A Lying Witch

by Odette C. Bell

  On any other day, I would have retorted that he smelled worse. Instead, I cast my mind back to that strange scene. “That was your home. It was Scotland, wasn’t it? Why do I get the impression it's from the past, though?”

  His expression – which had only just become controlled – practically shattered. For the shortest fraction of a second, I thought I saw somebody. Somebody I'd never seen before. The Max who wasn't a fairy, the Max who wasn't a friggin’ nuisance.

  For the shortest, shortest fraction of time, I thought I saw the real Max.

  And maybe the real Max appreciated what I was doing, because he suddenly turned so hard, he dislodged a great clod of mud from the tread of his shoes right onto the carpet. He strode towards the kitchen door without another word.

  I twisted around on the couch, locking a hand on the back and rising to my feet. I was steady. In fact, I felt great. Though my hand still kind of smarted and was a little burnt, the rest of me felt fantastic. It was as if I was fresh from a sunny holiday.

  I pushed up to follow him into the kitchen, incapable of letting go of this conversation.

  I heard his gruff growl from somewhere near the kitchen door that led out onto the patio. “Go and have a shower. I have things to do. You'll be safe here,” he added after a thoughtful pause. Then he closed the door. No, okay, he slammed the door, loud enough that it echoed right through the house.

  I placed a hand on the door frame and craned my head into the kitchen.

  It was just in time to see his departing form striding across the backyard.

  … What the hell had just happened?

  Again I brought up my burnt hand, but this time, I didn't focus on the burn. I focused on the barely discernible charge of magic that still pulsed through my veins. That magic – its fiery embrace – had been the most thrilling experience of my life.

  I kind of waited there, lingering by the door, hoping he would come back and reveal to me exactly what had happened.

  He didn't. In fact, it was soon clear that he would be out for the night.

  I let my hand drop, and that's when I noticed just how dirty and torn my clothes were. “Crap, I look like a mess.” I made the mistake of leaning forward and smelling my blouse experimentally. I jerked my head back and winced. “I smell worse.” Which made sense, as I’d been dragged through the gutter.

  Still, Max was right. It was time for a shower, a change of clothes, time for a snack. And then? I would just have to wait and see.

  Chapter 8

  It was when I was in the bath that something happened.

  I was relaxing under the bubbles – of which there was a mountain, as I’d accidentally tipped in half of the bubble bath.

  I sighed and reached for the glass of water I’d rested on the ledge. I wasn’t looking where I was reaching, and instead of clutching the glass, my fingers brushed against something else.

  I frowned as I picked it up.

  … It was a photo of a body bag, a tousle of blood-caked hair visible through a gap in the zip.

  My stomach kicked as I threw the photo onto the floor.

  I jerked back, water sloshing around me as my eyes pulsed wide with fear.

  And that’s when the sparks started.

  I brought a hand up and waved it in front of my face. It didn't stop the sparks. Another one appeared just above my eyes, then one down near my lips.

  “Ah, what the hell is going on?” I stuttered.

  There was no one to tell me.

  The sparks kept bursting into life, covering my field of view until the bath disappeared.

  I screamed, still capable of feeling the bath beneath me, still capable of feeling the water sloshing around my body. But that? That was starting to wane.

  As the sparks converged, everything changed. I wasn't in the bath anymore. Instead, I was in a field. It was dusk, or maybe it was dawn – it was hard to tell. It was hard to tell, because my body was aching as if I'd just run a marathon. My breath was choppy, my heart pelting so hard I was just waiting for it to pop.

  The field I was in was adjacent to a sparse forest – spruces, birches, closely knit pines.

  I… I was running. Desperately. I felt my head twist over my shoulder as I tried to spy something behind me.

  But there was nothing.

  Nothing….

  Suddenly, I saw a shadow. Flitting towards me, fast, so goddamn fast.

  My heart sped up, pumping so hard, it felt as if the muscle would tear.

  No time.

  No time.

  Nowhere to escape to.

  God, there was nowhere to escape to!

  “Help, help!” I screamed. There was no one to hear me.

  Whoever was behind me, he chased me deep into the forest. The further I ran, the thicker it became. The sparse pine trees and spruces that had been dotted around the field became dense. I could feel the knotted roots beneath me, feel the pine needles as they scratched across my face and arms.

  God, no, he was going to find me. I had to escape, had to escape!

  I was no longer aware of the bath beneath me. Hell, I was no longer aware of who I was. The only thing that consumed me was the drive to get the hell out of here while I still could.

  I could hear his breath, it was more even than mine, practiced, calm. Mine? It tore out of my throat like a wild animal trying to escape my body before it could die.

  I ran desperately through the trees, but it was getting darker, and the trees were now so cram packed together that the canopy was impenetrable.

  I threw myself against branches, and they cut my skin, tearing across my arms, hands, and cheeks.

  I was slowing down. My body couldn't take any more.

  God, no!

  He was right behind me now. Right behind me.

  I screamed, words incomprehensible – voice nothing more than raw, pitching, primal sound.

  I felt something behind me, and he reached out a hand. He clasped it around my wrist, and he pulled me around.

  The move was so sudden, it cut my momentum, and I swung hard to the left, arm smashing into a trunk beside me.

  I heard a crunch as something gave way in my shoulder.

  The pain was nothing whatsoever compared to the fear as he loomed above me.

  There was barely any light in this dense forest, but as I shifted to the left, as he drew something out of his pocket, his face tilted towards a thin line of illumination that made it through the dense canopy above.

  I saw his face. Saw his eyes, his nose, his jaw, saw his slack lips pressed into an easy smile.

  Then I saw the knife in his hands.

  He let my wrist go. Before I could double back, draw up a foot, and kick him, he clutched a hand around my throat. He twisted me around, dug a knee into the small of my back, and pushed me forward just as he used his arm to reveal the long line of my throat.

  There was nothing I could do. The fear gave way to one last final burst of adrenaline-fueled desperation.

  Then the guy leaned in to slit my throat.

  …

  I woke up screaming. Which was a bad idea – as I'd slipped into the water of the bath.

  Before I could drown, two strong arms reached in, wrapped around me, and pulled me out.

  My mind was frozen. It couldn't spin, it couldn't move – it was stuck on the fact that my throat had just been slit.

  I wasn’t usually a frantic kind of girl. Even if something truly bad happened to me, I tended to hold my composure. Pixies aside, at least. But right now, I became hysterical.

  I thrashed at the arms that held me, tried to jerk back, tried to look for a weapon. Or at least, until I heard his unmistakable voice by my ear. “It's fine. It was a vision. You're not dead. It's fine. I'm here.”

  I'm here.

  I'm here.

  His words were like lights leading me out of the darkness.

  Slowly, achingly slowly, I stopped thrashing, my body started to still, my arms fell limp, and I managed to suck in a much-needed
breath. Though I choked from the water still lodged in my throat, I opened my eyes.

  There I was, wrapped in Max's tight embrace.

  Naked.

  I had been in a bath, after all.

  I was usually a private kind of girl. There was a time and place for getting naked, and it sure as hell wasn't now.

  But at the moment I didn't care. I couldn't process the fact that I should be embarrassed. All I could do was wrap my shuddering, shaking arms around Max as I tried to convince myself that my throat had not been slit.

  “It was a vision. You saw the murderer, didn't you? It was probably not a good idea to access your skills while you were bathing,” he added, voice controlled.

  “You're the one who told me to wash,” I managed, which was quite a feat considering how addled I was. But apparently, my brain could never pass up the opportunity to react to Max.

  He didn't push me back, not for a long time. When it became obvious that I wasn’t going to lose my balance, fall back, and bang my head on the taps, he took a discreet, careful step away. And, surprisingly, he kept his eyes on me. Or maybe it wasn't surprising – I was as flat as a brick wall. Sure, I had a great stomach, and I was super slim, but there was nothing going on up top, if you know what I mean.

  Nonetheless, Max never let his eyes slip. He reached around, grabbed a towel, and furled it around my shoulders.

  As soon as the soft fabric touched my skin, I huddled against it, grasping it as tightly as my stiff white fingers could.

  “Dress. I’ll stand right outside the door.” With that, he turned, those camel-colored leather boots sloshing through the water that absolutely covered the bathroom.

  It was a complete mess. There were suds up the walls, water in the sink. Hell, somehow I'd even managed to get some on the windowsill.

  Still shaking, but not about to fall over, I managed to make my way out of the bath. And I stood there shivering on the bath mat.

  … What had just happened?

  What the hell had just happened?

  I’d been running through a forest, then some guy had—

  “Don't think about it, yet. Just get dressed. I'll tell you what happened,” Max promised.

  He’d tell me what happened, ha?

  I let that promise distract me as I dried and dressed. I didn't do a thing with my sopping wet hair, just let it trail over my sweatshirt. Now was not the time for neatness.

  Eventually, I mustered the courage to reach forward, twist the door handle, and open it.

  There he was, leaning against the wall, head tilted my way. His expression? Well, I couldn’t quite make it out. Was it concern? Anger? Some messy combination of the two?

  Maybe I should have blushed at the fact that minutes before this guy had plucked me naked out of the bath. I didn’t. I reached up a hand and protectively clutched it over my throat.

  I swore I could still feel the knife going in.

  “It was nothing but a vision,” he said as he pushed off the wall. Then, for the first time ever, he dropped his arms. He didn’t cross them defensively – he let them rest by his sides. Sure, the move was kind of awkward, and I could tell his arms would far prefer to be tightly wrapped around his chest. And yet, it seemed there was nothing for the fairy to be defensive over at the moment.

  Concerned? Sure. Because that really was concern flickering in his gaze. I could see it now I was closer.

  I kept a hand pressed over my throat, pushing my fingers against the skin, almost as if I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t been slit from ear-to-ear.

  “It was just a vision,” he said in a far clearer tone, speaking with a slow kind of certainty you would use on a child.

  I shook my head. “It was so real. I was there. I felt this guy—”

  Before I knew what was happening, Max reached forward and gently pried my hand back from my throat. Though I shivered, it wasn’t out of fear – just the thrill of his touch.

  I looked up into his gaze.

  “It was just a dream,” he said once more with the kind of certainty you could not deny. “But it was also a clue,” he added.

  “… A clue?”

  “To the murderer. Am I correct in assuming that you momentarily possessed the victim’s body?”

  Slam. I hadn’t thought about it like that until now. Suddenly, I realized what had happened. And that just made the situation all the more horrible.

  I clamped a hand over my mouth as I threatened to retch.

  “Oh god, oh god,” I said through my stiff, wet fingers. “I was in the victim’s head? Oh god. But that doesn’t make sense – she’s dead. Dead. I saw her body in that photo. Wait, how did that photo get there? What-what—”

  “It got there because I put it there,” he revealed. “But that’s not important. What’s important is that you accessed the victim’s mind. And before you ask, yes, you can do that. It’s an extension of your ability to see the future. You saw her being killed, right?”

  I usually had a cast-iron stomach. I was the kind of girl who could eat two-week-old Chinese take away from the back of her fridge. I would just brush off the mold or chew around it.

  Well, right now, that cast-iron stomach did a flip. I lurched backward, headed straight back into the bathroom, and unceremoniously threw up in the sink.

  When I’d evacuated the contents of my stomach, I looked up and caught sight of myself in the mirror.

  I was a mess. A total mess. My bedraggled, wet hair hung around my face. My eyes were sunken in, and my cheeks were as white as snow.

  I heard Max clear his throat from the doorway. “The effects will wane.”

  “Effects?” I asked in a shaky voice as I washed my mouth and locked my fingers over my lips.

  “The directness of the murder will pass with time. But now, while it’s fresh, you must take advantage of this fact. What do you remember?” He took a direct step into the room.

  I sliced my gaze to the side and watched him in the edge of the mirror.

  Though this morning all I’d wanted to do was run from this murder, now I couldn’t. Because I’d experienced it. It was locked in my body, in my hands, in my throat.

  Without bothering to dry my hand, I clutched my neck once more, almost as if I were trying to keep it whole.

  “Chi, I know this is hard, but it is imperative that we catch this fiend. He will murder again. Do you want that—” he began. But he stopped.

  I ticked my gaze towards him once more, eyes narrowing. I knew what he’d just been about to say – did I want that kind of blood on my hands. The old Max – the brutish, arrogant prick I was so very used to now – he wouldn’t have hesitated to insult me. The guy standing in my doorway? He had to be someone else, because there wasn’t a hint of anger crumpling his brow, just concern.

  It distracted me enough that I managed to straighten, pat my mouth dry after rinsing it with water, and turn. I knew I looked awful, I didn’t care.

  I twisted around, walked over to the bath, and sat on the edge.

  “Careful,” he snapped as he reached a hand out, “the floor is still wet.”

  Wet? That was an understatement. The floor was inundated. It was like a tropical island that had been swallowed by climate change.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said as I proved my point by not falling and cracking my head.

  I let my eyes drop, let my gaze lock on the sodden bath mat. I watched the remnants of the bubble bath pop and turn to scum. “He chased me through some kind of forest. There were… pine trees, spruces, birches. It was close-knit. I tried to run away, but…” I suddenly stopped, incapable of saying another word as my throat seized up. I could feel it – I could feel it again. The knife going in.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as I clamped a hand so tightly around my throat, I started to choke myself.

  Suddenly, Max was there, right by my side, hand weighing down into my shoulder. “It's not real,” he said once more, his brogue thicker than usual. I swore it shuddered down his arm and rattled th
e bath.

  Still, with a hand over my throat, I tightened my grip and swallowed. “I tried to get away. I couldn't—”

  “It's not you,” he said with a soft voice. “It was the victim.”

  I opened my mouth and hesitated before I said, “She… she tried to get away,” I said, trying the word she on for size. But it didn't fit. Yes, maybe technically I'd been possessing the victim’s mind momentarily, but it didn't feel that way. It felt as if I had been chased through that forest as if I had been split from ear-to-ear.

  I squeezed my eyes so tightly shut, I started to see stars spread across my vision.

  It reminded me how dark it had been in that forest. How thick the canopy was.

  “Any details, do you remember any more details?” I heard him crouch down beside me, felt his hand lift slowly off my shoulder.

  I almost wanted to reach forward, grab his hand back, and place it exactly where it had been on my arm. Because there was something so reassuring about his touch, about the pressure, about the heat shifting through my already sodden sweatshirt.

  “Chi,” he prompted when my silence went on too long.

  “The canopy – it was dark. The trees were thick. It was night, but none of the light could make it through. I was running into trees, kept snagging my arms on the branches—”

  “Chi,” I heard his brogue by my air once more, “it wasn't you. It was the victim. Now quickly, before the sensations dwindle, what do you remember of your attacker?”

  He’d just said I wasn't the victim, then he turned around and said your. I didn't bother to correct him. I screwed up my face, and I concentrated. Even though it was categorically the most awful thing I had ever done in my life, I tried to remember who had killed me.

  But my body was locked on the moment of death, on the flash of steel, on the feel of it slicing through my throat, on the warm blood that spilled down my neck, on my heart beating so desperately in my chest….

  “Chi,” Max said one final time.

  And I heard it… the hooves, someone shouting Max's name. For a fraction of a second, I swore I almost felt the grass beneath my form and the sun on my cheek.