Chapter 7 #2
Fire erupts from my hands, and I yank them back just in time.
Opening my eyes, I watch the flames shoot upward, blurring the air around them with heat.
My heart is still racing, and no matter how hard I stare into the fire, I still see Mom’s lifeless eyes.
I still smell the sulfur and the blood. I still remember the way my feet slipped out from underneath me when I finally turned on the light.
Falling into a puddle of the blood pouring out of Dad’s head.
“Ace,” Jacques calls. “That’s enough.”
The fire grows taller. Embers fall to the couch beneath, and Jacques pats them out. I ball my fists and wait for the flames to die down.
“You did it,” Jacques says with a smile on his face. I wish I could return his excitement, but my mind is still in nine-year-old Ace’s head, finding her murdered parents all over again.
“Ace?”
My lip quivers, and everything else comes rushing back. All the repressed emotions. The shit I went through and the anger I never dealt with over my uncle passing me off like I was nothing.
I close my eyes and turn away, but not in time to hide the single tear that drips down my cheek.
“Ace,” Jacques whispers softly. He wipes away the tear and pulls me into an embrace. I relax against him, listening to his heart beating. It’s slow and steady, and is the only thing calming me down right now.
“It’s all right,” he soothes, running his hand over my hair. His touch is so gentle, so intimate. I don’t want him to let me go. “Where did you go?”
“Back to the night I found my parents.”
He runs his hand over my hair. “Tell me what happened.”
I’m not sure I can find the words. I recounted the horror to the police, then again to the detectives. And twice to my therapist. I’ve tried to block it out ever since.
Not dealing is my way of not feeling. Bury the past and hope it doesn’t rise from the grave.
“I woke up in the middle of the night with this pain in my chest. It wasn’t physical pain, and I know how weird that sounds.
I just knew something bad was going to happen.
I thought it was going to happen to me. I was terrified.
I remember lying in bed, too scared to even move, for what felt like hours. ”
I open my eyes, afraid that if I keep them shut, visions will flash before them. Jacques continues to run his hand over my hair, and my heart starts to slow. If he wasn’t holding me, I’d come undone.
“The floor was wet. It was too dark for me to know I was stepping in blood. I still smell it like it’s here around me.”
“Smell what?”
“Sulfur.”
“Are you sure it was sulfur?” He pulls me onto his lap. Being close to him feels so right, like this is where I’m supposed to be. I don’t know if the feeling is real or because of the dreams, but right now, I don’t care. I need him.
“Yes. As soon as I smelled it from the vampires, I knew. But my parents weren’t…they weren’t killed by vampires.”
“Other demons can smell like sulfur. Not just vampires. Can you go on?”
“Yeah.” I swallow and go into survival mode, recounting the details without letting myself feel. “They were on the floor, bleeding from the head. It, uh, it…” My heart starts to race.
“Take your time,” Jacques soothes.
“They were hit. Their heads, I mean. Someone smashed them together hard enough to crack their skulls. But that’s not all.
Their hearts were frozen from the inside out.
No one knew what could have done it, and they were killed a few hours before I found them.
I don’t remember anything before that, though.
I didn’t hear anything at all. There was no sign of forced entry.
Nothing was stolen. Even though I was young, I heard the rumors that it had to be something supernatural.
But I knew it wasn’t. Because I was going to find the bastard who killed them and do the same to him. ”
“And that’s why you became a detective.”
“One of the reasons,” I say with a wry smile, repeating his own words from earlier. “So…that’s what I thought about to get the fire to work. All it takes is a bad flashback and I’m good to go.”
“No,” he assures me. “We know your powers are triggered by your emotions, which is common. You’re using them defensively, and thinking about past tragedies makes you feel vulnerable.”
“It’s like I went back there all over again. I try not to think about it. And yes, I know how unhealthy not dealing is. But it got me this far and I’m doing just fine, right?”
“You are.”
“Can we do something else? Maybe try a spell from the book or something?”
“Of course. Let’s go over the newest translations about elements.”
I move out of Jacques’s embrace and get the book. We sit close together, flipping through pages as he explains to me what was written and elaborates on what he knows from his own experience.
“So,” I say, flipping through the book. “What kind of spell can I try? Something with immediate results would be best. I like instant gratification.”
Jacques chuckles. “Don’t we all.”
“I can’t wave a magic wand around and see sparks or anything like that so I know it’s working, right?”
“That would be too easy.” He takes the grimoire from me and flips through it, stopping on a page with smeared ink and some sort of yellow stain over the words.
“A glamour spell.” He runs his finger along the messy ink, reading whatever is written in Latin. “This is considered basic magic.”
“Sounds like a good starting point. What do I need?”
He gets up and goes outside, returning in a few minutes with a handful of light gray stones from the yard. He sets them on the coffee table and then goes into the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets until he finds what we need.
“What am I doing?”
“You’re going to cast a glamour and make the rocks appear a different color.”
“I can do that?”
He smiles. “You can.”
“How does magic work?” I ask, watching him pour herbs into a bowl.
“Do you want the long answer, or the one that’s easy to understand?” He looks up, eyes meeting mine. A smile plays on his lips.
“Easy answer, please.”
“Magic is manipulating energy to do your will. Some people, like you, are born with the ability to work spells in your favor.”
“And spells…it’s more than rhyming words strung together, right?”
“Right. It’s much more.” He taps the grimoire. “Everything here has been carefully crafted. The right words paired with the right herbs, tested over and over to make sure it gets the same results.”
“So in theory, I could create my own spell.”
“Yes.” He looks back to the bowl and pushes it over to me. “You need to invoke the powers of the herbs.”
“How the fuck do I do that?”
Jacques laughs. “That’s one thing I can’t explain since I’ve never done it.
Try to feel for it.” He takes my hands, sliding his fingers over my own.
His touch is warm, welcome, and I don’t want him to let go.
“When you feel it, imagine the rocks in whatever color you want. You’re not actually changing their color, just the way we see them. ”
“And this is a basic spell? It’s complicated.”
Jacques circles his thumb over my pulse point. “You’ll get it, Ace. You’re smart.”
I nod and inch forward, looking at the bowl of herbs beneath my hands. “Okay. I’ll try.”
I hold my hands out over the bowl for so long my arms start to get tired. Nothing happens. Come on. I imagine the herbs glowing like they would in a movie. I inhale, and feel something tingling under my hands, similar to the feeling of static electricity.
I open my eyes and see little flecks of light shining from within the bowl of herbs.
“Can you see that?” I ask, not blinking.
“See what?”
“The lights.”
“No.” Jacques slides a stone in front of me. “Don’t tell me the color. Imagine and change it.”
Red. Turn red. I move my hands from the herbs to the stone, and feel the energy transfer.
“It’s pink,” Jacques says, turning his head. “Is that what you intended?”
“I was going for red.” My eyes widen and I poke at the stone in disbelief. Pink is basically watered-down red. The spell worked. Holy. Shit. “How long does it last?”
“On something like this, probably a day. On yourself, hours at best.”
“I can glamour myself?”
“You can. And others.”
I blink, trying to take it all in. “Can I try again?”
“Of course.”
I hold my hands over the herbs and repeat the process. The second stone is a deeper shade of pink.
“Thank you,” I say, tearing my eyes away from the stone.
“For what?”
“For helping me with magic and translating the book. You’re a good teacher.”
“I’ve always enjoyed teaching,” he says, picking up the book again, seeming almost flustered by the compliment.
“How do you know so many languages?” I ask.
“I was taught at a young age.”
“Who taught you?”
“My father. And then I was taught more at a monastery.”
“I took Japanese in high school and don’t remember any of it.”
Jacques looks at me. “That’s one I don’t know.”
“Is there anything in here about curses? Specifically how to break one?”
“Yes, but it’s vague.” He flips through the book, landing on a page that’s written in Latin. “This one is what I’d consider a generic spell. It rids negative energy attached to a person or object.”
“Would it work?”
“It’s not powerful enough to break this curse.”
“I still don’t really understand the curse,” I start, closing the grimoire. “You were all cursed together…but only you were involved with Braeya, right?”
He stiffens. “Right.”
“How were the others involved? Were you friends before?”
“No.”
“But you knew each other?”
“Yes.”
His one-word answers are already annoying me. I feel like I’m interviewing a difficult suspect. “So you were working together?”
“In a way, yes. Thomas and Gilbert were new to the Templar at that time. They were sent my way for disciplinary reasons.”
I laugh. “I’m not surprised.” I bring my legs up underneath me. “So…Braeya.” I have so many questions about her. She’s a stranger yet I feel like I know her, and I hate her as much as I feel bonded to her.