Alister
My heart lurched. I jolted awake with a sharp breath, eyes darting around. The world reassembled itself into the familiar strangeness of a bedroom I half-recognized. Black wallpaper patterned like smoke. Three gleaming samurai swords mounted neatly on the wall.
Stephanie's guest room.
"We planned on letting you rest some more, but I figured you'd get angry if we didn't wake you up sooner." Zach's voice broke through the haze. He stood at the nightstand, arranging a bouquet of lavender wrapped in crinkled brown paper into a vase. "These are fresh from my greenhouse. You're welcome."
My gaze dropped, and the dizziness in my head sharpened when I noticed the thin IV tube filled with blood snaking into my hand.
"You've been asleep for a whole day and a half." The witch's mocking voice slithered into my ears. I sat bolt upright and glanced at the time.
"You let me sleep for a whole day and a half!?" My glare snapped to Zach. "Do you incompetent fools have any idea how much work there is to be done?"
Zach only blinked, unruffled. "Wow. She really does tell you everything, huh?" The corner of his mouth twitched with a faint smirk as he poured a glass of water and held it out to me. "You threw up a lot of blood. What use are you if you don't recuperate and regain your strength?"
The glass in Zach's hand had barely brushed mine when the memory hit me—like a knife dragged across the back of my skull.
Clara. The kidnappers. And the immense pressure in my chest that I kept ignoring and ended up in this pathetic state. So this is what will happen when I push myself.
The haze in my head cleared in an instant, replaced by heat that surged up from my chest.
"Where's Clara?" My voice cracked like a whip as I demanded. "What happened to her?"
"She's fine. She was here before me actually." He replies calmly, walking over and lowering himself onto a cream-colored couch. "She's doing great. We even went shopping to get you that."
He lazily points to the nightstand where, beside the flower vase, sat a jar of lavender-scented candle.
I stared at it, my thoughts a jumbled mess. Questions clawed up in my throat—about those men, about what happened to the liquid man and the crow I'd captured, and about whether Simon had managed to scrub away every trace of us. They piled up, pressing against my teeth.
But all that slipped out was one word. "We?"
Zach lounged back on the couch, crossing one ankle over his knee. "Yeah, me and Clara. We picked out a few things for the trip. She has incredible taste. Just knows what fits. You should've seen her. Took over the whole store like it belonged to her. It was…"
The sharp crack of the glass in my hand interrupts him. Water running over my fingers through the fractures and pattering onto the floor. I barely noticed. My mind was busy imagining her laugh, her hands brushing his arm, and the way her eyes might have lingered.
Zach blinked at the sound, then waved it off. "Ah, yeah… it wasn't fun at all. We got bored fast and ended it early. Nothing worth mentioning."
I exhale and place the cracked glass back on the nightstand. Nothing worth mentioning? He calls his time with her nothing?
"What about the two people I captured?" I ask, changing the subject.
"Simon has the crow and hasn't left his house because of the hoard of crows that follows him. Even installed multiple locks on his door out of fear. And about that liquid man..." Zach pauses uncomfortably. "Steph buried the jar in concrete."
I sigh and shake my head. Of course she did. The thought of trapping it for eternity in darkness with only its thoughts to keep it company must sound amusing to her. It does to me too. There are rare times when we agree on such methods after countless disagreements because she wants to see a bloody mess instead of poetic justice that fits their death.
"It's time you kept your promise, Alister." Leora whispers again. "Kill the crow."
How impatient. She might have been useful for tracking Clara and informing us about what she heard from her gemstone but that doesn't mean I've forgotten that she's the one responsible for everything. The great witch Leora, creator of all these magical artifacts and the sole reason we are cursed.
"By the way, you might want to wipe that off before Steph sees it." He sheepishly points to his lips. "She'll tease you to death."
Confused, I swipe at my lips with the back of my hand and stare at the pink smudge against pale skin.
My chest jolts like I've been sucker-punched. Not just any pink either. Clara's signature lipstick. The one she always wears, the one that clings stubbornly to coffee cups and napkins.
And now it's on me.
My imagination betrays me, painting the scene in merciless detail: her leaning down, her hair brushing against my cheek, the scent of jasmine invading my lungs, and then...the ghost of her lips pressing against mine. Leaving that smudge like a brand.
I dig my nails into my palm to stay grounded and think logically instead of jumping to conclusions and cursing myself for staying unconscious.
"Your two knuckle-headed friends are pranking you, idiot." Leora appears on a spare couch, looking at me with a smug look on her face.
My glare snaps to Zach. He's suddenly fascinated by the carpet, his lips twitching, fighting a grin that threatens to betray him.
"He's awake, right?!" A voice yells from outside. The door bursts open before I can say anything. Steph barrels in, gasping, cheeks flushed from running. The moment her gaze lands on me, her mouth curls into that wicked grin I know too well. "Zach, you were right. This was better than drawing on his face."
"Why did you have to rat me out?" He fusses and, unfortunately, ducks his head just in time as the already cracked glass flies through the air and smashes against the wall behind him. He panics when he notices my eyes glowing silver and runs out of the room. "Sorry!"
"I'll burn you two alive." I grit out, trying to take off the IV needle as my eyes drift to Steph, hoping the words remind her of her own tragedy. And it works—just a little. Her cocky grin falters, stiffening into a tight line. Her eyes sharpen, narrowing into that glare.
"Do that..." a third annoying voice presents itself. "And the cost of cleaning up after you and any additional treatment you might require after carelessly pulling out that IV drip would be double."
Lily enters the room wearing a loose white dress and holding onto a green champagne bottle. Despite her frizzy hair tied into a tight bun, a few disobedient strands still show themselves. My greedy spy, who was once charged with digging dirt on the Austin family, has become close to Clara. Enough so that the latter even lets her steal their liquor bottles.
"Good to see you wake up. I was starting to feel guilty only hustling Clara." She says as she takes a swing of the bottle.
As if her spying skills weren't good enough, the fact that she used to be a qualified nurse before she got fired for false charges and is the person we always go to in case of injuries and wounds makes her annoyingly indispensable.
Steph gives her a pat on the shoulder and walks out of the room without another glance.
"How's Clara's injury? Did she get in trouble at home?" I ask as I pinch the bridge of my nose, recalling the blood dripping down her leg.
"I patched her up, so she's fine. And since Stephanie took all the blame for whatever story that made Clara sound like a victim, she didn't get punished. At least...not physically." Lily sighs as she checks the IV bag filled with blood. "But if you're still worried, why not pay another nightly visit?"
I keep my face carefully neutral, but inside, something shifts. It feels as though my walls have thinned, leaving me exposed, naked before her knowing gaze. "What are you talking about?"
She shakes her head like she expected a better excuse. "That little music box. It was a surprise how it came into her hand overnight." A smirk curls her lips as she pulls her bag off her shoulder. "She's obsessed with it. Sleeps next to it every night, and sometimes… she just stares at it. For so long. With this smile—" Lily presses her fingertips to her own cheeks, almost wincing. "—hurts my face just to watch."
Something thick and foreign coils in my chest at her words. It swells, molten and cloying, a sweetness I can neither endure nor spit out. It seeps into places I thought long frozen. I don't know what it is. Only that it's wrong.
The thought of Clara cherishing something I gave her, clutching it in the dark as if it were a lifeline—it does something to my stomach.
...it's probably indigestion. Or hunger since I haven't eaten anything.
I drag my gaze away and pick up my phone from the nightstand. My thumb hovers over Simon's contact while I cling to the cold clarity of strategy. The crow. Focus on the crow and next part of my plan.
Lily takes a long swig from the champagne bottle, her voice quieter now, almost as though she's speaking to the room itself. "You've always been good at making people afraid of you. At making them keep their distance. I wasn't aware…" She laughs softly, humorlessly. "…that you were capable of making someone genuinely happy. I'd advise you not to mess this up."
My thumb pauses over the written text. Because of her words. And because the scene in front of me changes. My vision flickers like static. As it does before the start of every hallucination.
I'm sitting at a dining table. Staring down at a plate of burned meat with a black feather beside it.
No...not this...
"That bird was a weakness. You were growing attached. I could see it in your eyes. Let me teach you something, Alister. Everything you care for becomes a blade someone can use against you."
The familiar gentle voice of my mentor entered my ears. In any of the hallucinations, I've never met her. And of all the times, it had to be this one. Back then, I felt nauseous but didn't cry. Miranda never liked seeing me cry. Told me it made me look weak.
I can't find myself to look away from the burned bird as she leans in, whispering like it's a secret I'm lucky to hear.
"Power is not about love. Power is about control. And if you ever want to survive in this world, you can't let yourself belong to anything. Not birds. Not people. Not even hope. Except me. You only belong to me. Now...eat."
I wrench my eyes shut and snap the rubber band on my wrist, grateful—absurdly—that they hadn't stripped it from me. The sting pulls me back, anchors me in pain instead of memory.
"What's wrong?"
I open my eyes when I hear Lily's uncertain voice. The plate is gone, the feather gone. I'm back in the guest room.
Leora is no longer on the couch, but I can tell she's watching everything. Savoring the way she dredges up ghosts I've buried with blood just to unnerve me.
I sigh and run a hand through my hair. That hallucination was just what I needed to focus on the only thing that matters.
Getting this witch out of me.
"It's a misunderstanding," I say flatly, resuming my list of demands for Simon. "That gift had a practical purpose. Nothing more."
Lily sighs, the sound heavy with disappointment, before she turns to leave. "Good luck tomorrow then."
I frown, squinting at her retreating back. "What?"
She pokes her head back in the doorway. "Didn't Zach tell you? You're all going to stay together at a hotel in Spokane. For whatever mission you're on."