“We have to stay on this,” Cyrus sighed, finally opening his eyes to Marcus’ again. “On
her
.” Cyrus pointed out the lot where Sunday was camped out. “We follow her, see what she finds out, and figure out what she’s going to do about it. The key is Sunday. She’s at the middle of all this, and she’s the objective of this mission.”
“This is a mistake, Cyrus. Our objective is the Incarnate, not some witches and a vamp nest setting up shop in South Carolina.”
“You’re wrong,” Cyrus growled.
“Cy,” Marcus started. “Whatever you’ve got going on for this woman is going to drag this whole thing out and make it worse. We can pick her up now and we can get the hell out of Dodge. She’s fragile, she’s tired, and she can’t be in good shape. No thing with a nest of vamps that haven’t been pushed off the reservation by werewolves is going to end well, brother. You have to know that.”
“My thing with ‘this woman,’” Cyrus countered, looming over the table, “is that she’s the only thing that matters to me about this whole business. Fuck the witches and the vampires and whatever else comes up. If this shit with Constance and vamps is what she cares about,
I
care about it. This thing is going to get handled, and we’re going to be the ones to handle it.”
“What is it about her, Cy?” Marcus asked. “A month ago you were calling to tell me that you wanted this to be over with. That you couldn’t be sure that you would be able to trap her without ripping her throat out. Cy, you’ve talked about hunting her. Hurting her, Cyrus.”
“I know,” Cyrus began. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t explain it any more than anyone else could. “I just…” he started again, still unable to come up with a good enough reason to explain his commitment to her.
He sighed, his body still unable to release the tension it held. The longer he talked to Marcus, the more difficult it became to keep from confiding in him. He needed a friend. The extreme transformation of his feelings was perplexing and daunting, and he needed to find a way to put them into words. If he could explain it to Marcus, then maybe he could understand it himself. He wasn’t the kind of man that talked to people about his feelings. He was a brooder, just as Sunday had described him. But he could always talk to Marcus. Marcus was the only person who Cyrus had ever been able to really count on in that way. Cyrus gave up his insistence to maintain a strong, confident front to his friend.
“She’s just amazing, Mark,” Cyrus admitted. Instantly, he began to relax. As he thought about her, his shoulders slacked, and his face softened. The tension of keeping it all inside was painful. He needed this release.
“She took one look at me and all of it just stopped. The world just stopped, man, and she was there, at the center of it. She’s beautiful and tender and sarcastic and tough, all at the same time. She’s giving off this air about her where she’s in control and in charge of everything and she’s not, Mark. She’s not. She wanted me to challenge her. She’s so used to being alone and taking care of herself that she doesn’t know how badly she wants to just stop and let someone really get to her. She’s like this precocious kid who plays and laughs and flirts and all of that, but she wants to be taken care of and to be loved. God, I sound like an idiot.” Cyrus chuckled, his head thrown back in disbelief.
“…and all of this, Mark,” he went on, fanning the air around him, imaging the fight with Angel, the explosion of her power on the night they’d been together, Constance and the vampires. “All of this,” he continued, “is nothing. It’s all fluff. It’s all circumstantial. It’s just the stuff getting in between the last time and the next time I get to spend with her.”
Marcus reached for Cyrus’s hand across the table and patted it. In a most uncharacteristic gesture, Marcus held it and squeezed.
“It’s gonna be a long journey, brother,” Marcus consoled him. “Hope you’re ready for it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Sunday showered at a health club in Dutch Square early in the morning. The thought of having to get back into the habit of taking showers and sleeping in random places when she finally worked this thing out with the coven was already weighing heavily on her.
This was her last day in Columbia. One day left to figure everything out before she was gone. She’d promised this to herself.
You can let this go. This isn’t the kind of life you can lead.
Sunday was already agonizing over abandoning her quaint Southern life to hit the road again. If she couldn’t figure out what Constance was up to tonight at the weekly coven meeting, then she would have to confront the witch and use her abilities to make her spill the beans.
At the coffee shop down the block, she ate her first real meal in too many days. It was then she realized how accustomed she’d become to the small luxuries that a normal life had afforded her. Her stomach flipped, and she grimaced when she considered the state her refrigerator would be found in when it was discovered that she had fled without giving notice to her landlords. All her things would be collected and put out on the street or donated. She thought of all the possessions she’d leave behind: the furniture, the television and DVD player, her books and movies, a growing collection of fox figurines, and most of her clothing and shoes. Just like this life, none of that stuff had ever truly been hers. For a year, she’d been playing house.
For days, she had been avoiding contact with Kayla and Sammy. When they called, she let them get the voicemail. When they texted, she replied that she was busy and that she would return their call, but she never did. The biggest emotional challenge she had faced in a long time was letting go of those two, and she didn’t want to make it any more difficult. The distance she’d put between them threatened to break her heart, but she didn’t know another way to prepare to sever ties forever.
This time when Sammy called, Sunday was quick to answer.
“Oh, my God, Sun, where have you been?” Sammy cried. “Kayla and I have been calling for days. You’re not still mad at us, are you?”
The relief of hearing Sammy’s voice brought tears to Sunday’s eyes. The idea of her friends being worried about her was almost ridiculous, but she reveled in the feeling of being really cared for and loved by people who didn’t want anything from her other than to be a friend.
“Sammy,” she began. Sunday had to pause so that she wouldn’t sound as choked up as she really was when she started talking. “I’m so sorry. There was this…” Her voice lingered as hundreds of possible lies ran through her mind that might excuse her recent erratic behavior. “…this
guy
,” she continued. “Yeah, Sammy, this guy. Ugh. I was sure I was in love. It was whirlwind, totally stupid. And it
really
didn’t work out. I’ve just been a mess about it.”
From the other end, Sammy’s sigh turned into a laugh that made Sunday blush with embarrassment.
“Oh my God, Sunny, we were worried sick about you, and you’re telling me that some
guy
… first off,
what?
Who is this guy, by the way, but we can get back to that. You’re saying that some, like, man-nonsense had you spinning so out of control that you couldn’t call me or Kayla?” Sammy chided.
Being scolded by her friend for not telling her about meeting a guy was so refreshing that Sunday found herself smiling. With everything going on, she’d forgotten to tell the girls about meeting Cyrus. She’d been so focused on her investigations and on protecting them that she hadn’t even called
before
she discovered the truth about him or encountered the other werewolf. Still, it didn’t really matter in the long run anymore. By tomorrow morning, Sunday would be out of their lives forever. Whether she lived happily ever after or not was no longer Sammy or Kayla’s concern. They’d never see her again, and they wouldn’t ever learn why. The realization sunk her heart and brought her to the brink of sobbing. Sunday sniffled and pushed away the thoughts of leaving as she returned to Sammy.
“Well,” Sunday said. “There isn’t much to say. I met this guy at the cinema the other night and we went out for drinks at the Coalmine afterward. It was fine and hoo-ha we made plans for Saturday night. He came over. Yadda-yadda. We broke it off before anything happened. It got a little out of hand and…whatever. Anyway, I’m not interested. I’ll probably never see him again so I hope you’re already thinking of another eligible bachelor to set me up with.”
At the end of the conversation, Sammy gently reminded her about the coven meeting that night. Though Sammy emphasized that neither she nor Kayla would hold it against her if Sunday didn’t attend again, Sunday said that she would meet them there.
“Just this one last time, okay?”
A tear bubbled in the corner of Sunday’s eye, and she wiped it away before it had a chance to fall. This was it.
One last time.
If there was ever a chance for Sunday to figure out what was going on, then this had to be it.
At the end of their call, Sunday told Sammy that she loved her and to take care of herself to which Sammy responded with a chuckle and an “Okay, mom,” before her end of the call went silent.
Hours later, Sunday was edgy with a mixture of over-caffeination and the anxiety building toward the evening’s coven meeting. She’d been staking out Constance’s house when she realized that she would have to get herself together. If she had any hopes of controlling her ability enough to penetrate the circle’s collective aura
while
pinpointing and challenging the malevolent energy in it, then she needed to meditate.
You’re the Incarnate, dammit,
she told herself.
You’re going to get a grip and practice just like Bernadette taught you.
It was true that Bernadette had tortured her into submission and used dark magic to create black holes in her mind. It was even true that Bernadette had used Sunday’s ability to attract and harness magic to create a reservoir of power for herself. Those things, along with the many others that Sunday couldn’t think about without screaming, made Bernadette a savage woman and an unworthy surrogate mother. However, for as much as she had failed Sunday, she succeeded in giving Sunday the requisite education and the necessary training for Sunday to control the use of her abilities.
There were times when Sunday had been overwhelmed that her guards had slipped and she’d gone over the edge without meaning to, like on the night of Bernadette’s death, and most recently, on that night with Cyrus. Generally, however, she was a master of her unique condition. It was Bernadette who had once made sure of that.
She climbed into the backseat of her car and arranged herself in a lotus position. She closed her eyes and began to meditate. Preparations like this were Sunday’s equivalent of kung-fu practice. With her attention centered on clearing her mind, she ran a diagnostic of her ability. Within, she found strength and resolve. She created impenetrable psychic walls to obstruct extraneous stimuli while manipulating energy around her.
She concentrated on the ritual she’d observed at last week’s circle and learned it better than any of the other witches could have learned it given years of practice. She visualized a map of the ritual and sought out vulnerabilities. She pictured herself sitting among the witches and feeling the current of electricity at her fingertips as it coursed through their circle.
This kind of preparation took time and it was tiring, but it was necessary. An hour later, Sunday was all the stronger and all the more confident. She checked the time again and set an alarm on her phone to remind of when she needed to get ready to go. There was no mistaking it. Tonight, Sunday was going to catch Constance in the act and she was going to draw the truth out of her.
At 6 p.m., Constance locked the front door behind her and got in her car. Sunday followed her as they drove in the direction of Vicky and Elisabeth’s house, when Constance turned onto a cross street that led away from where they were supposed to be headed. Though she’d given herself some time to arrive at the meeting a bit early, there wasn’t enough of it for Constance to suddenly run across town if she wanted to make it on time. Kayla had already called to find out if Sunday had been on her way when Constance made the wrong turn, and Sunday started getting nervous that she knew she was being followed.
Then, the neighborhoods started to become familiar. She had been there before. In fact, Sunday quickly figured out where Constance was leading her: to Eunice’s house. After Constance made a turn into Eunice’s block, Sunday lingered at the intersection. She watched as Constance’s car cruised by Eunice’s house slowly, and then sped up further down the road. She hadn’t gone to pick up Eunice.
Now Eunice is involved,
Sunday thought, her hands slapping the steering wheel in exasperation.
What the hell is Constance planning? And how is Eunice a part of it?
Eunice was a white magic-practicing witch. She was a caretaker, and caretakers, by definition, didn’t delve into black magic and they certainly didn’t kill people. If Eunice was involved in Constance’s misdeeds, it wasn’t consensual. Sunday wasn’t about to let Eunice stand on her own against Constance, even if she didn’t know that Constance was after her. Whatever Constance was planning, it seemed to involve Eunice. The last witch Sunday had seen Constance take an interest in ended up killed.
Sunday continued tailing Constance as she found the main highway again and headed back the way they came. When they returned to the intersection where Constance had veered off course earlier, Constance kept on straight ahead toward Vicky’s house. When she was sure that Constance was heading to the meeting, Sunday took off from behind her and sped down the road to make it there first. The last thing she wanted to do was show up immediately after the woman she’d been stalking for the last few days.
Rushing to get in before Constance showed up, Sunday grabbed her purse, slammed the car door behind her, and ran to the door, opening it without so much as a knock.
From the living room, Elisabeth cackled merrily, “Well someone’s excited to be here!” while Sammy and Kayla dropped everything to rush to Sunday and pull her into embraces. The last time that the pair had hugged her in this way, Sunday blew a toaster. This time, however, she was prepared.