The Medium's Possession

by Elle Beauregard

  “Fucking human bodies.” The words met Callum’s ears through the wood, but they definitely hadn’t been directed at him, more like the Shadow was talking to himself.

  Fear spiking, Callum pressed his ear to the door and kept his voice low. “What the fuck are you doing to her?”

  No answer except the distinct sound of a body slumping to the floor—which sent panic ringing in Callum’s head.

  He put his mouth to the crack in the door. “Zander?”

  No response.

  “What the hell are you doing to her?”

  No response.

  There was another knock at the front door.

  What now? Holding the bedroom doorknob tight, Callum twisted in time to see Scott jog back to the door with Cecily on his heels. They must have gotten the landlord to leave before—even if the guy was back now.

  But maybe that worked in his favor.

  Scott and Cecily would never agree to let him do what he was about to do if they were standing here with him—but they weren’t. They were distracted.

  So he turned the knob in his fingers.

  He might find Zander in a heap on the floor, and the Shadow lurking in the room—which meant it would come at him. But if that happened, Callum could take the possession and hold it off long enough to get outside, to Trevor. He would be starting the possession fresh—he could handle that.

  Or... A thought occurred to him as he pushed his way into the room to find no Shadow lurking, just Zander laying on the floor. It was an idea he hadn’t considered before, but now that he thought it, it made so much sense it had to be true.

  “You’re stuck,” he said to the Shadow who was looking up at him from the floor through Zander’s now-black eyes. Though sunlight streamed in through the window, the room felt dark. It was at least five degrees colder in the bedroom than it had been in the hall. But as he looked down at the Shadow in Zander’s body, he was confident he was right. It was so simple, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. “You can’t get out because of the cloak.”

  “Look who’s a goddamned genius,” the Shadow spat—but the words slurred. “You want a prize?” The slurring made Zander’s stolen voice sound like an angry-drunk college freshman.

  Callum couldn’t help but smile as a mean, vindictive kind of relief laced itself between the fear and anger in his blood. The Shadow had a weakness and it was Zander herself. “You ran through her energy.”

  “Because she’s fucking weak,” it slurred back at him.

  That made Callum chuckle. “Jokes on you, motherfucker. Zander is the strongest person I know.”

  And the smartest. And when he fixed this, he’d never doubt her again.

  Callum shoved his hand into the pocket of his shorts and retrieved the bottle of pills he’d been keeping there—where Shadow-Zander couldn’t get to them, and Scott wouldn’t find them. He cracked the lid, fished a single pill out of the bottle and crouched low to sit it on the ground.

  “You should take this,” he said. If he could get the Shadow to sleep, it could buy them time to figure this out.

  “The fuck I should. Those knock her out cold.”

  Callum gave a nod. “That’s the idea.”

  “Why the fuck would I take that?”

  “Because her body won’t get real rest without it.”

  The Shadow paused for a moment, furrowing Zander’s brows.

  “The rest will help you, which I hate—but it will also help Zander, who I love,” Callum said. “So take the fucking pill. Then get in the bed.”

  The Shadow’s low laugh was raw and mean.

  “Fine. Fuck you.” Callum stood and shrugged. “But humans die if we don’t sleep. Your call.” It was a bluff—he didn’t know for certain that wasn’t the very thing the Shadow wanted—but it was the only threat he had. He reached for the door.

  “I’m taking the pill, you whiny blood bag.”

  With a pleasureless sort of victory, Callum watched Zander pick the small, white pill up from the ground and get it into her mouth where she swallowed it dry.

  “There. You happy now?”

  “Not in the slightest,” was Callum’s response. “Now get on the bed.” Something about the thought of Zander’s body sprawled out on the floor made him want to breakdown crying but fuck that shit—he didn’t have the luxury of wallowing right now.

  “Is that an invitation?” the Shadow slurred.

  Rage shot through Callum’s head, so hot and so fast he wouldn’t have been surprised if fire had actually erupted from his scalp.

  He stooped, grabbed Zander’s thin frame under the arms and hauled her upward. “Get. On. The. Fucking. Bed.” He grunted under the dead weight of her but managed to get her up onto the mattress. The drugs were already beginning to take effect as he rounded the foot of the bed—her eyes drooping, her muscles melting. He hooked his arms under hers and pulled her up to the pillows.

  “Now sleep,” he growled. He reached for the comforter and pulled it up over Zander’s body.

  “I’ll let her come forward if you fuck us first,” the Shadow slurred from between lips that barely moved. It took Zander’s hand and slipped it beneath the blankets. “Or would you prefer I pleasure her while you watch?”

  Fire-rage burned in Callum’s eyes again.

  He leaned down close to the Shadow, to the body the Shadow had stolen, a body Callum loved—the body who housed the person Callum loved most in the entire world. In the entire universe. The person who was suffering now.

  Callum’s voice was so low and so brutal when he spoke, he almost didn’t recognize himself. “If you hurt her, I swear to whatever power is higher than you—to the power above that—I will find a way to destroy you if it is the last fucking thing I do. Not send you back where you came from, not send you back to whoever summoned you—I will watch you dissolve into nothing.”

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  Cecily followed Scott as he bound down the hall with a curse under his breath.

  “Today was the walk-thru, wasn’t it?” she asked as she and Scott reached the door.

  “Yep. Because why the hell not?” he replied, eyes a little wild. He drew a breath, let it out, then pinned her with a serious stare. “Play tired, okay?”

  “No acting required,” she replied as he turned for the door. She hadn’t had more than a few hours of sleep—and she wasn’t likely to get more until they figured out what in the hell to do to make Zander safe again.

  Had Zander been suffering since last fall? An entire year without telling anybody? Cecily pushed the thought away as Scott opened the door. She stood mostly behind him with her arms crossed over her braless chest in the dark gray, loose fitting T-shirt of Scotts.

  Down the hall, the constant yelling had faded, and for the first time since Cecily jolted awake to the sound of her name in Callum’s fear-strangled voice, time unwound to normal speed. Cecily drew a breath—what felt like the first one she’d taken all day—as Scott held the door ajar just enough for the man on the doorstep to see the two of them.

  “Hey Mr. Boyet,” Scott said, his voice suddenly tired but friendly. “You’re here for the walk-thru, right?”

  Mr. Boyet was shorter than Scott, but similarly thin. Middle aged with curling hair that was thinner on the top than around the sides, he was nonetheless well kept and seemed nice at first glance.

  “Today is the day,” he replied as he stepped forward.

  To Cecily’s surprise, Scott opened the door for him as he spoke, “I want to be super upfront with you—we’ve all been battling a really bad stomach virus for the past couple of days.”

  The man stopped midstride. When he looked up to Scott, his eyes were a little wider than they’d been before.

  “We can totally still do the walk-through,” Scott went on, “I just wouldn’t feel right having you come in without knowing that first.”

  Mr. Boyet stayed on the front step, retracting the foot that had been hovering above the threshold. “That’s very
considerate of you,” he said. “A stomach bug, huh?”

  “Yeah, it was a doozy too,” Scott replied. “Me and Cecily are just getting over it. This is Cecily, by the way. Zander’s sister.” He ticked a nod at Cecily, who tried her best to look weak and recovering as she gave a smile and slow nod.

  “Anyway, Callum and Zander are in the worst of it right now. I should have called, but I honestly lost track of the days,” Scott added. “It was that bad.”

  Mr. Boyet took another step back, this time going down a step so he was as far from the door as he could be while still having a foot on the patio. “You know, let’s reschedule,” he said. “Do you need a few extra days to get packed up?”

  Scott looked relieved—something Cecily felt sure he wasn’t having to fake. “That would be killer, if you wouldn’t mind,” he replied. “Prorate us the difference, obviously.”

  “Consider it done,” Mr. Boyet said as he backed down another step. “Friday, then?”

  “You rock,” Scott said. “We’ll have everything sanitized by then, and ready for your walk-thru—germ free.”

  Mr. Boyet was down those steps and to his car before Scott could even close the door.

  Cecily just stood and stared at Scott for a second as he locked the door tight, equal parts relieved and impressed. He drew a breath and let it out in a relieved kind of whoosh that pulled her to him. He lifted his arms and she slid hers around his waist, stepping in close as she peered up at him.

  “That was seriously smooth,” she said when Scott gave her a smile.

  “Only sort of.” His smirk turned a little guilty. “It was mostly manipulative. The guy has used hand sanitizer during every conversation I’ve had with him in person. It was easy to know what his reaction would be when I told him we’d all been puking.”

  Cecily laughed under her breath. “It was manipulation with only the most noble of intentions.”

  “I like to think so,” was Scott’s response.

  She breathed a low laugh and turned her head so she could lay her ear against Scott’s chest and in return he wrapped her into his arms.

  “It’s quiet,” he said suddenly, like he’d only just noticed.

  Cecily nodded without lifting her head. “That’s a good sign, right?”

  “No idea.”

  “Me neither.”

  “But I should give Callum a break at the door, don’t you think?” Scott said.

  “Definitely.” She went to step back but he held her firm so she looked up at him again.

  “We’re gonna be okay,” he said, his voice low and intense. “All of us. Okay?”

  She bit down on the cynicism on the back of her tongue that told her it was impossible to know that. Right then, looking into Scott’s brown eyes, she had to believe he knew. He knew they would be fine—all four of them.

  So she nodded, and when she stepped back this time, he let her go. They turned to go back down the hall when—

  Knock-knock-knock.

  Cecily looked to Scott with wide eyes in time to see his head fall forward with a sigh. “Please don’t tell me he figured out there aren’t any stomach viruses going around.”

  Cecily’s breathy laugh was mostly non-humorous as she followed him back to the door.

  She was looking down at her feet, putting on her I’m-recovering-from-an-illness face again when Scott opened the door.

  “You—” Cecily could all but hear the gears in Scott’s head change direction as she looked up—to find that it was definitely not Mr. Boyet on the doorstep. “Are not who I was expecting,” he said, changing course mid-sentence. “Can I help you?”

  The woman on the other side of the door gave a weak smile. “I don’t know what you said to the guy who just left, but he looked seriously freaked out.”

  “I’m sorry, do I—”

  The woman held her hand out. “I’m Wren. I’m one of Zander’s friends, and the witch whose been trolling your site.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “You’re not exactly what I expected.”

  Wren turned to find the guy who’d been introduced as Callum giving her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. Was it curiosity, or suspicion that made his eyes narrow like that?

  “What did you expect? An old lady in a flowy skirt?” she asked.

  The four of them were sitting at a table off the front room. The chairs didn’t match one another, and the table was clearly a hand-me-down. Under normal circumstances, she would have found it charming. Under normal circumstances, the people sitting in front of her wouldn’t look like they’d just woken up from a nightmare. The house was quiet, but it wasn’t peaceful. The air hummed with stress. It was a sharp hum, cold and grating, and had been that way from the moment Cecily and Scott let her in about ten minutes ago. It had only gotten worse when Callum had joined them.

  .

  “Based on your general stodginess when you comment on the blog, yeah. Sort of,” he snarled. “I didn’t realize you were one of Zander’s friends.”

  Callum looked the worst of them—his jaw was so tight he could barely open it to speak and his dirty T-shirt was as creased as the space between his brows—but they all three looked like hell. Even though she’d never met them before, it was easy to see in the way their eyes held fear they probably weren’t aware of; easy to feel in the way their energy shook like it was exerting tremendous effort through tiring muscles. That last part she could relate to. She hadn’t slept in twenty hours.

  Wren shook her head slowly. “I’m a witch, not a hippie.”

  “Okay, regardless,” Cecily cut in, looking at Callum. “She’s here to help, so I don’t care what she’s wearing—or what she thinks about our blog.”

  “Why do you want to help us, anyway?” Callum challenged, seeming to ignore Cecily’s interjection. “You hate everything we publish. Why so charitable all of the sudden?”

  “I don’t hate any of it,” Wren replied, then paused. She was not going to argue with this dude about his blog. The fact was, there was some shit that wasn’t supposed to be public knowledge, but it wasn’t like she was the keeper of those keys. Sometimes she even wondered what bothered her about the things Callum posted online. It was an instinct she didn’t have a logical explanation for. So, yeah, none of that was worth saying right now, so she pushed past it. “Look, I’m here to help Zander. I got the feeling she was in trouble, so I drove all night to get here.”

  “She’s been in trouble for months,” Callum shot back, brow furrowed, voice climbing. “Where have you been?”

  Wren just stared at Callum—who stared right back as his expression changed from blind anger to a tragic kind of knowing.

  “You don’t have to answer that question,” he said, his voice suddenly calm. He ran a hand through his dirty hair and his eyes went to the floor. “I’m an ass.”

  So, he knew about Bridgette, then. It was a relief not to have to explain it. Even while it was weird to know he knew—she’d never met the guy. But then, it was nice, in a way, to know Zander had told him.

  “So are we done measuring dicks now?” Cecily cut in. “Can we get to the part where we help Zander?” The look she shot Callum said he’d keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him.

  Wren had to fight to keep her expression smooth. She liked Cecily. “Definitely,” she agreed. “You said she’s sleeping?”

  “More or less,” Callum replied, voice low but no longer angry—just very, very tired.

  Wren paused. “What does that mean? Is she or isn’t she?”

  He ran his hand through his hair again and closed it in a fist this time as he drew a long breath. Then he pushed himself up from the table, “She’s sedated,” and stalked into the kitchen.

  Wren watched as Scott followed suit, close on his heels. Soon, she could hear them talking in hushed voices.

  Something like suspicion climbed Wren’s ribs. What aren’t they telling me?

  “Sorry. We’re all a little freaked out. Zander hurt herself yesterday
,” Cecily said, her voice low. “Callum was with her at the hospital all afternoon.”

  Wren was sinking as she looked to Cecily, taking in her messy hair and the t-shirt she was wearing that clearly wasn’t hers. The shadows under her desperate eyes. “She what?”

  “She slit her wrists,” Cecily explained. “I think she was trying to save us—from herself.”

  Wren drew a breath. She held it, then let it out on a slow exhale, trying to gather all of her composure, all of her nurse’s detachment—it was so much harder than it used to be. Her neck was stiff and she knew if she closed her eyes they’d try to stay closed, so she leveled her gaze at Cecily when she could trust herself to speak again.

  “I didn’t know it had gotten that bad. I’m sorry. But I’m here and I swear I can help if you let me.” She’d have been here sooner—except that old guy had beaten her to the stairs and she’d had to wait for him to leave. Not that the five minutes difference would have saved Zander, in any case. If the Shadow was trapped within the cloak, like Beth had said it might be, the only “sooner” that would have helped Zander would have been measured in months, or maybe weeks. Even days wouldn’t have made much difference at this point.

  Except days might have saved her from hurting herself.

  Wren’s chest got tight. God, she was a shitty friend for abandoning Zander when she needed her—for never asking Zander how she’d destroyed the Shadow in the first place. For being so caught up in her own drama she’d never checked in on her friend—though Zander had checked in on her.

  “Of course we’ll let you,” Cecily replied as Callum and Scott returned to the table.

  “Yeah,” Callum added, crossing his arms over his chest, his shoulders bowing with exhaustion, his energy humming with fear. “Yeah, we’ll take all the help we can get. Just tell us what you need.”

  Wren’s heart was pounding as Callum let her into a bedroom at the end of a short, dark hallway. It was dim in the room, the window partly shaded by a well-placed tree outside so shadows danced across the comforter as the tree swayed in the breeze.