by Neva Bell
I cradle Chelsea in my arms, rocking back and forth as I cast every curing spell I know. I hold her close to me, alternating between chanting spells and begging God for my sister back. Despite my efforts, Chelsea’s body remains lifeless in my arms. I bury my face in her hair, tears streaming down my face.
“Please Chelsea! Please! I need you. Please!”
The world remains frozen around me. It’s just me and Chelsea. My beautiful, wonderful, caring and perfect identical twin sister. My best friend. My partner in crime. The best sister a girl could ask for. Gone. She’s gone.
After an eternity of sobbing, I lay Chelsea on the ground and gaze at her angelic face. I close her eyes and wipe blood splatters off her cheek. I lower my head to her chest one more time, listening for even the faintest of a heartbeat. But reality is setting in. Chelsea is dead. Her innocent face covered in her own blood.
I look down at my hands. They are also covered in blood. Chelsea’s blood. I feel a sudden and intense wave of fury rush through me. I stand up and turn toward the wolves. Their faces frozen in nasty grimaces, stuck in full attack mode.
I unfreeze everyone and watch as they fall back into step. They are instantly confused. They were running toward me, except I’m not there anymore.
“I’m right here,” I say, voice raw from my sobs and screams.
All five men turn to look at me.
“Get back,” I tell Frank and Matthew.
“Chloe,” Frank starts to protest.
I put my hand up. “Get. Back.”
Frank’s eyes widen when he sees my fingertips. He grabs Matthew and pushes him toward the hallway. The wolves, oblivious to what is coming their way, charge toward me. I unleash all of the fury and rage building inside of me. The absolute terror on the wolves’ faces is something I will always look back on with satisfaction.
Fire blasts from my fingertips like flamethrowers and within seconds the men are reduced to nothing but ash. The back wall of the living room explodes outward. Brick and glass shattering into tiny pieces, leaving the entire wall open and exposed to the outside. Wind and cold air blow into the apartment, whipping my hair around my face.
When I’m sure the wolves are dead, I fall to my knees. Frank rushes to my side and pulls me into his chest protectively.
“Holy shit!” Matthew exclaims, assessing the damage. Then a second later, “Oh my God! Chelsea!”
Frank squeezes me even tighter. “Matthew, try the curing spells.”
“It’s too late,” I whisper. “She’s gone.”
More Guard members flood the apartment, the shock apparent on their faces.
“What the hell?” one of them murmurs. “Was there a bomb?”
Frank yells more orders. “Secure the area! Check to see if there are others! Get vehicles ready to move!”
There is a whirlwind of motion around me, but I stay in Frank’s arms. I block out the noise, memories of my childhood with Chelsea playing in my mind. All the fun times we had together. Our travels. Our future plans.
What is my life without her in it?
“Someone call Elliott,” I hear Frank say. “Tell him not to come here. Tell him to go home and we’ll reach out to him.”
Elliott! How silly that a mere fifteen minutes ago my biggest concern was what panties to wear tonight. I was so stupid. Flittering around my world like a school girl. Ignoring all warnings of danger. Oblivious to the havoc about to be wrecked upon my life.
“How did they know Frank? How did they get to us?” I whisper.
He sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”
“I think I know what happened.”
Frank and I both turn to see Thomas standing a few feet from us.
Frank’s tone is icy when he responds. “Not now Thomas. We can talk about it later.”
I pull away and look up at Frank. His ironclad “I’m the boss face” is on, but there are tears in his eyes.
“No,” I insist. “I want to know.”
To Frank’s chagrin, Thomas walks over and sits down across from us on the floor.
“You know how I’ve been monitoring all of Chloe’s and Chelsea’s social media pages?” he asks Frank.
Frank nods.
“Well, literally five minutes before I heard the explosion, I was doing my daily check of Chelsea’s Facebook page.”
“And…” Frank prods when Thomas pauses.
Thomas’s face contorts as he fights back tears. “I’m so sorry Chloe. I wish I would have noticed it sooner.”
“Noticed what?” Frank insists.
Thomas clears his throat and regains his composure. “There is a post on Chelsea’s page. It went up earlier this afternoon. It told everyone that Chloe is the next Verhena.”
“What?” I ask in disbelief. “Someone outed me?”
“Yes,” Thomas confirms. “The person who posted as Chelsea also expressed concern about the wards at Leviston. Even went so far as to say she was worried about leaving you alone this weekend because she doesn’t think you are safe.”
It’s all too much for me to process. Whoever hacked into my sister’s Facebook account not only outed me, they wanted me dead. Told the world who I am and made me appear vulnerable.
Frank strokes my hair. “We’re going to figure out who did this. I promise.”
I’m about to tell him it doesn’t matter. Chelsea is dead. The damage is already done. But then I hear someone yelling my sister’s name in the hallway.
“Chelsea!”
Oh my God…Rory.
I turn to Frank. “You have to let him in.”
Frank nods. “It’s okay,” he says to his men. “Let him through.”
Frank stands me up and I cling to him, worried I’ll fall over on my wobbly legs.
Rory runs into the room. “Chloe! What is going…” He stops short when he sees Chelsea. “No…no….NO!”
The pain in his voice is raw. I break down and press my face against Frank’s chest. He holds me tight, once again shielding me from the chaos.
Rory kneels next to Chelsea and picks her entire body up into his arms. He buries his face into her hair and sobs.
I pull away from Frank and slowly walk over to Rory. I kneel next to him and put my hand on his back. Saying nothing as he continues to cry. We stay like this for a few minutes. Both of us crying in anguish.
Suddenly, Rory lets go of Chelsea and she rolls onto the floor. I reach out to stop her body, but Rory pushes me hard on the shoulders.
I fall back onto my hands and grimace as pain shoots through my wrist. “Rory, what are you doing?” I ask stunned.
His face is twisted in fury. “You! This is all your fault!”
Frank and several Guard members make a move for Rory, but I put my hand up to stop them.
“I’m sorry.” I’m fighting back another crying fit, but I deserve this. Rory is right. It is my fault.
Rory is pointing his finger at me. “They were supposed to kill you! Not her!”
I nod my head in agreement. “I know Rory. I know.”
Rory is pacing back and forth. Fuming. “If I had known this was how it would turn out…”
He mumbles to himself, then gets down in my face. “You ruined her life! All of our plans!” I cringe away from him as he screams at me. “She was your prisoner here! She was your slave! You uprooted everything and expected Chelsea to go along with it!”
His words sting because they’re true. “Please Rory, I’m sorry,” I plead.
He backs away from me huffing. “Those dumbass wolves. They can’t get anything right.”
I nod. “I should be dead. Not her.” I lower my head. “We didn’t protect her. I should have kept her away from me. There never would have been any confusion.”
Rory is doing his crazy pacing again. “I laid this out perfectly for them! All they had to do was show up!”
What did he just say? He laid it out for them?
“What are you talking about Rory?”
He
waves his hands around frantically. “They messed it all up!”
I sit up straight. A harsh reality becoming very clear.
I put the puzzle together out loud. “You thought I’d be here alone because you and Chelsea were going out of town.”
“Yes!” he exclaims. The Guard and I watch him unravel. “But then she forgot her stupid bag! And insisted we come back for it! It wasn’t dark yet, so I thought we’d be okay.”
I feel nauseous. It was Rory who posted on Chelsea’s Facebook page. Rory who wanted me dead. Out of the way so he and Chelsea could live the life they planned since we were kids.
My stomach rolls again when I remember all of the times Rory talked about the wards. “You removed the wards, didn’t you?”
He gives me a Joker-like grin, but doesn’t respond.
“That’s how they were able to get on campus,” I continue, working everything out in my brain.
“Yes!” Rory admits. “I finally found what I needed from Professor Steller’s materials. And I did it! I removed the wards!”
All the conversations I half-listened to between Rory and Chelsea about his work with Professor Steller were actually red flags I ignored. Rory’s fascination with wards and removing them went well beyond the history of the werewolf/witch conflict.
“She’s dead because of you,” I whisper.
This pushes Rory over the edge. He lunges for me, arms outstretched and eyes raging. “She’s dead because of you!”
Rory’s hands latch on to my neck and squeeze. I pry at his fingers, desperately trying to loosen his grip. But I’m weak from the magic I used against the wolves. He glares at me, his wicked grin getting wider the harder he presses against my throat.
Before I can summon the energy to defend myself, Frank grabs Rory. Rory struggles, but it’s useless. Frank’s powerful arms envelope him. In a quick movement, Frank reaches his hand around Rory’s chin and jerks hard. I wince when I hear the sickening sound of bone snapping. Frank lets go and Rory crumples to the ground like a rag doll.
I stare at Rory’s lifeless body. I remember something my grandmother told me once – the worst thing about betrayal is it doesn’t come from your enemies.
Guard members are running around like ants. Chilly, winter air flows through the room, yet I feel nothing but heat. My entire body burning from the inside.
This cannot be real. It has to be a dream.
Chelsea is dead.
Rory is dead.
I have killed three werewolves. Burned them to a crisp and destroyed the building in the process.
I lay back on the floor and stare at the ceiling. Frank’s giant frame lumbers over me.
“Thank you,” I manage to say.
“You didn’t need his death on your conscious.”
I nod, thankful I didn’t have to be the one to kill Rory. Even if he was trying to kill me. Visions of all of those childhood weddings I participated in flitter through my mind. It’s all too much for me to bear.
“I want to speak with Matthew.”
Matthew comes over immediately and crouches down next to me. “Are you hurt Chloe?”
“No.”
His look of concern remains. “How can I help?”
“I want to sleep.”
Matthew has the ability to not only cure, but to calm. Matthew nods in understanding and takes my hand. I welcome the darkness.
Chapter Eight
I’m running through the woods trying to catch Chelsea. She is wearing her light blue winter coat, her blond hair streaming behind her in the breeze. I yell to her, but she refuses to turn around. She just keeps running.
I’m thrown off balance by the uneven forest floor. Tree branches slap and cut my face. My feet get tangled in bulky tree roots. I am breathless, but she is so close.
I finally catch up and grab her shoulder. “Chelsea, wait…”
But when Chelsea turns around, it isn’t Chelsea I’ve been chasing. It’s Rory. And he’s wearing his wicked grin.
“Gotcha now Chloe!”
I sit up in bed, a cold sweat dripping from my hair line. Gasping for air, I look around. I’m in a large antique bed, a white down comforter twisted around my legs. I panic when I realize I have no idea where I am.
“Frank!” I yell as loud as I can.
I nearly jump out of my skin when a female voice says, “He’s sleeping sweetie.”
I turn toward the voice. An elderly woman is sitting behind a small desk in the corner, her gray hair pulled back in a tight bun. A desk lamp illuminates the fine lines in her face. She sets down her pen, removes her glasses, and stands. She’s wearing a white silk robe over white silk pajama pants, and of all things, white bunny slippers.
“Frank and the others are resting. It’s been a long day.”
I eye the woman suspiciously. Who is she? And more importantly, where am I? Glancing around the room, I see three doors to my right. Which one is the exit? To my left are long, floor length curtains. Presumably, there are windows behind them.
I assess the situation. I have to pass the woman at the desk to get to the doors. And what if I choose the wrong one? My only other option is to go out the window.
I kick off the down comforter and run for it. I rip open the voluminous curtains and gasp. I immediately take a step back, not believing my eyes. The windows are floor to ceiling in height, creating a giant wall of glass. There is no chance of me making an escape. I am high up over a city street. I look out over the skyline and recognize the landmarks immediately.
“I’m in New York City.”
“Yes, you are,” the woman confirms.
“How did I get here?”
The woman walks toward me, but stops when I take a step away from her. Sensing my fear, she sits on the edge of the bed.
“Frank and the Guard brought you here. You have been sleeping for a while now.”
“How long is a while?”
“Twelve hours or so.”
I cross my arms over my abdomen and give myself a hug. It’s then that I realize I’m no longer in my bloodstained clothes. Instead, I’m in a soft pink t-shirt and black leggings.
“Whose clothes are these?”
“They’re yours now.”
I look down at my hands. The blood has been washed away. Matthew must have zapped me with one hell of a powerful spell if I not only slept through a wardrobe change, but also a bath.
I ask the most obvious question. “Why am I here?”
“This is the safest place for you.”
“According to who?”
She shrugs. “Everyone, I suppose.”
“I want to see Frank.”
The woman stands and walks closer to me. “You will. Soon. He needs rest. The only reason he left your side was because I promised to stay with you until he comes back.”
I step away from her. She seems nice, but I have no clue if anything she’s told me is the truth.
“Who are you?” My intent was for the question to come out hard and bitter, but my tone has no effect on her.
“Perhaps this will explain.” She turns her back to me and drops her robe. A beautiful white hawk with golden feathers covers her skin. It is identical to mine, except hers has more gold.
I gasp. “Oh my God. You’re the Verhena.”
For reasons I can’t explain, I run to her and give her a hug. She chuckles as she squeezes me back.
“That’s me. Well, until you take over.”
When we separate, she tells me her name is Wilhelmina. “Everyone around here calls me Willa.” She pats the bed. “You should lay back down, get some more rest. You’ve been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours.”
“Did Frank tell you what happened?” I fight back tears.
Willa frowns. “He did.”
“I need to call my parents.”
“Matthew is with your parents. They know about Chelsea.”
A tear rolls down my cheek when I hear my sister’s name. I can’t imagine what my parents are going
through. “How are they?”
“Exactly how you imagine they are,” Willa says honestly.
“I need to see them.”
Willa hesitates. “Chloe, that’s a dangerous proposition. The wolves are watching you and your family. Your identity is no longer a secret.”
“Are my parents safe? Should they come here too?”
“Your parents are safe where they are. In addition to Matthew, six other Guard members are at your home. Nothing is going to happen to them. The wolves will never get anywhere near them. I guarantee it.”
This makes me feel a little better, but then I think of Chelsea again. She’s really gone.
I cry into my hands. Willa places her hand on my shoulder and a sense of tranquility washes over me. It doesn’t take me long to figure out she’s using a calming spell. I don’t protest. Once I’m relaxed, I crawl under the covers and doze off.
When I open my eyes, I wake to find Willa still sitting at the desk. The only light in the room is the desk lamp. I lay quietly for a while, then break the silence.
“Have you ever lost someone close to you?” I ask her.
“Yes, I have.”
“Does the pain ever stop?”
Willa walks over to the bed and sits down beside me. “It never goes away completely. It hibernates after some time. You go on about your daily life, find things to distract you. And then the grief springs up out of nowhere. As painful as it ever was. Then it hides away again.”
“I can’t go to Chelsea’s funeral, can I?”
“No. You, Chloe, cannot go to your sister’s funeral. It would be too risky.”
I sigh. “I’ll never see her again.”
“That’s not necessarily true.”
I lean up on my elbows. “What do you mean?”
Willa smiles. “I said Chloe cannot go to the funeral.”
“Okay…”
“What if I told you that one of my specialties is changing someone’s appearance?”
“Really? Like a disguise?”
“It’s more than a disguise. You will transform into a completely different person. I’ve already discussed it with Frank. If you want to go to Chelsea’s funeral, he will go with you in a glamour of his own.”
“A glamour?”
“My fancy word for disguise,” Willa explains.