Hex Bound

by Ben Alderson

  I land atop him, straddling his frame. I grip his torso between my legs, and I take pleasure in the flash of pain that crosses his perfect face. His dark skin is ashy and paler than usual, as if he hasn’t rested in the days since I escaped the torment of that place. I take pleasure in knowing he’s suffered.

  “How did you find me?” I hiss. My hand is around his throat, and I dig my free elbow into the crevice of his chest. I’m mere inches away from his heart. I could so easily slam the arch of my arm against his breast bone and listen to it cave as his life gives way to death—death by my hand. I deserve this, don’t I? It’s retribution. No one should endure what I’ve suffered and be forced to simply walk away.

  He grumbles something inaudible. I’m sure he’s trying to tell me that he can’t explain his appearance without the ability to speak, but suddenly, I don’t care why he’s here. I only care that he’s alive when so many supernaturals aren’t because of his doing. How many supernaturals are there because of his doing? How many times has he led the hunters to attack and kidnap innocents just like he did to me?

  “I would have died in that place because of you,” I seethe.

  “You’re… alive… because of… me.”

  I tighten my grip on his neck and bury my elbow deeper into his chest, but just as I’m about to inflict enough pressure to end his existence, I stop. I release him and sink back. Sitting on his torso, I’m intimately aware of every way his body is touching mine.

  “Why did you stop?” he asks, hacking. He reaches for his throat, and tries to soothe it with his touch.

  “I told you that I’m not a monster.” As much as I want to kill him, I’m not sure he’s deserving. He did atone for his mistakes against me the moment he offered me his blood and helped me escape. By the logic that that’s not enough, I should die for my crimes too.

  “But I am,” he whispers. “Is that what you think? You think I’m a monster?”

  I stare into his eyes and gnaw on my lower lip. I consider his words. Do I think he’s a monster? I think his people are monsters. hunters think we’re the abominations, yet they are the ones who cannot live peacefully with us. hunters torture for fun and kill for sport. I kill to survive, and I never allow my victims to feel the pain of death. Every single human I’ve killed died with his or her lips turned upright into a smile. They practically begged me for it. Never have I ever tortured someone the way they have. Are they not the definition of a monster?

  “I think you knew what I was, and you led them to me. I think you let them take me, knowing I would be… questioned the way I was, and I think that makes you a monster.” I shudder as I remember the moments I was abused.

  I stand abruptly, no longer feeling the butterfly tingles in my gut whenever Will is near, and step back. He too stands, and as we stare at each other, time seems to slow to a near standstill. I’ve never wished to be a mind reader, but in this moment, I ache to hear his inner thoughts. Does he agree with me? Does he believe his actions make him a monster? Does he see his people for what they truly are? He was born into this mess, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be his destiny. Their way of life will rule him only if he allows it to.

  “I apologized and let you feed from me. Do you know what that means to me? My people would kill me if they ever found out.”

  His jaw clenches, matching his fists, and I ready myself for an attack. Everything about him sends the predator in me into overdrive, yet I can’t find it in myself to hurt him. After all, he’s right. He did save me. Without the blood, I wouldn’t have had the strength to compel my freedom. I wouldn’t have been able to overpower the executioner either. I shiver, cringing at the thought of the monster who violated me.

  “What is it?” he asks, taking a step toward me. His voice is soft, as if he really is concerned for me right now.

  I put my arms up. “Stop. What is this? What are you doing here?”

  “I knew you would be here,” he says simply.

  I’m not surprised. Other than George, he is the only other survivor of the bonfire massacre. Of course he would think to find me here. That fact makes my insides burn. How could I have been dumb enough to come back here? My decision making skills are deteriorating by the second.

  “Why are you looking for me? Because I escaped? If you think for even a second that you have the power to bring me back to that place, then—”

  “I don’t want to bring you back. I just… I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You were in pretty bad condition when you escaped. I wasn’t sure you’d survive the night, even though you… fed.” He visibly cringes, and I imagine he is replaying that night in his mind. I’m not sure how many of his people he saw me kill, but I fed from most of the hunters who stood in my way of escaping.

  “I’m fine, but if you don’t find a way to get the hunters out of Hillcrest, you won’t be.”

  He arches a brow, crosses his arms over his chest, and leans back confidently. “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a promise,” I say, stepping forward to close the space between us. He isn’t the only confident one here. “The hunters need to leave before this turns into a bloodbath. You and I both know what happened that day. Tell them, and walk away.”

  “They’re not in Hillcrest to investigate the massacre. I already told them about the wolves. Why do you think you were taken in the first place? I knew you weren’t human the moment you kept those wolves from tearing out my throat.”

  “Then why are they in Hillcrest?” Deep down, I already know why, but I need to hear it from him. He needs to say it aloud to make it real for me.

  “For you.”

  I swallow the knot that forms in my throat. “Why? What do they want with me?”

  “You survived more torture sessions than any supernatural could ever endure. They know.”

  “Know what?” I ask softly, praying he’s not about to say what I think he’s going to say.

  The wind blows softly as I watch Will. His mouth moves in slow motion as he answers my question. Everything I’ve feared would happen is coming true. The hunters are real, supernaturals are dying, I’ve been changed, and my secret is out. The more people who find out the truth about what George did to me, the more dangerous this world becomes for those I love. Chad and George will suffer the consequence of association. Simply knowing me will get them killed.

  “They know you’re different.”

  Chapter Six

  George

  Samuel walks steps behind me the entire way back to class. His movements are slow and disjointed. As if his feet are not working properly, he trips on every other step. Unfortunately, that is not the only strange thing about him. It’s impossible not to notice how unusually quiet he is. Only the shuffle of his feet and growing panting breath is what I can hear. I tell myself I feel this way because of my increasing paranoia, but it’s as if I can actually sense something is not right with him after Abraxon’s magical intrusion.

  I peer over my shoulder at him, and notice the vacant expression in his eyes. They are framed by nightly circles. His skin seems pale and sickly. It’s as if he is sleeping and moving without knowing it.

  I don’t try to strike up a conversation because I worry I would say the wrong thing. But by the time we reach the door to the classroom and Mrs. Tate looks down her nose at me, I no longer sense Samuel.

  “Just in time for the final bell,” she says, brows pinched. “Now I must ask what you have done with Samuel.” Her gaze flickers over my shoulder to the empty corridor behind me. A chorus of squeaking chairs fill the room as the class moves to get a better look.

  At first glance, it does seem that Samuel is not with me. This is only because Mrs. Tate isn’t looking around the corner at the two feet sticking out around the bend. I almost expected something like this to happen. Time seemed slow before, but now, it stops completely.

  “What is it?” Mrs. Tate calls to me. She probably noticed my change in demeanor. She saunters over to stand beside me, and as she lays her gaze
on the horror before me, I’m sure the entire class can hear her catch her breath.

  We both race for where he lays across the ground. The closer we get, the more I notice his frantic shaking. His arms and legs jolt violently, his mouth foamy with unknown white froth. His eyes roll into the back of his skull, flashing the red veined whites of his gaze.

  Mrs. Tate kneels on the floor beside him, thrusting her knitted shawl beneath his head to stop it from knocking against the ground. The commotion of her shouts for help drive students and teachers out of multiple classrooms within the same corridor. Soon, the entire place is riddled with bodies, and I am forced to the back of the crowd.

  I get a view of his body rising, held by invisible hands, then hovering ahead of the group. In moments, he is gone. All that is left is the whispering of students trying to work out what happened. They stare at me with eyes glowed in intrigue and accusation.

  “He’s still alive,” someone says.

  “He’s been hexed!” another student mutters.

  Before long, they all disappear, each not wanting to waste the lunch hour. I am left alone in the hallway with nothing but Abraxon to answer for his crimes.

  You said you only wiped his memory! I accuse.

  That is what I did. Perhaps your containment of me is causing my own abilities to become erratic.

  Erratic?! You almost killed him!

  I clench my fists as the demon turns the accusation toward me.

  Yet the witch is still alive, is he not?

  Don’t play games with me, Abraxon. Not now. Not ever. You forget it is my body you claim to be imprisoned within, which makes me your captor. Act out again, and I will personally banish you.

  My legs lift off the floor, and I am weightless. The sensation is sudden before I am slammed into the wall next to Mrs. Tate’s classroom. Pain screams down my spine under the impact.

  Threatening me, George, will not do you any favors.

  The demon lifts me and pins my body to the wall. His control is strong, too strong. For the first time, I sense pure horror within me. I’m terrified for my own safety. No matter how hard I resist, my neck is forced to turn so my face is looking right into the reflection created by the glass panes that frame the door. I suck in a breath as I regard the boy looking back at me. Dark eyes, shadowed veins, a cunning smile… All features that do not belong to me.

  We do not need to hate each other, for I want nothing more than to work with you, George. The lips on my reflection move, but my own face is still. We can help each other.

  “Let go of me,” I command aloud. “Now.”

  No one is close enough to hear my cries. In a way, I wish someone was. Maybe an onlooker could help me rid my body of this parasite.

  My own reflection pulls a face, one of intrigue. Then the smile increases tenfold. Before I can speak, I regain control of my body, and I drop to the floor in a heap. Abraxon relinquished control just in time for the patter of feet that echo around the corridor.

  “George, not you as well.”

  I recognize the student from someone who shares my last class, but I don’t stick around long enough to answer her. Off the floor, I am up and moving toward the main doors of the academy. I need to get away. Too much has happened for me to stay and look for books to help Father escape. With Samuel possibly on the brink of remembering what he saw, I have to get out of here.

  A coven would come together in an attempt to save him. Would their magic recognize mine within Samuel’s body? Would it notice his missing memories? Either way, I am certain Elder Jane—when she finds out—will have enough power to unearth what really happened.

  And when she does, I will become the hunted.

  ***

  “Father?” I push the door to his study open.

  “You call for me as if I might not be here.” His voice greets me before I see him.

  Leaning up against his messy desk, he looks nowhere else but me. Like before, his body is transparent. His skin melts in bouts of shadow, slithering into the air but dissipating into nothingness. Still, I am not used to seeing him like this. In fact, I am not used to seeing him at all.

  Just resting my gaze upon him, I get a bubble of fresh excitement as I did before. Soon, when I consider he will not be here forever, the sinking emotion of great sadness follows.

  “I’ve got some bad news,” I tell him, expecting his facial expression to mirror my own disappointment. But instead, he smiles, honest and warm.

  “Do not fret, son. We have plenty of time to find the right incantation. For now, we can focus on you, Abraxon, and me. If that is what you want—”

  “Yes!” I shout, interrupting him. “I mean, yes, I’d like that very much.”

  “Then sit down and let us talk.”

  The entire way home, I expected anger and wrath from Father, the very same reactions I remembered from when he was alive, but this reaction is a welcomed one. Perhaps Father’s entrapment has done wonders for his anger management.

  A chair slides out from the desk and makes its way toward me. Again, I am reminded of just how powerful my father is, even in this phantom form. I take it and sit, feeling like a student with his teacher.

  “It has been too long since I have been in this situation,” Father admits. “I should ask you how your day has been, shouldn’t I?”

  My answer is pre-planned. On the walk home, I decided not to mention Abraxon’s outburst with Samuel and then again with me in the corridor. I can’t have Father thinking I am anything but strong.

  “Besides classes and searching for anything that might help me free you, it was a rather uneventful day.”

  Father leans all his weight on one leg while placing his hand on his hip. “I admit, sometimes those days are the better ones.”

  I sense Father’s awkward tension. He does not know what to say next, so I fill the silence with my own question, uncaring if Abraxon can hear me. “How do I control the demon?”

  Abraxon stirs internally, and Father’s reply is quick. “You don’t. It is a partnership of sorts. An alliance. A mutual understanding both you and the entity come to. One cannot simply control an unearthly being. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “This is Abraxon we are referring to, and I know too well just how unruly he can be.”

  He. I suppose his voice was deep and gruff, but I assumed that was because we share my mind.

  Father steps toward me, face tilted with such honest compassion for me. “Do yourself a favor and get to know Abraxon. Let him get to know you. If you are anything like me, which I don’t doubt, you will be able to work through minor disagreements.”

  I don’t need to tell Father of Abraxon’s eruption, because he seems to know from his own experience with the demon. I want to know more about their past.

  “George, I have been thinking…”

  I can’t place why his words cause butterflies in my stomach.

  “Yes?” I urge him to continue.

  “I have read over these books within this room countless times, and I dare say that I am overly bored. Would you lend me my grimoire? I know it belongs to you now, but I’d very much like to familiarize myself with my old teachings. It’s been a long while since I swam within those pages.”

  I nod, unable to think why that would be a bad idea. “Of course, I should have asked if you wanted anything from beyond the study.”

  “I want many things, but in this form, I need very little. Who knows, perhaps your mother was sloppy and missed important details in my grimoire. Maybe there’s something that will help free me,” Father says, rubbing his hand across his jaw. “Can’t hurt to look.”

  “Do you want me to stay with you?” I ask.

  Father looks up slowly, eyes bright as if they glow with life. “I would like that very much, Georgie.”

  “So would I.” I smile.

  The rest of the day passes while I sit cross-legged on the floor of the study with Father beside me. Not once did Abraxon stir and ruin t
his moment. Page by page, we flip through the book, cover to cover, start to end. We talk about the plethora of hex and charm work he created when he was my age. He mentions spells to clear a person’s mind of worry and incantations to block another witch’s physical abilities. I know what this is. Dark magic. But with Father next to me, the thought of using such power doesn’t disgust me. His excitement is infectious, enough to make me want to try these spells.

  We speak of many things, even after the book is placed back on the floor and forgotten. He asks me about Mother and her coven. He even asks about my life beyond this house.

  No matter how elated I feel to share these moments with Father, I don’t tell him about Savi and Chad. Not yet. But not because I don’t trust him. I don’t tell him because of what Savi did. Even now, I can’t dwell on it for too long without the tickle of fire dancing on my fingertips.

  “You are tired,” Father says as I yawn. “Go and rest up. You have another day of searching tomorrow.”

  “I’m fine.” I try to brush him off, because I’m not yet ready to leave him.

  “I insist, Georgie. Go and sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I find myself questioning him like a child would, “Promise?”

  He closes his emerald eyes and smiles. “Promise.”

  ***

  Father was right. I am extremely tired. As I lie down, head resting on my pillow, I pull my phone out and open the thread of messages between Chad and me.

  I miss you, I text. See you tomorrow? I shoot him the quick response, but before I can turn off my phone, I get a reply. Tilting the screen back up so my phone flickers to life, I see his message.

  I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear from you. Tomorrow is perfect. It’s a date.

  Chapter Seven

  Savi

  I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I’m focused solely on Will’s words. They know. The hunters know I’m different. I assume this is why the executioner took such care when he tortured me repeatedly, but hearing this confirmation aloud makes my thoughts real. It’s the realness of them that anchors me to the ground now.