by Anna Abner
* * *
Friday dawned dark, the sky choked with gray and black storm clouds. Derek showered and stood at the kitchen window watching the rain and the occasional flash of silver lightning.
He and Jessa had stayed up late talking to Jolie. Or, the girls had stayed up late catching each other up on their goings-on while Derek had hung two surfboards and cooked homemade pizza for dinner. He was so happy to see Jessa content. If there was any good to come out of being attacked by the cabal, it was that she had the chance to see her sister again.
In fact, simply being in Jessa’s orbit made him ecstatic. Having his memories back didn’t cloud how amazing she was, and always had been. Without Paul’s shadow looming over him, he could see how special she truly was and what an idiot he’d been to put the dark cabal first.
As he padded around the kitchen scrounging leftovers for breakfast, thinking what a lucky man he was, Jessa emerged from her bedroom, freshly showered and dressed in dark jeans and a V-neck, looking as sweet and delicious as a ripe summer strawberry.
“I could eat you up,” he greeted, giving her a kiss.
“Promise?” she teased, grabbing an orange and settling at the kitchen table.
“Don’t temp me.” In fact, he could remove the eggs from the stove and finish cooking later—
A key scratched into the front door lock, and then Esmeralda barged into the room. Any fun he’d been imagining withered and turned to dust.
“What is on the walls?” she exclaimed. “Did you graffiti in here? And why is the furniture different? Are those my sheets?!”
“Hi,” Jessa greeted. “How did you get through the storm?”
“The roads aren’t flooded yet,” she said.
“Oh. Good. I’m glad you’re back.”
“Can I speak to you?” Esmeralda hissed out of the corner of her mouth. “Privately?”
“Of course,” Jessa said, joining her beside the door.
Derek eased nearer the kitchen archway in order to listen because it was obvious the woman was agitated. The last thing he wanted was Jessa’s roommate to start a fight just as things were calming down.
“What is going on?” Esmeralda whispered at Jessa. “Who is that person? Is he dangerous? Is he blackmailing you? Is that why you’re still here playing house after he abducted you and ransacked our home?”
When Esmeralda finally took a breath, Jessa said, “Derek’s a good guy. A little messed up, but I understand why. He’s not hurting me. He’s not dangerous.”
Her words spread through him, filling up the empty spaces.
“Why don’t you stay and eat with us?” Jessa asked.
“I can’t hang around while all this weird shit is going on. I care about you, but you don’t see what’s happening. So, go ahead and rent out my room if you find someone. Or hey,” she exclaimed, stomping into the hallway, “just move your new boyfriend in. Whatever. I’m done with this.”
She disappeared into her room, reemerging with two suitcases. She paused only long enough to throw in her remaining sheet sets, her blow dryer from the bathroom, and all her marked nonperishables from the kitchen cupboards.
“Call me when you come to your senses,” she said on her way out. “See you around.” The door swung closed behind her.
“Crap,” Jessa said, throwing her hands up. “I don’t want her to leave like this. We’re friends. We should be able to work this out.”
“So, call her and explain,” Derek said, not that explaining what was going on would be easy, but if anyone could do it, Jessa could. “Convince her to stay.”
Jessa shook her head. “She’d only be in danger, and I can’t do that to her. She doesn’t deserve to be the cabal’s next target.” She glanced up, her eyes softening. “I get it,” she told him. “You left town because you didn’t want to hurt the people you care about. You wouldn’t kiss me because it would put me in danger. I get it, but it totally sucks.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. He’d given up a lot to keep her safe. Maybe it was time to keep her safe by sticking around.
A floor-rattling clap of thunder interrupted what he was going to say next. They both squeezed in front of the living room window.
Derek gazed heavenward. “The storm’s coming.” A tree branch smashed against the bedroom wall.
“It’s getting worse,” Jessa fretted.
“The last time a hurricane hit,” Derek observed, “I spent the weekend in Charlotte. Had a really nice time.” He glanced around the room. “We should check all the windows and doors.” He made a circle of the apartment, sliding locks and closing blinds. When he returned to the living room Jessa was flipping channels on the TV to the local news.
“My family’s lived in the area forever,” she said. “We don’t evacuate for anything less than a three. Some sandbags, a generator, and a water-tight place to wait it out are all you need.”
“It was more fun,” Derek teased, “with room service and pay-per-view.” And then something on the television caught his eye. “It’s already a category three?”
“And it’s too late to leave, anyway. Look.” She gestured to the TV with the remote, and then turned up the volume.
“An accident on Highway 17 and lane closures due to construction on the 24,” the square-faced reporter said, “has Auburn drivers stranded. Unless you’re in an emergency, the highway patrol recommends that you stay where you are. We have word neither road will be clear for regular travel for hours.”
He wondered how much of the traffic snarl was the mayor’s fault. Had he mucked up the exit routes on purpose?
“Crap,” Jessa grumbled. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to hit until tonight.”
He didn’t want to contemplate that this was just the warm-up act before the main event.
“I’ve never sat through a storm this bad.” She glanced up as the heavens opened and rain poured.
Something heavy slammed into the roof, and the lights went out, taking the TV with them. Without the noise from the television to cover it, the wind howled through the complex and the rain was like a rock drum beat upon the walls.
“We’re safe inside,” he assured. But he gestured her into the shadowed hallway, anyway. “When I was looking for tools earlier I found this.” He pulled a battery-powered camp lantern from the hall closet and turned it on. Dim, golden light only made the apartment seem more frightening.
Jessa sat against the wall, and he crouched across from her, his legs protectively locking around hers.
“Jolie’s not around, right?” she asked.
Derek scanned the areas visible from the hallway but had no sense of her. “Not right now. Sometimes she checks in with the coven.”
“Good, because I want to talk to you about her.”
“Sure.” He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position on the floor. “What is it?”
“You told me the only ghosts on earth were stuck here,” she said. “Can you explain that to me?”
He gave up on being comfortable. “When you die, you’re supposed to cross over in a flash of light and find peace on the other side.”
“But Jolie’s still here.” She fidgeted with her hands, bringing one to her mouth to nibble on a fingernail.
“Sometimes a spirit chooses to stay,” he said, trying to soft pedal the situation, knowing she was overly sensitive about her little sister. “Maybe they have unfinished business. Maybe their death was so violent they can’t let it go. Or maybe they have family they want to stay for.”
“So,” she chewed a bit of nail off and then clutched her hands in her lap, “Jolie’s stuck here because of me.”
“It’s her choice,” he said, “not your fault.”
“Well, that’s unacceptable,” she said. “She deserves to be free as much as anyone else. She needs to be free.” Her voice was strained, and he got up and re-situated himself beside her so he could slide an arm around her shoulders.
“We’ll tell her,” he promised. “She needs to cross over an
d find peace.”
Jessa’s cell phone chimed from the kitchen.
* * *
Jessa leapt to check her phone, pausing at the window to peek through the blinds. Outside, clouds crowded the ashen sky, and murky water flooded the parking lot, transforming the lawn area near the stairwell into a swamp.
She stared at her phone, but the image embedded in the newest text confused her.
“What is this?” She carried the phone to Derek as if it were on fire because things were becoming horrifically clear. “What the hell is this?”
She thrust the screen in Derek’s face, and he made an unintelligible noise of outrage. So, they had come to the same conclusion.
The message was a blurry photo of a woman beaten and bound, lying on the floor and surrounded by glyphs.
“Oh, Esmeralda,” she moaned. Jessa had been naïve to think her roommate could escape the dark cabal simply by leaving the neighborhood.
“It’s Esmeralda,” he said, “being held hostage at my home.”
The words clanged into the space between them, and she pushed the phone away in order to pace and think.
There seemed to be only one option.
“We have to go get her.” Jessa gathered her keys. “Right now. We have to call the police.” But he wasn’t following. “We have to do something! Derek.”
“They want us to come running,” he said gently. “That’s why they sent you the photo.”
“Mind games again?” She hauled back and kicked the door. “I’m so sick of this crap.”
“She may already be dead.”
“So, what are we supposed to do?” she exclaimed.
“Let’s call Willow.” Derek dialed the witch’s number and hit speaker. “We received a message,” he said when she answered. “The cabal has Jessa’s roommate hostage at my old house. We need to go in and get her.”
After a pause, Willow asked, “Do you think she’s the final sacrifice?”
“Unless this is some kind of distraction,” he sighed, “yes.”
“We need to discuss this. Come to Sparky’s and bring Jessa.”
Jessa turned her phone on and stared at the photo again. “Why would he send me this?” she asked. “Why would he tell us what he’s planning?”
“Because he doesn’t have any confidence in us whatsoever,” Derek said. “He’s not even a little bit afraid. Actually, he’d probably enjoy an audience for his big trick. What better way to ensure we’ll be there?”
“He’s sick.” Scowling, she put away her phone. “I can’t believe this.” And then more quietly, “I thought we had more time.”
“Me too.” His mind raced. If this was the final battle, he wanted to be ready. More than ready. He wanted to win.
“Before we go…” He made a beeline for Jessa’s bedroom. “I need your help,” he said, rifling through her closet. He pulled out four pairs of slim slacks in greys and blacks.
“Give me those.” She tugged on the clothes, but he held firm on the wire hangers, and she ended up with nothing but the trousers. “We don’t have time for this.”
“We’ll make time,” he said. “Do you have a lighter?” He carried the hangers to the dresser and sifted through the contents.
“Maybe,” she said, closing the drawers. “Why?”
“I can reshape these,” he said, plucking a fireplace lighter from her sock drawer. Right next to the cough medicine. He evaded her efforts to shoo him away and carried his supplies into the bathroom.
Time was of the essence, and every advantage was worth exploring. If Cole Burkov, the most powerful necromancer alive according to the Dark Caster, trusted his magic to tattoos, then Derek trusted Cole.
Because no matter what Jessa or Willow or any of them might say about Derek saving their asses at the last confrontation, in reality, Derek had failed.
He’d failed to protect Jessa from a demon spell.
He’d failed to kill Paul when he’d been within reach.
He’d failed to stand up for himself, and instead run across an entire continent to hide.
He couldn’t fail again.
“I need you to burn four glyphs into my skin,” he said flatly.
“No.”
He briefly clenched his jaw. “Why not?”
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said.
“I need you to do this,” he explained slowly, afraid to spook her any further. “I won’t have to draw a spell circle. It could save both our lives. Please, Jessa.”
She looked away, fiddled with the medicine cabinet. “I don’t want to.”
“Listen,” he said. “You can make the burns faster than I can. It’ll hurt less if you do it than if I have to pretzel myself to reach my back.”
She stared at the jumble of wire in his hand for a long time. “Why, exactly, do you need to scar yourself?”
“I use glyphs to channel and magnify a spirit’s power,” he said more urgently. “You’ve seen me draw them on the walls or in the dirt. With the way things are going, though, the cabal won’t give us time to stop and draw circles. They’re going to be attacking us before we can even get a visual on them. This,” he nodded at the group of hangers, “will help.”
He pictured her hit by the summoning spell and falling, limp as a wet towel, into his arms. He couldn’t handle her getting hurt again. He couldn’t even think about it.
“If it will help protect you,” she exhaled, “I’ll do it. Under duress.”
“Thank you.”
She didn’t respond, but he read the hesitation in her eyes.
Jessa rifled through her first aid supplies and insisted both of them wash with soap and water and then sanitize everything, including the hangers and his skin, with antibacterial spray. Finally, when she was satisfied he wasn’t going to contract a deadly disease, she settled down.
By hand, he bent and twisted each hanger into a separate spell mark. “Here you go.” He offered her the first hanger and then heated it with the lighter until it glowed red. “Go around my waist. Space them out as evenly as you can—”
“What if I burn through your kidney?” she asked, her voice wobbly. “What if your intestines spill out?”
“Neither of those things are going to happen,” he said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “You’re only penetrating deep enough to scar. You’re not performing surgery.”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
Derek stood before the mirror and crossed his arms near his shoulders, concentrating on standing very still.
“Do it fast before it loses heat.”
Carefully she pressed the brand into his skin. But she was too cautious. The searing pain seemed to last an eternity as the stench of burning flesh turned his stomach. The discomfort triggered memories.
Just before Derek had left the state, he’d been a prisoner of the dark cabal, the people he’d once considered friends. They’d beaten him, starved him, and tortured him with black magic. The pain was what he remembered most.
The longer Jessa burned him the worse the memories grew in his mind. Sweat ran into his open wounds. And then he started to shake.
The moment she pulled the brand off his skin, he dropped his arms and wiggled around her.
“Sorry,” he muttered, “I need a minute.” He fled the bathroom, finding a hiding place in the kitchen near the sink. He tried to slow his breathing as he braced himself on the counter, but he continued to quiver uncontrollably. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“What’s wrong?” Jessa rushed over and examined her handiwork. “I hurt you. I knew it.”
Without opening his eyes, he said, “It’s not you. It’s not—” It was easier confessing from within the dark behind his eyelids. “They tortured me.”
Jessa’s words of concern died off.
“Right before I moved,” he continued.
She still didn’t say anything.
“They treated me like an animal. Worse than an animal. And the pain.” He cleared his throat. “The
pain…” Nope, it wasn’t coming out.
Wedging herself between his rigid forearms, Jessa pressed herself against him, holding him tight.
“That’s why you left the state?” she whispered.
It was certainly part of the reason, yes.
“I’m not hurting you anymore,” she said.
“Jessa.” He opened his eyes to focus on her concerned face. “Please. You have to, no matter how much it hurts.”
“If I don’t?”
“We might not make it through this. Either of us,” he stressed.
Finally, she swallowed and then nodded.
They returned to the bathroom.
“Let me do the next one,” he said, fingering the second hanger before holding it atop the flame. “I can see my stomach.” Above his belly button, he burned a glyph into his skin in one swift push. The sting was sharp, but it quickly faded to a manageable hum.
“I’ll go faster.” She burned a glyph into his left side and a final one along his spinal column. “Jesus,” she said, tossing the hangers into the trash. “Tell me there’s no more.”
“I’m done,” he said and then clenched his jaws together against the pain.
“Will you at least let me wash away the blood?” she asked.
He didn’t answer, was too busy concentrating on staying in the present moment and not slipping into the nightmare of the past.
She returned to the first aid kit for alcohol wipes and bandages.
“Don’t clean it too well,” he grumbled. “It has to scar.”
She swept the alcohol wipes around his waist, removing blood and charred flesh.
But the longer she sanitized, the tenser his muscles grew until he felt like an iron statue.
“All done,” she said. “Just bandages now.” She spread clean squares of gauze over his skin.
“Thank you,” he said. He took her hands off his waist and kissed each finger. “Thank you, Jessa.”
“I would do anything for you,” she said softly. “You mean a lot to me. You always have.”
Any words of reciprocation clogged in his throat, and instead of answering, he held her, transferring all of his love and hope into her through his pores.
But there wasn’t time for more.
