117 | NO FUNERAL

The next few weeks pass in a blur of auto pilot responses. I’m numb, but not in the way my vamp-side makes me when it takes over. There’s just this long time of me doing things like sitting up in bed each morning to watching the sun rising over the tree tops. Or me letting Blue guide me to the kitchen to mechanically eat breakfast, or gently prompting me to shower, or drink a blood bag. They’re little tasks that I agree to complete, feeling absolutely nothing but the dark sadness in me. The straining pit of loss and longing to see Mom one last time.

There’s not a moment that passes in the next few days where I’m truly alone as Blue, Yuri, and Misha take turns watching me. I don’t know what they expect from me, but I know with my track record that their reasons for worrying about my safety are valid - one way or another. But I’m not depressed. I’m not angry. I’m not anything.

Maybe that’s why they keep me company, reminding me to eat, sleep, and bathe regularly over the course of what feels like months but I know must really just be weeks. The world keeps spinning, the sun rises and sets, time passes around me - wether I acknowledge it or not.

There’re a few times when Yuri comes over with Darine, and the two try to coax me into some sort of reaction. They tell me about school, reminding me that, though I’m on a leave of absence right now, I should at least be aware of the assorted things happening while I’m out so I won’t be lost when I go back. They also mention the few dates they’ve been on, giving me juicy details about the latest movies that’ve come out in theaters. I can’t find it in me to do more than give empty smiles and other meaningless expressions, the pit inside me stays a pit.

I *feel*…but it’s less than before, not empty, just muted and…hollow.

Hale’s been taking care of Mom’s funeral arrangements, visiting a few times over the course of the month or however long it really is. He tells me Mom’s got specific funeral arrangements and will be cremated. He asks if I want to go with him to the crematorium, but I just shake my head. Some time later, Hale returns with Blue and they talk to me about the set funeral and the letter Mom apparently left with her final wishes. I hear none of it.

There are a few words I catch like ‘rights’ and ‘another week’, but it doesn’t compute coherently in my head. Blue and Hale talk amongst themselves, Blue acting like some sort of interpreter for me since I haven’t spoken much since Mom died. It’s only when Blue brings in a guy I’ve never seen before that time seems to settle in place. It’s the man’s aura and the sharp scent of Magic that snaps me out of the hazy fog. I blink, my nose wrinkling at the powerful scent assaulting me as the odd man hovers by the door to my and Blue’s room.

“Red,” Blue is kneeling in front of me so we’re eye-level. My eyes flick between the two, pausing longer to search Blue’s face, but the odd feeling of being cornered is still there. “This man is here to help with your mom’s funeral ceremony.” He’s speaking calmly, clearly, silvery-grey eyes fixed on mine. Waiting patiently for my response. Just like he has been every day since Mom died. I blink at him in answer, the dryness in my throat requiring more time than I currently have to speak.

“Witch,” I mutter roughly, my creaky rasp of a voice the result of disuse. Blue’s eyes burn just a degree brighter, relief seeping into me from his side of the mental connection as my own emotions begin to stir. “Strong witch.” I rephrase my original assessment as my nose wrinkles again.
The scent of Magic burns my nose, but it’s better than not comprehending the smell at all. The slight familiarity of the Magic helps ground me, and then I scent Blue’s signature pine-and-parchment aroma and try to focus on that instead. With my mate so near, it’s not hard.

“That’s right.” Blue nods encouragingly at me, his lips curving up at the edges. “He wants to discuss the ceremony with you. You good with that?” I nod my ascent to his question and tap the spot of the bed next to me, waiting for Blue to sit beside me. My mate complies with my silent order, leaning into me, but not touching me. His own way of showing support without undermining my own strength.

With Blue beside me, I feel myself relax, he powerful smell of the Magician fading into the background of my senses as I look at the odd man. He’s not the type that screams witch. His ash-blonde hair sticks up in static-y tufts, like he’s stuck his finger into a light socket, the creepy red-violet shade of his eyes letting me know he’s indeed a Magician. Where Mari’s eyes were a violet-grey, this man’s are more red than violet, but the flecks of violet burn brighter than the red in them.

His aura is nothing like Mari’s though, it’s more reminiscent of that of Nikki’s, colder and almost feeling directly of Death - with a capital D. But where his aura is scaring me shitless, it’s his neon-green t-shirt that puts me at ease. ‘BUTTERFLIES ARE MY SECRET WEAPON’ is stamped across the chest with a skeleton laying underneath and a butterfly with a skull-for-a-face landing on the decomposed skeleton. A morbid fact that butterflies are decomposers flutters through my brain and I feel my lips quirk up in a smile before my face relaxes. *This man is weird, but not in a bad way*. I decide.

“Speak, witch.” I tell the man when I’ve finished my assessment of him.

“I’m Obie Trix,” The man tells me calmly, his weird reddish-violet eyes locking on mine. I shudder as the chill of his dark aura reaches out in that tentacle-like way to lick the surrounding space. “Your mother hired me to take over her funeral arrangements.”

“And Mari?” I ask on a shaky breath. Obie’s eyes darken, the violet fading until it’s only a slightly glowing red left, but then he blinks and the strange mix of violet is back.

“She’s dead.” He tells me flatly, forehead pinching slightly as he fights to keep his expression blank. I notice the bob of his adams apple, realizing he must have been close to the witch to be so raw with sadness at her passing. I nod to him, having expected this. Mari had said she’d help, and then I knew something must have been wrong when she never answered my calls or got back to me before Mom’s passing. “That’s why I’m here. I had spoken with Marissa before she died. She knew of me through Mari.” He continues to explain, eyes dulling slightly with the echoes of grief. “But at least the Hellgate is sealed.” He adds after a moment, seeming to shake himself and get back under control.

“Hellgate? That was Mari?” I blink in surprise at him. Nikki had said the gate had been sealed successfully, but never mentioned who or what had done it. I had just assumed it was some of her minions who handled it.

“Mari was the channel, but twelve others helped with the ingredients and powering of the seal.” Obie tells me, another crease adding to his forehead. “In any case,” He clears his throat and looks to the bedroom behind me. “I’m here to carry out Marissa’s wishes.” I nod once, gesturing for him to come into the room so he can speak about what needs to be done.

“What was it that…” My voice trails off before I can vocalize the thought completely. Obie nods, understanding what I mean. He pulls a back pack off his shoulders and squats beside it, shuffling through various jars and what I assume are witchy-things, before pulling out a stapled stack of papers.

“She wanted what’s known among Dark Magician circles as an Anti-Necromancy burial.” Obie explains, standing to cross the distance between the door and my bed. He keeps a foot of space between us as he then plops down onto the bare floor ad begins reading from the stack of papers. “It includes anointing the ashes in a special mix of herbs, marking the gravestone with wards, and regular maintenance of the headstone to prevent another supernatural from messing with the deceased.” He pauses in his summery, pressing his lips together as his eyes go a little distant before they return to mine.

“Dark Magicians include Necromancers, so this is a pretty common practice for us.” His intense eyes soften as he catches my confused expression. “Marissa made some unavoidable enemies in her time, from what she told me, you guys bounced from one place to another pretty frequently.” That last bit is fact, not really part of his explanation, but I appreciate the mini distraction as I nod in agreement. “There are other supernaturals who can mess with the soul of the dead. Sometimes they can call the soul back if the body is gone or unusable, and…it’s sometimes used to power the supernatural. Or against others the soul came into contact with. It’s not a pleasant experience for the soul, to be dragged back to this plane after death and used in such a traumatic way, so most of my kind insist on this type of ceremony.” He pulls some of the papers apart to look at the bottom portion of the stack. “She already has had her body cremated, so I’m just going to add the herbs into the jar with her remains and go with you to the burial site to finish the warding.”

“When?” I ask quietly, knowing already this isn’t the kind of thing I want others to watch - the burial process. Not if there’s Magic involved. I suddenly understand that there’s not going to be a funeral for Mom. Not in the strict sense of the word. She’ll be buried according to her wishes, even if I want others there to say goodbye, I know it’s her wishes that have to be honored.

Maybe I can set up a service for her later? She’d like that, I think, to have others visit her grave - or at least know where she was laid to rest.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Obie tells me, putting the stack back together and looking up at me expectantly. “I’ll be in town for a week to make sure everything goes smoothly with the burial.” He adds. Again, I can only nod in response. The milder torrent of my emotions swirl as it hits me that this is really it. It’s really happening.

Blue rests a hand on my back, stroking lightly along my spine to soothe me as I take a deep breath and force myself to remain calm. The ache in my chest had intensified, smarting and burning like magma was just sprinkled over my heart. I shiver and lean further into Blue for comfort and close my eyes. The warmth of his body and his very presence relax me, banishing the sharper edges of my grief and allowing me to remain in the moment.

“Tomorrow at dawn.” I tell Obie finally, opening my eyes to make sure the Witch is fine with this. Obie nods once and stands, heading back to his back pack and putting the stack of papers back into it before slinging the sack onto his back.

“Tomorrow at dawn,” He agrees and walks back out of the rom without another word.