A pounding headache invited Ana to awaken from her comfortable slumber. She groaned, and pulled the heavy blanket over her head. After some considerably slow thinking and sluggish awareness of her surroundings that were starting to come back to her, she realized she was on the couch. She didn’t remember falling asleep here…for the second time.
She pulled the quilt off and blinked open her eyes. She winced as the morning light hit her sensitive eyes and she looked away, holding her pounding head in her hands. I drank last night, but that’s all I can remember. When did I pass out?
She opened her eyes and looked at the coffee table. The bottle of whiskey was gone, along with the beer cans she vaguely remembered grabbing from the fridge when the whiskey was almost gone. The coffee table was spotless, free of any evidence of her binge-drinking last night, but she didn’t know how that could be.
A sudden wave of nausea rushed over her, and she felt her mouth water. She quickly rose from the couch and into the hallway. You know what? I’ll figure that out later.
After puking her guts out into the toilet and taking two aspirins, she went back into the living room and looked around. The whiskey and beer had been returned to the fridge, and there didn’t seem to be any signs of spills on the floor. Drunk Ana would have barely been able to walk straight and not cause a mess, which meant someone came in here and cleaned up her mess before putting the quilt over her. Her first thought was Deacon, which made her anxious to think about. Marchosias was also a possible answer, but he wouldn’t have done any of those things. The last time he saw her drunk was after her human dad’s funeral, and he had told her to drink more so he would be rid of her. That was a night she never wanted to revisit.
She went into the kitchen and grabbed an empty glass. As she filled it with water, her eye caught a note sitting close to the coffee maker. She turned the faucet off and picked up the note. The handwriting was neat, and made with a pen.
Come to my motel room when you can.
-B
It had been Beau. Ah, dammit! She slapped her forehead, a feeling of shame coming over her. I forgot about our meeting! Deacon had pissed me off and I got distracted.
He must’ve come at some point in the night and seen her passed out. The thought of him in her house made her uncomfortable, but not as bad as the thought of Deacon being there.
She crumpled the note and threw it in the trash. She will go to him, but for now…some thinking.
—_—
The arrival of Judas had shaken her up, and made this entire deal more risky. Beau was predictable. He was like an open book, he was always like that even in high school. Judas, however, was a snake. Ana didn’t trust him and she never has. The earliest memory she had of him was hearing about how he pushed the high school quarterback off the bleachers and somehow got away with it. If he was going to be around, she had to re-consider this entire agreement.
She walked past her garden and into the pine forest. Beyond the line of trees was another clearing, but this time there were no plants. Instead, there were marble statues scattered all around. They were a motley crew, all depicting something different. A woman holding a bunny, a man made of different body parts that were all mismatched and uneven, a Roman warrior holding a shield and spear. There was one of her mother that had her exact likeness, wearing a ancient Greek dress and smiling down at whoever stood in front of her. They were all different, but they all had the same origin; they were made by Ana’s dad. Alex Kravens.
They were his creations, his life’s work. He loved sculpting and making statues out of any material he could find. Ana envied his talent for creating art out of stone and clay, and always knew she could never surmount to his level of skill.
She walked past the statues until she got to a slate gravestone. Dead flowers were placed in front of it, and she picked them up and threw them to the side. she brushed stray leaves and sticks away, and placed fresh flowers down. On the gravestone were the words ‘ALEX M. KRAVENS. IN LOVING MEMORY’
“I’m sorry I haven’t visited lately.” Ana knelt. “I’ve been having…problems.”
She looked at the dark gray gravestone, all harsh lines and sharp corners. Nothing like how her dad really was. Her demonic father fit this grave better. The thought of him six feet in the ground instead of her dad didn’t disturb her very much. She wished for it, almost.
“Some…people I thought were dead have come back. One of them asked me for help.” She rubbed her nose as she thought. “The other…he killed Ophelia. You remember Ophelia? I showed you a picture of her once.”
The birds above her chirped away as she thought. “What would you have done in my shoes? I can’t remember anything from that night. Both of those brothers being alive is proof that I’ve been lied to, isn’t it? The only right thing to do is recover my memories, or at least I believe it is.”
Her dad was a good man. Always lending a helping hand to the less fortunate. Half the town had came to his funeral, so many I’m sorry and you have my condolences to Ana that she couldn’t wait for them to leave so she could get drunk and forget it all. She wasn’t like him, but she could at least try to be. She could help Beau, learn what happened and carry on with her life.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“You would do the same, wouldn’t you dad?” She whispered, her voice so low that even she could barely hear herself.
Her dad would help no matter the risks, and so would she.
—_—
Ana knocked on the motel door, other hand anxiously messing with the hem of her crop top. The faded door creaked opened and Beau let Ana inside. She walked in and dropped the heavy grimoire onto the closest bed, along with the bookbag of supplies she brought with her. “I forgot last night. I got distracted.”
“It’s fine,” Beau quickly replied, which Ana found strange. It was their second time postponing the meeting, would he have at least been a little disappointed in her? He seemed nervous, but no anger was obvious in his face or posture. He didn’t make any mention of visiting last night or the note he left, either.
She turned back to the book and supplies. “I found a location spell that should work, or give us a basic idea of where she is. Your blood isn’t much to go off of, mind you.”
Beau move to the table up against the wall opposite of the beds and sat down. “That’s fine. I’m aware of the lengths you’re going to do this for us.”
Her jaw clenched as she flipped through the pages. “Is Judas around?”
“No…he left early this morning and hasn’t come back. Didn’t say where he was going.” Beau replied.
The beds were both neat and clean unlike the last time she was there. A nightstand sat in between the two beds, with a pocket knife and a multitude of rings on the side of the bed she placed her belongings on, marking which bed was Judas’. She picked up the bookbag and grimoire before moving to the floor, feeling slightly disgusted.
She prepared the area for the spell. She laid a wide and thin stone slab down on top of a white linen cloth. White pillar candles were placed on all four corners and a stick of incense burning to her left. She drew Marchosias’ sigil in the middle of the stone slab, as a sort of ‘root of power’. She hated using mageia, and so never learned how to cast spells without taking all these precautions. She felt like a human trying to perform their first magic trick, but for this spell to be perfect on the first try she had to go by the book.
She took a small bowl out of her bag and placed it in the middle of the sigil. “Blood, if you will.” She handed a razor blade to Beau and he took it in his gloved hands. He sat across from her, legs under him and his hands still gloved. He hesitated before rolling up his sleeve and pressing the blade to his leathery skin. A trickle of blood started, dripping into the wooden bowl as Ana watched. When there was enough blood, he rolled his sleeve back up and placed the blade to the side.
Ana lit the candles and grabbed one more thing from the bag. A small capsule filled with a clear liquid. She held it over the bowl and squeezed it, flinching as the fragile capsule broke and filled the air with the scent of smoke and fresh pine. Beau winced and moved his head away, appearing uncomfortable with the smell. Ana didn’t like the smell either, but she hid her discomfort.
She looked down at the book in her lap, and read the next instructions. She sighed, and placed her elbows on her knees and faced her palms to the ceiling. “Hands.”
Beau stalled for a moment before raising his hands to place in hers, but she snatched them away at the last moment. “Without the gloves. It has to be skin-to-skin.”
He looked up at her, confused. “The book says that?”
“It’s in Old English, but yes. It makes it clear.” She made grabbing motions with her hands. “Gloves off. Just until the spell is done.”
He seemed to consider their entire deal as Ana waited for him to make a decision. He seemed to be self-conscious about his skin, seeing as he was always covered in long-sleeves, jeans, and gloves despite the Mississippi summer heat. Unfortunately, the spell could falter if they didn’t get everything right. Ana didn’t feel like doing everything over again just because Beau was insecure.
He hesitated, but finally took the gloves off. Ana tried not to look, but they were too distracting not to. His hands were just as marred and disfigured as the rest of his body, with most of his fingers missing nails. On his right hand, his last three fingers seemed permanently bent, as if the skin had been stretched and pulled taut. He seemed to be missing half of his pinky and ring finger on his left hand, something Ana hadn’t noticed before because of the gloves. The whole site was ghastly and alarming to look at, but some part of her felt a great feeling of sorrow. But why? She avoided his gaze and the uncomfortable feeling of his hands on hers by looking down at the book. Why do I feel this way?
“Your mother’s full name and maiden name?” Ana murmured. She felt his hands twitch in hers.
“Emily Ann Motloe…and Laskin, I believe.”
She started reading the incantations within the book, concentrating on the words of power and how they flowed through her. “By the power bestowed upon me as Marchosias’ kin, I beseech thee and ask for a favor. I request a vision, and insight into the whereabouts of one Emily Ann Laskin-Motloe. We offer the blood of her son, tell us where she is and my blood is also yours to take—”
Ana gasped as a surge of mageia flowed through her chest like a broken damn. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that did not save her from the feeling and vague images that splattered her mind. A barrier, trapped, stuck, confined. Forest, oak, river, fish, child.
The mageia left her just as fast and sudden as it came, and she released her breath, her chest now heaving. She opened her eyes just as Beau took his hands out of hers and hastily returned to his spot at the table. He seemed lost in thought, his leg bouncing under the table.
“That was a little vague.” Ana murmured.
“Yes,” Was the only reply she got from him.
“There was a child—”
“I saw.”
“Why was there a child?—”
“I don’t know.” His voice raised on the last word, seeming frustrated. He took note of his tone and sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. “I’m sorry. I don’t like the feel or smell of your magic. It reminds me of your father, it has nothing to do with you.”
Ana sat there, not knowing what to say. It reminded her of Marchosias too. She understood him for once.
She watched as he put the gloves back on, but he did not look at her. “I have a…guess on where she is. The barrier confuses me, however. The last time I was there, they didn’t have such powerful barriers.”
“Where? What do you mean?”
“The Creed of Solomon.” He replied. Ana gave him a confused look. He sighed. “Creed of Solomon? Nerve-Tec? Human magicians?”
She slowly shook her head. “No. I have never heard of that.”
He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Your father didn’t tell you any of this, did he? He didn’t tell you about the greatest threat to a modern-day cambion?”
She crossed her arms. “Start talking sense or I’m leaving.”
“Okay, they’re—they’re a group—an organization of human magicians who borrow the power of demons for their own goals. They are very big and powerful, and they’re not just in America. Most of these days they work as scientists or politicians, and….that’s how Judas and I survived. We were taken to them.”
She drew her eyebrows together. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t my father tell me about this?”
“I don’t know,” He shrugged. “He knows of them, I’m sure. They’ve been around for a few thousand years.”
Ana sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Fucking wonderful. More bullshit he hasn’t told me. Why haven’t they found me yet, if they’re so big and powerful?”
He clasped his hands together. “They sort of…know of you? They know about your father, and by association they know he has one cambion child, which is you.”
She slowly shook her head as she thought. This doesn’t seem all true. If they’re such powerful magicians who know about me, why don’t they use mageia to find me? To do whatever they want? Is my father stopping them—wait. She looked back up at Beau. How did he find me with no trouble?
“How did you find me?” She asked.
“What?”
“How did you find me? You didn’t seem to have no trouble locating me. If you’re so bad at location spells.”
“Well, I…” He rubbed the back of his head and avoided her suspicious glare.
They both heard the click of the door unlocking and being pushed open. Ana didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. All she had to do was look at Beau’s pale face and know his brother had just come back. She gathered her belongings as she grinded her teeth together.“Cool tramp stamp. When did you get that?” Judas said from behind her. A cold feeling ran down her spine as she stuffed her things into her book bag, grabbed her grimoire, and stood. She faced Judas, purple eyes glaring into his own.