Hex, A Witch and Angel Tale

by Ramona Wray

  “I hoped you wouldn’t find out yet,” he whispered.

  Well, duh! Wouldn’t that have made everything easier! If I never saw it coming. Never saw him coming.

  “I didn’t want you to suffer, Lily. It’s pointless. It won’t change a thing anyway. We are who we are and the end is always the same.”

  Tears leaked out. I squeezed my eyes, trying to strangle them. Pathetic. I was such a pathetic, lame-brained loser. Even now, as he was basically confessing to it, telling me that he’d take my life no matter what, my stupid heart still ached for him. Was I crying because I would soon die? No, that would’ve made me relatively normal. But once a freak, always a freak. My tears were for him. Because he’d lied to me. And because to die was to lose not my life, but him.

  “Let me go,” I sobbed. It sounded soft, lacking resolve.

  His body was so warm against my back! So familiar and real and strong. I could swear his heart was pounding so hard, it almost drowned out the sound of my own.

  He sighed, deep and painful. “Don’t I always?”

  And he moved away.

  I didn’t look back. I didn’t say another word. I just got into the car and concentrated on reversing without hitting any trees. It gave me a good excuse to look back and hide my tears from him. Enough was enough already! He wasn’t my boyfriend. He wasn’t even my friend. And maybe I wasn’t ready to hate him yet, but by gods, I wasn’t going to show him that I loved him, either. I needed to think, get away and think. Where do I go from here?

  Was there any way to avoid dying, now that I knew what the deal was? Lucian’s words came back to me: There’s only one scenario, Katherine. You offer, he takes; he sheds your blood, you die. Again. But what if I didn’t offer? What then? Would he kill me anyway, even before landing his magical pick-me-up? Before I gave him another century in our world? Without snacking on my power, he’d be forced to leave the mortal sphere after doing away with me. He’d have no choice but to return between realms. Until I was born again, which would bring him back, too, along with a new chance at trying all this again. But would he kill me even if I refused to hand him the keys to the proverbial kingdom beforehand? Yes. Yes, he would, because the hex forced him to. And even if he failed somehow, there was always the fail-safe. The chill. I died no matter what.

  End game.

  I pulled up in front of my house not a minute too soon; tears blinded me to the point where wrapping the car around some tree was only a matter of time. Crossing my arms over the steering wheel, I plopped my head on them and spent the next who knows how long sniffling and whimpering until my throat grew sore and the tears ran dry. Eventually, the storm inside me died out. With the modest composure, yet another wave of unanswered questions poured inside my head, faster and heavier than torrential rain.

  Why would Ryder go after J?

  The images I took from her mind, had they been real? Because I did “see” him, through her eyes, grabbing her. Maybe it was just me not wanting to face up to the truth. Had it all been just autosuggestion?

  No, I didn’t imagine that foggy film clinging to his face; in J’s memories, his features were blurred. It meant something, because normally whatever I picked out from someone’s mind was clear, easy to understand and follow.

  Even when the person I was touching had trouble remembering it with clarity,

  my perspective lacked any and all vagueness.

  Except for, maybe …

  Adrenaline zoomed through me like fire. Because, come to think of it now, I had dealt with that same kind of “blurry vision” once before. Earlier tonight, in fact, while holding Lucian’s hand and peering into my own past. It wasn’t like the whole thing had been hazy, no, only some of the “scenes” featuring Lucian. But this wasn’t an exact science and, besides, what he’d shown me wasn’t your dime-a-dozen, quick peek-a-boo into what lies beyond your neural synapses. We were talking about another lifetime. So I’d written off the random blur as some weird side effect.

  But had it really been that, a side effect? Maybe. It had been a strange night. Or maybe I was losing my touch. But, whatever it meant, if anything, I didn’t have the energy to prod at it more. Accepting the truth about Ryder hurt so much, I would’ve done just about anything to prove it wrong, which was probably what I was doing. Grasping at straws.

  After finally killing the engine, I crawled out of the car and into the house. Wasting the night away cramped in the seat wasn’t going to solve any of my problems. The grandfather clock opposite the staircase told me it was just after one a.m. My shoulders fell heavily, weightier than marble. I felt smothered by the quiet. Why did Mom choose tonight, of all nights, to get cleanse-y with her friends?

  Then I noticed the smell. Something was definitely burning! Charging into the kitchen, I was greeted by the sight of two blackened pots. I’d forgotten to turn off the stove. Going through the motions at high speed, I plunked the ruined cookware in the sink and then opened the windows as widely as they went. Coughing and holding back fresh tears, I collapsed on a chair. For the longest time I just sat there, limp, too spent to move, too beaten to try. Ultimately, the night chill nudged me upward, and after bolting the windows shut, I came across my laptop. One tap on a key and it was back from sleep-mode, revealing the last Web page I’d been navigating. Right, angels and angel-like fiends.

  Grimacing at the insanity that had taken over my life, I tried to breathe over that fear in my throat. The fear that tasted more bitter with every second that rolled by. Claustrophobia hit next; the walls were closing in on me. I needed to get out of there!

  It was coming up on two thirty a.m. when, after grabbing my laptop, I ran out of the house again. I drove to the hospital in complete silence. Around me, Rosemound sprawled across hillocks and dwindled into the same woods I’d spent most of my life exploring. Yet I couldn’t remember a single time when everything had seemed so still. As if waiting for something. Something big and bad was on the way and my beloved woods could feel it, too.

  Because of that dark, gloomy feeling, I was happy to pull into the well-lit parking lot of the Rosemound Clinic. As expected, this being Rosemound and all, nobody inquired about my business there at such a late hour. Just as well. Not even the National Guard could have stopped me from spending the rest of the night at J’s bedside.

  She was asleep. Still hooked to a monitor and a couple of IVs, but breathing softly, peacefully. Relief enveloped me like a down comforter and I crashed on a floral-patterned love seat in the otherwise entirely white room.

  It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. I’d only just opened the laptop, my eyes drifting once more over the angel info, when a silky male voice made my head snap around so fast that it hurt.

  “Angels, huh? I hear it’s a fascinating subject.”

  Smiling, blue eyes twinkling alertly despite the late hour, Lucian sized me up steadily. I sighed in resignation.

  His smile only grew wider in response.

  Chapter: Twenty

  Lucian was his usual drop-dead gorgeous self. In yet another one of his typical getups consisting of slacks, pale-pink shirt under buttoned vest, royal purple slim tie, and the unfailing British-inspired blazer, he looked rested and fresh. In the corner of his mouth, a thin bluish scar was the only sign that some twelve hours earlier he’d been in a fight. He was an interesting visual, I reluctantly admitted, and it had nothing to do with his innumerable preppy outfits, however awesome, and even more awesomely modeled. His charm was in those perfectly balanced features, in the light blue eyes glinting with mischief, and tricks, and secrets, and loads of other monkey business, and in that arrogance you’d expect from some eighteenth-century British lord, but not from a seventeen-year-old American teen. That fit, I guess, since apparently he really was a British lord, albeit a seventeenth-century one. To sum up, he was a package alright, a pretty impressive one. But it didn’t make any difference to me. “What are you doing here?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice down, not wanting to disturb J. “It’s
three in the morning.” “I know that,” he answered smoothly, picking an imaginary bit of lint from his expensively clad shoulder. “I’ve been here for hours.”

  He didn’t actually say the words, but the pointed silence at the end stank of blame. Obviously, he thought I should’ve stayed with J, too; I was being judged. Oh, goody! Just what I needed in the middle of my whole life coming apart.

  Having a conversation with him about it, however, wasn’t something I was willing to try next to J’s bed. So I stood up, motioning for him to follow me, which he did, in blessed silence.

  Barely giving him the chance to shut the door behind us, I exploded, “I’m not going to even ask how you knew to be here, but just to be clear: what I do, where I go, and whose bedside I choose to watch over is none of your business!

  Got it?”

  “Bedside watching, your business, got it,” he nodded.

  He thought this was funny. How wonderful!

  “Once more,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, “what are you doing here?”

  My tone, sharp as a razor, passed him by. With a Cheshire-cat smile, he gestured vaguely to my right and the row of couches lining the wall. “Why don’t we sit down?”

  If I hadn’t been so dog-tired, I would’ve said no, and that only rattled me more, because … exactly what did I have against him? He hadn’t done a thing to me. Otherwise, he was jaw-droppingly hot, unusually articulate, and interested in me. Could I say that about someone claiming to be my soul mate? Not to mention those blue tendrils and their electric-soft, deep-massage effect on me which was only growing sweeter the closer he and I got. But … he wasn’t Ryder. My Ryder, who was planning my death. Shouldn’t I have felt glad he wasn’t Ryder?

  Ah, Ryder again.

  And, my oh my, if whatever had snapped inside me didn’t hurt just the same. Was it ever going to heal? More importantly, would I live long enough to feel it happening?

  “You look tired, Katherine. Are you okay?”

  “Stop calling me that!” I barked.

  Katherine was the girl who’d started all this. She was me. But as long as no one called me Katherine, there was still some distance between us. I still had time.

  He leaned over his knees, propping his elbows on them, and knitting his fingers under his chin. His eyes never left me.

  “You’ve talked to him, haven’t you?”

  I passed my hands over my face roughly, scratching, needing the jolt of pain to keep the tears at bay.

  “I’m sorry, pet,” he said softly.

  “How come you’re here?” I asked, now with some civility, though still wary of looking at him.

  There was a carefully maintained distance between us and I was fine with it. And with not staring at him directly. It made me mad because it was stupid and meaningless, but we can only do what we can do. And I couldn’t do more right now.

  “I know someone who works in the hospital,” he explained. “She’s a nurse and I was visiting her when I heard about J. When I realized that nobody was sitting with her, I decided to hang around.”

  What he’d done was oh-so-sweet, but I ignored the relevance of that because, while he was dripping sweetness, politeness, and good intentions, my Ryder was shrinking into quite the opposite. Instantly, I found myself mad again, something clearly conveyed by the humph I let out with deep feeling. And no, I shouldn’t have blamed him for turning out to be everything I always thought Ryder was, but my feelings couldn’t be helped.

  “Aren’t you the friendly …” the best insulting noun eluded me, “whatever! You moved here, what, only weeks ago? And already you’re best friends with everyone in school, while still finding time to date a nurse. I mean, what’s up with all the networking? You rounding up constituents, just in case you might want to run for mayor?”

  A smothered chuckle drowned out the end of my question; as usual, he found me amusing. “Why, Katherine, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous.”

  “Dream on, Mr. Popular. And my name is Lily.”

  He was suddenly somber, eyes boring into mine the way they always did, as if that endless blue was suddenly solid. Fingertips. He probed with his eyes, but my skin felt actual fingers gliding across it. The blue tendrils gave a new tug and I answered by moving a bit further away from him. I was running out of breath.

  Silkily, he said, “I don’t have to dream anything, Katherine. I remember a time when you were jealous if I so much as glanced at someone else.”

  Despite good efforts, my treacherous body still reacted: a spell of buzzing warmth pinching at my muscles until they twitched. Even his voice did something to me, something physical. Snaking around me like a caress.

  I coughed without needing to, to mend my voice, which was just fine. “Was that before or after we betrayed my sister?” At his lack of answer, I pushed again. “Go away, Lucian. Just go back to wherever you came from. Leave me alone.”

  “I can’t,” he responded, his voice so sad, so full of longing. “I … feel for you, Katherine! I need to be where you are. With you.”

  People in the Republic of China must have heard my jaw snapping.

  “Well, you have a funny way of showing it! J told me you were going to take her to prom. Now, you have a girlfriend working here. I mean, exactly how do you need to be with me?”

  His expression stayed exactly the same, almost as if he hadn’t even heard me. Sort of blank. And that skin; holy smokes, how could anyone have such perfect skin? A little pale, true, but flawlessly smooth and so soft-looking. Ideal. Like ripples of silk, beautifully laid over the strong bone structure underneath, molded perfection. A tad cold, just like his eyes got at times. Where Ryder’s tanned skin was as if coated in gold, Lucian’s, on the other hand, was sheer alabaster. They were perfect opposites. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t really like him.

  “The nurse in question is actually our landlady. I was here dropping off some mail. As for the rest, why would you care who I take to prom?” he smirked.

  “Oh, I so don’t! But J’s my best friend. And she’s got this …” I bit my tongue, however late.

  “Thing for me?” He finished what I wouldn’t.

  “I just don’t want her to get hurt,” I answered coolly. And immediately winced, because I was too late in making that wish.

  “Need I remind you that I was the one who saved her life, just last week?” he asked, eyes gleaming like those of a wild animal. “Why would I hurt her? I like J. She’s amusing.”

  “I swear,” I started threatening, my hands balled into fists, “if you break her heart, I’ll give you hives or something!”

  He laughed joyously. “Hives? Really, you’d do that?”

  “For breaking J’s heart? You can bet your —”

  “I couldn’t care less about her heart,” he cut me off, all of a sudden back to being grave again. “The only heart I ever cared about in this world is yours.”

  I scoffed dismissively.

  “I took an interest in J for practical reasons. You see, she really is Elizabeth, your sister.”

  “What?”

  “Come on, Katherine, haven’t you noticed the physical likeness?”

  “Yes, of course I did, but —”

  “I imagine she still feels the pull of the magic that was once hers. Providing she’s reborn at the same time as you, she couldn’t possibly resist it. Your power would lure her to you. To it. Kind of like a lasso. Like rope.”

  “Like the tendrils between us?”The question slithered craftily out of my mouth, and biting my lip right after didn’t change a thing. The words floated between us for a while, like the proverbial elephant in the room — a flying one, let’s call him Dumbo — while I, like a coward, kept my eyes glued to the floor. How could I be so inept?

  “Tendrils?” he asked quietly. “Are you drawn to me?”

  There was no admitting it, not now, not ever, but for some reason, when I opened my mouth and tried to lie, nothing came out. And he took advantage of it, moving his
open palm over one of my hands, which were clutching the edge of the couch so hard that my knuckles were white. Soft warmth, prickling gently, spread through my whole arm. It felt good, so good, I couldn’t even imagine not reaching out to take his hand.

  “Stop fighting it, Katherine,” he whispered.

  In response, I swatted him away with a loud smack. That instant my hand touched his was liquor-filled candy, the kind wrapped in the thickest dark chocolate. I always hated the chocolate, while still wanting the filling. The bitterness of the chocolate made me grimace, but the filling tasted that much sweeter because of it.

  “Don’t try to touch me again, Lucian. I’m serious.”

  “Or what, you’ll give me boils?”

  For once grateful that instead of pressing the issue he’d gone right back to poking fun at me, I hurried to change the subject. “So, what are you saying? That J is a witch?”

  “Nope,” he answered with confidence. “I spent enough time with her to be sure of it. I’ve come across animals with a greater paranormal ability. She’s just a shell.”

  I shot him an arctic glare. “Shell? J is no —”

  “I just meant that she only looks like Elizabeth, that’s all,” he said, hands held in the air. “Completely different soul. Better one, too, probably.”

  His answer should’ve squashed my anger, but it didn’t.

  “How do you know these things?” I barked again. “I mean, what are you? Do you die with me, too, and then come back? How does it work with you?”

  But with each new word my voice softened, growing hushed and indistinct, until I ended up speaking so softly I could barely hear myself. One second I couldn’t stand looking at him, the next it was almost as if I cared. It was enough to drive anyone mad.

  “No,” he answered dryly. “I don’t go away when you do. Part of my punishment is to wait for you. I suppose you could say that I’m trapped outside time somehow, because the flow of it changes everything and everyone except me. I’m only in the world because you are. My purpose is to wait, search, and find you every time you return. Only to then lose you all over again.”