Hex, A Witch and Angel Tale

by Ramona Wray

It was really late by the time I fi nished researching Lucian’s claims. I’d had the sense to turn off the heat under the sauce at some point and the penne were still waiting to take a dive in the pot of water that was bubbling gently.

  But where was J?

  No sooner had I reached for the phone than the front doorbell rang. Not once, not twice, but in a continuous, jarring wail that made me want to rip the darn thing right out of the wall.

  “Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

  Even as my fingers curled up on the doorknob, I sensed something was wrong. My pulse quickened and the hairs on my neck bristled. With good reason, too, because as soon as I opened the door, J collapsed into my arms. Her face was stained with dried blood; her eyes struggled to stay open, but the eyelids kept flopping closed; her breathing was ragged and weak.

  “J!”

  Her weight almost toppled us both to the floor, and dragging her over to the fainting couch by the phone stand took some doing. She kept mumbling something, but the words were so slurred it was impossible to make heads or tails of what she said.

  With one hand I brushed away some of the blood-smeared hair covering part of her face. Under it I found a large, gaping cut, dirty and still bleeding. With the other hand, I grabbed the phone and dialed 911.

  “Yes, hello?” I fought for control of my voice. “My friend is hurt!”

  While I did my best to explain the situation to the woman on the line, J’s head wobbled from side to side, but she still couldn’t keep her eyes open. Her lips continued to move, weird sounds and hisses coming out in a jumble that may as well have been ancient Sumerian to me.

  But then, just as I set the phone down, she whispered clearly:

  “Ryder. It was Ryder.”

  I heard sirens in the distance, and visions of armed police offi cers seizing and manhandling Ryder danced in front of my eyes. Ryder in handcuff s … Ryder locked up ... Ryder bleeding. I didn’t stop to think about it; I just reacted. By doing something colossally stupid.

  I lied.

  “You’re wrong, J. Ryder was just here. He only left a couple of minutes ago.”

  It made it fi nal. I really had gone off the deep end.

  Chapter: Eighteen

  While waiting for J to be patched up, and then, as I lied some more, to Sheriff Robinson, no less, I fought the uncontrollable urge to find a priest and confess my sins. Pronto. “Guilt” didn’t stretch over a fraction of how I felt. Worse still, I couldn’t understand what on earth had possessed me to do it in the first place. But there wasn’t a single cell in my body that doubted the truth. Even as I watched my best friend being hooked up to an IV and swathed in bandages, I did not second-guess myself. Ryder couldn’t have done this! Exactly how I knew it … well, if it had only been that simple.

  See, it was like this: when J had fainted in my arms, I’d seen what had happened. J was driving and was just about to make that last turn to my house when a deer jumped in front of the car. Even weirder, it wouldn’t move. Darn thing, all cute and harmless, just stood there, effectively blocking her way. So J got out of the car and walked over to it, at which point she was grabbed from behind. A wet cloth covered her mouth and nose, smelling sweet, like alcohol and acetone, and almost immediately she felt woozy. Still, she had struggled, even managed to swivel, but then somehow plummeted to the ground, where, unfortunately, her forehead smacked against a sharp-ribbed rock. But just before she lost consciousness, she managed to catch a glimpse of her attacker. It had been Ryder, I’d seen it clearly.

  So why in the name of all things sane did I protect him? Why did I lie to my head-bleeding best friend and to Sheriff Robinson about Ryder’s whereabouts during the attack? After all, seeing is supposed to be believing, right? And I had seen Ryder attacking J, no doubt about it. But … there had been a subtle, almost unnoticeable diff erence between all the other images I’d glanced at and the one showing Ryder’s face. It was almost like a veil, a fine sheet of mist overlaying his features. Did I imagine it? No, absolutely not. But did it mean anything? No idea. Should I have lied to everyone on account of it? No, no, and also no; consequently, my urgent desire to locate that priest and confess what I’d done.

  I left the hospital after J drifted off to sleep, which didn’t take too long thanks to the painkillers she’d been given. The damage consisted of a couple of bruises plus that nasty cut on her forehead, and the doctor thought she was going to be okay. He’d keep her overnight for observation, though. That was actually a comforting thought, considering that I hadn’t managed to track down Delilah. It was better for J to be in a place where she’d be watched around the clock than to attempt convalescing at home, in an empty house.

  As for my house, it was, simply put, out of the question, since I wasn’t headed there at all. No, I was on my way to the McArthur cabin, and by gods, I would get answers! Or there would be blood. Of course, if I was wrong about Ryder, there would be blood, alright. Most likely my own.

  “Don’t be an idiot!” I scolded myself. “Why would he want to hurt J? Could he ever do something like that?”

  Naturally, nobody answered me. Nothing but the steady purr of the engine cut through the silence surrounding me. The darkness had staked its claim fully over Rosemound, which seemed strangely deserted. Stopping by the Enchanted Forest Occult Emporium and bringing Mom up to speed was probably a good idea, but I just couldn’t postpone seeing Ryder. Not one minute longer.

  So I drove too fast, torn apart by doubts, wondering if I was in fact rushing to my own death. But I hurried anyway. It made me think about those stupid horror movies where it’s so obvious that if the girl goes into the dark room, she’ll be hacked to pieces, but she goes in anyway. Was this it, then? Was the McArthur cabin my dark room? Was Ryder my Jason Voorhees?

  “No!” I cried out again, hitting the steering wheel in frustration. “Remember how you feel when he kisses you! Could a murderer make you whole? At peace? Happy?”

  Blinking back tears, I tightened my jaw and smothered the rest of the useless argument. Killing myself over working out what was going on was a huge waste of time and energy. After all, I thought, glancing at the woods outside the car window, this wasn’t even a Friday the 13th kind of deal. This was definitely a Blair Witch Project thing — no real answers, only cold sweat. And, well, everyone knows how that movie ended.

  Shivers surged through me almost as wildly as whenever the chill came back. Who knew fear could be so cold? Once I was parked next to the cabin, my heart raced in my chest like an Arabian stallion. Clenching my teeth, I killed the engine abruptly. I took a deep breath and wiped my clammy hands on my jacket.

  Climbing out of the car, I moved toward the front door with a determined step. If only I’d felt as certain inside. To my right, adjacent to the main cabin, was an open shed, in which I saw Ryder’s bike. Good, he was home.

  With fingers curved so rigidly they looked like eagle talons, I tapped on his front door lightly. Once, twice, three times. Superposed images of him swirled in my head.

  Him bathed in blinding silver light.

  His eyes … the killing blow.

  His lips on mine.

  The world dissolving into his kiss.

  Him scowling at me in the cafeteria, as if warning me to stay away.

  My warden and my freedom.

  You own me, all of me.

  They spun around in my mind, faster and faster, until I wasn’t just scared but nauseous, too.

  Then the door opened.

  And it all went away. Everything seemed stupid and cheap somehow, and it simply vanished. I looked into his ever-changing, soulful eyes and realized that, once again, he had taken the hurt away. This time, without even saying a thing; just being there, just being him, was enough.

  And, boy, was he a sight! Rocking a white wife beater and faded jeans, he was also barefoot and had couch-hair. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move at all. He screamed “home” to me. I was home! I’d made it.

/>   So, instead of doing what I’d come here to do, I, like the perfectly sane, balanced creature I was, threw myself in his arms before either of us could utter a single word. And even if it lasted only a few moments, the contact chased away all that was eating at me. My fears, and Lucian, even J’s attack, it all went away for a short while. Until …

  “Ry, is everything alright?”

  The voice, tuneful and distinctly feminine, came from somewhere behind him, inside the cabin. And as my eyes snapped open, his arms tensed around me, as if in anticipation of having to hold me back.

  “This is not what it looks like,” he whispered in my ear, pulling back just a little then. Sizing up my reaction.

  Me? Everything was happening in slow motion. I braced my hands against his chest and pushed, fighting to break free from him, all the while twisting and turning, struggling to find an angle allowing me to see past him and that tall frame of his.

  And then …

  She came to the door, pulling it open wider, allowing my eyes to take in all the details they could stand. Strangely, it wasn’t the fact that she was barely covered by those shorts and cami that bothered me most. It wasn’t even that she was leggier than a dream-Barbie-type. Or that her long blonde hair was shinier than any TV commercial variety and her eyes were so blue they made the Caribbean waters seem washed out by comparison. No, it wasn’t the fact that she was model-gorgeous that got to me.

  It was that she had couch-hair, too.

  “Let me go!” I growled.

  “No. Not until I can explain.”

  I finally dared glancing up into his eyes. The lavender coiled while, at the center, the gold glimmered hypnotically. The storm clouds were back again.

  “I should’ve called,” I said in a calm voice. I had no idea where it had come from.

  His expression grew tighter and his lips thinned as he took in the adjustment.

  “This is Mary Kate Davis,” he said, and the tightness bled into his voice. “My lawyer.”

  Oh yeah, his lawyer, my tail! Though I didn’t actually say a word, my face must have given away plenty because he increased his hold on me by a notch.

  “Trust me!” he pleaded.

  Uh-uh, not anymore. Not in this life.

  “You must be his Lily,” Blondie intervened.

  I didn’t see that coming. How did she know my name?

  It was then that Ryder finally let go of me. Running? Yeah, fabulous idea, if I were twelve, which unfortunately I wasn’t. So I stayed put instead and took a closer look at Blondie. Yep, she was still gorgeous, but had very fine laugh-lines in the corners of her eyes. How did I miss those? So either Ryder was pulling an Ashton or he was telling the truth. Because one thing Blondie was definitely not was a teen. Then again, shorts and skimpy top was hardly what I called lawyer-wear.

  “Gosh,” I said sharply. “Never would have taken you for a lawyer. My Dad’s a lawyer. He likes to wear suits.”

  She laughed at my remark and it sounded so warm and velvety, I immediately thought of melted chocolate. Gee, didn’t he know any other, um, lawyers? This one lived and breathed sexy.

  “Typically, I do, too,” she replied, in the same tuneful, polished voice that matched her laughter to perfection. “However, as regards the situation at hand, I came all the way from New York to see Ry. So this,” she pointed at herself, “is my way of putting my feet up after a long journey.”

  Hmm! My eyebrows rose sarcastically.

  She ignored that and continued. “It helps, of course, that Ry and I go back longer than I care to admit.”

  Okay, I’d had just about enough of this nonsense. “Lady, how long could you go back? He’s seventeen.”

  She laughed again, her eyes moving from me to him. “I think I understand now. She’s got moxie.”

  “Yes, and I can also turn you into a toad by wriggling my nose! Want to see?”

  More soft peals of laughter. Well, wasn’t she a bundle of annoying painin-the-neck.

  “And by the way,” I added, seething, “his name is Ryder. Not Ry, Ry-der. Think you can remember it, or should I put it down on paper for you?”

  The first signs of anger glinted in the perfectly blue eyes. “Actually, it’s William,” she said.

  My jaw fell. How did she know that? Did she also know there was another fella haunting Rosemound and claiming to also be William Kingscott?

  “And I wasn’t making things up. We really do go back a long time.”

  “Obviously, you and I have a different understanding of the long time notion. You do know he’s seventeen, right?” I insisted, staring her down. Or trying to.

  “Yes, you’re right. He’s seventeen.” She paused. “For many, many years now.”

  The “huh” never made it out of my mouth, on account of Ryder finally putting his foot down and breaking up our catty blowup.

  “Okay, enough!” he shouted, so sharply that both Blondie and I blanched.

  What was going on? This … this … woman, who was obviously pushing … thirty? forty? — hard to tell in the Botox Age — and claiming to be a lawyer, had just been shouted at by a kid. And in reaction she lowered her eyes guiltily, and then apologized?

  “I’m sorry, Ry. Please forgive me.”

  Ryder groaned audibly, shaking his head and suddenly looking more mature than any seventeen-year-old should. And yes, taking this long to see it singled me out as extremely slow on the uptake, but it wasn’t until now that it occurred to me that she might be telling the truth. That maybe he wasn’t seventeen after all. All those little things that set him apart from other boys, like the way he acted, the things he cared about and the ones he didn’t, that very mature vibe he gave off all the time ... why didn’t I see it before? Boys my age cared about Xboxes, naked girls, and parties. They were shallow, self-absorbed, and impatient. They just didn’t behave like Ryder. But … maybe halflings did. In fact, immortal creatures whose lineage went back to actual angels surely did. They could’ve had gorgeous older women begging for their forgiveness, too. They could’ve fallen off balconies and not break anything. They could’ve touched me without causing any pain. They could’ve made me think and feel whatever they wanted. Whatever they needed me to. They … they … he … it all fi t.

  Lucian had been telling the truth. Ryder wasn’t human. He really was the halfling whose mission was to stalk me through the ages and con me into offering him another hundred years in our world before he traditionally, um, killed me. Gulp!

  Chapter: Nineteen

  For the second time tonight, I wanted to flee. Run as fast as my legs could carry me. But once again, my stupidity somehow won over the self-preservation instinct. Or was it the shock? How did I get here? How did I land myself in a spot where my life was in danger from my own boyfriend?

  Because he’s not really your boyfriend, you moron! I shouted in my head. He never was. He’s a supernatural creature whose job is to make you care about him. To trust him. Give him a taste of your magic, a little pick-me-up before … before he …

  I inhaled deeply, then let out a broken sound that matched the level of my terror like a nerve-racking dream. My eyes ran between the two of them, wanting to speak, but totally failing to remember how. There were no words left. Nothing. There was nothing.

  Blondie spoke first. “Why don’t I slip into something less casual and hit the trails for a while? I hear walking in the woods at night has therapeutic merits.”

  Ryder didn’t answer. He just looked tired, his face sharper, more angular, than usual. Her suggestion was met with a total of zero interest, maybe because all his focus seemed to be aimed at holding my gaze. Without wanting to, I drew back a step and then wondered if he would pursue me. Had I decided to make a run for it yet? I couldn’t remember. It was as if someone had taken my brains and dropped them into a high-speed blender. My mind was a tangle of dead ends.

  “You don’t age, you … you don’t die,” I finally whispered, taking another step back.

  Almost as if some
one had spilled ink inside them, his silver eyes turned dark. Guarded. I tried deciding if he was mad or sad; I couldn’t. My heart all but roared in my chest. The way he looked right now, with that hair messy, his face tight, and the dusky eyes, would be etched into my memory forever. This was how I’d remember him, I thought, because this was the last time I’d see him and he would still be only Ryder. Past this point …

  He didn’t answer, but his eyes closed slowly, in silent confirmation, which to me carried the finality of a death sentence.

  And something snapped inside me. Like a dead branch, from a dead tree, my heart came apart with a crack. Memories of him, of us, of lips, and hands, and silky golden skin exploded into a lovely, painful jumble behind my closed eyelids, and inside, and all around me, coming apart as if in a cubistic Picassoesque jigsaw. Pieces of him, and of us fell hard and crushed me, the strength of their blows carrying deep inside. They tore me apart. Lies ... they had all been lies! None of it mattered; none of it meant a thing. Lucian had been right all along, all Ryder had wanted was to gain my trust so he could use it for his own purposes. To stay in our world. I was an instrument to him. Nothing more.

  “You lied to me,” I said, in a weak, throaty whisper.

  After a short beat, he replied, “I know. I’m sorry.”

  I couldn’t listen to this. I couldn’t hear any of it. My chest felt like glass, shattered into millions of pieces. All of it hurt.

  So I turned around and ran.

  Or, I tried to. I made it as far as my car, but before I could open the door, he was behind me. His arms braced against the car door, on each side of me, and his body weight pressed me into the cold metal. I didn’t fight, too frozen to attempt it. His mouth hovered above my ear, hot breath raising goose bumps across my neck. Behind me, above me, he towered, surrounding me in him. I should’ve been terrified, and on some level, in that itty-bitty part of my brain that was still working, I probably was. But mostly I just wanted to lean back into him. Mostly I just wanted to turn and put my arms around him and hide my face in his chest. Insane, I know.