The Witch Is Back

by H. P. Mallory

  “Come,” Sinjin said to me. Still in a fog of confused emotions, I pulled away from Rand and walked closer to Sinjin, all the while fighting the need to return to Rand’s arms. Sinjin grabbed me and pulled me close to his chest, never dropping his eyes from Rand’s. “She is mine, Balfour. The sooner you realize that, the better.” Then he smiled, his eyes narrow. “You have been spurned.”

  Rand was fuming—I could see it in the red of his cheeks, his shallow breathing, his chest rising and falling. “You’ve gone too far this time, Sinjin,” he managed to spit out. Then he faced me. “Step away from him, Jolie.”

  I glanced at Sinjin as though I were seeking his permission, or at the least, to get a clue of what was happening. He merely smiled down at me and nodded, pushing me slightly from him. “Randall …”

  But he never finished his sentence. Instead, I watched, horrified, as Rand lunged for him and threw him to the ground. Rand pulled his arm back and pummeled Sinjin’s face as the vampire held up his arms to protect himself. In a split second, Sinjin disappeared from below Rand and reappeared behind him. But Rand was prepared, seeming to fly off his feet, pivoting around. He ducked in time to miss Sinjin’s blow and delivered his own series of jabs into Sinjin’s stomach. All in all, it seemed as if they were pretty evenly matched.

  “Stop!” I screamed and, not even thinking, rushed over to the two of them. I threw myself onto Rand’s back, toppling over a table just beside the door in the process. But I wasn’t concerned. Instead, all my distress was reserved for the fight that was in the process of blowing up between the two men. Grabbing Rand’s forearms, I screamed again. “Stop it!”

  Rand merely shook me off and dived for Sinjin. “You will pay for what you’ve done, bastard!” Rand yelled. The vampire chuckled and sidestepped him, giving me the opportunity to wedge myself between the two of them.

  “I love him!” I screamed at Rand, not even realizing what I was saying or what I was admitting in front of Sinjin. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t (well, not until he admitted it to me first). But the time for regrets was over. “Whatever you think we share isn’t real!” I continued, tears flooding my eyes.

  Rand stood stock-still, his shallow breathing betraying his exhaustion. But I couldn’t look away from his face. He was devastated. He continued staring at me, pain and betrayal in his eyes. But I didn’t care. If his relentless hunt for me was based on unrequited love, I needed to nip it in the bud … now.

  “If you truly care about me, then you’ll leave us alone!” I screamed again, tears streaming down my face. “Because I love Sinjin.”

  “Jolie,” he started, taking a step toward me.

  I held him back with my hand. “No,” I said, my voice cracking with the effort. “Whatever you think we have, it’s nothing more than a delusion.”

  “Just listen to me,” he said.

  I shook my head. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

  He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair as he shook his head but said nothing more. He walked past me and hesitated only momentarily. Once he approached Sinjin, though, he stopped and faced him with hatred flashing from his eyes.

  “This isn’t over, Sinclair,” he said. “I will never stop until she understands what you did to her.”

  Smiling, Sinjin threw his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him, kissing the top of my head. Rand’s lips were tight as he turned around and disappeared out my front door. For some strange reason, and I wasn’t sure why, there was something within me that felt numb, something hollow and sad, that I hadn’t felt before.

  I pulled away from Sinjin, my head ready to explode, there were so many thoughts and questions running through it. I immediately noticed that any damage Rand might have inflicted on him had already healed.

  “What was he talking about?” I demanded.

  Sinjin shook his head. “The nonsensical ravings of a madman.”

  I didn’t say anything right away but, somehow, I knew he was lying to me.

  Sinjin has no reason to lie to you, Jolie, part of me argued. Rand has just completely lost his mind and must think you’re someone else. Or he’s just trying to manipulate you into believing there’s something between you.

  That may be, my other half replied, but I also think Sinjin’s holding out—that he knows more than he’s letting on. He just makes everything seem so simple and I know well enough that that is never the case.

  “Did I meet Rand … before? Like, a long time ago?”

  Sinjin faced me with a smile. “Poppet, that is a question only you can answer. I know of no affiliation between you and the warlock.”

  I shook my head, trying to understand how any of this made sense, trying to fill in the pieces. “I met him in my store not long ago, like I told you.”

  “Then you have your answer.”

  “But why does he seem to think …”

  “He is mad, love,” he said simply. “If you remembered the moment you met him accurately and it truly was only a week or two ago, as you claim, then that can only be the truth, correct?”

  I nodded, relieved that it made lots more sense to just trust Sinjin. That part of me that insisted I could only have known Rand for a matter of days had to be right. I mean, what more could I go on? It’s not like I could remember meeting Rand earlier. The whole thing was completely absurd.

  I faced him with a smile and nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Poppet,” he started and approached me with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Yes?” I responded.

  “Did you mean what you said?”

  I gulped hard, realizing he was referring to when I basically yelled at Rand that I was in love with Sinjin. Well, no use in denying it now. The cat was already way out of the bag. I dropped my eyes to the ground and felt my cheeks flush. “Yes.”

  Instantly, he was before me, tilting my chin up so I could gaze into his face. There was a passion in his eyes I’d never seen before. He just stared at me for a few seconds, and when he spoke his voice was deadly serious. “You do not know how I have yearned to hear those words.”

  My eyes flew open, my heartbeat pounding away in my chest. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself, trying to persuade myself that whatever nightmare I’d just awoken from was just that—a nightmare, nothing more. Staring at the dark ceiling of my bedroom, I realized night was still upon me. I turned my head to the side, the clock on my bedside table glowing two thirty in the morning. Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes. Somehow I just couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread instigated by the dream—it was still eerily haunting me.

  Jolie, it was just a dream, something you completely made up in that ridiculous head of yours! I tried to reassure myself. But it was one of those nightmares where you can’t really stop thinking about it—despite knowing that you’re safely ensconced in your own bed, in your own house, and whatever evils your brain created aren’t real and can’t hurt you.

  This nightmare wasn’t so much about the visuals, though, as the feelings it drummed up within me—anxiety, hopelessness, dread … familiarity. It was as if I’d seen it all before, that uncanny déjà vu everyone experiences sometime in his or her life. The strangest part about the whole thing, though, was that although the images of the nightmare were macabre, they meant nothing to me. I lay back down again and closed my eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but all I could focus on were the visions that had just faded—from a nightmare that made no sense at all … So why couldn’t I shake it?

  The dream began with scenes of open land that was devastated and barren, like a bomb had gone off. But the lumps on the ground were what grabbed my attention. They were people lying facedown in muck, people who were also very much dead. Almost as quickly as the vision upset me, it receded into the distance of my subconscious and another one replaced it. This dreamscape centered on a throne that was vacant. A scepter and a crown stood at either side of a golden chair. Then, just like that, the image of the chair was ripped away, r
eplaced by a battle scene. I saw creatures I knew—witches, warlocks, and vampires—as well as others that I didn’t recognize. They all displayed extraordinary powers as they battled one another, fighting to the death. The term Lurkers entered my mind, and seemed to eat through my body like cancer. Just as quickly as the image of the combative creatures vanished from my unconscious mind, the image of the throne returned. This time, however, the crown and the scepter began melting into the base of the golden chair. And that’s what woke me up, now a frantic mess in a cold sweat.

  As I lay in my bed and coaxed my mind to rest—to ignore the meaningless dreamscapes—I started to feel an overwhelming sense of exhaustion, almost of nausea. What did it mean that the word Lurkers was in my dream? I remembered Sinjin telling me about the Lurkers, how Bella had cast that spell to learn what they were up to. I shook the feelings of dread aside. It was merely my subconscious playing tricks on me, bringing to light subjects from my conscious mind. Still, mind trick or not, I suddenly didn’t want to be alone. I was cross with myself for telling Sinjin I needed to be alone tonight, that I had to sleep. Really, that was never the truth. Instead, I’d been so bothered by his exchange with Rand, I felt I needed some “me-time” away from the imposing, larger-than-life vampire.

  Yes, I loved Sinjin, but I couldn’t deny that there was something within me that didn’t entirely believe him, not 100 percent, anyway. So, seeking some elucidation, I opted for a night on my own. I hoped that with some time to think about everything that had happened, I could figure out what to make of the whole ordeal. Well, that was then. Now I would have gladly traded in the me-time for some Sinjin-time. I just felt strangely feeble—like an incredibly rapid illness had started consuming me, draining me of strength. Of course, that was ludicrous—it wasn’t like dreams could cause illness.

  I tossed and turned for a few more minutes, unable to get comfortable. After another ten minutes, during which I counted 150 sheep, 70 horses, 54 chickens, and 20 rabbits, I decided to give up. I sat up and took a deep breath, fighting the realization that I truly wasn’t well. The more I fought it, however, the more I knew I had just contracted a case of the most contagious flu known to man. I brought the top of my hand to my forehead and checked my temperature the old-fashioned way.

  I was definitely feverish.

  Then, deciding not to rely on such a non-scientific test, I pushed the bedclothes aside and forced myself up. Instantly, I felt light-headed and almost dazed. I managed to make it to my bathroom where I turned on the light and groped inside my top drawer for the thermometer. I stuck it in my mouth and waited. When it beeped its signal, I pulled it out and read it. I was running a temperature of 104.

  “What?” I asked out loud. I shook it, thinking there must have been something wrong with the thermometer, and put it back under my tongue. A minute later it beeped again, revealing the same result. I was on fire! Now really nervous, I threw open my medicine cabinet and searched for the Tylenol. I swiftly downed two of the gelcaps and glanced in the mirror, noting how pale my skin looked and damp my hairline was—from sweat.

  “What is wrong with me?” I asked my reflection. As I hobbled back to bed, I felt pathetically feeble and frail. I sort of collapsed on top of it and managed to wrap the duvet cover over me, taco-style. That was when I knew something was seriously wrong. I’d never had a cold or a flu develop so quickly. What if I’d picked up a strange infection like E. coli or something equally unpleasant? What if I had flesh-eating bacteria? I felt my stomach suddenly recoiling at the thought and I had to wonder if the bacteria hadn’t already invaded, devouring my stomach lining.

  I reached for the phone beside my bed and dialed Sinjin’s number.

  “Poppet,” he answered on the first ring. “Why are you awake at this hour? I thought you needed your rest?” His tone was jovial, as if he was delighted to hear my voice.

  “Something’s wrong with me, Sinjin,” I said as I shivered despite myself. “I think I have that flesh-eating bacteria.”

  “Wrong with you?” he repeated, any joy now completely absent from his tone. “Flesh-eating bacteria?”

  “Yes, I feel incredibly sick and weak.”

  “I will be there momentarily,” he said and, before I could respond, he hung up. I placed the phone on the cradle and huddled in the fetal position, trying to will myself warm, but chills were now running up and down my body.

  No more than five minutes passed between the time I got off the phone with Sinjin and his arrival at my house. I heard him try the front door and remembered I’d locked it. Then I heard his footsteps as he walked around the house, eventually finding his way to my bedroom window. I sat up and took a deep breath, unsure of how I would stand up and walk over to the window to let him in. I hobbled a few steps but suddenly felt light-headed, seeing stars orbiting around me. Leaning and off balance, I started to succumb to what I assumed was a faint and caught myself on my boudoir chair in the corner of the room.

  At the sound of shattered glass, I didn’t need to glance up to know Sinjin had just arrived. Within an instant, he was beside me, heaving me into his arms as he crunched on the glass underfoot. I couldn’t find it within me to complain about my smashed bedroom window. I was just too tired, too sick to care.

  “What is the matter, poppet?” he asked with visible concern. “What is wrong with you?”

  I nestled my head against his broad chest and closed my eyes for a moment, relishing the fact that he was here, that he would take care of me. “I don’t know,” I whispered. “I just remember this weird dream and then, all of a sudden, I felt so weak and so … so sick.”

  He lay me down on my bed and I shivered as soon as he removed his hands. Strangely enough, considering how cold he was, I felt warmer in his arms. He wrapped the duvet around me and sat down close to me, stroking my hair like a mother would her sick child.

  “Describe the dream.”

  I closed my eyes, wanting only to sleep off my feelings of exhaustion and weariness. But Sinjin tapped my shoulder as if to remind me that I hadn’t answered him. I yawned and tried to remember the dream again. “It was just a bunch of images,” I started. “The first was a battlefield of dead bodies. Then there was an empty throne with a scepter and a crown.” I glanced up at him and saw him swallow hard. It was almost as if he could see the very scenes I was describing. Something in his eyes hinted at familiarity; he didn’t seem shocked or surprised.

  “Go on,” he prodded.

  “I remember the word Lurkers repeating over and over again through my head.” I was quiet for a second or two as scenes from the dream returned anew. “But it wasn’t even my voice in my head that was saying the word,” I said, amazed by the sudden realization. “I think it was a man’s voice that kept repeating ‘Lurkers.’ It was as if someone else sent the dream to me.”

  “And then what happened, poppet?” Sinjin asked, his tone purposeful, his eyes narrowed on me.

  I shook my head, still fixated on the idea that the dream seemed forced—as if it hadn’t really been mine. “Then seconds after I woke up, I had a fever and started feeling awful.”

  “I see.” He glanced down at me with a fake smile, as if he was trying to hide what was in his eyes—could it be fear? “Perhaps you have caught the flu?”

  I shook my head, refusing to believe that my current condition had anything to do with a virus. At this point, I’d also ruled out the flesh-eating bacteria. No, this was somehow connected to my nightmare. I was certain of it. “Sinjin, what does this mean?”

  He shook his head, crossing his arms against his chest as he did so. “I do not know, love.” But something in his expression screamed the opposite. After a few seconds of silence, he said, “Poppet, I think we should call Isabella.”

  “Bella?” I asked, as my stomach dropped to my feet. I felt like vomiting now more than ever before. The last thing I wanted to do was deal with that snobby bitch again, especially when I wasn’t feeling my normal, patient, good-natured self.

 
; He nodded and stood up, fishing his iPhone from his pocket. “I want her to … examine you.”

  I tried to sit up but found I wasn’t strong enough. “Examine me?” I took a deep breath, suddenly finding it difficult to inhale as I was seized with a fit of coughing. Once I’d gotten myself under control again, I said, “I don’t understand.”

  But he said nothing more as I watched him dial Bella on his cell phone. Then he turned his back on me as if he didn’t want me to overhear their conversation. A few seconds later, he clicked off his phone, sliding it back into his pocket as he turned to face me with an artificial smile.

  “Why are you acting so weird?” I demanded.

  “Weird, poppet?”

  “My dream didn’t seem to surprise you at all.”

  He shook his head and sat down beside me, rubbing my shoulder as he gave me a reassuring smile. “It must be your fever speaking, love. I have no knowledge of your dream.”

  I figured it was useless to argue, especially when I was feeling so crappy. “Why does Bella have to come over?” I asked, turning to something else that aggravated me.

  He sighed. “I want to be certain there is not more to this sudden illness of yours than meets the eye.”

  “Do you think it’s magic-related, then?” I asked, feeling the tentacles of a headache starting between my eyes. I closed my eyes and purposefully willed the headache to go away. It surprised me when the pain began to fade away into nothing.

  “Perhaps,” he said simply before facing me again, compassion in his ice-blue gaze. “Poppet, you need to rest and conserve your strength to overcome this bug. Please no more questions.”

  I wanted to argue with him, to demand an explanation as to how and why he thought magic was involved, but he was correct, I did need to conserve my strength. I was now even more exhausted than before. It was as if the willpower to send my headache packing had zapped me of any remaining energy I possessed.

  I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, but was unsuccessful. Instead, I listened to the sound of Sinjin cleaning up the broken glass from the window, and then his footsteps as he paced back and forth, obviously distressed by my condition. I found myself zoning out with the rhythm of his footfalls against my wood floor. I wondered why there were times when he didn’t make a sound, and could walk up behind me without me ever hearing him. Yet at other times, he made as much sound as a regular person.