by Lily Velez
“Better,” I finally replied.
“By the way,” he said, his eyes taking in my bedroom, “why all the butterflies?”
I laughed a little. Apart from my pillows, butterflies also featured prominently throughout my room in pop-up wall decals, a few mosaic tiles displayed over my desk, and the spiral mobile hanging in a far corner.
“I’ve just always liked them,” I said. “I used to add marigolds to my garden in Colorado to attract them, and whenever they came, I’d marvel at them. I think they’re one of the most beautiful creatures.”
I paused for a moment, hesitating. What I was about to say next was something I’d never told anyone, but I wanted to share it with Jack. I felt like he’d understand.
“A few days after my mom passed away,” I said, “I was in that same garden, completely heartbroken, my tears falling nonstop. I asked my mom to send me a sign that she was okay, that she was at peace. Not a minute later, a butterfly fluttered out of nowhere and came right up to me. She landed on the back of my hand and stayed there for the longest time. Fresh tears came, but they were tears of joy. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that my mom, knowing how much I loved butterflies, had sent that one to comfort me.”
“I have no doubt about that,” Jack said, gently rubbing my arm with a soft smile. He glanced to a framed picture on my nightstand featuring me and my mom. “Is that her?” When I nodded, he picked up the picture and studied it. “She was beautiful, Scarlet. And you’re the spitting image of her. Your smiles are identical.”
I’d heard the comment countless times growing up, but coming from Jack, it was new and special and heart-warming.
A soft pitter-patter began outside as rain gently fell, striking the remaining autumn leaves of neighboring trees. Tap, tap, tap. The sound had become as familiar to me as my own heartbeat. The rain picked up quickly, the ground drinking it all in with an insatiable thirst.
I sighed. “You know,” I said. “It would be nice if there was just one day when it didn’t rain in Rosalyn Bay.”
“Months from now,” Jack said, “when the weather warms, we’ll take a proper drive through Ireland. You’ve only gotten to experience the endless gray skies and stormy weather. But when she’s fully dressed in all her summer splendor, Ireland’s the most beautiful country you could ever hope to see.”
Months from now, he’d said. As if his time weren’t up. As if there weren’t demons salivating at the chance to collect his debt. Maybe pretending otherwise, even if only for a few moments a day, is what helped him cope.
I’d play along. “Until then, I’d take almost anything over this constant rain. I’d even take snow.” I knew for a fact it was snowing in Colorado at this very moment.
“You’re serious.”
“I’m very serious,” I said with a little laugh. “I happen to have a lot of happy memories from snow days. My mom and I always used to build a snowman in the front yard during the first real snowfall of the year. I always thought the snow was so beautiful when it fell from the sky.”
Another smile from Jack. I was apparently on a roll tonight.
He glanced to the window, focusing on the rain. Within seconds, glistening, swollen beads of water floated into my bedroom. The raindrops spiraled around me and Jack before rising to the ceiling. There, they paused, time seeming to stand still for a moment.
And then the raindrops transformed all at once, and before I knew it, snow was falling all around us like powdered sugar. It was like being in the middle of a snow globe, a snow globe where only the two of us existed, forever sealed within this perfect, peaceful moment that made my heart swell with emotion.
At first, the snowfall was light. But soon, Jack shepherded more raindrops into the bedroom, and the moment they crossed my window ledge, they became furious flurries of snow rushing inside. They whooshed past us in large gusts that made me laugh, surrounding us in a whirlwind of white. All the while, Jack’s magic from before kept me warm, as if he’d built a fire at the center of my soul.
A few snowflakes landed softly onto Jack’s dark hair, melting away after mere seconds. The snow continued to dance all around us, but my eyes were only on him. The way he looked at me was so tender I could’ve melted right along with those snowflakes. I wanted to say something, and yet at the same time, I didn’t want to speak at all. I only wished to savor this moment, to commit it to memory.
When Jack’s gaze briefly dropped to my parted lips, my heart went wild, my pulse an untamable thing. He stepped closer to me, so close there was hardly any space left between us. He gently pushed a lock of hair behind my ear, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed once. I was almost sure I’d stopped breathing.
Then a loud crash exploded from downstairs.
I startled, blinking rapidly, as if waking from a dream.
No, not a crash. It was the sound of the front door slamming shut.
Jack and I looked out the window a moment later, and dread flooded my stomach.
My dad was on the move.
7
Scarlet
It was still raining as we crept through the woods, trailing my dad. With each step, my Wellington boots, or ‘Wellies,’ as they called them here, sank into the mushy earth and the wet mounds of dead leaves that carpeted the ground. My dad was moving impossibly fast, zipping through the woods like a hound on the scent. It was all we could do to keep pace with him.
“I’ve never seen him move like this,” I whispered as we climbed over a fallen tree.
I couldn’t imagine where my dad was taking us. I’d never explored the woods surrounding his home. I found myself wishing I had. I didn’t have the slightest notion what to expect from this excursion.
One thing was for sure, though. If banishing demons was my Mastery, this could very well end tonight. When the demon surfaced, and I felt that familiar heat coursing down my arms and pooling into my palms, I would send the demon straight back to wherever it came from without hesitation.
I checked my pocket to make sure the Hallowstone was still there. I’d recovered it from Crowmarsh earlier today when we’d decided it was the strongest hand we could play in this situation. Though my magic had come out in bursts in recent weeks, I still couldn’t do much without channeling magic from another witch or from a charmed object. The Hallowstone, though, would amplify my powers and help me direct them. Before long, this demon would realize it had messed with the wrong witch.
After a time, we arrived at a clearing in the woods.
“Over here,” Jack said, cradling my elbow and leading me over to an imposing tree. It was wide enough for us to hide behind and remain out of sight. It also still had half its leaves so provided reasonable protection against the rain.
Not that it mattered at this point. My raincoat was already soaking wet, and more than one raindrop had found its way inside the hood. Every time a chilly bead slid down my neck, I shivered.
I pulled the coat tighter around me and moved closer to Jack. The smell of him tickled my nose, practically drugging me. My stomach flipped once as I thought about what had almost happened between us earlier.
I couldn’t count the number of times I’d thought about kissing Jack since our worlds had first collided. I kept waiting for the perfect moment to happen, the anticipation like a quivering flame in my chest. While it wouldn’t be my first kiss, I knew it would be the kind that made anything else that had come before it completely irrelevant.
And I was ready for that. I had been drawn to Jack from the moment I’d first laid eyes on him at St. Andrew’s, and I liked to think there was more to it than just physical attraction. We’d been destined to cross paths that day. His mother had foreseen it, and Jack had believed her prophecy with unwavering conviction. So much had come to pass because of that one fateful moment.
No, our being together was hardly happenstance.
It had to be fate.
“Something’s happening,” Jack said, yanking me from my thoughts.
I
blinked and focused my eyes straight ahead. My dad stood in the middle of the clearing before a solitary standing stone made of obsidian, its edges and cuts jagged like broken ice. Though it wasn’t as big as the menhirs where witch persecutions had taken place in Rosalyn Bay, something about it still rattled my nerves, a coil of frost encircling my heart.
It didn’t bear the usual triskele on its face, the triple spiral that had been sacred to the druids and still was to their witch descendants. In fact, there were no triple spirals anywhere on the menhir. Instead, there were other symbols carved into its exterior.
“Seals,” I whispered.
“They’re like sigils,” Jack said. “The only difference is that a god created them.”
My dad started speaking. Ice instantly entered my veins. The voice wasn’t his own. It was thick, guttural. And it wasn’t speaking English.
“A demon tongue,” Jack explained.
Yes, some of the words I started to recognize from when Seamus had employed the same tongue during his Reaping. I had hoped to never hear the language again. Goosebumps sleeved my arms, and I shuddered down to my soul.
“What is he saying?”
Jack shook his head. “I can only make out a few words. The study of demon tongues is strictly forbidden among witch-kind. What’s known of them is locked away Elsewhere along with the Forbidden Spells. It would seem he’s summoning something forth, though. No doubt the next prisoner.”
I tried to swallow, but it was as if cotton lined my throat. The Dullahan had been enough of a terror, and something told me that even if the horseman had ridden straight off that cliff last night, he was far from dead. What was to succeed him? Would it be faster, stronger, deadlier?
There was a glint of metal as my dad produced a knife from his pocket. The blade was saw-toothed, and the handle was ivory, assuming the shape of a carnivorous animal’s jawbone. Kai had wielded a knife just like that, had said it was a weapon all demons brandished.
“What’s he going to do with that?” I asked, my heart already going double-time.
In one swift cut, the demon puppeteering my dad sliced the blade across my dad’s open palm, blood nearly as black as ink instantly spilling into his hand. Apparently, when the demon was in control, the body’s blood changed with it.
“Stop!” I stormed out of my hiding spot and into the clearing.
“Scarlet!” Jack grasped for my sleeve in passing but his fingers only closed in on air.
I knew Jack had wanted to observe and learn first. That was his way. Careful, precise. But the sight of the demon inflicting an injury against my dad was well beyond what I could tolerate.
The demon slowly turned toward me as my feet ate up the distance separating us. His lips curled into a sinister smirk, his eyes fully red and glowing. No, this wasn’t my dad at all. And it wasn’t just the wicked demeanor that said as much. It was in his unkempt hair and disheveled appearance. It was in the familiarity with which he held that knife and the predatory way he angled his body to put himself between me and the menhir.
“Scarlet Monroe, the last of her kind,” the demon greeted, inclining his head. “The goddess has chosen well.” His eyes skated past me. “And the notorious Jack Connelly.”
There was the sound of snapping twigs, and then Jack was beside me. His face, though fractured into sections by rivulets of rain, was carved from stone as he stood opposite the demon. He exuded strength, and it kindled my own courage.
I squared my shoulders and pushed as much threat as I could into my voice. “Get out of my dad’s body now before I make you get out.”
The demon blinked. He looked between me and Jack. Then he laughed. Full-out laughed.
I gritted my teeth. Seeing no point in issuing a second warning, I produced the Hallowstone from my pocket. Our connection was instantaneous. Heat seeped into my skin and coursed through me, the runes down my arms blinking to life one by one.
The Hallowstone was a blinding, white hot flash in my hand. I was unbounded. I was the goddess and every Daughter she’d ever chosen. Their fury and force mounted in my chest until it was like a sun nested in my core.
Jack had said no injury would come to my dad if I used my magic against him. The blast of power would simply evict the demon and leave my dad unharmed. With that in mind, I unleashed everything in me and flung a furious fireball of magic straight at the demon.
The demon flicked out his hand. The fireball froze inches from his person.
I stared, unmoored. He shouldn’t have been able to do such a thing.
Eyes pinned on me, the demon’s smirk deepened. Then he flung out his arm, swift and fierce, and the fireball flew back at me like a boomerang. It charged into me, a merciless battering ram, and a shockwave of magic exploded from the impact with such force that birds shot from the canopies of neighboring trees.
I soared back several yards, landing half in a puddle with a vicious slam. Winded, I struggled for air as I clawed at the mud to right myself, rain streaking down my face. I reached for the Hallowstone, its facets smeared with sludge.
It shifted slightly, angling away from me.
Strange…
I reached again. This time, it sped away, sailing into the air—and right into the demon’s hand.
No!
My heart faltered, screeching to a shuddering halt.
Jack called down several currents of lightning, our faces aglow in their brilliant blazes. The demon but snapped, and the bolts exploded into sizzling embers that drifted away in the wind.
Jack threw out a palm toward the demon, but with only a look, the creature parried, and Jack’s hand caught on fire. He hissed and yanked his hand back, beating it against his coat until the flames abated.
The demon wearing my dad’s face roared with laughter. “Your powers are utterly useless against me!”
“Who are you?” Jack demanded.
The demon grinned. It made me think of a wolf baring its teeth before a deadly attack. “You may call me Alistair. I serve as a general in the Dark Lord’s armies. I’m of the highest order of demons.”
My chest tightened. Ignoring the aches in my body, I made my way back to Jack’s side, my eyes fastened to the Hallowstone. One of witch-kind’s holiest relics was now in the hands of a super demon. I had to get it back by all costs.
“A general who’s now hell-bent on breaking the Thirteen Seals of Balor,” Jack said. “Why?”
“Your kind’s fear of evil works so greatly to your disadvantage. You don’t study the dark prophecies closely enough. The release of The Vanquished was always destined to occur.”
“For what purpose? To simply terrorize the Sightless and witch-kind alike?”
“Hardly. Their cause is far grander than that. The prisoners are preparing the way.”
“Preparing the way for what?” I asked.
The demon’s smile grew so cold I could’ve caught frostbite from it. “For the Dark Lord’s ascension.”
I drew back slightly, as if stung. I didn’t know what the words meant exactly, but something in me responded to them, my stomach roiling.
Alistair’s eyes sparked with delight, relishing my reaction. “When the Dark Lord was exiled to the forsaken lands, the other gods bound him with the Thirteen Seals, barring him from ever being able to walk among men. The seals were kept here, in the mother country of Brigid’s beloved witches, where the gods believed they’d be safe from demonic hands. How ironic, that it should be one of Brigid’s own Daughters to grant me, the only demon powerful enough to break the seals, entry into this world.”
Scorching heat whipped through me. I hardly registered the rain anymore. I was equal parts ashamed and furious.
“The gods won’t stand for this,” I told him with a glare.
“I’m afraid they won’t have a say in the matter, will they? As omnipotent as they are, they’re powerless outside of their feast days. And you’ve already proven that not even the god-touched stand a chance against me.”
I wanted to
snatch the Hallowstone from his hand and prove him wrong. I wanted to deliver the cruelest blow of magic he’d ever witnessed and wipe the smugness from his face. I took a step forward, but Jack’s fingers immediately closed over my wrist tightly, stopping me.
Alistair’s grin was as devious as ever. “With every seal that’s broken, an unfathomable amount of magic and power is generated, tearing at the seams between your world and ours. It’s through this seam that the Dark Lord will pass, allowing him to finally walk among mankind, and at last rule them.”
“His reign will be short-lived,” Jack said. “It won’t be long before a god is able to come to our aid.”
“So you would believe,” Alistair said. “Unfortunately, they won’t be able to. We’ll force the strongest among your kind to build a ward of magic meant to forever keep the gods out.”
A quick, mirthless laugh escaped me. “And what makes you think any witch would agree to that?”
Alistair shrugged, his smile never wavering. “I find death to be a particularly powerful motivator. Especially when threatened against a loved one.”
“So the Dark Lord wishes to put a throne on the earth,” Jack said. “I imagine these ambitions didn’t materialize overnight. Why act now?”
“We had to wait upon our prophesied hero, the one whose birth would change everything.”
“And who is this ‘hero’ of yours?” I asked, ignoring the outright bastardization of the word. Heroes fought on the side of good. Unleashing hell on earth? You’d be hard-pressed to find such an act on a hero’s dossier.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Alistair’s lips twisted into another wicked smile as his eyes moved away from me. “It’s you, Jack.”
I was sure I’d misheard him. My eyes swung to Jack, but he was just as confused as I was.