He put his hands on the hood and leaned on it a little. He felt like he could barely breathe.
This shouldn’t be a surprise. How many times had she tried to push him away? How many times had she told him she wanted to handle this on her own? When she did let him in, it was mostly because he pushed.
He looked toward his house, not really seeing it. He thought back to the conversation he’d had with Bryce and Layla before everything had gone off the rails again. Bryce had told him that he needed to figure out who he was when he wasn’t trying to save Sophie.
He’d argue that it was more. He didn’t know what it was like not to love her, not to want her. He didn’t know who he was without Sophie, period. Maybe once he had, but probably not. Even when she hadn’t been here, he’d been thinking about her. Dreaming of her. Missing her.
She’d been married. She’d been in love with someone else. She’d had a whole life that had nothing to do with him, and if Evie hadn’t died and left her everything, right when she’d needed it, Sophie wouldn’t have found her way back to Copper Falls.
Sophie would consider that as further evidence that the curse had pre-ordained them. Evie had left her everything, when he was living here, when there was a chance that they’d find their way back to one another.
He considered it good luck. The kind of luck that you don’t throw away and don’t think about too much, because if you do, it reminds you that it could have gone the other way just as easily. She might never have walked back into his life. He might have never had this second chance with his first love. His only love.
He glanced toward her house. This was more than curses. This was real, whether she believed that or not. But, clearly, she didn’t feel the same. He didn’t know what to do about that just now, and whether he felt like it or not, he actually did have work to do.
“You look like you’ve spent the past two hundred years watching and then having to relive seeing some other bitch having the only man you’ve ever wanted,” Esme sneered at her when she walked in the back door of Sophie’s cabin. “Oh, wait, that’s me.”
Sophie glared at her. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Neither am I, princess, but here we are. Where’s Calder? The thought that he might be here was the only thing that got me here today.”
“He’s working,” Sophie muttered.
“You’re fighting, huh?” Esme asked, grabbing a coffee cup and pouring a cup of the coffee Sophie had brewed. Tea wasn’t cutting it today.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You’re an idiot.”
Sophie heaved a deep sigh, trying to tamp down her irritation. She was annoying, but she was helping. “Let’s get to work.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Right.”
“Maybe it was him who did something,” Sophie said.
“Not with you looking as guilty as you do, it wasn’t. I mean, really. What more can you do to the man? He walks in on what he thinks is you screwing someone else, he spends months thinking you let Jack fuck you, and he’s still by your side. If I thought less of him, I’d call him whipped, but I don’t think that’s it.”
Sophie stayed silent, and Esme shook her head.
“You’re a real bitch, you know that, right? Just like her.” She took a sip of coffee and grimaced. “This coffee is shit.” She set the cup down. “She didn’t appreciate what she had, either. Always finding some reason to doubt him, to try to push him away.” She tilted her head. “Maybe it’s too much time spent in the Light that’s to blame for that.”
“What do you mean?” Sophie asked, then wanted to kick herself for encouraging Esme’s nuttiness.
“All that time, focused on being good, on sacrificing to stay in the Light’s good graces. And then you find something, someone, you want more than even the Light. And there’s nothing that will keep you from him. And then you have him, and you realize that you turned your back on being a good little Light witch to have him. You put your carnal desires first, and the only worship that matters anymore is the way he worships your body. So much guilt, eh, princess? And the thing is, you know that if you had it all to do again, you’d turn your back on the Light in a second.”
“I never turned my back on anything.”
“Right. I’m Shadow and it’s all I’ve ever been, but I’ve seen enough. The Light is all about sacrifice and calm. Reason. There is no place for passion there.”
“I think you’re getting us confused with the Jedi or something,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes.
Esme smirked. “Where the fuck do you think they got the idea from? You bitches preach control and sacrifice, and you spend your whole lives trying to be good enough for the gift the Light has bestowed upon you. And the second you fuck up, the Light abandons you. So maybe you can’t just be happy because all you know is to feel guilty for the passion you feel for something other than the Light.” She took another gulp of coffee. “But what do I know? I’m just a two hundred-year-old witch who’s spent my entire life surrounded by assholes like you.”
Esme was crazy, but she was right about something: other than Marshall, Esme had been around longer than anyone Sophie knew.
“Do you think the curse is the reason I want him?” Sophie asked quietly.
“You’re an idiot,” Esme said again.
“Can you just answer the goddamn question without the insults, please?” Sophie snarled.
“Are you seriously suggesting that that man, the man who is still by your side after all the shit you put him through, that big, blond, blue-eyed bundle of deliciousness, isn’t worth wanting all on his own?”
“That’s not what I’m—”
“Are you stupid or something?”
“I’m asking if the curse had anything to do with it. I’ve wanted him since the first time I laid eyes on him. We were kids.”
“Well, I want him too. Every one of my sexual fantasies stars him or Luc, and sometimes both.”
“Oh, God,” Sophie groaned, rubbing her hands over her eyes.
“Seriously. The ones where I’ve got both of them thrusting—”
“Can you stop now?”
“Big bear shifter dick everywhere—”
“Esme!”
Esme sighed. “My point is, I’m not part of your dumbass curse. And I’d still fuck him blind if I had the chance to.”
“Jesus. How did Migisi not kill you back then?” Sophie muttered.
“I never talked to her unless I absolutely couldn’t help it. And I would do the same with you, but we don’t have that luxury. So are we going to talk all day or should I try to teach you how to be a little less worthless when Marshall finally does come for you?”
“You’re so inspiring,” Sophie said wryly.
“You want inspiration, go talk to one of your Light thralls. Oh, wait. None of them will talk to you now that you’re Shadow. Such generous, warm people.”
“Enough,” Sophie said.
“Fine. Let’s go outside. I don’t want to break your house, and after the idiocy you just displayed, I hate you a little more.”
Chapter Eleven
Every muscle, every bone in Sophie’s body hurt. Her head pounded, and she was pretty sure she was going to throw up.
Again.
“You’re going to have to do a hell of a lot more than make a shield when he comes for you now,” Esme was lecturing. “Before, he still wanted you. Now all he wants is to end you.” She waved her hand, a quick flick of her wrist, and Sophie went flying again, tossed about ten feet through the air. She landed, quickly pulled herself up, then tried the same thing against Esme.
“Ooh. I felt a little push that time. Was that you or was it the wind?” Esme asked. Sophie saw her moving again and put up a shield just in time. At least that prevented her from getting tossed around like a human soccer ball.
“Shields, again? Really?” Esme asked.
“I can’t fight back if I’m constantly pic
king myself up off the ground,” Sophie muttered. She held her shield, despite Esme’s criticisms, and focused on shoving the other witch aside. Esme stumbled a little, then gave Sophie a nod.
“Well. It’s something, anyway. Try it again,” she said.
Sophie took a breath. She felt an impact against her shield, Esme trying to knock her down again. Her shield held, though, and she knew she’d try to keep it up as long as she could. Shields were probably the one thing she was actually good at as a Shadow witch that she’d also been decent at as a Light witch. The magic to construct them was nearly the same, whether she made them with Shadow or Light powers. She glanced down at her clothing. Her jeans were stained with grass and mud, and there was a rip in the sleeve of the sweater she was wearing.
She focused her power and sent it toward Esme, who nearly fell over, finally. So close.
“Yeah, you’re totally going to kick his ass like this,” Esme said. “How can someone as strong as you be so utterly useless in simple battle?”
“I’m untrained. That’s why you’re here, remember?” Sophie asked through gritted teeth.
“Take a break,” Esme said, shaking her head. “You’re doing something wrong. Even untrained, you should have no trouble knocking me around. And I can’t train you to do anything that will actually hurt you until you at least gain some form of mastery of this. Everything else you could do to him builds on being able to throw your power around.”
“I tossed him through a window once,” Sophie said.
Esme studied her. “When was that?”
“Before I broke the curse. When I took it from Calder,” Sophie said. She glanced away. His name had her stomach twisting. The one good thing in her life, and she couldn’t even be sure about it anymore. She understood what both Calder and Esme had said about her concerns. But she felt like she’d been being pushed around and controlled by magic and curses her entire life. She was tired of it. And if the one thing she wanted most was something she only wanted because of a curse… how good could it really be?
Esme was still watching her. “I think your time in the Light has messed you up in more ways than just making you stupid,” she finally said.
Sophie rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. Ignoring Esme’s insults was also getting tiring. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“You were able to do this before. Easily, I’m guessing?”
Sophie nodded. She remembered Marshall catapulting through her living room window, landing on the other side of her driveway, near the woods.
“During the time you had his curse, though. So you were half-mad. You weren’t really thinking about it. Just reacting,” Esme continued.
“Yeah.”
“Without the madness his curse brought you, you’re thinking too much. You’re thinking about how you don’t want to be Shadow, about how you don’t want to use this dirty magic, about how Light witches don’t do this kind of thing. Even if you’re not aware you’re thinking about it, all of that shit is there.”
“Are you a mindreader now, too?” Sophie asked, pacing away a bit.
“I don’t need to be. It’s there in your face every time you use your magic. Like you smell something disgusting or something.”
Sophie shot a look at her, then glanced away.
“You don’t want to sully your pristine soul, because you think there’s still a chance of the Light coming back to you,” Esme sneered. “News flash, princess: it’s never coming back. The Light will never return to you. Ever. It doesn’t work that way. You’re unworthy, as far as it’s concerned. You were drawn to Shadow, and the Light doesn’t notice or care that it’s because you were cursed that way. It won’t be back.”
“I know,” Sophie said quietly.
“You know, but you still hope. And in this case, hope is not a fucking thing with wings. Hope will be the death of you and probably him, unless you get your shit together and get over it.”
“I’ve never been insulted by someone quoting Emily Dickinson before. That’s new,” Sophie said, looking up at the gray clouds above.
“I try to bring a little class to my insults. Sometimes, anyway,” Esme said. Sophie shook her head. “You need to work through this, and quickly. You still hope for the Light.”
“I’m a Light witch,” Sophie said. “You all… Shadow witches… you thrive on the power, on the destruction and pain you can cause. I read the same thing in Migisi’s journals. You want more, all the time. I don’t feel that way. I want to protect everyone. I want to have a peaceful, quiet life. I don’t feel any of the lust for power and control you all do. And I don’t think that’s just me hoping for the Light. I’ve had moments of feeling that way, chasing power. But it passes, and I’m always grateful when it does.”
“Then you’re going to die,” Esme said.
“I don’t need to be like you to survive. If I had to be like you, I think I’d rather be dead,” she added, kicking at the fence post nearby. Esme was uncharacteristically silent for a long time, and when Sophie looked back up at her, she was staring into space.
“Esme.”
“You think you know me, princess. You don’t know a goddamn thing,” she finally said. “You’ve spent your whole life hiding or running from him. You’ve experienced his wrath second-hand, through watching those you love die due to his machinations. Even then, they died quickly. Mostly painlessly. Here one instant, and gone the next.” She glanced at Sophie, met her eyes for an instant before looking away. “You think you know the worst he can do. You think you’ve lived through some shit. You have no idea. You’ve spent your life constructing wards and shields. You’ve never made a deal with the devil and paid the price. You think you’re better than me? All you are is weaker.”
Sophie stared at Esme. This little speech hadn’t been delivered in her usual acidic tone. She’d sounded almost like a normal person, but Sophie found herself wishing she’d used her usual tone. Sounding reasonable and calm made the actual words she’d said more threatening, somehow.
"I’m not weak.”
“Weakness always thinks it’s actually strength,” Esme said. “You haven’t fought him. He’s spent your entire life toying with you.”
The way she said it made Sophie’s stomach twist. “Did he do something to you, Esme?” she asked quietly.
“Something other than destroying the only person I’ve ever actually given a shit about, you mean?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Esme took a breath. “I mentioned yesterday that he became frustrated at the end. Nothing was happening as quickly as he wanted it to. I refused to try to kill Migisi.”
“Because that would have been suicide, and then you wouldn’t have been around to protect Luc,” Sophie said, remembering their previous conversation.
Esme nodded. “When I refused, he considered that a deal breaker. Remember, I’d agreed to help him, as long as he didn’t hurt Luc. At the time, ‘help’ had been spying on Migisi, occasionally pushing her closer to madness. The idea was always that if she lost her mind, she’d want Marshall, finally, instead of Luc. How fucked up is that?”
Sophie shook her head.
“So I refused to attack Migisi. In retaliation, he went after Luc.”
Sophie listened, watching Esme closely. “It was one of Luc’s saner periods. They were few and far between by the end. I’d taken to watching Marshall, knowing I’d pissed him off. And I was right. To punish me, and to push Migisi closer to the edge, he moved to attack Luc. I interfered, blocking the spell he’d directed at Luc, and then he and I fought. He was always a little stronger than me, but not much, which was why I hadn’t been compelled to join his coven originally.” She paused. “We fought, and to my shock, I beat him. I hurt him, badly enough that he was too weak to use his magic for a long time. It’s the only reason Migisi and Luc were able to live what was left of their lives in peace.”
Sophie watched her. The witch seemed far away, lost in memories.
“Years later, after Mig
isi and Luc were gone, when they were little more than a memory to most people around here, I was still mourning. I barely left my house. I guess that was the beginning of my hermit phase,” she said thoughtfully. “He’d destroyed Claire by then, but I didn’t know that at the time. Anyway. He found me. And he had regained his strength, and grown his coven, which made him even stronger. And he took me unaware.”
Sophie barely dared to breathe. She didn’t want Esme to finish this story, all of a sudden. Esme looked up and met her eyes. “I thought he’d kill me. I would have welcomed it, an end to it all. But I think he knew that. So he tortured me within an inch of my life, and let me come back, and did it again. And again, and again.”
Sophie watched as the air seemed to shimmer around Esme, and then she gave a little cry and took a step back. What stood in Esme’s place was nothing like the gorgeous, redheaded, curvaceous witch Sophie knew. A broken, twisted version of her stood there instead.
Esme’s eyes looked back at her, but nothing else was the same. Her body was hunched, emaciated, and looked like it would fall apart with nothing but a gust of wind. Her red hair, what was left of it, hung in thin strands from a mostly-bald head. Her pallor was gray, her skin like wrinkled parchment. The joints in her hand were knobby, swollen, her hands twisted into claws. Her clothing hung off of her the way it would hang from a hanger in a closet.
Sophie couldn’t say anything. Finally, she uttered, “Esme.”
“He knew I was vain. I still am. Some things never change.” Her voice was the same, her eyes the same. “He took my beauty from me, and left me this… shell. This husk.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What you’re used to seeing is a glamour,” Esme explained.
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