“Get out of my head, witch!” I shout, my hands covering my ears.
“Oh, so you think you don’t need a witch’s help anymore?” she asks coyly.
I growl. “Yes, fine,” I snap. “I’ve been saving up for a certain spell.”
“Have you now? And what spell is this?”
I shake my head. “I already have a witch picked out. She named her price. I almost have enough—”
“You want to have that missing piece of memory restored.”
Unnerved, I exhale loudly through my nose. "Yes."
“Without your mind being tampered.”
“Yes.”
“It is easy to get into one’s head,” she remarks idly, “but even witches can have a hard time dealing with repressed memories.”
“It’s not a repressed memory,” I mumble.
“I suspected as much.”
"I've already let a witch try to see what happened. She couldn't. There's something… there… in my mind. Whatever it did, it didn't want me to remember. Why? Why was I left alive?"
“Both times,” she muses.
I glare at her, hating that she knows far more about me than she should. Next to no one knows about my past. Actually, she and the other witch are the only others to know this much about me. Considering she stole the headspace to learn this, I am not happy at all that she has so much knowledge. Knowledge is power, that’s how the saying goes, and it’s the truth.
But the question of why am I alive and they’re all dead has plagued me for years and years. I’m not anything special. I mean, yeah, as far as I know, I’m the only supernatural bounty hunter in the entire world, but that doesn’t make me special. If anything, it makes me arrogant and reckless and more than a little foolish.
I wonder what my dad would think about my choice in profession.
“You better stock up on blue life potions then.”
“Blue? But that only heals you once. Red heals you twice.”
“I know, but I would rather you not be hurt twice. I would rather you not be hurt at all.”
Mom’s reaction would be far different.
“You played way too many video games growing up.”
“Would you rather I do this or sell drugs? Everything’s better than drugs.”
“I think you proved that’s not the case.”
“Really?”
“You’re killing—”
“Vampires who kill humans. Dragons who—”
“They’re an endangered species!”
“Because they’re dangerous!”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“I just want you safe.”
“And I just wish you were alive.”
If I could, I would wish them back to life, but that’s so not a good idea. Zombies are a thing, but so far, I haven’t seen one, and I don’t want to. There’s no doubt in my mind that even a genie can’t bring my family back to life, not the way I want them to be. Besides, Amad said the genie granting wishes thing isn’t real.
Regardless, why me? Why didn't the creature kill me, and where did it come from? Why kill Mason and Gracie and then run off? Because of the vampires? Anything that could've taken Mason unaware shouldn't have been frightened of vampires. None of it makes any sense, but there's one thing I know for certain. That creature is going to rue the day it didn't kill me alongside my brother.
“Do you trust me?” Morena asks.
“I can’t say for certain that I do,” I say coolly.
“I have done more spells than you can imagine. I have worked with ingredients that lesser witches won’t even touch. I am willing to go to whatever lengths are required to gain what I want, and I very much suspect that you are the same.”
I say nothing.
“I do not blame you for your mistrust, but if you can bring yourself to hear me out, I would very much like something done. If you complete this small task for me, I will do what you want. I will unblock your mind without you going crazy. I will help you learn what it was that killed your brother and his wife, and I will even assist you in your revenge if that is your wish.”
I don’t trust her. I don’t. I can’t. Not after everything she’s done already. She’s far too manipulative.
But she is powerful and knowledgeable. I’ll give her that much.
"How can you even be certain you can help me?" I ask. "Whatever it was… It affected my mind. It's not just a mental block or something simple. There might not even be anything to be recovered."
"There are many ways to learn what happened." She stares at me in such a way I have to force myself not to fidget.
Does she know? I returned to the scene of the murders later, much later. The vampires were gone, but the bodies remained. I… I can't bring myself to call the authorities, so I buried them there. I marked the spot with a pile of rocks. Every few months, I return to make sure the rocks remain. I usually add a few more each time.
Would she need the bodies exhumed? I don’t like that idea at all, but if it proves to be the only way, I might reconsider.
“What is this job you want? Why is it so important to you?”
“Again with the questions.” Morena tsks.
“This is no ordinary job, or else you wouldn’t be offering to be my personal witch assistant,” I point out.
“I suppose that’s fair. All you have to do is kill a simple witch.”
“Who?”
“His name is Dillon. He’s a witch with strong arcane powers. So long as he doesn’t realize you’re after him, he shouldn’t pose a threat at all. Just kill him any way you like. I would like for you to bring back his head, though. Proof of death is required.”
It’s not the most terrible thing to be asked, all things considering.
“Where can I find him?”
The witch snaps her fingers, and a piece of paper appears in her hand. She does the same with her other hand and gives me the papers.
One is a picture of a man with slicked-back, dark brown hair. His eyes are a piercing gray. His eyebrows are thick, and the lines of his face are sharp and strong. Somehow, he looks capable even through the picture.
“He’s hot,” I remark. “What did he do? Insult your true form?
Morena does not blink. “Will you do it?”
I glance at the other paper. It’s an address for a place near Harrisburg. About a three-hour drive if I’m not mistaken. I’m going to need an oil change soon with all of this driving.
“I will try.”
“Try?” she snaps.
I shrug. “I’ll do it,” I correct.
Dad always hated it when I would say I would try to do something. Honestly, I would say it just to get a rise out of him. He loved Yoda, the green puppet his favorite Star Wars character. If only he lived long enough to watch The Mandalorian with me. He would’ve loved Baby Yoda as much as I do. Even Mom would’ve loved the little guy.
“Good.”
“Is there anything else I need to know about this Dillon guy? Does he live alone?”
"Isn't it your job to find out all of the details necessary for you to complete your task?" she asks. "You are trying my patience. Go now and do not return until he's dead."
“Patience is a virtue.”
"I do not need to be lectured. You might be willing to waste years and years of your life before you have your revenge, but when you are being paid for a job, you should let your clients feel the sting of patience."
“I don’t need a lecture either. It took me about a week to get you your ingredients. I would say that’s rather impressive.”
“The past doesn’t matter. Only the future. I know that’s hard for you to accept, but that’s how it goes.”
I bristle. “You really think a lot of yourself if you think I’ll stand here and take your insults and still work for you.”
“Now, now. I won’t apologize, but we both know that you want what I have to offer. Now, go and kill the witch.”
“Can’t stand to have a little competition?” I ask.
“That has nothing to do with him needing to die.”
“And you can’t get close to him for you to be the one to do it. He can see through your illusions?”
She hesitates and then nods. “Yes. He’s a fairly capable witch. Do not underestimate him.”
I turn to go.
“Tiff—”
“Do not call me that again,” I snap. “I’m Rebel.”
The day my brother and his wife died, so did Tiffany Rose.
“Very well, Rebel.”
Her tone is different now, not soft but more compassionate. It almost makes me wonder if her anger had been geared at this Dillon guy instead of myself.
“I would not send you to your death,” she continues. “You can do this. You must. For both of us.”