Chapter 60

Cole walks out of the flames, looking untouched. That is my breaking point. At that moment I am served with a five-course serving of rage that tastes bitter. I punch him in the face. Shaking my hand from the stinging after taste, the urge to do it again becomes overpowering. Much like coffee, its bitterness draws you in, knowing that with each sip you will feel more awake.
Gentle hands pull me back. I sink into their arms, tears run freely down my soot covered cheeks. David is gone. The thought runs over and over in my brain.
***
I stand looking at David’s tombstone. I still find it hard to believe that he’s gone. They say the pain of losing someone dulls with time, and that things get better. But how can things get better when the reason the pain isn’t so bad is because I will have forgotten? Over time, the memory of your presence will leak from my mind until you are a distant shadow, I will no longer see your face in strangers, and the memory of the things we once shared will no longer bring tears to my eyes. If getting past the pain means forgetting you. Then I choose to suffer my entire life. You were the one to bring me hope when I had none. It was you who brought light when all I could see was darkness. You taught me how to love and be strong. You made me who I am. I will hold you in my heart for as long as I live.
I stand looking at David’s tombstone. I still find it hard to believe that he’s gone. If they’d never come upon me that day so many years ago, David would be safe, and Clara’s heart would not have been shattered into a million pieces. It’s my fault David’s gone. The King and Order of Terror took them because of me. Now David’s dead.
I turn away from the grave and follow the narrow path out of the graveyard. Then walk down the cobblestone path that leads to my grandmother’s house.
Since David’s death, I have been living with my grandmother again. Clara lives there too now. She is so weak and frail. Clothes which once fitted hang loose on her emaciated frame and her eyes are always so close to tears, with deep dark circles beneath. She doesn’t speak. Most days she just stares into nothingness. I’m worried about her, but I don’t know how to help. To find out that magic and demons are real and then lose your husband within a couple of hours must be hard to take. I can’t imagine what it must be like for it to happen so suddenly. It took me a long time to accept magic and demons.
If I stop and dwell on it for even a fraction of a second, my face dampens with tears. I can never fathom why God would give me someone so good, only to snatch them away again. I shy away from Clara, afraid of my own pain and thoughts.
I’ve walked around in a daze for days now. I know the decision I’ve made will break Clara, and that hurts me up more than anything. But I have no other choice. Demons and every nightmare creature are running freely now. The death count keeps going up. The guardians and witches do what they can to stop the attacks, but the demons’ numbers are too great.
Across the world, residents are made to stay indoors once the sun sets. Once night falls the demons walk the streets, taking anyone, they encounter. The war between demons and humans has begun. Evil now walks the Earth.
***
I sit in my room watching the figurine in the music box twirl to a soft tune. The tiny ballet figure moves timelessly like ribbons in the wind. The melody floats and swirls in my mind. The jewelry box I found in the Fey Realm touches my heart and soul. I embrace the music, and in turn, the music takes control. I find myself in a different world.
Through teary eyes, a woman with golden blond hair watches the sun fall beneath the horizon, painting the sky shades of red and pink. Tears flow unchecked down her cheeks and drip from her chin. She stares into the landscape. A man approaches her. He stops a few feet away and clears his throat. She doesn’t turn or acknowledge his presence; she stares blankly ahead.
The man tilts his head, giving me a better view. I gasp when I see his face. It’s the man who helped me and Misty escape from the council. He places a tentative hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs it off.
“Hope, it is the only way,” he tells her in a soft voice.
She turns to face him. Her tears have dried, leaving track marks on her reddening face. Her eyes are narrow and cold; her features hardened. In that moment, I knew he was the enemy.
“I will not kill our unborn child because you are scared!” she tells him as a group of men in white cloaks walk out of a grove of trees. He backs away slowly, disappearing into the shadows of the woods. Hope looks around. Her face takes on a determined look as she stands ready to fight.
The men advance towards her. She pushes her hand out in front of her, and the men stumble against the force of a gust of wind. She then waves her hands in a circular windmilling motion. Within seconds, the gentle breeze turns into a violent twister. The men get caught up in it. Some only just manage to escape. The others do not and struggle hard against the element.
So, Mom had the same power as me. That little glimpse sends warmth through my belly. I so wish I’d had the chance to know the woman who was really my mom. Not the drunkard I remember.
The men who escaped the twister spread out and dart towards Hope, who’s still controlling the twister. One man grabs her by the head and holds her in a choke while another attempts to inject her with what looks like a needle.
The men drop to the floor as if asleep. Hope runs towards the trees and disappears. The men who’d been caught up in the twister now lay or sit stunned on the ground watching her retreating form. One man stands out. Mr. Donald looks on with narrow eyes.
The scenery changes and I’m back in my room staring at the ballerina’s slow dance.
The council had known from the start that my mom was carrying a child from both light and earth. The years of running make sense now. Not only were we running from the dark ones but from the angels too.