Divide

by Russo, Jessa

  Donovan tsk-tsked as he tossed another log into the fire. “Calm, Mother.”

  “I don’t even know how long it’s been, and I have had to endure every single one of her mind-numbing reincarnations. As if putting up with her the first go ‘round wasn’t torture enough!”

  “Oh my God. You’re—”

  “Ding ding ding! We have a winner, folks! The little harlot has finally figured it out! Yes.” She spun in a slow circle and then curtsied. “I am exactly who you think I am, though you don’t remember me.” She stood, squaring her shoulders and resting her hands on hourglass hips. “Unfortunately,” she sneered. “I remember you.”

  “You’re the witch who cursed my family.”

  “Yes. And no. See, I cursed you, not your family, not your descendants. You. You have to come back over and over again, reliving this same nightmare, always with the same horrid ending. The beautiful girl turns to stone at the end of this story, see. Every. Single. Time.”

  Donovan kicked his black boot into the fire, and the flames rose, sending a few wayward sparks into the air. The woman—his mother—stepped back hastily, her eyes going wild before she quickly returned her narrowed gaze to me.

  “And the rage?” I asked, probing to get to the bottom of this and anxious to stall as long as I could. I had yet to devise a plan of escape, and now I had two psychopaths to deal with. “Why the rage, the anger? To punish me?”

  She leaned forward, eyes blazing. “To make you everything you never were, the opposite of what he saw in you. I take your kindness and turn it to rage, your calm to chaos.”

  “Why? I don’t get it. Why do you want to relive this a thousand times?”

  She shrieked then, an ear-piercing wail that reminded me of a toddler throwing a tantrum in the middle of a department store. She crossed the cave, giving a wide berth to the fire, then knelt down to bring her eyes level with mine. Her hands tugged at her orange hair, and up close, I saw just how wild her eyes really were. And brown. They were definitely brown now. But how could that be?

  Magic. The word whispered across my mind. Magic. Of course.

  She shook her head, quick, curt movements that shook her curls. Her lips twisted into a deep scowl, distorting her pretty face. “I can’t let you win. Don’t you see?” Her breath was hot, and spittle flew with each word. I cringed as she continued, her voice shrill and painful in my ears as it bounced off the barren cave walls. “I can’t let you win! I can’t! I won’t! So I will find new ways to torture you every time you come back. Because your existence tortured me.”

  As her words sunk in, my chest tightened with a mixture of feelings. I feared the worst for myself, but something about this story caused an annoying flare of sympathy deep down in my chest. That this witch—this woman—had been so tormented for so long…what a horrible life.

  “I feel sorry for you.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop myself, and I instantly regretted them. My eyes widened, and I struggled to scoot back, but I had nowhere to go. Cold, stone walls stretched up and around me on all sides, and I could move to either side only a foot or two with these rope restraints.

  I barely registered the movement before the sting of her palm radiated through my cheek. My head flew to the right, knocking into jagged rocks. Pain swelled in my forehead on one side, my cheek on the other. Wetness dripped down from my hairline, warm and thick. Blood.

  Donovan laughed. My head throbbed.

  “Don’t you dare.” She bent so her emerald eyes were even with mine, then smiled a hungry, menacing grin. Green eyes again? What the hell? “Don’t you dare pity me, you insufferable toad. I have watched you fall in love, watched the men who loved you fall to pieces in your absence, watched the families mourn your loss, more times than I can count. Do not feel sorry for me, child. My revenge has been plenty, and always sweet.”

  Wait. Her words triggered a fresh wave of questions in my mind.

  If I’d loved in these past lives, why hadn’t the spell been broken? And, if she’d watched my family mourn with each of my deaths, then, had they known what became of me? Had they seen the statues each time?

  “Wait. How can you—?”

  “No,” she snapped. She crossed the cave, again giving the fire plenty of room when she passed, then sat down beside Donovan on the far side. As the light of the flames reflected on her skin, casting a fiery glow on her already vibrant auburn hair, she glared. Without tearing her gaze from me, she reached for two long pieces of metal, both of them pointed at the ends, and glinting in the light of the fire. She set them in her lap and reached for a ball of colorful yarn—wait a minute. You’ve got to be kidding me. Knitting needles? She was going to knit right now? I would have laughed at the absurdity of it, had the fleeting image of those needles sticking out of my neck not flashed through my mind. “You don’t get to ask questions.”

  “Really? You won’t answer my questions while we sit here, waiting for God knows what?”

  “No. You get nothing.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

  Donovan’s lips pulled into a smirk, then he looked over at her. “I told you she had a dirty American mouth.”

  “Bite me, Donovan.” He grinned, so I returned my attention to his mother the witch. “You won’t give me even a few answers before you kill me?”

  She looked up from whatever knitting project she played with in her lap, a smile pulling at her lips. “Listen to you, so much sassier than you’ve ever been before. I like this modern you.”

  “Awesome. So. Back to the questions.”

  “Fine. You get three questions. Make them count. It’s the least I can do while your lifetime ticks away before your eyes.”

  “Again.” Donovan winked at me, then they shared a laugh at my expense. I hoped that whenever I devised an escape plan, it included some epic way to inflict harm on them.

  Donovan raised his eyebrows. “Careful, love. Wouldn’t want to bring Beasty out just yet.”

  I felt the urge to strangle him, and my fists clenched in my lap—without my consent. A movement that did not go unnoticed.

  “Nah ah ah.” The witch waggled a knitting needle in the air. “Donovan’s right. It isn’t quite time for that, dear.”

  I closed my eyes and inhaled a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself. Finally, I opened my eyes again, bringing my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around my legs, thankful the ropes allowed that much movement. With my ankles knotted together, I’d have a hard time running, but I had to find a way. Had to escape. I tugged a bit at the restraints on my wrists, trying to see how loosely they were tied to the wall, but the witch cleared her throat, and I looked up.

  She shook her head.

  Fine. “Okay. First question. And I might add that I also want answers. Truthful answers.”

  The witch winked at me, then urged me on with a slight flick of her wrist. “Go on, then.”

  “Each time I was reincarnated…if you watched my family mourn my loss each time I…died…where did they think I’d gone? Did they know I turned into a statue? Is there a Briggs family statue garden somewhere that I don’t know about?”

  She raised her eyebrows, then glanced at Donovan, whose gaze never wavered from mine, then returned her attention to the knitting project she worked on, a smile on her face. “Oh, dear. Are you confident you want those to be your three questions?”

  Three questions? Damn. She had me there. I needed to focus and condense my questioning. “No. I’ll rephrase.”

  “That was your only warning.”

  Donovan kicked at the fire again, and the woman’s eyes widened before she shot him a disapproving glare. What’s her deal with fire?

  “When you watched my family mourn my death, what did they think happened to me?”

  There. That seemed to cover all the bases.

  “Oh! That’s the fun part! They never know what happens to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The witch looked up and tilted her head, ackno
wledging that I’d just wasted another question.

  “Oh, come on!” I shouted.

  She laughed, a soft cackle that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “Fine. I’ll give you that question as a freebie. Because I like you more than I have in years past, and—as tragic as it is—I think my boy is sweet on you.”

  Go me.

  I met Donovan’s gaze and he licked his lips.

  My stomach tilted. I imagined projectile vomiting on them, à la Exorcist.

  “Sometimes,” she began, leaning toward the flames and pulling my attention back to her wicked green eyes. “Sometimes, you leave a suicide note. Sometimes, you just disappear without a trace—”

  “Sometimes you leave with me.”

  “Don’t interrupt, son.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Donovan winked at me. I ignored him, focusing on his words. And their implication. If he was involved in all this, more than just this time around, how old was he? How many years had he been forced to live this life at his mother’s disposal?

  The witch snapped her fingers, and I realized I’d been locked in a silent battle with Donovan. His brow was furrowed as he held my gaze.

  “Once,” the witch continued, “you were lost at sea! That was the best one yet! You’d never left the shore, the silly fools!” She laughed again, throwing her head back as the giggle fit consumed her. “You weren’t even fond of the water!” She was barely able to speak with the amount of laughter that spilled from her.

  An article I’d read on Mick’s desk drifted through my mind, and I knew the witch had spoken the truth. I’d read about the girl who’d hated the water, then one day boarded a ship with her lover and left, never to be seen again.

  I glanced at Donovan. Had he been the lover?

  “Moving on.” I tried to shake the image of that girl’s face—my face—from my mind, along with the idea that I’d done more than just accidental kissing with Donovan in one or more of my past lives. I closed my eyes again, pushing the irritation away with each deep breath I took. I rubbed my thumb over the heart ring Cam had given me back when I’d left the hospital after my incident. I needed his strength. “You mentioned that you’ve watched me love, and watched as the men who loved me mourned my loss. If that’s so, then why has the spell never broken? Isn’t love the way to end the curse?”

  “Those are your last two questions.”

  Good grief. I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Those are the most important questions anyway.”

  The witch smiled as she placed her knitting needles aside, then stood. She made her way around the fire, again with the exaggerated way she maneuvered around it. She squatted down in front of me, bringing her face within inches of mine. She ran her fingers down my cheek

  “‘Isn’t love the way to end the curse?’” she mimicked me. “Love. Sweet, innocent love. What do you think this is, Princess, a Disney movie?”

  She laughed as she pulled her arm back, her fingers curling into a fist. I realized what she was about to do just seconds too late—not that I could have done anything anyway constrained the way I was. Her knuckles connected with my cheek, producing a loud crack that echoed through the hollow cave.

  “Mother!”

  As my head lulled to the side, and my eyes closed from the force of the impact, I heard one last revelation before I succumbed to the darkness that claimed my consciousness.

  “Fool,” she spat. “Love can’t break the spell.”

  And with that one, simple truth, I passed out…knowing I would never be freed from this cursed fate. There was no way to break the spell.

  Certainly not love.

  Mick

  Our boots crunched in the snow, the thudding of our heavy footsteps the only sound we’d heard for miles now. We were too far from any other cabins, or a road, to hear much else. Cam kept pace right behind me, with Ro by his side, and to Ro’s credit, she hadn’t even complained once. I knew how cold she must have been, but she knew how much this trek meant for me, and for Holland’s safety.

  If left too long, and Holland had another outburst, she risked changing for good. And if that happened…

  I couldn’t think about that. There were no what ifs in this. There was either me saving her, or nothing. Because if I didn’t save her, she wouldn’t make it out of this forest alive. There’d be a statue of a beautiful girl, forever memorialized in the pristine forest surrounding Big Bear Lake. No one would know where it came from, or how it got there, or why. No one would know that my heart had frozen with hers the day the statue appeared in the middle of the forest.

  “Come on, you guys,” I urged. “We’re running out of time. I can feel it.”

  “Where are we going?” Ro asked. “We haven’t seen any tracks, and there’s no way they could have flown—”

  “Just trust me! Please!”

  I’d already told her—I knew we were going the right way. How I knew was unclear. But I knew. I felt Holland. Our connection was strong, regardless of the doubts I’d allow to creep in; I knew I travelled in the right direction.

  More importantly, I knew it wasn’t too late.

  Yet.

  Maniacal, female laughter stopped us dead in our tracks. It reverberated off the forest walls, bouncing off the tree trunks and echoing for what felt like forever in our ears. The three of us stood frozen in place, our bodies hunched as we searched the surrounding forest for the source of the sound.

  At first, I thought I was imagining things, maybe the three of us had frozen out here and shared hallucinations, or maybe they were in one of my own delusions…but then something snapped inside me, and puzzle pieces clicked into place. I knew what it was. Who it was.

  “No.”

  “What?” Ro asked.

  “Donovan is working with the witch,” I stated calmly. How had I not figured that out sooner?

  “What?” Ro and Cam said at the same time.

  “Donovan is working with the witch,” I repeated. “The one who cursed us.” Somewhere inside me, I’d known all along. Hadn’t they?

  Without waiting for a response, I took off in the direction I felt pulled to go, knowing that with each step I grew closer to finding Holland, and she grew closer to changing for the final time.

  Why else would Donovan and the witch have brought her out here, secluded in a winter fortress of snow and ice, hidden away from the one person who could save her?

  Away from me.

  Holland

  I came to minutes or hours later. Donovan paced the length of the cave, his shoes wearing a path in the dirt. I slowly pushed up to a sitting position, tilting my head to search his face. His eyebrows were drawn down over his eyes, his jaw moving from side to side, like his teeth ground.

  Was he thinking the things I’d wondered? Possibly reevaluating his devotion to this horrible woman?

  “You know she’s punished you, too,” I whispered when he paced close to me again.

  He stopped abruptly, then squatted in front of me, dark eyes narrowed and calculating. “Don’t speak of things you do not know, love.”

  “Donovan? Is she awake, dear?”

  “Yes, Mother.” He stood, his gaze holding mine as he did, then turned to join her beside the fire once more. He leaned against the far wall of the cave, arms crossed over his chest.

  I continued to stare at him. He was the key to my escape. I just knew it. I had to make him see—

  “Well, then. So nice of you to join us. Now that we’ve humored you—generous on our part, I might add—and you’ve had your little catnap, all I have to do is wait for you to have one of your episodes, and then I’ll have another trinket to add to my collection.”

  She grinned. I scowled.

  “I won’t do it.”

  “You won’t do it?”

  “No. I won’t lose control. I can’t just turn it off or on like a light switch.”

  The woman laughed, tossing her head back the way Donovan had in Mick’s room. She walked a few paces away from me, toward what I�
�d gathered was the mouth of the cave, judging by the icy winds whirring in from that direction. She returned a heartbeat later, a wicked smile on her face, pulling at her skin and distorting her features.

  When she approached the fire, an idea blossomed in my mind and, since I had nothing to lose…

  “Fire!” I shouted. “Look out for the fire! It’s spreading!”

  The witch jumped, whipping around to face the threat, only to discover the same old campfire that had been there the whole time. She quickly scanned the room, then locked me in her emerald gaze, her face pulling into a mask of anger.

  But it was enough to confirm her fear.

  “What are you playing at, girl?”

  I smirked, feeling slightly less helpless, even though my teeth chattered angrily and I’d lost feeling in my toes and fingertips.

  If I devised some brilliant plan, would I even be able to walk out of here?

  The witch tilted her head, then turned back to the front of the cave. “I think you’ll be able to flip that switch soon. Donovan, dear, go greet our guests.”

  “What?” I snapped my gaze to the gaping mouth of the cave, but it was empty, save for Donovan’s retreating form.

  “Holland!” Mick’s voice echoed through the icy air, the sound of it music to my ears. He’s here.

  The witch leaned back against an incline in the cave wall that resembled a chair and crossed her hands in her lap. “Ooh! This is going to be so much more fun than last time! I just know it!”

  Mick entered the cave, with Cam and Rosemarie not too far behind. My heart skipped a beat when I saw them. My saviors. They all came to an abrupt stop, and each of them assessed the situation, their gazes quickly flicking all over the small cave. But where was Donovan?

  After evaluating our surroundings, Mick’s gaze finally landed on me, and he sighed, relaxing his shoulders the slightest bit. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded. I was half-frozen, but otherwise unharmed. “Donovan’s right behind you somewhere. He just left to find you guys.”

  Cam straightened his shoulders. “I’ve got it.” He turned to leave, and my heart dropped to the floor.