by Jasmine Walt
39
Alisa
I start regretting my words the moment Eren and Reza disappear from sight. I can't solve anything by running away from it, and now I've chased away the only people who could have helped. It's not Reza's fault that my life's been singularly strange since we met. He was just a convenient scapegoat.
I have to know what I can. That means reading those damn genealogies again and seeing if Annie kept any of my parents' old stuff that might have other clues.
I wish I could ask my mom. I hardly remember her—just hazy recollections of her singing and teaching me to dance, teaching me to walk that pattern when I was afraid of the monsters under the bed, and making me sandwiches with green apples and peanut butter. Who was she? The usual explanations I was given—college cheerleader, semi-professional dancer, nursing student, and drama geek—seem far too shallow to cover someone who taught her child a spell for protection disguised as a game. Or what if she was like me, and had no clue what she was doing? And who was my dad? Did he know what she was? Did he know magic, too? I remember his voice, his hands, but not actually any of what he said. He worked nights, so I barely saw him.
It's an exhausting series of thoughts, one that keeps me up night after night. I can't ask Annie directly, and without more specific questions, my halfhearted queries fail to yield anything other than some very awkward pauses on the phone.
I didn't expect I'd feel so alone without Reza. Eren's charms are still effective, but things are quiet. And there's no telling whether the brothers would actually respond if something set them off. For the first time since I brought that dazed dog home, it truly seems like I'm alone.
I hate that thought. So I pull out my family album and stare again.
Only now, something catches my eye. One of the paper clippings on the car accident that killed my parents had a picture of the bottom of the car after it stopped rolling. And I'd never noticed before, but there's a series of lines drawn under the car. I know those lines. I've sketched similar myself, though the exact contours of this one are new.
It's a hex.
Whatever my family's secrets were, they died with them. And I'm not sure I truly want to dig them up. The foundation stones of my life are cracked and shattered in discovering my parents' secret heritage and how thin the ice I'm skating on truly is. Magic brings only death and pain in its wake.
I'm well rid of it.
Still, I can't put the thought out of my mind, the feeling of Reza guiding my finger to sketch that sigil on my door. The miracles he built into the architecture of his home. He was as extraordinary as the world he created.
I'll never know his secrets, as I'll never know my parents'.
At least, in the case of theirs, I'm not sure I want to. Not now that I know it got them killed.
If only I could make myself feel the same about his.
I'll hold my secrets close. I'll smile, dance, and pretend that I'm okay until I actually am.
40
Reza
The alarms are silent, but she could have disabled the charms. If she was truly as anti-magic as she claimed, she might well have. I shouldn't have pushed her. Shouldn't have trusted her to take my academic confusion as just that, rather than taking it as a judgment of her.
When the worry gets the better of me, I gird up with protective charms and sneak out. I wear the dog's form, rather than risk the incubi tracking me again. I watch her from a distance. She looks happy, her full lips stretched in a smile, and her face painted with pretty colors. She looks like she belongs here. I should never have removed her from her world.
I should let her go. Let her move on in her old life.
But I can't. So night after night, I sit inside the edge of her protective charms, behind the hotel's dumpster, and watch her leave for work. I follow her there, wishing I dared transform back into myself to go in and look for her. If she's smart, she's dancing spells there, too, to protect herself.
The urge to follow her is an unhealthy impulse, one I hate myself for indulging. I can't bring myself to tell Eren or the others where I'm going. But there's a sanctimonious twinkle in Eren's eyes that says he knows. And a coldness that says he doesn't want to hear about it. That works for me; I don't want to talk about it, either. I'm surprised he's talked to me as much about Alisa as he did, with him having a particular aversion to discussing “mushy stuff” with me. Ever since our first crushes, we've borne them in silence, our souls heavy with the unspoken fear that a stranger might break our Pack. It's only worsened since our paths diverged from our family's. For better or worse, we're all we have. So if we can't trust each other, who can we trust?
The unease is causing problems for everyone, except maybe Gene and Abel. Those two are antisocial enough that I'm not sure they even know the difference. But Eren's been more forceful with the clientèle, and we've had a steady rush pouring in: incubi who have too many painful memories to stay in Limbo, their home base, but who don't want to risk the Reapers harassing or hunting them, as well as the demons accused of harboring them.
It seems like the world is crumbling, ages-old clans rousted from their communities by fear. Even when I was restricted to Alisa's home, fearing my own demise, everything felt more ordered.
I've had my hands full using the Mantel to build more lodgings in the Well by day and following Alisa, trying to get the courage to seek to repair our relationship, seek solace in her companionship by night.
Returning from one of my midnight walkabouts is always dicey. I don't want to run into Eren. But tonight it's unavoidable. He's scrubbing up mugs behind the bar and watching the last few patrons who haven't retired to their rooms. I can't meet his eye.
“You're an idiot,” he says, an accusatory note in his voice.
“Guilty as charged. and you're an asshole.”
Ordinarily, he'd laugh and quip “guilty as charged” right back at me. I stiffen, waiting for him to ask me where I've been so I can play stupid. But he has no such intentions. “If you want her, just fight for her already. Not just by protecting her, but by willingly sharing your power.”
“I don't know what you're—”
“Cut the shit, Reza. You're not the only one who can sneak out at night in a strange body. I know where you've been going. Just talk to her, since it still bothers you that much.”
“She won't want to see me. You heard her—”
“I heard a woman speaking out of fear in a moment of anger. I heard her lashing out at someone who offered her answers and then withdrew them, forcing her to fear herself instead. But she's had time to live with that fear. And she'll understand that you were just doing the same, if you go and tell her. And tell her why.”
“But—”
“I'm not just playing matchmaker here. We need all the help we can get. We're past capacity, and you know that's straining your protections. If you two can learn something from each other, it's well worth all of the disgust I'm going to wallow in watching you make kissy faces at each other for the next…however fucking long you're being insufferable about it.”
Gene must have been coming out, either sensing trouble, looking for some food, or taking a walk. “I had no idea it was possible to be such a misanthrope and a romantic at the same time.” She cocks her head and laughs, daring Eren to comment.
He rolls his eyes. “Just because I'd rather not see it doesn't mean it's not nice knowing it's out there.” He stares at me, his eyes half lidded. No doubt he's waiting for another outburst or something.
“I—”
“I won't say ‘told you so’ if you just stop being an ass and figure your shit out.” Eren turns, putting his back to me. If he wants to be done with the conversation, I'm certainly not gonna look that gift horse in the teeth.
I walk away, shaking my head.
41
Alisa
It's a beautiful day for a jog. And running has always been one of the things that made me feel in control of my life. My favorite trail hasn't frozen over yet, so I sho
uld savor it while I can.
I go through the motions with hardly a thought: getting a water bottle, putting on comfortable clothes, pulling my hair back. The usual. It's a bitter reminder that, back in the old days, this kind of mundane stuff felt intentional. I actually cared how tight the ponytail was or whether the athletic clothes came off my floor or from the laundry basket.
It's supposed to rain later in the evening, so my best chance to go is early. I hurry out to my chosen path and set up an even pace. The air's chilly against my skin, but even that is a pleasant change from the sterile confines of my temporary living space. My feet still ache; my doctor would be pissed to see me running on my half-healed foot injury. He didn't even want me wearing my work heels, but it's not like I can afford to stay home. And sometimes you have to know when to break the rules. It's worth the pain every time my foot hits the ground.
The woods close in around me, the underbrush dense and the trees so thick I can almost feel their age, just in the way the air tastes. Some strain that was constricting my ribs loosens, and I gasp a deep, cleansing breath. God, I've missed this. I've been so afraid to so much as leave my bedroom.
When the pain in my sore foot is too biting to ignore, I slow to a walk. But that only reminds me of my dazed footsteps in the hotel lot, struggling to maintain the sigil despite my blood on the pavement. There's a rock to the side of the path, so I seat myself on it and stretch over my toes, loosening my hamstrings.
The leaves on the ground behind me crackle, and before I've so much as considered it, I'm on my way to sketching a sigil to protect myself. But the shaggy body that emerges from the underbrush stills my hand. It's so strange seeing Reza as Ballad after all that's happened. And I should be distressed to see him, rather than riding a wave of heat as my blood runs to my cheeks. What's he doing here?
The answer's obvious; he has no reason to be here other than to see me. How long's he been following me?
“This is weird, right? I look insane saying hello, but it would be way weirder if I tried to pet you.” I chuckle at the surreal nature of the interaction.
Reza steps closer and nudges my hand with his nose. The moment my fingers peel off the stone, he nudges it again, working his face under it so that my hand rests on top of his head.
“I'll take that as permission,” I mumble, watching a couple jogging the way I just came.
They glare at me as they pass, the woman mumbling something about a fucking leash. It makes a hysterical giggle bubble to my lips. But I don't have a reason to linger here, not with my feet at least somewhat rested. I let them get some distance on me, and then I stand to continue walking. Ballad follows on my heels, walking at the perfect pace to keep my fingertips on the back of his neck.
“Funny how this should seem normal, but it's all just…a shell…” I tell him, as much to be avoiding thinking as to be talking. “That woman thinks the worst thing in the world is you walking around off-leash.”
He whuffs, and shakes his head. I thump his ribs affectionately.
“I was like that, too. And now…how can I be? Every time I say I wish I could go back to it, it hammers the point deeper; I can't. Because who I was when I believed that…that person's already dead. All that's left is me. Disillusioned, fearful me. The more I learn, the worse it gets.”
He headbutts my hip. Even though he's being gentle, it's nearly enough to take me off my feet. I'd forgotten just how big he is, how sturdy. It's so easy for the dog's power to be overshadowed by the power of the man within him.
“There was a hex on the car. I don't know what my parents were involved in, but it was definitely magical, and it definitely got them killed. It…makes all this so much bigger than you and I or the Reapers. But what am I supposed to do with that?”
He rests his head against my side as we walk, the proximity making my arm drop from his shoulders to lay along his ribs. Strangely, it's comforting.
“I'm sorry I yelled last time. It just—it never really seems like this could be me. It felt like I must be living in someone else's life. Like it couldn't be mine. But if this is something that's been a part of me since before I was born, well, it looks really awful taking that out on you, doesn't it?”
I heave a sigh, almost relieved that Reza can't talk.
He glances around, and then his fur starts melting back into his skin. I flinch as he straightens, naked and human. No one else was around to see, though, so it could have been worse. Still, I'll never get used to that. I glance away from his bare skin. If I keep looking at it, I'll start remembering how it felt under my fingertips, how the muscles shifted when he moved, how the bumps on his shoulders felt under my palms.
Of course, he has other ideas. He pulls my cheek to his chest and wraps his arms around me. In his space, inhaling his musk, with everything forgotten—or at least forgiven—I shut my eyes, straining against the promise in his heartbeat, steady against my cheek.
42
Reza
It was a spur of the moment decision, not waiting until I'd followed her home. Of course, I doubt they'd have let her bring a dog the size of a small bear into the hotel. So maybe it was a pipe dream anyway. She just looked so melancholy, and wearing a dog's body, I didn't have the capability or the wherewithal to console her the way she deserves. And I came here with a reason.
“Lis, you're still who you always were. It's me you've changed. I love you.”
She snorts, her breath hanging warm against my chin. Damn, it's freezing out here today. I hold her closer, drinking in her warmth. “I mean it. I love you to my bones. Your power, I know it seemed scary, but it came from me, willingly. My body understood before I did, but what's mine is yours. I don't know if you read anything about an Anguis mantle… My brother and I had to implant my grandfather's bones in under our skin to utilize the old man's power, but you can do that naturally with me. Now that I've taken my blinders off, I realize that's because I want you to. I want you to bleed me dry, if that's what it takes to protect you. You aren't scared of yourself, you're scared of me, of what I inadvertently thrust on you.
“And I know you don't think my world is your world. But it is. You have a place with me if you want one. Always. I'll help you find your secrets if you ask me to. I'll teach you if you wish it. But the only reason you have a place in that world is because your place is with me. In my heart. In my life. You are my world.”
“That's sweet of you to say,” she demurs, obviously not convinced it's anything other than an attempt to make her feel better.
“I mean it. Most witches never do anything with their power. Even those who become demon hunters usually stay here, as it's not worth the sheer effort it takes them to cross between worlds. I wanted to believe the larger world was your birthright, as it is mine, but it's not. Only if you choose to step into it.” Her brows knit together at the implied by my side I'm leaving out.
“What do you want, Lis?” I stroke her cheek, my skin tingling with the hope that she'll give me the answer I need.
She changes the topic. “Your grandfather's bones? Really? And here my parents didn't even have an open casket.”
“Yeah. It's tradition. I cut the flesh away from them myself. Eren prepared the reagents and soaked the bones in magic. I inscribed sigils into the most perfectly shaped pieces once we'd sanded them down. It's a funerary rite, along with a transfer of power, just as my grandfather requested.” My fingers close over hers, guiding them to my shoulders. I won't be hurt if she shudders; the ritual must seem doubly repulsive to her.
Her fingers trace over their ridges and bumps. “I wondered what that was…”
“I'll show you a little more, later. Their power, all of my power, is yours, if you want it. We're stronger together than apart.”
Her eyes seek mine out, soulful and hesitant. Her lips are so close to mine, but I don't dare kiss her, not with the uncertainty hanging over both of us. She knows where we stand now. What will she do?
She tucks her head under my jaw, and her fingert
ips curl against the back of my neck. It's not the unconditional yes I might have hoped for, but it's far from a bad sign. “Show me now,” she whispers.
My fingers find her chin and tilt her face toward me. I'm not sure what she's asking for, but this seems like as good of a starting point as any. Her palm slides away from the back of my neck, alighting nervously over my hands, but she doesn't push me away. Her fingers close over mine, and her eyes shut halfway with pleasure.
Her breathing is ragged; it makes me perversely happy to see her as shaken as I have been. So long as I can find in her some conviction that she wants me, too, I'll be okay.
Her lips find mine. She kisses me gently, catching my lower lip between hers. My heart stops at that light brush and the almost possessive edge to it. I growl and kiss her harder, needing her to know that she's mine. That after all we've been through together, she's family, she's my world, she's Pack.
Her lips part in surprise, and her fingers tighten in mine. Every bit of space between us is too much. But we're not somewhere safe. We shouldn't risk becoming targets, lingering too long with our guards down. Not to mention that any passerby wouldn't appreciate my nudity.
“Think hard, Alisa,” I tell her and guide our joined hands away from her face. “Just focus on the sigil. I'll shape it, but the power has to be yours.”
She raises her eyebrows but holds my gaze, trustingly. I guide her hands in the succession of lines and curves that marks the most common spell for transformation that her kind uses. I've never had a need for it, but growing up in an Anguis line, we had very thorough tutors. Helping her to cast it… I hope it'll let me show her something of myself.
She funnels her power into it as I work, and the mark hangs large in the air, glowing faintly. She stares at it as it pours back into her skin. And then her eyes widen. She bends forward, bracing her weight on her knees and breathing deeply. Fur sprouts from her smooth arms, and her jaw lengthens. She looks at me in surprise as the transformation takes hold, shaping her into a wolflike dog only a little smaller than my preferred canine form. Only her unusual eyes betray her humanity.