Flint Lock (Witches of Karma #10) (10 page)

WINTER

T
here is an awkwardness that comes with intimacy. Maybe we could never be vulnerable as adults without feeling self-conscious about it. Little children run around naked, but we learn, as we grow, to cover ourselves up and hide. Not lying and being honest are completely different things.

No wonder; when being honest made one feel so… bare.

It felt as if a year had passed, since we made our preparations in the old barn, but the angle of the sunlight above us suggested that less than an hour had passed since I had first attempted to align with Flint’s soul.

How could such a short amount of time change everything?

Flint cleared his throat. He had been avoiding my gaze, but now, when I looked up, his bright, blue eyes were open and staring right at me. I felt like he could truly see me, and that he didn’t hate the weaknesses that he saw.

“I would,” he said huskily, “very much like to… hug you.”

A semi-hysterical giggle rose through my chest. I squashed it down. He stood there in chains, surrounded by all the protections magic could offer him, and all he wanted was a hug.

Come to think of it, a hug sounded nice.

I stepped past the candle—which had long since blown out in the soughing wind that whistled gently through the eaves of the old barn. I picked my way through the other protections, careful not to scuff or mar anything. I had put way too much time into setting everything up to risk having to start over from the beginning again.

Another hysterical burble almost escaped from me. I couldn’t even see what the beginning was, anymore. Was it the moment that I’d first seen Flint, lying in the street? Or had it been even earlier, when someone I loved like myself had been torn forcefully from me?

I was not a believer in fate. The whole idea that our lives were controlled and decided before we ever drew breath had never sat well with me. But, what if some things, instead of being predestined, were foreordained? Some of the lines of the drawing set out, though the colors were in the hands of the artist?

Or perhaps it was as simple as the echoing of fractured souls, calling to each other, trying to find completion in each other?

I slid my arms around Flint’s waist and leaned my cheek against his chest. It was awkward, with the way his hands were chained to the wall, forcing his arms up over his head, but I could his breathing match mine. We sighed in the same moment.

I wondered if our hearts, too, were starting to beat in unison.

He leaned his chin down onto the top of my head. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his body surround me.

It was ridiculous, feeling so safe in this moment, when I knew perfectly well that a demon was lurking under the surface, ready to strike. The last time I had let myself be this close to Flint, the demon had attacked me.

I had the bruises to prove it. They were still new and tender.

What was it about this man that had me dropping my guard, when I had managed to hold it up since Kenzie died? Why did he have to be the one to get under my skin, and make me wonder what I’d been missing, all these years alone?

“When we get rid of this demon,” Flint said huskily, his mind evidentially working in the same direction as mine, “I might never let you go.”

I smiled to myself, but his words had broken the spell. I stepped away from him. My hands fell to my sides.

“I’m going to try this again,” I said, shakily. “Hopefully there won’t be any sidetracks this time. I still don’t know how that could have happened. It was so weird.” I tried to laugh, but the sound came out half-strangled.

“I’ll be here,” Flint said, wryly.

This time I did manage to smile.

“It will be okay,” I lied.

I had the feeling he knew I was lying, but we both decided to let that slide. Sometimes lies like that were important.

I could think of a thousand horrible things that I would rather do than try to align myself with Flint again. On the top of the list were riding a derailed roller coaster and swimming among sharks with a head wound.

“Come on,” I whispered to myself. “What’s the worst thing that can happen?”

Seriously, do those words ever lead to anything good? It’s like saying ‘at least it’s not raining’. Some phrases just seem to be tempting God, or the Fates or whomever to throw everything at you.

“I could use a little help here,” I murmured, my eyes pointed at the ceiling. “A demon loose on this plane can’t be good for business.”

I thought I heard Flint snort, but I was already slowing my breathing and sliding into the semi-meditative state that my kind of magic required.

My heartbeat slowed. The whisper of the wind against my cheek danced in slow motion. When I opened my eyes, I could see the fine tendrils of my hair moving as if in a dream, or under water.

I looked at Flint.

Everyone has a soul as unique as their fingerprint, or their retinas. I had seen a few in my lifetime, and they were all completely different—like different species of flowers—or different branches of the Animal Kingdom. I’d seen every possible shade of color from the entire rainbow—visible to the naked eye and not. I had seen souls that were as still as an underground lake, and souls as tumbled-about as a forest fire.

No surprise that Flint’s soul was attractive to me. Just as his face and his body seemed to have been sculpted to fit my ideals, his soul called to me. It was vibrant and alive, though I could see that it had been muted by grief and fear. His soul was made up of vibrant shades of blue—from the deepest cobalt, to an electric almost-violet. The color should have felt cold, but instead I could feel the burn of fire inside of him.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that his element was Fire. The kind of calm, quiet exterior that he had was usually part of the discipline required for a Fire Mage to stay alive.

Flame was a dangerous master. It was uncontrollable and strong.

Also, total antithesis, in so many ways, to my own Water affinity. My parents had actually named me appropriately, for my magic was, if it could be seen like ice—still frozen, and clear.

I exhaled an icy breath. It flowed across the protective circles and embraced Flint, touching everything with a frost that only I could see.

Flint could feel it, though. I saw him stiffen slightly, his eyes widened by surprise.

The flame-like dance of his magic slowed, and then stopped, leaving a clear image for my magick to touch.

It was like looking at Van Gogh’s
Starry Night
, I thought to myself.

My magick brushed against the colors of his quieted soul and I sank into the knowing that was my own special Gift.

Touching someone’s soul is like sticking a fork into the nearest outlet. One of the reasons why I ‘stabilized’ souls before I tried to touch them was because of how overwhelming the experience could be. Just brushing over the surface of Flint’s soul made me want to cry out.

Images flashed through my mind, faster than I could process them. I caught glimpse of a lovely blond woman—with the golden skin of someone who lives for the outdoors—before she vanished on the wave of sub-consciousness. Words, some random, some in sentences, one an impressive soliloquy I thought I recognized as part of the Odyssey, filled the air, all vying to be the loudest. On top of this din was the usual addition of music—Linkin Park, Dvorak, and then some catchy little theme song—oh, the one from
I Dream of Jeannie
. Just as I recognized it, it changed, roiling in the ever-moving sea of the human mind.

But that all was just one layer of the experience. I waded through the physical sensations—pain, hungers, wants. And the scents—some remembered, some active. The tastes, pleasant and unpleasant, added their own particular fug to the mix.

I tried to shake off all of this commotion, as I moved deeper, past the physical, past the memory, straight into the core of what made Flint who he was, the fundamentals of him.

It took me a moment—Flint’s grief and fear kept dragging me back to the surface noise of his mind—but, eventually I stepped into the quiet space, past the hurricane.

The eye of the storm.

This, more than anything, was who Flint was. All the other things were just the surface—like eyelashes and dimples. This place, protected by the shelter of experience, was the true sculpture of what his life had shaped him into—from the clay of his birth, to the present day.

I was careful not to touch anything—this part of the soul was such a delicate thing. I didn’t want to upset the balance that was already hanging by such a tender hair at this point.

I could see the damage that the demonic presence had caused. Echoes came from that place—this was the seat of Flint’s doubts, even his desire to end himself.

I wasn’t surprised. Of course, the demon would do anything possible to gain control of Flint’s body. Grief was a perfect conduit for the negative energy that demons fed off of. Natalie’s death must have felt like a windfall.

I chewed on my bottom lip as I observed the rest of the space around me.

I drew back to the surface, past the chaos and noise, and slid back into my own, familiar soul-space.

I shuddered. I wiggled my fingers and cranked my neck back and forth, trying to shake off the after-shocks of that much stimulation. It only made sense that doing what I did should be so difficult—Flint was made for his soul, and I was made for mine—of course, trying to fit myself into his, even for a moment, would feel like trying on Cinderella’s slippers.

“Well?” Flint asked, his eyes on my face. “Was that it? Is the demon gone?”

“About that,” I wheezed, trying to catch my breath. “We have a little, tiny problem.”

He turned white, as if he had a feeling he knew exactly what I was going to say.

“You see,” I said, calmly, though my heart was still pounding in my chest, “you don’t exactly have a demon in you… it’s more that part of you is the demon.”

FLINT

F
acing my worst fear wasn’t actually as bad as I had expected it to be.

I heard Win’s voice with a kind of resignation, an acceptance. I realized, with a bit of surprise, that I had always known that the demon wasn’t a separate entity, but a part of me. Hadn’t that been the reason I had tried to kill myself? So, no more creatures like my father would exist?

“You don’t look surprised,” Win said. She looked pale and shaken. Her magic hadn’t looked like anything at all to me. She’d just stood there, with her eyes closed, like a statue of herself. I had felt something like a still, ice-cold breeze, but, other than that, there was no sign she had been using her magic at all.

For the first time, I wondered what it looked like to other people, when I talked to the dead. I’d only been aware of the ability for a short period of time, but I doubted that it was a flashy Gift.

My fire, on the other hand—before my father had stolen it, my fire had been flashy to an extreme. It could be hard to hide pillars of bright blue flame.

I realized Win was still waiting for an answer.

“I guess I’m not surprised,” I admitted. “I guess, deep down, I knew that, being my father’s son must mean that I was part-demon.”

Win sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “That would have been really good information to have,” she muttered. “No wonder things went awry the first time. Your demon-part tried to warn me off. Talk about shots across the bow.”

“So, what now?” I felt remarkably stupid, asking the question. As far as I knew, as far as anyone I had met knew, there was no way to kill a demon. And, could I even try to kill something that was part of me? Would killing the demon also kill the rest of me?

I found myself surprisingly reluctant to try shooting myself again.

Inconvenient to discover that I wanted to live after all, just in time to realize that I was just as much of a monster as I feared I was.

I was going to need some serious therapy.

“Can you tell how much of me is demon?” I asked, before Win even had a chance to answer the last question.

Win wrinkled her nose. “I’d guess you are about an eighth demon,” she said. “So, I’m guessing that your father was the half-demon?”

I shrugged. “We don’t know, really.”

“As for what we can do about your situation,” Win hesitated. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m sorry, Flint. We’re going to have to talk to a demon hunter or someone who specializes in issues like this. I don’t want to try to destroy your demon side and end up doing permanent damage—or bringing it up to the surface to stay. You’re in balance right now. You just have to be careful…”

“Not to feel too much,” I said hollowly. “Right.”

Win crossed the protective circles and reached for the lock on the chains I was wearing.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” I asked.

She raised a dark eyebrow. “I’m not going to leave you here to die, that’s for sure. Plus, you’re not going to have any blood left in your hands, with them in the air like this.”

They were pretty numb already, I admitted. I gritted my teeth as the blood returned to my deadened limbs with a vengeance. I rubbed my wrists gingerly. Even for the short time I’d been wearing them, the chains had left marks. I winced sympathetically for those that were forced into chains for weeks, months, or even years.

Win picked up each of the candles and tucked them, and the candlesticks they had rested in, into the small chest she’d brought down from the attic. She tucked the gem stones into the same box.

I rolled my shoulders, watching her work. Her heart-shaped face was still, though the tightness of her jaw suggested that she was thinking furiously about something.

She grabbed a hose and turned it on full-blast. Eddies of water poured over the salt and herbs strewn all over the floor. Rivulets gathered, spinning down the drain in the floor, and out the front door of the barn.

Soon there was no sign left of magick anywhere.

She turned towards the house with the same serious expression.

She glanced over her shoulder, the dimming of the sky behind her bringing out the startling pewter-grey of her eyes. Her lavender curls danced in the soft, evening breeze. She smoothed it down and tucked a strand behind her ear. “Are you coming?”

I licked my lips. “Where are we going?”

“I have to pack,” she said.

I jogged a few steps to catch up to her, as she continued her quick pace towards the house.

“Pack?” I queried. “Are you going somewhere?”

Her lips twisted in a half-smile. “We’re going somewhere,” she said.

Well that was helpful. “Are we going anywhere in particular?” I asked.

She stopped in the doorway and looked at me. “Karma,” she said. “If we leave now, we can get there by morning.”

I froze in my tracks. I could feel my face turn white. “Karma?”

She nodded firmly. “Yes, Karma.”

“Why?” The word came out as scarcely more than a whisper.

Win leaned towards me. “You have sisters, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Yes, but I don’t see how that has anything to do with…”

“Half-sisters,” she clarified. “Am I correct?”

I nodded again. “But—“

“I need to meet them,” Win said. “And, considering how active your demon has been the last few days, I think it’s safe to say the sooner the better.”

“But…” I babbled. “Win, stop a minute!”

She paused in the hallway to her room. She sighed impatiently. “What?”

“Why do you need to meet my sisters?” I asked. “Why is it so urgent that we go to Karma?”

A flash of fear and something else passed through Win’s eyes.

“I should call Ms. Abel and get Jinx,” she said. “I don’t know how long we’re going to be gone. Dr. Stoehr can see my patients…”

I reached out and grabbed her upper arms. “Win! Stop dodging me. What’s going on? Why do you need to meet my sisters? Why do we need to go to Karma?”

Win pulled slightly away from me. Her grey eyes darted to one side.

“Because,” she said, after a moment. “I saw something else, when I was looking at your soul. I need to see if your sisters have it, too, or if it came from your mother.”

“What?” I demanded. “What did you see?”

She hesitated.

“It’s part of me,” I said. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

She swallowed hard, but nodded.

“Yes,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “Yes, you need to know. It just… surprised me, that’s all.”

She licked her lips. Her hand rested on her chest, right over her heart. I wondered if she realized that she was doing that.

“You already know that you’re part demon,” she said slowly. “But… it looks like… well, you’re part angel, too!”

I stared at her. “What?”

“Part angel,” she repeated. “Which might be why you’ve been able to fight off the demon tendencies for so long. You’re just as much angel as you are demon. That’s why I have to meet your sisters—so I know if this came from your mother, or…”

“If my father was part angel, too,” I whispered in shock.

She nodded.

“But—” I couldn’t seem to get a grip on reality. “But… how? How did you…?”

“Know?” Win smiled wryly. “Have you ever wondered why it is that my sisters and I have the abilities we do?”

I hadn’t really, not until now.

Win shrugged one shoulder. “I know you’re part angel, because I’m part angel, too.”

~The End~