Page 56 of Enchanting Her Monsters
I’ve noticed he’s become stronger lately. As my magic grows, so does his energy in my body. He sounds more rational and determined to help. But he’s also been quiet when we are around the others.
I worry about him and how hard it must be to be like this—living, but not.
I’m wondering if I should offer him freer rein with my body. Allow him to speak to the others whenever he wants.
I had been so worried about him taking off without my permission again that I’ve been hesitant, but he’s trying his best not to be intrusive.
I no longer fear for my wellbeing.
I worry his mental health might suffer without an outlet. Who knows how long he’ll be with me?
But now is not that time.
I follow Calder and Maxum through the messy, dusty ruins of the abandoned factory. Arran and Flint protect my back. Even though the place is creepy, and death seems to linger in the air, I feel surprisingly safe with my monsters.
There’s trash strewn around, evidence of this place being used by the homeless, but it feels like it hasn’t been used in a long time. I wonder if anyone has been inside since Calder experienced his last death.
I’m careful not to touch a thing. Can a supernatural being get tetanus? Probably not. From what the guys tell me, most supes are immune to human illnesses. Guess that’s why I never even had a common cold before.
We can still be susceptible to magical ailments and poisons, so I make sure not to brush up against something or step into a trap. Fortunately, Maxum can sense stuff like that and is resistant to most witch curses.
That’s mostly what they are looking for. The witch that killed Calder might have left a boobie trap behind in case his friends came to help.
I don’t know what I’m searching for by coming here. Maybe a clue to the ASO’s plans. Or perhaps some part of my subconscious hopes to heal Calder.
As we approach a corner of the large room, my skin tightens and goosebumps.
Calder stops his slow walk, and I see his fists clench at his sides.
Everyone else goes on alert and freezes, waiting for what Calder might do next.
I can’t see his face from my angle, but I know he’s glowering at the place he was tortured to death. There’s a simple twin sized cast iron bed frame with no mattress on its support beams. Broken chains hang from the corners onto the floor.
Old blood stains the floor underneath and spreads out several feet.
Fuck. This is Calder’s blood, and I want to cry out for the pain and injustice he suffered.
He’s drawing in heavy, ragged breaths, his shoulders straining against his shirt. I expect his wings to spring free and light on fire, but they don’t. I suspect he’s too overwhelmed to do a damned thing.
“Open up your senses,”Osen prompts.
Taking his suggestion to heart, I open my psychic sixth sense as Osen taught me the first time we were on a field trip in the alleyway—athisdeath spot.
Another wave of death hits me hard. When I quiet the sensations, I see something I wasn’t expecting. Shadows moving in my vision. Not in the physical realm, but the astral or spiritual level. But these aren’t the shadows that an incubus commands.
There is a strange light flickering within each amorphous shade.
Shades…
Are these specters—echoes of some poor lost soul?
My gaze darts to Calder.
Are these fragments of his essence?
19
FALLING
