Descension (Mystic)

by B. C. Burgess

  “She’s dead,” he confirmed, “but you already knew that.”

  “I figured,” Medea confessed, tapping her scarred cheek with a jagged fingernail. “That is why you’re here after all. Vengeance? Well you’re on a death mission. Did you really think you’d be able to kill me and live to see another day?”

  She looked around, and Aedan followed her gaze, finding thirty-eight crimson cloaks encircling him.

  “No,” he answered, unperturbed by their sudden appearance.

  “You don’t wish to kill me?” Medea scoffed.

  “Oh I’d enjoy watching you die,” Aedan corrected, “and I’d love to do it myself, but I don’t expect to live.”

  Medea’s eyes narrowed, and Aedan focused on filtering his aura and blocking his mind.

  “In fact,” he went on, “you’ve ensured I have nothing to live for.”

  Terror twisted Medea’s ugly features as she opened her mouth to speak, but she screamed instead, falling to her knees and curling into a ball.

  Aedan knew the kind of torture she was experiencing, because he knew that agonizing expression well. Rhosewen wore it often throughout the last four months of her life, but she’d worn it with beauty and grace. Medea just looked wretched and strung out. Aedan intently watched, waiting for the pain to hit him as well, but it didn’t come.

  One of the Unforgivables lowered their hood and walked forward, and Aedan glanced over, unsurprised to find Agro’s orange eyes.

  “Aedan,” he greeted, waving a hand toward Medea, who went limp, her screams fading into sobs. “It’s a pity we always meet on such unfriendly terms.”

  “Are there any other kind with you?” Aedan countered.

  “Some would say no,” Agro confessed.

  “I’d agree with them,” Aedan scorned.

  Agro’s eyes flashed red, but his posture remained casual. “As I said, pity.” He looked at Medea then back. “Your wife is dead?”

  “Yes,” Aedan answered, jaw set.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “I bet you are.”

  Agro scanned every inch of Aedan and the air around him, trying to find a hole in his persona. “Perhaps you think it was I who cursed your mate, but I assure you, I had no part in that one. I would have preferred to handle the situation myself, but that was Medea’s handiwork. I was led to believe she would merely make your mate’s hair fall out, or stain her teeth green, something inconvenient yet insignificant. I had no idea she’d come up with something so… creative. I’ve already disposed of the disloyal magicians who helped her work out the details.”

  Agro’s lack of involvement surprised Aedan, but he made a point not to show it. It was his word against Medea’s, and he had to play his part convincingly. Everything he had left on earth depended on it.

  He looked at Medea, genuine hate and anger burning his body and aura. “You.”

  She met his stare, head bobbing as tears streaked down her withered cheeks.

  “You once claimed to care about me,” Aedan seethed, “yet you destroyed my life. You deserve a punishment far worse than death, because what I’ve lost was more precious than air, and it was you and you alone who stole it from me. Your soul is wretched, Medea. Your life means nothing. You’re merely a shit stain on an otherwise beautiful foundation.”

  Agro stepped closer. “Where’s your child, Aedan?”

  “What child?”

  “No!” Medea screeched. “He lies! I swear I did it right…” A bloodcurdling scream ripped from her throat as she once again curled into a ball.

  “Are you saying Rhosewen didn’t conceive?” Agro pressed.

  “My love was pregnant,” Aedan confirmed, “but breath was stolen from her before her third trimester, taking my baby’s beating heart with it.”

  “No,” Medea sobbed. “He’s lying… He has to be lying.”

  “Silence!” Agro barked, raising a hand, and Medea’s mouth slammed shut.

  Agro’s palm turned toward Aedan, who was ready for the icy feeling that gripped his bones. He’d endured so much pain in the past four months, his body merely jolted.

  Agro frowned. Then the ice gripped tighter, threatening to grind Aedan’s bones into frozen dust. He fell to his knees as a groan gurgled in his throat, but his body stayed upright and his eyes stayed open.

  Agro curiously tilted his head, raising an appreciative eyebrow. “Your endurance for pain is amazing.”

  Aedan couldn’t reply. If he opened his mouth, he would scream.

  “Now,” Agro whispered, stepping closer, “I’m going to ask you again. Did Rhosewen give birth?”

  The cold barely eased, and Aedan roughly filled his lungs. “No… she was only five months pregnant…”

  The pain spiked, more than before, and Aedan fell forward, his palms slapping red earth as a tormented roar vibrated his clenched teeth, swirling sand into his nostrils.

  “Are you absolutely sure about that?” Agro asked.

  When the agonizing force ebbed, Aedan breathed deep, laboriously pushing himself up to meet Agro’s stare. “Do you think I’d be here, facing my doom, if my baby lived? If I still had a precious petal from my Rose?” He sucked in another ragged breath. “I’m not strong enough… to leave what I want most in the world in order to procure justice, impossible justice. No, I’m desperate… lost without my love and broken without the child I couldn’t save. I came here to meet my end, so I can join my family in the afterlife. Just let me take the witch down with me.” He breathed through his nose, trying to ignore the pain so he could focus on hiding the truth.

  Agro considered him for several tortuous seconds before lowering his palm, and Aedan slumped to the ground, gasping as icy cold gave way to raging heat.

  “Well, well, Medea,” Agro bristled.

  Aedan quickly composed himself, bringing his torso erect so he could see Medea’s pleading eyes. He didn’t want to miss this—the last guilty pleasure he’d fulfill on earth.

  “It seems you’ve made a mistake,” Agro fumed, ruthlessly staring at the witch. “Perhaps Rhosewen loved her baby more than you expected her to.”

  Medea’s lips were magically sealed, but a muffled noise grated her throat as she tried to plead her case, begging with bloodshot eyes.

  Agro wasn’t interested in judging the accused. He was the executioner. “You understand how angry that makes me,” he rumbled, voice and temper rising. “You’ve robbed me of the most powerful bonded child to ever be conceived.”

  Aedan flexed, truly sorry it wasn’t in his power to destroy Agro before making his exit. But an attempt could compromise the lock on his thoughts, and many of the surrounding vultures were waiting for him to lose focus so they could crack him open. He wouldn’t give them the chance.

  “This is unacceptable!” Agro boomed. Then he spoke much quieter, deadlier. “You must pay the consequences.” His right hand swept into the air then came down in a nonchalant gesture of farewell.

  Medea’s yellow eyes widened as four hooded figures stepped from the surrounding circle. Then four different spells hit her at once. Fire, water, earth and air combined in a burst of chaos and color that lifted her from the rock, contorting and twisting her like putty.

  Wind-whipped sand and humid heat spattered Aedan’s face as he watched Medea’s last haunted dance—a macabre and sickening scene, but undeniably satisfying.

  By the time the evil storm lifted, Medea was a smoldering pile of twisted limbs. The four casters made the motion of dusting off their hands, and the mutilated corpse turned to ash, drifting into the Garden of the Gods.

  Agro turned toward Aedan, clearly disappointed, yet greedily intrigued. “I’m sorry for your loss, Aedan.”

  “You lie,” Aedan spurned, shaking his head. “You’re sorry for your loss. You can’t see past your wicked agenda enough to realize my wife’s and baby’s deaths are a loss for the masses, not the few.”

  “Medea was out of line,” Agro conceded.

  “You brought her there tha
t night,” Aedan countered, “and even if she hadn’t cursed my wife, you would have hatched your own evil plot to tear my family apart.”

  “You speak sharp words for a man with few options, Aedan. I’m offering you a deal. You won’t be leaving by yourself, but you’d make a fine asset to the Dark Elite.”

  “Go to hell,” Aedan refused.

  “You answer without even considering,” Agro rebuked.

  “I disagree with your ethics,” Aedan explained, breathing in the cold, night air, appreciating everything about it.

  He was ready. He’d succeeded, and his baby—his perfect Layla Love—was safe. Just one more loose end to tie up before leaving this life in search of another. He laid his right hand over his heart, making sure the band of Rhosewen’s wedding ring touched thumping skin.

  “You might as well get it over with,” he whispered. “If you don’t kill me, I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to kill you.”

  “I’d rather use you than kill you,” Agro reproached. “I wish you’d reconsider.”

  “Not a chance,” Aedan sighed, a serene smile curving his lips.

  He was going to see his Rose, his beautiful, golden Rose. He could already feel the grief lifting. Soon he’d feel light as air.

  Agro curiously watched him for a full minute then took three steps back, raising his right hand.

  Aedan’s eyes drifted shut as he performed one last bit of magic, and the happiest and saddest moments of his life filled his heart before finding their way to Rhosewen’s ring. Goodbye, Layla Love, my sweet angel. I’ll miss you…

  Unbelievable pain. Then darkness. Then… nothing.

  Aedan had joined his love in the afterlife.

  Chapter 31

  Present Day—Oregon

  Layla was dead. She’d died with her father. Or had she?

  Nothingness enveloped her, suffocating body and mind, stripping away her sense of being and replacing it with her parents’. Their memories played again and again. Layla couldn’t shut them out or let anything else in, so she repeatedly witnessed her mom and dad meet, bond, then continue down a path of pure love and saddening destruction, culminating in the ultimate sacrifice—death.

  The memories abruptly ceased, suspending Layla in a dark pool of unattached realization where she dissected and retained the facts like a thirsty scientist. Then the nothingness crept away, leaving a disaster in its wake.

  Layla’s lungs expanded, her fingers and toes awakened, and her wounded heart echoed in her eardrums. A sorrowful wail bubbled in her swollen throat, growing louder as emotional turmoil—a pain as physical as any she’d ever felt—gripped and squeezed, pulling her into a ball.

  “No!” She wanted to go back to the nothingness. The pain of reality was too much, breaking her down and grinding the pieces to dust.

  She clawed at her heart, trying to rip the agonizing organ from her chest, but a large hand encircled her wrist, pulling her frantic fingernails away. She gasped, appendages flinging out as her eyes popped open, wet and disoriented. Then warm air floated over her left cheek.

  “It’s okay, Layla. You’re safe.”

  “Quin,” she sobbed, curling into his chest. “Oh god…”

  Quin wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, but she barely felt it. The sorrow squeezed so much harder.

  Her cries grew louder as her body cringed, at the mercy of unrelenting emotion. So many emotions—overwhelming awe at how deeply her parents loved her; unbearable grief for the sacrifices they made to keep her safe; utter sadness for the way things turned out; and love… heart-gripping love for the people who’d given her life, the mom and dad she never knew. Love for the parents who were gone. Dead.

  “Oh god,” she whimpered. “They were perfect… and I’ll never know what it’s like… to touch them and to let them touch me.”

  Regret churned her stomach, throbbing her aching head and heart. She’d been harboring anger about her adoption—resentment toward her father and the disconnect she felt with her mother. Now the anger rebounded, smothering her in remorse, punishing her for daring to disrespect those who had blessed her with breath before forfeiting their own. And atonement was nowhere in sight. She’d never be able to look at her parents and tell them how much she loved them, how much their devotion meant to her. After everything they went through, they deserved to know—to hear it from their daughter’s lips that their undying love touched her; that she felt it pulse in her broken heart and course through her thriving veins. They hadn’t abandoned her; they’d saved her, and she’d give anything to let them know she understood the enormity of their sacrifice.

  She sobbed harder, shoulders shaking. Then her ears started humming as her mom’s wedding ring quivered, expelling waves of vibrations up her arm. She opened her eyes, shocked and confused. Then a cooling sensation washed over fluctuating flesh, melting her tense muscles.

  Quin’s shirt slipped from her grip, and he leaned back, running his bewildered gaze from her head to her toes. Layla looked down as well, and only then did she realize she was glowing. And singing! The humming wasn’t in her ears, but all around her, flowing from the ethereal mist that poured from the ring and blanketed her body.

  Salty moisture blurred the beautiful sight, so Layla closed her eyes, sliding her vibrating hand to her chest. When the ring found her heart, warm affection and tranquility flooded her senses, and she unfurled, losing herself in the magic.

  For a splendid moment in time, her broken heart and its aching shell vanished, and she was merely a soul, blissfully floating in her parents’ love. She could feel them as clearly as she felt anything else. They were more real than the bed beneath her. And while they didn’t speak, she could hear them. The mesmerizing mist and its magical message told her more than words could portray. Furthermore, if she could feel them, receive their message, surely they could feel her.

  True or not, it brought Layla peace to believe it, to imagine her parents floating in her soul, absorbing all the love and appreciation she had to give, taking sublime comfort in knowing their hopes for their daughter had come true—she remained safe from wicked magicians and had found her family.

  While Layla drifted on hope and love, as peaceful as a sleeping angel swaddled in fluffy clouds, she vowed to live her life in a way that would never forsake her parents’ sacrifices. They’d given her a gift beyond measure. No longer would she spend it in a rut. She’d find at least one thing to be thankful for every day, and she’d recall the undying love that paved her way.

  Rhosewen’s ring stopped vibrating, the heavenly hum faded, and the feel-good magic ebbed, returning Layla to her liquid body, but she didn’t move or open her eyes. She just lay there with her hand over heart as silent tears streamed down her temples.

  Despite her new lease on life and her vow to appreciate it, the emotional pain returned the moment the magic departed. Not even the strongest spells could make her forget the affectionate expression her mom wore when her heart burst with love, or the sorrowful and sweet goodbye her dad had given her before dying in a flash of agony. Those memories and many more would always be with her, and they would always hurt.

  Layla knew the permanence of loss well. The day after Katherine’s passing, as she’d rocked in an old recliner that smelled of memories, Layla had realized with certainty that death was final, that no amount of wishing, hoping or praying could reverse what doctors could not. If ever she held faith, she’d lost it that day—the day she realized Katherine was gone, never to return, and she was alone, stuck in a world with no one to love.

  Now, as she lay mourning those who’d given her life, realizing with certainty that they were gone, never to return, the hopelessness once again threatened to engulf her, to strip away any trace of faith she’d managed to retain. But this time Layla had something she’d lacked before. She had a family—a beautiful and kind family. No longer was she alone with no one to love.

  She swallowed a lump and opened her eyes, finding her first reason to be thankful. Exquis
itely stretched out beside her, his chest unobstructed and perfect for cuddling, Quin searched her face, his dark gaze shiny and deep.

  “Hey,” he whispered, playing with one of her curls.

  Layla tried to say hey back, but her throat was swollen shut.

  “Do you need anything?” he asked.

  She shook her head no, jarring more tears from her lids, and Quin reached over, softly wiping the moisture away. His tender touch intensified the emotions plucking on her raw heartstrings, and she turned her face into his hand, bursting into more sobs.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped, making a slobbery mess of his palm.

  “Don’t be,” he replied, sliding his free hand under her head. Then he curled her into a ball and pulled her close, tucking her into his chest.

  Layla continued to struggle with a never-ending supply of tears, but Quin’s alluring scent, strong heartbeat, and firm embrace cuddled her like a cozy cocoon, keeping her safe and warm as she mourned her old life and embraced the new—a life full of magic, family, and if she was really lucky… Quin.

  Epilogue

  Present Day—Oklahoma

  The mundane neighborhood was silent—only a light spring breeze rustling the soft white blooms of Bradford pear trees, feathering manicured lawns and shadowed shrubs.

  Dark and deserted, stood a small house with a covered porch, a for sale sign posted near the tidy walkway. The moonlit lawn ruffled in waves. Then five crimson cloaks appeared out of thin air, casting long shadows across the whispering grass. Glaring from the cape closest to the porch, were flaming orange eyes.

  Agro’s nostrils flared as he scowled at the dark windows. He could sense the witch’s lingering energy, but she was gone. He soared to the porch, opening the front door with a wave of his hand. Then he floated inside, halting when he reached the witch’s deserted bedroom. The tiny closet and particle board dresser were empty, and the bed was bare, its mattress askew from the box-spring.