“How did she die?” Jedrek asks, stepping closer now that the magic is safely tucked away.
“The wounds on her forehead are from her slamming her head against the table to flatten it. Blind and unable to talk, she hit her head until it killed her. All she wanted was to return back to how she was before the locket was removed.”
Jedrek and I both stand in silence, thinking about what this woman’s death entailed and the suffering she caused herself. She was told lies to convince her to sign. Little lies which were based on the truth but omitting too much to make them the truth. Little lies to draw one in with hopes of their torment ending. The little lies which sneak past our defenses and leave us vulnerable. Johanna trades in little lies and souls. Unfortunately for her, Nia’s little lies showed me exactly where she is.
Walking to the table coated in blood and bits of things I don’t want to acknowledge; I open the velvet pouch laid upon it. The spark hovers, waiting to see what I will do. As soon as my fingers touch the chain to pull the locket out, a cold frost climbs along them.
“If I tell you not to do that, you’re just going to do it anyway, aren’t you?” Jedrek asks from behind me.
There are so many dead attached in some way or another to this piece of heirloom jewelry I don’t need Jedrek’s warnings. I see all their deaths, each worse than the other. I hear their screams of anguish. For a few, I hear their victims, begging them to stop before they too dissolve into the melody.
Without a word, I hand the locket, asleep in its pouch, to Jedrek. Without a word, he takes it. When we glance at each other, still without a word, we both know I just helped sign souls to hell, and we both know, I will never let him forget that fact.
Johanna’s house sits behind a wide circular drive. Every plant and bush has been picked and pruned to accent every space of its exterior. Various different makes and models of cars are parked, some exquisite, some soccer mom style - complete with stick figures on the back windows - and yet others are the normal working class. They all sit, and they all say something different.
“She’s making quite a little shop for herself,” I remark as Jedrek and I stare at the assembled parking lot.
Jedrek says nothing, just lifting his brows the way he does when he isn’t sure he can trust his words.
The home is grand and has a wide-open floor plan. She hasn’t spared a penny on outfitting her new empire. The floor is gleaming. The white marble granite, with the grey lines streaked through it, has been polished to a shine the moon would envy. Everywhere, large bouquets of fresh flowers sit on tables. They fill the air with their perfume. It’s sickly sweet, almost too much, just like the rest of the house with its portrait covered walls.
“Which one is her?” I ask Jedrek, pointing to the many faces watching us.
I know they are enchanted. I can feel their painted eyes watching our progress through the house. I have no doubt they report back to Johanna all who enter her home and all that is said while in it.
“None of them,” Jedrek informs me. “She wouldn’t be so stupid.”
“She seems pretty stupid,” I whisper, feeling their eyes heavy on my back.
“She’s foolish. Maybe a pinch of brave, but not stupid. She has guards which cannot be corrupted,” he gestures to the many paintings strategically placed. “She has plants which poison the air with a spell of beguile, making anyone with grievances forget them. Her floor is enchanted with a spell of enfeeblement, making people easier to manipulate. So no, she wouldn’t be so stupid to put herself in a painting which could be used against her.”
“I had no idea,” I whisper in amazement.
“Don’t worry,” he tells me. “Neither did she till a few months ago.”
Following the sounds of conversation, we find those who own the cars pacing the thick rugged sitting room. Men, and a few women, wait with tapping fingers or swinging feet with their anxiety written all over their bodies. All of them are here willing to sign away something they don’t believe in until the bell tolls. Then they will beg, pleading for another chance. A chance they won’t get.
“If she knows we are here…” I let my words trail off, wondering how to surprise someone who has taken every precaution to not be surprised and yet grateful her other precautions have not taken effect. I still cling to every intention to rip her trinkets away, despite what it may mean.
“Then we wait,” Jedrek says, claiming a seat a short sofa nearest to where we stand.
The others in the room are doing their best to not look at us, only to fail and cast their eyes our way over and over again. I can feel their anticipation drizzled with fear. They are wondering if they are making the right choice. With every step on the thick rug, I can see the spell floating upwards relaxing their distress, easing whatever burdens they have placed on their minds about doing what she has asked as her price.
“She’s good. I’ll give her that,” I say, watching the spell repeat itself over and over.
Jedrek rolls his eyes with an expression of one having to give credit to their sworn enemy. I watch him settle into a mental debate. As he stares at the closed door, I know where his dark thoughts are carrying him. When it slides open, Jedrek is up and walking towards it with a motion more fluid than a mortal could achieve. His eagerness to be the next through the door sets the room into motion.
“I was here first!” a woman shouts, almost climbing over the couch between her and the door. “I was here first!”
Jedrek gives her a smile which sets her feet to frozen. She inches backwards, clutching her bag to her chest as if it were a shield. The size of it, it could be one.
Rushing to keep up with him, I can see there is no one to stop us. There is no one blocking or keeping watch over who comes and goes through this last barrier. The doors open to a room filled with the smoke of incense. It rolls in the air with a life of its own. It doesn’t part or follow any breeze made by our entrance. It hovers, waiting, reminding me of one of Jedrek’s threatening shadows. It’s as he said before. She doesn’t need guards. She has protection made from her will and the stolen items taking the will of others.
“I was wondering when you would come, Jedrek,” her voice comes from the very back of the room. “I didn’t expect you to bring friends.”
She emerges from the darkness she has created around the far corners of the room. Her black hair shines, catching the light from the many candles burning around us. Her makeup is artfully done, pulling colors to her ruby lips and darkened eyes. Everything she passes, she trails her fingers along, touching and caressing the items in her path. She moves like a serpent, but she walks like a seductress.
“This little witch?” he asks, mimicking her slow stroll through the room. “She’s here for a different reason.”
She lifts one of her perfect eyebrows. “And for what reason is that?”
“To convince me to not kill you,” he says with a touch of boredom for the words.
“Others have come before you, Jedrek. What makes you think you can?” she smiles her question, enjoying the game of his ego.
Jedrek shrugs, making a grand gesture of extending his arms with the motion, but he says nothing.
Johanna’s eyes travel from Jedrek to me. I can feel her testing my walls, pushing against my power to see how it answers hers. I can feel her in my mind like cobwebs trying to disorient my thoughts, to slow my magic’s response. She creeps around my heart and mind trying to pry my deep secrets from their locked rooms. She gains nothing but my anger.
“How dare you,” I whisper, hearing the voice which lives deep inside of me. It’s my voice. It belongs to me, I know this now, but she’s so different than me. “How dare you,” I say again with the taste of her black licorice flavored magic coating my tongue.
“Or maybe she’ll kill you,” he states hearing my voice. “Maybe we’ll both kill you.” He’s tossing his head back and forth with his contemplations.
“Or,” Johanna counters, “ma
ybe I’ll kill both of you.”
I didn’t see the smoke creeping around me. I didn’t feel her power coiling itself around the room. GiGi had warned me, but as always, I wasn’t seeing. I was just looking.
The black smoke rushes down my throat, clogging and blocking air from reaching my lungs. My panic causes me to claw at my flesh as if I can make another hole for which the air may find entrance. Darkness clouds my vision. It blocks the room from me despite the many sounds reaching my ears. Lost in my own fears of death, I cannot tell if the screams are from Johanna or from Jedrek.
The pressure in my skull feels as if it is breaking bones as organs starve for air. With my life slipping from my body, the panic slows, and I can think. I can see. All around the room stands the many people Johanna has tricked. They are still, mute, unspeaking, and almost washed out. They are trapped between this world and the next where they belong. It’s from them who she pulls her powers.
They feel my call. Their heads turn towards me, watching me fight to outlast the smoke invading me. With my magic, the magic which does not need to be awakened, but the magic which is always there, I push them, forcing them to the other side as I would not do with Nia. I separate them from her one by one, plucking her threads which tie them here. With each washed-out form slipping into the beyond, the smoke shrinks, allowing air into the narrow gaps now provided.
The room also comes into sight. Johanna is no longer the perfection she was when we entered. Her hair is rumpled. Her face has scratches with red streaks of blood ruining her composed appearance. Her bottom lip also bleeds, smearing a wide, red spot across her chin. The vibrant anger proves it’s been a long time since someone dared to harm her. Much longer time since someone was able.
Jedrek is panting, leaning against a tall bookcase smiling at her. His ice blue eyes, even in the midst of this fight, are bright with excitement. The sleeves of his shirt are torn, showing where blood once was, but Johanna cannot keep up with his unhuman body. It heals faster than she can harm it despite her desperation and many newly acquired powers.
As the smoke grows too weak to keep me enthralled, I fall to my knees, panting and retching on the carpet. The spell she has placed upon it caresses my hands, stroking my face with gentle warmth to bring me comfort. Since it was the dead who gave her strength to empower it, it does more than just comfort me. It feeds me, opening the door to the magic I fear, but now need.
There was no coaxing this time. I feel the green mist wrap around my arms like vines, growing wild and quickly along my body. The lights of eyes merge with my vision, casting the room in a green tint. I can feel the dead here. They call to my banner like ancient knights of darker times, rallying to my side with a battle cry older than time herself.
“How dare you,” I call again in the same voice which sparked Johanna’s attack. The same voice she recognized as my voice of power. “You steal the power from the dead and think you can use it against me. Me? Do you not know who I am? What I am?”
Standing to face her, I can feel my fingers twitch with power waiting to be unleashed. The dead stand ready in their many wraithlike forms to do my bidding and eager to seek their revenge. They tell their tales of how she lied to them. She never spoke of what happens when the trinkets stop. She neglected to tell them of how every blessing has its curse. They paid her exorbitant price with more than just the money she asked. They paid her the exorbitant price of their souls.
“You cannot control what is mine, dark sister,” Johanna shouts from across a table she’s placed between her and I. “You have no power here.”
“Jedrek had said you were foolish, but he was wrong. You are truly stupid,” I calmly tell her as my skin begins to glow. “You can’t control what you lied to. A contract is only as good as the words put upon it. You made a deal for their money. You never signed for their souls.”
I watch as her face contorts with her thoughts. “When they die, they revert back to the item. I own the items!”
“You’ve stolen the items, naughty witch,” Jedrek coos, walking to where she stands foolishly behind the wooden table. “They never belonged to you.”
“Nor do those you lied to, but they do have a message for you,” I tell her, releasing those waiting to inflict their revenge.
They tear into her, ripping her apart so she may feel the anguish, the torment she gifted them with for her own gains. To those who cannot see them, it must look as if she is carving her own flesh in her madness as she tries to cover her gaping wounds. Her face is ribbons, weaving rows of her tanned skin between lines of the exposed meat of her cheeks. Her eyes are hanging merely by the tendons attached to them. The slinky black dress she was so proud to wear hid nothing then and hides nothing of what is left of her now. They have torn her so deeply, bones are visible in her legs, her arms and whole fingers have been degloved, yet still, she lives, screaming in her agony.
“Enough,” my voice catches, trying to call back those I unleashed, trying to stop what I have allowed to happen. “Enough!” I shout more from terror than strength.
“You have released them to do as they want, littlest witch. You can’t call them back now. They won’t stop till their rage has been sated.” Jedrek tells me from where he is walking wide around the scene I have caused. He doesn’t shrink from the sight as I am. He is fascinated, watching it all like it’s a grand tour of hell herself. “I always wondered what would happen to souls not collected. There have been times I felt guilty for God’s mortals in their foolishness. A time or two I almost agreed to let them stay here on Earth as they wailed over their dead bodies.” He tells me all of this while Johanna screams, trying to run from the things destroying her with her body almost too broken to do so. “There were times those like me, those not yet twisted by hatred for His favorite little pets, did leave souls behind and they turned into the haunted places mortals now have become obsessed with.” Reaching his hands to brace either side of Johanna’s face, he wrenches her head abruptly, ending the screaming forever. “And now I know what happens.”
The dead do not stop simply because she is dead. Her body jerks with their attacks. They drag her limp body from one side of the room to the other, lifting her high along the walls to further spread her blood along their new canvas. I once again fall to my knees watching it with guilt robbing my strength. The tears upon my cheeks feel warmer than the blood this room shall forever be stained with.
“There must be a way,” I remark weakly.
“They are bound to the cursed objects. You simply summoned them, gathered them and used your will to release their motives.” Jedrek is searching the room, throwing things randomly into the air if they hold no interest for him. “The only way to salvage this whole mess is to find each item and reunite it with the proper owner before they grow bored with her destruction and become something you don’t want to learn how to deal with, yet.”
“And then?”
“Then the object, and all those attached to it, will return to hell to be stored away.”
“They didn’t know,” I plead.
“You’re right,” he tells me with aloofness. “They simply just signed a piece of paper offering them their heart’s desire never questioning the real reasons behind it. You know,” he spins to me with his latest thought, “there was a time when witches were thought to be hand in hand with the devil himself for their wicked ways. Somehow, you became the good guys and yet we still stayed the bad.”
“They are under the floorboards under her desk.” Too exhausted to play his verbal games, I point to the large ornate desk where she has kept all her secrets safe, until now. “All but the music box being used by Miranda.”
It is nothing for him to slide the heavy desk aside. Nor did he struggle to lift the metal door from the safe. He doesn’t cast a sideways glance with the sounds of bones popping from what’s left of Johanna’s body. I can’t help but look. I can’t help but stare with tears of regrets and guilty thoughts of what kind of monster I must
be to allow such a thing to happen.
I can’t hear his victory cry. I don’t listen to his cheerful disposition. All I hear is the sounds of wet meat being butchered. All I see is the woman who stands watching the unnecessary destruction of her body. Her sorrowful eyes float my way, connecting with the magic which now hides in shame deep inside of me, deeper than it normally lurks. With that spark, I know he’s wrong. He said so himself. I was born of death and blood. Death and blood are my calling card, my Hallmark greeting. All I have to do is accept it, embrace it and use it.
I let the green smoke wrap around me once more. I welcome it. I don’t hide or try to let the inner voice take over. I merge us. My doubts. Her strength. My shame. Her glory. I bathe in it, all of it, no holding back or hesitation, and the world never looked so beautiful.
Everything is awash in shades of greens. From the deepest of jades to the brightest of limes, the room is alive in a way smoke is in a crowded room. The colors encircle and embrace each other to blend, making new shades with the energy of the room pulsing the colors past one another. It’s not just the colors that are new. I can see the objects around me in their true stage of life. Fruit, which was ripe and tempting when we arrived, is bruising, browning as it sits. The plants are failing, wilting in their pots. I can feel all of those, alive and dead, who have traveled this room. I can hear their conversations rolling on top of each other as each person debated with Johanna, and themselves, over what they came to do. The room is alive, but it’s also very dead.
“What are you doing, Harper?” Jedrek asks, and for the first time there’s a twinge of nerves emerging from behind his words.
“What I do best,” I answer him with a voice all my own. “Proving people wrong.”
I can see every soul who is feasting upon her. They are lost in their frenzy of revenge, sinking deeper into damnation and oblivion as each act strips them of the humanity needed to anchor in this world and be allowed into the next. A few more minutes and all of them will be lost to a purgatory of their own making, an eternity of being housed in their madness.
The Little Lies (The Great Hexpectations Series Book 1) Page 17