by Fabio Bueno
The pain is crazy. I’ve never experienced anything like this. It feels like an insanely bad sinusitis, only it acts on my whole face. Thank Goddess Priscilla brought me the bag of ice I asked for. I press it to my face with care, and it soothes me a little.
“Can I have a sleep over?” I mumble with a hoarse voice.
“Sure,” Priscilla says. “Skye—”
“Please, listen to me. Can you take me to my house first? I need to get some stuff, and then we can go to yours. We’ll talk later.”
“That’s not cool, Skye.”
“Just give me a few minutes for myself. Please?”
She shakes her head and says, “Fine.”
Minutes later, we’re in front of Gemma’s house. She’s used to my coming home late, and all the lights are out. Still a bit dizzy, I walk to the front door, unlock it, and punch in the security code.
The dark house is silent. If Gemma catches me and sees my face, I’m done for. She’ll call all the Sisters she knows, starting with Mum and Connor. I tiptoe to my room and gather my ritual tools and some vials that Yara prepared. I stuff a few clothes into a duffel bag.
I scribble a note for Gemma. “Sleeping over at Priscilla’s. I will call you when I wake up.” It sounds detached. So I add, “Love, Skye.” I slide the note under her door.
When I get back to the car, Priscilla is tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. She’s about to burst.
“Thanks, Pri. You’re always there for me.”
This softens her a little. She raises her eyebrows, but drives me to her home in silence.
Her house is as dead as mine. We go to her room.
“I need a few minutes in your bathroom,” I tell her.
She nods. “Do you need help?”
“Maybe later. Thanks.” I take all my stuff into the bathroom.
With the lights on, I look at myself in the mirror. Rather, I look at the house of horrors version of myself who is staring back at me. I need to see what’s underneath the red mask. I wash my hands thoroughly. Cold water splashed on my face soothes the pain a little. It washes the blood away. I repeat the process until the water runs almost clear. I get a hand towel and gently pat my face with it. The towel turns pink.
Now I can see all the damage. My nose is huge and looks crooked, but it doesn’t feel broken. At least, it doesn’t hurt worse than the rest of my face. Maybe it’s just swollen.
My lips and brow are covered with cuts. Both my cheeks are puffed up. I’ve got a black eye and a chipped tooth. It’s surreal, like I’ve fought an MMA match.
I rummage in my duffel bag and line up Yara’s vials. It’s too late for the Shield pill now—and even the Shield ritual I did this morning was cancelled by the Dispel tattoo. The Shield spell could have lessened the effects of the beating too, but it’s much better to have had the Dispel and not spilled the beans about Mona.
I should have made an amulet for me, just like I did for Mona.
The Shield pills and the attack ones—Sleep, Poison Ivy, Decay—go back into the duffel bag.
If the Dispel works like the other potions, it should have worn off by now. I fill a glass of water and take Restore and Healing pills. Yara, despite my mixed feelings about you, I can’t deny you’re a master of potions.
I find a bottle of Advil behind the vanity mirror and take the full daily dose. Pri knocks quietly on the door.
“Hey, there you are. You look much better,” she says after I let her in.
“Thanks for lying, Pri.”
“You’re welcome. Here, I found Neosporin. I can make a pharmacy run if you need.”
“No, thanks. That will do. Apply it for me?”
“Sure. Sit on the edge of the bathtub and close your eyes.”
She’s in better spirits. Or at least, she’s faking it. Either way, I’m glad. I feel bad about lying to her.
The cold cream against my face is soothing. I hope all the drugs kick in soon.
“So crazy night, huh?” she says.
“Pri, I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you everything.” Thank Goddess my eyes are closed. I don’t want to see her disapproving face.
“You know that’s not normal, right? I mean, a few weeks ago I saw scars on your head and arms. And now this. What’s going on?”
“I can’t tell you. I really can’t.”
“It’s not Drake, right?”
“No!”
“Or your creepy ex?”
“No! He’s not creepy, just…an idiot.”
I hear a sigh. “Then it’s worse. If it’s not them, a stranger did this to you. You need to tell the police. Or social services. You’re still a minor. And you need, I don’t know, a bodyguard. Open your eyes, Skye.”
I open them and stare at her. But I understand she means that I need to see the situation.
Her face looks older, stern. “Skye. What’s going on? Tell me. Don’t you trust me?”
My eyes water. “Pri, I trust you more than anyone. You’re the best. I just can’t tell you everything.”
Priscilla’s tone is a disheartened one. “You rescued me when I hit rock bottom with Boulder’s accident. Think about it. Imagine how helpless I feel when I see him like that and now you like this, and you won’t let me do anything for you. Let me help you.”
I put my hand over hers. “You can’t. No one can. But it’s okay. It’s over. Don’t worry. Promise me you won’t worry.”
She’s not sold. “Promise me you will tell me and ask me for help if it gets worse.”
“Deal.”
We go to sleep in her queen-sized bed. She strokes my hair until I black out.
***
Bright lights. This is wrong. Am I in London? No, no, I’m in Seattle. Either way, this is wrong.
My head hurts. It feels heavy. Even my eyelids are made of lead. Opening my eyes is a tricky proposition.
I blink a few times. The bed feels odd—too soft. The walls are different. Priscilla’s bedroom.
Memories from the previous night hit me like a tsunami. I’m awash in pain, tension, and confusion. Miranda and Jane in one night. Being drugged by my own friends, and then beaten up by my enemies. That was a serious beating.
Breathing deeply, I calm my nerves. I’m safe now. In Pri’s house. Her bedroom is my little sanctuary. I’m so glad I have a friend.
Then I turn and see Priscilla’s face, and I’m not so glad anymore.
She’s staring at me with an accusatory gaze: narrowed eyes, a deep scowl, her lips glued together. What did I do this time? I mean, besides keeping my best friend in the dark?
“How do you feel?” Her words are affable, but her tone sure isn’t.
“Better.” My voice comes out in a growl, so I clear my throat and try again. “Not well, but better. It couldn’t get worse, could it?” I say, offering an ice-breaker.
But somehow her expression becomes even sterner. “I’d say it could,” she says. She shows me a bag full of pills and vials. Yara’s stash.
My mind is dull and slow. I can’t understand exactly what’s going on. I come back with the lamest of the responses: “Did you go through my things?”
“That’s not the issue here, Skye.”
I try to prop myself up on the fluffy pillows, but I drown in them. “It sounds like a pretty important issue. To me.”
“Don’t be so righteous. You brought drugs into my house. But that’s also not the issue.”
With considerable effort, I straighten, despite the quicksand-ish pillows. I lean against the back board of the bed, but lifting my head makes me dizzy.
“Pri, I’m confused… These are not drugs.”
She throws the bag on my lap. “I’m not an idiot! This bag and last night proves you’re involved in drugs. And drug deals. That’s what you were doing there, right? A deal gone bad?”
I snort, but the sudden movement feels like my brain is about to explode. My nose hurts like hell too. I groan and bring my hands to my face, but manage to whisper, “You’ve been wat
ching too much cable, Pri.”
“What is it, then? What happened last night?” She slaps the bed.
“Can you get me a glass of water?”
“No. Tell me. Right now, straight up, before you have time to think up a lie. The scars, the beating, the drugs.”
“Those are not drugs. Those are supplements.”
“What?”
“Organic stuff. Mortar and pestle, my little cauldron, some herbs.” I open the bag. “Come on, smell it.” I hand her over a sage leaf. “It’s natural.”
“Like weed?” She picks up the leaf and takes a whiff.
“No. Like a natural medicine. That’s why I had to get it last night. I believe in this. I haven’t looked in the mirror, but I bet I’m already looking better. Or, at least, not too messed up. Right?”
She eyes me strangely, but nods in an almost imperceptible motion. Goddess bless the Allure and Yara’s bag of tricks.
“It works. You can buy these in shops—it’s nothing illegal. And I don’t get high or anything.”
“You are a new age kook…” Pri says, unsure.
“Thanks.”
“But you put on Neosporin. And I saw the Advil bottle.”
I shrug pointedly. “Just hedging my bets.”
“What about this?” She points to my face.
“It was a mugging, Pri. Did you see my wallet or my cell? He took them. I was just too pissed off to talk about it last night. Even my glasses are gone,” I add, for effect.
“You called me on a phone.” She fishes the phone Jane gave me out of my purse.
It takes me few seconds, but I come up with an explanation. “This is a prepaid, cheap one that I keep for when the battery of the other is dead. Or for emergencies. Like this.” What’s another lie?
Her lips are still pursed. But her voice is low now. “Were you attacked…you know?”
“No, no. That would be horrific. No, just some thug trying to get my purse, and me dumbly fighting him off. Don’t worry.”
I tell her I was in the park for one of my “silly nature walks,” and a guy came and tried to rob me. When I resisted, he beat me to take my purse—and punched me a little extra, for my daring.
“Oh, Skye, that sounds terrifying.”
“It was.”
She looks at me with pity now. “And your scars?”
I point to my temple. “This one I got at the pool, watching Drake. I slipped and hit my head. He was there; you can ask him. And this one,” I show her the almost invisible scar on my arm, “I got it when I was using that knife in the bag.” I point to my athame. “I was trying to chop some leaves. You know how clumsy I am.”
She nods, deep in thought. “Why didn’t you tell me any of these things?”
I open my arms. “I don’t know. Those are all embarrassing. All that happened because I like alternative stuff. And you’re not into any of that. I was afraid you would think I was a dork.”
“That’s dumb. I already think that.” Her mouth almost smiles.
“Now, can we get into why you were going through my stuff?”
“Just concerned with my sis.” Pri taps my knee affectionately. “You told you would call Gemma in the morning. Here’s the phone. Do you want the glass of water now?”
“If the interrogation is over,” I say.
***
During breakfast, I tell Priscilla, “I need to call Drake. I don’t want him to see me like this.”
Priscilla stops making pancakes and looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Ooh, intrigue and deception.”
“I don’t like to lie to him, but if he sees this,” I say, pointing to my face, “he’ll freak out.”
“It would be a warranted freak out, just so you know. Okay, we need a good excuse. Figure it out and blame me. Everybody does,” she says, while depositing one more flapjack into my plate.
“I could tell him we’re going away on a girl’s road trip. What do you think?”
Pri bites her lip. “Sorry. I’ve been to the hospital almost every day since the accident. If I went away and something happened…” Her voice trails off.
“We don’t need to actually go anywhere.”
“Ooh, Skye, you wicked girl. But what if I bump into Drake at the hospital?”
“Let’s just figure it out as it goes.”
She throws me her cell and sits down to gorge on the pancakes. It’s weird seeing this paper-thin girl stuff herself with carbs.
“Hey, my man,” I tell Drake when he picks up.
“Miss Lexington-Ellis, how are you this morning? Too cool for school today?”
“Yeah, I decided to take a day off.” Oops, I need to call the school.
“I wish you had told me. We could hang out together. Wait, are you calling from Priscilla’s phone?”
“Yeah, I lost mine.”
“You can say that again,” Priscilla mumbles with her mouth full.
“Seriously, again?” Drake asks. “You need to wear them on a necklace.” Then his voice gets serious. “Listen, can you meet me—”
“No, that’s what I wanted to tell you. Pri and I are going on a road trip this weekend.”
“But it’s Thursday,” he points out.
“Yes, it’s just that we need some girl time.”
“Okay…” He sounds disappointed. Sorry, Drake.
“What did you want to tell me?”
“No, nothing. We’ll talk when you get back. What about school? Where are you going?”
Priscilla takes the phone away from me. “Don’t know yet. Probably Mount Si. Snowboarding, maybe. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to go shopping for the trip. Take care.” She hangs up.
“Pri!”
“What? That would’ve taken hours.” She sits down again and takes another bite of her pancake. “He would have asked too many questions.”
“What now?”
“Let’s just stay in and watch a ton of movies.”
Chapter 34: Drake
Skye said she would return soon. It’s been five days now. I don’t know what to expect. She’s missing school and doesn’t care. Is she going on secret missions now? Is she a witch spy?
It occurs to me that a globe-trotting secret agent was the wish-fulfillment illusion I once created to justify my mother’s absence. How ironic if my girlfriend ended up being exactly that and abandoning me—even if it’s just for a few days.
It’s just five p.m., but nightfall has arrived. I hate this part of the year. So dark and gloomy.
I’m alone. With Dad still at work and Mona spending the night at Pain’s, the house is all mine. Again. Sean is at the hospital with Boulder, but later he’ll go home to work on his writing. No other names to call pop into my head. A reminder that I don’t have many friends.
Huh. Is that what being lonely means? I didn’t feel like that before meeting Skye.
I have no idea why her sudden trip makes me so uneasy. The thought of her not coming back has crossed my mind. But I respect her. I trust her. I never will be the obsessive, controlling boyfriend. She will tell me when she does.
Someone is knocking at the front door. We should put up a sign. I have no patience for solicitors. Because I always, always cave in.
I open the door and pull back out of instinct.
Jane is here.
But she’s not the Jane I remember. In front of me, I see a pale, tame version of her, with half her face covered in thin scars, the other half deformed in a gruesome burn, and blood soaking the side of her jacket.
“Help me,” she croaks. “Please.”
I want to punch her. I have all the reasons in the world to slam the door in her face. I should call 911.
But what dumb me does, of course, is catch her when her legs give out.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!
My eyes still scan her hands for signs of weapons or potions. She is still Jane, after all.
“Lean on me,” I say.
She lets part of her weight rest on my arms. With my support,
she stumbles into my living room. I lead her to the sofa and deposit her there carefully.
Jane grunts and sits sideways, looking at me with a blank stare. Her forehead is covered in sweat; her lips are almost white.
I rush to the linen closet in search of towels. While I get them from the shelves, I can almost hear part of my brain screaming to get away from her, to tie her up, to throw her out. However, the other side of my brain—the boy scout side—is unflappable.
When I get back, Jane is still in the same position. I motion for her to lift her hand from the wound. I remove her jacket with care. She raises her shirt slowly, and I see a gash with blood seeping out.
“Put this over it and keep pressure on it,” I say, handing her a towel. “Were you shot?”
Her answer is almost inaudible. “Stabbed.”
I reach for my cell.
“Don’t,” her wisp of a voice tells me.
“I need to call an ambulance. I know the cops are after you, but you may die.”
Jane shakes her head slowly. The vulnerability in her gesture is so evident, I don’t dial.
“I need Skye,” she says. “I…” She takes a deep breath, and then she lets out a rush of words, “I won’t bleed to death, but the wound is poisoned. I need a potion. Only a potion.”
The effort of saying so much takes a toll on her, and Jane gasps for air, her eyes desperate and vulnerable. Jane.
“Skye is away, Jane.”
She stares at me with a guilty look at her face. Then she casts her eyes down.
“Mona?” she whispers without looking at me.
Something inside me snaps. “That’s it, isn’t it? A trap? You know Skye is not here, so you show up wounded to get some pity out of me and make me hand you Mona on a plate? Is that blood even real? I hope you didn’t mutilate yourself just to get to my sister. That’s low even for you, Jane.”
I motion to get my cell from my pocket. She slowly raises her hand to stop me, but she misses me completely. I expect her to turn and hit me, but she just stays there, one hand compressing the wound, the other waiving aimlessly, completely defeated.
Not even her helplessness will stop me from calling the cops now.
But then she opens her damn mouth again and pleads, “Don’t. They will kill him.”