Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
Mitchell’s foot slammed the gas pedal, and the world outside the car blurred into streaks of brown and green. With each bump in the road, I winced.
We pulled up to a rundown motel tucked between a row of trucks. No one said a word. Mitchell got out to call Nick, but his sister stopped me before I could follow.
"Come on, we need to clean you up," June said softly, guiding me toward the bathroom. Her hands shook as she carefully wiped away the grime and dried blood from my skin. She looked at me with a mix of shock and anger, taking in the bruises, broken lip, and seared symbol on my skin.
Mitchell handed me ibuprofen, and I swallowed the pills with a grimace. His assessment was relatively reassuring—maybe one or two broken ribs, but nothing internal, no concussion.
"Easy," he cautioned, guiding June as she tended to the wound on my shoulder. He’d brought a pile of oversized T-shirts, offering me something more comfortable to wear. A pained "thank you" slipped through my clenched teeth.
Later, I managed to snag a couple of hours of sleep, curled on my left side in an awkward attempt to find comfort. When I woke, the siblings were huddled over the table, studying an arsenal of guns. Mitchell’s collection had doubled since I last saw it.
"What’s the plan?" I asked, my voice still hoarse.
"First, I’ll teach you ladies how to handle these. Then I’m going after the son of a bitch who did this to you. And we’re going to find that goddamn book."
One glance at June’s offended expression made it clear she wasn’t a rookie.
Mitch quickly moved on, showing me how to handle both weapons in case it came to that.
We couldn’t go outside, so it wasn’t real practice—mostly theory.
This routine gave me a fleeting glimmer of reassurance, making me feel as if we had a plan, even though we didn’t.
"You can’t go alone," I protested afterward. "There are seven of them—that I counted! And you can’t put your sister in danger like that."
"June’s staying here with you," Mitchell said firmly, his jaw set.
"No, I’m coming!" June jumped off the bed, as if terrified her brother was leaving right then.
"Going after them by yourself is a suicide mission," I intervened, trying to reason with him before things escalated further.
"Come on, you know this! You’ve said it yourself: never go anywhere alone.
What if we talk to that witch first and see what she has to say?
After all, she got us into this mess. What if she actually has the book? "
"Why would she be asking us about it then?" Mitch frowned, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table.
"I don’t know. To confuse us?"
"We’re already plenty confused."
We sat in silence for a few moments, thinking.
"What if Nick’s Mom stole it from Robert, and he killed her?" June suddenly suggested. "She was a psychic, right? Maybe she, like Mathilda, wanted the book for her witchy stuff."
As simplistic as June’s theory sounded, it was the most plausible explanation, and it accounted for Nick’s Mom’s involvement.
"Then, shouldn’t Nick have it?" Mitch asked carefully, avoiding looking at me.
A firm yet cautious knock cut through our debate, and my heart flipped.
Nick burst through the door as soon as Mitch unlocked it, his eyes scanning me from head to toe with an intensity that felt like a searchlight.
The next moment, his hands cradled my face, and the tender gesture brought tears to my eyes.
The scent of his cologne combined with his worry made me feel exposed and vulnerable.
"Show me," he demanded.
I complied, turning my back to him and lifting my shirt. With everyone in the room having seen me undressed by now, modesty was no longer my concern. June gently peeled back the bandage, revealing the full extent of the injury.
"Holy shit," Nick muttered, snapping a photo with his phone. "Sorry, I just want it for reference. So I don’t have to make you uncomfortable again."
I pulled my shirt back down as June finished reapplying the bandage, then turned to face Nick.
Seeing him so concerned broke the last of my composure, and I crumbled into sobs.
"I don’t want to die," I whispered through my tears.
"You’re not going to," Nick said firmly. "We’ll find it."
Mitchell leaned forward, his eyes locked on Nick’s. He cleared his throat, a brief hesitation before his words came out in a low, serious tone.
"We think your mother might have stolen it from Robert. That’s why he killed her. That must be it."
Nick’s eyes narrowed. "And?"
"She would’ve been the last one to have it," Mitchell pressed on.
"I already went through all her stuff after she died. I’d have remembered something like that showing up," Nick snapped, his voice taking on a defensive edge. "And if your theory’s right, Robert should have it."
"He doesn’t," I interjected quickly.
"Are you sure?"
"Pretty sure," I muttered, wincing at the memories. "They beat me up, trying to get me to tell them where it is. If they had it already, they wouldn’t have bothered."
"How can we be sure you don’t have it?" Mitchell interrupted.
Nick’s anger flared like a spark. "You think I’d just lie about having it and come here to watch Nell—" He caught himself mid-sentence, his face shifting from indignation to guilt, as if the very thought was too painful to consider.
I knew Nick. He’d always been sincere with me, open in a way that made it impossible to doubt his intentions. If he had the grimoire, he would never keep it from me. There was no reason to question his word now.
The siblings must have reached the same conclusion because June turned to Nick. "Okay, so where do we look?"
Mitchell leaned back, arms crossed. "My plan is to track down Robert and get some answers outta him. Maybe we don’t even need that book. I bet these guys know how to reverse this thing."
His unspoken ‘if it’s even real’ lingered in the air like a challenge. Still, I appreciated that he was willing to entertain the possibility and was on board with the plan.
"I doubt it," Nick countered. "He’d sooner die than talk."
"Why’s that?" Mitchell asked.
Nick let out a long sigh, the kind of sigh people give when they’re explaining the same thing for the hundredth time, but to an audience that hadn’t been paying attention.
"The book June borrowed talks about how people used to make sacrifices to get what they wanted. It’s like cellular apoptosis in biology, where the body programs a cell to die for the greater good. The occult works on a similar principle—sacrifice something valuable to gain something beneficial."
June’s eyes widened. "So, her death—sorry, Nell," she shot a quick glance my way, "is a good thing?"
Nick’s jaw tightened. "No, of course not. But the process is already in motion. If it’s reversed, the results could be unpredictable. Dangerous. That’s why Robert would never crack. They’re using her as a sacrifice so they can get what they want."
"And what do they want?" Mitch asked.
"How should I know?"
"You get how crazy this sounds, right?" Mitch shook his head.
"I do. And yet, here we are." There was a brief silence. "Whatever it is they want from that thing in the woods, someone has to pay for it. Because if it’s not paid, they might be putting themselves in danger. And this is why we need to go after the book and not after them."
"How do you know all that?"
"I read a lot," Nick said sarcastically. "You should try it sometime."
"Oh my god, stop!" I buried my face in my hands, exasperated. "We can start with Mathilda. We can either kill her or make her talk. At this point, I don’t give a shit."
Nick and Mitchell exchanged a tense glance.
"You’re right," Mitch said with a curt dip of his head. "Let’s go."
In the car, Mitchell outlined the plan. "We go in, ask our questions, and get out. No drama, no fuss. We can’t afford to draw more attention to ourselves."
And, of course, that’s exactly how it went.