by Renee Joiner
Yet, for all that she thought she understood about her powers, there was so much more that appeared to elude her.
She knew where she needed to go by the time she walked out the door.
She ordered a lift to take her home. She needed a few brief moments of being human before she was to delve back into the mystical shape of her own life. Upon arrival, she decided upon a quick shower and a change of clothes. She caught sight of herself in the mirror. White-blonde hair hung past her shoulders in large waves, framing a heart-shaped face that she had looked into for decades without change, except for the eyes. Therein lay all the exhaustion, restlessness, and uncertainty that she had carried with her in the past few days. It made her sky blue eyes seem almost overcast and grey, and somehow she looked more different to herself than ever before. Now, more than ever, she needed guidance.
She knew exactly who could offer it. She just hoped she wasn’t making a grave mistake.
The flashlight did little to penetrate the darkness surrounding her. Night had fallen, and Tasia wondered how well she had reasoned about this visit as she tentatively made her way through the forest. The trail that she had taken had long since been overgrown by brush and bramble, and she was ever wary of falling over a root or misjudging the dips and inclines of the forest floor itself. But she was too far in to turn back now. Where her navigation as a human failed, the scent of magic more than made up for it by showing her the way.
The Hanging Tree woods were haunting, to say the least. Located at the edge of Riverport, right behind one of its larger cemeteries, the trees seemed to beckon the curious with its spindly limbs, now gone bare with the onset of winter. Old ghosts roamed this place. She didn’t need to be a rusalka to be able to guess. They didn’t make a secret of their presence. But it was not them she had come to see.
Deeper within, she searched for a secluded cabin, built there by its owner, to escape the faults of humanity. Aunt Rita was a recluse. She had been as long as Tasia could remember. Unlike others, she decided to distance herself from society in an escapist attempt to refrain from dealing with her deep-seated hurt. What that entailed exactly, Tasia never found out.
The trees parted, and before her stood the old log cabin. The woods had long since claimed the building’s side, and even the trees seemed to ensconce it in mystery and shadow. So dark was it that Tasia almost didn’t see the light shining from between the creepers. Candlelight, flickering eerily within. She never understood why those who chose isolation sought the denouncement of the modern age as well. Nevertheless, she could not fathom the type of thoughts that crossed the mind of a rusalka that had seen what Rita did.
Her hand was hesitant before she attempted to knock on the front door. Inviting knowledge was inviting her mystical existence—more so than she wanted to allow in her life. However, too many moments of ignorance had presented itself as being costly of late. She needed to accept the full degree of who she’d become.
“Those who wander often lose more than what they find....”
She jumped and swung around. Tasia didn’t know what she expected to see as she looked upon her aunt’s familiar features. A part of her had surrendered to the old stereotype, seeing her as nothing more than a madwoman. Wild-haired and unkempt living in the middle of the forest. What met her eyes was quite the contrary.
Rita Jackson lent a regality to her simple attire for everything that comprised her modest existence, which consisted of nothing more than a pair of boots, jeans, a long sleeve, and a windbreaker. Her hair was tied back in a bun, and her features were almost immaculate, belying her actual age. She seemed more like a woman visiting the wilds than one who lived there. And in those avian features, Tasia could glean almost nothing as mad or erratic as many descriptions of her averred.
“It’s been a long time, Rita.”
“Mm. I suspect it would have been even longer if something had not come across your path.” She brushed past Tasia and pushed open the door to the cabin. It stood ajar, allowing the soft light to gently kiss the gloom as it met on the threshold. “Well,” she shouted from within. “Are you coming inside, child?”
Child. Tasia scoffed. She was nearly a century old, and still, her aunt could pass a demeaning label. She stepped inside and swung the door closed. Rita’s home was an emporium of mystical paraphernalia of a past age that evoked equal parts intrigue and nostalgia in Tasia’s mind. Wool carpets with intricate patterns hung on the walls. Robust wooden furniture graced the modest interior together with gleaming family heirlooms dotting the spaces that remained open. Looking around, Tasia wondered how much of this belonged to Rita as opposed to how much thereof was ‘claimed’ from doting admirers.
Oddly, the place was quaint and had its unorthodox charm. Something about it could make one forget the outside world. To a degree, Tasia could buy into the seclusion, even if she fully couldn’t explain why. However, being in the domain of another rusalka, everything always seemed more enchanting—or terrifying.
“You bear your mother’s features more now than you did 50 years ago,” Rita commented.
“That’s when last we saw each other?” Tasia asked.
She nodded.
“How am I different from then till now?” Rusalkas didn’t age, so she was uncertain what her aunt was implying.
“It’s in your eyes. The years take away its light and fill it with storms. Yours is a tempest. I suspect you don’t even know. I believe your powers are manifesting more prominently. Am I correct?” she asked, cocking her head.
Tasia had forgotten how very abstract her kind stated things. “Of late, I am prone to more than just an occasional dream or premonition.”
“As I suspected. And... There....” she remarked inquisitively, squinting as she moved closer to look deeply at something she saw in Tasia’s eyes. “You’ve seen a seraph. You have been in the presence of the shadow.”
“A what?”
“A fallen angel. A being of light, stripped of its celestial power and turned to shadow to sustain itself. Where did you come across such a thing?”
“I—I can’t remember any fallen angels. I think I would’ve remembered. How do I know what you say is true?”
“Because I can see his reflection in your eyes, like a recurring memory. The sight of him is forever imprinted on your spirit, even if your memories of him are subliminal. He saw you, and you saw him. Your eyes locked. An angel, in a white hall... Yes, I see it. He can find you now if he was looking.” she remarked in an unusual tone.
An angel in a white hall. But then she remembered. A stranger, drifting toward the hospital’s exit, and the flash of wings hidden by light and revealed by dark. In the madness that had ensued since that night, she had nearly forgotten about the odd sighting that left her uneasy.
“Seraphs keep to the shadows where they plan and wait. You would have known if he revealed himself—more than he has already done. Death precedes his coming. They wait for the grief to herald their entry and will strike when you are vulnerable. Be wary...when he strikes.”
“What if he already did? Is he responsible for this influx of visions?”
“Let me see. Give me your hand.” Rita reached out, cupping Tasia’s hand, palm upward as she studied it. “The playwright of your strife uses manipulation to secure his gain. It compensates for his lack of outright power. You face an illusionist. A wielder of magic.”
“Impossible,” Tasia said, getting frustrated. She was getting more than she had bargained for, and she wasn’t finding the information particularly helpful. “I’ve been around long enough to recognize witches when I come across them. The predicaments I have faced of late have solely been of mundane nature.”
“Then, perhaps one of these humans, unbeknownst to you, is gifted.” She walked to one of the many shelves that lined the walls. On one of them stood a jar of water, with a water lily suspended on its surface. Tasia wondered how the lily survived, but reminded herself that rusalkas’ magic worked in mysterious ways. Rita held it up to
ward her. “Reach in with your hand. Touch the petals.”
Frowning, Tasia did as instructed. She reached in and allowed her fingertip to graze the white blossom. It closed immediately, causing her to jump. The pure white of the petals became darker as if they were bruised or blemished. “What does that mean?”
“We are spirits of water, and therefore everything tied to it reacts to us. A water lily was long held sacred among our ancestors, who believed it was telling of a rusalka’s fortune. We are private and self-interested creatures. We avoid the eye of others for fear of condemnation and exploitation. When our spirits are sullied by unwanted connections...there are signs,” she said, holding up the lily to emphasize. You have been touched by someone malevolent. Perhaps you are even connected to him.”
“We are chasing a kidnapper Rita. Not a warlock.”
“Did you perhaps touch any of this culprit’s personal effects? Did you try and read anything meaningful from that place?”
“I...I have been using my visions to aid a friend. To prevent a death. To do that, we needed to find someone.”
Her aunt looked at her knowingly, and her silence was enough to answer.
“You cannot be telling me that the man we are chasing is a spellcaster.”
“The signs are clear. You bear his mark on your psyche. That could spell trouble for you. You have been inextricably connected by seeing through the same eyes.”
Tasia sat down, trying to make peace with the possibilities of her aunt’s insight. “We did. Through his eyes, I could see myself. He was watching me. Creating mental ruses to distract me. He used the time to nearly hurt someone I care for.”
“You know it is forbidden to allow another in such as what you describe. Nothing but heartache will come from this attachment. Your witch knows this, and I am almost certain he is using it to his advantage. He will use it until he can lure you into his trap.” Her warnings were becoming increasingly ominous.
“What is there to do? If he can manipulate me such as this, then he may have planted many deceptions along the way?”
“A man can never lie to a rusalka child,” she posed confidently. “If he seeks manipulation, then he will have to circumvent the truths of his own mind to do so. Our kind is susceptible to mankind only as far as we allow ourselves to be. He may be connected to you, but so are you to him. Let it be the thing that tips the scales in your favor…”
For once, Tasia was already two steps ahead of her. She was sure she knew a way to accomplish that.
“You’re back?” Daniel was genuinely surprised. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said he looked even delighted.
“Yeah. I couldn’t sit around the apartment any longer. I’d go stir crazy. I thought I’d come back to see how you’ve been doing.”
“Well, if you’re talking about Max...remember the suspicion I had?”
“Homes with overdue back payments and the risks of it being put under foreclosure? Financial instability and inherited debt?”
“All of the above,” Daniel gleamed. “Debt? Oh, he is swimming in it. He is about to lose the house as well.”
“Why would he even still want to keep that place? Would it not just be best for his own sanity to let it go?”
He hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. A lot of his motives have been a history to me. All I know is his tail is between his legs. In reaction, he started barking up the wrong tree. Who knows what’s going on in that twisted mind of his.”
“We don’t, which is why we may need to take a different route. I’ve been doing some digging myself...”
“Oh. Really? What kind of digging?”
“The ways of a rusalka.” She delved into her story, relating what she had found. When she was done, he was staring slack-jawed at her.
“You went into the woods alone?”
“Is that seriously all you got from my entire story?” She asked.
“Considering that he made a threat about you, yes! Tasia, what you did was reckless and damn irresponsible. If he is connected to you, then there’s no stopping him from using your connection to track you down.” His reprimand was touching to a degree. She almost felt guilty for what she was about to propose.
“That is exactly what I’m counting on.”
“What?” he asked, taken aback.
“Look, the more sharks he finds hunting him, the more red herrings he’ll throw into the water. We can base countless hours of devoting our time to my haphazard visions, hoping to nail him as we fall behind. So we need to find a way to stay with him every step of the way...by getting on the inside. If he threatened to make me the next victim, then I say we should test his bluff. Knowing how true he is to his intentions will help us determine the safety of your sister. With me right in the cesspool of evidence, we can nail him down and get her home safe.”
“I honestly don’t know how to respond to this. Are you seriously telling me that you’re willing to go that far?”
“Whatever it takes,” she answered, hoping she was not getting high on some dumb sense of invincible bravado.
Twelve
The Hunter Lies in Wait
Never in her wildest imagination did Tasia believe she would be back in that place. Her entire body tensed the moment she stepped in. She was capable of many things, being magically inclined, but energy readings weren’t one of them. Yet, the moment she had stepped back into the childhood home of Maxwell Pearce, her intuition was experiencing a rapid-fire.
Malice and cruelty suddenly tied themselves to the basement walls. In that open space, she involuntarily visualized the torture that it had witnessed. Even echoes of Max’s screams seemed to pervade her imagination. Whatever his mother had done to him hung like a dark remnant over the place. She was experiencing a psychic overload, and she knew it had the potential to cause unwanted attention. This, incidentally, is precisely what she wanted, even if she hadn’t planned on coming to this place specifically.
She found the secret opening in the wall. Yanking on it, it gave way, and she found what she had been looking for. Max’s baseball still lay on the ground. She picked it up; unmindful of any visions she may have received. The first truth that dawned on her was that Max was not about to die. No death premonition sprung up as she firmly held the ball in her hand. Secondly, if he was worthy of his reputation as a spellcaster—a prowess yet to be put to the test, then it was highly likely he would have foreseen her trying to use her visions in tracking him. She was convinced that he had used the incident in the park to test their connection. If he didn’t know they were psychically linked then, he most certainly did now. In that knowledge, she was sure he would try to block her from prying beyond what his comfort would allow.
She tested her own suspicion, trying to tap into the object’s latent energies to find any trace of him. Alas, her efforts were only met with frustration. Still, she tried, focusing her entire intent behind the thought. Perhaps it would’ve availed her a glimpse into his next move.
Yet, at that point, they had used her visions one too many times for that exact purpose. It had brought them closer, but never to the end.
Against her better judgment, she explored the rest of the house, intent on reading any of his personal possessions. Throughout the home, she found a collection of items that she guessed belonged to him. Loose articles of clothing, childhood memorabilia, and even a box of personal effects that she had drawn from beneath one of the beds. He had left an indelible impression on each, but it brought her no closer to his mind.
Their idea, however, was to draw his mind closer to hers. Her attempted readings weren’t for naught. She was leaving behind a trail. Every attempt would leave behind a psychic trace which, in itself, seemed trivial. With a few of them overlapping one another in a concentrated location, she hoped it would become more significant. With every reading she did, she wanted to arouse his suspicion. He would need to block her every time, and eventually, the frequency of her attempts would draw his attention. Her hope was that the
call would be powerful enough to lure him here, and he would try his hand at kidnapping her. The plan was wild, desperate, and unrefined, but she felt more in control than she had done thus far in their situation.
She waited, drifting through the rooms and corridors until blatantly announcing her presence to whatever mystic force was ogling her. She learned that stakeouts had several stages. One progresses through. First excitement, then suspense, while impatience sets in last as the penultimate game-changer.
Two hours had passed. Max had not shown up. Boredom had long since picked at Tasia’s mind as she had waited, replacing any and all feelings of fear she may have entertained. Calling it quits, she decided to leave the home. She found Daniel at the back. Leaning against the outside wall where the echoes of any struggle would have likely reached him through the kitchen. If there had been any.
He was startled to see her. “Damn, I didn’t expect you to come around.”
“It’s been two hours. It was inevitable. I thought you’d long since be over this and come in to drag me out.”
“I was... holding onto hope. He was pretty adamant at making a statement the last time. I thought he would do the same.” He sounded dejected, and she had to remind herself that he actually had a lot riding on this. It made a part of her feel guilty for giving up, but being idle was not helping any of them at this hour. “Hey, let’s actually get something to eat. Maybe we can think of something better then.”
Half an hour later, they sat in silence as they feasted on cheap takeaway in his car. They had parked close to Max’s house again if he’d show up. But even the streets were silent at that hour, and nothing moved in their immediate vicinity.
“Daniel....”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t think he’s coming.”