The sepia tone color of Wren’s hands made an intriguing contrast against the black of Zander’s tank, Scott thought, filing the observation away for the next time he got to paint. It was an odd thought to have right then, in any case.
Wren sat back on her heels, her arms reaching to stay pressed to Zander’s shoulders even while her head fell forward. The humming took on a rhythm then, but no tune. Head downturned as it was, Scott couldn’t see to be sure, but it sounded as though she was mouthing words while humming in the back of her throat.
It was seriously eerie. He felt goosebumps climb the back of his neck.
Then, with a breath, Wren rose onto her knees again. The humming stopped, and she brought her face up beside Zander’s, turning to speak into her ear:
“Open the cloak.”
Scott felt his mouth fall open as Zander’s arms lifted from the table. She raised them until they were reaching for the ceiling, her fingers outstretched. Her arms lost coordination and went slack as they fell open, so they were hanging over the sides of the table. Wren gathered each arm in turn, bringing them to Zander’s sides once again.
“Callum? Cecily?” she said as she did it, voice low and calm.
“It’s open,” Callum said. “I can see Cecily.”
“I can see Callum,” Cecily added. “But Zander isn’t bright.”
“That’s true. She’s always been a flood light when she’s opened the cloak in the past,” Callum remarked.
Scott felt Callum’s eyes on him, and turned to meet his gaze.
“Are the runes on the house?” he asked.
Scott nodded. “They’re faded but they’re there.” He hadn’t touched them up in light of the move, expecting them to stay well enough to get them to moving day—especially with Zander’s presence.
He hadn’t exactly known this was coming.
“Okay. That’s fine,” Callum replied, returning his attention to Zander once again.
Wren was standing, bent over Zander’s head with a pen in her hand. When she pulled back, she looked to Scott.
It took effort to pull his eyes away from the rune she’d drawn on Zander’s forehead. The same rune he’d drawn on Wren’s wrist. The same rune he had tattooed on his left pec—one of the many he’d tattooed on Callum and on Cecily.
“Look alive, Scott,” Wren said. “Your turn.” Then she tossed the pen to him. “One on each foot. Do not set the candle down.”
He saw where this was going. So he pried the cap off the ink pen with his teeth and held the cap in his mouth while he drew the rune on the tops of each of Zander’s feet with swift strokes. Then he recapped the pen and looked to Callum next.
North, South, East, West, they each drew the rune on Zander’s skin, until she was runed with five identical symbols of protection.
As Cecily made the final stroke with the pen, Zander started to move.
Then moan.
Scott looked to Callum, who looked to Wren.
“Is it wearing off?” he asked.
Wren gave one graceful turn of her head. “No. She’s still out.” Then she dropped to her knees again, her hands landing on Zander’s shoulder’s just as they’d been before.
Wren’s humming was different this time, louder, more urgent. And she didn’t stay still while she did it. Her head turned, hanging forward, then lifting, then falling forward again before turning side to side.
The pace of her breathing and the humming’s pauses picked up, until she was more moaning than humming, her lips open to let more sound through.
All the while, Zander’s body twitched, her head turned side to side, her hands opening and clenching tight before gripping the sides of the table. One of her knees bent, drawing upward, and Scott had the momentary instinct to catch it and keep her still. But the memory of Wren’s instructions to keep the candle in his hands kept him glued to his spot. He couldn’t hold her feet and the candle at the same time.
He looked to Cecily, who looked right back, fear and amazement in her parted lips and sawing breath.
“Get ready!” Wren called out.
Zander screamed.
Her chest shot up off the table, her back bowing and her neck stretching long in a contortion Scott knew he would never be able to get out of his head.
Then, all at once, her back slammed down onto the table and her screams ceased.
Cecily and Callum threw themselves on top of her.
Rhia began barking.
And Scott’s chest lit on fire.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Good, they brought me outside, Scott thought when he looked down and saw the grass at his feet.
He wasn’t in pain, his chest no longer burning like an open wound as it had been for those seconds, so whatever they’d done, it must have been the right thing.
“Hey. You’re Scott, right?”
Scott turned toward the voice to find a kid standing next to him. Not a kid-kid, but a young guy. Early twenties, probably. He had tan skin and curly brown hair that was cut close on the sides.
“Yeah, I’m Scott.” He started to ask this guy who he was, but all at once he knew. “You’re Trevor.”
The kid smiled and gave a nod. “That’s me.”
Now Scott’s chest wasn’t blazing—it was freezing. “Wait,” he said aloud. He spun toward the house.
He was lying on the floor, half in, half out of the back door that had been standing open behind him just moments ago.
Cecily was there. She had him by the shoulders and was shaking him. Tears were streaming down her face. She laid herself down over him. When she sat up again, she was screaming.
Scott couldn’t hear her, but he saw her scream in the way the muscles in her neck strained and her eyes squeezed shut, the color draining from her face, replaced by red and pink blotches that climbed her cheeks.
“If I’m here—” Scott looked to Trevor, then back to the house, wanting to sprint across the grass.
Instead, he watched Callum step over his body, followed closely by Rhia who didn’t stop but came straight out into the grass—straight over to Scott and Trevor where she stood beside them like a sentinel. Scott didn’t want to know what that meant.
Cecily look up at Callum, who hooked his arms under Scott’s own—impossibly his own—and began to drag him onto the back steps, his head lolling unnaturally, neck limp.
Then Cecily stood, like Callum’s efforts had spurred her to action.
He turned to Trevor again. “Can she see me?”
He looked to the house, unable to keep his eyes away. Cecily had his body by the legs. Her expression had gone from despair to a fierce, blind kind of determination.
“No, they haven’t crossed past the runes,” was Trey’s calm response.
“I thought the runes meant—”
“You can see her because they’re faded.”
“But I can’t hear her.”
“And you can’t see the real her—the light.”
“What?” Scott looked to Trey, but Trey shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter. You’re not staying on this side, anyway. You can’t leave her yet.”
Scott shot awake to the sound of his own yell and with a force like he’d just fallen from a great height. He dragged air down his throat, his lungs spasming, which sent him coughing, only to gasp an inhale again and start the choking anew.
He rolled onto his side, curling into himself with the force of a choking cough so hard he thought he might be sick.
His ears were ringing by the time he got control of his lungs and his gag reflex again and rolled onto his back, breathing hard.
“Told you so.”
Scott opened his eyes and for one breath of a moment, he saw Trevor bending over him.
Then he was gone.
Replaced by the single most beautiful thing Scott had ever seen.
Cecily was sitting astride him, her hands on his chest, her cheeks streaked in tears, her open lips parched.
He reached for her.
⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸
“Is he okay?” Wren asked as Callum stepped back through the door he’d darted out of just moments ago. Her heart was still pounding, her head spinning, and her energy was waning fast, but she needed to know Scott was okay.
If she’d managed to trap the Shadow faster he wouldn’t have been in danger to begin with.
She still wasn’t sure if it had been trying to escape through the door, or if it had intentionally rushed at him—but now they’d never know, would they.
Because she’d banished the thing—destroyed it with her magic.
She hadn’t known she could do that.
“He’s okay, yeah.” Callum’s low voice and the way he swallowed when he paused made it clear just how close they’d come to Scott being very not-okay. “Thanks to you. How’d you know to grab the Shadow like that?”
She didn’t have a real answer—she’d been asking herself the same thing since it happened—so she shrugged. “Instincts, I guess? I felt it leaving Zander, and I knew I had to capture it. So I did. Sometimes magic is weird like that.”
Wren blinked to try to clear her blurring vision. When she opened her eyes again, Callum was ducking into the kitchen. He reappeared holding a thin, white dishrag before she even had time to wonder what he was doing.
“Your nose just started bleeding again,” he said as he tossed the thing to her.
She sighed, her energy flagging further, and brought the rag to her nose. “Thanks.”
Callum gave a nod. He still looked like hell as he ran a hand up the back of his hair, but there was a light in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He was no longer a blackhole of dread and anger.
He put a hand on Zander’s bare foot. “How long will it take her to wake up? Should we move her to the bed?”
Wren took the rag from her nose—sure enough, bloody, but she could feel it slowing already. She folded it and returned it to her nose. “It’s hard to know how long she’ll sleep, but I’d rather wake up in a bed if I were her, wouldn’t you?”
“Definitely,” Callum agreed, voice low, nod small. “You got it in you to help me?” He glanced out into the yard, then turned back to Wren with raised brows and a tired chuckle. “Scott’s sort of busy.”
Wren leaned to peek around Callum through the back door. She could see Scott and Cecily lying on the grass. From the looks of things, there weren’t any words happening, just a lot of lips and a lot of hands. Wren blinked, brow high as she put her eyes on Callum again.
“I don’t think I knew they were a thing before I got here,” she remarked. “Zander never mentioned it.”
“They weren’t until yesterday,” was Callum’s response, then he ticked a nod at Zander. “I’ll take her torso whenever you’re ready.”
Wren checked the rag again. No more blood. “I’m good to go. Let’s do this.”
As Wren helped Callum tuck Zander into bed, they heard the back door close, then two sets of feet shuffling through the house.
“Baby, stop,” Cecily said. “Stop. Sit down or you’re gonna fall over.”
Wren and Callum exchanged a what-in-the-hell kind of a look in the dim light of the room.
“I’ll go check on them,” Wren said as she headed for the door.
She found Cecily trying to help Scott, who was weaving across the living room. She jogged over and tucked herself under the arm Cecily wasn’t currently tucked under. “Lean on me.”
“He was fine, but when he got up, he got woozy.”
“I feel like what I remember drunk feeling like—only less fun,” Scott said.
Wren smiled to herself. Jesus, they were sort of helpless weren’t they? “You got hit with your first partial intrusion today. What’d you expect, to run a marathon afterward?”
“But Trey cleared him. He should be fine, right?” Cecily argued.
“He is fine,” Wren replied as they entered the hall. “Just exhausted.”
“I do feel like I could sleep,” Scott agreed. “What time is it?”
“Not nearly bedtime,” Cecily replied, “but whatever. Go sleep if you want to.”
“Sleep with me?” he said.
Cecily laughed under her breath then ticked a nod at the first door on the left in the hallway. “That’s his room.”
Wren reached and turned the knob, then pushed the door open. “You got it from here?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Cecily replied. “Hey, is Zander awake?”
“Not yet, but she’s good.” Wren nodded.
Cecily’s sigh was obviously one of relief. “Thank the gods. And thank you. For, like, everything.”
Wren smiled and gave a nod. She heard Cecily telling Scott she needed to talk to somebody before she could come to bed as Wren pulled the door closed.
They were cute together. Their energy meshed in a unique, complimentary way. It was nice to see, and nice to be around.
Wren knew it wouldn’t have felt like that a year ago—or even a few months ago. And maybe tomorrow it wouldn’t feel nice again. If the months since Bridgette’s death had taught her anything, it was that grief was a strange, twisting rollercoaster. One day you felt better and you were so relieved—and the next you felt worse than you had in weeks.
Wren took a minute to use the bathroom. She splashed cold water on her face. Then she leaned against the door, closed her eyes, and just—did nothing for a minute or two.
Feeling Zander’s energy on that table today, seeing the Shadow shoot from her chest—then watching it rush at Scott—and knowing the only thing standing between them all and that evil were Wren’s own instincts and her magic had been one of the scariest things she’d ever done.
It had also been an incredible rush.
It had felt good to work on the edges of her ability, at the edge of her knowledge like that. Like stretching first thing in the morning. She’d stretched her magical muscles, so to speak, and the feeling of using them to their full extent was heady, powerful and raw.
Bridgette would have been really proud of her.
And terrified for her.
But mostly proud.
She didn’t register crying until a tear skated over her lips, tickling and salty.
How had she known to push the Shadow into the floor like that? How had she so instinctively sent her energy sky high to capture it.
Between her hands. She’d held the fucking thing between her hands!
How was that even possible?
She’d read about stuff like that, sure. But she’d never known somebody who’d actually done it.
Not that she had a huge network of witches for friends or anything. Not that she had a whole lot of friends, witches or otherwise, when she thought about it.
With a breath, she scrubbed her face with the hem of her shirt, wiping away tears and the final beads of moisture from the faucet.
It seemed cruel to leave Callum alone to stew while Zander slept. She knew the guy wouldn’t leave her side, and Wren couldn’t think of anywhere else she wanted to be either. So she slipped out of the bathroom, across the narrow hallway, and gave the door and gentle knock as she let herself into Callum and Zander’s room.
Callum sat up from where he’d been lying on top of the covers beside Zander with a breath. “Everybody okay?”
Wren nodded. “Everything’s fine. Scott’s exhausted, but he’ll live. Speaking of which, you should sleep. I’ll leave.” She should have thought of that before coming in.
But Callum shook his head. “I thought I would too. I tried, but my brain won’t shut up. I can’t sleep until I know Zander is going to be okay.”
Wren could relate to that. Her mind was spinning in
a similar way. “Well, mind if I sit on the floor and wait with you?”
Callum gave an easy swing of his arm. “Be my guest. Sorry we don’t have a chair or something.”
“Don’t sweat it.” Wren pressed her back into the wall behind her and slid down until she was sitting against it. It felt good to sit. They sat in silence for a few minutes. It must have felt heavy to Callum like it did to her, because soon he spoke like he needed to fill the void or risk spinning into his own thoughts. Or maybe that’s just how Wren was feeling.
“Is your nose better?” he asked.
It took Wren one split second to realize he was asking about the nosebleed. “Oh. Yeah, it’s fine.”
“Is that common? Like, when you use magic do you always get a nosebleed?”
“Jesus, no,” Wren replied. That would be so awful, getting a nosebleed every time she used her magic. She’d be seriously anemic. “That is not common, but I’m fine. It happens when I channel more energy than I can generate on my own. I’ll feel sort of hungover tomorrow, but I’ll live.”
“Good. I was going to say that really sucks if you’re dealing with nose bleeds all the time.”
“It really would,” she agreed with a chuckle. Then forged ahead before the silence could descend again. “Can I ask you question?”
“Shoot.”
“When you guys banished the Shadow last year—how’d you do it? I mean, clearly, Zander absorbed it, but how?”
“I let it inhabit me,” Callum replied, voice low. “That backfired. Bad. The next day, it inhabited Cecily. That’s when Zander found the cloak—when she could see it.” He shook his head slowly and when he went on, his tone was laced in amazement. “She tore the thing open like it was drapes on a window. It rushed at her—and then it was gone. And I thought, holy shit we actually did it. Ya know?”
He stopped and stared into space. Then he came back with a shake of his head and his voice had lost the awe.
“But we didn’t. We just sentenced Zander to a living hell.”
“She’d going to be fine.” Wren leaned forward like she could make him see it if she was inches closer. “And for what it’s worth, I think she would have done it even if she’d known what was coming.”
The Medium's Possession Page 17