Page 69 of Her Dreadful Will
“You know what you did,” Achan said softly. He tightened his grip on a fistful of Zillah’s bleach-blond hair. “You nearly killed someone helpless, someone innocent. Your own blood. Your grandmother. You are one of the foulest pieces of shit I’ve yet to meet.”
Soleil opened her mouth to protest, to say something about Zillah’s mental health—the lack of support, emotional or financial—but then she remembered Florence’s terrified wheeze, and how her wrinkled hands had scrabbled at the pillow over her face.
Nothing could excuse that kind of ruthless murder.
Zillah’s face streamed with tears and snot. Achan wrinkled his nose in disgust, vanishing the mess with a twitch of his finger and a whispered word. Soleil’s focus tightened on him, because she recognized that kind of magic. Cleansing magic, the magic of order and neatness. And he performed it so smoothly. It was clear he’d used similar spells countless times before.
“You have a choice,” Achan said. “Serve me, or die in the most painful way possible.”
“Serve you?” Zillah gulped wretchedly and sniffed. “Like a sex slave thing?”
Achan let go of her hair. “God, no. You’d be one of my spies, my eyes and ears. You’ll do whatever I need you to do. I might not ask anything of you for years, but if and when I do, you must obey.”
“That’s all?”
“Not quite. You did a horrible thing, so you’ll need to submit to a little punishment first.”
Zillah blinked and ran her tongue over her lips with unmistakable eagerness.
Achan rolled his eyes. “No, that sounded—it’s not sexual, okay? Damn you—” He widened his stance, legs braced. His fingers arched sickeningly, a spasm of power shaking his whole outstretched arm, and Zillah screamed. Or shetriedto scream—her mouth gaped in a taut paroxysm of pain, but no sound escaped. Her cheeks shriveled, sucking against the bones of her face, skin flaking off in tawny scraps. Her chest heaved, and a trail of acrid smoke issued from her open throat. Her eyes rolled up, the sclera shot through with red veins.
“Stop it, boy!” cried Florence, trembling.
Soleil clutched the arms of her chair, on the brink of a scream herself. She could only see Achan in profile now, but she heard his breath hissing between his teeth and saw the glitter of fury in his green eye. The air around him snapped with power—its aftershocks crackled over Soleil’s skin and her nose crinkled inside, singed with citrusy smoke.
“Soleil!” Florence’s broken cry pulled Soleil out of her trance. Tears coursed down the woman’s wrinkled cheeks. “Please tell him to stop. He’ll kill her!”
“As he should,” said Soleil, in a voice that wasn’t quite hers, a voice linked to the foreign energy coursing through her body. Then she shook her head. “Of course, you’re right.” But even as she started to rise from the chair, Achan stepped forward, holding his hand under Zillah’s chin. The blond woman retched and spat two teeth into his palm. He closed his fingers around them and drew back.
The next moment, Zillah was normal again, all traces of smoke and decay gone.
“I can do that again,” Achan said. “Anytime I want. One tooth lets me spy through you and speak to you, even kill you if I’m close enough. But with a pair of your teeth, I can do anything I want to you, from any distance, at a moment’s notice. I can flood your brain with shadows, twist a knot into an artery. Your lungs are already ruined—I can escalate that damage.”
Zillah sagged on the sofa, clutching her face and chest.
“Or,” said Achan, more gently, “I can remove the cancer when it inevitably takes root in your lungs. I can give you a purpose.”
“What are you?” whispered Zillah. “A devil?”
“As far as you’re concerned, I’m a god. The only one you should be worshiping right now.”
Zillah’s grandmother made a sound—it might have been a protest, but when Soleil glanced at her, she was salt-white and shaking.
With a whimper, Zillah slid off the couch, crumpling at Achan’s feet, murmuring frantic promises of love and loyalty. The sight nauseated Soleil, more so because she’d so recently felt the same impulse herself—the urge to worship him. Ugh. What was wrong with her?
“You’ll stay here, in this house,” said Achan to Zillah. “I’ll find a job for you in the next few days. Meanwhile, your grandmother will stay with Soleil until we can make other arrangements.”
He glanced at Soleil, and she nodded.
For the next hour, he supervised Zillah as she packed up some of Florence’s things. Soleil cleaned her own cuts and bandaged them in the bathroom. Then she moved stiffly around the living room, inspecting old family photographs and trying to ignore the slivers of wrongness buried deep inside her, the sensation of being a misfit in her own skin. Achan’s stolen power whispered to her, gnawing into her bones and skimming along her nerves until she thought she might scream, or tear out of the house and run through the streets at top speed.
After what Achan had done to Zillah, Soleil couldn’t speak to him, not even during the short walk over to her house with Carebear in tow. Zillah accompanied them, carrying the bags, while Achan lent his arm to Florence.
“The front door is already unlocked,” Achan said. “I got your bag out of my car earlier and used your keys. The lock was damn hard to deal with, so I magicked it a bit. Shouldn’t give you any more trouble in the future.”
Silently Soleil opened the door and took the bags from Zillah. “It’s best if you go back to your grandmother’s house now,” she said to the blond woman. “You’re not welcome here.”
“She can’t hurt anyone,” Achan said, rolling Zillah’s two bloody teeth in his palm. “Not without consequences.”
