Me, and that psychic, witchy-thing I do, as he put it.
He looks back at me, and I think a see a few drops of sweat on his forehead.
"Ready?" he asks in a whisper.
I just nod, glad I'm not the only one showing signs of panic, as I fish my phone out of my coat pocket.
Grey eases the door open, watching behind us as I slip into the storage room.
The few seconds I wait for him to join are the longest of my life.
In a previously agreed upon plan of action, I light the way as he shoves collapsed cardboard boxes up against the few visible windows. The others are already obscured by crap on the shelves that line the walls.
Once any view into the basement is blocked, Grey retrieves the bag of supplies and takes the phone from me.
My hands are shaky, and I rub sweaty palms against my sides before I remove my coat and put it gently on the floor.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I take the bag and lead him to Elizabeth's circle.
To my knowledge, the plan from the start has been for Grey to, well, put an end to Jack. I've gotten no indication that his intention has changed, and we haven't discussed the factuality of this part at all.
I don't think either of us believed we'd get this far.
"Bit late to get cold feet, isn't it?" He puts on a brave face, but his voice shakes just a little as he forces a laugh.
"No," I whisper, reaching into the bag, I withdraw the athame and wave the blade in front of his eyes. "Are you really going to be able to kill Jack?"
"I don't see why not," he says with a shrug as he pulls the pages with Sarah's instructions from his inside jacket pocket and unfolds them. "The original spell weakened Jack, and the blade's been salted and . . . well, whatever else witches do to purify things."
He shines the light on the floor and sets the bag down beside my feet.
I kneel down and take out the chalk. Referencing our notes, I crawl around, recreating Elizabeth's circle. "What I mean," I say as I pause to push my wig hair over one shoulder; damn locks keep getting in the way, "isn't can he be killed. I asked if you are going to have it in you to kill him. Hey, hand me the candles."
Grey doesn't respond.
I look back to find him distracted. By my dress, I tell myself. I can't think about what part of his current view—me, on my knees, bent over in front of him—is actually distracting him, since we really need to focus right now. "See something you like?"
He lifts his gaze to mine as a grin slowly curves his lips. "Sorry, just . . . thinking about something else. I don't think I could kill another person, if that's what you're asking."
I sit back on my knees and brush chalk dust from my hands. "So you don't consider Jack a person?"
Grey frowns as he sets the phone on the floor a moment, light-side-up, and gets the candles out for me.
After a few seconds of strangely itchy-feeling silence, he says, "He's not human, Cadence."
I don't agree with his logic. I've never met a creature like whatever Jack is; who am I to say if he is, or isn't, a person? But, I don't want to derail Grey's attempt to get peace for his family, either. If I make him think too much, that just might happen.
I light the candles, dripping some wax onto the floor to fix them in place, and then set up the incense, wafting the smoke around the perimeter of the circle.
"Athame," I say when I finish everything, looking at Grey expectantly.
He presses the hilt into my waiting hand before switching off my phone to drop it into his pocket. Then, he starts pacing anxiously around me.
I read the words Sarah has written out phonetically on the bottom of the page. They don't make much sense to me; I'm pretty sure this is Latin. According to her instructions, whether or not I understand the incantation isn't nearly as important as my intention and not mangling the words.
Taking a deep breath, I steel myself as I hold open my left hand and touch the blade to the same place where I'd felt Elizabeth cut herself. I close my eyes, clenching my teeth as I slice into my skin.
I scream behind closed lips at the searing pain in my palm. There's a brief flash through my mind. Something feels wrong about getting blood on the blade. Crap, too late, now.
"You okay?" Grey asks worriedly, as I hand him back the athame.
Nodding, I touch a fingertip to my wound and set to lightly tracing the circle. "I just want to be done with all this, already."
And, oh my God, I am so going to need some peroxide and Neosporin.
I say the incantation words a final time, and a violent tremor runs through my body.
Instantly, Grey is beside me, pulling me to my feet as the air above the circle becomes . . . I don't know . . . discolored, somehow. Like steam rising from asphalt on a sweltering day, but tinged with shades of blue and purple.
I feel dizzy a moment, and I shake my head, attempting to orient myself.
"Oh, shit . . . ."
At Grey's gasped words, I return my attention to the circle.
Before us stands an onyx-skinned creature with eyes that burn at us like bright red coals.
The Spring-heel—Jack—merely stares at us for a long moment, like he's stuck.
No, no. He stares at me.
The color of his skin lightens instantly to a human tone, and the fiery effect of his eyes fades.
"Elizabeth," he says to me, a grin slowly curving his lips.
Uh-oh.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Break
After a moment, I remember Elizabeth had dark hair, and there is a family resemblance. With the wig, I probably do look like her.
Jack's gaze—now a very human wood-brown color—flicks over me, head-to-toe. "No, not Elizabeth," he says haltingly, his British accent almost smooth, despite a voice that sounds like he's just come back from a bout of laryngitis. "Who are you, witch-child?"
I don't immediately answer, exchanging a glance with Grey as Jack looks around.
Disbelief registers on the creature's face as his attention leaps about the room. He appears genuinely confused; maybe even a little startled. "What is this place? Why are you two dressed so ridiculously? Where is Maris?"
Grey and I are both silent, still. Somehow, I don’t think either of us expected Jack to get free and play twenty questions. Actually, I'm not sure what we expected, period.
"What are you?" Grey asks, finally.
Jack snaps his head around, his gaze locking on Grey. The Spring-heel is . . . actually kind of handsome. Well, for a devil-creature-thing masquerading as a human, anyway.
Jack's nostrils flare as he inhales deeply, before he breaks into a sly grin. "That is a stupid question, from one of my own."
"I'm not 'one of your own' anything." Grey's voice is thick with disgust as he slips a hand around my elbow and pulls me behind him.
Jack flinches, but I can't be sure why he's making the expression. "I smell it on you. You must be one of my brothers' children. Now, where is Maris?"
"Maris is dead," I say, my voice squeaking out, low and hollow.
"Oh?" Jack gives a small, mirthless grin. "Well, I can hardly say that saddens me."
"You don’t understand. Maris died a long time ago; Elizabeth, too. And he," I step to the side a bit and indicate Grey with a lift of my chin, "is like . . . your great-great-great-grandson or something."
"Elizabeth is dead?" Jack actually sounds a little sad.
Frowning, I can only offer a shrug. "You've been trapped for, like, two hundred years." That part doesn't seem to faze him, so I go on. "How did you know her?"
"She was my wife's friend. So then . . . they're all gone?"
"Yes."
Maybe that was why she cast the spell? To keep her friend's husband from being killed?
Grey pivots on a heel to face me directly. "Why are you having a conversation with this thing?"
"Because . . . maybe you don't have to kill him," I whisper.
I don't whisper because I don’t want Jack to hear me, but be
cause whispering fits the atmosphere, and the subject matter.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Suddenly every nerve is on edge, like some primal part of me expects Jack to lunge at us any second.
I don't know why I'm arguing. Maybe I should want him to kill Jack, but I don't want to decide on something so absolute out of fear.
"What are you talking about?" Jack and Grey say in unison.
I'm afraid, sure, but I also have a very bad, very immediate inkling about ending Jack's life. I can't pin down what's wrong, though.
All I know is that I at least have to try to prevent this from happening.
"What if there's another way to control your family's . . . issue?"
"No, no Cae, not happening! I mean, what then? We let him go? We put him back in? Because I don't know how to do that, do you?"
"No, but I just have a feeling." I look to Jack, who appears amused by our squabble, and then back at Grey. "He's right here. Why don't you just talk to him?"
I don't need to see Grey's expression darken to know he's pissed. His agitation is so tangible to me that he might as well have smoke pouring out of his ears.
He rolls his eyes, and tightens his grip on the handle of the athame as he turns toward Jack, once more. "Elizabeth Riordan trapped you. I have to decide, right now, what to do with you."
"What to do with me?" Jack echoes, giving a short chuckle.
I notice that his face has more color than when he'd first appeared. He stands a bit straighter, too.
Oh, no. Oh, God, I'm a moron!
Two hundred years ago, Elizabeth spared his life, so logic states that he must've been a person worth sparing. But, he'd had to keep up appearances to maintain the human life he led back then.
And I just told him the people he'd done that for are long dead.
Elizabeth's spell had weakened him, and we reversed that magic.
He's getting his strength back the longer we stand here talking to him. Making him mad is probably a bad idea.
"Grey, I don't think you should—"
"What leads you to believe you hold the power to make any such decision, boy?"
Crap.
Grey doesn't back down, and he doesn't seem scared anymore, either. In fact, it feels more like Jack's little flare of anger feeds Grey's. His fingers grip the athame so tightly now, that his hand trembles.
"Look," Grey says through clenched teeth, like he's making an effort to stay calm on the surface. "I can let you go, or I can kill you."
Jack laughs, rolling his eyes as he folds his arms across his chest. "Then let me go. From what I understand, and . . ." his gaze moves over me again, "and what I see, I have a lot of living to catch up on."
I reflexively backpedal, but the creature looks at me like he thinks the sentiment is adorable.
"Hey, eyes in front!" Grey snaps. "She's got nothing to do with this anymore."
Tipping his head to one side, Jack noticeably focuses his attention on the athame's blade. "Stupid child, she has quite a bit to do with this."
Yup, that's us—stupid children. We just used my blood to let this looney devil out of a proverbial box, how could this not involve me?
"No, you're talking to me." Grey steps up to the edge of the circle, so that he's face-to-face with his ancestor. "I will let you go if you help me."
"Help you do what, exactly?"
"My family—your family—is plagued by very dangerous . . . spiritual activity. And it's because of your influence over our blood."
I frown, unable to do anything but watch the interaction. Grey's never actually talked about the incidents that happen to his family, he's only ever said they're dangerous. I can't help but wonder how bad his family's experiences are that he won't even put them into words.
"Your family, boy, not mine. My family is long passed, are they not?"
"It's still your blood that's causing the things that happen to us," Grey says in a forced reasonable tone. "If you can help me stop these things, or control them . . . just something, I will let you go."
Jack taps his chin. "No, that doesn't interest me."
Grey's expression is one of complete and utter shock and he crumbles, his shoulders slumping forward. Clearly, he thought that if we gave Jack a sensible, win-win solution, there was no way the creature could refuse. But Grey's defeated posture leaves his head hanging just over the edge of the circle.
My stomach lurches; something in my head is hollering this is bad!
"Grey!" I reach to pull him away, but Jack's faster than me; his hand is already gripping Grey's hair.
The soles of Grey's shoes smudge the chalk as Jack drags him across the line, breaking the circle in spots.
Jack pushes Grey aside, just as quickly as he yanked him forward; the force and speed of the action causing Grey to stumble, hitting the floor hard on his side.
I cringe, ready to dart past Jack to help Grey, but he waves me away and shakes his head. Maybe he wants me to distract the Spring-heel while he gets his bearings.
"Now, witch-child," Jack says in an oddly merry tone as he steps out of the circle. "Where were we?"
I take a few steps backward, glancing over my shoulder to search for something—anything—in the meager light. Hmm, there's a wrench on one of the shelves. It'll have to do.
I turn on a heel and dash to the shelf. My fingers close over the wrench, but then a hand covers mine.
I can tell by the pale-olive complexion that it isn't Grey. Every inch of my body feels like I've been dipped in ice water as I turn my head to see Jack Addison standing close, too close, behind me.
No, no! He's got to still be weak! How can he move so fast?
Jack makes a tsk, tsk sound as he shakes his head at me. "I don't know why you're afraid of me. I would never harm a woman."
Sure, Grey is boy and child, but I'm a woman. Trust a pervy-devil to have a lopsided view. I remind myself that all the reports of Jack never mentioned any sort of destruction, just lecherous mischief.
Still, he hurt Grey—his own descendant—without batting an eye, giving me no reason to believe he won't hurt a man.
I tighten my grip on the wrench, slipping my hand from beneath his. Before I can turn to strike him, he falls against me.
I drop to the floor under the unexpected weight and kick blindly at Jack, scrambling away from him on my hands and knees. Turning over, I raise the wrench over my head as I catch my breath, adrenaline zinging through my system.
There, sticking out from somewhere near Jack's spine, is the handle of the athame. Grey stands over him, breathing heavily, his body wracked with tremors
He buried the blade deep—all the way up to the hilt, from the looks of it.
"Well, that was kind of anticlimactic." I drop the wrench and push up to stand, only to be floored instantly by a pain tearing through my midsection.
"Cadence!" Grey races to my side in a second. He drops to his knees beside me and pulls me into his lap. "What's wrong?"
I gasp, reminding myself to breathe. The pain spreads outward; when only moments ago I'd felt icy all over, now every cell in my body is on fire. The tears that spill from my eyes are oddly cooling against my cheeks, and I can only blink up at him as I shake my head.
There's a gurgling sound from Jack, and I disconnectedly realize he's laughing.
"Stupid . . ." he says weakly as he rolls his head against the ground to look up at us. "Stupid boy. You asked what I am?"
"Shut up," Grey yells, kicking the athame's handle with his heel.
The movement jars my body and I can't help crying out.
Grey looks at me, apology written all over his face instantly as he cradles me. "Sorry, sorry!"
Jack growls—a frighteningly inhuman sound—before offering another gurgling chuckle.
"Don't worry, boy, I'm dying. Trust me, but you should know," he coughs, causing a stream of black to ooze from the corner of his mouth. "What I am, is not of this plane."
"Yeah, yeah, energy from another
plane—I know, okay? A witch told me! I don't give a shit," Grey says, his words a distracted mumble as he wipes at my tears with trembling fingers.
My eyes start to get hot, like two burning lumps of coal in my face. All I can do is whimper as another wash of pain wracks me.
"Energy which cannot return from whence it came. Energy cannot die." Jack's voice is a whisper, now, barely a thread of sound against the backdrop of distant, pulsing music. "Do you know why Maris didn’t kill me?"
Grey lets out a trembling breath. "I don't care why!"
"Because my essence can only change forms. The blood of the sacrifice," the Spring-heel pauses, inhaling shallowly, "serves as a channel to . . . ."
Jack falls silent and a final burst of agony rips through my body before everything goes still.
There's a telltale sheen over Grey's bright eyes as he stares down at me. "Oh, God, Cae," he breathes out as he looks me over from head to toe.
My blood serves as a channel for Jack's energy. That means that I'm—I'm a . . . .
Oh, Holy fuck! I've become a Spring-heel?
Forcing out a shuddering breath, I raise my hands in front of my face. My skin is onyx, and as I move, I feel a cramped weight inside the sleeves of my costume.
Shit. Wing-like flaps. I have wings?
"Grey," I say in a questioning, tear-broken voice.
He helps me to sit up, all the while holding my gaze steadily. "I didn't know this would happen. I'm so sorry!"
I don't know how to respond. I don't know what to say or do. "I—I can't . . . . I can't look like this."
"Calm down, okay? We'll figure this out," he reaches out, gently stroking my hair. "Jack could look human, right? So . . . you can, too."
I feel my eyes widen—a very odd sensation, since they've been burning all this time, I can just withstand the pain, now. "How?"
Grey kicks Jack hard in the shoulder. The body looks to be slowly collapsing in on itself. A few more minutes and he'll be gone, I think. A tiny bright spot in this mess, since I have no idea what we would do with a corpse.
"Just, um, focus on what you used to look like."
I know the word doubt is stamped across my face—my onyx, fiery-eyed face—as I gape at him.
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