Those next few seconds were the longest few seconds Ana had ever felt. Deacon’s head lay onto of her breasts, blood gushing from his neck and onto her dress, ruining the gold fabric. She liked that dress.

Something made of metal dropped onto the floor, and the clanging sound brought Ana back to the present. Breathe, she reminded herself, and took in a great lungful of air. With shaky hands, she pushed the corpse off of her, letting it topple to the side as she looked up at Deacon’s killer.

Judas was standing before her, his right hand bloody and a wild, terrified look in his peridot eyes. He eyed the corpse as if it would move again but when it didn’t, his gaze turned to Ana.

“Are you okay?” He murmured, reaching a hand out. He had more rings than he had fingers, and his nails were painted black. A memory reached the front of Ana’s mind, another memory of the same hand helping her a long time ago. “I can summon my father if—”

Ana’s hand reached for the doorknob behind her as she tried to stand, but her legs felt like jello. She turned the knob and let out a cry of relief when it opened. She opened the door and stumbled out, still facing a confused Judas. Her shaky legs folded under her and she fell to the porch. She crawled away from the scene before her—

“Ana?”

Ana jumped and whipped around to see Beau standing only an inch away from the porch steps, almost too close to the the spellwork. Her heart started to pound against her chest. Trapped. She moved away from him, into the corner of the porch, right up against the railing and the siding. Trapped. Her heart beat faster as her breath quickened.

Judas walked onto the porch, dropping her revolver next to her feet. “Cute gun. That was your tramp stamp, wasn’t it? Smart way to hide a weapon.”

“Go away,” Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse from crying and screaming earlier. She took a deep breath before trying to raise her voice. “Get out! I don’t want you here!”

Her voice was now a scream, and it angered Judas. His face turned into a scowl as she yelled at him. “This is the thanks I get? I just saved your pathetic life.”

Ana sobbed and went to hide her face but stopped when she noticed the blood covering them. She slowly looked down at her blood-soaked dress, her mouth hanging open in shock. Her hands started to shake as she took in the sight, the dark blood against a gold sheen. Her dress had risen up to her thighs and she desperately pulled it back down, her bloody hands slipping on the equally bloody fabric.

“Can we just calm down? What the hell happened?” Beau said, raising his hands to the both of them.

“Her cambion friend was getting a little too handsy and using some spell on her. She was screaming for help, so I stepped in. I don’t see what the big deal is! There’s blood everywhere but, so what?” Judas explained, wiping his bloody hand on his shirt.

Beau tried to peer into the hallway before switching his angry gaze to Judas. “You…killed him? Are you an idiot? I just told you we need to lay low!” He pulled some kind of bead out of his pocket and crushed it between the palms of his hands. Blue mageia flowed from his hands and wrapped around them, some tendrils going down to his feet. His walked onto the porch and towards Ana. She shrunk away from him, wishing she was small enough to fit through the gaps of the railing. He stopped moving towards her, raising his hands in surrender.

“Get out,” She breathed. “I summoned my father. Now get out before he comes!”

Judas laughed. “You really think he’s coming?” He leaned closer to her. “If he didn’t show up when you first summoned him, then he won’t show up now.”

“What would you know?” Ana spat. “My father saved me from being murdered by a family of cambions. Where was your father that night, huh?”

Judas frowned. “You wanna know the difference? My father has a heart, and soul. Yours couldn’t give less of a shit if you get assaulted.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Her lips quivered in anger, and her hand reached for something to throw. She grabbed a small pot and threw it at his head. He dodged, and the pot shattered on the railing across from her.

“Go away!” She screamed. “I don’t need any of you here!”

Beau grabbed Judas’ arm and pulled him off of the porch. He pushed him to the driveway and pointed to the road. “Go. Now.”

They shared a few hushed words that Ana couldn’t hear before Beau suddenly got mad and pointed to the front door. “That is not helping!”

Judas backed away, throwing his arms in the arm. “Fine, then. Go be a knight in shining armor. Don’t come crying to me when Marchosias burns your skin off again.”

Judas left in a cloud of blue mist, and Ana was left alone with Beau. She wiped her nose, wincing at the pain. She didn’t want to attempt to stand up again, knowing that she would feel embarrassed if she fell in front of Beau.

Beau approached her again, but she didn’t look at him. She felt cold and sticky from the blood, and her muscles ached from exhaustion. All she wanted to do was go to bed, but she knew that wasn’t going to be happening for awhile.

“Are you—”

“This is all your fault.” Ana interjected before he could ask. She didn’t want to hear those words come from his mouth, she didn’t want him to be empathetic. “Deacon said you gave me only a portion of a demon summoning spell. You lied. It wasn’t to summon you. He also seemed pretty provoked by you, thought you would just…take me away somewhere.”

He looked away, his hands hanging awkwardly at his side. “I’m sorry.”

A flame erupted in Ana’s heart, and she couldn’t stop the words that flowed out of her mouth.

“Sorry? You’re always sorry!” She stood on shaky legs, stumbling to the side as she faced Beau. “Something happens and that’s the first thing you say, I’m sorry. Why can’t you say anything else? Judas kills somebody and you’re sorry. You don’t get—”

“—to be sorry!”

Ana spat. A younger Ana, six years ago, five days before before it all got worse. Her bleached white hair didn’t look so ethereal anymore, her dark roots just starting to emerge. She was at the high school, next to Ophelia’s memorial with Beau Motloe. A younger Beau, his face covered in acne and his long, dark hair hidden by a hood as rain poured down the both of them. Ana neglected to wear any protection from the rain, letting the icy cold water chill her bones and fuel her rage.

“What else am I supposed to say?!” Beau cried, motioning to the memorial. “All I feel is guilt, and sorrow. Tell me—tell me what else am I supposed to say and I’ll say it!”

Ana slowly shook her head, eyes angry and hostile. “You don’t get to feel that. You don’t get to feel anything. Judas killed her. Your family killed her. You don’t deserve to mourn her.”

Beau’s lips quivered, as if he was fighting back tears. “She was my friend too. I knew Ophelia longer than you. I know that doesn’t mean anything now—but….I’m sorry. I really am.”

“Apologies don’t bring back the dead.” Ana whispered.

Beau looked away from her, but she could see the regret and pain on his face. Had he seen the same memory as her? Their current situation was certainly nostalgic.

Ana felt a small pang in her heart, the tiniest shred of regret for what she said. She knew he didn’t have a direct hand in this, he barely knew Deacon, but Deacon’s constant mention of him was uncanny. Had jealousy and envy twisted his soul so much that he felt this was the only option?

Ana looked down at the ground, wiping the blood and tears away from her mouth. “My father is coming. I…I don’t want to see anymore blood. Please.”

Beau didn’t leave right away. Instead, he stepped closer to Ana. She refused to look at his face, and instead wiping her hands on her dress. It was useless, the whole thing was covered in blood. She was just spreading more of it onto her hands.

“I meant it when I said you can summon me if you need help. Use the mageia we share and I’ll feel it—I’ll find you. I’ve left the motel, but I’m—I’m still around.” Beau murmured, and seemed to hesitate, his hands reaching for her before shying away.

“That spell. It’s an incomplete demon summoning spell, but you told me it was to summon you. You lied.” She repeated, looking up at him. He avoided her gaze, focusing on the open doorway.

His lips quivered, and he looked away. “I thought…it would be easier to tell you that than just—just the real explanation.”

Ana sighed, and wrapped her arms around her body. “Fine. Whatever. Leave.”

He left this time, staring at Ana for just a moment before disappearing from sight, leaving a cloud of amber mist behind. She got a whiff of sandalwood and fresh snow just before it too faded away. As soon as he was gone, she sank to the ground and laid her forehead on the wooden boards of the porch. Her heart was still beating too fast, and she willed it to calm. It’s fine. I can do this. I’m fine.

She wanted to stay there and fall asleep, forget about everything that had just happened. She knew she couldn’t, however. There was a dead body in her hallway that she had to take care of before somebody decided to pay a visit. Logan, Cora, or Deacon…no. Not Deacon. Deacon was dead.

She stood from her spot, willing her weak legs to work. She slowly stepped through the doorway, trying to not look at the dead body as much as possible. It was better to think of it as just a dead body and not as a real person that was breathing only ten minutes ago.

She stepped over the dead body and onto the rug, letting out a gasp as her foot sank into the wet and squishy carpet. She looked down and realized that the rug had soaked the blood. She would have to throw it out, with the body, and her dress. She might have to throw out her heart, too. She felt as if it was also soaked in Deacon’s blood.

She made her way to the living room, only vaguely aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. She sniffled, sitting down on the floor, up against the back of the couch. She couldn’t see the body from this spot, but it didn’t matter. She could still see it in her mind.

What would Marchosias think of her? Sobbing on the floor after witnessing a man die. He would call her weak and pathetic for crying, but he would also call her weak and pathetic for letting Deacon get the best of her. She wished he hadn’t summoned him now. If she had summoned Beau instead, would it have made any difference? Would he have gotten to her before Judas slit Deacon’s throat?

A meow came from the hallway, and Ana looked up from her crying. Jazzy walked over to her, her tail raised in interest. Her pretty little paws were soaked in blood, as if she had gone over at some point and investigated the body. The sight made Ana only cry more, and she held out her hand. Jazzy walked over to her, suddenly interested in her owner for the first time.

“You never like Deacon, huh? Always hissed at him.” Ana murmured between sniffles, picking up Jazzy and placing her in her lap. The feline murred in protest, but did not move. “Maybe that’s why you never liked me. I was bringing bad energy into the house.”

She hugged Jazzy tighter to her chest and let the sobs take her, burying her face in the cat’s white fur. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, for the both of us.”