Thirteen

Wonderwall

 

I don’t drink much because I am the very definition of a lightweight. Even then, I don’t generally have hangovers because I drink 2:1 water to alcohol, and I never get blackout drunk. It doesn’t take long for me to get a happy buzz and I can usually time my drinks to keep me there rather than go too far over.

Three shots of tequila and I was in a good place.

Melinoë was a little more conservative; I’d always thought myself a little paranoid thanks to how I was raised, but she was something else entirely. She could also hold her alcohol better, though, and it was only the slight tilt of her head and small giggles that tipped anyone off that she wasn’t one hundred percent in control of her faculties.

Bar patrons remained pretty steady for the next hour—two left, but three older men arrived to take up around a table and talk about...well, I didn’t want to be prejudiced, but they were all wearing camo, so I figured shooting Bambi.

Jim, the asshole from earlier, remained in his spot drinking whiskey, and sent scowls between us and the bartender. The odd time the waitress came out to deliver food, he tried to get her attention and reached for her, confirming my theory that she hid back there because of him.

Honestly, it was the bartender pissing me off more than anything—it was his establishment, he should be protecting his other patrons and his employee rather than that motherfucker. I’d probably be doing the universe a favour if I set the whole fucking place on fire.

The jukebox sputtered through another round of twangy country and eventually I rose to cycle through the options with a swing to my step and my head feeling light and airy.

There were plenty of genres—it was an old digital machine, at least a thousand songs loaded on it and I tabbed through the screens of songs I didn’t know. It required a key and code to change, but I suspected it had long ago been programmed and Donnie possibly inherited it. At least he didn’t remark on me poking around.

The thing about personal magic like mine that held an electrical charge was that, when a witch was practiced with it, it had a lot of uses beyond zapping people. I dragged my finger along the console, sent a little charge through my index fingertip, and the screen flipped to a soft rock playlist.

I strolled back to our table to the dulcet sound of guitar and a girl singing about whatever the hell a “Wonderwall” was, and paused by Melinoë with my hand out.

She tossed back her shot of tequila and raised a brow. “I didn’t see a dancefloor.”

“I’m trying to scandalize the locals,” I said in a low voice with a grin.

She met my smile with her own, then took my hand. There was approximately five square feet of space between the front door and the bar but at least it was a slow song so less of a risk of running into tables.

A few eyes followed us, but no one said a word as we fell into a dance, arms around one another.

She leaned over to whisper in my ear, the warmth of her enveloping me. “You think two women dancing would really scandalize anyone here nowadays?”

“I think two young people having fun is the scandalous part.” Mostly I was trying to get a rise out of Jim, though—I wanted him to push, to just give me one more reason to show him the consequences of ignoring my boundaries. Which was probably a terrible thing to hope for, but I was a serial killer, after all, and I don’t know what else would be expected from me.

“I’m really glad you’re here, Elis,” she confessed. “Trying to figure this out on my own was...daunting.”

“Not that I’ve been much help.”

She shrugged, the movement loose under my hands. “Cemetery Road. It’s more than I got trying twenty questions with the motel owner.”

The leather of her coat was supple under my hands but I wished she’d taken it off so I could see the scars and feel her skin, and ask about the pain mapped across her flesh. Strength and vulnerability was a heady mix I was drawn to, a contrast that kept my thoughts drifting back to her again.

I held her gaze for a moment and she looked away, a pretty blush rising on her cheeks. Long black lashes veiled her eyes and my heart gave a little kick of want.

That want surprised me, because I hadn’t really been thinking about it—but yes, I liked her. Maybe I didn’t entirely trust her, but that added some excitement to any situation. I wasn’t sure what she felt—she hadn’t given any indication either way—and surely the alcohol wasn’t helping me thinking clearly. But for a few blessed seconds, I forgot everything—where we were, why we were here, the fucking mess I’d left behind in the city.

I let the moment pass, though. Instead, I pulled her closer, our heads on one another’s shoulders, and closed my eyes as we swayed with the music.

Too soon it was over, and she pulled out her phone to check the time. Well after midnight—I was surprised the bar was still open.

“Want to head back and come up with a game plan?” she asked.

“Sure. I’ll get the bill—”

“I will, I dragged us out here,” she insisted as we went back to the table.

I pulled out a few twenties and gave it to her. “See if you can give it to the waitress directly in the back. I have a feeling she doesn’t see a lot of tips.”

She nodded—and had her own twenty to go with it.

I left her to it, scooped up my hoodie, but headed for the bathroom to break the seal. Beyond the swinging door was a tiny square of a hallway and two more doors. One was marked as STORAGE, the other led to the bathroom, which was little more than a single unisex stall. More wood-panelled walls like the main bar, but this time with a great big crucifix.

Because I’m sure a lot of praying to God went down in there.

The bathroom was clean, at least, and smelled of lemon disinfectant. I happily emptied my bladder, scrubbed down my hands and zipped my hoodie up. The heat of the bar had sweat clinging to my skin and the temperature had likely taken a plunge outside—I was expecting to be icy cold on the walk back, but it might sober me up some.

I opened the bathroom door as I hit the light, to find a figure looming in the doorjamb.

I stumbled back with surprise, but managed to stifle my yelp, at least—it was Jim, having followed me, and I hated him even more for startling me. And maybe myself a little for apparently letting my guard down. But just as a faint smug grin tugged his lips, I stepped forward—I did not cower. Ever.

When I got right into his face with a glare, he took a half step back—just a few inches, but so automatically that his face flushed as he realized he’d done it.

I put my hand near his on the doorjamb. “Move.”

He did not. “Why should I, you little cunt?”

My fingers shifted to brush his and I sent an electrical charge through the contact.

He yelped, the smell of burned flesh sizzling the air and tickling my nose. His back slammed the opposite wall next to the door back to the bar and he stared at me wide-eyed and shocked. “The fuck?”

I took two more steady steps forward, and raised my hand at my side, palm up. Bright blue electric magic danced lovingly across my fingertips, and a surge of violent want rushed through my veins. I could kill him so, so easily, and I was just drunk enough to not care that it was in a public place with witnesses. So what if they found him and came for me? I could kill everyone. I was nearly gleeful at the thought.

You do not need to go on the run from the cops while trying to find your brother—not any more than you already are. What would Dad say?

That sobered me, but just barely. Instead of frying him on the spot, I held Jim’s gaze. “Why don’t you go ahead and ignore my final warning? Follow me home. See how that works out for you. I fucking dare you.”

He held his singed hand to his chest—honestly, I’d only burned half an inch of flesh, but beneath the bravado he was likely a big baby. When he said nothing, I strolled past him, through the door into the bar where Melinoë waited at the exit.

She’d likely been in the kitchen with the waitress when Jim had followed me in—I didn’t think she’d fail to warn me if she knew he’d go after me. She was a lot like my ex Tanvi in that regard—she might not start shit herself, the way I did, but she’d always have another woman’s back. On guard, maybe with some self-defence. She’d clocked Jim as a problem at the bar before he’d even spoken, just like I did.

I didn’t bring up the experience, and instead looped my arm through hers as we stepped outside. The cloud of smoke still drifted around the bar, whether it was the same people crowded out back or they took smoke break shifts, I didn’t know. It had been dark when we left the motel but now, somehow, seemed darker still—likely because all the locals were in bed for the night, so what limited light pollution present earlier would be nonexistent now. Other than a light over the bar’s meagre parking lot, there were no streetlamps away from the main street, leaving a half moon and star-pricked sky to light our way. The wide road stretched ahead, and it was only half a kilometer down it to the smaller road that led to the motel. 

Though, as I expected, the much cooler air outside the bar chilled the sweat that had formed on my brow and the back of my neck, I was still warm enough from the alcohol—and Melinoë’s closeness—that I didn’t feel it. Fall was still early in its approach; there would probably be time before it got downright cold. Climate change had messed with the world a lot and we may or may not have snow by Halloween—some years there were blizzards, other years it was so warm I went out in sandals. We could barely predict week to week let alone season to season. 

A strong wind rushed down the road, crackling dry leaves from the heavily treed spots on either side. Melinoë and I still went arm and arm, swaying drunkenly and laughing as we went. We’d reached the scintillating conversations of the inebriated, such as, “Oh my goddess I’m going to fall over” and “What if we’re totally lost and walk around circles until morning” followed by “I feel like my legs don’t remember how to work”. Only half of those words were said properly and I was nearly crying from laughing so hard—made worse by Melinoë’s attempts to quiet me by loudly saying “Shhhh”. 

One thing kept me focusing on walking upright, and that was the sound of the bar door opening and closing behind us, and heavy steps on the gravel. 

I didn’t look back and I didn’t speed up, but I did lean into Melinoë and stumble more than was necessary. 

Better to seem more drunk than I was.

We continued down the road and he kept his distance—probably because it was too obvious a place to attack anyone. The ensuing adrenaline rush and the fresh air cleared my head some; I breathed in the invisible magic coating my skin and it answered, crawling over me and sinking marrow deep. It brightened my awareness, sparked my energy, and I promised it would be put to good use soon. 

Ahead I spotted the narrower, darker road that branched toward the motel. Trees rose on either side, the air black as pitch even with the brightness of the night sky. I didn’t want to get too close, because there was no sense doing this right near where we were staying—it should look like he was just on his way to town. In fact, it would be even better if I could lead him farther away.

But not with Melinoë joining me.

We reached the motel parking lot and she fished out the key. The warding around the doorway flared in recognition as she stepped through, though I left the door open and waited a few steps back.

“You know,” I said, “before I forget, I want to run over and check Dev’s room.”

She dropped to sit gracelessly on the bed, glossy black hair falling over her eyes as she frowned. “Oh. I can go with.”

“Just stay.” I darted forward to snatch the key from her before she could stop me. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

Now that she was sitting, I wasn’t sure she’d be getting up again, and I felt fairly confident she wouldn’t follow.

I pulled the door closed, locked it, and glanced past the parking lot for the road—I didn’t see Jim, but he could very well be hiding somewhere in the trees.

I shivered a little, hunching my shoulders as I headed forward. I kept to the center of the narrow dirt road and made a right toward town when I hit the main street.

It wasn’t long before I heard steps following.

If he hadn’t? You know, if he just hung back, fine, I would’ve left him alone. But he followed us home. He probably would’ve just crept around and tried to see through the window, maybe jerked off in the woods while ranting about what cunts we were, but a man like that—a man who doesn’t take no for an answer, who feels he’s owed time and conversation from strangers—likely had a whole host of interpersonal trespasses in his past he’d never learned from.

Midway between the town’s core and the motel, well away from any houses, I made a show of suddenly stopping and retching. It was only a few quick steps for the ditch to my right, and I stumbled over, kicking up rocks on the shoulder as I went. Let him think I was suddenly vulnerable and puking in a ditch.

The clouds over the moon made for great cover; my eyes had adjusted well and I was sobering faster by the minute. The ditch tipped towards the woods, and I stepped into the shadow of the trees to wait in a crouch.

It did not take long.

My pursuer was indeed Jim—I recognized the square of his shoulders and the shape of his head, and starlight glinted from his glasses. My eyes narrowed as he walked as cautiously a man of his size and entitlement can, steps crunching on the gravel shoulder as he pursued. Probably thinking he’d find me passed out somewhere. I didn’t necessarily think he was going to try raping me—he might get off on a kick to the gut while I was down, or pissing on a helpless woman or something. One could never tell the particular brand of cruelty in play, but just be certain it was there. 

Of course he couldn’t find me and he wasn’t about to go traipsing about the woods. He stood there a moment, looking right past me in the darkness, before stepping into the ditch with careful steps. He was steadier than Melinoë and I had been walking back to the motel—drunk enough to be angry but not actually inebriated.

I pressed the fingers of my left hand to the ground and sent a charge of crackling magic through the earth. It shot for him and he screamed when it hit his foot, immediately lost his balance, and fell into the ditch on his face. 

Realistically, I knew I should be cautious and not make this obvious. Not like they had a big police force or coroner here, but making it look like he stumbled and hurt himself on the way home was the way to go. The little burn on his hand and foot would be odd but might not stand out anywhere other than with a city coroner who knew to look for signs of magical interference. 

But I could give him a heart attack. There’d be some contact from touching his skin, but it was a possibility. Let him lie there in the ditch as his heart gave out, alone and cold, stinking as his likely full bladder gave. The thought amused me.

I stepped silently down the ditch toward him as he struggled onto his knees, dirt and grass clinging to him. 

“Hi Jim,” I said softly.

He spun and landed on his rear as he stared up at me in surprise.

I dropped to a crouch, grinning. “I did warn you and there are consequences to ignoring that.”

“You fucking—”

I wasn’t sure if he was going to mutter bitch or cunt or some other variation, but that’s usually about as original as they get. 

I pressed the fingertips of both hands into the ground. This time I let the magic grow to full visibility, blue electricity that danced harmlessly over my shoulders and down my arms. It curled lovingly about my fingers and connected with the ground, twining and forming a single line that shot for him.

The charge shot true and went through the ground to him, winding up his body direct for the heart. The electric charge hit, seizing the muscle until it beat erratically.

He tried to rise. Failed. Slumped onto his knees, one hand gripping his chest and the other flattened on the ground. 

I remained there and watched as he fell onto his side, gasping for breath, reaching uselessly for me, his eyes rolling back. Several minutes passed as his heart gave its last beats and the final breath left him. 

Ultimately it was anti-climatic, but at least I could comfortably stroll home. 

I rose to my feet again and stepped in the opposite direction, climbing the ditch at the end.