by Gina Shafer
“We have to help him, Lincoln,” Charlotte begs, tears swimming in her eyes.
“Uncle?” June says in a sleepy voice. “What’s the matter? Mama? Papa? What’s going on?” Her voice grows louder and more concerned as she moves closer to us. Her sheep’s wool slippers scratch the stone floor in her wake.
“June, go back to bed, dear. Your uncle is sick, and your mother and I need space to help make him better,” I tell her, but she doesn’t listen.
“June,” I say, harsher this time. “Listen to me. Go upstairs and go back to sleep. All will be right in the morning.” I give her a small smile as my brother groans under my hands, his body finally stilling from the shakes that racked his body only moments ago.
“But Papa—”
“Not now, June.” I say, breaking her words like twigs for the fire. I motion for Charlotte to help her back to bed, and she hesitates, like it almost pains her to leave my brother’s side. Perplexed, I watch as she finally leads our daughter up the stairs and back to bed.
“What did you do?” I whisper into my brother’s ear. It’s strange seeing him this way. Growing up, he was the strong one, the protector, the one I went to if I needed help or had trouble. To see him here now, beneath me, weaker than a day-old pup gives me a sick feeling that burns in the space around my heart.
“We have to help him,” Charlotte calls, repeating her words from earlier. She rushes down the stairs as if she’s being pulled by rope, closer to my brother.
I don’t know how, Charlotte, I answer with my mind, afraid of the truth.
“Lincoln, we cannot let him suffer. There must be something, some way to save him. What if—”
“No, Charlotte. “I will not do that.”
“But, Lincoln, consider the options,” she begs, her eyes swimming in tears as big as the waves of the ocean.
“It will change him. You know this,” I tell her.
My brother has been speaking of things lately, telling us stories of a different kind of magic. One that comes much easier than ours. A magic that does not require studying or training. One that comes with fire and smoke… with burning. I told him not to discuss this with June; I didn’t like the way it sounded, dangerous and unpredictable.
“Why does it matter if he’s changed, Lincoln? He will always be your brother, and if we do this, he’ll stay alive,” she mutters, her eyes floating down adoringly over his writhing body. It’s only then that I finally realize…
“You’re in love with him,” I accuse, a blanket of calm falling over me like fresh snow. I see that love, feel the sheer infatuation radiating from her when she looks at him. And instead of anger, though I feel that too, I mostly feel acceptance. There’s no arguing with love like that.
“I—” Her head snaps up quickly.
“You shouldn’t deny it. I can see it there, sitting over your face like a mask.”
“Lincoln, I never intended….” She peeks at my brother once more.
“I can’t help him,” I tell her, pulling away from him, moving as far across the room as possible.
“You mean you won’t.” Hatred spills from her mouth like a pot bubbling over with boiling water.
Part of me relishes in the fact that this hurts her. That being without him could destroy her. Do I want her destroyed? The mother of my child. I don’t know.
“Aren’t the two the same?” I ask, crossing my arms. “And even if something like this were possible, I wouldn’t know where to even begin to help him.” My wife is in love with my brother. I try, though I’m met with extreme difficulty, to shove down my feelings, wanting to hold on to the cold regard that I direct toward Charlotte.
“I do,” she whispers, and before I can cross the room, before I can even make it to her, she palms the ever-expanding span of black veins that threaten to take over my brother.
I watch in stunned confusion as she whispers words, words I do not know the meaning of. Soon her arms take on a new color, the smell of burning skin fills the room, and I realize it’s coming from Charlotte.
“Stop!” I bellow in horror as the blackness creeps up her arms. I rush to her, trying in vain to pull her away from my brother, but it’s like she’s stuck, and even with all my strength, I cannot rip her arms off him.
“Charlotte, please!” Her eyes hold no emotion. In fact, they take on a strange gleam, almost like melted silver. “You’re killing yourself. Think about June, think about our daughter.” June. She’s standing at the bottom of the stairs, holding onto the thick wooden banister with tears wetting her face. She’s nearly hysterical.
“Stay there, June,” I order, in case she decides move. She nods, a sob escaping. How much of this has she seen?
All at once, Charlotte is overtaken with withered, burned skin. The face of my wife disappears as I pull at her and at my brother. I even try with magic. I direct dangerous amounts of power at their connection, hoping to break it, but I can’t. This magic is different than anything I’ve ever encountered, and I don’t know how to defeat it.
I sob, begging my wife to let go. A screech erupts from her, and then suddenly, and all at once, she falls in a heap to the floor, bending and distorting like she’s in pain. I rush to her, shoving my fear down deep so that it doesn’t disrupt me from tending to her.
But what I find, the thing lying by the fire, isn’t my wife. In fact, I don’t know what it is. She claws at me, screeching the entire time as I try to grab hold of her arms, securing them behind her back. But she’s strong, stronger than my wife used to be, and she breaks free. She stands there for a moment, searching the room before landing on June, who is frozen in fear at the stairs.
When she lunges, it happens so fast, I can’t be sure exactly how it ended. When I finally catch up, my brother stands in front of June, a dagger—one I’ve never seen before—juts from his hand, and my wife falls in a pile at his feet.
I step closer, realizing what just happened.
“McCade, what have you done?” I ask, my breath leaving in a tangle with my words as I address my brother. “You’ve killed her,” I sob.
He turns, regarding me carefully, a hint of a smile on his lips. His eyes shine with the same silver glint Charlotte had moments ago. “Ignis gerrit,” he says and turns to June,. I shuffle, ready to attack, but he only touches her chin, so softly, and then as quickly as he came, he’s gone.
I don’t see him again for a very long time.
KARINA
For the past week, I’ve felt like a little girl, chasing around a butterfly in the garden, holding my insect net tight so as not to drop it. Only, I’m not a tiny and naïve little girl, and that butterfly isn’t really a butterfly at all. It’s sleep. And it evades me as though it has wings of its own, and I’m trapped here in the middle of all this madness, unable to fly.
“Fight, Karina. Fight against the easy way out. Push your way past it,” Lincoln says, and I try. I shut my eyes, clenching through the burn.
“If you don’t try harder, the fire will overtake you,” Lincoln says as he circles me.
“I am trying,” I spit through gritted teeth.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes I am!” I scream, and my entire body prickles with heat.
“No, because if you were, you would feel it. The light. The goodness that lives inside of you. Find it, Karina. Quickly.” Lincoln’s voice softens, and I sag against the sound. I push harder, imagining myself smaller, walking through tunnels inside my body, searching for a way around the fire that burns its path through my veins.
And then I find it, a clearing, and I dive my mind inside, sighing in relief when the heat disappears. That’s when I see a boy and a girl. I open my eyes, the vision exactly the same as it was inside my head. Lincoln stands in front of me. His lips are moving, but I don’t hear him.
“Come play.” The little boy giggles, and I smile, wanting to chase after him, and so I do. I follow lightly in the boy’s footsteps. A smaller child, the little girl, is chasing after her brother, he
r little feet fluttering against the grass. When I finally get close enough to scoop them up in my arms, the urge to do just that overtakes me like nothing I’ve ever felt. But a strong hand clutches my shoulder, pulling me back into reality.
The children disappear, and Soren’s face replaces them.
“Are you okay?” he asks, concern drawing his brows together. I nod, taking a deep breath to calm myself. Those kids, they’ve been in so many of my visions lately, and I’ve had many during my training with Lincoln. Some are small, like memories of me as a child. Seemingly insignificant. But even more are coming from Elijah, or at least I think so. I struggle to understand any of them. I only tell Lincoln and Soren about them; things between Beckett and I have been more stressful than ever since he told me about my mother.
“It’s time for a break,” Soren announces, his eyes flicking from Lincoln to me. Lincoln quickly disappears into the house. “And it’s time to switch shifts with Beckett.” Soren tilts his head toward Beckett, who lies his head against a tree, his head bobbing up and down with tiredness. When he sees us coming he jumps up, full of relief as he heads inside.
I rest against the same tree. Soren plops down next to me.
“I can do guard duty for a while, if you want,” he says, knowing it’s my turn. He’s aware I haven’t had much luck in the sleep department. And if I’m being truly honest, it’s starting to affect me. I’ve been grumpy, angry with him, and that hasn’t been helping with these new powers of mine.
My powers are developing nicely though, according to Lincoln, though I feel no more in control than before we started the training. Not to mention Soren has ordered Lincoln to focus on me for now, since Soren isn’t experiencing any of the visions or power surges I have been.
“Maybe I will lie down for a bit,” I say, having no intention to actually sleep, but I know I need the rest. Willow disturbs the brush at my feet, coming to settle down next to me, and lays her head on my knee.
“Or not,” I laugh, scratching her ears. Her hot breath fans out against my legs, and I rest my head against the tree at my back. Soren and I are perched behind the tiny mound that exists beside the little cabin we’ve been squatting in. We have to guard out here, because there aren’t many windows to watch from inside.
“Any news?” I ask, my eyes still closed and my voice sounding much farther away than I’m sure it actually is. When Soren doesn’t answer, I open one eye. He regards me intensely, his face wary. “Soren?”
“I’m worried about you, Karina,” he says, squinting. He readjusts himself against a different tree.
I’m not sure why, but this makes me smile. “I would ask why, but I think I already know.”
“No, I don’t think you do. If you think it’s because I’m scared all this shit is going to happen to me, well then, you don’t know me very well.” His words are harsh.
I straighten. “Soren, I—”
“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror recently?” he asks, and I motion that we’re out in the middle of nowhere. Where the hell am I supposed to find a mirror? “I guess not, huh? You don’t look well, Karina. You need sleep. Food. You need….”
“Elijah,” I finish for him.
Soren’s mouth shuts tight and his neck rolls as he swallows at the mention of his father. He’s right. I need all those things. I need sleep desperately, but I can’t sleep. No matter how hard I try, visions cloud my thoughts, and they wake me. I need to eat, but food has no taste anymore. I need Elijah, and only because I feel so deep within my heart that he would know exactly what to do about all of this. It’s my magic that has me torn up this way, and somewhere deep inside, I hope Soren never finds the one he’s supposed to connect with, because this awkwardness, feeling so uncomfortable in my own skin—is not something I’d wish on anyone, least of all him.
“Soren! Karina!” Lincoln calls. As soon as Lincoln sees that we hear him, he runs back into the cabin.
We jolt up, and Willow breaks into a full sprint back to the cabin ahead of Soren and me. What the hell is going on?
“Phone call,” Beckett says from a corner of the porch. He’s sipping something from a flask, another hand-rolled cigarette between the tips of his fingers.
My head snaps to Soren. A phone call... has to be magic. I can tell by the look on his face, he’s thinking the exact same thing.
When we round the corner of the old cabin, Lincoln greets us from the other side of the room. A small table in the corner holds a small lamp, an old rotary phone, and an ashtray. The table is next to an old, yellow floral couch, dark and dingy with age. There is artwork hung behind it of a little girl in a field of yellow daisies. Lincoln seems so out of place here.
“Karina, he’s asking for you,” Lincoln says, gesturing to the phone, which is off the hook.
Who? I mouth. My brows wrinkle in confusion.
McCade, he mouths back.
I remember this demon from the night Elijah was taken. He was the one that whispered those spells in my ear. The one who controlled his magic so easily.
I glance to Soren before picking up the phone. His expression is a mixture of anger and fear, and it makes my stomach uneasy. “Hello?”
“Karina. It’s so lovely to speak with you again, ignis gerit.” McCade’s voice fills my ear, and I break into chills. Soren shifts closer, his hands balling at his sides.
“I wish I could say the same. How did you know where you could reach us?” I say.
“It’s funny what you can find when you put your mind to it. I have a proposition for you,” he says, like he’s doing regular, everyday business.
“I don’t make deals with demons,” I tell him, my voice hard and rigid. If I could spit in his face, I would.
“Ah, but don’t you want to see your precious Elijah again?” he says. His snakelike voice causes me to stop moving. “Yes, I thought so.” He laughs. “There are some things I wish to speak with you and your group about. When would be a good time for you to meet with me, in person?”
“Are you insane? There is no way in hell I would meet with you face to face,” I spit out.
“I assure you, Karina, you and I have similar interests in outcomes,” he tells me. My eyes shift to the others, and I notice that Beckett has joined us in the room.
“And what might those be?” I ask, wrapping the phone cord around my fingers.
“Oh, we will discuss all of this, in depth. I will be at that little house you and your friends were staying at. The one Vara demolished with her army of minions. Tonight, ten o’clock.”
“McCade,” I force out, even though his name tastes like battery acid on my tongue. “We won’t be there.”
“Yes you will, Karina. This is your chance to get Elijah back. Besides, if you don’t, I will find you. And let me tell you, you will not like the results if you send me on a wild goose chase,” McCade finishes, and before I open my mouth to reply, the dial tone interrupts me.
The silence in the room makes it almost feel colder, like the breath from our voices alone raises the temperature.
“What did he say?” Soren asks.
“He wants to meet with us,” I say. Willow whines from her spot on the couch, and my eyes follow hers to the window. It’s beginning to get dark.
“What time is it?” I ask Lincoln.
“Nearly seven.”
“He wants to meet us at ten.” I look at Soren. “At your old house.” “Says he has some kind of proposition for us. I don’t trust him but, he said something about getting Elijah back, so….”
“We have to go,” Soren says.
I don’t mention McCade promised to find us anyway.
“But, Soren. They can’t know it’s you. They can’t know you didn’t die, or they’ll take you too. I’m sure of it.” Lincoln panics, his eyes as big as saucers.
“So I won’t be Soren. I’ll be someone else. Some other Sicarri,” he tells us. “No one use my real name. Don’t even think my real name. We have no idea how much power they’re workin
g with.”
“Ya’ll are just about the stupidest sons-a-bitches I ever did come across. No offense, sweetheart,” Beckett interrupts. “You think you can just traipse into whatever situation you damn well please and make it out unscathed? You’re out of your minds.”
Willow slowly moves off the floral couch, head bowed, teeth bared. I guess she senses the change in the atmosphere of the room. We stare at Beckett, unsure how to answer him.
“Somebody better damn well get that dog.” He points to Willow, and she snaps at him. Soren crosses the room and grabs her collar, pulling her into a seated position. This calms her but only barely.
“What the hell else do you suppose we do, Beckett? This is Elijah we’re talking about. We’d do anything to get him back,” I say.
“And you don’t think they’re sittin’ out there, already knowin’ that? They’re playing you all like a steel drum, and you don’t mind one bit.” Beckett crosses his arms and rests a shoulder against the frame that separates the tiny kitchen from the room the rest of us are in.
“What choice do we have? We’re out of options. We’ve been here a week and haven’t heard a peep. How much longer can we go on like this? How much longer can Elijah go on?” My voice breaks, tears welling in my eyes. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t gotten much sleep or the stress lately, but my emotions are heightened to an extreme right now, and it kills me that they’re so uncontrollable. I don’t want Beckett seeing me like this, so I move toward the fireplace, swallowing the tears that threaten to spill over onto the hard dust-coated floor.
“I didn’t mean no offense,” Beckett whispers.
“Maybe I should stay back, in the house we were in while we hid from Vara. Maybe I can post up there with my rifle. Then at least you’ve got some eyes on you from above,” Lincoln offers, and I know it pains him not to be on the front lines, face to face with the asshole that no doubt orchestrated Elijah’s capture.
“I think that’s a good idea, but how will we stay connected? You need to hear what we’re hearing,” I say.