The Little Lies (The Great Hexpectations Series Book 1)

by Marie F. Crow

  “I don’t really want to find out. The dead should learn to stay dead, littlest witch. Let them stay dead.”

  Jedrek’s voice is the last thing I hear before the darkness finally wins. I succumb to it, sinking into it, finding joy in my escape. Except, it’s not an escape. Not really. I learned long ago, in the darkness is where the voices are the strongest.

  I know where I am before I awaken. I know the smells of her kitchen like the perfume of a mother. I can smell the herbs, the potted plants with their seasonal blooms and a heavy, sauce covered meal. It would be all very welcoming if the warm fuzzy feelings weren’t stalked by rapid cursing and the sounds of wooden spoons bouncing off walls. That sound I know well, too. I’m home, but hopefully not left alone, with just the lone witch waiting for me to open my eyes.

  My vision is still blurred. Not by the swimming visions or the swallowing darkness, which lingers in the far rim of my sight, but by waves of my red hair. My hair which has been tossed, and unforgivingly pushed aside, to further expose my back.

  I have created a small lake of drool on the pillow which was shoved under my head. Which is impressive with my mouth now feeling like it’s coated in sand and a throat so dry I doubt there’s enough water in the town to bring either back to life.

  “Nice nap?”

  Of course, it would be Jedrek who is waiting for the first verbal jab. Considering the volleys GiGi holds in her armory, I almost prefer him. Almost.

  “You’re welcome,” I somehow mutter with a throat fighting to work.

  He laughs softly, amused by something I’ve said, or done. It’s hard to tell between layers of thick red hair and the many horrible decisions I have made. Pushing myself up on my arms, I feel every angry muscle voice their thoughts with the effort.

  “Wouldn’t…” Jedrek offers. “Best to just lay there and rest, Harper.”

  “Oh, my first name. How incredibly kind of you, Jedrek.”

  I watch as he makes a wide gesture with his arms. He smiles, and even in the pain I am in, my eyes roll with his mockery of the situation.

  “Look who is done muttering in her sleep!”

  I wince. Not just from the obvious reasons, but the reason who just appeared with a voice sounding like a red flag of warning. Knowing what is headed my way, I collapse back onto the couch in defeat.

  “All back in the land of the living, are we?” GiGi asks, and I tell myself there’s concern somewhere in there swirling with her scorn.

  “Lucky me,” I mutter into the damp cushion.

  “Lucky for you Jedrek was there to finish the ghoul!” GiGi shouts.

  I don’t hide my glare from the still smiling man. His eyes are dancing, shimmering in mirth. Taking a sip from his cup, he lifts one eyebrow daring my next move, and I accept.

  “I’m sure there are lots of witches so eternally grateful he was there in their time of need. In fact, I believe I saw a few today.” If my words could scald, I too would dance with mirth. But if they hit their mark, the mark just smirks with that arched eyebrow taunting me.

  “Whatever are you talking about?” Regan’s voice comes from somewhere near me.

  I have either missed her entrance or missed the fact she’s been sitting here the whole time. Not that either would have changed my tone or my avenue of verbal travel.

  “The ones who fought to keep us out of all the drama. We were never supposed to be toys for others.” I say this through gritted teeth, determined to sit up before anyone else should suddenly appear.

  “Seriously, what is she talking about?” Regan rushes to me when hearing my not so lady like sounds of determination. Her face is a mixture of confusion and a warning. She’s doing that silent eye communication thing again. “Maybe you should just rest?”

  Her hands are like warm water, soothing away my aches and spite-fueled thoughts. The pain of my back is still present, but I don’t really care about it. It’s drifting somewhere beyond my list of give-a-damns. My mood is melting, sliding into the warm pool she’s created in my body. Every muscle is relaxed, except my brain. It’s throwing red flags and caution lights faster than a strobe at a rave and I only slightly care.

  “This is wrong?” The words flow like a question from me, meek and unsure.

  “You need to rest,” Jedrek tells me.

  His eyebrow isn’t as high, but it’s still there in a different way. With my neck refusing to work, I can’t turn to see what Regan is doing exactly, but whatever it is, Jedrek is enjoying the show. Which is exactly the last flag to fall into place.

  “Nope!” I shout, sliding as best I can away from the embodiment of warm fuzzies sitting beside me. “This is definitely weird.”

  Now that I have squirmed an inch or so at most, my body reluctantly begins to answer my demands. Looking to her, Regan is staring at her hands with wide eyes. Everything about her says there should be something shocking covering the flesh of her hands, but if there is, only she can see it.

  “What are you?” Regan whispers, still staring.

  “Tired of being asked that,” I reply, gathering all the scorn back like a flower girl who has lost her petals. All of my issues are mine and I don’t want to share.

  “She doesn’t even know?” Regan’s having a rather in-depth conversation with her hands.

  “What are you?” I counter, still wondering what it is she is seeing.

  “Regan,” Jedrek begins, with GiGi watching it all from where she still stands, silent and cataloging everything which happens, “is an energy witch. Boring people, mortals per se, pay the spa to have her absorb all their cares and pains. She can pull from them every ounce of depression, or anxiety, or whatever it is they don’t want to deal with and convert it to power for her.”

  “Then she pours it into that building to feed it,” GiGi finally speaks, but her voice is filled with lost thoughts and locked emotions.

  Not willing to even dive into the explanation he just offered, I skip right over it, letting it soak in some part of my brain until I’m ready to plunge into whatever depth of crazy he just wrapped around the room. “If witches keep the place running, why are there so many dead ones trapped there? But not as ghosts or even souls. They are almost embedded in the place.”

  “Because witches do keep the place running,” GiGi answers still speaking in her tormented whisper. “If you don’t escape, you won’t escape. You will never escape.”

  “How did you escape?” I ask GiGi, wondering if she will finally admit what she hasn’t yet put into words.

  “I didn’t sign the book,” she tells me, letting it be her confession.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter, thinking this headache is not so much from today, but from all the days since taking this case. “There’s a book? Why is there a book? Can’t werewolves and a haunted spa be enough hocus pocus shit? Now, you have to add books and sources and demons? Oh, and let’s not forget the one who shall never be named just lurking around, looking for her next trophy?”

  “You forgot the bar you enter through mirrors,” Jedrek sips from his glass again with a curved smile.

  Lost for words and patience, I send him a one finger hello. “I don’t want to do all this right now. Later, I know I’ll have to, but not right now. I made a promise to a family to put little girl back to rest and nothing is being done to fulfill it.”

  “Hasn’t it?” Jedrek asks, standing to stretch. “We’ve narrowed down where the source is and who has it. We know now the wolves are somehow involved and Regan here is going to take us right to the very thing we both need.” He’s strolled over to stand in front of the still dazed Regan. “And now, our little syphon is all charged up and ready to find it for us.”

  “Canker sores and whores!” GiGi exclaims. “You can’t dangle that little girl like that. They will tear her apart!”

  Jedrek turns just his head to look over his shoulder, “Now Jo, I wouldn’t do that.” He almost coos the words with false empathy. “All I need is for her t
o find this Johanna. It’s Harper I plan to dangle.”

  “What is it you said earlier, GiGi? Lucky me?” I ask her, forcing my wobbling body to stand. “Let’s go get lucky!”

  “Sorry Harps, but we won’t be bringing anything battery operated with us tonight.” Jedrek pats my head. His smile is enough to make me want to tear it from his face.

  I didn’t feel the gathering of power in my hands. I was too lost in my fury over his mocking face, an emotion I don’t normally jump to so quickly. I’m tired. I’m hurting. My nerves are exposed, almost bleeding with emotions I can’t contain or conquer. I have one thought, just one little urge, or fantasy, if one will – tear that smile from his face.

  “Stop it,” Jedrek whispers, straining to say the words.

  “Stop what?” a voice not my own asks.

  “Harper, don’t do this,” GiGi pleads, but I have no idea what she’s upset over.

  I watch, oddly numb and fascinated, as Jedrek begins to peel his skin from his face with his bare hands. His eyes are locked with mine. There’s no mirth. The only thing dancing in those bright blue orbs is anger.

  Regan is screaming when the blood begins to pour from where the corner of Jedrek’s mouth once sat. I’m not screaming. I’m watching it from far away, uninvested, as if he is nothing more than the frogs in biology class, with their bones and tissues exposed for all to see.

  “Harper!” GiGi is screaming, shaking me. “You are not your mother!”

  I’m jolted awake, blinking from some slumber I wasn’t aware I was lost in. Her words carve a hole in my heart for reasons unknown. We never mention my parents. We never speak of them in death or in life. She just did. She did with sledgehammers.

  “You are not your mother,” she repeats again, staring into my eyes with a different emotion than Jedrek had. Hers is desperation. It colors every inch of her with a flush as she pleads with me. “You can control this!”

  My mother is just a rumor, some slip of past knowledge locked and forsaken. I was seven when I walked into a living room covered in what I had thought at the time was thick paint. It wasn’t and that image is creeping along my spine now, crawling its way to my far, hidden memories to display everything GiGi and I work so hard to deny.

  “Stop it,” she whispers, softly. “Call it all back.”

  I’m not sure how I know to do what she’s asking, but I do it. Like collecting a lost emotion or regaining control, some part of you lost in a moment, I inhale deeply with my eyes closed and call everything back, shoving it deep inside of me where secrets and lies dwell. My hands seem lighter. My head is a dense fog, swirling and tossing me with waves of nausea. Even as my stomach threatens to let loose what little I have eaten today, my back is silent, no longer demanding attention with every inch of movement I take. It’s my turn to arch an eyebrow, touching what was tender, angry flesh. My fingers tap along what I can reach, testing it, and there is nothing. Not the slightest twinge.

  Unfortunately, for Jedrek, it’s not the same. His face is half torn, his lips hanging open from where his fingers had dug into the thick flesh and pulled it apart. If it hurts, he doesn’t show it. All he displays is anger, and honestly, I don’t blame him.

  “Sorry about your face,” I acknowledge awkwardly. What are the correct words for, ‘whoops, didn’t mean to lose it there’?

  “Enough,” GiGi tells him, trying to pat some of the still streaming blood from his shirt and chin. “Put yourself back together and stop with these theatrics. She didn’t do it on purpose.”

  Regan, no longer screaming, does a slow cat-like walk to where Jedrek still stands, soaked in blood and anger. Poking the ragged flesh, she asks, “Did Harper mind fuck you? She can do that?”

  “You seem to be pretty fascinated with what I am and what I can do,” I mutter, crossing my arms and playing the don’t blink game with the mute Jedrek.

  “Dude,” she says, smiling like a teen whose friend just did something very naughty, “you just mind fucked the top of the food chain demon! Like an original!”

  I’m waiting for her to start clapping, bouncing in place with her purple hair bouncing with her.

  When I don’t join in with her glee, she asks, “You don’t know what that means, do you?”

  My face must have displayed the words I know better than to say with GiGi so close to hand swinging range.

  “You really are a lame duck,” Regan whispers with wonder.

  “A what?” I tilt my head with my question. I’ve been called so many things, but this one is a first.

  “A lame duck. A witch who is lost in the water, just spinning in circles, getting nowhere,” Regan is poking the dislodged lips of Jedrek as she explains.

  His blood coats the tips of her fingers from her exploration. When his eyes swing towards her, the fury roasting inside them is enough to quench her desire to keep touching him. Shrugging, she walks back to the couch, but not before smearing her fingers on his once pristine black shirt.

  Lame duck she called me. Spinning in circles. Getting nowhere. If my life was a t-shirt, that would be the Pinterest vinyl displayed across it in some swirling font.

  Jedrek, either done with his display or plotting his next, begins to reaffix his face. He matches the edges of the wound to where they once were. His skin appears to crawl over the gaping lines, pulling this missing flesh back together. It’s like watching it all in reverse.

  “Fancy,” I tell him, refusing to let him know how bad, and somewhat nauseated, I feel.

  “How’s your back?” he asks with lips slow to form the words.

  “Seems all better. Do I dare ask why?”

  “He’s dead. Just like every time you cut yourself to wake someone, you pull from their energy to heal.” GiGi offers as if saying what’s for sale in today’s paper.

  “You’re welcome, but if you ever try that again-“ Jedrek begins, but Regan’s laughter cuts his words.

  “She just had you rip your own face off without breaking a sweat. What exactly are you going to do, oh unholy one?” Regan asks between giggles.

  Jedrek is watching me with a new expression. There’s so many emotions rolling through his eyes, his mouth moves with unsaid words. They are empty of mirth and jesting. This blue is a blue of pale intentions - intentions walking a thin line between hatred and fear with a touch of curiosity.

  I know I should be alarmed with what I have done. I should be scared, wondering how it happened and how to never let it happen again. A thousand apologies should be rolling from my tongue, but my jaw stays locked unsure of what to even say or how to begin. What is the proper apology for influencing one to do such a degree of self-harm? A part of me knows it’s useless even if I knew. I just became a possible dead duck and there’s no Pinterest shirt with trendy font for that.

  My unicorn robe is of no comfort this morning. The dancing horses seem more of limping casualties. With my mother riding my dreams all night, I tossed more than I turned and definitely more than I slept.

  “Long night?” GiGi asks, sliding a mug of liquid caffeine to me.

  The deep, dark brew smells delicious. Little wisps of steam pet my senses, promising to help me through the day. Coffee often lies, but I enjoy the hope it offers.

  “The longest,” I reply, sipping the first taste of what salvation must taste like.

  “Her again?”

  I don’t have to ask who she means. The pronoun instead of actual name easily gives it away. We don’t ever say my parent’s names aloud. At least, we don’t anymore.

  “Yup,” I tell her, tossing the red curls, so like my mothers, away from my face.

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  We both know I won’t take that offer. It’s most likely the only reason she does offer.

  “Nope.”

  I watch her nod and exhale the breath she was holding. A part of me wants to change my mind just to watch her squirm. Seems fair after the last few days.

  “Where wo
uld one find a witch, who is hiding from werewolves, and has the balls to trick demons at their own games?” I ask her, not willing to ask what I should be asking.

  “If she’s as good as she sounds, you won’t,” GiGi offers but I can tell she is in deep thought trying to think of a place.

  “What if she’s not good?”

  “She smoked a whole house, leaving nothing behind,” GiGi reminds me. “She’s good.”

  We both sit in silence at our customary breakfast nook, our thoughts traveling in different directions. GiGi wants to believe this woman is powerful, but if she’s dealing in powerful toys, maybe she’s not that good. Maybe it’s her toys making her good.

  “Would a demon have a trinket to smoke a house?” I ask her.

  “Absolutely!” shouts Jedrek as he enters our space and we both jump.

  “Peasant’s piss!” GiGi shouts over his entrance, her racing heart, and the spilling of the sacred brew.

  “I see your face is working again,” I tell him, not as creative in my angst as GiGi Jo.

  Jedrek’s face flashes rage for a second before he leans down, wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Only took a few virgins and some impressive sins,” he whispers this in my ear like a snake would, hissing and warning me to back away. “Speaking of virgins, I guess I could have just used you?”

  Lifting my mug much in the same manner as he had last night, I smirk, saying with complete false bravery to hide my guilt and shame over the event, “You could have tried.”

  “Children,” GiGi complains, still cleaning the coffee from the table.

  I don’t even question when she twists the little rag she seems to always have hidden somewhere over the hanging fern. Nor do I ponder what her whispered words may be saying. I’m way past that level of curiosity.

  Being the first to hoist the white flag, I ask still holding the warm mug like a shield. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He’s still leaning into my hair, whispering, “Dunno. What kind of naughty thoughts might you be having?”