Clara
I use my pruned finger to make a line on the frosted glass before the steam blurs it again.
I should get out. I've been boiling here for half an hour, missing soaking at home with real products instead of these miniature hotel bottles.
But when something's on my mind, I tend to stay longer. Like the one dream I had last night. Dying by poison has become a common occurrence in the nightmares. But the room wasn't empty. It wasn't just me and the other girl this time.
There was a dead man on the floor beside the bed. His body was slumped awkwardly, like he'd fallen mid-step. He'd been dead for a while.
There was also a baby's cot.
I didn't try to rationalize like usual. Didn't tell myself it was just a dream. Didn't even look back at the woman next to me. Frailer, but still beautiful in that quiet, distant way.
Instead, I forced myself off the bed, every muscle screaming in protest as the poison sank its claws into my blood. But I crawled. When I finally pulled myself upright and looked inside the cot, something inside me broke open all at once.
There were two newborns, wrapped in a pink bloody blanket. Eyes closed. I reached out with trembling fingers, expecting cold skin. But when they brushed one baby's neck, I gasped. A heartbeat. Faint but still there. The other one was in the same state.
I clutched the side of the cot as another wave of pain tore through me. I coughed, staining my hand with blood, but I didn't stop.
I scooped the babies up, cradling them against me with what little strength I had left. Their skin was still warm beneath the blood. I dragged myself toward the door. The room spun. My body screamed for me to lie down and die.
I made it to the threshold before my legs gave up. I collapsed. But even then, my arms wrapped around the babies, cushioning the fall. Protecting them. My voice cracked as I screamed. "Help! Please—someone! The babies—they're alive—!"
But no one came. Just the echo of my cries in a house that felt like a tomb. My vision blurred. The walls bent around me like shadows. I looked down at the little things in my arms. "I'm sorry," I whispered, every word pulled from the hollow of my breaking lungs. "I'm so… so sorry…"
Then darkness swallowed me. When I woke up, I was already crying. My body was half off the bed, one leg tangled in the sheets.
I would've fallen completely if not for the handcuffs around my wrist, chaining me to the bedpost. Meanwhile, might I add, my sweet gallant protector was fast asleep on the desk.
It shouldn't really be a surprise that Leora would murder her own children when she's been murdering countless girls for centuries. But why? Why go through the trouble of staying pregnant and having kids when you're just going to kill it off in the end? It seems pointless and alot of effort to satisfy some sadistic kicks of killing a baby.
I flinch as I feel the water start getting colder and turn it off. I slip into the clothes Alister bought me while I was asleep on his back. A white blouse and a sapphire blue skirt with a long vertical zipper running up one side.These are his choices.
Once out of the bathroom, I look at the man slumped forward at the desk, head resting on a folded arm. Still asleep.
As it turns out, Alister is a deep sleeper. When the initial disappointment of not waking up in his arms, being comforted, had subsided, anger took over. What a waste of a one bed situation. While I appreciate the effort to keep me from sleep walking and killing myself, not only did he not leave the key to the handcuffs near me, he also took off all my bobby pins and left me unable to get free.
No matter what I threw at him, even the medicines, which I instantly regretted thanks to the headache, he didn't wake up. It wasn't until I found a pin under my pillow that I finally set myself free.
Did he seriously think I would know how to pick a lock during sleepwalking? Does he think that highly of my skill? Or maybe...he threw away everything because I'd pick the lock when I'm awake. And do whatever I wanted. Giving in to those lewd thoughts storming my brain after it took every ounce of self-control not to act on them despite being drunk.
I smirk as I loom over him, eyes tracing the slope of his back, the way his shirt stretches over his shoulders. The faint line of skin that peeks out where his waistband rides low.
Coward.
My eyes fall on the book sprawled across the table. Is that...? I pull it out from under him as I stare in horror at my hard work. The novel I was writing. Disfigured and ruined by his stupid comments and criticism.
How dare he? For a moment, I consider pinching his nose, disrupting his peaceful sleep. But as always, he looks so calm when he's like this that my fury drips away, replaced by something else.
I run my hand through his soft hair, settling on the table with one leg crossed over the other, fingers still tangled in his hair. My gaze falls to the handcuff biting red into the pale skin of his wrist.
Sleepwalking is one thing, but having your body taken over while awake is far more terrible. Yet now it's what he has to worry about and think of ways to stop it before he does anything regrettable.
Like killing off someone close to him.
He'll never admit it or show it, but Lev's death had an effect on him. Leora used his hands like marionette strings, twisting Lev's neck. And if he hadn't clawed his way back to the surface, he would've killed his own sister too.
And now he cuffs himself to desks and refuses to sleep near anyone. Or with.
"Ow!"
I glance down to find my fist tangled in his hair. He stirs, wincing in pain. "Sorry." I say awkwardly, retreating my hand.
He lifts his head sluggishly, rubbing his eyes and squinting to focus on me.
I smile innocently. "You talk in your sleep."
The crease between his brows deepens. "Liar."
"You do." I insist, folding my arms and flashing a teasing smirk. "You were calling out to me and making noises."
What I expected him to do was roll his eyes and come up with a witty comeback, yet the momentary widening of his eyes as he looks away and the hint of color on his cheeks as he says, "Now I know you're definitely lying." tells me a whole other story.
One that I'm very interested in knowing.
"It's almost 9?" He exclaims, checking his phone. "Why didn't you wake me up?" His eyes start scanning the room. Probably looking for the key to his cuffs.
"How was I supposed to know you wanted me to?" I say in confusion, pulling the key from behind me. I'd found it earlier but knew better than to free him too soon. He takes it hesitantly.
"So, what's the rush?" I ask as he stands, tossing the cuffs aside and heading for the bathroom.
"We've got classes," he smirks over his shoulder. "Atleast one of us has to keep a perfect attendance record."
I roll my eyes and glance down at my nails. "Oh no, what on earth will happen to my perfect attendance when I certainly don't have any other pressing matters to worry about."
For some reason, he doesn't respond. When I look up at him, he's staring at the stuff scattered on the ground and then at his slightly red wrist.
I offer a reassuring smile. "I just had a nightmare. Tried to wake you up so I could get the key."
He studies me a moment, then nods, unconvinced but unwilling to press, before heading to the bathroom. The door clicks shut, louder than it should.
I lean back and try to take deep breaths.
I hate silence. I mean, I do like it sometimes but mostly hate it. Noise keeps you focused on other things, pulling your attention away. But the quiet forces you to talk to yourself. To delve into your thoughts and imagination. Reopening closed drawers of memory and leaving you troubled, or whatever feeling they hold.
The night before. Me killing Alexander, the pleading eyes of the captive women, confronting dad, the wind as I ran, Alister's comforting presence, and the weight in my chest when I heard of Lev's death.
I try to focus on the ticking clock, the sound of car horns outside, the shower in the bathroom, which I quickly shake out of my head before my imagination gets the better of me.
I glance up at the pastel abstract painting hanging above the bed.
The colors pull me back to the baby in my hands. It takes a special kind of monster to kill babies, probably the same one who made artifacts that ruin people while feeding their cravings. I avoid using mine for the side effects, but Alister uses his so often I almost forgot he's skilled with knives. That's what happens when you rely too much on power.
The choker Lev wore. Zach told me It makes people want to own him. Hurt him or do whatever their twisted hidden thoughts tell them to do.
I feel my fists start to clench.
Leora made such a thing. She knew about Lev. About what he was going through or possibly what others under similar artifacts might be going through yet...she let them.
"You're despicable." I whisper, knowing she hears me clearly.
"You play with people's lives like they're insignificant. You made these artifacts and let them fall into the wrong hands. You're a powerful witch, with your spellbook no less, yet the biggest coward I've ever known. Hiding from the very people you could have stopped. You had the ability to do so, but you're too selfish and sadistic to do anything meaningful with your immortality."
"Mark my words...I will destroy you. And then I'll destroy the people who tortured my friend and gave him those scars." I declare as the only answer I get is silence. I run a hand over my face, slightly embarrassed as I feel like I've just been talking to myself.
This new freedom is overwhelming. So many plans for my future, it feels like one lifetime won't be enough.
"What are you thinking?"
Alister's voice snaps me back as he walks out, drying his hair.
"Oh, nothing." I let out a weak laugh, swinging my legs. "Just...thinking about Lev." He hums in response, moving to the mirror to fix his hair.
Valerie Hilton.
That was the name of Lev's former owner. The one who tormented him, and some others under her, even though this part was vaguely implied. That's the only thing Lev told me and didn't want to talk about it further.
I'll kill her. Once all this is over, once we have defeated Leora, I'll find her and put a bullet in her head. Maybe I'll ask Alister to join me. Knowing him, he'd be more than happy to spill and bathe in the blood of his enemies.
"Clara?"
I look up instantly. It's the way he says my name that has me in a chokehold. He's staring at me the way I've wanted him to. Like I'm the only thing in the world worth focusing on.
"Yes?" I ask, but it comes out shakier than I intend.
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, the air around us stills as he walks toward me, eyes locked on mine with a quiet ferocity that pins me in place. The space between us shrinks, and I suddenly notice my racing heart, flushed face, and stuttering breath as he draws near. His gaze is deep and warm, like molten amber laced with shadows. Pressed against the cool wall, I grip the table's edge until my knuckles ache.
Wait...warm eyes?
He stops a breath away from me.
"Sorry." I mumble.
Without hesitation, I grab the hardcover book at my side and slam it across his face. His head snaps to the side, a grunt tearing from his throat. Before he can recover, I bring both legs up and drive them into his stomach with everything I've got.
He crashes to the floor, breath knocked from him.
"Wake up!" I call out, already springing into motion. Stupid! Can't believe I almost fell for it.
"You sl*t." He spits out, glare cutting up at me, but I've already activated my ability, vanishing from sight. This is my first interaction with Leora. And hearing those words from Alister's mouth, even though I know it's not him, still feels weird.
The table lamp flies through the spot I'd just occupied, shattering against the wall in a burst of ceramic and sparks.
I don't stop.
Invisible, I sprint to the couch, eyes on my bag. Alister scrambles up, but I stomp his chest on the way, slamming him flat again. He curses, odd for him, as his hand rises too late.
I grab the bag from the cushions, relief flooding me at the weight of my guns. Still here. "But the title suits you better, doesn't it, Leora?" I say, dodging another flying lamp. "You do seem to be experienced in such dirty tricks. I bet you had a lot of lovers and husbands in your past lives."
I quickly sidestep and successfully manage to fire a shot. The bullet slices past his neck and slams into the far wall. Close enough to make her flinch. Far enough to leave him untouched.
Even without hitting him, his eyes flutter and knees buckle, unmoored by the sound. He starts to fall, then catches himself, eyes snapping open, sharper, fully awake. He plants his feet firmly, like someone gripping the edge of a cliff.
It's him. I can feel it this time.
Relief crashes into me like a wave. I lower the gun, ready to step forward—but then his gaze lifts. First to the pistol in my hand, then to the wall behind him, where the bullet struck.
His brows pull together, and he turns away without a word to the desk and picks up his phone.
"Alister?" I ask gently, inching closer.
He doesn't look up, just rubs his chin thoughtfully. "As expected. If I die while she's in control, then she dies with me."
My grip tightens. "I wasn't going to—"
"You never cease to amaze me, do you?" he says, cutting me off.
I pause, unsure how to take it. The tone sounded like somewhere between a challenge and admiration. And then he turns to face me fully. And smiles. That precious, genuine smile.
"I didn't even get the chance to tell you the plan," he says softly. "Yet, not only did you get her to give up control sooner than last time, but calling out also helped me focus while unconscious and find a direction to act. You're brilliant."
A quiet warmth spreads through my chest as I wave the gun around. "So… you're not offended or anything?"
He huffs out a quiet laugh. "Offended? It's not the first time you've pointed a gun at me. Hopefully not the last." His phone buzzes loudly in his hand. He groans like remembering something troublesome. "I'll be off." he mutters, already walking to the door.
I follow him just enough to lock it behind him, hand resting on the wood forcing my heart to calm down.
♡.......💙.......♡
"Hello? Who is this?" Stephanie's annoyed voice rings out through my burner phone. The reporter on TV talks about my dad being taken into custody while more evidence is being gathered. My blood found in his study is not helping his claims. It's going to be hard for whoever will defend him.
"Clara." I answer. By the muffled voices in the background, I can tell she isn't alone.
"How are you? And... Ugh, just give me your location and we'll be right there." She says and I hear the heavy stomping of her boots as she walks.
We
So she's with the others. The thought further infuriates me. They were doing something without me. That basterd didn't fill me in on anything like he said and weaseled out of here.
"I need you to tell me where we are going today for the last item. All the details." I ask.
The beeping sound of the microwave catches my attention and I take out the turkey sandwiches. How did he know I like them? He even bought my preferred brand of instant coffee. My gaze drifts to the book and at all the little things he did for me. The only time I mentioned any of this was on the highway to the gas station. He remembered every absurd detail of my rambling?
"I'll tell that to you in person. Are you ok? Do you feel like breaking stuff? I could grab a few plates, mugs or even that urn at Simon's house on the way."
"My grandmother's ashes are in it!" I hear his piercing voice through the phone.
"She's dead Simon. Get over it." Stephanie grunts as if he's the one suggesting something ridiculous.
My eyes narrow, scan the room, finding the broken four-leaf clover in the trashcan. Exactly where it belongs.
"I'll send you the location. And please don't break that urn." I sigh and hang up.