Velli

I refuse to answer the voice. There’s no way she can be here. She shouldn’t be able to find me yet. Not while I’m bruised, battered, sleep deprived, and in my own house. She can’t be at the right house. How could she know where I live? I remain silent. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. My body is as still as a frozen lake in winter. Stress-filled sweat can’t even escape my pores. Fear has shut down my body.

The door creaks open. I didn’t lock it. I’m an idiot. I’m really an idiot. She—no, it’s not her because I couldn’t possibly get that unlucky. The person who is definitely not the Old Soul takes a soft step inside.

It’s too light to be her! She had heavier steps. You’re lying to yourself, Velli. You’re a liar. Wait, why am I calling myself a liar? Where is Fate?

“Boy, I said hello.” Her voice cracks inside my head, again like a prepubescent boy in a black-and-white TV show speaking with his dad, trying to learn the lesson of the week.

I don’t answer. She can be convinced she’s in the wrong place—that she’s in the wrong mind.

The lights flick on. I flatten myself and push my back against the inside of the couch to make myself invisible to anyone looking from behind it. The effort to hide makes a noise, not a loud one. Maybe she doesn’t hear me. That’s a lot of maybes and a lot of hope for someone with my luck.

She stops and speaks from somewhere in my hallway. “Division’s Name! This is an ugly house.”

Lue lets out a sleepy groan from inside my room.

“Now,” the Old Soul says. “That does not sound like Velli. That sounds like a girl.”

She walks again. Her footsteps grow louder. They shuffle forward an inch at a time by the sound of it. She’s coming to me, coming to the living room. How could she know? She could teleport here if she wants. Why doesn’t she appear in front of me if it’s really her? I can’t take the pressure. I imagine her breathing on my neck before she snaps it with that cane. Why won’t she teleport? It’s a taunt. I’m being taunted. Or maybe she really can’t walk fast because of the burns on her body. That won’t matter much, though. With one tap of her cane, she can kill me.

Her footsteps enter the living room. I have no weapons by the couch. They’re hidden in my room. I wasn’t thinking earlier. I broke my routine and plopped onto the couch after my conversation with Lue. How quick is she? Quicker than me with the cane. I can’t run. What’s the plan for this? You always have a plan.

My brain hurts from the effort, a devastating migraine that produces nothing of value. All I can think is to try not to die like the folks at the tanning salon. That would hurt my mom so much.

In the darkness, a form appears in front of me. A lighter flicks, a flame glows, and a face is there. It is the Old Soul. The small flame lights her face.

Most of her hair is gone, and the remaining strands scattered about her scalp are gray. None of the strands go past her neck. They shoot straight up like a porcupine’s spikes. The bald spots on her scalp are bright pink, throbbing, and pus filled. Maybe it’s the night. Maybe it’s fear distorting my vision, but it looks like the bend in her spine is worse than before. It’s too great and makes her look malleable, like the back of a snake, a cobra ready to pounce. The skin on her face lacks layers. The meat beneath her skin looks like it might fall off at any time.

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

Something sparks in her when she sees me. Her eyebrows—only two burnt hairs—rise. Her gray eyes flicker, and her barely-hanging-on muscles tighten. Her fingers squeeze the cane in a vise grip. Her whole body turns red with rage.

“Velli,” is all she can say.

“Old Soul,” I reply.

“He was right.” The Old Soul stretches her ancient vocal cords. “How astoundingly awful.”

“Who?”

“That little part of your brain that’s come into my life, my dear boy. I’ve been having a lovely chat with Fate.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why?” she mocks. “Because it’s cruel? If the cruel were impossible, no dead deer would end up on the sides of the road. No, the cruel is not only very possible but very likely for you.”

“Did you get fake tans together?”

Her rage stirs and boils, cultivating into her spitting on me, a gigantic blob that lands on my face and incidentally snuffs out the lighter. Even in darkness, a strategy to escape refuses to form in my head. In less than a second, she flicks the lighter on, illuminating the room again.

“Fate came to me,” she says. “He said to let you know he can do that now because, as he told you, he is getting stronger—and I’m to tell you he told you so. You were never going to win. The sort of mental communication he has probably can’t get past anyone who’s taken an elementary school–level telepathic blocking class, but as you know, I’m old. There was no telepathic blocking when I was in school. It is your fate to run into the one person who Fate could talk to and who wants to kill you.”

With practiced and plastic calm, I tell her, “D-D-D—” That’s not supposed to happen. All I can do is stutter. My guise of comfort cracks.

“He did say part of you wanted this,” she mocks. “Part of you knew you deserved this, a fate worse than death.” A wicked smile dances across her face in the flickering light. “You can stop pretending now. You can stop trying quips to slow me down so you can think of something. No more fairy tales for you. No more believing that the little guy wins.”

I’ll die a rebel. I open my mouth to say something clever. She stuffs the rubber end of her cane in there and pushes it all the way back to my throat.

It’s hard to breathe. I gag and huff at the same time. Old, dirty rubber fills my mouth and assaults my tastebuds. Air. Air. I need air.

“No more fairy tales,” she says again.

And I agree she wins. Anything she wants, just please, let me breathe.

“Your friend told me all about how, if you defeat three Legends, you get your powers, the pot of gold at the end.”

How is that even possible? How could she talk to Fate? How real could he be?

Drool comes from my mouth, and tears pour from my eyes.

“I will get stronger,” she says. “I will go to the Island of Tselem, and you’ll be sacrificed to Tiamat because that’s how we were made. I am made to live forever, eternal and prosperous, and you’re made to be a blubbering fool that will forever be my slave. Your options are simple. So simple now because, as a psych major dropout, I know you’re not that clever. You will either choke to death right here and right now, in the next ten seconds, or you will swear by your own name to do as I say for the rest of your days.”

I try to scream, and it only burns the back of my throat.

“Seven,” she says as soon as I finish my attempted moan. “Six, five, four.”

My vision blackens. I scream again.

She pulls the cane out of my mouth. The tears come, and I want to vomit. Immediately, I hunch over. That’s not enough air. I lean my head back and take a big huff. The Old Soul grabs my head and forces me to face her.

“Now swear,” she says.

Her face is so close, I can practically feel her tiny teeth biting into me. I don’t have a plan C.

“I, Velli Greene, swear by my own name to serve—” I swallow hard. “What’s your real name?”

She opens her mouth, and she’s gone, a blur in the wind. Bang! No, not gone. Pushed into the wall with a powerful thud.

Lue stands in front of me, hand out. “Come on!” she yells.

I take her hand and hop on her back. She flies through the door and into the sky.

Why are you running, Velli? I’m going to call her again as soon as I get my strength back.