“You’re a junkie, if we clean you up we can stand a chance.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“It won’t kill you to let me clean your blood. I’ve got fresh blood, ready to go right now,” I point to the cooler of blood I had Tituba get for me.

“You don’t even know my blood type. You could kill me,” Rythe keeps refusing.

“It doesn’t matter what your blood type is to me. I can switch it up at will. You’ll be perfectly fine.”

“Forget it.”

“No, I won’t. I’m not going into battle with a doped-up junkie beside me.”

“You’ve done enough. You flushed all my fairy dust. I’ve got none left and I can’t get more because your psycho brother is out looking for me,” Rythe raises his voice at me.

“Brother-in-law. He’s not my blood.”

“And my blood is not your blood either.”

“But it isn’t your blood either. Magic flows through your blood, like you said. That blood inside of you is filled with drugs. It isn’t yours either.”

“Can you give it a rest? I don’t even know if that’s true, I just needed you to leave me alone and clearly that didn’t work. This isn’t a battle; this is my life. You’ve got me into some shit that I want nothing to do with. I am not a fighter. I am a journalist.”

“Even if the magic isn’t actually in your blood, I can flush out the drugs and you should be able to use magic again. You’re an addict, not a coward. You couldn’t be an addict if you were afraid.”

“Did you ever stop to think there’s a reason I don’t want magic? Did you ever consider for just a moment I’m not an addict, but I’m self-medicating? You didn’t consider I’ve got some kind of illness? You just assume that I can’t kick the habit whenever I want.”

“No, I didn’t consider any of that, because it’s the same kind of thing every junky has. I know you’ve got some kind of trauma with your uncle. But the drugs won’t take that away.”

“You don’t know shit about my uncle. I’m not trying to take anything away in my past. Everything I’ve been through made me who I am and the drugs came long after I got over that. Don’t pretend you know me or can relate to me. I’ve gone with your crap this whole time because Tituba asked me to save you. I got what I wanted after you kept forcing me into confrontations with your crazy as brother. I’ve learned a lot more about you, than you ever cared to learn about me. You’re welcome to keep hiding at my house for a while. But kindly, fuck off,” Rythe starts to retreat to his room.

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“Hey Rythe, I’m sorry, but I think I have something that will change your mind,” I pull a handful of the dust from my pocket.

“You’ve got nothing to change my mind,” he keeps walking.

“Please, just, look at this,” I hold out my closed fist, palm up.

“What,” he finally turns around.

“This,” I open my fist and blow the dust in his face.

“What the fuck is this,” his speech slurs.

“Sleeping powder,” sorry, that could have been easier.

I take Rythe to the couch as he tries to fight the sleep and curses me, mumbling something about not having control. I don’t care about any of that. I don’t waste any time. I cut open a few packs of blood and pour them directly into the cooler. As he bleeds I start storing the old blood in a bubble floating just above his chest. The new blood slowly enters his body and circulates.

“The Baron was right about you,” I heart Tituba whisper as she watches.

“What?”

“You are obsessive.”

“I’m helping him.”

“No, you are helping yourself. The boy told you he didn’t want the procedure. He told you he didn’t want it over and over. He told you he had his reasons. You couldn’t even be considerate enough to ask him why. You just kept pushing for it and when he tried to leave, you drugged him,” Tituba sounds both disappointed and angry.

“You know what we’re up against. I need him at his best.”

“Do you hear yourself? You need him at his best,” she pauses waiting for an answer. “You only know him one way. The way he determined to be the best for himself. I call him a boy, the way I call you a girl. You are but children to someone who has lived as long as I have. But make no mistake, he is a grown man. He has chosen this path for himself. Here you are ripping him from that path for your own needs. This is why the Baron would not help you. The Loa are for the people, they help the people who help others and he saw nothing but greed in your heart,” she doesn’t move from the armchair, just stares a hole into me.

I pay no attention to Tituba, she doesn’t have to fight Jonah. She wouldn’t back me up if I asked her, she couldn’t. She’s become rather judgmental even after I promised to pay for repairs to her home. She thinks she knows everything because she’s old but she doesn’t. I spent a big portion of my life fighting monsters. That’s what I do. I know how to fight monsters. She speaks to old gods who aren’t even gods in this world anymore. What kind of god can be summoned by some old lady with whiskey and cigars?

“Do not speak of the Loa as if you know them,” Tituba spoke as if she heard my thoughts.

“What?”

“You believe you can speak on the Loa. As if you know more than they do. As if you know of their works. I know people like you. You turned your back on your people. Abandoned your culture for a new lifestyle.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more about you, than you know about you. More than you know about that man you’re mutilating. I know that you think of yourself as being above everyone else. Did you ask your husband before he died if he wanted to come back? Did you ask if he wanted life support? Probably not because people like you, always think they know best. People like you always think they know better, but they’re afraid. You’re just a scared little girl, who can’t control the world, so she forces her way on others. You’re not the only one who’s afraid. But you don’t see the rest of us forcing our will on others.”