by R. M. Webb
“How long do you think you’ve been out?” That was Luke and when I look at him, all I can see are his eyes, burning a smoldering red as he raced towards me at a speed that wasn’t quite attainable by a normal person to catch me before I hit the floor.
And when he touched me …
… there was a …
… something happened to me.
“I don’t know,” I say, ignoring that strange feeling of forgetting something important. “How long have I been out?”
They each exchange glances and Noah touches my hand. There’s the ping of golden contact, that strange feeling I got the very first night I met him, that feeling I dismissed as me being strange and again, I’m drawn to that last moment before my head hit the floor. Noah reaching for me, his fingers grazing my arm as I went down…
… the tiger roared …
… and …
… what was it? A flash? An explosion?
My head’s swimming. I draw my knees up to my chest and rest my cheek on them. Becca sits on the edge of my bed, careful not to disrupt me and waits until I peek up at her. “You’ve been unconscious for a little over a week.”
Shock feels like nothing. Like everything goes on pause. Your heart, your lungs. The world itself just freezes. Then there’s a burst of adrenaline and everything goes on fire trying to catch up with itself. I know my mouth is hanging open and the world is starting to go all fuzzy again and I think I might just give in and never surface again. There’s too much confusion out here in the real world.
My trio of nurses flip into action. There’s water pressed to my lips and a cool compress against the back of my neck and soothing words and what the hell is going on? If anything, I refuse to fall back asleep simply so I can figure out what happened. What am I? Why are they suddenly working together?
My God. Did I dream it all?
I give into the ministrations and let them clean me, feed me, stroke my hair. When I grow tired, they let me sleep and I do so without a single dream. When I wake, it’s dark and I’m alone in my room. Careful not to rush things, I sit up and wait for the world to spin. When it doesn’t, I slide my feet off the bed and press them to the floor. Someone’s in the living room, watching TV. Maybe all three of them are in the living room, who knows? I stand, testing my balance and find that while I feel heavy with fatigue despite having slept for days, I’m not woozy anymore. I wander into the bathroom and splash water on my face.
The fact that Noah’s here means that I didn’t dream the stuff that happened to me. If I’d just kind of silently lost my mind, or gotten sick and had a string of bad dreams, it’d be Becca and Luke and Carter — not Noah. And let’s be honest, I’d be in the hospital. The fact that Noah’s here and I’m home after being unconscious for a week means that I have a very serious conversation waiting for me out in the living room.
Nothing I know about life is true.
Nothing I know about my best friend is true.
Nothing I know about my boyfriend is true.
Hell, I bet even Noah’s attraction to me all those nights ago at Flannigan’s was fake.
My entire existence is counterfeit, designed to keep me in line and fit me into the lie they’ve been trying to feed me.
I meet my eyes through the mirror, my blue upon blue eyes that match Noah’s. I have so many questions. As I think through them, my emotions flare from angry to confused to excited and I swear to you, my eyes shift color with the emotions. Red, to dark, and back to blue. There’s that pop from inside that I’ve come to recognize as my magic flaring to life and I hold up my hand.
A memory kind of unburies itself. A memory from the night I met Luke. I’d held up my hand just like this and golden energy had come out of nowhere, surrounding it. It happens again. As I think about it, energy coalesces around my hand. Except this time it mutates as it spins. Golden vapors and purple fog and sick green gas consumed by bright red fire. It’s a thunderstorm of possibility. The coin is still flipping.
I squelch the magic in my hand by making a tight fist and then letting it drop to my side. Whatever happened, I’m so very ready for answers. I pull my hair back away from my face and wander into the living room.
I expected to see Becca and Noah and Luke sitting on the couch watching TV, maybe eating some Chinese takeout, maybe drinking a beer, hell, maybe even playing some video games. I certainly didn’t expect to see them leaning over an open book on the dinner table, taking notes and arguing over what they found. The TV isn’t even on. The sound I heard that I thought was the TV is coming from the book. It’s whispering and calling out in a thousand different voices and languages and I think the sound is mostly in my head.
“Do you guys hear that?”
Apparently they had no idea that I’d come into the room. They each jump back, pens clattering to the table. Becca knocks over a glass and water spills and runs toward the book. The clearly very ancient book. Except instead of running into the cracked leather binding and leeching up into the old parchment pages, the water diverts around, missing the book entirely, and falls off the other side of the table in a steady stream.
Becca sighs and waves her hand over the table and the water evaporates and in that moment she looks ever so old. “Hear what, Zoe?”
“The whispering. The murmuring.” I take a few steps towards the table, but I don’t exactly feel like getting much closer than that.
Noah and Luke exchange a look before turning to me. “What’s it saying?” I can’t meet Luke’s eyes when he speaks, but I don’t know if that’s because I’m hurt by his betrayal or because I remember how they looked last night.
I wrap my arms around my waist and hope my tiger shows up soon. I might be too tired for this. “I don’t know. There are too many voices, and I think they’re all speaking in different languages.”
There’s another tight look exchanged between the three of them — my supposed friends gathered at the table — and then Becca flips the book shut. The voices go instantly quiet and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The crazy thing is, now that the book’s closed, it doesn’t look old at all. It looks familiar. My mouth falls open when I realize I’m looking at my journal.
“What the hell is that?” I ask, pointing at my journal. Incredulity has my face all twisted and I don’t do much to hide what I’m feeling.
Becca purses her lips and studies me. “It’s your journal.”
“No,” I say, drawing out the word. “What the hell is it, really?”
Becca sighs and then kind of shrugs. “Whatever, we’re screwed, so I guess it can’t hurt if you know. It’s a Memenderat. A memory catcher. It lets me know your deepest secrets.” She says the last bit as if she were explaining something to a two year old, intentionally widening her eyes and just generally being a condescending bitch.
Whatever. I’m not taking the bait. “Well, why was it … whispering?” Whispering isn’t exactly the word I need, but it’ll have to do.
“Because you’re transitioning in the worst possible way.” Becca crosses her arms over her chest while I try to puzzle out what she just told me. “I wish Carter were here,” she says as she picks at her nails. “He’d know what to do about that.”
I look at the gathered trio. “Where is Carter?”
There’s another flicker of glances between them and anger starts to spin my stomach. At least it’s not worry. It’s almost a pleasant change of pace.
“Carter’s dead.” Becca doesn’t exactly look distraught but she doesn’t look relieved either. In fact, she just really looks pissed.
“How?”
“Maybe we should get you to sit down,” Noah’s standing and looking like he’s gonna try to pacify me and I’m so not in the mood. “I’m sure you’ve got tons of questions.”
“Oh, I have questions, and I’ve already asked one.” Who is this new Zoe who speaks what’s on her mind and rages and boils instead of simpers and doubts? “I want to know how Carter died.”
Becca th
rows up her hands and blows air out her nose. “Zoe,” she says in a voice that sounds nothing like the one I know. “Carter is dead because you killed him.”
The coin — still flipping — has begun its descent. It’s going to hit the floor any minute and we’re going to know, once and for all, whether it’s heads or tails, light or dark. My stomach sinks and my heart’s on fire.
“I killed him.” It’s a statement but it feels like a question and there’s more of that nothingness that comes hand in hand with shock.
“Damn it, Becca,” Noah lurches to catch me as my legs give way. “You’re going to have to use more finesse than that.”
“I’ve done nothing but use finesse for years and look at what it’s done for me. We’re still here with her magic all awakened and ready to fire off at any given moment in any given direction. You should have just left well enough alone when you saw us. This,” she indicates me with a dismissive sweep of her arm, “is your fault.”
Noah pulls me to my feet as my legs continue to refuse to carry my weight and helps me get to the couch. All the while, little explosions of golden contact seep into my body and calm me, warm me, take the edge off my anger. I sigh as I sit and press my hands to my head.
Luke pushes his chair away from the table. “You two need to shut up and get over yourselves. Whatever or whoever is to blame, she’s transitioning and we can’t leave her like this. We gotta fix the problem and we’ll deal with the fallout later.” He strides over to kneel in front of me. Noah’s arm is around my shoulder, humming its song of warmth and energy. Luke touches my knee and the tiger roars awake and I suck in air through my open mouth, eyes wide, hair blown back from my forehead by some strange breeze. There’s another little explosion of magic as Luke’s magic collides with Noah’s magic and somehow it feels like the coin has fallen and settled on a side.
Chapter 18
“Did you feel that?” Noah’s looking at Luke and Luke’s nodding his head and neither seem to care at all if I felt anything.
Becca leaves her place at the table and hovers near the coffee table — a vulture circling a kill. “Feel what?”
“I think the transition is complete.” Luke’s eyebrows knit together. “But it doesn’t feel right.”
“What’s a transition? What’s happening to me?” I wish they’d remember that I’m right here and very invested in all the things they’re talking about, because, you know, they’re happening to me.
Noah smiles that placating smile a doctor gives to a patient before dishing out bad news and Becca shakes her head in disgust. Luke leaves his post at my feet and sits beside me on the couch. I’m sandwiched between Luke and Noah with Becca staring down at us in judgement. Meanwhile, I just want someone to speak up and fill me in.
In the end, it’s Noah who breaks the silence. “When a witch comes into her powers, it’s called transitioning. Before the transition, the kind of magic they’re gonna wield is undecided. After the transition, it’s clear what house the witch belongs to, what kind of magic they wield, stuff like that.”
Luke nods his agreement and takes up where Noah leaves off. “Generally, witches and warlocks transition during childhood, some during puberty, but some of the more powerful start transitioning much earlier.”
Becca turns her back on us and sighs heavily. “Her transition started very early. It was only luck that I found her when I did and put a stop to it.”
Noah throws a scathing look at Becca. “I don’t know that luck is the term I’d use.”
I’ve had enough of answers being interrupted by disagreement and I really just want someone to fill me in on everything. I don’t care who agrees and who disagrees, I just want them to finish the damn story. I consider telling them as much, just opening my mouth and screaming my frustration, but instead I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to be patient. Is that the spell keeping me quiet or is patience naturally part of my personality? It’s funny that I don’t know. It’s maddening that I don’t know. It’s…
Well, it is what it is and yelling at people isn’t going to speed up me learning all the things that I need to learn, that’s for sure. I sigh. I close my eyes. I wait. I’m surprised the tiger hasn’t started roaring and pacing, but she doesn’t feel so much like she’s trapped inside me anymore, trapped by my reactions — or lack thereof. She feels like a separate entity. It’s disconcerting and exhilarating.
Luke takes my hand and I try not to acknowledge seeing the flicker of disappointment on his face when I slide it from his grasp and place it back in my lap. Slowly, with each person interrupting the other, they start to tell me the truth. The world isn’t just filled with humans. There’s an entire magical world that lives amongst mortals. Witches. Vampires. Shape shifters. Ghosts. You know, stuff like that. Sometimes, these magical creatures embed themselves into human life and try to blend in. Other times, they employ spells, or magic, or other supernatural traits to remain hidden from mortals. And yet others simply cannot be seen.
Remnants fall into the last category. Angels and demons. The leftovers of supernatural creatures who just can’t bring themselves to leave this world. Witches can see remnants and often help guide them on through out of this life and into the next. The kind of remnants a witch sees is pretty much determined by the kind of magic that witch commands. Those witches that see light remnants tend to wield light magic. Those that see hollow remnants tend to wield dark magic. Witches like Becca, those who operate in that strange gray area can’t see remnants. Not at all. But then there are very rare witches who can see both.
“So, I guess the big question is why did you keep all this from me? Did my parents know?” I address the question to Becca’s back and Noah and Luke turn to her and wait.
“The people who raised you weren’t your parents.” Becca’s statement punches me in the stomach. “Your birth parents are dead.”
“Good God, Becca. Use some tact.” Luke puts his hand on my knee and I allow it to remain.
My mind is reeling with all that I’ve learned. I’m a witch. The world is filled with magic and magical creatures. Demons exist. Becca isn’t my friend. The man and woman who raised me, the people I love unconditionally, aren’t my parents. My birth parents are dead. And I killed Carter.
It’s more than I can handle and I stand, pushing off the couch and towards the kitchen table with the ancient book that’s actually my journal that woke me with its whispering. Energy is flowing through me, confusing me, overwhelming me. I can’t think in a straight line, it’s all emotions and reactions and clouded judgement. Questions without answers and friends who might not be friends.
I spin to face Becca. “Why did you do this to me?”
I expect her face to crumple, for her to look apologetic. Hell, I expect her to cross the room and wrap me up in one of her tight embraces that always feels so silly because she’s so small and I’m so tall. That’s not what happens. Her face contorts into a mockery of itself, made ugly by malice and spite. “Poor Zoe. So confused. All alone. You think you can stamp your foot and get your answers? Not from me, little girl. Not from me.”
Noah and Luke lurch to my rescue and I just can’t stand the thought of more arguing. With my emotions swirling and my magic pressing against the confines of my body, I sweep my keys from their place near the door and run from the apartment. I run and I run until I run straight into Noah.
“How did you get here?” I ask, my blood pounding through my veins.
He shrugs and smiles, his eyes lighting up. “Badass warlock, remember?”
His hands are on my shoulders, leaking calmness into me. I can’t help but smile in return, although it doesn’t last long. “I’m so confused.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I wish it wasn’t this way.” He looks behind him, as if he hears something. “Listen. The others can’t know about the remnant being hollow. They just can’t. Don’t talk about it to anyone but me, ok?”
Here’s the thing. Noah’s touch feels so good and his voice still
sounds like home and his eyes still look exactly like mine, but I don’t know who to trust. Can I trust him? If he could tell what I was the moment he saw me, why didn’t he bring it up? How do I know that he doesn’t have some totally self-serving reason for trying to get me on his side? On the other hand, what was he really supposed to do? Drop me off at my house that first night and instead of kissing me, just drop the whole ‘you’re a witch’ bomb in my lap?
“I’m not sure I want to come with you.”
I say it and I mean it. Even if he really, truly does have my best interest at heart, I’m more in the mood to go off on my own and figure out what the hell is going on with me. Like, if my birth parents are dead, then who are the people who raised me? Who were my birth parents? Why did Becca and whoever else is on this feel the need to hide me from myself? Hide me from my world? Did they think they were keeping me safe? ‘Cause the life I’ve led hasn’t been bad, but being locked inside myself all the time hasn’t exactly been fantastic, either.
Or, and here’s a sobering thought, were they trying to keep the world safe from me? ‘Cause my powers might not be good powers.
‘Cause I might end up killing people.
Like I killed Carter.
Noah takes my hand and tilts my chin up so I have to look him in the eyes. “Believe me, Zoe. You really, really want to come with me.”
Chapter 19
I have nothing to say to him and I’m so very tired of cryptic statements and half answers that only lead to more questions so I just kind of walk off. Noah follows me, and I guess a stronger person would be irritated but honestly, I don’t really mind. As much as I don’t want to deal with another round of too much information, I also really don’t feel like being alone. So I wander and he follows and we don’t say much.
I’m just a little too numb to process all the betrayal. I mean, I loved Becca like a sister, trusted her with my craziest thoughts and silliest secrets and all the while she was hiding everything from me. Every detail of her life and my life is a lie. A lie facilitated by her. I mean every detail right down to my boyfriend…