My eyelids must weigha hundred pounds. I try to flutter them open. There’s nothing but resistance. The heaviness, coupled with a throbbing in my head, makes me wish I could slip back into the depths of sleep. What the fuck happened last night?
I struggle to piece together the memories from before I passed out, but I’m only met with pain and black spots in the corners of my vision. The stranger from the bar was here, and he had fucked me into the oblivion. That, I remember. I still don’t even know his fucking name, and that fact bothers me the most, but I’m not sure why. There’s a memory tickling me in the back of my mind, and I grasp at it, but I still come up short. My center aches. Suddenly, it feels vacant, like my body is missing an organ. An emptiness in the pit of my stomach causes bile to burn the back of my throat. I suppress the urge to vomit because I still can’t roll out of bed.
A vision of mist and swirling shadows fills my mind. With my eyes closed, I can just barely make out a shape in the middle of it, but I can’t quite decipher what it is. I wave my hand across my face like I can brush the memory away and peek one eye open to take in the room. Streams of light come in through the small opening between my curtains, but the room is empty. The surrounding rooms are still and silent. I’m alone.
Shit. That means the stranger I brought back here to kill last night is gone, escaped. Panic launches my body out of bed despite the angry protesting of every muscle. I’m still naked, but that’s the least of my concerns when my entire world could come tumbling down on me. I run down the hallway to the small kitchen and living room. Empty. I even throw back the shower curtain in the bathroom, like searching for a killer in a slasher flick. If I wasn’t in the grip of terror, I might laugh at the irony. Nothing.
He has been to my cabin, knows what I do, where I work. I couldn’t have left myself more exposed if I tried. How could I have done something so stupid? My knees give out, and I slump into a puddle in the hallway. I’m ready to give myself a pity party and wait to hear sirens speeding down the dirt road to my cabin.
After a few minutes, or maybe hours, nothing happens, and my mind settles just enough to think without all my loud thoughts deafening me with dread. Maybe he didn’t escape to have me arrested. He had me held captive in my own home, tied up at his mercy. My body squirms with pleasure and horror, remembering each depraved thing he did to me.
Or maybe he just ghosted me. I’m not sure which option stings more. A man filled with darkness saw my own and still decided it was too much. The tears return and turn into hot streams rolling down my cheeks. I don’t even bother to wipe them away. I met another monster, and I still scared him away. We all get what we deserve.
I finally stand, legs wobbly, and head back to my room. It feels desecrated now. His woodsy scent still fills the room. I still smell like him too. A mix of our sweat and arousal coats my skin, and I mindlessly rub my arms like I can rid myself of it.
I sigh loudly, sitting on the edge of my bed. I know I need to get up again and take a shower, to wash him off me. Even though I’d rather sit here and stare into the wall, let my mind escape from the constant stream of thoughts of everything that happened and everything that could, I can’t let myself stay here and spiral.
As I move to get up, something on my nightstand catches my eye. It’s a small glass vial with a string attached to the neck. I know it’s not mine. Jewelry, other than the few piercings I have, is not really my thing. I don’t remember my stranger wearing a necklace either, though, especially one that looks like a homemade charm. It’s not uncommon for people from Hellsmouth to believe in folk magic, but he didn’t strike me as the type.
At first glance, the charm doesn’t look different from the ones my ma would make. I still keep a few hanging in the kitchen and on the porch. It’s warm to the touch and filled with something. My eyes widen as I take it in. The substance inside looks like liquid swirling with shadows, like a piece of the night sky is trapped inside. A sense of calm washes over me as I hold it. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, next to the man from last night. Did my stranger leave this for me? There’s no note attached, so I’m at a loss for why or what it even is.
My eyes lock onto the little vial, and I spin it again between my fingers. Its pull is mesmerizing and magnetic. I have an out-of-body experience as my arms reach above my head and place the charm over my neck. The second it touches my bare skin, it fills the void I felt when I woke up this morning, as integral to me as a body part. The shadows swirl chaotically for a few seconds and then calm again to their slow spiral. He left this—for me. He’s gone, but he left me with this bit of magic in his place.
The alarm on my phone blares, and I snap out of the haze the necklace has left me in. I shake my head and turn it toward the noise. What time is it? How long have I been fucking around with the necklace?
I finally find my phone tossed haphazardly across my room in a pile of clothes and switch off the alarm. It’s doubtful I’ve missed anything. I don’t have social media or any friends to be social with. I had told Tally I would check in, though, and she’s the closest to anyone I’ve ever been.
Sure enough, there’s a text from Tally from a few hours ago. She’s checking to make sure I wasn’t murdered last night, after taking a stranger home and all that. A smile tugs at my lips. She always thinks the best of me, with no idea what’s lurking just below the surface. She doesn’t know all the dark secrets eroding me internally. Her texts are full of worry, and I quickly send a response to let her know I’m still breathing. She never needs to know how close she was to actually predicting my demise.
I quickly send another text, letting her know I’ll be at the roadhouse tonight to pick up a shift. I don’t have a set schedule, but I know I can’t be in this house alone with just my thoughts right now. A shiver runs down my still-naked spine, and I remember I need to wash away whatever it was that happened last night.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ripp
It’s only been a few hours since I left Mattie, but memories of her already haunt me. Her soft whimpers and needy moans ring in my ears. Her soft skin still feels like electricity on my fingertips. She’s under my skin now, and not even tearing the flesh from my bones will get her out.
There are questions I need answers to. Even for a creature older than the Earth, some bits of magic remain a mystery. I’m a liminal being, not a seer. I continue deeper into the woods until I finally arrive at the cabin I’ve been searching for. I’ve been here before, but it has been enchanted with magic that keeps it from being found the same way twice. The cabin is made entirely of wood, small and rickety. It looks rundown and abandoned, except for the small stream of smoke rising from the chimney.
The witch opens the door before I even step out into the small clearing. Even though her eyes are white and her long silver hair falls in front of them, I know she sees me. While all mortals can sense my presence, their hackles raise with fear and their hearts pound, they’re still mostly blind to me. Their minds protect them from what they know on a primal level to fear until I force myself upon them to be seen. The witch knows what to look for.
“Are you going to come in, child? Or just stand there letting yourself air out?” She cackles and turns back towards the dark doorway.
I suddenly remember why I usually avoid coming here. I’m not a child to her by any means, but she has never referred to me as anything else. I could show up in my true form, nothing but horror and shadows, and she’d still roll her eyes and pat the mist swirling around me like one would pat the head of a small child. She has the information I need, though, or at least, I hope she does, so I grit my teeth and follow her inside.
The witch’s cabin is like Mattie’s, except any wards she sets would actually work against my kind. Mattie’s are merely mortal trinkets made to give her peace of mind. Like most modern iterations of folklore, the magic of it has been gradually lost over the generations. It probably didn’t help that the smaller minded ones burned everything they couldn’t explain. The few old world witches left have been in hiding for centuries, something I was also accustomed to until recently.
“Tell me, Ripp, do you fall in love with humans often?” She asks, grabbing a screaming kettle from the small stove. Her question catches me off guard, and I stand in stunned silence. She pours tea into a metal mug and stirs it, her eyes closed in thought. “I have seen her in these woods, you know. She goes to the lake and makes offerings to gods she knows nothing of.” I remain quiet, waiting for her to continue.
“You want to know how to keep her.” She nods in confirmation, with no need for my response. I raise an eyebrow, suppressing my urge to yell at her to get on with it, but she senses my annoyance and just chuckles lowly.
“There have been tales, ones that talk of souls being fragmented from sustained emotional trauma. The voids in the soul allow it to fill with dark magic, a curse. It eats at them slowly. Those who are not driven mad by it transform instead. It can be so gradual, their human form gives out before the transformation is complete.” She pauses again, like she had a second thought. “Others are simply born already intertwined with their dark fates.”
“Magic is not light or dark, witch,” I state flatly. Everything is so black and white with humans. They’re quick to put everything into a clearly labeled box and give order to the chaos of nature when it naturally has none.
“Shadows are dark, child.” Her tone is sharp, and if I press her too hard, she’s likely not to give me any answers at all. “Darkness fills all the spots the light can’t reach. I did not say evil. For a being so old, I thought you would know that light and dark do not necessarily correlate to good and evil.”
I take a seat at the small round table that separates the kitchen from the living space. Symbols resembling runes are carved into the ancient wood, and I pick at them agitatedly with one finger. I wonder what it’s supposed to ward off if not me. I try to feign disinterest. “What does that have to do with me?”
