by David Estes
He squeezes my shoulder and walks away, leaving me to stare at my friend’s grave alone.
~~~
Hex
Although it’s been a few days since the Big Battle, Hex can still smell and taste and feel the death. Some of it was caused by others, but a lot of it was caused by him. Even though the old smells and tastes and feels are interesting, they’re more bad-interesting than good-interesting, and he wishes they would go away. Hex doesn’t like the feeling he gets inside when he thinks about that day, even if he knows he only did what he had to do to protect his friends, who are really his family.
So most of the time he only thinks of the Here and the Now and the beauty of the Two-Leggers and the even greater beauty of Grogg. These things make his tail go so crazy that he feels convinced he won’t be able to do anything else until he catches it.
Hex helps wherever he can, mostly following his favorite Two-Legger around and sometimes doing what he asks—like moving things with his mind (boulders or trees or rubble) or making things beautiful again (resurrecting dead flowers, fixing destroyed streets and buildings). But sometimes he pretends not to hear Rhett, as if he’s distracted by a butterfly or rodent. Hex doesn’t want Rhett to think he’s his master. Oh no, neither he nor Grogg will ever have a master again, nor do they need one.
And when Hex needs a break, he and Grogg go to the only place where only they can go and no one else without getting sick: the Other Here. The Here that’s always in the corner of your eye but that you can never see. Well, unless you’re Hex, of course, which no one else is. Sometimes when he’s there, he thinks about why he is the way he is, a question which he’s pretty sure doesn’t have an answer. But most of the time, he and Grogg just play and roll in the mud and run circles around each other, and yes…
They live.
~~~
Rhett
Cameron Hardy is holding his daughter flush against his chest as he approaches me. I’ve seen him around, participating in the burials like everyone else, but have made no attempt to speak to him, nor him to me. His clothes are singed, bloody and tattered, although his daughter’s black dress is relatively clean. With a start, I realize it’s the same combination of button-down shirt and slacks he was wearing when he led the humans out of New Washington.
For some reason, he reminds me of a drunk driver who once came to speak at my school. The guy had killed a woman and her daughter when he fell asleep at the wheel and jumped the curb, careening across a parking median before crashing into their car. They’d just gotten inside after shopping for new clothes before the teenage girl left for college. The drunk survived, which he considered to be the worst punishment of all, his own personal hell.
The expression on Cameron’s face is the same as the drunk driver’s. Shredded. That’s the only way I can describe it.
I shouldn’t feel sorry for him, but I do. His wife was too young to die. All those who died were. And I know what it’s like to have the love of your life ripped away from you by forces seemingly out of your control.
His lip quivers as he tries to speak, his words overcome by emotion before they can exit his lips. He tries again and again while I wait patiently. Finally, he says, “She’s so young,” and I know he means his daughter.
I don’t know what to say to this man. I try to stare past him, but my eyes keep returning to his. He looks lost, like he could wander for years and years and never find a familiar place. I want to be angry, to scathe him with the kind of clever words Laney would be proud of, which this man probably deserves, but I can’t. Maybe it’s because his daughter is sleeping in his arms. Maybe it’s because he just lost his wife. Or maybe it’s because I just don’t have that in me anymore, if I ever did before.
“At one point I had to make a choice,” he says, biting on his lips and his words, chewing them to bits, fighting for control. “Who to protect. There were so many enemies around us. So many. I know what my wife wanted. She told me with her eyes. So I grabbed her”—he motions to his daughter—“and ran as hard as I could, somehow getting away. I hid her in the woods and went back for my wife, but it was too…” He finally loses his composure and sobs into his daughter’s hair.
“Your wife is safe now,” I say. “None can hurt her where she’s gone.” Even I don’t know what I’m trying to do. To comfort him? To comfort myself over my own losses?
His eyes glistening, he looks up. “This was my fault. All my fault. I don’t deserve to live. She deserves a better father.”
In some ways he’s probably right. But not in all ways. “What she deserves is a father who loves her,” I say.
“I do love her,” he says.
“Then she deserves you, and you her. And anyway, the Shifters and their allies would’ve come either way. They were already coming. We were always going to have to fight.”
He tries to speak but I wave off his rebuttal with a quick swipe of my hand, because I already know what he’s going to say. We could’ve been more prepared. We could’ve fought on our own turf. We might’ve had fewer losses. All of that is true, and maybe he’d be right. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned since this all began, it’s that, “Regret will claw you apart from the inside out. We can be more than the sum of our regrets. We can learn from our mistakes and be better. We can go forward even when the path appears unpassable. Do it for your girl. And then do it for yourself.”
~~~
The truth is, I’ve been avoiding my dad. He’s tried to speak to me three or four times, but I always make up an excuse about having some urgent business to attend to. I don’t want to be angry, but every time I see him I think of how Laney and I are apart because of him. I know that’s not fair, but I can’t help it. I’m afraid to ask him the only question whose answer might bring me peace.
However, today when my father parts ways with Rain after their daily walk, I approach him. I can’t help but notice the way his shoulders slump as he watches his daughter walk away.
“Dad?” I say, and he turns toward me. To my surprise, there are tears glistening in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
He nods, but I know there are pages and pages of words behind his simple expression. “Your sister is hurt,” he says.
“What happened?” I ask, thinking he means she’s injured.
“In here,” he clarifies, tapping his chest.
“Oh.”
“She’s got a lot of hate in her still. Most of it is aimed at herself. We’re trying to work through things, but it’s going to take time.”
I’m confused. “None of this was her fault,” I say. “She was being controlled. Once she was freed, she helped us.”
“That’s not entirely true,” he says, and I frown. “She was being controlled by Flora’s wizard, but she was the one who originally joined the Shifters, offering her Resistor abilities to help them.”
“I—I don’t understand.”
My dad says, “Walk with me,” and I’m surprised at how normal it feels to fall into step beside him. Now I understand why Rain insists on these daily walks. It’s almost like we’re staying just out of reach of all of our problems while talking about them at the same time.
“Rain thought the world was against her. And Flora was full of clever words about making the world a better place and getting rid of all the evil. This was before Flora Shifted into a panther, mind you.”
I didn’t know any of this. I’ve talked to Rain a few times, but our conversations have always been light and superficial, as if we’re both too afraid to dive into the depths of our souls with each other.
“If Rain was already willing to help her, then why did Flora have to control her at all?” I ask.
A light mist streams from the sky, and my father stops, tilting his head skyward, letting the cool moisture coat his skin. When his eyes return to mine, he says, “At first Flora was like a mother to her—a mother she never had. But slowly Rain began to see the madness in Flora’s eyes, particularly after she Shifted. Rain witnessed Flora committi
ng atrocities, and eventually decided she couldn’t be a part of the Shifter’s plans anymore. She tried to escape, but Flora caught her. That’s all she remembers. The wizard must’ve cast his spell and you know the rest.”
“She tried to do the right thing. She tried to get away,” I say.
“I think she’s slowly coming to terms with that,” my dad says. “But that’s not the only thing that’s troubling her.”
He begins to walk again, and I follow, waiting patiently for him to continue, content to avoid the question I have yet to ask him.
“She’s hated me for a long time,” he continues. “She still blames me for abandoning you and her and never trying to reconnect to explain myself.”
“I get that,” I say. “It’s taken me a while to be okay with that.”
“But you never hated me for it?” he says.
“No. Not for that,” I say, suddenly dangerously close to the conversation I’ve been avoiding for days.
He stops again, grabbing my shoulder, forcing me to look him in the eyes. “The answer is no,” he says. “I didn’t purposely transfer the curse to Laney. I was trying to push it into Xave, in case there was still life in him. Somehow she got it. I don’t—I don’t know.” He bites his bottom lip and turns his head to fight off the tears. He’s not lying. He knows the sacrifice Laney made so that we can be together.
We can’t waste one second of it—not anymore.
I pull him into a hug and say, “I know, Dad. I know.” He hugs me back and the warmth I feel makes me realize that my entire life I haven’t even known the power of what I was missing:
A father’s love.
Epilogue
Months later
Laney,
I miss you. I miss you every day. I think I’ve finally realized that time marches on regardless of our actions, our desires, our deaths, or our lives. Maybe that’s okay. Maybe the inevitability of time is a good thing, one of the few things we can count on, don’t you think?
Have you heard about the new alliances? According to the Reaper’s scouts, new pacts between humans and magic-born have been popping up all across the country, forging a new way forward, the only way that’s worked in defeating those who would threaten our survival.
There are no witch hunters here anymore. I mean, Floss and her gang are still around, but they call themselves hunters of evil, whether in the form of humans or magic-born. We’re still fighting for our lives each and every day, but we’re not the same people we were even a few months ago. We’re better, stronger. Because of both our losses and our victories. Is that how you feel?
When Salem’s Revenge hit, I lost my two best friends. Finding Xave was like a miracle in the same way losing Beth was a tragedy, even if he was different than what I was expecting. He might’ve changed in a lot of ways, but not in the important ones. Not in the ones that mattered to me. To me, he was still Xave, even if it took me a while to realize it. Although painful, his ending was poetic in a lot of ways. He was always my defender, my strength, my brother. And though we were orphans together, he didn’t die one, and in his last breaths he tried to make sure I wasn’t an orphan either, even if that didn’t work out the way we planned. No, you’re the one who gave me a father, even if I lost part of my heart in the process.
While I’m writing you this letter, my dad and Rain are sitting nearby, talking. My sister and I share Martin’s time now, enjoying our daily walks, catching up on the years we’ve lost. Sometimes the three of us go together, and now we laugh more than we cry. I wish you were a part of it.
Love always,
Rhett
P.S. Bil and Huckle are champs for taking turns delivering these letters. But don’t tell them I said that or they may get big heads.
P.P.S. I don’t want to jinx anything or get either of our hopes up, but the Claires and my dad have been working on possible solutions to the curse. They say it’s a one in a million chance, but hey, someone has to win the lottery, right?
~~~
Rhett!
Your letter made me smile and cry at the same time. I had to hide my face from Bil so he wouldn’t think I’m becoming soft. Both he and Huckle have been pretty awesome, I have to admit. They’re better friends than I could possibly ask for.
I don’t think I’m as comfortable with time as you are. I wish it would just stop until we could figure out a way to get rid of this damn curse. Surely Hex can come up with something even if the Claires and your dad can’t :) I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I miss you too. More than anything.
Word of the new alliances has been reaching our little settlement too. We’re all hopeful a broader peace can eventually be achieved. I’m tired of hearing about people dying because of rogue humans and magic-born.
I’m glad you’ve achieved peace with your family. That’s all I ever wanted for you. It’s my own selfishness that wants more, but maybe that’s not our fate.
I’ve been keeping busy too. I don’t know why, but I’ve found a measure of solace in helping to deliver newborn babies. The local Claires don’t need me for the job, but I need them, as if just being close to Trish’s Children can ease the insistent pain of her passing. Chloe—who’s fully recovered from saving my life—helps, too, because I think we both need each other more than we realize.
You’d be proud of me, Rhett. I also encourage the human women to allow the Claires to touch them and assist with their deliveries. I guess we’ve both come a long way. Although we’ve made great strides in easing the strife between the groups, there are still old fears and unhealed wounds. With each day the distance between us seems to lessen, if only by the tiniest of degrees. You’re right—we’re getting stronger each and every day.
Yours,
Laney
P.S. I’ll tell our local group of Claires what you said about a solution to the curse, maybe they’ll have some ideas.
~~~
Laney,
Sorry it’s been so long. Both Bil and I are crazy busy, and he hasn’t been ready to make the journey until now. With the threat against us dwindling, we’ve been working with the magic-born to reestablish communication with the rest of the world. This was a global attack. Although most countries have managed to get through the worst of it via peaceful treaties with the magic-born, we have all suffered enormous losses. Billions of souls lost. And the situation in some countries is still unknown, with little information, if any, forthcoming. It will take a united world effort to overcome the odds stacked against us. But we will do it. I doubt a lot of things, but not that.
We’re keeping busy, all of us. Pitching in where we can. Working with other leaders across the region to restore order and establish the society we all took for granted. It will take decades, if not centuries to fully recover.
Mr. Jackson has assumed the lead in the Northeast, and so far his results have been nothing short of miraculous. As far as I know, he hasn’t used magic for any of it, not raising a single corpse from the dead. But, of course, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s squirrelled a Reanimate army away somewhere, just in case.
I’m glad you’ve found a place you feel comfortable helping…but babies? Really? I don’t know, I guess I never thought of you as the nurturing type. *ducks to avoid being hit* Am I wrong?
God, I miss you. I try not to stop moving for a single second in the day, because then the pain I feel can’t catch up to me. Call me a wimp, but that’s how I feel.
Love always,
Rhett
P.S. The Claires don’t think the curse can be removed, but my dad isn’t giving up. Sorry I don’t have better news.
~~~
Rhett!
You’re such a softy. (Notice how I didn’t call you ‘wimp’ like you requested.) I’ll try to throw some of my tough-as-nails attitude your way, if that helps? The truth is, I’m not feeling very strong either these days. Most of the time I feel like I’m sleepwalking through the day. Maybe we gave each other strength? If so, where can we get it now? I wish there wa
s a magic spell for a broken heart.
Congratulations on everything you and the others have achieved. I’m even proud of Mr. Jackson, as much as it hurts to write that. You guys make a great team. Remember all the times I told you to stop being so freaking chivalrous? I’m glad you ignored me. I love you for who you are.
The Claires here don’t have an answer for the curse either. They ran a few magical tests on me, but from what they can tell, the curse was so well-constructed that it would take someone far more powerful than them to remove it. I’m losing hope.
And for the record, I am so NOT nurturing. Delivering babies is more like catching a football than anything else. Plus I get to cut the cord, which is cool in a gross sort of way.
Wish I could see you,
Laney
~~~
Laney
When Bil arrives, the mother is screaming, pushing through the pain to bring her baby into the world. When I first encouraged him to come to a birth, Bil was reluctant. Looking extremely uncomfortable, he told me “women stuff” wasn’t really his thing, which made me crack up. He can be such a guy sometimes. But when I explained to him that the father of the unborn child would only allow the Claires to help with the birth if a Resistor was present, he agreed immediately. I think Bil will keep on changing in a lot of ways, continuing to surprise me again and again.
He stands to the side, wide-eyed and looking more scared than if he was facing a firing squad. I shoot him a quick, grateful smile, but then refocus on the mother, who is breathing in short bursts, preparing for the next push. Her night-dark skin is sheened with sweat. Two Claires flank her, issuing commands without so much as moving their lips.