“The transformation has already begun. You simply accelerated it. However, Mattie's fate was always to be what she’s becoming.” She shrugs and takes a sip of her tea before taking the seat next to mine. My nose crinkles as the heavy scent of magic and herbs rolls off her.
“Your cryptic bullshit is irritating,” I growl. I didn’t come here to be filled with riddles and messages I’m supposed to decode. The witch readjusts in her chair, turning to face me. The growing unrest inside me paces like an animal stuck in a cage. “What fucking transformation?”
“You came to me, so if you’re not happy with my pace, feel free to look for answers elsewhere.” She clucks her tongue and waves a hand towards the door.
I don’t enjoy being at this hag’s mercy, but fuck, she’s right. If Mattie’s darkness is already spreading, eventually, her light will snuff out. She’ll die anyway, even without my presence in her short life. “How do I save her?”
“Ah, so there is some attachment to this human. Curious.” The witch chuckles, and my patience is ready to snap. “There is no way to reverse the damage to her soul. She’s lived a hard life, been in these woods for too long, experienced horrors at an age no person should. It’s best to leave her be. Let her enjoy what she has left.”
Nothing about Mattie leads me to believe she’s enjoying anything in her current life. Even after killing that man and sinking him out in the lake, she still screamed like it was she who was dying. The fire in her eyes blazed only as she held that knife to my throat—and when she screamed out in pleasure beneath me.
“But since the transformation has already started, there is a ritual to complete it.” She sets down her cup and sighs, not giving any signs of elaborating further. This is going nowhere.
“Witch,” I grumble, dragging my hands down the sides of my face. I don’t enjoy repeating myself, but I ask again, “What is she changing into?”
“The ritual is not without considerable risk. You could easily kill her before you finish,” she says, avoiding the question again entirely. She stares into her cup like it’s going to give out the answer I’m demanding instead.
“That’s not what I asked.” My words come out clipped and low. She gives a noncommittal hum. Questions buzz around in my mind like a swarm of bees, so I try a different approach. “How do I complete the ritual without killing her?”
A grin spreads across the witch’s wrinkled face. Her eyes meet mine, and inky orbs of white stare into me, meeting the gaze of my true form hiding behind its prison of flesh. “You sacrifice a piece of yourself.”
“Done,” I growl. Anything. I would give anything to not have to walk this existence for another day without her. Even if I can’t save her, I’ll spend the rest of eternity searching for her soul in another container.
“Not so fast, child. You must cleave a part of your own soul to fuse it with hers.” Then, she laughs so loudly, it echoes off the walls of the tiny cabin. The obnoxious sound hammers into my ears as it bounces around the room. Of course. There’s always a catch, and it’s my soul—a soul I don’t fucking have.
“Witch,” I roar, losing control of my temper. I stand, towering over her. My body flushes with fury. “You know damn well my kind doesn’t have a soul to give.”
“A soulless being who must consume souls to fill space in themselves,” she says, no longer laughing. Her voice is infuriatingly calm, even as she tells me something about myself I’m already well aware of.
“Is that supposed to be some kind of riddle?” I spit out. My human body trembles from the pressure of my magic raging inside me. My hands curl into fists, and I feel the skin stretch around each knuckle.
“Perhaps.” She shrugs and stands to turn back to the pot simmering on her stove. Her voice drifts out behind her. “I trust you’ll sort it out.”
I slam my fists on the table, causing the dishes and trinkets to rattle. I stand and start to storm my way to the door. “Your answers are infuriatingly vague.”
“Or maybe,” she pauses and stirs the contents of the pot as it bubbles up with a crackling noise, “you already possess something equivalent. The magic of destroying a soul is not so much different from creating one.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
mattie
Ibury my toes in the mud along the water’s edge. This is my first time back at Devil’s Pool since my encounter with my stranger from the bar. Little pieces of that night have drifted into my mind since then, but I’m still missing the most important ones. I can’t remember his fucking name. I need to give him one already, even if it’s not his own, because I can’t keep calling him ‘my stranger.’ None of the names that drift through my mind fit him, though. Every name seems too dull, too normal. My stranger is anything but normal. Hell, apparently, he’s not even human.
I shake my head and stare out into the dark water. It sounds ridiculous even thinking about it. Everything he told me that night leaves me on the brink of sanity trying to comprehend it. Could it even be true? Ma believed in magic, but the little she taught me didn’t cover ethereal entities. I rub my temples and try to remember what happened after he told me what he was, but it’s all black. My head falls to my knees, and I let out a soft groan. Maybe humans aren’t meant to understand magic? We barely have the capacity to accept ourselves.
He left me days ago, and it’s like time has slowed. The sand in the hourglass is now falling one grain at a time. Each day feels exactly like the one before, time falling in on itself and repeating. I’m exhausted, but every time I close my eyes, my nightmares are there waiting for me. A constant feeling of dread, like I’m missing something, haunts me.
I roll the vial around my neck between my fingers. My mind catches on the gentle swirls of the liquid. The shadowy substance follows my fingers around the glass. A light flickers inside it, but it’s dimmer than when I found it. I don’t know why I wear it, but it fills an indescribable void in my chest when I do. Being with my stranger was the only time I felt comfortable in my skin. I could sense the darkness in him calling to me, drawing me in until I was trapped in his orbit. His presence felt like he was breathing his essence into mine, giving it life. Before him, I’d let myself become a ghost.
I spent most of the first two days staring out the front window, hoping I’d catch a glimpse of him, hoping for something, anything, that gave me a sign he was still around. I just wanted to cling to a sliver of hope this all wasn’t a fever dream. Each movement out in the trees had my heart racing, silently pleading for him to step out of the woods. Desperation scratches below my skin even now when I think about him.
Everything about him haunts me. My mind plays tricks on me, making me see little signs he’s still around, watching me when I’m not looking. Objects outside move around in the night. Wildflowers I know I didn’t pick appear in the house. Maybe it’s alack of sleep, or maybe I’m just losing my mind. It wouldn’t surprise me, especially after what happened to Ma and Pa. I know there’s a darkness like Pa’s lurking inside me too. I can see it in my reflection, hovering around like a fog I can’t escape.
Pa infected everyone around him. His vileness seemed to leach out of him like a slow-acting poison into me and Ma. Until one day, Ma gave up, and I found her lying there in their bed. She looked so peaceful at first, her eyes closed and her lips softly curved into a smile. I didn’t even notice she wasn’t breathing until I saw the pool of blood slowly growing on the sheets beneath her. After that, my memory goes dark until I wake up down by the lake. The water gently laps at my body as I lie in the dirt, covered in blood. I knew then that I’d always be trapped in Hellsmouth, carrying my family’s burdens as well as my own. My pa was right—we all get what we deserve.
I try to remember a time when I still had big dreams for myself, but a tingling pain grows in my head. When I try to recall memories from my childhood, so much of it is blank. Everything is just short bursts of recollection in between voids of nothing. I grasp at the memories, but they’re like dust in the wind. It doesn’t matter. I’m not that girl anymore. I’m a monster.
My folks said they were protecting me, and maybe Ma was, but it feels more like Pa was protecting himself. I know I’ve never gone to public school. There were no sleepovers with friends. The only other people I ever saw were Pa’s friends, and I shudder at the thought. I had none of the normal milestones I wish I hadn’t missed out on, ones I’d seen other children experience on the small, rabbit-ear TV once I finally had the house to myself. I had to learn the rules of the world outside our cabin too late in life then struggle to survive this world with the rage gradually rising inside me. I’m an outcast.
