Now that she sat in front of the motel, Ana was beginning to regret her decision.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she looked at the dingy exterior of the two-story motel. Wooden doors, dirty windows, and faded blue paint greeted her as she tried to calm her beating heart, her leg bouncing anxiously. He didn’t even give me a room number. How am I supposed to know where he is? Go door-to-door?

She pried her clammy fingers from the steering wheels and took a deep breath. Before she could second-guess the decision for the millionth time, she swung open the truck door and stepped out. She closed it shut behind her, jumping at the loud bang. She scolded herself for being so jumpy, and patted her pants pocket for a cigarette—but she didn’t have any. She hadn’t carried smokes with her in awhile, but that habit still stayed with her.

She quickly shook her head and walked briskly to the main office. No cigarettes. You’re on you own.

She pulled open the door and walked inside, her face being hit with a blast of cold hair. The desk clerk, a middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair and messy lipstick, was sitting behind the counter and playing solitaire. Upon seeing Ana enter, she closed the game and beamed a smile at her

“Well, hello! How are you doing today, hon?”

She gave her her best smile despite her low energy. “I’m good, thank you. I’m supposed to meet somebody here, but he didn’t tell me his room number. Can you, perhaps…?”

The clerk frowned. “I’m sorry, but we’re not allowed to give out that information. For the privacy of the occupant, and whatnot.”

Ana sighed and leaned against the counter with her elbows. She faced her palms in the air, and focused on the intricate lines. “I didn’t want to have to do this, but…how do you feel about your brain being turned into mush?”

“Wha…?” The poor woman barely had time to react before Ana reached out and placed her palms on her cheeks. Mageia flowed from her palms and into the woman’s face, decorating her skin with purple lines and swirls. Her hazel eyes became glossy and her mouth hung open.

“Good,” Ana breathed, still feeling worn out from last night’s training. “Now, tell me what room Beau Motloe is staying in.”

“I don’t know that name.” The clerk murmured, her voice sounding distant.

Ana sighed. “Black hair, same height as me, brown eyes, sort of an awkward weirdo, looks native American?”

The clerk’s eyes lit up for a moment. “Oh. Four or five days ago. He had funny hands like yours. Paid for a room for a few weeks and said not to bother him. He’s in room 202, the first door up the stairs.”

Ana beamed. “See, was that so hard? Now, you’ll forget that I was ever here, and you’ll forget what I did to you in the next few seconds. Understand?”

The clerk nodded numbly. Ana quickly let go of her face and walked out of the chilly room, wiping greasy concealer on her jeans with a disgusted frown.

She ascended the steps two at a time, her heart racing as the thought of what she was about to do reached the front of her brain again. If Marchosias found out…she would be in serious trouble.

She stopped in front of the door. Room 202, the sign said. The window was covered, and she couldn’t tell if there was a light on inside. Was he even in there?

Her hands shook as she raised them to the door and knocked twice. Silence for a brief moment, before she heard footsteps walk to the door. It didn’t open however, and Ana was left wondering if she had the right door after all. She looked at the window, but the curtains did not move.

She gulped and opened her mouth to call out just before the door opened. Beau stood in the doorway, dressed in the same jacket as before. His hair looked ruffled and there were bags under his eyes as if he barely slept last night. He looked at Ana with a placid expression with just a hint of confusion, as if he wasn’t sure why she had showed up.

Ana realized her mouth was still open and promptly closed it shut. She looked behind him and into the dark room, but could not tell if there was anybody else inside. She looked back at Beau, who still hadn’t said anything since she got there.

“Tell me about the deal.” She murmured quietly. She thought he hadn’t heard her at first, but then he walked further into the dark room, leaving the door open. He was giving her a choice. Walk in, or leave.

She took a deep breath, and walked inside.

Beau turned on the lamp next to the bed and Ana tentatively shut the door. She kept it unlocked and opened the curtains, letting light spew into the room. She didn’t care about light, but being able to see outside made her feel a little less trapped.

Yellow carpet and drab off-white walls decorated the small space. Boring paintings of forest scenery decorated the walls so as to make it more lively, but Ana felt as if they were in a funeral home. Two beds were off to the side, one messy and the other neat. Ana eyed the beds, wondering if they were both being used or if there were just no single rooms available.

She looked to Beau, who was standing on the opposite side with his arms crossed and avoiding her gaze. He looked nervous, as if he hadn’t thought through this invitation fully.

Ana set her back against the door, ready for a quick escape if needed. “Tell me. What do you want?”

He glanced at her before quickly averted his eyes. He adjusted his posture before opening his mouth. “My mom, she went missing during….six years ago. I can’t find her and—and I need help.”

His mother. Of course. Emily Motloe, the kind wife and mom. Ana never had anything against the poor woman, and even had a few conversations with her before the incident. She seemed innocent in the whole situation, and Ana remembered feeling guilty upon learning that she had gone missing. Marchosias never managed to find her, which she knew infuriated him to no end. She wasn’t from the south, and judging by her accent she came from somewhere northeast. Beau seemed to care a lot about her, seeing as he is risking everything to ask for Ana’s help to find her. She didn’t understand why though. There were other demons out there with the affinity for location spells, all he had to do was find one of their descendants and make a less risky and life-threatening deal. Why did he come to her, of all people?

Ana shrugged her shoulders. “What do you want me to do? Look through missing persons case files?”

He shook his head. “No. Because of who your father is, you should be skilled in location and tracking spells, right?”

“I don’t practice much, especially those kinds of spells. How do you know your mother is still alive, anyhow?”

He grimaced, and looked down at the floor. “I just know. She’s alive, and out there somewhere.”

Ana raised her head and considered him. One tracking spell in exchange for her memories. It seemed too easy, there must have been a catch.

“You want a location spell. That’s it?” She asked.

“I don’t expect it to work on the first try. The only thing I have that can be used to track her is my blood, because I am her son.” He adjusted his stance again, his nervousness still present.

“So multiple location spells.” Ana rubbed her head, working out the logistics in her head. “And then, what? We find out where she is and you tell me what happened?”

He slowly nodded. “Yes. That’s the deal.”

“Your father. Where is he in all this? Why can’t you get him to help?”

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

He flinched and tightened his arms around him. Ana seems to have struck a chord. “He’s dead. I can’t do that.”

She nodded. She felt nothing for the news of his death. Although she was a bit skeptical of his death as Beau, who was dead, was now standing in front of her now, she never like Mr. Motloe and he never liked her. Just being related to Marchosias made him automatically hate her.

“You know what will happen if my father catches you, right? I’m surprised he hasn’t already.” Ana commented, making her way to the edge of the closest bed to her.

“I’ve been taking precautions. I know what I’m doing,” Beau murmured.

She sat down and put her hands in her pockets. “Do you? Does Judas know?”

“Judas isn’t here,” He quickly replied. He realized his mistake when Ana smiled.

“So, he’s alive then? He really did stab you?”

He sighed and looked away. “He’s with his father somewhere. I haven’t seen him since that day. I’m sure you remember how bad his…tantrums were.”

Her smile faded and she looked away. She couldn’t remember much of Judas, actually. He was nothing but a blur in her mind. A feeling of anger here and there, but nothing else. She remembered he was a teenage delinquent, a known troublemaker in high school. He had a different father, though, that she remembered. A demon, unlike Beau’s father who only was a cambion, she thought. Something made itself known in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t grasp it. Did I know his father?

“Where is his father, then?” She asked.

“Somewhere. He doesn’t care about me, so I don’t care about him.” Beau replied curtly.

Ana rested her faced in her hands and thought. A spell or two for my memories. Risks? My father, and Beau’s death. The last time they all died, it was so horrible that it was erased from my memory. I don’t like Beau, but I can’t have that again. I need to know the truth, however. These memories are all I want.

She looked back up at Beau. “A spell or two. Nothing else. We find your mother, and you tell me what happened. We part ways, and I don’t see you ever again.”

Beau seemed to hesitate, as if her answer displeased him. He looked uncertain, his gaze flicking around the floor while he searched for an answer.

“Well?” Ana pushed.

“Yes. I agree.”

Ana nodded. “I need time to look through my grimoire, see what the spell requires. I assume it would be safer doing it here?”

He shook his head. “No—no. Your father put up spellwork around the borders of town. I can get past it, but it will be harder for you.”

“So…in my house?”

He nodded. Ana sighed.

“Fine. When?”

He opened his mouth, but hesitated. “I don’t know…I’m not sure when you have free time.”

She rubbed the side of her head, trying her best not to spit out a remark about his unpreparedness. “I work Monday through Friday as a cashier, but I’m off by six. We can do it then, or during the weekends. My father usually comes by weekly, but his visits have been sporadic since you arrived. If he comes—”

“I will know.” He quickly replied. “Tonight? Can we do it tonight?”

He seems anxious to get me out of here. She looked out the window. It was still morning. She had left early after only getting an hour of sleep, too anxious to wait for a more reasonable time to come. She had more than enough time to clean and find the book before Beau arrived.

“Yes. Fine.” She stood and made her way to the door. She placed her hand on the handle and was about to open it, but then stopped. She turned back to Beau. “If my father finds you, I will deny ever meeting with you. I won’t help you.”

He looked away from her, gloved fingers pressing into his upper arm. “I understand.”

With that final understanding, she left.

—_—

Her house hadn’t been cleaned in awhile. Dusted covered shelves and tables, old letters and newspapers were left unread on the coffee table, and the curtains were scratched from Jazzy’s curtain-climbing obsession some months ago. Other than that, everything looked tidy. She didn’t care much for having a clean house for a guest she’d rather not have, but her dad always told her a clean house was a happy house, and that motto still repeats in her mind to this day.

She cleaned what she could, except for the scratched curtains. She didn’t have any extras, which meant another trip to the store when she had the chance. Deacon had called her in the middle of her cleaning session, but he was left ignored. She didn’t have the time nor the patience for his drivel. After a few minutes of silence and scrubbing the kitchen counter, he sent her a text message. That was also ignored.

Now that the cleaning was done, she had to look for the grimoire. She never used it, only using mageia when Marchosias made her. It was on the top shelf in the hallway closet, collecting dust and bookworms. She pulled the heavy tome down and brushed it off. It the yellowed, ancient pages were bound in leather, with old Nordic runs engraved on the front. Marchosias had given it to her on her eighteenth birthday—well, give was an overstatement. He dropped it onto her coffee table and left without another word. The words ‘happy birthday’ seemed to not be in his vocabulary.

The grimoire was specifically his, all the spells and incantations contained inside Ana would be able to use, although she never did. She hated mageia, and never got the hang of it.

She set the grimoire down on the coffee table. The sun was setting, which meant Beau would be here soon. All she had to do was wait, but she was too antsy. Instead, she sat down and started flipping through the ancient book. She had only gone through it once or twice in the years she has had it, finding most of the spells to be either mundane or uninteresting. The book was originally in Proto-Norse runes, the language that Marchosias first spoke. He had translated the whole book into English at some point, although it was an older version of English that Ana could barely understand. She flipped the leathery pages until she got to the location and tracking spells section. She perused the pages until she found an easy spell that only required a physical connection to the person they wanted to locate. Beau’s blood should work, and if this spell didn’t work there were a few more they could try. They, however, required more power and connections to the person they were trying to find. Ana had assumed Beau’s blood would be enough for most of the spells, but she was wrong. Blood of the family was a weaker ingredient than blood of the actual person they were trying to find, but that was impossible for either of them to get. Memories, however, were a valuable ingredient. Ana didn’t feel enthusiastic about searching Beau’s memories just for a spell, so she decided to leave that one for last.

A knock sounded on the door, and Ana jumped. She set the book down on the coffee table and walked into the hallway. She couldn’t see anything from the glass window, but she assumed it was Beau on time for their meeting.

She opened the door, but was greeted by nobody. She looked to the left and right of the door, but there was nobody waiting. Had my anxiety made me imagine the knocking, or is this some kind of trick?

She shut the door and stormed back into the living room. Nerves, that’s all it is.

She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. She took out a can of beer and shut the fridge. Her thumb went under the tab to pull it open as she turned around. Her thumb stopped midway when she noticed a man standing in her living room through the breakfast bar, and her blood turned to ice.

He was a lanky thing, all skin and bones much like her, but that’s where the similarities stopped. His dark brown hair was shaved close to his scalp, and his wrinkled clothes hung loosely on his frame. His bright green eyes studied her living room, his button nose twitching as if in disgust. Finally, his green eyes turned to her and she felt a small burst of recognition in her head. Somewhere, in the murky waters of her memory, she knew who he was.

Ana, a younger Ana, held a newspaper in her hands. They shook as she read the headline over and over again, turning it around in her mind until it was all she could think about. All she saw. KILLER OF TEEN GIRL STILL AT LARGE.

He wasn’t at large. He was across the street, having dinner with the family who knew what he had done, but buried his secret with the rest of theirs. She knew it was him, but nobody would do anything. Oh, Ophelia. Ana craved to hold her freckled face again, but Judas Motloe had taken that away from her. Judas Motloe was nothing but a liar, and a bastard.

The beer can dropped from her hands and burst open on the tile, soaking Ana’s shoes and the surrounding floor.

“You know,” He started, chewing on a piece of bubblegum. His grating voice hadn’t changed in six years. “My expectations for your interior were low, but this…this is cozy.”

Ana was only still for a moment before she grabbed a plastic cup and threw it at him. He dodged, ducking his head before looking back at her. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”

“A guest—” She grabbed a spoon and threw it at him. He dodged again. “You’re not a guest! Get out of my house!”

Footsteps from outside rushed through the front door and into the living room. Beau appeared, looking alarmed at Judas’ appearance. He didn’t know, then. His gaze turned to Ana, who held a spatula in her hands, ready to throw at Judas. He vanished in a cloud of mist and reappeared next to Ana. She flinched and moved away from him, the spatula dropping from her hands and clattering to the floor.

Beau raised his hands in a silent plea. “Let’s just all calm down—”

“Calm?! A murderer is in my god damn house and you want me to be calm?” Ana exclaimed, pointing towards Judas, who looked at both of them with a casual smirk.

“I—I didn’t know he would still be here. I’m sorry—”

“I don’t want your sorry,” Ana spat. “I want him out of my house before your father shows up too!”

Beau quickly shook his head. “He’s dead, Ana. I promise you that.”

Ana stared at him, and he stared back. Liar, she thought. He has to be lying.

A sudden pop made them both jump. She whipped around to Judas, but it was just his gum. He laughed at both of their reactions.

“Judas, get out.” Beau said sternly.

Judas turned to him, offended. “What? You can be here, and I can’t?”

“I was invited, and you weren’t.”

Judas scowled. “I knocked, and she answered!”

“Out!” Beau raised his voice, or at least tried to. His damaged vocal cords stopped him from being any louder than normal.

Judas glared at Beau before turning his gaze to Ana. “You’re still not upset over what I did, hmm? How sensitive. Holding a grudge over something so small.”

“You—” Ana reached for the knife rack and pulled out a serrated knife. She pulled her arm back and aimed it at him just before Beau grabbed her other arm. Her whole body seized at the sudden contact, and she instead pointed the knife at him. His eyes grew wide and he flinched, letting go of her and stepping away. She turned back to Judas and aimed the knife again.

He laughed, a wide grin on his face. “Go ahead! Throw it at me. You were always too much of a coward to do anything.” He pushed his shoulders back and splayed his hands. “I promise I won’t dodge, maybe you’ll hit me this time.”

She braced herself to throw the knife, but didn’t do it. It was a tempting proposition, but actually carrying it out was harder than she thought. She wanted nothing more than to see him suffer, but the thought of blood and death made her hesitate. Death was never an easy thing for her, if both the aftermaths of Ophelia and her dad’s death didn’t make that any more obvious.

Before she could make a decision, Beau walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. He approached Judas and went to grab his arm, but his younger brother snatched it away and took a few steps back.

“Alright, I get it. You want to have your private session with her, alone.” He made his way into the hallway, casting one last glance to Ana before leaving.

Ana lowered the knife to her side and let out a deep breath. She stared down at the tiles, now soaked with beer. The thought of summoning Marchosias again came back to her, and she actually considered it. Beau didn’t seem to be a threat, just a bumbling fool risking his life just for a spell from her. Judas, however, was the reason they were all here. She knew he was.

Beau walked back into the kitchen, looking down at the mess on the floor. He looked at Ana, at the knife in her hand and the furious look in her eye. “Are you—”

“Keep him away. If I see him near my house again, this deal is off and I’ll tell my father where you’re staying.” Ana said in a strained voice. She hadn’t let go of the knife yet, and she didn’t know if she wanted to. She felt safer with it in her hand, despite not being in any danger.

“I thought he was out of town. He must’ve come back. I’m sorry—”

“I don’t care.” Ana raised her voice, looking up at Beau. “I don’t want to here it. Keep him away from me.”

He slowly nodded his head and looked away. “We’ll—we’ll try the spell tomorrow. I think Judas got both of our nerves shaken up.”

“Fine. Leave me be.” Ana murmured.

He stood there for a few moments before turning to leave. She heard his footsteps carry him to the hallway, and then outside. When he shut the door, Ana finally dropped the knife and sank to the ground. She buried her face in her hands, ignoring the feeling of beer soaking into her jeans.

She felt like crying, but the tears didn’t come. It was a hassle, anyways. She always looked ugly when she cried, and it made her eyes puffy and red even hours after crying. Her dad always told her that crying wasn’t a weakness, only an expression of emotions like sorrow, pain, or even anger. She never felt guilty for crying, only annoyed at the outcome of it. Marchosias however, the one who always wore a stone cold expression, believed crying was like showing your enemy your soft belly. She had cried in front of him once, and never did it again.

She hated Judas for the way he turned her emotions upside down. She thought she had everything under control, but then he came and punched a whole in her heart and her memories. Oh, Ophelia. She thought. I couldn’t protect you from him. How am I going to protect myself from him now? How can I stay away from whatever death he has intended for me?

I have failed you, and now I have failed myself.