by Emma Hamm
He knew the game. But he wasn’t interested in playing tonight. He reached for the Wisp and sank his fingers deep into her hair. It was easy to pull her head back, leaving an opening for Sil. “Maybe later, pretty thing.”
“Wha-” the Wisp began before another voice interrupted them.
“What is that?”
That voice. It curled at the base of his spine and sent shivers along his skin. He ground his teeth together and looked up. He locked his gaze with the plainest woman he had ever seen.
Mousy. Her hair held little color as it fell in front of her dull brown eyes like a curtain. A drab dress made her body look like a square with sticks poking out as limbs. Her arms wrapped around her waist and her body language screamed discomfort.
He would have disregarded her if he hadn’t noticed Sil hovering over her. Her? He wanted to scream.
Pitch had standards and a persona that needed to radiate power and control. Someone even halfway attractive would be more fitting for a man of his station. Not a young woman who feared him and the palace of depravity he created.
But he had never controlled Sil. She did not make her choices lightly and would insist he trust her. Pitch let go of the Wisp, inhaled, and tried to catch the plain woman’s scent for any sign of Sil.
All that hit his nostrils was the sickly scent of human. A Red Blood? He prayed Sil wasn’t that stupid.
“No,” he told the light. “Her body is unused to holding magic.”
She did not listen to him. When the mousy Red Blood looked up at the light again, it zipped toward her. For a moment, a bright glow surrounded the woman, almost making her pretty. The veins in her body stood out as white power streaked through her form.
She screamed. Her head tilted back as more magic unfurled inside her. She should have vaporized, or at the very least, fainted.
“One chance,” he muttered. “One chance and that’s it, Sil. Be gentle.”
The DJ stopped his music, and the crowd stilled as they watched the woman scream. Pitch’s locked his eyes upon the woman’s form. Her mouth gaped open, her lungs squeaking with the last rush of air, and then deafening silence surrounded them.
Pitch wished he knew how to pray.
He watched as a lightning streak of magic trailed from the woman’s chest, up through the thick artery in her neck and along the curve of her cheek. It burst into sparks along her hair, turning mousy brown to snow white.
“You’re going too fast,” he coached as he stepped toward her. His hands raised as though he might gentle her. “Easy. Make it slow or you will burn her out.”
A few creatures had struggled when the dimensions first collided. Magical creatures were too eager for a body, and too strong for a human. They tore through the flesh suit like popping a balloon. Souls could find another host though it was unfortunate for the human.
The Gorgon beside him hissed but did not rush to her friend. She reached for his shoulder instead while Sil’s chosen drew in a gasping breath for another scream.
“Pitch,” her forked tongue tasted the air as she spoke. “What did you do to her?”
He shook out of her grasp and did not catch the Gorgon as she stumbled against the railing of the catwalk. Red light blinked all around them. It was enough to give a man a headache if he wasn’t so focused upon Sil and the mousy woman.
The lightning bright tendrils of magic dulled. The skin along her jaw sparked, and tiny electric charges danced between her fingers. Her hands curled into claws.
Slowly, her jaw closed. The tension in her body eased, and she fell onto the floor in a heap. Her back folded over her legs which twisted beneath her. Her chest heaved in rasping gasps.
Pitch dropped to his knees and gathered her limp form in his arms. He couldn't breathe. He had waited so long for her — the success was impossible to process.
Brushing shaking hands through her white hair, Pitch watched her eyes shift beneath her lids. Her face was tolerable, he decided. It was plain, but if that face could show the expressions of his beloved then it was a face he could learn to love.
Her arms dangled limply in the air until he tucked them against her chest. The magic settled under her skin, no longer striking out with electricity. She was breathing, at least. He could feel every breath rise against his exposed chest.
“What are you wearing?” he muttered as his hands danced down her side. The ugly gray dress with moth eaten holes bagged around her skinny frame. Hardly worthy of one who would grace his arm.
He noticed the dirt underneath her fingernails and examined her hands with disdain. Sil picked a human who needed her help. Her bleeding heart had always gotten her in trouble.
Sharp pointed heels struck the ground, echoing with an angry staccato. Her friends were going to intervene, and he didn't have time for such nonsense. Pitch blinked and time stopped.
Her friends froze with their hands outstretched. The dancers upon the floor became a macabre painting of drug addicts, prostitutes, and thieves. All sound silenced other than Pitch and the mystery woman’s breath.
“Sil?” he asked. His hands found their way back to her soft hair. “Sil, wake up.”
Her eyes opened to reveal a startling discovery. Brown. Earthen. Plain. Her eyes should swirl with silver strands. Sil’s eyes.
Frowning in confusion, he brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Welcome back, my love.”
He disliked her mouth. It gaped open as she tried to speak. Her upper lip was too thin while her bottom lip was far too full.
She whispered something so quietly that he couldn’t catch the words.
Pitch leaned close, his ear pressed against her mouth. “What? I cannot hear you, sweetheart.”
“W-Wh-” she stuttered before catching her breath. “Who are you?”
After those three words, he could hear nothing but the soul shaking shatter of his own heart.
A wave of nausea rushed through him. Surely he hadn’t heard her right. Pitch had not waited this long to hold her in his arms, only to have her forget who he was.
“No,” he growled. The word burst from his chest and shredded his being. “You remember me!”
She swallowed hard. Although she remained limp within the circle of his arms, he could feel the fear rolling off her. “What have you done to me?”
Pitch closed his eyes and turned his head from her. He ground his teeth and reminded himself that he was not a monster. Not anymore. Darkness and nightmares ran through his veins, but she had made him good. He would not harm her.
Never her.
When he opened his eyes, they were pitch black. He could feel the eddies of darkness within them swirling as he stared down at her. “Sil, take control.”
“Who is Sil?”
“Sil, now. Please.” Perhaps the human did not know a Goddess possessed her. Perhaps Sil was gaining her strength to come forward, she might still be within the human.
“Where am I?” She didn’t move, but a silvery tear dripped from her eye and rolled down her temple. The salty droplet held the power of worlds.
He caught it upon his finger. It was a clear sign that Sil was in the woman’s body. Her magic was inside this girl as clear as day. And she did not remember him.
“No,” his face crumpled as he pulled her body close with shaking hands. His forehead pressed against hers and his eyes burned. “No, no you remember me. You are Sil. I am Pitch. You named me, gave me my humanity, and you saw me." He paused. "You saw me when no one else did.”
Her ragged breath brushed against his mouth in rapid succession. “Please don’t hurt me.”
How could she say that? He would not hurt her! Sil would have known.
A moth fluttered between them. It fluttered until he pulled away, then settled upon her forehead and crawled over her right eye. The black words were stark and vivid against the pale gray of its wings.
The ultimate sacrifice is for love. Be kind to her. And yourself.
The moth dissolved into silver magic which sunk into th
e woman’s skin. Her eyes rolled back into her head which lolled on his shoulder.
Fainted. She had fainted in fear of him. Of Sil’s magic. How dare she? He was the one who had lost everything he loved, everything he worked for.
He tried to hold onto the endless sea of emotions that ripped through his mind but lost the battle. The body in his arms held the magic of his loved one, but not the soul. Losing control, he stared down at her as his mouth opened wide and all the rage poured out of him in a great roar.
The ground shook. The building quaked but he could not stop himself. He would destroy everything he had built. He would destroy empires for her.
But he could not. Because she no longer existed.
There it was again. That ripping feeling of his heart being torn out of his chest and shredded before him. He had waited thousands of years, and it ended like this?
He lifted the body in his arms and pushed his forehead against her sternum. She should have been Sil. She should have been holding him and saying him she was there.
That he wasn’t alone anymore.
Tears streaked down his cheeks as he clutched her to him. “Please,” he whispered against the ratty gray fabric. “Please, don’t do this to me.”
She moved. Her tiny hand stroked from the top of his head down his spine. He glanced up her body to see those dirty brown eyes looking back at him.
“I don’t know what I did to hurt you,” her voice was reedy and thin, “but I’m sorry.”
He closed all the barriers in his mind. He separated himself from emotion, from memory, from feeling anything at all. If he didn’t, Pitch was certain he would fly apart into the shadows and never again return.
In the end, Sil had chosen this strange mousy creature. And he owed it to her to finish the plan they had started thousands of years ago.
“It’s not your fault,” he told the human girl.
Her brows wrinkled. “Why does it feel like you're lying?”
He didn’t have an answer for her. There wasn’t one. The great burden of Sil's magic was already taking a toll on her body. White hair was a bad sign. It could be a physical manifestation of his beloved, but it could also be her body breaking down under the immense amount of magic unleashed within her.
Either way, he didn’t have the time to waste. If she died, so did what remained of Sil.
His arms tightened around her and his hold upon time. Her friends lurched forward and reached out for them, but they were far too late. By the time their fingers touched the space their friend had occupied, Pitch had already disappeared.
He walked upon the shadows with the mousy girl in his arms. A sheltering bubble of shadows held her close though he felt her go limp. The speed would have ripped her apart without his power creating a shield. But the darkness must have frightened her. She had fainted again.
Chapter 2
Her eyes felt heavy. She didn’t remember going to sleep. She didn’t even remember leaving the club.
Marla and Rose would be so angry with her. They had to drag her out to begin with. Lydia wasn’t a fan of bars. They were loud. They were uncomfortable. Even restaurants had a lingering after-effect that made her entire body uneasy.
She wasn’t possessed like them. Lydia was all human. A Red Blood alone in a sea of people finding new powers and meeting new people.
But she was the only one left who didn’t have someone else sharing a space in her head. When Marla told her Gorgon knew every trick in the book to get a man, Lydia nodded and smiled. When Rose showed how she could glow until she rivaled the sun, Lydia tried to swallow her jealousy.
She wanted to be like them. She wanted to experience new things. To dive into memories held by a creature who had lived another lifetime. Perhaps even multiple lifetimes.
Luck didn’t run in her bloodline. The Jensen family was a tale of sadness and pathetic qualities. Luck had forsaken them right about when her father’s generation had invested money into every business that would always fail. Lydia was used to bad luck.
So she wasn’t all that surprised when she couldn’t remember where she was, or how she had fallen asleep. Either she drank herself into a stupor, which was unlikely, or she fainted in a crowd of people and her friends brought her back to her tiny little apartment on the dangerous — but affordable — side of town.
Although, that wouldn’t explain the aching of her body. She counted every limb which throbbed and soon realized she should count the parts that didn’t hurt. Had someone put her through a meat grinder?
She groaned and tried to lift a hand to her head felt heavy as cement.
“Easy,” the deep voice was unexpected and unrecognizable. “We’ve just arrived.”
That made her eyes snap open. Blinking, she tried to focus on whoever spoke. Sensations of wiry arms holding her and fingers pressed against her ribs warred with the inability to see. Wide eyed in panic, Lydia tried to find something familiar in the darkness, but she could not find any speck of light around her.
“Who are you?” she squeaked. “Have I gone blind?”
“Oh, my sincerest apologies. I forgot.”
The darkness cleared from her vision, parting like a curtain. As soon as she saw what it revealed, Lydia almost preferred to be blind.
He was beautiful, was her first thought. Not traditionally beautiful with warm skin and sun-kissed features, but pale and smooth. Carved out of marble. Skin, so pale she wondered if he had ever seen sunlight, glowed in the dim ambiance. Full lips and a hawk-like nose led to the darkest eyes she had ever seen.
She fell into his gaze. Deep into the abyss that held not only nightmares, but the universe inside of them. He held the night sky in his eyes.
Her breath caught as a lock of hair tumbled onto his forehead. The strange instinct to smooth his hair back bubbled within her. But she did not know this man. Such an action would be unusual, and she didn’t like to touch anyone.
Lydia needed to get herself back together. She focused for a few moments on filling the holes in her memory but found she had nothing to fill them with.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“You never stop asking questions.” The words said in honeyed tones were an observation, not a question.
“Can you say you're surprised? I have no idea who you are, but I woke up being carried by you. I have no idea where I am, and you won't tell me! If I stop asking questions then I might never find out the answers!”
One of his dark eyebrows lifted. “Touche.”
The soft rocking motion of his body wasn’t him breathing, she realized. They were moving. Lydia turned her head expecting the club’s blinding bright lights and her friend’s disapproving stares. She didn’t expect to focus on a door which opened on its own and led into an ancient Victorian house.
This was so much more trouble than she had thought.
“Oh no,” she muttered.
“Are you talking to yourself, or am I supposed to be listening?”
She was being kidnapped. Her heart thumped hard against her chest as she tried not to notice how opulent her surroundings were. Kidnapped by a filthy rich man but kidnapped, nonetheless.
Dry mouthed and shaking, she tried to figure out a plan. Rational thoughts evaded her as the door slammed shut behind them.
Dark colors greeted her everywhere she looked. Blacks, greys, and reds seemed to be his only color choices. Carved wooden chairs with red velvet seats surrounded a fireplace with blackened coals. The walls were covered by tapestries and expensive looking artwork that depicted scenes from what she recognized as Revelations.
Her eyes blinked to keep tears from blurring her vision. Every archway depicted carved screaming faces and damned souls. So he was a sadist. Fantastic.
A grand staircase rose up to the ceiling. Even the black banister warped with tortured souls, a detail she only noticed as his feet whispered on the red carpeted stairs. They were going upstairs.
Her voice caught in her throat until it was little more than a weak peep.
“Are you going to kill me?”
“No.”
“Hurt me?”
“No.”
“Rape me?”
“No.” He said with force. Almost as though her kidnapper couldn’t believe she would dare suggest he might do something so terrible.
“Then I would like to go home.”
“I cannot grant you that.”
She blinked. Why wasn’t her body responding to her? She kept trying to lift any of her limbs, but they refused to move. All she could feel was the heat of him.
This would not do. She was not this pitiful, nevermind she had lost a lot of weight in the past months. Forgetting to eat was not a weakness, nor was not being able to buy her own food.
“I have to protest,” she said as she cleared her throat. “You need to set me down. And then you need to bring me back to my friends.”
“You wouldn’t be able to walk if I set you down.” His tone was dry, but stated what he thought of her plan.
“Then you have my permission to keep holding me until we are back to my apartment.”
“No.”
“You say that an awful lot.”
If she wasn’t so set upon painting him as an evil man, Lydia might acknowledge the hint of a smile on his lips. “You make it so easy.”
She tried to wiggle, shake, move, anything other than lay there. Even her toes refused to move despite her desperate mental pleas.
“I can’t move anything,” she murmured.
“Is that a question or an observation?”
“Observation, apparently.”
“You can still ask questions.”
“You will only tell me no,” Lydia couldn’t help but quip.
A soft chuckle rumbled against her shoulder. “Perhaps I will. Perhaps I won’t.”
She could like him. His voice was soothing, like listening to the soft crash of waves. But she also knew most serial killers were charming. The last thing she needed was to suffer from Stockholm Syndrome and fighting against someone trying to rescue her.
Rather than speaking any further, she focused on trying to move her fingers. Each tiny twitch felt like the grinding of gears, but eventually she squeezed them into a fist. Her mind was strong, she told herself. Her body was only a tool for her mind.