Choices

by Liz Schulte

  After she hung up, I continued thumbing through pictures. I stopped fighting against the fresh pain. Instead I let it wash over me. How the hell could she not come back? If not for me, then why didn't she do it for her mom? How could she have been so selfish?

  A new thought occurred to me. Maybe they wouldn't let her come back because of me. What if our relationship was the abomination Quintus said it was? Would they punish her for loving me?

  "Olivia," I said aloud, wanting to feel her name brush against my lips. I felt a surge of panic, then most of the sadness in my mind receded. It was impossible to tell if the panic was mine or someone else’s. I was losing my mind.

  I put the photographs back in her bag. Enough of this. I’d go mad if I sat there much longer. I texted Juliet that I wouldn't be in the next morning, then grabbed my keys and headed for my car. I drove all night and pulled up in front of Marge's house by 6 a.m. with coffee and bagels. She sleepily answered the door, dissolving into tears the moment she saw me. The woman hung from me as if her legs had no strength left in them. I walked her to the living room and deposited her in a chair.

  "You didn't have to come, Holden," she said with a shaky breath, when she finally regained control with a little help from me. It took more effort on my part, but while training others I learned I could use my abilities to calm not just incite—something I wished I knew back when Olivia was alive.

  "I know I didn’t have to. I wanted to. I want to help. You go do what you would normally do, and I will take care of everything."

  Marge took my hand in her thin, frail one. She had lost so much weight since Olivia died. She looked like a child playing dress up in her mother's clothing. "Why are you doing this?"

  "Because Olivia would have wanted me to help you, and you remind me of her."

  "You’re just the sort of man I hoped Olivia would find. I'm sorry the two of you didn't have more time together." She looked like a new round of tears was about to start.

  "I wouldn't trade our time together for anything." I gently squeezed her hand. "Get dressed, get out of the house. Everything will be back to normal when you come back, I promise."

  Marge nodded and slowly walked out of the room. I drank my coffee and went over my plan on how to fix this. By the time I finished my coffee and hers, she was back downstairs, dressed up and looking more alive. I sent her to meet her friends in my car and set in making phone calls. By 9 a.m. I had the adjustor and electrician out to the house. Next came the tree removal, a tow truck, and a contractor. By the time I left, I had a rental car, the contractor was working on the garage, and the electrician had fixed the power issue. Being able to make people bend to your will had its benefits.

  I left Marge a note that I would be back, that I needed to get out of the house for a while. I didn't feel Olivia’s presences there like I used to. The house had a solemn, death-like atmosphere. Perhaps Marge should sell it. I would buy it from her and Marge could move somewhere that didn't feel like a funeral home. I drove to Olivia's old apartment, wondering if she was a ghost. Maybe she haunted the spot she died. The thought was too tempting to pass up. I parked and went directly to her door. No one was in the hall, so I picked the lock and slipped inside. I walked around the living room, taking in all the differences. Whoever lived there now had changed things. The furniture wasn’t where she had it, so I moved it to where it should have been.

  I pictured her bleeding and helpless at Vetis’ hand. I let the scene play in my head, hoping it would attract her ghost, but nothing happened. She didn’t come, and I wasn’t really surprised. I knew in my heart she would never be ghost.

  I went to her bedroom. We hadn’t spent much time together there, but just knowing it had been hers was something. I pictured it as it used to be, and suddenly I felt her around me. I paced the room, trying to figure out where the sensation was coming from. Her voice drifted in from the living room.

  “Liv?” I went out, but no one was there—however it smelled like her. I could feel her in the air. Christ, she was a ghost. I stayed, trying to get her to come back, but she didn’t. When I finally left, I put in a call, making it known that if the apartment came up for rent again I wanted it.

  I went to the bar I’d visited when Olivia was falling apart in my bed after Juliet died and I didn't know what to do. I still didn't know what to do, though this time I was the one falling apart. I felt helpless and I hated it more than ever. Whatever this overwhelming sadness was, it screamed Olivia and refused to leave.

  I sat down, hoping I would get the same relief I got last time I came here for help.

  The same bartender from all those years ago still stood behind the bar. He barely glanced up from his paper. "Whiskey?" he asked.

  "Good guess."

  At my voice, the bartender finally looked up. "You’ve been here before." I met his piercing blue eyes with a flat look. There was no way he remembered me.

  "Have we met?"

  "Your girlfriend's best friend had just died. You insisted she—your girl—was different than other girls. You still believe that?" He slid the drink in front of me.

  "She was one of a kind."

  "Are you still together?"

  "No."

  "She got wise to you, eh?"

  "She was murdered." I tapped the glass for a refill.

  "Murdered! Well, if that's not a three-toed, one-eyed opossum. I'm sorry to hear that."

  What the hell was this guy talking about? Part of me couldn't believe he’d been helpful before. Perhaps I had given him too much credit.

  "It was a few years ago."

  "What are you up to now?"

  "Criminal mastermind," I said dryly, but the bartender didn't laugh. Instead he looked back down at his paper. "You have an opinion about that?" I asked.

  "I think it would be in my best interest not to comment.”

  “I was only joking," I mumbled, and I had been joking—though it was true. For all intents and purposes, I was a criminal mastermind.

  "What do you think she would think about that?" He still didn’t look up from his paper.

  "Olivia liked jokes," I said, but I knew what he meant. Olivia wouldn't like my new profession or what I was doing. She wouldn't like the hurt that I caused or the people I destroyed, but she didn’t come back so she lost her say.

  "Death doesn't end everything,” the old bartender said and flipped to a new page. “I wouldn't write off her good opinion just yet if I were you. You've changed since I last saw you—maybe not for the better." He tapped his finger on the bar top.

  "Excuse me?" How could he possibly know what I was thinking?

  "Just call them like I see them."

  I didn’t want to mention the mind reading, just in case I was misunderstanding him. "How am I different?"

  "Last time you were here you had a spark, an energy, to you. It's gone. Now you seem like a shark."

  "If there was anything there, her death took it."

  "It didn't take it. You’ve just done your damnedest to stamp it out."

  "How do you know any of this?" This bartender definitely wasn't all he seemed.

  He smiled. "I'm just a student of life."

  "Like hell."

  "Don't lose hope, Holden. Life may surprise you yet," he said before he fucking vanished.

  I looked around the bar and it wasn't a bar at all, just an empty room that was for rent. The kind of power it would take to pull off an illusion of this magnitude on a jinni wasn't possible. What was that guy and what did he know? Though it was too late, I wondered if he could tell me whose feelings were in my mind.

  I picked up the stool I’d been sitting on—the only piece of furniture in the place—and smashed it against the wall. I hated this convoluted bullshit. I hated not being in control and not knowing what I needed to do. Fuck this, I didn't need it. Olivia was gone and no one had a hold over me. I would finish up with Marge then I was out of here, I had a region to run.

  Seventeen

  I thought about what O
livia could do all the time. She saw human souls and could pick out ones in need—she was amazing. I didn’t know if the elders could even do that. The difference she could make was staggering. She was a shining star of hope in a world that was in very real danger of losing all hope. Guardians always fought an uphill battle; our job wasn’t easy. As people became more jaded and guarded, they were harder and harder to guide—but now we had her. She had new methods she could teach us, she had new abilities she could share, and she desired to do both. She would change everything.

  A smile spread over my face as I lay in bed, imagining all of the wonderful things she would do and I would witness. I hated having to tell her no, but I needed to get her through the training and Ezra out of my hair before I gave her the freedom to do as she pleased. All I had to do was keep her from going back to him.

  Just the thought of Holden evaporated the smile from my face. It concerned me that she wouldn’t talk about him. Every night I half expected to wake up in the morning and find that she’d left, run right back to him as she had before. I couldn’t understand the draw. He was a murderer and a jinni—both should have been enough to assure her repulsion.

  This morning I was once again convinced she was gone, and it took everything I had to not open her door and check. Instead, I waited in the kitchen staring in the direction of her room. Olivia, eventually, shuffled out, her hand covering a large yawn.

  “Morning.” She rubbed her eyes and sat in a chair, pulling her knees up under her chin.

  “Good morning!” My voice betrayed my happiness at her still being here. She shut her eyes and yawned again. “Did you sleep well?”

  She grimaced. “Fine.”

  I figured this was about Holden. Every awkward moment was generally about him in some way. Olivia’s moods had evened out some, but Holden was still an extremely touchy subject. I didn’t know what to say or what questions I could ask without making her storm off or shut down, so I focused on what I did know. “Today I’ll teach you how to transport.”

  Her eyes opened and something resembling interest sparked in them. “You mean we’re finally done with nudging? Praise the Lord!” She rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Let’s start.”

  It was good to see her excited about something guardian related. Our occasional night of human fun was the only thing that brought her out of her shell, and I loved seeing her happy and so alive. “Don’t you want breakfast?”

  “Oh. Um, sure, I guess.” She came into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of bread and a small glass of orange juice, then boosted herself on to the countertop. “So tell me what I have to do.”

  “We can start when you’re done, no rush. We have forever.”

  She tore off a chunk of the bread and plopped it into her mouth. “I can listen while I eat. No need to waste time.”

  I shook my head, but consented. “It is really a rather simple concept. Basically you focus on the address the same way you focused on changing your clothes this morning. If you have been there and you can picture the location along with the address, it helps get you closer. If I am going to a new location, I’ll normally make it within a couple blocks of where I need to be, but if I’m coming home, I can show up in my apartment.”

  “So once I focus my energy and picture and think of the address, then what? How do I go there?”

  “You disperse. You have to come to grips with the fact that your body isn’t the way it used to be. You look the same because that’s the image of yourself that your soul carries with it, so it’s how you put yourself together. But you do not have an actual body. You are light. All you have to do is release the hold.”

  She chewed on her bottom lip and rubbed her hand over her arm. “I have skin. I can feel it beneath my hand. Is that just because I believe I can? Is it not actually there?”

  “No, you have skin because you created it. Just like the clothing you are wearing. It is real—it can be torn or damaged—but it was created with light.”

  “I don’t understand any of this.” She picked up a steak knife out of the drainer next to the sink and twirled it in her fingers. “If I cut myself, will I bleed?”

  I shook my head. She raised an eyebrow, then dragged the knife down her arm.

  “Olivia!”

  Pain twisted her face, and she watched light gleam from the slice. “This is so weird.” She looked up at me. “It stings.”

  “You just wounded your soul, probably not the best idea.”

  “Huh. Should I get a Band-Aid or something?”

  “You can mend it.”

  The skin stretched and braided itself back together as she stared with wide eyes. “This is so not right.”

  “But you do it so well.” I laughed.

  “How exactly are we killed?” she asked, still staring at her arm in horror.

  “Not the most uplifting of subjects.”

  She finally tore her eyes from her arm. “But I want to know.”

  “A soul can only take so much damage before it cannot repair itself. We are resilient, but not undefeatable. Imagine having pieces of your body sliced off, like being peeled, until you lost so much of your essence you could not go on. It could take days, weeks even, depending on how strong the soul is. That’s what it would be like. Do you understand?”

  Olivia looked away. “I think I have a vague idea.” She hoped off the counter. “Let’s do this.”

  “So do it. I told you how. Give it shot.”

  “Where should I go?”

  “Go to your room.”

  “Is there an address for that?”

  “You know it well enough. Just picture it.”

  Her eyes closed, her cheeks twitched, and light surrounded her, but she didn’t move from the room. “It’s not working,” she complained.

  “You’re not dispersing.”

  “I’m trying, but…”

  “You put yourself back together multiple times. It’s the same thing, just opposite.”

  “But I don’t know how I do that—it just happens.”

  And so it went for days. She stood in the kitchen, trying to transport no more then twenty feet. We tried different exercises, discussing what she needed to do, and I even transported with her so she could pay attention to how she came back. Each time we transported, she came back together faster and faster, but she made no progress with pulling herself apart. Olivia didn’t give up. I doubted she even slept. She was consumed with figuring out how to transport. I never saw anyone throw themselves into something with the determination she had. It was amazing and a little concerning.

  I tried to talk her into taking a break, but she flat out refused. Weariness ground her down as each day passed. Her face began to look drawn and stretched, and her temper was nearer to the surface, as her attempts grew weaker.

  “Just let everything go,” I snapped at her.

  “You aren’t helping!”

  “What’s holding you back? Why can’t you do this?”

  “Just leave me alone, let me work on it.”

  “It’s Holden, isn’t it?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Just say his name, Olivia. Holden. Tell me Holden isn’t what’s keeping you from doing this rudimentary task.” I moved closer and closer to her, speaking calmly, though the air around us was thick with Olivia’s unrest. She shook her head and looked away. “Say it.” I hoped goading her would push back her walls, force her to let go.

  “Leave me alone!” she shouted, but I advanced.

  “You want to get away? Then transport. Or are you afraid Holden wouldn’t like it? How is he constraining you?”

  “No.”

  I grabbed her by the shoulders. “How would he feel about me touching you? How would Holden feel if I—”

  Light filled the room and blinded me. When it receded, Olivia was gone. I went to her room, but she wasn’t there either. Crap.

  Eighteen

  I didn’t know why Quintus was being such an ass. I was trying. It wasn’t like I didn’t want t
o transport, but I just couldn’t let go the way he insisted I needed to. I knew exactly where it would take me if I did. It didn’t matter what I was thinking of, only one place was constantly on mind, and I didn’t want to go back there. I tried everything I could think of to get that image of home out of my head. I didn’t sleep or rest. All I did was work night and day until I was completely fatigued and frustrated. Suddenly Quintus was challenging me and moving closer and closer. Then he had me in his grasp and the only thing I could think of was getting away. I did it without even trying. One second Quintus’s face was dangerously near mine and the next I was standing in my apartment. My feet were in the same spot I’d sat that night. I stared at the floor thinking I should be able to see the blood. The place I’d taken my last breath should be marked in some way. Tears filled my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. I looked towards the door. My gaze caught on the rafter where Juliet died.

  I heard shuffling in the bedroom. It wasn’t my apartment anymore. I couldn’t stay. I tried to transport, but nothing happened. More movement came from the bedroom. Concentrate, Liv, concentrate. Breaking and entering isn’t anonymous.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will myself out of the room. But nothing happened. The floorboard by the bedroom door squeaked. The handle turned. “Shit!” I pushed out with every cell, wanting to go anywhere but here.

  Quintus’s apartment faded in around me. I bent down, hands on my knees. I did it. I could do it! I let my breath slow. I survived. I went home and survived. I was strong. It didn’t break me to see where Holden killed me or where Juliet died. I could do this.

  “Where’d you go?” Quintus’s calm voice came from the living room.

  “Home” was on my lips, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Not going home was one of the few rules Quintus had given me. “To the beach.”

  “Huh.”

  I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not. I tried not to look guilty as he came into the kitchen.

  “I was worried about you.”