Chapter 19
“Cold,” I whine, my teeth chattering.
Darkness swirls around us and my ears pop.
Nothingness presses into me and I blink, desperately searching for a pinprick of light in this void.
When I close my eyes, images flash against my lids, too quickly for me to decipher.
Numbness spreads through my limbs until I can't feel Omen's arms around me anymore.
I open my mouth to call for him, but no sound comes out.
For some reason, my brain doesn't freak out. Other than the chill seeping into my muscles, I feel nothing. It's like my body has disappeared, leaving only the essence of feeling behind.
Slowly, a light comes into view, growing larger the closer I get. Or maybe it's moving and I'm staying still. I'm sure I'll wonder about it later if I remember this. I stare into the brightness as it widens, almost like a movie theater screen.
Omen's wings come into view and he glances over his shoulder. Orange glows around his frame, and I squint to make out what's behind him. A grin takes over his face, and my heart clenches. He takes off, the muscles in his back rippling. The scene fills out and flames come into focus.
Omen runs over a rickety bridge, dodging fireballs. Panic plucks at my psyche as he jumps from one wooden pillar with a disk on top. His wings vanish, reappearing in the form of a thin tail with a tuft of shadows at the end. He lands on a small platform and sparks fly from his bare feet.
The scene dissolves and materializes into another one.
Omen stands at the edge of a cliff, magma flowing at the bottom of the chasm.
Every so often, a lick of fire erupts from the surface.
He gazes at the oozing liquid, then at the opposite ridge.
The view hurtles into the air, making my stomach roll, until it finally settles with me peering at him from above.
His muscles bunch, and I realize what he's going to do a second before it becomes reality.
I open my mouth to scream, yet nothing comes out.
He launches himself into the emptiness, his arms pinwheeling.
I wish I could look away. I don't want to watch him die.
With no perceivable eyes, I'm forced to witness his demise.
And then I'll be stuck in this in-between space.
Alone and mourning the demon I shouldn't have wanted in the first place.
Maybe I'll be forced to relive this moment again and again in some sick punishment for not knowing my place in the world.
To my utter amazement, he lands on the other side safely. He tips his head back, grinning into the darkness, and something within me blooms to life. The numbness seeps from me bit by bit.
Omen makes it all of one step before a thin rope made of pure flame lashes from the crevice and wraps around his ankle.
A scream erupts from me as it yanks him off his feet and drags him toward the edge.
His fingers scramble for purchase, claws digging into the rocky ground.
Wings sprout from his back once more and thrash through the air.
Tears spring to my eyes and slide down my cheeks, though I have no hands to wipe them away. As my vision blurs, he slips over the edge and his roar splits the night.
Darkness envelops me and I slip into a stupor. Emotions mean nothing, my body has disappeared again, and I no longer remember why there's a deep despair resting in my soul. It doesn't matter here in the void, anyway.
Gradually, I recognize my fingers clutching something soft, arms cradling me close, and the smell of sulfur and cinnamon.
Wherever I was and whatever I was doing doesn't matter as much as the chill snaking down my spine and the spasms making my muscles twitch.
It's too dark to see anything, but at least I'm no longer floating in a sea of blackness.
When the shadows dissipate, we're in a large bedroom.
If I wasn't getting smothered from the inside out, I'd admire the dark walls and the ginormous bed.
At least I get to enjoy the fluffiness of the covers when he sets me on it.
I wish I could savor how comfortable it is.
I roll on my side and curl into a ball. It's not like the cramps I had before.
It's an ache attacking my bones and stretching my tendons to the breaking point.
A choked sob leaves me as I press harder into Omen. I scoot closer as he kneels on the bed, trying to soak up his warmth. He brings his other hand to my face, and my eyes flutter closed. It won't do much for long. Even now, there's less heat coming from him.
He's probably not equipped to deal with something like this.
Taking care of a human while they're sick probably isn't something he's done before.
When I had cramps, he clearly didn't know what he was doing.
If this sickness is witchy work at play, a demon would stay far away. Except he brought me here.
I whimper and I realize I've sucked all the warmth from his palms. When he pulls them away, I inhale sharply and my eyes flash open.
“I'm sorry. You can take me back.” I groan and bury my face in his pillow.
“Clara,” he says sharply, but I don't move. “Tell me what you did.”
“Nothing,” I wheeze as a bolt of pain lances through my lungs, making every breath hurt. “I didn't do anything. I'm fine. I didn't summon you. I just used it to get to Hell.”
He sighs, running his fingers through his hair as he sits back against the headboard.
They tangle with his horns, and he drops his hand to his side.
I don't know what else to tell him. It was just a spell—no better or worse than the others.
I haven't used anything other than the summoning circle spell, so I assumed this one wouldn't screw me over.
I roll to my back and yelp as something sharp pokes my hip. Omen practically dives over me and snatches up the book. He growls and drops the heavy tome between us, and it brushes me. A shock zips up my arm and I yank it away. Omen shoves off the bed and glares at the dark cover.
“If the damn thing is going to lash out at me, maybe I'll return the favor. I should have dragged it to the depths of Hell and burned it when I had the chance.”
“You can't burn it. Besides, it's an heirloom.”
“It's a fucking menace. And it's making you sick,” he snarls, still glaring at the black cover.
“It's a book, not a poison. It's not making me sick.” My voice breaks and my shoulders shake as chills wrack my body.
Tears spring to my eyes, and I close them so he doesn't notice.
Maybe it's embarrassment, though that doesn't make sense.
He took care of me when I was on my period.
He saved me from the washing machine. He's been saving me over and over, regardless of the requests.
He drops his hands on the bed and leans close. “What. Did. You. Do.” It's not a request.
“I…I got the book. No, the book fell off the shelf. It opened to the summoning circle, I assume because I was trying to summon you back.” I wince as another bolt of pain hits my back.
Omen mutters a curse under his breath. My chin trembles uncontrollably. I don't know if it's the chills razing my body or the memory sitting at the edge of my mind.
A familiar emotion blossoms in my chest, and I realize I've gone too far. Hell was supposed to be scary, terrifying, and full of screaming. At least according to certain people. I wasn't worried about where I was going, I was concerned for Omen, to the point where I fell straight into the depths.
And now I'm here, hoping he won't throw me away, all while telling him I'll leave. It's ridiculous and unhelpful to my situation. I'm making the same mistakes with him that I made with my friends. Avoidance is apparently my personality. If I pretend it isn't happening, then I can dodge the pain.
I close my eyes and an image floats up from the darkness. It's blurry with a silhouette of a demon with wings spread wide surrounded by shades of grey and red. A hot lance rips into me, but I don't understand why.
“What else, Clara?” Exhaustion lines his voice, despite being completely unaware of my inner turmoil.
“I got the candles and hemlock. The book was in Latin, though.”
“And we both know you're shit at Latin,” he says with a chuckle, and I scowl as best I can.
“I may have cussed at it to translate, and it just…did. After I said the incantation, nothing happened. Then the cat showed up and tried to eat the hemlock, so I went to grab him and tumbled into the circle.”
His brows pull low and he shakes his head. “What do you—”
“Actually, the pages turned black.” I grit my teeth, holding back the cough. Between my lungs being on fire and the dryness in my throat, it's a losing battle.
“Spellsick,” he breathes.
I don't know what he's talking about. The book couldn't make me sick.
My father warned me about spellsickness, but it was one of those warnings that didn't hold much weight.
It was like the bogeyman or Krampus. They were cautionary tales to teach kids a lesson.
I know getting ill from messing up spells used to happen in the old covens centuries ago.
I assumed we'd evolved enough not to have to worry about things like that anymore.
My eyes flutter closed as a wave of heat washes over me. Fire burns through my veins and licks at my bones. I have no idea if this is from the spell or the trip through the dimensions. Maybe it's from whatever images are hiding in the corners of my mind.
Omen's lips brush my temple as he whispers, “I'll be right back.”
Memories flood back to me. Blackness. Numbness.
Omen. There's a flash and the dream plays behind my lids once more.
Except it didn't feel like a dream. It felt like a prophecy coming to life.
Premonition isn't my strong suit. Some witches have the sight.
I'm definitely not one of them. No one seems to have that particular gift anymore.
“Clara? What's wrong?” Omen's voice cuts through the terror gripping me. He presses a cold washcloth to my forehead and I bite back a moan. I didn't realize just how hot I was until now.
“I…I saw something,” I croak. “When you were bringing me here, I saw something. I don't think I'm spellsick. I'm just…scared.” I whisper the last word as if I'll be able to hide from the reality of what I saw.
“What did you see?” he growls.
“Nothing,” I breathe.
His hand slides into my hair, and he tips my face up. I meet his gaze and a tear slips down my cheek. The concern in his dark eyes overwhelms me. Twin flames erupt in their depths and the thread tying us together pulls taut. One tug and it'll snap, unleashing everything I've been holding back.
His gaze softens. “What did you see?”
“I saw you dying.”
“How exactly did I die?” When I shake my head, he climbs next to me and gathers me in his arms. The washcloth ends up on the floor, and he tucks my head under his chin. “I promise I won't leave after you tell me.”
I pull his scent into me, letting the subtle notes soothe my inner jagged edges.
I've spent so many years on the fringes of things—my community, my friend group, my family—and I'm sick of it.
Being part of something more was never available to me.
I tried, really tried, but I could never seem to break through.
With Omen, I never feel the need to be anything other than me.
And now I have to trust him, even if this is temporary.
Even if the premonition is nothing more than my worst fears manifesting themselves.
I pull in a deep breath and describe what I watched in the void between worlds.
With my body pressed against his, my muscles relax and the ache once battering me eases a little.
Still, the pain of his death remains. I can almost smell the burning of his flesh, the sound of his screams, the bone-deep pain of losing him.
I know without a doubt his death will break me.
Which seems ridiculous. We're not a couple.
We're not lovers, even though we've slept together.
We're still trying to navigate this weird dynamic.
I'm a witch. He's a demon. There's no way for us to be anything other than what we are.
His chest vibrates under me, his shoulders shaking and I cling to him.
He gasps and I squeeze my eyes shut to stem the flow of my tears.
When his fingers dig into my skin, I brace myself for him to move me.
Hopefully, he'll take me seriously. I may not have the gift of premonition, but the spell revealed more than I was prepared for.
If he thinks I'm exaggerating, he'll send me back and I won't know what to do with myself.
The not knowing would plague me for eternity.
“Clara,” he wheezes, and a chuckle escapes. “You didn't see me dying.”
I try to shove away from him, and he tightens his hold on me. “Let me go, Omen.”
“Stop,” he growls, the word tumbling around us, and I freeze. He tips my chin up. “Was I smiling? In your dream, premonition, whatever, was I grinning like a damned fool?” I nod and he smirks. “Yeah, you were seeing me in the gauntlet. It's an obstacle course.”
“I know what a gauntlet is,” I snap as annoyance and humiliation hits me.
“We use it to train the newer demons. I was helping out, showing them how to do it. Except Triton, the trainer, thought it'd be funny to add in something he saw somewhere. I didn't know I'd have to deal with fire lassoing me around the ankle.”
I bite my lip, searching his gaze for the lie. It's not there, just mirth. “It's from a movie.”
“I don't know what that is.”
I sigh, exhaustion swamping me. “You really need to get out more.”
“This might be a silly question, but do you feel better?”
“Emotionally, maybe. Physically, not at all.”
“Spellsick. Get some sleep and I'll figure something out.”
I hum as my lids grow heavy. It'll take more than a simple explanation to get over the thought of Omen dying.
I still don't think I'm spellsick, but whatever.
He'll do whatever he thinks is necessary regardless of what I think.
Which is probably a good thing since I can't think straight.
I'll be better when I wake up, as long as he's here.