“Slip a mickey, roofie, Mickey Finn, micked, knock-out drops, GHB, Rohypnol, Ketamine, LSD, what-ever-the-fuck—” she yelled.
“I can explain,” he tried to insert.
“—they put into that food,” she continued, pointing angrily toward the mansion. “You know they did. They didn’t want you eating it but were super high-pressure that I should try it. There is no satisfying explanation for that. I’m going to the police. I’m going to make them give me a blood test. You can’t treat people like this. I don’t care if you are rich and live in a castle.”
“They were trying to help ya purge,” he said.
Purge? What the hell?
“Purge what? My insides? My sanity?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what kind of crap you’re used to getting away with, but—”
“Purge evil intent.” He tried to reach for her.
“Evil? Are you fucking kidding me?” she cried. The release of outrage felt great, like a dam had broken free on her feelings, and all the pent-up emotions came out on her like a churning lava-fueled river.
“I know ya don’t want to hear it right now, and I don’t blame ya for being mad, but their hearts were in the right place. It…it backfired a little. Please, I can explain this better. Give me a chance to—”
“You’re right. I don’t want to hear it,” Jennifer denied. She resumed her escape down the long driveway. The lights from town called her like a beacon, giving her context to where she needed to go. “If I require some kind of spiritual evil-purging journey, I’ll find a qualified shaman, not a freaking football party rubbery cheese ball—that wasn’t even all that amazing, to be honest.”
Actually, a shaman might not be a bad idea. Or psychic ghost-hunter. Someone to stop the creepy voice from following her around. A shrink?
“Jennifer, stop, there’s so much that ya don’t understand yet,” Rory said. “Things I didn’t want to have to tell ya if I was wrong. Things I couldn’t tell ya because…because some secrets have to be kept to protect my family.”
Jennifer skidded to a stop and took a deep breath. Light flashed behind her and cast her shadow on the ground, haloed in soft blue glow. She assumed he had his phone flashlight app shining for them.
“What secrets?” She turned to face him again.
Rory stood with his hand held out. The soft blue glow came from his palm. She’d assumed it was his phone, but as the light radiated from a sphere, she stared into it.
“Glowing fingers,” she whispered, pointing as if he’d need clarification for what she saw. Her hand shook. “I saw glowing…”
She took a backward step down the incline of the drive, then another.
“There you are,” she whispered.
“It’s a big secret I need to tell ya,” Rory said. “But the simplest way is for me to show ya that magick is real. I’m a warlock. All MacGregors are warlocks.”
What he was saying was ridiculous, of course. Warlocks? Magick? And yet, his hand glowed.
He bounced the ball of light between his hands before making a fist and extinguishing it. He lifted his hands, showing her the backs and fronts. They were empty.
The rage inside her centered itself in her chest, burning. Her breathing deepened.
The light returned to both hands, snaking from his fingers to his wrists, circling them like bracelets.
“There you are.” The words passed her lips louder than before.
The ball of rage spread like flames down her arm, tingling her fingers. She lifted her hand to find she gripped a knife.
“Whoa.” Rory started to lift his hands, but the magick glow became brighter on his wrists. The two light streams snaked toward the ground, pulling him to his knees like two shackles staked to the earth.
A feeling whispered inside of her, urging her to act without reason.
“There you are,” she said. The words felt like a spell, winding through her. If she would only do what it wanted, it would leave her alone. She’d be safe.
Safe from harm.
Safe from Rory.
Safe from magick.
Safe.
The anger made it easy to strike. She felt the blade. All it needed was a small swing, and the sharp edge would do the rest.
“Jennifer, ya don’t have to do this,” Rory pleaded. He struggled against the magick holding him down.
Jennifer saw her arm moving, felt the knife jerk as the blade caught in his neck. Blood came from the wound, spraying over her. Rory’s mouth opened, and his eyes met hers as if surprised she’d done it.
No!
This wasn’t what she wanted. She wasn’t a killer.
Jennifer blinked only to find he was still in front of her. The blood was gone, and the murderous urge had not yet played itself out. Rory was safe.
She blinked again, and he was on the ground, the magick on his wrists fading as blood pooled. Time made no sense. The pieces were scattered like a jigsaw puzzle someone threw on the floor.
Blink. He pleaded with her to stop.
Blink. Screams came from the house. His mother cried out in agony for her dying son. She and Margareta charged across the yard.
Blink. Rory was telling her he was a warlock. The magick had yet to bind him to the ground.
Blink. She swung her arm to kill him.
Blink. Trees passed her as she ran in the forest with bloodstained hands. Magick balls flew past her head as Cait and Margareta tried to capture her.
Blink. She was back in front of Rory.
Blink. He was dead.
Blink. He lived.
Blink. Blink. Blink. Blink…
The rage inside her erupted, urging her to get it over with, promising in some innate way that if she killed him, it all would stop.
She waited for the right piece of time to appear and finally found him kneeling with his magickal restraints. Jennifer forced her eyes to remain open, not letting go of the moment.
“Jennifer, please, listen to me. Ya can control the urges,” Rory insisted.
“There you are.” It was the only words that would come out of her mouth. Her hand trembled, ready to strike.
“Jennifer…”
“There you are.” She stepped toward him. Every muscle acted as if she had no control.
“Please, I promise, I would never hurt ya,” he said.
“There…” Jennifer tried to bite back the word. She held the knife over her shoulder, arm trembling with the effort it took not to stab forward. She fell to her knees before him. Her eyes burned with the need to blink.
“I don’t know if ya can hear me, but this is what we were trying to stop. Please, let us help ya.” Rory’s eyes searched hers.
Jennifer tried to make herself drop the knife, but her fingers wouldn’t release the hilt. When she was near him, he roused strong emotions. This rage she felt inside of her like an invading entity wasn’t hers. She didn’t hate like this. She felt guilty after squishing spiders. Now she wanted to murder Rory?
She watched his lips move, saying her name. He’d been nothing but kind to her—well, except for the cheese thing. Expelling mud had been disgusting.
“There you are,” she whispered.
Jennifer didn’t want to hurt him.
This wasn’t her.
“There—”
She pressed her mouth to his and cut off her own words. His lips parted in a plea, and it provided for an instantly deeper kiss. The pleasure of fulfilling one of the stronger desires inside of her finally allowed her to release the blade. It dropped from her like a weight, and she reached to hold his face in her palms.