“Why are you giving me a bra?” she breathed.
“I was wondering… Is there… magic on it?” he asked. The words sounded so stupid coming out of his mouth. “Is it cursed?”
She didn’t answer, just stared blankly at the Wonderbra. “This is Sandy’s?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you think it’s cursed?” she pressed. “Why?”
He exhaled uncomfortably. “I don’t know. I just… it gave me a bad feeling.”
She laughed mockingly. “Of course it did. You were clearly misled. This had to add two cup sizes, at least.”
He didn’t laugh. He didn’t know why she thought he’d find that funny when he was clearly distraught. “Jules, please,” he muttered.
“No,” she finally answered with a soft smile. “There’s no magic on your girlfriend’s bra. You’re becoming paranoid.”
He was. He should have known better, but… something still nagged him about it. “You’re sure?” he pressed.
“Positive.” She handed the bag back to him, and he sheepishly took it. He shifted his weight. “Is there something else?” she asked, as if reading his mind.
“Yeah… sorry…” he muttered.
She shrugged. “It’s okay. What’s your question?”
“At the falls… when you said that there was more magic in my life… did you mean me?”
She didn’t answer but gave him another curious look, like she didn’t know what to make of him. He’d never gotten that look so much in his life as he had that day.
“You still don’t know?”
His heart thumped hard. “Do I have magic? A…” What did Aurora call it? “A spark?”
A small, endearing smile spread across her lips. “You? Eric, you’re adorable. Of course not. Don’t be silly.”
He nodded his head dumbly, staring at the pavement in defeat. Hope was a slippery bitch, and he couldn’t seem to hold onto even a bit of it for longer than a week.
Jules stepped closer and lowered her gaze. In a much more serious tone, she whispered, “Don’t give up. Keep looking for answers. You’ll find what you need. I know it.”
“Thank you,” he said gruffly. She turned away, leaving him alone with more questions and confusion than he came with and no answer that could help.
He got into his car and hung his head, resting wearily against the steering wheel, when his cell phone buzzed with a text message from Todd.
Get here now, it read.
TODD:
He shifted in his seat, staring down at the floor of his car with his arms crossed. Anger still roiled through him like a raging tornado. He stared transfixed at the mud on his sneakers, as he had been doing for hours. His glance shifted from the mud to his bloodied wrists. Sandy’s nail marks cut up his forearms and streaked his skin with a thin veil of blood. He could be sick. Nausea churned his stomach. Bile splashed at the back of his throat. His muscles ached from holding back the vengeance that pushed and pulled at him. Whispers from a girl he should never have trusted rang in his ears, and the rage she lifted within him now begged him to unleash it on her.
Going there with Sandy had been a terrible mistake. It almost cost her life and what little was left of his soul. He continually made these shitty mistakes, all the while knowing just what was waiting around the corner. He could play through the scenarios, pick out what would happen and the reactions to it. He knew where he’d be going soon, what he’d be doing after, and about how long until it destroyed him. It was as clear as fucking glass, but there was no stopping any of it. He was a train wreck waiting to happen. Always had been. Now was no different.
A black Pontiac Sunfire screeched to a stop at the curb in front of him. Eric flew from his car and sprinted up the lawn, not noticing Todd where he waited. Once Eric was inside the door he had purposely left unlocked, he turned his key in the ignition. The engine came roaring to life, and he got out of there before he could change his mind. There was no way he could face Eric now. He shouldn’t see anyone, not while the rage still churned within him, needing release.
When he got home, he could hear Mimi calling to him through the door, meowing in excitement at the sound of keys in the lock. Damn stupid cat. He pushed the door open, and she circled his legs affectionately.
“Get outta here,” he yelled. She didn’t listen, barely backing away.
His fists curled, hands trembling, searching for something to destroy, and for the first time since he’d settled into Tony’s home, he regretted moving. Everything in the fucking place was Tony’s, everything nice and new and not his.
He shoved his hands into his hair, hating himself and using his hair as his outlet, tugging on it hard. Pain barely registered. He swiped a glass of water from the counter and hurled it. The cup struck the wall beside his bedroom door, shattering on impact. Glass and water sprayed everywhere, and Mimi ran, claws scraping the hardwood floors as she took off into hiding.
He cursed himself as he stalked over. Fucking dick. Broken glass on the floor when Mimi spends her life there? Why not just take a knife to her paw, idiot. Selfish jackass.
He snatched shards of glass from the floor, piling them in his palm, and one sliced his finger open. A thin line of scarlet blood trickled down his hand. He sat down, leaning against the wall. Water seeped into his jeans, and glass crunched under him. He dropped the glittering pieces aside and grabbed the biggest. It was a long shard. He studied the way the light glinted off the edge and the bloody fingerprint smudge he’d left behind on the smooth surface. The broken edge was straight and came to a sharp, thin point.
He opened his palm, still glittering with tiny flecks of glass, and pressed the point to his skin. The skin depressed down until the pressure broke through it. A tiny bead of blood bubbled up from the puncture, and a smooth, easy feeling coursed through him. It felt wrong to feel so good in that moment, but the red blood captured his attention. The way that it stayed in a perfect circle, a little red dome in his hand. He dragged the glass across the length of his palm and sighed in relief as the twinge of pain was replaced by something satisfying to his frustrated mind.
I almost killed Sandy.
The look on her face as she choked for air repeated on a loop in his head. He’d replayed the moment over and over, watching as her face turned white, then red, then blue.
He slid the hem of his jeans up to his knee and crossed his leg before him. As he used the glass to carve her name into his calf, he thought of all the terrible things he’d ever done to her. To everyone he ever cared about. She never should have forgiven him, and he hated her for it.
Tears blurred his vision as he finished the “Y” with its last cut, leaving his cousin’s name in sharp red letters dripping down his leg. With time it would scar, leaving him forever imprinted with what he had done, proof that he was worthless on every level, whether as a drug addict or an Ivy League student. He was born dirt, and that was the way he would be forever. Why had he ever thought any different?
White, red, blue… Her eyes had pleaded with him at first, and then… defeat… acceptance… pity.
I almost killed her. Weak… worthless…
His hand slipped into his pocket, drawing out a fistful of small, orange prescription bottles reading Cassandra A. Whitmer. He’d stolen them from her bathroom cabinet. Expired anxiety meds and painkillers. Shit like this never would have been so easy to find when he lived at her house; his aunt never would have been so careless. He almost wanted to laugh about it. Sandy had grown up in a home where things as simple as ibuprofen had to be kept locked away. He really was a shit-faced loser. He’d found the mother lode in her cabinet, left over from her surgery. He’d already been into the pills, but he choked down another three. Not enough. Not even close. He lifted the bottles to his lips, one by one, chugging them back. He swallowed every last pill.
No more. No more fighting.
The empty bottles fell from his hand and rolled across the floor. His head thumped back against the wall. He rea
ched for the glass shard. This next cut would dig deeper.
CHAPTER 26
WHISPERS IN THE VOID
My mind was in turmoil. I lay motionless, the world a frozen blur around me. I could feel my hand pressed against something icy cold, and that small feeling reminded me that I was not dead. Last I checked, breath still moved in and out of me, and every so often I would feel the beat of my heart, pumping blood through a body that refused to put it to use.
I blinked, my lashes a spotty shadow at the upper edge of my vision, and I felt a sweeping warmth close around me. Murmurs and whispers ran like a melody through my head, and I imagined that Eric was with me. His arms coiled around my waist, and his cheek brushed mine. Soft lips kissed me, and I was surrounded by warmth. I felt secure, protected, and my lashes closed, blocking out the frosty world below my window.
My mind became aware long before my eyes opened. The world was silent. The stillness of snowfall had blanketed everything. I heard no cars, no people, no birds. Nothing but breath moving in and out of my body… and another.
I was warm, despite my hand being pressed against the cold glass of my bedroom window. Fog surrounded my fingerprints, and condensation dripped from the pane, sliding down to meet a tiny puddle on the windowsill. Blankets wrapped me to my shoulder, but normally in my own bed I never felt so warm. Especially not in winter. The low temperatures of my home usually made my nose feel like ice, despite being indoors. I noticed an arm draped across me. My arm that wasn’t seeking the outside was tucked under my comforter, wrapped around my furry stuffed rabbit, with my fingers twined with Eric’s.
I turned slowly, afraid that I might be dreaming, or that it might be someone else. When my gaze reached his face, the most stunning blue eyes met mine; deep, stormy blue with bright flecks of aqua and cerulean. He said nothing, only watched me. The familiarity of his face slowly set in. I knew that perfectly straight nose with a slight bump to it, the boyish features masking a masculine bone structure, the soft lips dusted with a pale pink glow. His blond hair was a little mussed from lying down, but swept up and shining in the hazy glow of afternoon snow.
He was warm, real, and within reach. I snuggled into him, and he surrounded me once more. In his arms, the day came back to me. Piece by piece, the puzzle came together. I remembered the fear. Running. Nearly dying, and the pain in Todd’s voice. I couldn’t recall returning home, how I got there or what became of Todd, but Eric didn’t press me for answers. He just held me. His arms were the only thing keeping me from falling apart. It was like I was an unraveled spool of thread, and every second spent in his arms was carefully winding me back into place.
Hours passed, and with the steady departure of the sun, I made my first motion, sitting up slowly. My body ached, and my throat felt worse than any cold I’d ever suffered. My teeth hurt with the steady throbbing of my jaw. I lifted a hand to my tender cheek and carefully felt the line of my teeth with my rubbery tongue, making sure I still had all of them. Every single tooth was in place, but with the motion of my mouth came more pain.
“Do you need another ice pack?” Eric asked.
Another? I noticed the blue gel pack beside my pillow, soft and warm now, and wondered when my face had been iced. By me? Eric? Todd? I couldn’t even recall asking Eric to come. Had I?
I crawled out of my blankets. The world was bitterly cold outside the cocoon of my bed and Eric’s embrace. I was wearing my flannel pajama dress. It reached my knees in folds of navy blue plaid. I didn’t remember changing my clothes either.
I dragged my robe off of my desk chair and slowly slid my trembling arms into the thin terrycloth, closing the front securely. Eric was like a shadow in the room, unobtrusive and barely noticed as I sat before my mirror. I slowly lifted my eyes to my reflection, afraid of what I’d see. I had expected much worse. The left side of my face was a bit puffy. My lip had split and crusted over in a thin dark line. The skin surrounding it was in the stages before a bruise set in, looking like oddly placed shadows. I knew they would darken with time. My neck, however, was already dark. The mark of Todd’s hands was plain as day, dark imprints swollen thick around my thin neck. It looked as bad as it felt. Broken capillaries littered my neck and reached like branches up to the line of my jaw. My fingertips brushed along the tender marks gently.
“I want to take you to a doctor,” Eric said.
I dropped my hand and shook my head a tiny bit. “No,” I whispered. My hoarse throat made my voice choked and raspy. Even breathing felt like a chore. Every little motion felt like the stab of a knife.
I noticed my clock: the glowing numbers read six p.m. I thought about talking but reached for a pen and paper instead. I scribbled my note on the back of a clothing receipt and handed it to Eric. He silently read my question of where his car was.
“It’s out front.”
I took the paper back from him, requesting in writing that he move it and return. My parents would be home any second, and I didn’t want them to know he was there. There was no way I was sending him away either.
Waiting a few minutes for his return brought an empty feeling to the pit of my stomach. Todd had nearly killed me. I almost died. Again.
The same words repeated in my head over and over, and a sudden flash of memory sent my heart pounding in my chest. I gripped my robe tightly, waiting for the fear to pass, and heard the front door open downstairs. My parents conversed lightly, having no clue that their only daughter had faced death just hours earlier.
My mom called my name. I grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around my neck several times. I hastily dabbed my tender face with concealer. The makeup did very little to hide my bruises so I tucked my chin into the loops of my scarf. She called my name again, impatiently this time.
My legs threatened to buckle as I slowly descended the stairs. My parents were in the kitchen, leisurely flipping through takeout menus. “What about Longhorn’s?” my dad suggested.
“Again? Really Jack?”
I shuffled into the kitchen. “There you are. We’re ordering food,” my mom announced without looking up.
“I’m not hungry,” I rasped.
Her eyes leapt to my face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I have a cold,” I lied, choking pathetically on the words. My throat felt like it was jammed full with razor blades, and every swallow, every breath, sliced into me.
“Maybe we should get Chinese,” she said, scanning the menu in her hand. “We’ll get you some of that soup… what is it? The one with the egg?”
“Egg drop,” my dad answered.
“No. That’s not it.”
“I’m fine. I just need sleep.”
She met my eyes, studying the weak look in them for a moment before turning back to the menus. “Alright. There’s soup in the cabinet if you change your mind.”
I turned away, relieved, yet a bit disappointed that they hadn’t noticed that something more than a fake cold was wrong with me. Were they bad parents or just preoccupied? I couldn’t be that great a liar.
Once out of sight, I drew the scarf from my face and freed my tortured neck from its constraints. Eric snuck a peek through the front window and caught my eye. I waved him in. He cautiously opened the door and slipped inside without a sound. We both crept up the stairs, but when it became clear how exhausted and pained I was, Eric swept me carefully into his arms and carried me the rest of the way.
He shut my door gently. My parents hadn’t suspected a thing. They didn’t pay attention. Ever. I had one good, steady thing in my life, and that was the man in my arms. He always noticed everything, and while at times that was annoying, I wouldn’t trade it. At least I knew I was loved.
Tears flowed down my cheeks, soaking into Eric’s puffy green coat. It smelled like cold winter air and snowfall. It was also wet, and not just from my tears. I drew my head from his shoulder, and he set me gently on my bed. As he removed his coat, I noticed that the snow must have turned to rain. His hair was matted down, and when he raked a ha
nd through it, his locks swirled in a sexy mess, like he had planned it that way. He wore a cream-colored sweater, one of my favorites on him. It made him extra cuddly, and all I wanted was to drown in his arms.
I stood, taking grip of his sweater, leaning into him. “Todd did this,” I whispered into his chest, trying to hold back a sob that wrenched at my throat. He didn’t seem shocked. “She made him.”
He folded me into his arms, and my constant tears soaked into his warm chest. The day had finally set in, and it terrified me.
I gasped and pulled away. “The books,” I rasped urgently. “Where… a-are they?”
“That’s not important,” he offered, brushing his hands tenderly down my arms.
“I dropped th-em. I don’t know where they went.”
“Cassandra, they’re gone.”
“T-odd must have them,” I hissed.
Eric shook his head.
“He must. If he doesn’t then-” The truth washed over me like an icy wave. “She has them?”
The serious look in his eyes was devastating. “Most likely.”
What had I done? I gave up our deal. I backed out to keep those books from her, and now she had them without any compromise or cease-fire between us. She had everything she wanted.
I sat on my bed, crushed. “It was all for nothing,” I whispered.
Eric kneeled before me, grasping my hands. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
Safe for now. In a matter of days, she’d be free and armed with eight hundred years of magic. And she’d be coming for me.
“What c-an we do?” I asked. Eric stared at the floor, defeated and without answers. “Maybe… if we go to the police, we c-an explain and they’ll-”
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