Alister
She immediately jumps back. The pained look in her eyes turned into a familiar distrustful glare.
It's then that I realize that my hand was moving towards her. No...what's wrong with me?
"Look, the reason you want to break it is because the enemy might use it on us." Clara begins, thankfully misunderstanding. "But...come on, my grandma isn't the enemy, nor will she use it against us. There's no need to break it."
I know all that, you fool. I know there's no need to break it.
Helena's chuckle enters my ear. "You shouldn't restrain yourself just because I'll be watching. Pretend I'm not even here."
Once again, I ignore her every word. She's been like the devil on my shoulder since the moment I got here. Making it harder to even look at Clara and focus on the task at hand.
I clear my throat and walk away. "In any case, not breaking that will be more beneficial, I suppose. If the hunters sold it to your grandmother and if anything happens to it, she might contact them. That is to say, if she still is in contact with them. And attention to ourselves is the last thing we need right now."
"Exactly!" Clara exclaims.
"I'm not sure why they sold it to your grandmother," I continue. "Maybe money. Maybe favors. Who knows?"
"Alister...why are you staring at the wall?"
I don't turn around. "Is there a problem?"
I hear her sigh and move to her dresser. "Whatever."
"You know, I don't think she wants you to leave." Helena appears beside me, leaning against the wall with a smirk on her face. "Good for you, since you're just waiting for her to break down so you can use comfort as an excuse to touch her." She shakes her head. "Men."
"Will you stop it? I'm sick of your nonsense!" I mumble. I only came here for one thing, and now that it's done, I'll be leaving. I can't stand having to hear such words from someone using my mentor's voice and face.
But my eye falls on the desk beside me. Specifically on a golden book.
"Shouldn't you be leaving?" Clara says as she places the bracelet inside a drawer. The usual...playfulness in her voice is gone. And her hair's still a mess. Tangled from when her grandmother yanked it. I didn't even feel satisfied when I did the same to that hag. I almost tell her to brush it out. Or—I don't know—maybe I should. I've got two hands.
The thought catches me off guard. I clench the book tighter.
She still has that hurtful look in her eyes. Still keeps choosing people who don't deserve her loyalty.
As if her family wasn't terrible enough. Now they are just...pathetic.
Never have I wanted to burn down a house so badly. So desperately that it physically hurts. I could still do it. Let this place go down in flames along with the people in it.
But...it's really not what I should be focusing on. We have alot to deal with right now, and destroying her home would be...inconvenient at the moment. Doesn't matter what her biased feelings are on the matter.
"I will. After I finish this." I reply, holding up her journal. "You're such a liar," I smirk, eyes scanning the entry. "None of what you wrote here ever happened."
Her head snaps towards me, and she gasps. "Give it back!" she whisper-yells, storming toward me with all the fury of someone trying very hard not to wake an entire house.
I arch a brow, step back, and tilt the book higher. She tries to snatch it, but I twist my wrist and dodge easily.
"Why though?" I ask, turning another page. "Why write all this?"
The page I'm on claims she was praised by a professor for her "graceful articulation" and "impeccable manners." That has never happened. Not once.
She stops chasing and drops her arms. Her glare hits the floor like it's done something wrong.
"My mom sometimes comes into my room and reads it. She believes it's real." She stretches her hand toward me. "Now hand it over."
Of course she does.
I'm about to give it back when I see my name scribbled on the next page.
"Did you write about me?" I ask, pulling the journal back.
Her eyes go wide, and color drains from her face. She lunges, but I'm already moving. Sidestepping her and activating my powers to hover the book above us.
"Alister!" She cries, standing on her toes, trying to reach it. She does look shorter without her high heels.
Clara's written quite a lot about me. Apparently I'm the antagonist of her fictional world—bullying in the cafeteria, handing out drugs, cheating on tests. And her, ever the beautiful dramatic heroine, interfering and stopping it all with her kind words. Ready to foil my evil plans. Ending with me apologizing to her.
I can see how much she dislikes me.
"Stop reading that!"
"But my name's in it," I say as I turn away; the book floats with me. "If I'm being slandered in your fantasy diary, I think I'm entitled to a rebuttal."
I flip to the next page. "It's offensive how you've made me into a cartoon villain. I mean, really, how many cafeteria brawls did you imagine me causing? Either your imagination's lazy or—"
Suddenly, an arm hooks around my throat. "Really?" I grin, but the sound comes out as a strained gasp as her muscles tighten.
Did she use her invisibility to sneak behind me?
Her forearm presses hard under my jaw, tilting my head back against her shoulder. Cutting the air off as I feel the rise and fall of her breathing against my spine.
Her lips graze my ear, feather-light, but it freezes me more than the chokehold. My breath stutters as my lungs begin to burn. This feels like deja vu. "You really should listen to me when I'm being nice." She whispers, her voice low and so close I can feel the shape of each word against my skin. "I can only spare so much of my politeness on you."
"She really does like doing this to you, huh?" Helena voices yet another unneeded commentary.
I let go of my ability and allow the book to fall.
The second it hits the ground, she releases me and bolts for it. I stagger forward, coughing, one hand braced against the edge of her desk, the other massaging my neck.
This little...
Suddenly there's a knock on the door, and we both go still.
"Clara?" A young boy calls through the door. James. Her brother. "Who are you talking to?"
Her eyes go wide. Panic floods her features like she's just been caught harboring a criminal. Which, I suppose, she technically is.
Before I can even move towards the window, she suddenly spins around and slams both her soft palms against my mouth, pressing me against the wall. Probably misinterpreting my movement.
"No one!" She yells out, her voice climbing two octaves. "I'm just watching a movie!"
I arch a brow. She stares at me like I'm the problem. As if I was about to whistle or confess everything just to spite her. Did she forget her own lecture about who's going to be at a greater disadvantage?
I exhale through my nose and fix my eyes on the ceiling. With her this close, at least one of us has to uphold some decency.
"Do you have a guy in your room?" He asks suspiciously.
Her hands clamp tighter across my mouth, like she's afraid I'll blurt yes just for the fun of it.
"No! Why would I have someone in my room at this time!?" She yells out.
This is getting ridiculous.
I reach up to gently peel her hands away so I can make my exit, but she violently shakes her head, eyes narrowing on me.
Woman, what is it that you think I'm trying to do!?
I point to the window—window, escape, remember?—but then James speaks again.
"Oh, come on!" he groans. "Again? Why do I have to remind you that my room's right next to yours? Except for the study, the walls aren't soundproof—"
"Shut up!" Clara barks as her entire body stiffens. I catch the full burn of her face turning crimson. The color matches her pajamas as the flush spreads through her cheeks, her ears, and even runs down her neck towards...
I need to get away from here and kill someone.
Her hands are getting sweatier by the second. She can't even look at me. Her embarrassment is so loud it might as well be its own person.
I simply shake my head in disapproval. What an inconsiderate, shameless sister.
Clara whirls toward the door—finally releasing me.
"James, if you don't leave, I swear I will rip your signed, limited-edition poster in half while you're watching!"
"Ok, geez." He says with a laugh, clearly not believing her lie about having no one in the room but satisfied at humiliating her.
Even if I hate the kid for being friends with Nora, just for this moment, I like him.
She groans into her hands, dragging her fingers down her flushed face. "Just leave."
I adjust the collar of my shirt, brushing off imaginary dust. I guess I should give it to her now. "Here." I pull out a big golden pocket watch and place it on the desk. "Payback for those fake gems. Now don't bother me with texts asking for something."
She looks at it and picks it up. "I only said it three times." She frowns and opens it.
There's a strange sparkle in her eyes as she stares in awe at what's inside. Instead of an analog watch, a tiny ballerina in a blue dress twirls in an endless pirouette. And then, the room fills with a familiar melody of Swan Lake. Her favorite song, apparently, according to what she told me among her ramblings on the highway.
And also what she was subtly dancing to in the rain. An image that's crisp and clear in my mind.
"Did you make this?" She says, as a smile finally tugs at her lips.
She was...out of it before.
When we left her grandmother's room, she hadn't said a word. Like something vital had been drained from her after that conversation. She'd walked through her house like a ghost, eyes glazed over, all the fire gone.
Seeing her like that gnawed at me.
Not because of some bleeding-heart sentiment. But because we have work to do. Answers to find at the library. I need her clear-headed and functional by then. Not drowning in whatever guilt or identity crisis that artifact stirred up.
It's a good thing I came prepared for that contingency.
"Yes. I'll be off now." I answer, turning away from her. I can feel her staring at my back as I make my way towards my exit.
"...Thank you."
I pause for a moment before opening the window and making sure there is no one on the streets. A car passes through the street, and once it's gone, I climb over the window.
"Hey, uh..." she begins, and I glance back at her over my shoulder. She's sitting on top of her desk, pointing at her neck. "Is it still painful?"
I reach up, brushing my own throat with the back of my hand. "No. It didn't even hurt that much."
"I see." She hums, her lips curling into a wicked smile. Then she leans forward ever so slightly, lashes lowered. "I'll try harder next time."
My grip tightens around the edge of the window frame.
"Creep." Helena voices.
I snap my gaze forward towards the tree, refusing to let it drift back to her again. I push the facemask back up. The night wind rakes its fingers through my hair, and I exhale slowly as I begin to climb out.
This woman. With her weaknesses so easy to exploit. Who should really keep her guard up around me. Who is very emotional yet remains unbreakable. Whose vulnerability sits so plainly on her face, like an open book, yet somehow—she's the one who's unreadable.
She is dangerous, and I should never let my guard down around her.
"What will you do now?" Helena asks as soon as my feet hit the pavement.
I don't stop walking. "Well, I had hoped the grandmother would be able to read the text if she had the artifact. But it's clear now—these people are only given fragments. Specific words. Enough to activate the item. Nothing more."
The night is still, the street painted in dim amber by the overhead lights. My shoes click softly against the asphalt as I move toward the car parked under a crooked maple tree. I glance back to the window, which is now closed and curtains drawn shut.
Since some artifact was used to mess with her and everyone's memory, it's highly unlikely she remembers who those people were. Could they understand the language in the book? I can't imagine how else they would come to know the words used to activate. Maybe...there's an artifact for that too? Something that gives information on how to activate an object.
The more I think about it, the more I realize how important the book is.
"These people?" The woman asks, and now her form finally appears beside me.
"Why do you think they sold it to the Austin family? Because of their growing popularity and desperation for success at the time. If it all happened when Clara was four, then the deal occurred 15 years ago when the company was at its most struggling time. When they were losing to their competition. That was an ideal time." I explain as I take out the phone from my pocket that had the whole conversation recorded.
"These hunters are selling the artifacts to powerful families. Getting money and connections in return."
"Why though?" She asks.
"Let's say if I was doing really shady stuff and had a very large organization to run, I'd be looking for ways to secure funding along with ways to stay under the radar. Have influential people backing me up so that even the law won't be able to walk the same path as me." I say as I stop beside the car, letting my gaze drift to the stars overhead—dim and dulled by city haze, like truth hidden behind layers of fog.
"It's almost like you're admiring them." She says with a grin.
I turn my head slowly, just enough to meet her red eyes.
"I'm just imagining what it'd feel like to go against them on equal footing."