“Oh my god,” I say softly, while Dex loudly slurps his coffee, his attention glued to Atlas.
“He wanted to control her, he wanted the power she had. She wasn’t an especially powerful or prophetic witch, but she could work with the elements well. Water, fire, wind. Water especially. Birds were her familiar. But he hated that, hated that she could do things he couldn’t.” He takes a sip of his tea, looking ever so casual. “They were destined, you see. A witch is always destined to marry the sons of Poe. That’s the way it is. And after so many generations, you were bound to get a man with bad blood. At least she had me, so that was her reasoning. And she took the abuse over and over again until one day she couldn’t.”
He looks around the restaurant absently, as if reminding himself of where he is. Then he visibly relaxes in his seat and gives us a tepid look.
“She killed him.”
Fuck.
Samantha Poe killed her first husband. Somehow I’m not surprised at all.
“It was self defense,” Atlas continues with a shrug. “Except that it was done in a ritualistic way. The worst kind. Black magic. The stuff she wasn’t supposed to touch. Not to mention that killing him ruined any future chances of the line carrying on, in the event that I don’t…succumb to destiny, as they say.”
“What kind of ritualistic way?” Dex asks.
“I came home from school one day and found my father spread out on the kitchen table, set up like an altar, cut up into different pieces.”
I nearly choke on my coffee, my hand shaking as I lower the mug.
Holy shit.
No wonder Atlas is so fucked up.
“I thought I had it bad,” Dex says, whistling under his breath.
“You still had it bad, Dex,” Atlas tells him, and I don’t bother asking how he knows that about Dex. I’m assuming he knows everything about us going forward. “Don’t let someone else’s horror story diminish that. Besides, I still had my mother.”
“Did your mom go to jail?” I ask.
He gives me a patient look. “When you know black magic, when you go that far, you can do anything. No, she didn’t go to jail. She was able to glamor her way out of things, tell people what they wanted to hear. No one liked Victor much anyway, so when she told them that he just up and left us, no one bothered to double-check and track him down.”
“So where does Harry come in?” Dex asks. “Because that man looked like he’d be terrified of Count Chocula.”
He gives a genuine, albeit close-mouthed, smile for once. “She married Harry because he was in love with her and he was the safest, most boring person she could imagine. She had him so glamored, so wrapped around her finger, that she could do anything. And it helped, since she was cursed. Or, is cursed. Still.”
“Cursed?” I repeat.
He nods. “Yes. This is the problem.”
I look at Dex again, who raises his brow.
This is a lot to take. First Atlas and his ever-changing eyes telling us how his violent father was murdered via ritualistic black magic (which might account for how Dex found his leg on the wall), and now that his mother is cursed.
“Please explain,” I say to Atlas, spinning the coffee cup around in my hands.
It doesn’t make me feel good to see a wash of trepidation come over him. I can’t imagine Atlas getting scared easily, especially when we’re sitting in this slice-of-Americana diner.
“It was her punishment,” he says carefully. “I don’t know from who. I don’t know if it’s a thing that just happens when you cross a line, when you evoke dark sources. But the curse isn’t just a concept. It’s a thing.”
“What kind of thing?” Dex frowns.
“A demon,” he says softly.
I’ve got ice water in my veins. My hand automatically goes to my chest.
“You’ve seen it?” Atlas asks me. Oh, he knows I’ve seen it.
I nod. “I think so.” My voice comes out squeaky.
“Terrifying thing, isn’t it?” he comments, sipping his tea. “So that’s what we both had to live with. It became attached to her by a leash, never letting her go. She was forever chained to it.”
“So she doesn’t keep it on a leash.”
A sad smirk. “No. It keeps her on a leash.”
“And Harry…” Dex prods.
“Harry couldn’t see it,” Atlas says. “But I could. And of course my mother could. So she tried to live with it until she couldn’t. She killed herself in the bathtub, with a razor blade, hoping it would drown the curse with her but…” He sighs, putting the mug down, staring into it, eyes searching the water like he’s watching something in it. “Now she’s bound to the house. With the curse. Forever.”
That almost sounds sad, except for the fact that she keeps trying to kill me.
“So you wanted us to free her,” Dex says. “Is that it?”
“Harry did. Harry was compelled by her after death. Obsessed with her. It was all her own doing, all in her control. She knew she would be free if you could do it, so she made Harry contact you. Give you money. Give you anything.”
“But you want us to free her, too,” I tell him.
His smile is strained as he looks up at me, his eyes wavering between grey and green. I’m suddenly very aware of his pain. “I do and I don’t. I do because she’s my mother and I love her and I’m still in so many ways compelled to do this, and I don’t because she’s cursed and she’ll hurt people and I’m fucking afraid of her. Black magic never leaves you. It changes you, corrupts you, ruins you.”
“She’s compelling you?” Dex asks quietly after a minute.
His eyes close. “I don’t think I’ve slept in years. She’s always there, in my mind, telling me to free her. Sometimes she’s not in my mind at all, but right in front of me. Screaming at me.”
I can barely swallow. “Can she…hurt you? Is she actually appearing before you?”
“I’m not sure if she can physically hurt me, if that’s what you’re asking, but she can project herself. She’s obviously projecting herself to you if you think she’s haunting you.”
“I just need to know if I’m in any danger.”
He opens his eyes and fixes his stare on me. “Has she made physical contact with you?”
I shake my head. “No. But she’s like…in the room. Like she can open doors, turn on a shower, that kind of thing.”
Atlas keeps staring at me for a moment, thinking. “I think you’d know if she could hurt you or touch you at this point. You might be okay. Still horribly traumatizing, but okay.”
“Perry can’t live like this,” Dex points out. “No one can, not even you. So how do we get rid of her for good?”
Atlas flinches, tea spilling over. He reaches over for a napkin and mops it up, shaking his head. “This is the problem. I don’t know how. I can’t get rid of her, and that’s when I want to. Most of the time, I won’t let you do it. I want you to free her, even if I know it’s a bad idea. Because she gets this control sometimes and…”
Basically, Atlas wants to help but at some point his mother will make him do what she wants.
“If we stay away from the house,” Dex says, “do you think she’ll lose interest in Perry?”
“Maybe. It’s worth a shot. I certainly never expect you two to go back there ever again. And that’s for the best.”
“Yeah, but the only problem is we have to go back to get Max out.”
Atlas’ eyes go wide. “Who the hell is Max?”
“You haven’t met Ginger Balls?” Dex asks. Then he shoots me a grin. “Finally, something we know that he doesn’t.”
“Maximus is a friend of ours,” I tell Atlas. “A friend that was dragged into Hell in exchange for saving our lives, and he happens to be in the house now.”
He shakes his head. “Fucking portal,” he swears. “It’s Samhain all the time in there.”
“We want to get him out,” I go on. “When we finally do, then we won’t come back.”
Atlas
’ brows go up. “You think you can get him out?”
“We’re trying to figure that out,” Dex says. “Though you seem to think we can get your mother out.”
“Different story. Is your friend a witch?”
“No, he’s a Jacob.”
“I don’t know him.”
“Supernatural guardian for the gifted?” I say. “Neutral gatekeepers? Paranormal babysitters? Bunch of redheads?”
Atlas shrugs. “There’s a lot of different things out there that I’m not familiar with. Either way, if you think you can get him out, there’s no way you’ll be able to do it without my mother coming out too.”
His words fall on us like ashes, the diner seeming to go silent except for the steady rain outside. Jacob had said as much but it sounds worse coming from Atlas.
“Well, fuck,” Dex says, slumping back against the booth.
“Indeed,” says Atlas.
“But we have to try,” I say quietly. “Maybe we can do it in a way where she can’t.” I want to mention that Maximus was pretty adamant that he was safe in the smoking room in the basement, and that perhaps if Rose or whoever is able to open the Veil there, Samantha won’t know. But I don’t say that, because I know not to trust Atlas now. He said so himself, that his mother sometimes has control.
“Suit yourself,” Atlas says. “But just keep that in mind.”
“So now what?” Dex says. “The biggest issue here is your mother, Atlas. And what she wants with Perry.”
Atlas studies me. “I don’t know what she wants with Perry,” he says. “Maybe she’s trying to manipulate you the way she manipulates me. Maybe she’s trying to glamor you, or compel you.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “To do what?”
“Get her free?” He gives me a wan smile. “If it puts your mind at ease, she loves women. She hates men. I don’t see her wanting to harm you, a woman that she doesn’t know. It doesn’t make sense to me.”
But her demon thing, I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t mind slicing me up. And that thing is the one in control, apparently.
“None of this makes any fucking sense,” Dex says with a shake of his head. He glances up at Atlas. “But I have to thank you for meeting with us and finally telling us the truth.”
“May it set us free,” Atlas says, abruptly getting to his feet and taking a black leather wallet out of his trenchcoat. He tosses down a five-dollar bill and gives us a nod. “I’ll be seeing you. Maybe.”
“Will you at least return my calls next time?” Dex yells after him as Atlas strides to the door.
Atlas glances at him over his shoulder but doesn’t say anything. Opens the door and walks out into the rain, disappearing from sight.
“Well, kiddo,” Dex says with a heavy sigh, putting his hand on top of mine. “That was fucked up six ways from Sunday.”
“You can say that again.”
“I almost feel sorry for the guy. Can you imagine growing up in that house? Seeing that shit? Still being controlled by your dead mother? Granted, I did go through that for a bit so I’m not one to talk, but still. No wonder he’s so fucking weird.”
“I wonder if he’s a witch. A warlock? A wizard?”
“He’s a something, I’ll say that much.” Then he raises his other hand, trying to attract the attention of the waitress. “Hello, Flo? Can we get more coffee and some of that apple pie?”
“Dex,” I chide him.
“What?” he says to me, wagging his brows. “I think we need dessert after a main course of witchcraft and demon talk, don’t you?”
Not really, but there’s no arguing with Dex’s appetite.
Apple pie it is.
* * *
Three o’clock in the morning.
With a melancholy sigh, I put the phone facedown on the dresser after glancing at the time.
It’s the worst hour to wake up in the middle of the night. The hour when all the bad shit happens in scary movies…and in life. I’d hoped it was at least six a.m. so I could get up and start the day, but no such luck.
I’m lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling while the streetlights dance through the curtains. It’s still pouring outside, and while the sound was soothing when we fell asleep to it, now it just sounds haunting. It sounds like laughter.
I glance beside me at Dex, sleeping on his stomach, sprawled out across the bed, the covers half off. His hair is dark and messy, his back rising gently with his deep breathing. My eyes dance over the tattoo on his shoulder, the words he inked there just for me. That I’m his light.
Only right now, I feel darkness. It’s this thick, oily black feeling pressing down on me like an invisible cloak.
My hand reaches out, hovering inches above the tattoo. I can feel the heat of his skin rising up to my fingertips, like it’s greedy in its need for connection, its need for touch. The energy inside him yearns for the energy inside me. I want to run my fingers over him, borrow some of his light, make me feel warm inside when my blood is running incredibly cold.
But I don’t want to wake him up. It would be selfish of me, just because I’m scared and can’t sleep.
So I take my hand away and get out of bed carefully, sliding my feet into my sheepskin slippers and then grabbing my fluffy robe from the chair. It’s cold in here, colder than it should be.
I go to the thermostat and notice that it’s not even on. I’m relieved there’s an explanation. I turn it until I hear the heater click on, then I step out into the apartment.
It’s cold out here too. I pad my way to the kitchen, listening to Fat Rabbit snoring loudly from the couch. He used to have a dog bed at some point, but we finally admitted that it’s his apartment now and we’re just his guests. It’s better that he has the sofa than our bed.
I get a glass from the cupboard and fill it up with water from the tap, wishing I had some sort of trick or drug that would help me get back to sleep without fucking me up the entire next day.
I turn around to drink it, leaning back against the counter. If I’ve learned anything in this apartment, it’s to not let your guard down at three a.m. and to never have your back face any room.
Drinking the water slowly, I’m unable to keep from feeling on edge. That thick, inky darkness still smothers me, like it’s trying to seep into my veins, and it’s becoming impossible to shake off. Every second that I stand here, I feel like I’m just waiting for something to happen to me, and the more I think about that, the more I feel like I’ve been lured out of bed, that I was never in control to begin with.
Am I really thirsty?
Why am I here?
And that’s when it happens.
My eyes focus on the space in front of the bathroom.
At the slow spread of darkness seeping out from under the door.
Bloody water.
Oh, fuck no.
I put the glass on the counter before I drop it, and that’s the last thing I’m able to do, because suddenly my limbs freeze and I’m paralyzed. I can’t move; it’s like I’m glued to the floor, as if someone went into my mind with a pair of sharp scissors and cut the command center in two.
My eyes go over to Fat Rabbit who is still sleeping soundly, then back over to the bathroom. My mouth opens to yell for Dex but no sounds come out. My vocal chords have also been slashed.
Then, with a slow creak, the bathroom door opens. From the side view here I can’t see who it is, but there’s no point in wondering when I know it’s her. I just don’t know how she’s going to come out. Walk out slowly? Or run quickly on all floors? Or will the demon, the curse, be the first one out?
A foot appears.
A dainty foot, pale as the moon, steps out onto the hardwood floor.
Samantha follows.
A cry freezes in my throat.
But this Samantha looks different from the Samantha of before.
She’s still bleeding profusely from the wrists, the blood running in rivulets to the floor, but her skin is different. It’s smooth, nary a blemish i
n sight. Her white nightgown has no stains, flows freely around her body like silk. It’s slightly see-through and I can see her nipples through the material, the shape of her taut body underneath. She’s built like a supermodel.
And she looks like one too.
Her face is porcelain smooth, with big dark eyes, long lashes, a full red mouth.
She’s absolutely beautiful, can’t be more than thirty-five.
I know I shouldn’t be thinking this, I know I should be freaking out, but I can’t help it. Samantha Poe, whether she looked like this before death or not, is gorgeous.
She’s mesmerizing.
She walks toward me, slowly, one foot in front of the other, her chin raised high in confidence, her eyes locked to mine until I can feel electricity at the base of my skull.
Fat Rabbit lifts his head, his big eyes watching her every move. For a moment I think he’s going to bark but she just raises her hand at him without looking and gives him a wave. He snorts, settling back down onto the couch and closing his eyes.
“It’s so hard to get you alone,” she says to me, her voice husky and cool, making my insides feel like jelly. “I’ve been trying.”
You’ve been terrifying, I think.
She smirks, her eyes lighting up. “Sometimes I can’t help it,” she says. “You understand what happened to me, don’t you?”
She keeps walking, coming closer and closer.
And closer.
She stops a foot away, close enough to feel the energy radiating off her like a nuclear reactor. It’s a cold energy, making my breath freeze in the air, my skin prickling as if from frostbite.
I’m terrified.
“Don’t be scared,” she says, smiling. Her teeth are white and perfect.
She inches forward, her eyes searching the corners my face.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” she adds. “I just want to open your eyes.”
My eyes are open.
“They’re looking at me, but they aren’t seeing the truth,” she whispers.
She raises her hand and slowly reaches for my face.
I can’t fucking breathe.
She can’t touch me.
She shouldn’t be able to.
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