Loving Ashlynn (#Wattys2016)

Chapter 46 - Burn (Faith Ashlynn POV) Pt.3

"A bad Angel," younger me cuts in, making me frown now. I knew this story by heart. Behind closed lids, Wyatt smiles, the edges of his mouth revealing a few lines as he nods. "A very bad Angel little one," I nod again.

"This Angel hurt many families and as he hurt them, he grew stronger until he was nearly unstoppable-"

"But he gots in twouble," I add my own commentary, "Yes he did. Ten Oracles captured him and banished him, sent him away but they didn't know just how powerful he had become-"

"Jaxun had become very," younger me drag out that word in pure exaggeration but Wyatt nods seriously, "bad."

"Yes little one. Jaxun had fooled many but he knew of the wrongs that the Angels had made so he had a plan to escape to a far away land. Using as much of his power he used his Evil Soul to take over a body and instead of being banished to the Gehenna underworld to pay for his crimes and the agony and anguish he inflicted on families, he used Black Art Magic," Wyatt's dark eyes opened wider as he told me.

"Ohh no," I murmured entranced and aware of just how or what Black Art Magic was. "He gots away," I shake my head as Wyatt nods.

"He did, but Jaxun was a very foolish man Fatima, he underestimated the goodness of the Oracles," as though I'm reliving my own emotions, my lips curve upwards, as I do or did in the memory. I nodded then as though I knew what the hell Wyatt was saying. And not just kind of know either. It was real or as real to me back then as when Dmitri brought me old history books and I trusted the words written in them.

That was the feeling that came over me now, that I had when Wyatt was telling me this 'story.'

"Jwaxun used mwagic,"

I cock my head to the right, and in the lull of the memory, while I'm watching and waiting for Wyatt's response, my own lips move, "But it was against nature," I say just a second before Wyatt in the memory. "But it was against nature."

Shakily I exhale, lifting my hand and bringing it to my chest as my heart pounding deep inside me can be heard as blood rushes behind my ears. It is as though I try to will my heart to slow with my hand but it doesn't have that type of control over it. Instead, I count my breaths, slowing my own thoughts and heart down before I passed out.

"And when you use Black Art Magic what happens little one?"

"Is bad!"

Wyatt nodded grimly, "Jaxun used the bad magic and when you do that, even if you use good magic there must be balance in spells," again little me does this nodding that makes the memory vertically shift. It's like watching a movie, except I'm in it and can feel what the person I'm watching does.

"But he x-caped," I tell Wyatt. "Yes, but you see little one, Jaxun thought that the Oracles would just leave him alone, he thought they would be too busy with other problems to come after him, or even realize that he had tricked them!"

"But they knew," I whisper before little me nods and says the same exact thing. "And den da Angels went foo him," say pleased as ever, smiling and nodding happily.

"Yes, when they found out that Jaxun had escaped, the Angels knew that something had to be done but not all the Angels wanted to go except for six old souls."

I nodded, cheerfully so. "Weanardo, Throst and Wosemary!"

"Yes, and who else?"

I take a moment to think, cocking my head slightly, pouting at Wyatt, "Yara, Sera-fima and–an Rhys!"

Opening my eyes now, my hand still rested against my chest, my heart has yet to slow. Eyes widening, this isn't like before, a larger part of myself thinks. It's not the same as when I thought about Loyalist and Independents. Although, I believe that with the same confidence as I did the Six Angels story, as I trusted the man in the images – Wyatt.

I started recalling him before, he had been speaking to Cynthia, but I couldn't trust her to ask her anything.

Six old souls, I think needing a way to trust the images in my head now. "Does da Angels get Jaxun?" I recall asking Wyatt, a frown gracing his wise face. "I do not know my little one, but one day, you will cross paths with them, and you can ask them for yourself."

My heart ready to burst out of my chest I reach into my pockets until I find what I'm looking for and with shaky hands send Imogen a text message. On even shakier legs, I stand, going to my door, inhaling and preparing myself. I knew. I woke up and knew.

Imogen had let it slip. She called him Rhys.

I knew.

Resting my head against the door. My heart pounding in the silence around me is the soundtrack for this moment, my stomach turns uneasy and dread builds inside me.

I can trust the memories if I'm right about this... I think over and over again. Inhaling quickly, trying to slow everything down though nothing seems to be working because with confirmation, things will only get more confusing.

I already know that if I'm right, if the memories I'm having can be trusted, that means Wyatt's instructions, "When you remember Fatima, you need to leave and go to the coordinates as soon as you can. Danger will quickly come after you've remembered," they are a warning and more than just a memory.

"Danger will quickly come after you've remembered," I mumble now, wondering a million things, the most prevalent two though; one, would running even help? Two; who was the threat? Off the top of my head though I've only been out of the house Dmitri kept me in for a few months I could count on one hand the potential people that could bring trouble my way.

At the top of the list, and tying for first place were Sonya and Cynthia. Cynthia left me to die and Sonya just rubbed me the wrong way. Then some of the Conrad's, they thought I killed Lydia on purpose – so they could be dangerous to me.

Which then left Devin and Taylor, more Devin though... she was the one that told me to stay away from Samson. But then, Talia said, at the meeting Ansel held, that her boyfriend Javier found ten thousand dollars in Taylors' things. Though having money didn't mean that you were a threat-

I stop the overanalyzed thought before I finished it. I could not force myself to accept that maybe Loyalist and Independents were a concocted story that was as fictitious as Cynthia's dead daughter Sophie. I got the idea from somewhere just like these new memories.

One thing at a time, I tell myself.

I exhale heavily, but as I do a self check, I note my heart has slowed just a bit, my legs aren't sturdy as they could be but I do not feel as though I'm going to fall. Slowly, avoiding the door making a squeal or trying to at least, I open it just as Imogen and Luca are coming up the stairs to the third floor alone as far as I can tell.

"Are you okay?" Imogen asks, her face dirty in some places, dried blood in others, but all her scratches seem to be healed. I glance at Luca, but Imogen is the one that really keeps my attention. Gazing into blue eyes, intensely, I take a step forward, eye to eye. I note that Luca comes closer, as though protecting her.

The way Samson some does with me I think fleetingly.

"Faith? Are you... what's wrong?" Imogen asks her voice laced with concern. Could you fake that? Probably. But she was doing a hell of a lot better than Cynthia did.

I nod slowly, not breaking eye contact, "I'm fine," I pause, "Seraphima." 

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So... If shes right.... she's leaving... does she bring Samson? Tell the other Conrads? Take Andy?