Page 1 of Hex
Chapter One
Sage
Dying is a lot different than I imagined.
The pain from my injury and the poison faded as soon as my soul literally left my body—which was a little like going down a steep hill so fast you lose your stomach. Now, I’m still myself, still wearing the clothes I died in, but I’m transparent. I’m just like the spirits I would see when they came to me in the shop to communicate with their loved ones.
I may as well be invisible to them, though. There hasn’t been a single glance of acknowledgement in my direction. They’re either incredibly rude, or me being able to see them is the anomaly. The latter is the most likely option, in my dead opinion, because they don’t seem to acknowledge each other either. They wander around, some following people—or kyn—as though they can’t be more than six feet away from them, and others seem lost, oblivious to the lives being lived without them. I think my ability to communicate with them while I was alive has stayed with me, or at least that’s what I’m assuming because I have no other explanation for it.
From the very moment I died in Hack’s arms, I have been watching him, following him like the other attached souls trailing after their person. I don’t know how it’s worked in my past lives at this after-death-before-being-reborn stage because, while my memories of past lives are beginning to get stronger, they all stop completely the second my heart stopped beating.
I may be dead, but I have been dying over and over again while watching Hack in his cell; defeated, tortured, and broken. There’s a part of me that wishes I would resurrect quickly and forget about all the pain I’ve caused, but the larger part of me needs to go through the emotions with him. The number of times he has gone through this loss is a torture I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.
The flashes of memory I’ve had over the last couple of weeks have been pretty horrific, reignited by the anger and pain in Hack’s eyes as he lashed out at anyone in his path. He’s angry at the world, and he’s not wrong to be. We keep getting screwed, over and over again.
My strongest memory came yesterday, September seventh.
When Pierce told Hack the date, I recognized it immediately as the anniversary of the first time we ever met. In my first life. It was the only other time that Hack found me before Halloween…or what would have been Halloween if it had existed at the time. We’d enjoyed almost two months together, with not one second spent apart until that final day—the day I was murdered by a petty thief while I was shopping in the village.
As my breathing slowed, Hack found me trying to mount my horse to get home and he realized it was too late. The roar of despair that echoed through the small homes and stalls broke my heart in two, and I know he destroyed each and every one of them in his grief.
He seems a lot tamer in his reaction in this life, and maybe that’s because he can somehow sense me around him, but I haveno idea if that’s true because nobody can see me, not even the other souls. It’s frustrating as hell because I remember our love, I remember the way he held me like the most delicate flower, the way he ravished me like the filthiest of whores, and now it’s all gone, yet again.
I wasted so much time hating him, being disgusted by him, all for some hex that, in all probability, came from my witch mother. It’s the most logical explanation, given how much she despised him. Although, I have no idea how it would work seeing as I met her after Hack. The hex was already in place…
The constant stream of thoughts continues as I effortlessly glide along beside Hack and his giant white demon horse, the scenery we pass nothing but a blur. My heart aches when I’m too far from him, which is probably why the whole staying within six feet of your loved one is a thing. It hurts too much to be apart.
He and his brothers have been catching souls all morning. It’s their version of cheering him up, keeping him busy, but I know it isn’t working.
With the hate hex issue swirling through my mind, mainly due to the guilt I feel at how awful I was, the journal I found at Baba Yaga’s suddenly jumps to the forefront, demanding attention. It wasn’t just a random journal lying around, it was a story about me, my life. I remember some of the names on the other ones too, all of themmynames. It’s possible there’s one for every life I have lived. They could fill in all the blanks I have…although, at this point, that’s a useless endeavor.
Several questions surface with this information. Like, why does Baba Yaga have journals about my lives? How did she get them? Are they all as detailed as the one I read? And, oh my goddess…it’s just occurred to me. The strange shape behind each name on the journal covers is the same as the birthmark on my hip. I barely pay it any attention because it has always just reminded me of the raven, but what if it means something?
All of these are questions that would have been great to ask when I was still alive and not following my soulmate around like a stalker.
Ha, I guess what goes around comes around. I’m paying Hack back for his two-day stalkathon before my life all turned to shit.
We must be close to our destination because we slow down when a graveyard appears in the distance, the world becoming clearer now. I have no idea where on Earth we are, just that it’s somewhere new to me because I don’t recognize anything.
The soul Hack is approaching seems to be one of the oblivious ones. To be fair, there are a lot of those hanging around this graveyard. But as far as I can tell, Hack can only see the one he’s trying to catch. I say trying…I meanwillcatch.
He doesn’t have to do this job, I know he’s more of an upper management type, but I think it helps to take his mind off of the whole me being dead thing, even if only for the short time he spends chasing and capturing them.
Hack stalks the soul while the others hang back, the hooves of his horse noiseless as he gets closer. Taking what looks to be a glowing arrow from his quiver, he nocks it into his bow and I see a hint of a grin on his evil pumpkin head before he lets loose. Instead of going through the soul, the arrow loops around its neck before boomeranging back toward Hack, who is holding out his palm, ready to catch. Once the soul is in his grasp, it shrinks into a glowing light and Hack turns Cirrus around. Without missing a beat, we’re all heading back toward an Earth portal and returning to The Shade.
The next step is delivering the soul to the huge library that I haven’t dared set foot inside yet. I did have a look-see through the windows, and even watched as one of the glowing spirits was transformed into an orb before being categorized and sent off to the relevant section. I didn’t watch the whole process becauseHack wasn’t there for long and leaving him to feed my curiosity seems like an impossible task.
His pain is my pain and I won’t leave him to grieve alone. Regardless of whether he knows I’m here or not.
The portal feels just as strange as it did when I was whole, and within a few seconds, we’re in The Shade. Mythical beings and creatures I thought only existed in fairytales are going about their day, unable to fathom the pain walking past them like a ghostly whisper.
That’s me. I’m the ghostly whisper in pain.
Is this my own version of Hell? Where I get to follow Hack around forevermore, never being able to touch him or speak to him or feel his skin against mine…
When does my resurrection happen?
Rolling my eyes at my own damn self, I trail after Hack, pausing at the grand doors into the library. All four of them go through them, but I wait outside. Knowing Hack’s just on the other side of the doors helps with the excruciating nausea that comes when I’m too far away from him, but it’s still unpleasant.
