Opposition

by Eliza Lainn

  “You infuriating woman,” Cyril growled.

  I jerked back from the fury in his tone, my head slamming into the wall behind me.

  Bronte had been lighting a candle nearby. She looked over at the thud, brow pinching in confusion. “Stella?”

  I rubbed at the back of my head, then glanced down the hallway. “I need a private moment, Charlotte. I’ll be in this room down here.”

  She frowned. “Rose doesn’t want you going off alone.”

  We both glanced over to Rose. She and Noah were side by side, lighting the candles Molly had put on the coffee table. Though they were close, they studiously avoided looking at one another.

  “I’ll be quick,” I assured her, already stalking down the hallway.

  Throwing open the last door to the right, I briefly registered that it was a bathroom, before I slammed the door shut and glared in front of me. “What the hell is your problem?”

  Chapter Twenty

  “You,” he growled, “and your incessant need to throw yourself into the most dangerous situations you can find are my problem, Stella. We are dealing with a demon.”

  “I know,” I hissed, sparing a thought for how thin the walls of this house were. Screw it. Let everyone hear if they wanted. I glared forward, from where his voice had come from. “I know we’re dealing with a demon, but there is a child out there scared out of her mind because of it. You heard her, Cyril, she was getting ready for this thing to kill her. No child should ever, ever, have to wrestle with that.”

  “A fact I can agree with, wholeheartedly,” he snapped. “But your answer to that problem is throwing yourself in front of her. You could be severely harmed by this demon. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, and you aren’t stopping to consider the consequences.”

  “They’ve been considered.”

  “No, you’re behaving recklessly.”

  “Because there’s a child on the line here.”

  He snorted. “Don’t use the excuse that you’re simply doing this to spare a child. You would rationalize saving anyone. Even a murderer.”

  “No,” I barked, “I wouldn’t.”

  “You did with me,” he snapped. “Or have you forgotten the gashes on your back?”

  I froze, stunned at his words, the admission hitting me like a slap across the face.

  Cyril must have realized what he’d said in his anger because he let out a heavy, wearied sigh after a beat of silence. I could almost picture it—could almost see him running his hands through his hair. Hanging his head. Shoulders sagging as the weight of what he’d just admitted settled over him.

  “You…you’ve killed someone?”

  It took him a moment to answer, and for that infinite moment of nothing and waiting, I thought he wouldn’t. “Yes,” he finally sighed, “I’ve killed someone.”

  “But…” I shook my head, scrambling for what to say, “but…no. They…they must have…”

  “Deserved it?” he finished for me bitterly. “You’ve met Oliver. Tell me, do you think he deserved what happened to him?”

  My legs felt like they’d been turned to jelly. I lowered myself onto the rim of the bathtub, my mind still trying to play catch-up. “Oliver?”

  “You must have wondered what had happened, to connect us both to a single item. Must have wondered how we’d died. But you, and Bronte both, were far too polite to ask.”

  “I…”

  “We were traveling together,” he continued, his voice taking on a distant, thoughtful melancholy. “We were both traveling from New Orleans to New York. During that time, it wasn’t unusual to spend days traveling such a vast distance. We had rented beds on the train in the same compartment, but we weren’t the only two in that particular compartment.”

  I stilled, not sure what to say or do. He sounded angry, sad, and shameful all at once. It gave his voice the overall feeling of wearied resignation, like he’d been so bitter, so upset about this for so long, he’d resigned himself to feeling this way about it forever.

  “The Green Man traveled with us.”

  “How?” I whispered, the word pulled from me in my utter shock.

  He laughed once, bitterly and confused. “I’d like to know the answer to that question as well. He was a quiet man, reserved, but intelligent. His skin was tinged green, and in the few private moments we had together, Oliver and I wondered how such an affliction had befallen him. But we never asked—it wasn’t something we thought we could do politely, so we didn’t.

  “He was an engaging conversationalist. Philosophical, obsessed with the anima of the soul. We spent a good chunk of the ride discussing theology, and some we spent on where the spirit goes upon death, the very nature of life. He was completely enamored with the concept of cheating death, believed that the departed sometimes lingered with us.

  “Still grieving as I was about the death of my younger brother, I didn’t listen as closely to his remarks as I should have. He all but admitted to having perceptions. At the time, I didn’t know what perceptions were, didn’t realize they walked hand in hand with abilities. Not until you, Bronte, and Noah, but back then, it had struck me odd, his obsession with death the thought of overcoming it. He spoke fanatically—and that I should have realized. Should have registered. Fanatics, zealots, ardent believers—sometimes, faith can be a dangerous thing.”

  Self-deprecation continued to seep into his tone, growing stronger as he continued. Unable to stand it anymore, I shook my head. “You didn’t know. None of us knew about perceptions and abilities until Noah. You can’t blame yourself for that.”

  “But I knew when he devolved into those tangents about life and death that he sounded…sounded…fanatical. That I picked up on, and I should have considered my instincts and removed both myself and Oliver from that compartment. But I thought him harmless. And against myself and Oliver, we would be able to defend ourselves. Despite the sometimes niggling feeling of fear in the back of my mind, I stayed. I stayed, and he proved my doubts correct.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He…” he took another moment, taking in a breath, “he left his body. His soul floated out of it. On the night before we were to reach our destination, the three of us talking together in the compartment, he said he would show us the merit of what he believed, and he delivered. I watched his soul, strikingly similar to how Oliver and I appear now, float out of its body and into mine. I could feel it filling me, rushing into every crack and crevice of my mind, the way you might fill a glass of water. And I became a passenger in my own body.”

  My hands flew to my mouth, disgust and despair rippling through me.

  Cyril continued, his tone leaking all emotion until he spoke blandly. “And I watched myself strangle Oliver. Felt the life leave him, watched the light dim in his eyes. I think the shock of it all mixed with the horror of what I’d just done, and for a moment, just a brief moment, I regained control.”

  “Cyril, you—”

  “I regained control long enough to pull out the revolver Oliver had brought with us and put it in my mouth.”

  I froze, throat clogging on a gasp, eyes growing hot and warm with tears.

  Emotion sparked in his voice. Anger. Regret. Guilt. “I killed my best friend and then killed myself before the bastard could resume control. I don’t know what happened after that. I don’t think I really had a memory of being this until years later, in a pawn shop. Of seeing a frightened child staring into my eyes. And Oliver screaming.”

  Cyril let out another heavy sigh. “Oliver had been, I’m not even sure of the word—cognizant, perhaps—much longer than I. He hadn’t understood what had happened, hadn’t remembered me killing him, thank God, but he was suddenly in a world where he was trapped in a shop he’d never seen before, ignored by everyone, unable to touch anything, unable to speak to anyone. And, heartless monster that I am, I am grateful that whatever powers connected us to the watch worked on both of us, because if I had had to spend all this time as a ghost, alone, I wo
uld have lost whatever remained of my sanity.

  “And the watch. That cursed, infernal, damnable watch. I had given it to him for his birthday—he had just turned thirty. He wore it proudly, happily, and the Green Man, when we first met him, the first words out of his mouth, were compliments on it. Now it’s killing you. I’m killing you. Just like him.”

  I jumped up. Not that I could see him, but I couldn’t sit on the tub’s rim, feeling the cold, unyielding porcelain underneath me. I needed to move, to comfort him, to give him a freaking hug—because he sounded like he needed one, needed some form of comfort.

  And I hated that I couldn’t give it to him. Could only talk to him. Couldn’t see him falling apart, couldn’t hug him as he did. I could only try and reassure him with words, and I knew that wouldn’t be enough.

  “None of that was your fault, Cyril, you have to know that. And you aren’t killing me, I’m—”

  “I knew your perceptions were deepening. I watched it happen, but being too greedy to do anything about it, I didn’t insist you relinquish the watch. I should have, especially after Sebastian warned what would follow. I should have done something. We’re at this point because I didn’t want to leave you.”

  “Cyril—”

  A knock came from the bathroom door, startling me. Rose’s stern voice floated through it. “I thought we decided you wouldn’t go off on your own.”

  “I’m in the bathroom,” I snapped, frustration at being so useless coloring my tone sharper than I intended. I took in a deep breath in the space of Rose’s startled silence and gentled my tone. “Give me a minute, Rose, please. Just a minute.”

  “Ok,” she whispered, concern radiating from the other side of the door. “Just…just holler if you need anything, I guess.”

  Her footsteps softly pattered down the hallway and I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Look, Cyril, I think—”

  Coolness touched my cheeks. Solid, substantial, I could feel his thumbs brushing back and forth just under my eyes. “I killed Oliver. I killed my brother. I won’t be responsible for your death, Stella, I won’t. When this is over, Rose is going to keep the watch.”

  “But—”

  “No,” he whispered. I felt his lips on my forehead, felt them move as he spoke. “This isn’t up for debate. If you won’t let the watch go, then I will have Noah force us onward. Your perceptions are deepening too rapidly. And I can’t be responsible for your death. Not…not you.”

  Then he pulled away. And even though I couldn’t see him, I knew he’d left me alone.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I stepped out of the bathroom, still reeling, and hating how all the pieces were suddenly clicking together. His fears about me being reckless, his trying to distance himself, being more willing than Oliver to cross over—all spawned from guilt. Guilt from what he’d done to Oliver. From what he saw happening to me. Guilt warring with the fear of being alone, unseen and unheard.

  “Everything ok?” Rose asked softly.

  I glanced up, startled to see her standing so close. I hadn’t heard her approach.

  “Fine,” I mumbled, shaking my head, trying to banish those thoughts. But they’d latched on, dug in like tics, and I couldn’t shake them loose. “Sorry, I’m just…”

  “It’s fine,” Rose said, holding up her hands. “What happens in the bathroom, stays in the bathroom. If you want to talk, I’m here, but you don’t have to if you’d prefer not to. Just wanted you to know—options.”

  I nodded. “Thank you, I—”

  The hallway light flickered off overhead.

  My gaze snapped up, latching on the light fixture in the middle of the hall, then at the candles someone had put on a thin table across from the bathroom door. Down the hallway, I could see the living room lights had turned off as well, submerging the room in a firelight darkness.

  Rose spun on her heel, marching back to the living room. “What happened?”

  Molly jumped up from the couch. She hurried around to my side, grabbing my arm, eyes wide in fear as she looked into all the dark corners of the room. “She’s coming. She’s coming. She’s going to—”

  “You’re going to be fine,” I slid my arm around her, pulling her into a half hug. She dug closer to my side, pressing herself into me, shivering. I looked to the others. “Please tell me this is a normal power outage.”

  Noah was at the living window, looking out through the curtains. “No. The houses across the street all still have power.”

  Molly whimpered.

  “It’s fine,” I said, squeezing her tighter. With my free hand, I dug into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone.

  Sebastian had been calling and texting nonstop. Sorting through the overabundance of missed calls, voicemails, and text messages, I found a text that said backup was headed our way. Over an hour ago. Relief washed over me, then fear plummeted through my gut. “I didn’t tell him where we were.”

  “I did,” Rose said, pulling out her own phone. She turned on the flashlight and looked around the room.

  “Where did you even get his number?”

  “Lifted it from your phone weeks ago, lover girl. Wasn’t too thrilled about me texting him, asking for exorcism advice, but I imagine he’s pretty damn happy about it now. His backup should be here in thirty minutes.”

  “Thirty minutes?” Molly whimpered. “That’s so far away.”

  “We can hold it off until then, don’t worry,” Rose said, giving her a forced smile. She wasn’t convincing anyone with a tight-lipped smile like that.

  “If you see it,” Cyril whispered from right behind me, “you have to tell me where it is.”

  And he would what? He couldn’t see it, couldn’t hear it, couldn’t touch it. None of them could.

  “Noah?” Rose whispered.

  “Already on it,” he answered, a barrier flashing through the room.

  “Oliver and Cyril,” I hissed, turning around, concerned they’d be pushed outside the perimeter of the barrier.

  The demon was at the end of the hallway. The soft light from the candles threw its shadow onto the bathroom door. She was still nothing more than inky blackness. No features. No face. Just darkness.

  I froze, the tension in my body turning me ice cold.

  It was staring straight at us. Even without its eyes, I could feel it watching me, studying.

  It cocked its head to the side.

  “What is it?” Molly whispered, turning to look behind me.

  I grabbed her tighter, preventing her from seeing it. “Nothing,” I whispered, not trusting myself to speak any louder. I needed to keep her calm. Keep her with me. Keep her safe. “I just…I don’t like the dark.”

  “What is it?” Cyril asked, not buying my fake calm. “Is it here?”

  Its head rotated slowly, cocking to the other side. Its neck bent at a ninety-degree angle, the side of its head pressed flat against its shoulder.

  I summoned as much power into my voice as I could. I reached inside me, using my fear, my panic, to spurn my ability on. I didn’t have its name, but that didn’t seem to influence my ability anymore.

  Thirty minutes. I just needed to make sure it couldn’t touch Molly for thirty minutes.

  “Don’t move,” I hissed.

  Power flooded my voice. For a moment, it was like the world froze. The chitter of crickets outside went silent, the sparking of flames in the fireplace stopped, the collective breathing of all the living people in the living room quieted. For a moment, everything was still, silent.

  Then it roared.

  It was a sound unlike anything I’d heard before. Primal, raw, furious. Head thrown back, neck elongated, it howled with an unworldly tone that sent an ancient fear skittering down my spine.

  Molly whipped around at the sound, her eyes meeting the demon.

  And she screamed.

  Then the candle in the hallway went out, hiding the shadowed demon in its darkness.

  Molly scrambled out of my arms, trying to move away fro
m it.

  My body screamed at me to do the same.

  Run.

  Flee.

  Hide.

  This thing was dangerous—a kind of monster that preyed on more than just the body. And every cell in my own body knew that, demanded flight, begged my mind to falter, run, get away, or die trying.

  But I refused to move. Refused to turn away.