The smell was not exactly hard to identify, but the location was. He picked up on the scent of burning plastic immediately, mixed with gasoline. It did not stand out in a place like this; it was a smell that told people they were in the wrong place, made their nose crinkle in an attempt to block it out. Zachariah did not have that luxury. He was here for that smell and he had become accustomed to it; it, and all the other scents that surrounded it. Most were unpleasant, strong aromas that could almost choke you. Many were strong enough to taste.
Zachariah knew the taste of burnt plastic. He also knew the taste of ginger and garlic boiled with blood, in addition to the sickly-sweet flavor of bone marrow mixed with tree sap. He had never once actually ingested any of these items, but he certainly knew the taste.
He circled above the camp again, letting the smells direct him. He could pick up on the burnt plastic and followed that, hovering over the left leg of the ground division. Thousands of little fires lit up the ground beneath him as he searched for the right one. The flickered in the night; he watched a cloaked individual walk through a set of flames, sprinkling pepper as they did so. Eyes swinging from camp to camp, he finally zeroed in on the flame burning plastic. Unlike most fires, only one individual sat perched before this one; as Zachariah flew closer, he could see this man running his hands through the flame, as if he was swatting flies.
He landed silently behind the man, ten feet away, as agreed. Silent or not, however, the man straightened his back. "I didn't foresee you coming again so soon." His voice was soft and quiet, carried on by some unforeseen force that had always unnerved Zachariah; it was unnatural.
"Things change quickly," Zachariah replied, circling around his ten-foot barrier to stand opposite the man, across the fire. Tzorak did not raise his eyes from the flames, still gently caressing them. He knew why Zachariah had returned, and it was not because anything had changed at all. His fate had only just started.
"Your past lie is coming to an end," Tzorak rasped. Zachariah watched silently, hiding his confusion; he had stopped asking for explanations years ago. The man did not raise his eyes still as he continued, "Your plan to kill me will have little success."
"I've killed warlocks stronger than you. You will be no challenge." Zachariah growled out. Tzorak stopped his gentle stroking of the fire and instead held his right hand into the flame, palm buried in the fire.
"I have no doubt in your abilities to kill me. I do, however, doubt your friend. Kai will be just as successful gaining your answer from my dead body as you have been from my living being." Zachariah tried to breathe through his anger, but all that he found was the burning plastic smell, and that enraged him more.
"I just need a name," he seethed, the light of the fire highlighting the sharp panels on his face. He was a terror to look upon and his voice demanded obedience, yet Tzorak still did not move his attention from the flames.
"I need to understand your intentions." Zachariah was sent back to a previous memory, one ten years old, when he stood in the same spot having much the same conversation.
"I'm not going to kill them," he had raged, trying to force the old man to see.
"I know you will cause them no harm; you need them. What I need to know," Tzorak paused as he finally looked up from the flame, deep violet eyes holding Zachariah in place as nothing ever had. "is what you'll do with the information they have." Zachariah stared at the face, or skeleton, of the man he had been arguing with for fifty years. There was little man left; his hands that he held over the fire we're strong and brown, but no flesh remained on Tzoraks' face. Violet eyes pulsed from the sockets, and Zachariah had his first encounter with the rotting face of a man he had once killed.
"My intentions," Zachariah started, staring now at the hood that Tzorak lived in. "are for good. I have been patient. I am..." he spit out, pausing to look for the right word.
"Good?" Tzorak tossed out, pulling his hand from the flame. He held his own flame there, the fire crackling around his skin yet causing no harm. "A patient man, I'm afraid, does not always mean a good man."
...
"I'm sorry, but how does one become a secondhand warlock?" I limped down the narrow hallway after Kai, my newly healed leg usable but incredibly stiff. "Also, are you trying to tell me warlocks actually exist?" even as I asked, I knew the answer. Maybe I could write off the transportation; they could have drugged me to make it seem like we had magically floated from one place to another. However, I knew I was plenty conscious when he healed my leg.
"What is your gut telling you? Better yet, what is your leg saying?" His voice floated to me as I turned left into the doorway he had slipped through. My retort died on my lips as I entered the room. I was momentarily speechless as I scanned the walls which consisted of shelves upon shelves. The room itself was the size of a normal bedroom but it was tightly packed. Most of the shelves were weighed down with jars – most were clear enough to see into, but that did not help me identify their contents in the least. The remaining shelves had other strange containers. Big and round, tall and cylindrical, circular, and flat; you name it, and it seemed Kai had it. A table was placed dead center in the room. There were carvings along the top, and what looked like a carving of an eye in the center was almost completely covered with a deep dish. Kai had stopped to watch my reaction. I swallowed deeply before replying.
"My leg," I muttered, stepping further into the room. "is telling me I'm not in Kansas anymore." He smirked at my remark, scanning the room with his eyes as well.
"Welcome to my... for a lack of a better term, potions room." I slowly walked along the shelves, trying to identify what I could as he explained. "Warlocks depend just as much on herbs and substance as they do on their physical energies and powers. More-so the herbs with me," he added on the end.
"Does that have anything to do with you being a "second hand" warlock?" I asked, studying a jar that I was 87% sure contained tongues. Looking away, back to Kai, I watched as he contemplated before answering. Like Zachariah, his was skilled at hiding his reactions and thoughts. However, on the flip side, one of my skills had always included reading others.
"Maybe," He studied me just as I did him, watching for any type of reaction.
I glanced around the room again, feeling a strong sense of curiosity, but also feeling like I was too curious to even know where to begin. I was also exhausted and did not know how long I was going to have to make that apple and water last. In addition, I also felt –
"-disgusting." My head snapped up to look at him. I saw him try to repress a smile as he gestured to the door. "You, I'm sure you feel disgusting. I am a little more civilized than my friend. I have a room you can sleep in and a shower." I kept my eyes leveled with his, fighting off the aged old feeling of being insulted by being called disgusting and processing through his offer and the consequences. No matter my comfort level with Kai, the truth was still the truth. I was still kidnapped and being held against my will; trust was not something that I could be freely handing out now. So, the question was not if I trusted him or not; it was a question of what would benefit me the most. If I took a shower and got some sleep, I would be stronger when I – theoretically and hopefully – woke up. Strong enough to put up a fight against whomever decided to cause me harm next. I could be falling into a trap, being led by the so called 'good cop', but I didn't really have much more of a choice. There was also the simple thought that kept floating through my mind; if Kai was going to hurt you, he would have by now.
I nodded slowly and followed him from the room.
...
It was probably around 45 minutes later that I emerged from the shower. My normal showers were not nearly as long, but after the past few days, I felt that I was entitled to it. Kai had provided me with the 'best he could do' in regard to clothing. I had never once complained about wearing oversized men's shirts, but this was a situation where it left me uncomfortable. I had a strong suspicion the shirt was Zachariah's – he was bigger than Kai and probably the one with clothes to best fit my curves.
But this was not like those times in books and tv, where the girl got to feel cute and small in the main guys shirt. I did feel small, but that was certainly a negative for me. I was facing both monster and government; I needed to feel big and strong. Drowning in the clothing of a man most likely to kill me did not make me feel strong, not at all.
Sighing, I tugged on this black shirt and sleeping boxers regardless. I was even less inclined to sleep naked. I studied my body as I dressed, much like I had in the shower. Expecting pain when I had first entered the shower, I was surprised at my lack of injuries – I clearly remember glass being shattered and quite a few bumps and bruises – until I remembered Kai and his healing powers. Zachariah had his own healing properties, but I doubted his could reach me like Kai's – healing a scratch differed from a broken bone.
There was a plate of food waiting on the bed as I left the bathroom and entered the adjoining bedroom. I sat down next to it, being strongly taunted and tempted by the smell of chicken and potatoes. I was tired, and very hungry, and did not know how much brain power I had left to contemplate the safety of the food. Poisoning me now seemed both pointless and boring, so maybe I would use a little seed of trust. I was not trusting Kai, or Zachariah. I was trusting the predictability of what I knew, and I knew that they would not bring me to a nice house with a comfy bed and a warm shower to kill me with some funky chicken and drugged potatoes. For now, I was safe, and very, very, very hungry. And so, I ate.
When I was done, I put the plate on the floor and rolled myself into bed. It was huge and as I buried myself into the blanket, I wondered how many rolls it would take for me to get from one end of the bed to the other. Four was my sleep deprived guess; it took one and a half in my bed at home. I closed my eyes and let go of my mind, letting it wonder. I thought I would have to fight to sleep, slay the bad images and thoughts that taunted me. From what I can remember, I was out within two minutes.
...
I was freezing when I woke up. At some point throughout the night, I guess I had been offended by my blanket and had decided I no longer needed it. Curling into a ball, I kept my eyes closed and hoped for sleep to take me again. I didn't know how long I'd been asleep, but as I thought about what could be waiting for me once I woke up, I knew that I wanted more; I wasn't ready to face the day.
But where was the blanket?
Groaning, I peeked my eyes open just enough to locate it. It was not on the bed with me anymore, so I quickly rolled over to glance over the left end of the bed. My eyes met nothing but hardwood floor, so I rolled once again to glance over the right end. I saw my light blue and denim blanket lying forgotten on the floor and quickly snatched it up. I circled into the blanket, recognizing the comforting smell it always gave off. After my grandma had quilted this blanket, I spent most my nights-
My eyes flew open, hands clutching desperately tight onto the blanket I had just retrieved. My heart flew in my chest as I started to recognize my surroundings. I couldn't remember much about the room Kai had given me to sleep in, but I knew it wasn't the same light blue that I had convinced my father to let me paint my room in 9th grade. Slowly, I lowered my eyes from the ceiling and the top of the walls. My room, my room that I had grown up in filled my vision. My dresser with the clothes I always had spilling out. The body length mirror I had next to my bed. My hands tightened and I looked down at the blanket I had used since my 8th birthday. It was a thick quilt of sky blue and denim squares that Grandma Lyttic had made for me; she died two years later, and I had steadily refused to use any other blanket at night.
Sitting up quickly, I looked down at my sleeping attire. I was wearing my favorite sleeping t-shirt, along with some leggings. Nothing about my surroundings felt out of the ordinary, besides the fact that I was fairly sure I'd fallen asleep somewhere else. Blinking rapidly as I did so, I tried to remember everything. Zachariah... and Kai. I could remember them. And the Event, being kidnapped by... someone. The longer I sat there, the quicker memories slid past my minds grasp. Lines began to blur, and I suddenly could not remember if Zachariah had been responsible for my broken leg or my kidnappers. As I sat up, I tested the leg but found no stiffness or anything unusual. But I remembered it being broken, the pain.
Taking a hesitant step towards my bedroom door, I let myself hope. Very quietly, in a dark and somewhat broken part of my mind, a voice whispered, 'Maybe it was all just a dream'. I tried not to let myself be overwhelmed by the thought, but it took hold before I could stop it. It was pulled from that dark place and now, every part of me was wrapped around it. I had always had such vivid dreams – on the rare occasions that I did dream – and perhaps, just maybe, that is all there was to it.
I took another scared step, followed by another, and repeated that process until I reached the door. Placing my hand on the doorknob, I noticed how cool it was against my palm. That was a good sign. As I slowly opened the door, I peered into the hallway. My parents had their bedroom door shut, as usual, and the lack of windows upstairs made the hallway dark despite the sun streaming from the window at my back.
"Mom?" I called out tentatively, stepping across the hall and up to their door. "Dad?" The door was silent as I pushed it open. Their room was bright like mine, bed made perfectly – as dad did every morning – and everything looked normal. I glanced around quickly, ready to call out again when I heard a noise from down the stairs.
I turned at the dull thud, quickly approaching the top of the stairs and falling into the normal routine of descending. I was half-way down before I felt it. My hand stopped its usual slide against the wall – clumsy was my middle name and with no banister for support, I normally steadied myself against the wall – as it encountered something wet. It was wet... and thick. I knew what it was. I could smell it now, and as my fingertips grazed over it, also feeling the uneven bumps in the wallpaper, I was suddenly terrified.
Perhaps terrified was not the right word. I was free-falling, my stomach up in my throat. With a shaky breath, I pulled my hand away. I plowed forward without looking at the wall, almost tripping as I stepped onto the landing. There was a switch to turn on the stairway light right at the bottom of the stairs; I quickly flipped it on and then fought the urge to spin around frantically. Instead, my head slowly turned and, at first, I glanced back just from the corner of my eyes. Despite my limited view, I saw it all.
The blood I saw lining the walls seemed to reach out and snag my shoulders, violently jerking me around to face the carnage head on. The blood lined the walls at eye level, its color against the white paint was stark and hot. Patterned at a downward angle and accompanied by slashes about two inches thick, it looked as though someone or... something... had descended the stairs while dragging its claws leisurely along the walls.
I felt my breath accelerate to the point where I could hear the sound as it rattled past my lips more than I could feel it. Whose blood... what could have possibly... what time is it? My mind swirled and, for once in my life, I seemed to be out of answers and running low on questions. Out of all the mess, one name flashed before my eyes and imbedded itself into my mind.
Zachariah.
"Mom," I breathed out. "Mom! Dad!" Shouting, I scrambled around, knocking my shoulder off a wall, and springing myself into action. This is what he had planned from the start; it was the only option. Put me at ease, make me feel safe with Kai. The food! They'd drugged my food and brought me back home just to... just to kill me. To kill me after giving me the highest form of torture they could imagine.
Killing me in the comfort of Kais' home didn't make any sense, but this did.
My footing was almost lost as I catapulted myself into the kitchen, catching myself on the edge of the counter as I desperately looked around. "Dad! Mom, where are you?" The words sounded to strained and chaotic for my liking; I needed to stay calm, where was that Dusty? The cool, levelheaded Gregorsen my dad liked to boast about so much? These tears needed to leave, they were blurring my vision and only made me angry. I palmed them away frantically, scanning the kitchen once more before barreling into the living room.
The smell hit me before my vision could catch up. It was so strong, and warm; my brain flashed to the blood drive I had done freshman year of high school.
"Dusty..." I whipped around at the sound of my father's voice. He was against the wall in the furthest corner of our living room, looking as if he'd been carelessly tossed. My vision swam as I took him in; his clothes were dark with blood and I had never seen him so defeated. My father was strong, physically and mentally. He was strong because he knew it was okay to be weak, but he'd always taught me it was never okay to be a coward. I'd never seen this fear in his eyes, and that's what stole my breath. It wasn't the tattered remains of his clothes, or the blood dripping from his face and staining the carpet; it was the fear in his eyes.
"D-dad?" Stumbling closer, I felt the tears come faster and without any control. Something had a tight hand over my heart and proceeded to squeeze harshly as I drunkenly approached him. "What... how did this happen?" My knees gave out just as I approached him and I reached out to stop the bleeding coming from his abdomen, leaking through the slashes in his shirt. Slashes that closely resembled claw marks. "W-who did this?" I sobbed, feeling the warmth seep from his stomach. His eyes were wide, and he was grabbing at my wrists. I applied more pressure, assuming he was trying to pull me closer. The fear in his eyes momentarily left mine as they flickered over my shoulder and, if possible, they sunk deeper into despair; it was the only warning I had.
A sharp, quick pain vibrated through the left side of my head. My head snapped to the right and I fell, letting out a cry that mixed with my sobs. I rolled as I hit the ground. My movements felt sluggish, but I tried to speed up, reacting with a fierce desire to protect myself and my family. As quickly as I could, I spun around to face whatever demon had been summoned now to terrorize my family. Prepared to face Zachariah, head pounding from the blow, I had his name on my lips and I was ready to let loose a warrior battle cry.
"Zac-" his name strangled in my throat as I came face-to-face with my mother. She stood over me, placed between my father and me, chest heaving. I saw the heavy state trophy in her hands and my head gave another painful pulse. My anger and adrenaline were instantly sapped from me as I looked from the trophy to her eyes. She was a tiny human, one who was described as pixie like both in her size and manner. This woman... this was not her. I gazed into the eyes that I had known my entire life, but I had never before seen this fear in them. It was not simply fear that I saw; it was anguish, like looking into the soul of someone who was trapped and begging for a way out.
"Mom! It's me!" my voice shook as I tried to step closer, hands outstretched. She slashed at me; I jumped back just in time to avoid impact with my head again.
"You did this!" She screeched, brandishing one of my father's old football trophies like a it was a whip. "How could you?" sobbing, she took another step away, standing protectively over my father. I halted as I tried to approach again, my eyes dropping from her to him. The look in his eyes held the same fear, but his filled also with a deep, soul-moaning sadness that chilled me.
A moment later, I realized his fear was directed at me. I looked to my mother again as it finally started to sink in. Me? Why were they so scared of me? Did she mean that I... I did this to him?
Slowly shaking my head, I took another stumbling step back. "No... I couldn't... what –"
"Where's my daughter?" I froze at my fathers pained and horse whisper. Sadness and despair had flooded his eyes, emptied them of fear, and they filled my heart too. Spinning, I faced away, ashamed and looking for answers or an escape. I couldn't have done this. Why... what would drive me to do such a thing? I wasn't a monster; I would have never... ever...
My thoughts trailed off as I realized my large living room window had been replaced with a mirror, one that easily answered my questions. I was still wearing my pajamas from earlier, but how had I not noticed the blood? I felt it now; it was drying on my hands, but I could feel how wet it was when my shirt touched my skin. There was a smear going down my face and it was splattered across my legs. I felt my heart race and I was breathing in gasps as I turned over my blood-dried hands, pulling and tugging at my shirt.
Looking up, I met the terrified, yellow gaze of my own eyes.
My eyes snapped open as my right elbow screamed in pain, slamming onto something cold and hard. The whole right side of my body came down after it, my hip complaining as it hit the wood floor. My head, thankfully, bounced off something soft. I was panting as I laid there on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the door across from me. Beating violently in my chest, my heart felt like it was ready to sprint a 60-mile marathon; it told me to run, sensed I was in danger.
But as I lay tangled in the blanket on Kai's floor, I knew the threat wasn't something I could hide from. The threat evaporated with the dream, but my fear would not leave as easily. I was shaking as I tried freeing myself from the blanket, wincing as my elbow complained. The residue left over from my dream made me feel deeply uneasy; add to that the fact that I had no idea what had even become of my parents, and I felt almost sick with fear. The strongest urge started to overcome me, pulling me to my feet. This feeling pushed my mind into a hectic corner, one that was mapping out a plan to leave without Kai's knowing, to start my life as a true fugitive with the hopes of tracking down my parents. I could find them, and then I could... "Could do absolutely nothing," I muttered out-loud, leaning onto the bed frame for support. All of my adrenaline – along with the rest of my energy- drained from me immediately.
The door opening brought just enough life back into me, followed with a familiar thrill of fear. I looked up, not sure what I was expecting to see, but somehow surprised to see Kai.
"Do all humans enjoy talking to themselves?" I scoffed at him, rising off the bed.
"Do all 'second-hand warlocks' enjoy entering without knocking?" I responded, my usual amount of sarcasm masked by the mild tremble in my voice. His mouth twitched, but he fought and won the war against an actual smile. There was an awkward silence that we both knew he had to break. After a moment, he sighed, reaching for the door he had just opened.
"Come out when you're ready." I watched as he swung the door shut, taking a deep breath as it clicked shut.
Survived another moment. As I slowly made my way into the bathroom, I wondered how long it would take for my heart to give out; all this stress was going to do me in before the government or Zachariah ever could. I splashed my face with water, continually, until I felt awake and the bad feeling left over from my nightmare faded enough to be covered by my curiosity. I spent longer than intended staring into the mirror, searching over every inch of my eyes for any sign of yellow. I sucked in another deep breath before allowing myself to venture out to find Kai.
I met him in the kitchen. He slid a bowl of cereal across the island almost silently. "This is the best I can do," he said as I sat down before it. "I don't eat here much." I looked up at him as I picked up a spoonful.
"Where do you eat then? The summer cottage?" he shook his head at me, ignoring my sarcasm as he slid over his coffee.
"I own this house, but I'm more of a drifter."
"What exactly do you drift around doing?" His eyes met mine over the steam of his coffee, swirling. He was searching my eyes for something, though I'm not sure for what; he didn't seem to find it.
"Work," he answered. "Now it's my turn to ask a question." I stared at him as he took a sip of coffee, wondering if he'd take it kindly if I pointed out that he didn't necessarily answer the question I'd asked.
"Your leg... how long ago was it broken?" I paused with a spoonful of cereal halfway to my lips, making a face.
"Uhm... it happened just after I woke up... wherever they had me. Why?" He looked at me, calculating.
"And how long ago was that?" I exhaled in frustration, pushing away the bowl.
"I don't know Kai; I spent most of that first day unconscious. I have no idea how long I was out cold in Zachariah's basement, but I'd say probably... three days? Four tops?" Kai narrowed his eyes at me, the silence stretching on as his wheels turned. "Why?" I asked again, trying to control my panic at the look on his face.
"Your leg when I healed it... I can get a feel on the injuries and sickness I heal. It helps me to know when someone is fully healed. Yours felt more like it had been healing for weeks, not a few days." I snorted a laugh, dropping my eyes as I pulled my bowl back.
"You can thank whatever foul-tasting potion Kate shoved down my throat." I took another bite as I thought. "She said it would heal me faster. She called it Me... Mat..."
"Medela." Kai whispered.
I looked up at the strain in his voice just as I felt a sharp pain in my palm. I gasped as my eyes registered the blood dripping from the slit on my palm. Faster than I thought possible, Kai had snatched my hand and dragged the blade across. Trying to yank away, I watched as he pulled my hand to his face, scenting the blood seeping from the wound.
I felt a strong thrill of fear as his eyes lit up, burning with intensity. "Let me go," I seethed at him, my wall of distrust standing as strong and tall as ever. A moment later, I felt the same pulling, rollercoaster sensation I had experienced last night. By the time I looked around, I was in a room I had never seen before. It was simple, black and cold. A light flickered on that provided dim illumination and showed the nearly empty space. A computer sat simply in the middle of the room on a desk and, much like Kai's potion room, shelves circled the room. I stumbled a little as Kai lurched away from me, blurring as he moved about the room. Shoving pouches and jars into the bag he'd taken from a peg on the wall, he spun every way as he searched for what he needed.
He briefly touched a section of the wall and I watched in stunned, muted awe as that panel slid away, revealing more shelves just underneath. I couldn't see what he was collecting from there, but I had seen enough.
"Kai, what is going on?" my voice cracked as I held my bleeding hand to my stomach. He appeared in front of me again, moving in blurs as his hand come up. I felt him grab my face and didn't have time to stop him as he poured something into my mouth. It burned and tasted acidic as it leaked down my throat. I tried to spit it out and panicked as he clamped my mouth closed and forced me to swallow. Kai backed up immediately after I swallowed and I choked out a gasp, hunched over.
"What... did you...?"
"Medela isn't just for healing," he said quietly, securing the bag on himself and yanking me by my elbow. I stumbled after, feeling icy cold from whatever he'd just forced me to drink. Digging my bare feet into the concrete, I tried to stop him as he seemed to plunge us headfirst into a wall. He touched it again in a new place and it slid suddenly, revealing a set of stairs. I blinked as the sun poured into the room and turned to Kai as he looked at me.
"It's used as a tracker." I felt a chill that had nothing to do with what he made me drink at his words. I faced the stairs as he spoke again, pushing me towards them. "Move! We're leaving."
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