The Bewitched Box Set

by W. J. May

“Enough!” I demand.

  Her dark eyes lock onto mine. I hear her breaths quicken. I can only explain it as moment of madness, her parting lips entrap mine so sweetly. The feel of her kiss is all that I want. My heart does not beat, but pounds beneath my chest and every coldness I have ever known dissolves into a forgotten memory. I rip away the fastening of my coat that holds her within. My kisses break away from her lips and are intense as they travel down her neck. My nails lengthen, leaving slight indentations in her skin. My urge is to bite her. I know it’s not me that she longs for, but for the one who has already left her. I will change her, and hope that in time love will come. My teeth are now razor-sharp fangs, and my mouth waters with hunger for blood.

  “Rose, tell me you want to be like me,” I utter, looking up.

  Gasping, I hold my hand up to my mouth. I release her slightly and my head shoots round, for in the mirror I see that a man stands behind me. Yet there is no one else in the room. Once again, I turn to face Rose and the mirror. What I see I can hardly believe. I rub my eyes with my knuckles and look again, but I am not mistaken. My stare lengthens; the person staring back at me is my own reflection. My eyes wander over my face; it is strange, and what I see I can hardly remember. I reach up to touch my cheek; it is surreal, but nice. In two centuries I have not aged and still look my nineteen years. My oval-shaped face has slimmed, its olive complexion changed to chalky white; my eyes are sunken, having lost the emerald-green tinge I remember and like those of my family, they now have an amber glow. My dark hair is slicked back and like me lacks a lust for life, hanging limply around my face. What gift has Rose brought with her, I wonder, and what is she doing to me?

  Still staring at myself, my eyes leap to the left side of the mirror, and the reflection I see is the door ajar, then open wide. The dust-covered floor picks up the sound of heels and my head shoots round.

  “Lucian, you hypocrite.” Jazlynn’s hands move from her tiny waist to her hips.

  Her amber oriental-shaped eyes sit so prettily against her ivory complexion; she is so small she looks almost doll like.

  “You tell us not to get jobs, not to mix with humans, and I come back to this, to her.” It seems she almost spits poison as she points her finger at Rose. “I stuck up for you tonight, not because I agree with your ways and how you are, but because you’re you. Lucian, you need to know the rest of the family are not happy. They want jobs, they want out of here.” She pauses. “Reflection, Lucian, you’ve got a reflection,” she stammers. “What the hell is it? What have you brought home with you?”

  I can feel Rose’s discomfort as she squirms between my arms. Holding her still, I overhear the long breath in Jazlynn takes and see her head rise as her face breaks into a cat-like smirk.

  “Got you wrong, eh?” she said, biting her lip with the sharpening points of her teeth. “A suicide...”

  I blink, and Jazlynn is by my side. Abruptly I turn my back on Rose, pinning her against the mirrored glass, standing tall to protect her.

  “Pretty hair,” Jazlynn whispers, reaching past my shoulder towards Rose’s face.

  I grab her wrist.

  “That’s close enough.”

  “No, Lucian, let me touch her, let me see my reflection like you see yours. I won’t hurt her, I swear.” Her teeth retract.

  With her wrist still held in my hand, I place her palm against Rose’s and hold their hands together.

  “Jazlynn, what do you feel?”

  “Nothing,” she frowns. “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” I reply.

  If she doesn’t feel as I do, she doesn’t need to know. I don’t elaborate, keeping my heart beat a secret. Still holding their hands between mine, I move aside to allow Jazlynn her reflection, if indeed she has one. She lifts her free hand to her brow. I see her stroke her cheek and the expression that awakens in her eyes.

  “Do you think her face is as pretty as mine?” Jazlynn pulls her long black tresses from behind her head, allowing them to fall over her shoulder, spilling down around her waist. “Does her hair hold such beauty?” she questions.

  Looking up into my eyes I guess she awaits an answer, but what do I say? So the three of us stand and the room descends into an awkward silence.

  “Wait till the others see,” she says.

  I can hear her excitement, feel the shake of her body.

  “We can reopen the room; all we need is her.”

  There’s a tug on my shirt from behind.

  “Take me home,” Rose cries, reminding me she’s still here.

  “Jazlynn, she isn’t staying, I only brought her here to show her this room. I wasn’t expecting my reflection, and I wasn’t expecting you home.”

  “She’s a suicide, Lucian, she reeks of death. The moment our family returns they will pick up her scent, and then it is only a matter of time before they find and kill her. Her blood will drive them crazy.”

  I grab Jazlynn’s arm that hangs at her side.

  “I will tell them she was a lucky find, and that you and I feasted in their absence.”

  “Whatever,” she said.

  I feel the force with which she pulls away.

  “You can’t let her go, she’s human, she knows where we live. How many more of her kind will come after her? Just bite her, change her.”

  “Don’t you think I’ve thought of that?”

  “Just do it then.”

  “Jazlynn, you know it isn’t that simple, Rose doesn’t want to be changed.”

  “Let me kill her, it will be quick, it won’t hurt, I’m good with my hands. A snap of her neck and it’s over.”

  “No, leave her.” I push Jazlynn’s hand from Rose, and with it her reflection is gone. “I’m taking her back,” I tell her. “I will take her home, put her back in her bed, and when I leave and walk away I will erase her every memory. It will never have been; she will forget the castle, the way in, the mirrors she danced before, the girl with the waist-length black hair.” I pause, for it pains me to say it. “She will forget me, too.”

  “Wouldn’t it be quicker, less hassle, if we killed her?”

  “No, she’s done nothing wrong, why should she die? Having her here has made me think, and probably done you all a favour. Wait here, I won’t be long.”

  Taking Rose by the hand again I walk her past Jazlynn, who still looks into the empty glass, I can only guess in search of her lost reflection.

  “Oh, by the way,” I call back, “I’ve had time on my own and done some thinking. On my return I will summon the family, and who knows, tomorrow night us men could be out looking for jobs.”

  Leaving Jazlynn with that thought, I close the door.

  Chapter Two

  Rose

  Two and a half years later

  My head lowers as I gaze around the cemetery and its vast emptiness. It is as though people knew I was coming here today and purposely stayed away to allow me privacy to grieve.

  “Happy birthday,” I whisper into the breeze as the sharp knife I hold cuts into the thick stems of the white chrysanthemums.

  I lay them down gently in the exact place I watched his ashes being sprinkled. The place my boyfriend, Jai, was laid to rest. I bow my head. It’s hard to believe that two years have been and gone, and I still can’t come to terms with him not being here. How can my Jai be no more than a piece of earth, some grass covered by a random daisy or two?

  I look up at the sky and make pictures out of the wispy clouds.

  “Jai, I hope you’re taking good care of Mum...” My voice echoes through the silence; even the birdsong seems to have ebbed.

  I glance down at the diamond solitaire on my finger. It was a symbol of our love and the future life I thought we would have, yet he unintentionally ripped out my heart and left me broken.

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t join you, Jai.”

  Why weren’t we spontaneous? I ask myself. I know this is something I’ll always regret. We should have taken the moment, grasped it. Gone with our h
earts and thought whatever, worried about the consequences later.

  My thoughts pause as a shiver runs through me and a cool breeze lifts my hair. My head is pounding. I try, but I can’t think any longer, I can’t stay here any longer. It’s as if I’m being suffocated, eaten up by grief. I jump to my feet.

  “Goodbye, Jai, until tomorrow,” I call over my shoulder, turning back briefly as I weave my way carefully between scattered ashes of the dead.

  I gaze down at the remains of people I have never met, yet still I feel an attachment, a need to show them respect. They were just like me once. They had a life, friends, family who loved them. It’s uncanny, for it is where we are all heading; we have time, but from death there is no escape. We cannot bribe death, and wealth and fame hold no meaning; we all stand on this earth as equals. No matter who we are, it’s only a matter of time before our number will be called.

  I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts, for both time and reality have run away from me. It had completely slipped my mind that Tristan would be waiting outside the cemetery gates. His last words were that he would meet me at one o’clock. I glance down at my gold watch; guilt creeps in, for it is way past that. He said he was going to walk me back to the flat, and we’d spend the day pigging out on junk food and lie on the sofa and watch daytime TV.

  I amble past a small flowing stream and a row of tall green conifers. Beyond the final tree I catch sight of him, a glint of blonde hair shining in the sunlight.

  “Tristan,” I call.

  He is wearing a pair of navy-blue jeans and a black fitted T-shirt. His elbow props him up against a weathered stone wall. As he sees me a smile lights his face and he walks over to meet me. As he nears, his steel-grey eyes soften and narrow, and creases appear. He has a kindness to his face quite contradictory to his rugged looks and ripped torso.

  I feel his arm as it wraps around my shoulder, creasing my blue T-shirt, which I straighten with my hands.

  “Are you okay, Rose?” he enquires.

  I can hear the concern in his voice as he hugs me tightly to him. I tense; I feel so out of place standing in the arms of another man.

  I can sense his eyes as they drop down towards me. My own eyes are lost elsewhere and my mind wanders back to well over two years ago. I can see myself as if it were only yesterday. This is one memory I choose to forget, though for some reason my mind begins to replay it. I’m in my house standing before the oval mirror in the bathroom with mascara-smudged eyes. It is a vague recollection, but I can still hear those voices calling out, telling me to jump. They repeated themselves over and over in my mind, turning my sanity to madness. The voices finally stopped when they became thoughts of my own. I would join Jai, find the bridge in the forest, and then I would jump. I had an overriding urge to fall, to let go of my life and watch year by year my existence flash before my eyes. When my seventeen years were all played out, it was Jai’s face I wanted to see, into his arms I wanted to fall. Surely death would have given us back the life we had lost?

  Fate played her hand and someone saved me that night. It was a man, a stranger; he walked onto the bridge out of nowhere. As he neared, I fell, but his strong arms reached out to save me. But whoever the stranger was, he muddied the waters of my mind and death became less of an option. It made me think again, that maybe life was something that should be cherished and shouldn’t be given up so readily, and if there was such a thing as undying love, in my heart I knew when my time came that Jai would be there waiting.

  “I’ve got a box set, thought it would kill a few hours,” Tristan pipes up.

  I jump from my thoughts and manage a half smile. His choice of words couldn’t have been more apt. I look down at the cracks in the pavement as we walk back in the direction of the flat. The footsteps we take are in unison. I can feel myself edging away from his hold; it feels wrong ... we are far too close. I’ve never felt more in need of my own space, though Tristan makes no attempt to move his arm from my shoulder; it feels so out of place, like a scarf worn around one’s neck on a warm summer’s afternoon. I know he is trying so hard to please me, I see it in his eyes. The way he looks at me each morning, I can’t help but love him as a friend. I can’t deny that I enjoy his company, and if he were to leave, the flat would feel empty without him. I think he was the lift I needed in my life when he moved in. I would say that the day I saved him he saved me right back. But he is not Jai, and that special little something that love brings he unfortunately lacks.

  We enter the building. I hear the usual ringing in my ears as my heels click against the steps’ metal beading. I prise the key out of my jeans pocket, and upon reaching the door feel the grip of Tristan’s hand slip from my shoulders, taking with it a huge weight. I take a breath and open the door to the flat. As I enter I am choked by a haze of smoke lingering in the air. I constantly ask Tristan not to smoke, or at least to open a window, but he either doesn’t hear me or pretends not to. His response is that it makes him feel more alive, but whatever he means by that I have no idea.

  “More post...” I sigh as my eyes drop to the letters littering the hallway floor.

  Before I can retrieve them, Tristan bends down and picks them up one by one. He places them on a heap of bills on the glass-topped telephone table. The white envelopes now wear a red stamp and are labelled urgent. I don’t lift them or put my finger under the seal to open them. I know what they are, yet more reminders, but with very little money it is better that I don’t see and then maybe they will go away. But no, that’s only wishful thinking. I know Tristan does the best he can, the odd cash-in-hand job here and there, but it’s not enough, nowhere near. I’ve got to try and pull myself together, get a job... But not today or tomorrow, maybe next week.

  “So how was it?” he asks.

  I scrunch up my nose.

  “Jai’s birthday,” he remarks. “Are you coping okay?”

  “Yeah, fine thanks.” I break eye contact.

  He had remembered it was Jai’s birthday, which was nice I suppose, though I don’t want to talk about it or share my grief with anybody. I look into his face and watch as he brushes his ash-blonde hair from his steel-grey eyes in a similar way to how Jai used to. I pull back from his tight squeeze as he passes me in the hallway and feel him place his hand on my arm.

  “I’ve gone one better,” he pipes up. “Wasn’t it cookie dough?”

  I freeze. That wasn’t just any ice cream, it was special to me and Jai. For that split second it felt as though Tristan was trying to take his place, mimic our special nights in together. How could he know? Only once I remember mentioning our favourite ice cream; surely he wouldn’t have remembered that. It had been no more than a passing statement.

  “Damn, it’s like bloody water now...”

  I hear the crackling of one of the bags he is holding.

  “Suppose I could always re-freeze it,” he jokes, looking up from under his eyes.

  I watch as he bites down on his bottom lip. I think my unappreciative glare answers his question. He throws me a smile, turning sideways in an attempt to pass, but our bodies are far too close. I can feel myself take a deep breath against the brush of his clothing. Most days I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but then any other day wouldn’t have been Jai’s birthday. A heat rises into my throat, which I am quick to swallow back. I feel a warmth in my cheeks and I know he’s seen me blush.

  It is the first emotion other than grief that I have felt in a long while. I am scared by this feeling, and so flick my head away to avoid Tristan’s gaze, squeezing past him in the narrow hallway. I can’t help but notice the tight fit of his jeans, how they cling so nicely to him as he bends down over the pedal bin and discards our melted afternoon treat.

  “You’ll always be mine...” I hear him utter.

  I look away from him; surely I can’t have heard him right.

  “You what?” I babble, stumbling over my words.

  His chiselled face turns towards me, looking quite unperturbed.
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  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I imagine that he has seen the colour drain from my cheeks, turning them from a rosy-red to dead-pan white.

  “Did I hear you right?” I ask.

  “Yeah, think so.” He nods. “Which DVD do you fancy?”

  He lifts two from the kitchen worktop.

  “Your choice; it’s either You’ll Always Be Mine or The Notebook.”

  I realise what an idiot I’ve been. How do I always manage to read things so wrong? But then, there is no smoke without fire. I know Tristan wouldn’t take a lot of encouragement, and I think he knows I know.

  “The Notebook,” I call over my shoulder, attempting a smile as I disappear into my bedroom to change into something a little more comfortable.

  The thick mattress sinks beneath me as I sit down. The red and white floral wallpaper catches my eye; it was my first attempt at decorating. I pass a nonchalant sigh; the wall looks much like myself – incomplete.

  Our prom canvas hangs opposite the bed, and I smile up at it. I catch him smiling back at me and can hardly face opening the door and spending the evening with Tristan. I can’t deny he’s been the pick-me-up I’ve needed, but I know he wants more.

  I can’t help a slight guilt creeping into my thoughts, for he is so good to me in so many ways and it would be easy on my part to make the mistake, to willingly slip into his arms, but it would be the wrong thing to do and for all the wrong reasons. I know I’d regret any intimacy we shared, and once we’d crossed that line our friendship, which means so much to me, would be left in jeopardy.

  Apart from the odd job Tristan finds himself, we’re together almost 24/7. I need to get out of here, I need some me time, some breathing space. As I’m thinking, I’m also scrolling down my phone looking through the classified section of a webpage. An evening job may be the answer. My eyes notice the many bars that need staff in Nottingham town centre. I stop at one vacancy in particular, more so because the name jumps out at me: The Silken Kite. It’s not only a bar, but a club, so the working hours would be longer. If I were to get the job Tristan would surely be in bed when I returned home. I don’t allow my mind the time to talk myself out of this decision, but hurriedly press the link to the number. My call goes straight to voicemail.