Chapter 19
Atlas
“How are you feeling about this?” Wes asked after Marta left. We sat on opposite couches, facing each other, the weight of unspoken misdeeds hanging between us.
“Scared shitless doesn’t begin to cover it,” I admitted.
Maybe I should have been more concerned about…
uh…binding flesh with my brother tomorrow, but that seemed like the least of my concerns.
What the demon said to Marta hung heavy on my shoulders.
The library’s lack of information on liminals and Asmodeus made my hackles rise.
It was almost like someone or something had prepped this space for us, removing anything that might be remotely helpful.
“You’ve fucked guys before,” Wes said. “What happens in the liminal—”
“That’s not what I meant,” I added, clearing my throat and shifting my weight as he raised his eyebrows and looked at me. I took a deep breath and sipped my scotch to tell my inhibitions to fuck right off. “You know I love you, right?”
He opened his mouth, and his features dropped like he hadn’t expected me to say that.
“I’d do anything for you,” I continued. “Anything. But man…I’m telling you. Something is off about this place.” I clenched my free hand into a fist, almost as if I could feel the evil in my blood. “Maybe this ritual helps us, or maybe it makes things worse.”
He scoffed. “Worse how?”
“I don’t know…just worse.” In my thirty-two years on this earth, my instincts had never steered me wrong.
My gut usually reacted faster than my brain, and right now, it was telling me to put a stop to all of this.
The rituals, the research, our attempts to reach the other side.
We were fucking with something we didn’t understand, and as much as it felt great, it made me suspicious.
What weren’t we seeing? What was hidden behind our blinders?
“Atlas,” Wes said, drawing my attention back to him.
“I’ve always looked up to you. You’re more than a brother to me.
You’ve always been…well…everything. I love you more than my own life, and if I have to step in front of every demon in this fucking world to make sure you and Marta get out of here, I will. ”
That was his problem. Always so self-sacrificing. Always believing he didn’t deserve the life he had, that he was lower than everyone else. It was something our father had put in his head that he’d never shaken.
The moonlight trickled in through the windows, mixing with the soft illumination of the lamp next to him and making his features even more defined.
His strong jaw gave way to the curve of his cheekbones and the delicate beauty of his dark eyes.
It was fucked up to want him the way I did, and I wondered how long that urge had been there.
“Stop that bullshit,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere without you. If you’re stuck here, I’m stuck here.”
He laughed and shook his head. “It will be fine. Just…be gentle with me, huh? I’ve never…you know.”
“Oh, I know,” I teased with a wink. “Don’t worry. I have a feeling the magic will make it enjoyable for everyone.”
Wes smiled, pulling more to the left than the right, revealing a dimple in his cheek that I’d always loved. Then, he stood, set his glass down on the end table, and nodded toward the door. “I think I’ll head up, too.”
I nodded, deciding to stay for a few moments alone, just to get my head straight.
His footsteps echoed up the stairs and across the ceiling to Marta’s room.
I focused on the swirling amber in my glass, wondering when my life had taken such a turn for the weird and complicated.
It had always been like this, I supposed.
Like Wes said earlier, I was a good soldier.
I did everything Dad told me to without question.
I watched out for Wes, and I protected our secrets, and I volunteered to be matched with a witch when the time came.
I pushed hard; I worked my ass off; I did what I was supposed to do.
And what was it all for? Now, I was stuck in a literal version of hell with nothing left to do except fuck my way out.
Life is fucking weird.
When I couldn’t sit still any longer, I stood and walked to the window, peering past my reflection to the darkness outside. Stars sparkled overhead, and the trees swayed in the breeze, and it almost seemed normal.
I glanced down at my tumbler again, but when I looked back up, my reflection had changed.
It no longer followed my movements, and the version of me in the glass stretched its lips into a wicked grin, one that looked inhuman and sinister.
Its eyes clouded over with pitch smoke as its mouth started to move in silent syllables.
Startled, I blinked and shook my head, convinced I’d drunk too much and started to hallucinate. But when I glanced back at the window, the not-me kept talking, forming syllables I could barely understand.
“What?” I whispered, my heart pounding. “What the fuck are you saying?”
“Atlas,” came a dark hush from behind me. I jumped, reached for my gun, and turned, ready to fire bullets into whatever it was. But nothing was there. And when I turned back to the window, it wasn’t my reflection at all anymore. I stared straight into the dark eyes of my father.
“Holy fuck!” I stumbled back, having to restrain myself from shooting at the glass. “What the hell?”
“Listen to me,” it said. “Don’t let him go.”
“Dad?” I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was this really happening? Was this a dream? Had I fallen asleep on the couch?
“Don’t let him go,” he said.
“Him? Who? Wes?” What the actual fuck?
“Don’t let him go,” he said again, his voice fading.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I stepped closer, reaching out to touch the window. But he just kept repeating it over and over again.
“Don’t let him go. Don’t let him go. Don’t let him go.”
As soon as my fingers touched the cool glass, it shattered, splintering into a thousand tiny shards that exploded around me. I covered my face and ducked to avoid it, but when I glanced back up again, the window was still there. Nothing had happened. I’d imagined the whole thing.
Well, fuck this.
I raced upstairs and into Marta’s room, damn near skidding to a halt at the sight of my witch wrapped in my brother’s arms. He’d spooned her close to his body, her back up against his chest, his heavy arm over her hip.
The sight was so damned endearing, I almost didn’t wake them up. But this was too important.
Either I was losing my fucking mind, or my father had managed to contact us from beyond the grave.
“Marta,” I hissed, giving her shoulder a shake. “Wes. Wake up.”
Marta blinked open her eyes and peered up at me. “What?”
“Something fucked up just happened.”
Both the witch and my brother got out of bed, dressed, and came downstairs with me as I explained what I’d seen. But just like before, the window wasn’t damaged, and the only person peering out of the reflection was me.
“What do you think it means?” Wes asked. “Don’t let him go?”
Marta hugged herself and shrugged. “Are you sure it was your father?”
“Who else could it have been?” I asked, exasperated by the whole thing. This place was killing me, the experience warping my mind until I couldn’t tell reality from fiction.
“Alright,” Wes added, grabbing my shoulder. “It’s been a long couple of weeks. Let’s go back to bed, and we can figure it out in the morning.”
I shoved him off. “You believe me, right?”
“Of course I believe you,” he said. “But there’s nothing there now. I don’t know what else we can do.”
“We believe you.” Marta rubbed her tired eyes. “Atlas, after the ritual, we can try to reach him. Maybe ask him what he meant.”
I didn’t like it, but like Wes said, what the fuck was I going to do about it? I still wasn’t sure if I’d made the whole thing up, and I grew even more suspicious about what the hell was going on in this world.
Wes grabbed my shoulders and forced me toward the stairs, leading me up to Marta’s room, where he got back in on his side with our witch in the middle.
I kicked off my shoes and yanked off my shirt before shoving my jeans down to my ankles so I could step out of them, the vision of my father’s pale face dancing behind my eyes.
“Don’t let him go. Don’t let him go. Don’t let him go.”
I couldn’t shake the dread and unease his words had dug into my heart, and when I slipped underneath the covers, Marta grabbed my hand to intertwine her fingers with mine.
“We’ll figure it out, Atlas,” she murmured.
“The demon’s fucking with us,” I said. “We’re playing right into its game.”
“Then we’ll deal with that, too,” Wes answered. “We’ll fight that fucker off just like we always have.”
I tried to find relief in his reassurance, but the twisted concern on my father’s face haunted me well into the night.
My dreams took me to memories I’d long tried to forget: the sound of his voice screaming at me to take my brother and run, the look in his eyes just before he’d reprimanded me for doing something stupid, the disappointment in his features when my aim was off or I didn’t train hard enough.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I told him, panting and heaving air from having sparred with him only to be laid out on my ass.
“Don’t be sorry,” he snapped. “Be better. Now do it again.”
I’d put up my fists and prepare for his attack only to be pummeled by some maneuver I didn’t see coming. Dad was merciless with me, but I’d come to realize that it made me stronger.
“Be better,” he growled. “Do it again.” He punched me. “Again.” He kicked me. “Again!” Eyes swollen shut and nose bloody, I put up my fists to defend myself, but now, his eyes had gone dark, and smoke poured from his nostrils and his mouth, his skin sunken in around his skull.
“Dad?” I tried to reach out to him, but he shoved me back, pushing me to the ground before climbing on top of me, his massive weight bearing down on my chest.