Chapter 18 #2
“I don’t think…” The breathing part had become impossible.
Hell, all of this had become impossible.
And in the middle of scrambling for a basic need, I worried about how I looked.
How I was nowhere near worthy enough to be considered a pillar in our community and possibly never could be after this.
Because Nico and Jonah now knew the truth.
Who was to say that once these floodgates opened, I’d be able to close them once more?
Now that the perfect facade had been shed, reapplication was infeasible.
“Even a bit counts,” Jonah assured and showed me by breathing a quick breath. “Just try to go a little longer with each inhale. Copy me.”
I mirrored his breathing, holding in and huffing out through parted lips. Nico joined in, sitting on the ground and placing his head between his legs as if he’d been on the brink of collapse, too. The three of us sat in an empty cemetery, yards away from our dirt collection, doing calming breaths.
A point of center emerged, and I grabbed hold. Jonah smiled when he heard the change in my breath. I sucked in air more deeply and for longer.
“That’s good,” Jonah encouraged, smiling wide and proud like a schoolteacher on his last day.
“I…I’m sorry.” My eyes burned, but tears would truly be my final straw. I would see myself out of everyone’s life if I cried on a case.
“Don’t apologize,” Jonah said while Nico hit me with a “Why?”
“I’m not who I need to be.” I went to stand up, but Nico grabbed my elbow and pulled me back down. My tailbone stung, but he didn’t look apologetic in the slightest.
“And who’s that?” he asked, but the creasing around his narrowed eyes told me he already knew the ins and outs of that answer.
“Jones,” I said simply.
The name’s a weight. It held up doors. Broke down walls.
It kept me pinned underneath.
“I know my opinion’s not worth much—” Jonah started.
“Holy shit.” Nico sighed. “Enough with the self-deprecation. Did you two plan on sending invites to this pity party? Or is it more of a private gathering?”
“It’s not pity,” I said.
“Seeing you like this is far more inspirational than seeing you talk on stage,” Jonah said quickly. “Or recalling all the cases you’ve closed. To know that you’ve done this while feeling fear is…you’re who you should be.”
His words are an ointment that my scratches don’t react to, but I tucked the compliment in between my vicious inner dialogue to cushion its blows. We breathed a little more together. Wind weaved through the trees above us, another participant in the exercise.
“This doesn’t fit anymore. This job. All the digging and fixing.
It fits less each day,” I finally confessed out loud to myself.
Jonah’s brow wrinkled, not following. But Nico’s gaze ducked, understanding.
It was the last thing he wanted to hear because it was a threat to everything that’s kept us together.
“I want it to fit, though. Why can’t that be enough to make it work?
Why can’t things…stay like they’ve always been? I don’t want to want something else.”
Hunting was always everything. But the idea of slowing down and living like a civilian started to become more appealing each day that went by. Except what if even that wasn’t enough? Could staying still fill the void hunting would leave behind?
“Are you up for finishing this first?” Nico asked, still unable to meet my gaze, afraid of my response. “Or are you stopping here?”
“I’m not leaving Octavia,” was the first thing that came to mind, so it was the first thing I said. I’d dry heave my way across the finish line to make sure everything at Elmwood was safe for her. Make sure Elmwood was enough for her.
“Good.” Nico produced a lopsided smile. “Let’s focus on Elmwood. Worry about the rest after.”
“How long will it take?” Octavia hopped out of her truck. December climbed out right after, rolling up her sleeves. We’d picked them and the RV up before heading back to the ranch.
Despite the horrors that clung in the air, Octavia barely paid the house a second glance. Her steady voice became a stable ground for me to find my bearings. I stuffed the cemetery’s panic attack deep into the earth.
“Thirty.” I opened her truck’s bed. “Forty minutes, top. Put your hands and feet in this first.”
I dusted my hands and shoes with the dirt. Everyone followed my lead, staining their skin. December gagged twice, but other than that, there were no objections. I snuck a look at Octavia, impressed by the determined hard line of her mouth. She barely blinked, adding an extra coating.
“For protecting us while we lay the rest down?” She looked up, a brow quirked up a little at how my eyes were already on her.
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“December and Wilson filled me in on wards,” she said.
“Wilson?” My question captured his attention from the truck.
“He’s a quick study,” December chimed in as she smiled his way. “Knew almost as much as me. Almost.”
“The result seems a bit…lacking,” Octavia murmured as she sprinkled her jeans with dirt.
“There’s a professor of the occult in Spain who thinks the blood of ravens is a promising replacement for graveyard dirt.” Wilson rested his elbows on the truck’s rolled-down window. “You’ll just have to find willing participants on a full moon.”
“Willing?” Octavia raised a brow. “Like, ask the ravens?”
Wilson nodded. “Exactly.”
She winced. “Okay, slow down. I’m still accepting the reality of monsters under my bed. I can’t process ritual sacrifice right now.”
“Maybe later?” Wilson asked. “I’ll send you the paper?”
She let out a heavy sigh but nodded. “Go for it. I’ll suck it up eventually.”
Despite everything, I wanted to laugh. I wanted to pull her into my arms and bury my face in her neck.
And tell her there would be so many more things that were difficult to swallow.
But because of her naturally inquisitive nature, she’d survive.
And that was what I admired most about her.
How even when she switched sides, she didn’t resolve to simply accept things. Octavia always questioned.
“Hunting’s like being one of the first people in the medical field,” I said. “We’re all trying new things and waiting to see if the stitches hold.”
“Terrifying, but that’s the fun of it,” Nico said. December frowned, but her disagreement went unvoiced.
We grabbed buckets. Wilson would wait for us in the truck. A walkie rested on the truck’s dash in case he saw something from his vantage point that we couldn’t. I directed the others to the stable. Octavia followed me to the back of the house.
She watched me intently, brows pinched with disbelief. “So, we just…pour it on the ground?”
“Yeah, make the lines as continuous as possible; it can’t be broken—at least, not this first time.
A light patch is like a weak point in a wall.
But once the wall’s laid, not even changes in the weather should be able to break it.
” I tipped my bucket over, letting a slow stream of dirt fall out in a thick line.
“Come to my side; the lines have to be doubled.”
Octavia hurried over, shoulder next to mine as she poured. “Like that?”
“Exactly.” I huffed and puffed while holding the heavy bucket of dirt. Octavia barely let out a breath, as if this were a simple morning walk.
“And we don’t chant or sing a song or something? Like at the grave at the elm tree?”
“Not this time,” I said. “But you can if you want. I wouldn’t mind the entertainment.”
She scoffed, keeping her singing voice to herself. We poured in silence, making our way around the back of the house to the front. She kept sneaking glances at me. I ignored them, too ashamed of how much my hands were shaking.
“You said it has to be continuous,” Octavia spoke up after a time.
“That’s not synonymous with straight,” I said in a low voice, willing myself to stop shaking.
“If this doesn’t work—” she started.
“It’ll work,” I promised, barely opening my mouth as I spoke.
“But if it doesn’t and something happens to me—”
“Octavia.” I stopped pouring and stood tall. She froze too, staring at me with those big, defiant eyes. “Just focus on pouring and let me do my job and worry about protecting you. I can’t do that in peace if you’re questioning the way I pour a line.”
She blinked, lips parted at the harsh cut of my tone. But instead of pushback, she laughed. It was teeming with life. It was a natural wonder of the world.
“What?” My armor cracked a bit, opening to her warmth.
“It’s just…you’re sweet.”
“I am?” I prompted when she looked back down at her bucket.
She confirmed with a soft hum. “Sorry, I’ve been such a difficult client.”
“It’s easier now,” I assured.
“After I almost got choked less than forty-eight hours ago?” She smiled. “I’m sure.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s the kiss, isn’t it?”
I sighed. “Once we have the place warded, I’m going to need you to keep this energy up for a little while longer.”
She raised a brow. “Okay…”
“It’ll make anchoring easier for us.”
“I like when things are hard for you, though.” She gestured to my forehead. “There’s this tiny triangle that appears between your brows when you’re thinking too hard. I’d never guess your flawless skin would ever show signs of wrinkling back when I saw you on stage.”
“It’s all this country air,” I teased. “Cuts through armor rather efficiently.”
She sobered. “That’s one of my favorite things about being here.”
While her gaze settled on the land that stretched before us, mine settled on her. “I agree.”
We admired our respective views for a couple of seconds longer before getting back to work. It took three buckets, but we got the perimeter finished without incident. Nico, December, and Jonah were at the front of the house, done with their jobs before we finished ours.
“Well?” December asked when we were within earshot.
“We’re in one piece.” I dumped my bucket into the bed of Octavia’s truck.
“It seems like it’s holding.” Wilson’s gaze never left the house.