by S D Hegyes
“No,” she told him finally.
He looked over her as well. “The military fucked up you. Just like it did me.”
Sorsha didn’t have to look down at her leg to know what he was talking about. The shrapnel he’d caught left him paralyzed from the waist down. Hers had nearly severed her leg at the knee. Might still if the doctors’ predictions were correct.
“No. I made a bad call. This is my fault.”
His eyes met hers, fire burning deep in their depths. “That’s just like you. Making bad calls. You did the same when you were here. Killed Preston, and for what? So you wouldn’t have to marry him? Wouldn’t have to have his children? Wouldn’t have to carry on the Johnston family name?” He spat at her. “You should have stayed gone. You should never have returned, devil’s spawn.”
The words hurt, but they hurt more because of the lie in them.
“I didn’t kill Preston.”
He snorted. “Of course you didn’t. Who else would string him up like cattle and slice him open? Who else would have left such marks on his arms that mirrored the ones you had the last night either of you were in this household?”
Sorsha had heard about Preston’s death, learned about it shortly after she’d woken up in a motel Charlotte worked at. She didn’t know how she’d ended up there though, and she didn’t know Preston had died before she left Shaded Glade.
“You think I’m capable of murder?”
Her father sneered at her. “I don’t know what you’re capable of with your devil magic. For all I know, you’re here to take care of us the same way you did Preston.”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Are you planning on stringing us up like cattle? Butchering us in our own home?”
“No.” She trembled, and she could feel her power rising to the surface. Red smoke dove around her hands like an angry nest of snakes waiting to strike.
Her father didn’t notice.
“You’re not my daughter. I don’t know what demon spawned you, but you’re not of my loins. No daughter of mine would do what you’re capable of doing. No daughter of mine would converse with the devil and murder innocent young men.”
Sorsha’s power flared as she screamed, “I didn’t kill anyway!”
A wave of red smoke emanated from her, slamming the front door behind her and blasting open the rest of the doors in the house. It rattled the windows, until the strain could be heard in the glass as a high-pitched keening that made Sorsha’s parents cover their ears. Her father’s wheelchair rolled backward until it hit the edge of the coffee table. Her mother gasped as she pressed back against the front door.
“Sorsha,” she said, her voice barely audible.
As quick as it flared, her power died out within her. Crumbling to the ground, Sorsha gasped for breath and said again, “I didn’t kill anyone.” She stood on shaky feet and met her father’s terrifying gaze. “I didn’t kill anyone,” she repeated.
His gaze narrowed. “Of course you didn’t, devil spawn. And I’m the pope.” He pointed to the door. “Get out of my house, and don’t ever come back.”
Sorsha didn’t hesitate this time. She strode toward the door, careful not to show how the power usage had weakened her. She took her mother’s hands as she stopped before the door.
Tears ran down their faces as they gazed at one another. “Take care of yourself, Mom. Don’t let this monster tear you apart as well.” She wrapped her arms around the woman. “And if you need a place to go, call me.”
Her mother shook her head. “I can’t. You know that.”
“You can if you need to.” Sorsha needed to know her mother was safe, that she had a place to go if she needed to.
“Get away from her. I told you to get out.”
Sorsha made a rude gesture at him with one hand even as she opened the door with the other.
“Merry Christmas,” she said in a low voice as she stepped out into the snow and shut the door behind her with a gentle click.
Maybe to anyone else, that wouldn’t have hurt so much, but Sorsha knew—she knew—her mother wasn’t safe with her father, but she hadn’t been able to convince her to leave. It still hurt, to this day, that she couldn’t help the woman. She couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved, and her mother was adamant she didn’t need saving.
She cradled the angel close to her face, breathing in its scent. Sometimes, she felt like she could smell her mother’s perfume hanging off it, but it was only a memory of her mother’s perfume. The scent had faded long before.
Her mother had contacted her shortly after she left the house, sending her a text to meet her in Hardin the following morning if she was still in town. That was the last time she saw her mother in person. The same day her mother gave her the angel.
“It belonged to my mother, and her mother before that.”
Sorsha had stared at the angel in wonder. So much history in such a fragile item. How had it never been broken?
Except that it had been, her mother explained. When Sorsha visited, the tree had swayed and the angel had fallen. There was a crack along the angel’s cheek, which her mother had already repaired with a bit of glue.
“I think she was trying to go with you,” her mother told her.
Sorsha cradled the angel in her hands and pet her soft hair. Then she looked up at her mother. “I’ll take good care of her.”
Her mother smiled at her and brushed Sorsha’s hair behind her ear. “I know you will. I love you, Sorsha.”
“I love you too.”
Petting the angel’s hair again, Sorsha pulled it close to her face and whispered, “I love you, Mom,” as if the angel would carry the words across the country to her mother’s house and whisper them in her ear.
Sorsha glanced at the coffee table where the red envelope still sat. Maybe her mother did hear her. Maybe that was why she still sent cards for almost every holiday. Christmas, New Year’s, her birthday, Veteran’s Day, Memorial Day, Thanksgiving, Valentine’s, St. Patrick’s. If there was a holiday, Sorsha could expect a card. It was her mother’s way of keeping contact with Sorsha. Let her know she still cared, and that she still lived.
Standing, Sorsha placed the angel atop her Christmas tree. She hadn’t told Irene the story behind the angel. Only that it was an heirloom passed down from her mother’s side of the family.
She stepped back and gave the Christmas tree a bittersweet smile. “There,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “Now she’ll have nothing to worry about.”
She turned toward the coffee table and snatched up the Christmas card, holding it in her hands. Her mother’s neat print made her smile. There was a swish to some of the letters that hinted at cursive, but that was just her mother’s style.
Placing it back down again, Sorsha went to her room to change into a pair of shorts and an oversized shirt. She grabbed the shoebox that held all the cards her mother sent as well as a blanket. A smile flickered across her face, this one happier than the previous one.
She’d be alright. As long as she could curl up on the couch with a cup of cocoa and the box of letters to reminisce over her mother’s words to her, she would have a piece of her mother with her.
16
The door opened. Who was there?
Sorsha fought the heavy fog of sleep, but it pulled her down like a riptide, dragging her further and further from the shore of wakefulness and making her question the lines between reality and dream.
She muttered in her sleep, rolling over on the couch. The blanket she’d wrapped around her fell to the floor. She whimpered as chilly air brushed against her bare skin, tossing again. She attempted to open her eyes, but they felt like hundred-pound weights and she couldn’t lift them even to see who’d entered.
“Oh, Sorsha.” A familiar voice, spoken low.
Her brow furrowed. Was she imagining that voice? It chased away the screams and shouts she’d been dodging in the nightmare she’d been having moments before. Christmases past that e
nded in misery. The feeling of being completely utterly alone. The notion that she’d never be enough for anyone to want around.
A whimper escaped her throat, and her mouth trembled with the sound. She twisted in her sleep, turning over so that her back was against the seat cushions and her knee bent up toward the air. She whimpered again, twisting back over on her side and drawing her legs up until they reached the edge of the couch. Some warmth was better than none.
A sharp intake of breath met her ears, but she just moaned and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the couch, reaching down blindly for the blanket. Someone took pity on her and tucked the blanket around her. She hummed her appreciation and smiled in her sleep.
“Oh, Sorsha. You should have said something.” Her hair was brushed behind her ears.
She reached out with one free hand and captured that of the person talking to her. She felt her magic come alive and knew exactly who she was touching.
“Larz,” she said, the name almost a caress. “Stay. Please.”
He leaned over her. She felt the couch shift with his weight—probably bracing himself against the back. He pressed a kiss to her temple, making her hum and smile again.
She liked this dream compared to the nightmare of Christmases past. Could she have this dream every Christmas? She stifled a sob.
“Alright. I’ll stay with you.”
The weight on the back of the couch disappeared and someone sat down on the floor in front of her. She felt a kiss on her forehead and a hand brush over her hair.
“Sleep easy. I’m here,” came a whisper. “Merry Christmas, Sorsha.”
She thought she answered in kind, but she wasn’t certain. Her thoughts quieted and she sank into a deeper, dreamless sleep.
On Christmas morning, Sorsha awoke on the couch to find Larz sitting on the floor next to her, his hand up behind his head, holding hers.
It hadn’t been a dream.
Her face flushed as she realized what that meant and looked down at herself. She hadn’t meant to sleep on the couch all night. She also hadn’t meant for Larz to see this side of her, the woman vulnerable to tears and depression on Christmas.
She groaned, pulling her hand free from Larz’s and rubbed it over her face. There was no way she was going to live this down. If word of this got back to Irene, she’d never hear the end of it. She could only hope Larz wouldn’t say anything to her.
Larz stirred, his head lifting off his chest and bending back to blink up at Sorsha. A lazy grin crossed his face. “Morning.”
Sorsha rubbed both hands over her face. “I wasn’t dreaming? I really grabbed your hand?”
He chuckled, and for good measure, took her hand again. White vapors wrapped around their fingers, and Sorsha’s eyes widened as she met his gaze.
“They were that color earlier this morning too.”
“That’s never happened before.”
“Never?”
She shook her head. The smoke around her hand was typically orange. Why had it been yellow and then white with Larz? What did it mean?
“Oh well.” He released her, and she felt a twinge in her stomach. She already missed the feel of his hand in hers. “Let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.”
“How long have you been home?” She noted he still wore his uniform. “Do you want to take a shower? Change? I can make some eggs and toast.”
A grateful smile crossed his lips. “That sounds like a dream come true.”
“For you and me both,” she teased with a wink.
He chuckled and shifted on the couch, bracing himself up as he leaned toward her.
Her breath caught in her throat. He was too close. She could feel his breath on her lips. Was he going to kiss her? There’d been a fine line of attraction they liked to tip-toe around ever since they’d met. Would they cross it now? On Christmas?
He grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do you dream about me, Sorsha?” He tucked her hair behind her ear, his fingers light on her skin as he followed the curve of her neck down toward her shoulder. “Do you think of what it would be like with me?”
She swallowed and closed her eyes, the air escaping her lungs in heavy pants. “I. . .” Her eyes shot open as Larz’s hand cupped her neck. She felt the strength of his gentle grasp.
A low growl rumbled through him. “Your eyes are changing colors.” He grinned. “Our hands aren’t even touching.”
She jerked away from him and shifted on the couch, pulling away and yanking the blanket from her lap. She’d need a cold shower to ease the heat wafting from her body.
No.
“Sorsha?” Confusion made Larz’s voice rise a little. “Did I do something wrong?”
She stood and carried the blanket and box of cards to her room. Oh god. Had Larz looked through them? Had he noticed how many she had and how they all came from one person?
Scrubbing a hand over her face, Sorsha shoved the box onto the top shelf in her closet and pushed it as far back as it would go. In another week or so, she’d get another card from her mom, celebrating the new year, but until then, the box would stay where Sorsha could forget its existence.
“Sorsha? Are you alright?”
She spun around and saw him in her doorway. Since he’d moved in, he hadn’t ever entered her room. It was her space, and he respected that.
Shaking her head, Sorsha said, “No. Yes. No, I’m not, but I will be.” A wan smile crossed her face. “I’m just tired. I usually am on Christmas Day.” She shrugged. “Merry Christmas. This is what it’s like for me.”
He studied her for a moment, leaning against the doorway and looking too good for Sorsha’s confused hormones.
“Come here,” he told her, holding out his arms.
She moved automatically, moving on instinct and need rather than desire. A moment later, Larz’s arms enveloped her in a tight hug. He pulled her close to him and refused to let go.
For a moment, she felt secure. She felt safe with Larz, she realized, More-so than she’d ever felt around anyone else.
She’d felt in capable hands with her team when she was in the army, but this was a different level of safety, and one she couldn’t explain having only known the man so short a time—that she could remember.
It was an odd feeling.
She didn’t know how long they stood like that, but she appreciated it. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed a hug until then. When she finally pulled away, she smiled. “Thanks,” she said.
“Anytime. You good? If so, I’m going to go take a shower and change.”
She nodded. “I’m good.”
He studied her expression a little longer before he nodded and turned away, ducking into his own room. Sorsha waited until he was gone to take a deep breath and look down at herself. She still wore the same over-sized shirt she’d put on the evening before and the pair of shorts that barely hung down enough to be visible under the shirt.
She winced. He’d seen her knee. He hadn’t said anything about it though. Hadn’t even seemed to notice it. Point to him.
Prodding the scars that lined either side, Sorsha smiled. Larz was the first person to see them and not ask a million questions, who acted as if it were normal they were there. She appreciated him not mentioning how bad her knee looked, how knobby and twisted it seemed.
Sorsha hummed as she cooked the eggs, running a hand through her hair to push it back out of her face.
“You’re humming.” The shock in Larz’s voice as he returned from his room made her look back at him over her shoulder. He stood frozen, halfway between his room and the kitchen, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
“Yes?”
Larz closed his mouth and shook his head. “It’s nothing. Just surprising.” He made his way to the coffee pot, but she could see the small smile he tried to hide from her.
“I’m in a good mood,” she explained.
He paused in opening the fridge. “You are?”
She nodded.
“That�
��s good.” He closed the fridge and leaned back against it, one foot flat against it and the other braced against the floor. He shoved his hands in his pockets so that only his thumbs stuck out.
Something about his stance jogged a memory in her mind. A flicker of a smug grin. Then it was gone.
“You know,” he told her. “I was worried about you last night.”
“You were?”
He nodded. “Irene called me. Told me to keep an eye on you. Said Christmas was hard on you. Family matter. She wouldn’t say what.”
“She doesn’t know. I’ve never talked about it.”
“Would it make it easier?”
She bit her lip and stirred the eggs in the pan before dumping them on to two plates and starting some bread in the toaster. “Not really.”
“You know you can, right?”
She looked at him, eyes searching his. Finally, she smiled. “I know.”
Larz studied her for a moment and then nodded, just as the toast popped up. The spring in the thing was either broken or wound too tight—Sorsha didn’t know which—and it had started springing its contents into the air like some kind of cartoon. She’d meant to replace it, but hadn’t gotten around to it yet.
As if on instinct, Larz reached out and caught the toast without taking his eyes off Sorsha. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. His face twisted and he dropped it, swearing and shaking his head.
She laughed. “It’s hot.”
“So I see.” He walked to the sink and turned the cold water on, running it over his burnt fingers even as Sorsha put the next pieces of bread in.
“Butter? Jelly?”
“No. I’ll just put my eggs on it. Pass me the ketchup?”
Her head jerked in his direction. “Ketchup on eggs? What kind of monster are you?” She grinned.
“The wrong kind,” he said in a voice almost too low for her to hear. Then he smiled at her as if he hadn’t said a word. “I like it.”