation. I think of all the time spent sulking over my failure. I think of finding Lily, and tearing her to shreds. I think of the last time I saw Nick, his hand outstretched to grab mine, before he slipped out of my sight forever. And in that moment, I decide that I’m not ready to die, not by a long shot.

  I’m ready to fight.

  Along with that realization comes the sound of tearing cloth, and confusion as the pain subsides for the most part. Did I do something wrong? I look over my shoulder to see pure white feathers, faintly stained with blood. I would let out a triumphant laugh if I could; my crazy plan actually worked! But I realize a fatal flaw as the concrete below me starts coming into focus. I still have no idea how to use these brand new wings.

  I’m not sure how they’re supposed to work. They’re a part of me, clearly, but do they function like any other limb would? Or do they have a mind of their own? I command them to spread, and at once, my wings unfold to their full length, stretching out so far on either side of me that I can’t see their tips without turning my head. I can feel the wind pushing past every feather the same as I can with my hair, but instead of being tossed around violently, my wings fill and I can feel my descent slowing drastically a few dozen feet above the ground. I flap them experimentally, but ultimately settle for gliding down the avenue. These streets are a little too narrow for a beginner like me.

  Luckily, I’m already gliding in the direction I’d wanted to go, so I don’t have to worry about figuring out how to turn. I do, however, eventually have to land, and when I’m close enough to the ground, I take off running the second I can plant my feet on a solid surface. The momentum carries me forward for a while, but I slow to a stop, grinning from ear to ear for the first time in what feels like years. I hadn’t ever dared to imagine myself flying, but it was more exhilarating than anything I’ve experienced before.

  For just a split second, I feel like myself again. More than that, I feel on top of the world. Releasing my wings also unleashed a seal holding in the rest of my power, preventing me from using it before I’m ready. I can feel it now, seeping into every in
ch of me, flooding my system with strength beyond what I thought was possible for me to attain. I feel more confident than I have in all my life, even before my defeat at the hands of the other Nephilim.

  I glance around at where I stopped, and walk a few avenues down, still riding the ebbing high of my first flight. Surprisingly, I’d gotten pretty far; I’m within reasonable walking distance of the place where I grew up. A few minutes after reaching the ground, I’m folding my wings so that I can fit through the main entrance of my old apartment building. I press the button to call down the elevator out of habit, but it never comes. I don’t know why I expected results; there probably hasn’t been any power in the city since the incident in Times Square. I’m not in the mood to walk up ten flights of stairs, so I conjure up the mental image of my living room, and watch as the lobby around me fades away, and is replaced by the interior of my familiar childhood home.

  For some reason, I’d thought I would find clothes and broken furniture strewn all over the floor, picture frames dangling off the walls, an apartment in general disarray. But everything is exactly as my mom and I left it, with the addition of tiny drops of dried blood littering the pale blue tiles. My blood. Guilt winds its way through my system as I remember the reason blood dripped down my legs that night. Every ounce of joy that I’d discovered midflight has vanished. I’m an empty shell once more.

  I sigh, and start with my mom’s room. It’s bound to be the least painful. I pull clothes out of her closet and drawers, and pile them into her suitcases, taking care to avoid her sock drawer; I learned the hard way a few years ago to stay far away from its contents. I’ll just bring her some of my own socks. When all is said and done, the majority of my mom’s clothes, and even a couple of her photo albums, fill up two suitcases that would be difficult to carry. Thankfully, I don’t need to lift a finger. I place a hand on each of the suitcases, and send them to my mom’s location with a spell. I’m always paranoid that they won’t end up where I want them to, but it’s either that or keep making trips back and forth.

  Next up is my room. I spend even less time in here, haphazardly throwing the clothes I want into a duffel bag at the foot of my bed. I glance at my bookshelf, and consider bringing a few of my favorites with me, but I think better of it. I’m hoping that I’ll be too busy preparing to face Lily again to do much reading. I scan my room for anything else I might want to bring, and seize my phone charger as an afterthought. At the very least, I won’t have to share with everyone else anymore. I zip up my bag, and use the same banishing spell to send it to my new lodging in White Plains.

  There’s one last thing I’ll need before I move on to my next destination. I search my headboard for a moment, and carefully pull off the silver chain. Dangling from the end of it is a pendant shaped like wings in flight, with emeralds embedded along the rim of each from the rounded end to the tip. Only half of it is truly mine; a one winged pendant was left to me by my father as a baby, until we met. That’s when he revealed that he had one just like it, but fashioned as my pendant’s mirror image. He then fused the two pendants together, and let me keep the completed necklace. I slip the necklace into my pocket, thinking that if I’m going to let him be a father to me now, then I should start showing him that I at least appreciate his gifts.

  Once I decide I have everything I need, I teleport onto the roof of the apartment building, and look around for my next target. I’ve spent so much time there in the past year and a half; it should stick out like a sore thumb. I see a white building in the distance that I recognize, and decide that that’s where I’ll go. I climb up onto the edge of my roof, and dive towards the ground, this time without an ounce of fear. A smile spreads across my face as my wings spread wide, and swell with the wind as I pull myself up into a glide. This time, I’m high up enough that I have a little room to experiment. I beat my wings twice, and they push me further upward while slowing me down. I groan a little; I’d been coming to enjoy the speed that came with the initial flight.

  My first real challenge doesn’t present itself until I’m close to my destination. I still have no idea how to turn, but I’d rather not crash into the apartment through a newly broken window. There’s one that I broke a few days ago, but it’ll be on my right, meaning I can’t just swoop in and hope for the best. As the window in question comes up, I fold my right wing slightly and lean in the same direction, and surprisingly, I make it through the wide open window. But I misjudge how much space there is, and bang my extended left wing on the wall upon entry. I fold it as quickly as I can, but I’m still being carried forward by my momentum, and end up knocking over a white leather armchair before landing clumsily on my feet.

  I look around at the empty condo, breathing in the mingling scents of its former occupants. At least Landon is still alive; the same can’t be said of the other two. I grit my teeth, and walk to the end of the hall, thrusting myself into Landon’s room without daring to look into any of the others.

  Of all the rooms in the condo, I’ve spent the least amount of time in Landon’s. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the inside of it directly. He’s nowhere near as neat as Nick was, with dirty clothes thrown all over the place, and vibrant splashes of paint adorning the walls in what seem to me a random order. He also smells strongly of Old Spice and fresh linen, and I have to cover my nose as I root through his things to find a bag or suitcase. I find one, and load it with all the acceptable clothes I can find, along with a sketchbook, some pencils, and his favorite painting shirt. I send it to his room in the hotel with a banishing spell, and leave the room almost as cluttered as I found it.

  Part of me is tempted to just leave… I’m not sure if I’m ready to face the past. There are too many memories associated with this place of people that I still can’t bear to remember. But I ultimately decide that I may never have it in me to come here again, and won’t have another opportunity to pay my respects in private. I push into the first room on my right, and close the door behind me.

  Even without opening my eyes, I can tell this is Krystal’s room from the first breath I take in her space. Hints of vanilla and cinnamon flood my nostrils as I walk to the center of the room. It’s sparse, apart from the lone picture of her and the man she was meant to marry twenty years ago, and the books lined up on a solid oak bookshelf. Krystal was my mentor, the woman who taught me how to use my powers. We spent so much time together, but there’s still so much about her that I don’t know. That I’ll never know. Where did she grow up? Who taught her everything she knew? Just how old was she, and how did she hide her age? I wish I’d had more time to find out.

  I glance around the room at her few possessions, and my eyes fall upon a gray metal box left on her perfectly made bed. It seems out of place, and I know she wouldn’t leave it out without a good reason. A folded note lies next to the box on the bed, and I open that first, to find the sloping handwriting that I recognize immediately as Krystal’s:

  Heather,

  I’m assuming it’s you reading this note. I’m sorry for all the things I said when I saw you last. I know you; if there’s anyone left in this world that COULD be the hero you want to be, it’s you. You’re incredibly gifted, and I know you’ll go on to do great things, with or without me. Which is why, if I don’t make it back tonight, I’m leaving these to you. I know you’ll use them well.

  See you on the other side,

  Krystal

  I put the note down before I can burst into tears, and peek into the metal box next to it. Inside, I find her prized weapons; a pair of scarlet pistols, paired with a black leather holster. I lift one to examine it better, the silver angel wings etched into the sides bringing a smile to my lips. It’s as if she knew they ought to be mine back when she made them. I close the box, and scoop it up into my arms, before whispering, “Thank you,” to the empty room. I take one last, long glance, before leaving, and silently closing the door behind me.

  I have to steel myself for the next room I enter. I half expect it to be occu
pied; I can clearly imagine Nick lying on his bed, laughing and waiting for me to join him. But there’s no trace of my boyfriend left here, except for all his neatly placed possessions and the fading scent of caramel. An open book lies on his desk, a line drawn in pencil at the place where he left off. The sight almost brings a smile to my lips; it always irked me that he would do something so disrespectful to a book, but I loved his little quirks all the same.

  Of all the people I failed to save, I grieve the most for him. I slump against the door frame, and let the tears flow as my thoughts race, one after another. I wish I had been faster. I wish I had been stronger. I wish I had thought to use my powers to save him sooner. I wish he were here. I wish, I wish, I wish, over and over, but nothing will ever come of it. He’s gone, and no matter how hard I wish, that will never change.

  As I wipe my face clean of the fresh tears, I get the feeling that I’m no longer alone. I haven’t bothered cloaking my power so that I won’t be found by other spellcasters, but if anyone thinks they’re going to ambush me… they’re in for a rude awakening. I reach into the box Krystal left me, and my fingers close around the handle of a gun. I whirl around the moment I hear a footstep behind me, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. I point the gun at the intruder, and gasp in shock.

  Standing right in front of me, looking every bit as confused as I am, is the very man I thought I’d never see again. Same wavy brown hair as always. Same soft brown eyes. Same Nick. My Nick.

  2

  The gun shakes along with the hand holding it as I keep it trained on Nick. My heart yearns to throw my arms around him and never let go, but my head is warning me not to let my guard down. There’s only a slim chance that this is the real Nick, and even if it is him, there’s no guarantee that he hasn’t come back damaged. “What are you?,” I ask through gritted teeth. “Because you’re sure as hell not my boyfriend. I watched him die.”