Page 59 of Filthy Little Witch
Wes smiled, pulling more to the left than the right, revealing a dimple in his cheek that I’d always loved. Then, he stood, set his glass down on the end table, and nodded toward the door. “I think I’ll head up, too.”
I nodded, deciding to stay for a few moments alone, just to get my head straight. His footsteps echoed up the stairs and across the ceiling to Marta’s room. I focused on the swirling amber in my glass, wondering when my life had taken such a turn for the weird and complicated. It had always been like this, I supposed. Like Wes said earlier, I was a good soldier. I did everything Dad told me to without question. I watched out for Wes, and I protected our secrets, and I volunteered to be matched with a witch when the time came. I pushed hard; I worked my ass off; I did what I was supposed to do.
And what was it all for? Now, I was stuck in a literal version of hell with nothing left to do except fuck my way out.
Life is fucking weird.
When I couldn’t sit still any longer, I stood and walked to the window, peering past my reflection to the darkness outside. Stars sparkled overhead, and the trees swayed in the breeze, and it almost seemed normal.
I glanced down at my tumbler again, but when I looked back up, my reflection had changed. It no longer followed my movements, and the version of me in the glass stretched its lips into a wicked grin, one that looked inhuman and sinister. Its eyes clouded over with pitch smoke as its mouth started to move in silent syllables.
Startled, I blinked and shook my head, convinced I’d drunk too much and started to hallucinate. But when I glanced back at the window, the not-me kept talking, forming syllables I could barely understand.
“What?” I whispered, my heart pounding. “What the fuck are you saying?”
“Atlas,” came a dark hush from behind me. I jumped, reached for my gun, and turned, ready to fire bullets into whatever it was. But nothing was there. And when I turned back to the window, it wasn’t my reflection at all anymore. I stared straight into the dark eyes of my father.
“Holy fuck!” I stumbled back, having to restrain myself from shooting at the glass. “What the hell?”
“Listen to me,” it said. “Don’t let him go.”
“Dad?” I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was this really happening? Was this a dream? Had I fallen asleep on the couch?
“Don’t let him go,” he said.
“Him? Who? Wes?” What the actual fuck?
“Don’t let him go,” he said again, his voice fading.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I stepped closer, reaching out to touch the window. But he just kept repeating it over and over again.
“Don’t let him go. Don’t let him go. Don’t let him go.”
As soon as my fingers touched the cool glass, it shattered, splintering into a thousand tiny shards that exploded around me. I covered my face and ducked to avoid it, but when I glanced back up again, the window was still there. Nothing had happened. I’d imagined the whole thing.
Well, fuck this.
I raced upstairs and into Marta’s room, damn near skidding to a halt at the sight of my witch wrapped in my brother’s arms. He’d spooned her close to his body, her back up against his chest, his heavy arm over her hip. The sight was so damned endearing, I almost didn’t wake them up. But this was too important.
Either I was losing my fucking mind, or my father had managed to contact us from beyond the grave.
“Marta,” I hissed, giving her shoulder a shake. “Wes. Wake up.”
Marta blinked open her eyes and peered up at me. “What?”
“Something fucked up just happened.”
Both the witch and my brother got out of bed, dressed, and came downstairs with me as I explained what I’d seen. But just like before, the window wasn’t damaged, and the only person peering out of the reflection was me.
“What do you think it means?” Wes asked. “Don’t let him go?”
Marta hugged herself and shrugged. “Are you sure it was your father?”
“Who else could it have been?” I asked, exasperated by the whole thing. This place was killing me, the experience warping my mind until I couldn’t tell reality from fiction.
“Alright,” Wes added, grabbing my shoulder. “It’s been a long couple of weeks. Let’s go back to bed, and we can figure it out in the morning.”
I shoved him off. “You believe me, right?”
