Straightened out by sundown. Fuck him. She resisted throwing her coffee cup at his retreating back and instead started down into its dark depths. Her reflection started back up at her, wavering like a goblin face on the surface of the black liquid. The bruise that marred her cheek seemed to spread over the whole side of her face, putting a darkness onto her visage that mirrored the darkness that seemed to be filling her. She sighed and blew a bit of stray hair out of her face as the sound of his footsteps on the rickety porch faded. She stayed where she was, listening to his footsteps retreating back up the path that led to the bit of dry, gravel strewn ground where cars parked. It wasn't until she heard the sound of his wheels kicking up gravel that she moved. Picking up her coffee cup as well as his she carried them to the sink. His she poured down the drain, hers she set onto the stained, scared countertop next to the percolator.
For a long moment she stood, deliberating on getting more coffee or not. Her stomach was a knot of nerves and anger. But she'd slept terribly in her alcohol induced coma and her awakening hadn't been anything like easy. Her head still pounded and now she had the silence to consider and worry about this thing she'd agreed to. What had she been thinking? She'd spent the last few years trying to get away from this lifestyle and in less than a day she was neck deep into it. She was throwing it all away. But then maybe she'd never really left. Maybe she was the same unwanted bit of trailer-trash she'd been before she'd left? At least here she had something like power, something like a calling that kept her from being just one more bit of garbage sinking into the bayou.
The need for caffeine beat out her roiling stomach and she poured herself a new mug. She picked it up, wrapped her shaking fingers around it and turned.
"That is one sweet piece of ass."
The mug fell to the floor with a crash, scalding black liquid splashing over her toes in a searing flash of agony that was nothing to the wash of horror and shock that filled her at the sight of her grandmother standing in the doorway to the bedroom, beams of sunlight streaming through her eccentric form. She was dressed as she had been in life in a too large flowered house-dress, bra-less with a pair of cheap flip-flops on her feet where the too long nails were painted—even in death—a lurid shade of pink which stood out starkly against her deep brown skin. Her head was wrapped in a turban of quasi-African fabric and around her neck hung countless necklaces of beads and bones which made her bra-less state all that much more apparent.
"Giga!" Estelle gasped to which the dead woman grinned her gap-toothed grin and spat a phantom wad of tobacco juice onto the floor.
"Quick one, aren't you?" she asked and smacked her lips. "So quick that you didn't get a piece of that ass before it left. Shame, but then he's coming back so there is time."
"You are dead." Estelle said, stupidly as the scalding coffee cooled in a puddle around her feet.
"Dead and gone. But, shit girl, you been watching me deal with spirits for years, this shouldn't be a surprise."
"But those were, spirits, not ghosts…"
"Right, but it should have opened up the possibility that… never mind. Lessons later. You got yourself some work ahead of you. What the hell were you thinking to plan such a thing?"
She walked towards Estelle, beads and breasts swaying as she shuffled. As she moved she flickered, vanishing and reappearing so that it looked like she skipped great swathes of reality until she stood before Estelle. A cold, spectral hand lifted to brush a gnarled knuckle against her grand-daughter's bruised cheek affectionately. It felt almost real, the cold as the grave spreading across the bruised flesh spreading numbness in its wake.
"You have no better sense in men than your Mama did. Shame you didn't take after me. Take what you want and let 'em go."
She looked down at Estelle's feet and snorted. "Clean up that mess and we can get started."
"Started, Giga?" Estelle asked woodenly, still shocked and immobile at the sight of her grandmother.
"Gotta get you up to speed fast girl. You got to give that fine specimen what he wants and then you need to figure out who done me in."
"Giga." Estelle said softly. "It was your heart. It gave out."
"Bullshit. My heart was as strong as an ox. Someone did me in and I want to know who. You are going to help me figure it out."
She snapped her spectral fingers and automatically Estelle moved to obey.
-
Giga seemed a strange mix of focused and unfocused, her perceptions and alertness coming and going as often as her image did so that towards the end her lessons were as spotty as her specter was. But she managed to convey enough in the hours before sunrise for Estelle to be confident that she'd be able to make some sort of contract with the spirits. Her grandmother warned that her the cost would likely be blood since she didn't have any favors stashed away as currency. The plan was to get through this night, pay the sprits in blood and save the acquisition of favors and the solving of Giga's murder for a later time.
It was a lot to take in and it seemed easier for Estelle to simply fall into the patterns of obedience to the old woman. She didn't trust Giga across the board, the old woman had always had her own way of doing things and her own motivations which didn't always rest fully upon this plane. Estelle did trust that her grandmother had some reason for lingering, some work for her reluctant granddaughter to accomplish and as such, wouldn't deliberately let her fall into harm. But accidentally…
When she was grinding up the herbs, berries and mushrooms in the mortar she found her grandmother's eyes unfocused and distant, her instructions trailing off as her attention was pulled away. Estelle opened her mouth to call to her when she felt something thrumming through the air like a string had been plucked. The warm dampness of the lowering night seemed to vibrate for a moment and then her Giga's shrew eyes were back on Estelle and her sharp tongue was lashing at her, criticizing the way she was grinding up the herbs.
"You want to do it?" Estelle snapped, worn to the edge of her patience with her meddling grandmother. There had been many disagreements throughout the day as her frustrated spectral grandmother tried to talk her into things she could not and would not consider. From the large things to the small things (it turned out there was, indeed a bone-skirt) it had been a trying day. In the end, the skirt she wore was a thin-cotton bohemian thing with small flowers and a great many tiers. No bone bikini was donned but a black ribbed tank top stood in its place though she had conceded to wear the bird-skull rattle necklace around her neck as a ward against some of the more malevolent spirits that lurked in the swamp.
She was just pouring boiling water over the mix in the mortar which had been macerated with moonshine when there was a knock on the door. Swallowing Estelle looked up at her grandmother.
"Will he be able to see you? I didn't tell him you were dead."
"He shouldn't, but I'll fade, just in case," and she proceeded to do just that.
Estelle peered into the dark shadows of the room as she moved to let him in. She could see things moving in the shadows, warded off by the bright lamp overhead, but none of them seemed to be Giga.
Cracking open the door Estelle peered up at Mars and felt as much as she saw, how large a presence he was. Something about the night seemed to suit him, as if the darkness parted for him more easily than other creatures. Instinctively she looked to the sky, trying to catch sight of the moon through the trees in the otherwise clear night. A slight silver sliver that matched her eyes perfectly could be seen through the branches of one of the bigger cypress trees.
"Come in." she said and stepped aside. "I'm just about ready." She turned, shivering at the electric buzz the air around him seemed to hold.
To her left Giga cackled in a voice that reached only Estelle's ears. "You should get yourself a tip, Girl. He looks like he could loosen you up some."
Estelle stumbled and her cheeks flamed as she picked up the mortar with its barely cooled contents and swallowed it in one big swallow. Immediately the edges of her vision began to blur and soften as a languid warmth filled her limbs.
"What did you bring for me, Mr. Latier?" she asked as she turned to face the man, noting that he remained crisp and clear while everything else softened.
For as long as he could remember, Mars had always felt more comfortable after dark. While the moon had always been something of an uncomfortable inconvenience, and sometimes an insufferable plague, the time between was always relaxing. If paranoia hadn't been haunting him so badly, and if he hadn't needed Estelle's over-priced help, Mars was sure that he would have been enjoying a slow night with Delphine on the back porch, sipping sweet tea and convincing himself that life wasn't so bad. Instead, he anticipated the opposite for the evening, sure that he was going to see and hear things that he had never thought possible. As he entered Estelle's cabin, he told himself that it was all going to be worth it.
The place felt different than it had earlier that day, a little more alive and energetic, somehow darker despite the overhead light. Mars gave a look around, peering into shadows, green eyes narrowed into a squint when he was sure that he saw something move, but he wrote it off as a trick of the light. Turning, he looked back to Estelle, slightly relieved to see that she hadn't broken out the bone-bikini just yet—his problems obviously weren't that serious. She seemed more agreeable than she had that morning, more relaxed and fluid, even a little warm and her presence alone felt magnetic. Mars stayed put, however, not moving a muscle toward her powerful aura.
Alluring as she was, grace seemed to escape her and Mars watched as she stumbled toward a bowl on the table. For a moment, he wondered if she was drunk, if she had just been pulling his leg the entire time and trying to scam him but the silvery look in her eyes said otherwise. Doubt was something that Mars had always struggled with, unable to trust even when proof was right in front of his face. Suspicions aside, Mars was ready with the items when she asked.
Reaching with his free hand, Mars plucked the wrapped spoon from the empty coffee mug and handed it over to Estelle. "Jules used this earlier today," he explained, but left out how he had taken her advice and made things easier for himself and his less-than-spotless criminal record. "And this is from Gabriel," he handed over the mug and tucked his now empty hands back into his pockets, "woulda got a spoon from him too, but I think he knew something was up—he gave everything back to the waitress before I could collect."
Between the two men, Gabriel was the dangerous one and Mars was hoping for a clear picture of his thoughts by the end of the night. Regardless, he wasn't going to tell Estelle what to do and instead of asking too many questions about the ins and outs of bayou magic, Mars moved over toward the rickety table where her supplies were set up. "Can I at least get a drink before you end up cursing me?" he joked, one eyebrow raised in question as his hand found a bottle of clear alcohol, probably better for stripping paint than for drinking. He assumed, though, that this ritual would be largely the same as his palm reading; a lot of sitting and staring while Estelle quietly concentrated.
The warm taste of nutmeg, copious amounts, as well as the sharp tang of galangal stood out as flavor highlights in the brew her Giga had recited to her. There was plenty else in there, herbs and fungi even a few berries and some of it she suspected of being put in for spite, because the taste was truly foul. She made a face as she took up the items Mars handed to her, careful to touch the items in places their last users wouldn't have touched much so she didn't contaminate the reading. It was hard as her vision continued to sharped and soften in turns, color coming and going. She blinked a few times and placed both items onto a purple silk cloth in a grapevine basket on the table.
"Sure thing." She said, her voice a warm purr that seemed to her altered senses to make the air ripple towards him and then the colors of her voice envelop him. She blinked again and the colors and waves went away and all that was left was a big man with a bigger presence who looked like he didn't trust her one bit. She needed to pull it together.
"Shit, girl, he don't like you much, does he?"
She couldn't answer that, but she had to admit her grandmother was on to something. She turned away and reached into the cabinet with its mismatched sets of glassware and pulled out a tumbler. Estelle wondered if some of the glassware on the shelf beside it had come into her grandmother's possession that same way that mug and spoon had made it there. She placed the tumbler onto the counter and sloshed in a few fingers of moonshine for her client.
"My Grandmother's finest." She said as she handed it over, the scent of evaporating alcohol already filling the air between them. She resisted taking a long pull from the bottle, it wasn't dignified and she was already messed up enough from the brew.
"Don't wait too long Estelle, that stuff acts fast. Can't you feel them?"
Estelle nodded slightly. She could feel them. Them being the spirits that lived in and out of the house. The shadows roiled with them and she could feel their attention pressing in at her like little noses pressed against glass. She could almost see their thoughts like breath on the window pane of her attention. They were, hungry, curious, malicious and innocent in turn. She would have to reason and negotiate with them, it was a daunting task, even with her Giga there.
"We should get going." Estelle said to him, not looking at him because she could feel the bestial aura rolling off of him and it was making her skin prickle in goose-flesh in a way that wasn't exactly unpleasant.
"I took something to catalyze this, it's acting fast." A deep breath, a lick of her lips and she started moving to the door. "Put the money on the table." She said, off-handedly as if it were not the heart of the matter for her. For the moment it wasn't. For the moment all she cared about was getting out into the night, into the air of the Bayou. She hooked her arm through the handle of the basket and walked out into the night.
The path was well lit. Chemical light-sticks were tossed at regular intervals along the path that led to her Giga's favorite ritual space. The light was odd, an amber shade that softened the edges of light and sharpened the edges of dark, or perhaps that was just her fucked up perceptions. It didn't matter, she knew where she had to go. She drifted down the path like one of the spirits she'd come to deal with, feeling their touch in the cobweb touches on the edges of her perceptions. She murmured to them, instinctive sounds of soothing and chiding.
"Patience, patience," she crooned aloud without realizing it, her accent thickening her voice into something sweet like honey. "Imma gonna to take care of you all."
The shadows answered, eager and hungry and… troubled. That was something new, a deeper feeling than what she'd felt before she'd opened up her mind with the brew. They were troubled and they wanted her help. That made this easier in some ways, but it frightened her. Trouble was never good. The sound of their chit-chattering reached her ears it a way that made her wonder if her companion could hear it too. She paused when she reached the circle, picked out with the more traditional candles and turned to him.
"Sit there," she said, pointing to a stump. "Or stand, just don't cross the circle." It might have been a trick of the light but there was so little color left to her eyes. The pupil seemed to have swallowed up the whole of her eye so that a nearly all black orb caught sight of the first of the hooked ones.
"Thanks," he said, watching her pour some of the clear liquid into an antique-looking glass. The sentiment was much appreciated and secretly gave Mars some extra hope that he and Estelle might manage to get along for more than five minutes at a time as the night wore on. Reaching out, he accepted the drink from the tips of her slender fingers, skin brushing skin to recreate that same electric touch from earlier in the day. Now wasn't the time to question her about it, to ask if she could feel it too, or wonder why they seemed to be so physically drawn to one another. Writing it off, Mars took a long swallow from the glass, ready to settle his fraying nerves before the night got started.
The alcohol warmed him from head to toe and left the tall man with a pleasant burn in the back of his throat as his shoulders began to relax. Grandmother's finest had obviously meant strongest, but considering what they were about to do, getting hammered didn't seem like a horrible idea. Regardless, Mars took another sip before agreeing to get started. Before heading over to Estelle's place, he'd gathered up more money from various stashes that Delphine kept around the house, but the total was still short. "I got most of it," he relayed, shy a couple hundred but laid the rest of the bills on the table before following her outside, "I can bring you the rest tomorrow." After a trip to the pawn shop, or collecting on an old debt.
Sure that she didn't want to hear his struggles, Mars kept quiet and stepped back out into the muggy night. The southern heat was relentless and dewy, causing his black t-shirt to stick to his skin as he followed her slim form down a previously unnoticed path. The soft glow from the light-sticks was eerie, illuminating strange angles and glittering off of the murky water as a gator rippled the surface with its head. Walking toward uncertainty had never scared him before, but even the moonshine couldn't seem to dull that apprehension that was currently wrestling with his conscience. Ever since coming to the conclusion that Gabriel and Jules were up to something dishonest, he had never stopped to ask himself if he really wanted to know.
What would really change if the two were as determined as they always were? Protection from a swamp witch may have delayed the danger, but a few spells and a charmed amulet weren't going to stop death.
Pride was certainly something that ruled Mars' life, and a few, last-minute jitters weren't going to negate all of the trouble he had already been through. There were more dangerous things in life than sitting through one ritual with a witch—there was more risk when the full moon came out to play, when his body twisted and broke under the gravity of that white, glowing orb. This, he thought, was going to be a piece of cake.
Having missed Estelle's murmurings, lost and wrapped up in his own thoughts, he didn't miss her command. The circle they had come to was lit by candles, their flames flickering wildly despite the lack of any real breeze, and Mars swore, much like the inside of her house, that the clearing was darker than the surrounding area. Before stepping into the circle, Mars finished his drink and set the glass down in the grass. His senses had dulled once again, apprehension now a whisper in his mind instead of a persistent shout as he approached an old, gnarled-looking stump in the center of the circle.
"That's it?" he asked, heavily taking a seat on the smoothed surface. Looking up to her, Mars caught a glimpse of her wide eyes, blown and black, shimmering the same way the black water had—strangely beautiful.
At the moment, he was as ready as he was ever going to be. "Be careful," he warned, his tone genuine rather than patronizing. Maybe he hadn't understood the severity of the ritual, of what he was paying for, but she looked so lost between one world and the next. Someone had to look out for her, to say in so many words that they cared a bit.
She was too far gone to hear him. Her attention pulled to the grotesque sight staggering towards her across the water. It was a spirit of the swamp, like so many others, vaguely humanoid with skin like the waterlogged bark of a half-submerged log. Only this one was pierced though the middle with what looked like a hook of some dull metal that wasn't exactly lead. Where the metal pierced it, the spirit bled smoke the color of a storm on the bayou's surface. The soft, almost nonexistent breeze carried it towards her and she caught the scent of suffering.
"Oh." She croaked as the scent filled her mouth and she tasted bile. She fell to her knees under the weight of that scent, her hands outstretched towards it.
"No!" shouted Giga, which manifested in the form of a sudden blast of air which made the candle flames burn sideways and then sputter, though they did not go out.
"Don't touch it. Don't!"
"But its hurt!" Estelle said, a sob in her voice as she watched it come towards her.
"It is already done in. You can't help, you can only get tainted too. Don't let it touch you, stay in the circle, be strong."
As soon as the thing saw her pull her hands back towards her it let out a howl that crossed the veil and rushed the circle, its eyes glowing the same malevolent purple the flames suddenly did. It hit the perimeter and shattered, the impact of it making her rock back.
"Keep going." Giga hissed. "You don't have time to mourn."
Estelle shook her head and turned to the other spirits who were now edging closer, tentative, triumphant, greedy and afraid. She held up her hands again, her fingers a graceful dance of beckoning. As they pulled the spirits towards her she spoke softly.
"I have a job for you."
She pulled from her basket an assortment of items, holding them up to catch the light. Broken bits of mirror, shiny pennies bent almost in half, clumps of colorful thread and small little cakes that were nearly burnt.
Estelle laid them out in a semi-circle around her and began to negotiate. She spoked in hisses and whispers, the tongue learned so long ago she'd forgotten the learning of it. Her Giga had told her that it was in her blood and not so much learning to speak it as it was simply remembering. She hated how easy it came back to her. She found that the fright the others had at witnessing the death of the hooked one made them pliant and the bargaining wasn't so hard.
At least until she mentioned what she wanted. They agreed, one bold little fat-spirit chirped and agreed and then reached forward and touched the mug at a pittance only to hiss and fly back, chittering and scolding her. Negotiations began again and the cost rose higher and higher, though the little one would not say why he was so afraid or why the cost must be so. But she could see in his wavering lines that he was afraid but greedy. In the end it took blood, as she had known it would. With shaking hands she lifted her skirts, rolling them up her knees until the soft flesh of her thighs shone. Holding one hand she reached into her basket and pulled out a worn, horn handled jack knife. With her lips pressed tight she touched the tip of the knife to her skin and with a little squeak of pain slipping past her tight mouth she cut. It wasn't big, but it was deep enough and a river of ruby welled to the surface and began to run down her café au lait skin only to vanish half an inch later.
She made a distressed little noise and dropped the knife, her hands twitching above her thigh as if resisting the urge to push something away. The blood continued to well up and vanish as Estelle's panic and discomfort continued to grow.
The tension in the air continued to mount and Mars felt his skin prickle with a sense of unease as Estelle began the ritual. Whether her concentration was too great for her to reply, or she had simply chosen to ignore his words, Mars didn't have a spare moment to be offended. Just moments later, Estelle had fallen to her knees in a heap, arms outstretched toward something on the water. He squinted his eyes, sharp senses seeing catching nothing but trees on the other side and the occasional amphibian making a splash. Still, he got the sense that they weren't alone, and instinct was hard to shake. The alpha inside of him wanted to act, but he remained seated on the stump.
All around them, the candle flames swayed in a breeze that wasn't there. Mars gave an apprehensive look around, not used to a lack of control and such unfamiliar surroundings. He was worried about Estelle, who seemed to be in physical pain over something that wasn't bound for this world. His large fingers drummed against the rotted wood of the stump, itching to break free as his focus returned to Estelle. That fall had been sudden, but she seemed alright, though her voice was choked with pained sobs, offering answered for silent questions that had never reached his ears.
The tension continued to mount, and the spirit world became that much more real and threatening as a sickening howl echoed around the swamp. It was followed by a crash against the perimeter, an attack that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as tufts of purple smoke filled the air and then began to float away. Mars was still on the stump, although quite literally on the edge of his seat and ready to act. If these things could manifest themselves enough to cause real-world damage, he wanted to be ready. With one foot, Mars dug his boot into the soft ground, hoping for some leverage if there was a need to spring into action.
Whatever had almost unseated the both of them seemed to have gone and Estelle pressed on with the ritual. His feet remained firmly planted, feeling heavy and held down as Estelle arranged a semi-circle of shiny objects and began to speak in a hushed tone. He craned his neck, eyes desperate to see a physical representation of the spirit world, just to know that it was real, that he wasn't just drunk on powerful Shine and imaging all of this. Nothing came, though, Mars wasn't gifted the way Estelle was, just cursed by the moon.
An impatient part of Mars wanted to know what was happening, or what was taking so long. To him, it didn't look like anything was happening, until she began to roll her skirt up her thigh. He had always known that voodoo and magic was directly connected to the underworld, that witches did some unspeakable things, but witnessing it firsthand was surreal. As she reached for a small knife and cut herself, Mars pitied her. The smell of iron filled the air, bringing out something more bestial inside of him. There were many nights after a moon when he had come home soaked in blood, drenched and disgustingly satisfied, but this was different.
"Estelle!" he called, upon hearing her discomfort. When the knife dropped from her shaking hands, Mars pushed himself up, feet no longer suspiciously tethered to the ground. He took care not to cross the circle as he knelt next to her, prepared to see her legs covered in blood, but the trail was disappearing, leaving no trace aside from the cut it was flowing from.
It was difficult to remind himself that he had wanted this, and that his own paranoia came at a human cost. He reached out, setting a large hand on top of hers. Around them, he swore he heard another growl. While the temptation to back up and move away was all too real, the fear rolling off of her was palpable and Mars wasn't going to let her go it alone. Whether she wanted his support or not, she had it.
A sick, wet pulling rose up from the cut on her thigh as the greedy little spirit took his due. He'd be bound to his promise now, bound even more than if he'd just agreed. Blood bound them deeper than just a promise in some ways. He'd be easier to work with, but he'd also have a taste for her. She shivered, whimpered and fought to not push him off of her flesh. The suckling was revolting and she could feel herself growing weak.
Then hands were on hers, warm hands, hard and callused but holding hers in a careful grip. Startled, she looked up, her moon-kissed eyes were wide as they started up into his face. She had trouble focusing on the physical world with her mind still so anchored in the spirit world. She saw Mars, his face, so fierce, so broad looking down at her. She saw too, his wolf eyes, overlaid on his own, gleaming and cunning and they bore down on her. There was that same jolt of something between them, the charge that ran up her arms, down through her body to the very core of her. She gapsed and the thing at her thigh pulled off with a wet sound of protest before it ran skittering into the night. She could feel tether between her and the spirit, little flickers of awareness that would give her clues about what he'd seen before he'd come back to report.
She didn't pull her eyes from Mars' face, though her focus clearly returned mostly to the physical world, the vision of his wolf eyes fading until his was just the face of a man, albeit a very appealing man. She liked the way he looked at her now. Not as much doubt, not as much scorn. She tried to speak, but her voice was raw from the earlier cries and was slow to come. She tried a second time and managed to croak out, "Thank you."
She gently squeezed his fingers before releasing his hand. The cut on her leg was now surrounded by a circle of red, the slightest little pinpricks of teeth marks just within the perimeter of it. It still seeped blood, slow to clot. She pressed her lips together and fumbled for the small box in her basket with a tell-tale red cross on it.
"I got one to agree to spy for us." She said trying not to Track her Giga who was drifting closer to Mars, a speculative look in her eyes. Estelle focused on getting the box open. "What was that, Girl?" Giga said as she peered down at his hands. "That was something, don't think I won't ask later." Her grandmother put a bony spectral hand on Mars shoulder, her fingers giving a gentle squeeze as her eyebrows lifted appreciatively.
"The spirit was very reluctant once he found out who it was. He was eager until I showed him the cup. Not the spoon, but the cup. So that tells us something, not sure what, but something. He should be back in a few hours. I can report to you tomorrow if you don't want to wait." Her hands were shaking so badly, that combined with the way her head spun from the potion and blood loss she couldn't get the latch on the first aid kit open.
"Please." She said softly, feeling stupid and weak and hating it as she held up the box, the blood now dripping off her thigh onto the thirsty earth. "Would you mind?"
"Get him to take his shirt of and bind your wound." Giga crowed lasciviously from over his shoulder.
The shock between them was something that Mars had yet to get used to. It was painful enough to be a warning, but the fact that it came about at all was too interesting. Had his mind been elsewhere, not with the old friends who were possibly trying to take him down, he might have thought to ask about it once Estelle's mind made a full return to this world. Regardless, his large hands held hers, delicate between his fingers but powerful in her own right. The things Mars had seen that night were nothing compared to what she had already gone through, but the ritual had made a believer out of him. Advertising something like that, especially to the pack (or Delphine) wasn't wise, but Mars wasn't going to question Estelle on anything else.
The look that they shared was almost as intense as the current twining around his fingers, running up and down his arms and traveling further across his broad shoulders. He didn't dare take his eyes aware from hers, a reflection of the moon that he found alluring and repulsive all at once. He wondered if she could tell, if she could feel the shift in him or see the beast that took over at the climax of each lunar cycle. When she thanked him, voice spent, Mars simply shook his head. There was no recognition to be given, nothing that had sent him out of his way—not like her work. "Don't," he said, their electric touch escalating as she squeezed his fingers and then gone in the blink of an eye.
Their gaze now broken, Mars shifted his eyes to the wound on her leg. The cut she had inflicted upon herself was surrounded by a circle of teethmarks, the pattern reminding him of a lamprey bite. Estelle's eyes had nearly returned to their ocean-like blue by the time she mentioned the deal with the spirit, and Mars was looking forward to answers. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach that said his intuition had been right, that Jules was nothing compared to what Gabriel was plotting, but that was easy enough to put out of his mind. Estelle was hurt, weak from the ritual and assumed blood loss, and watching her fumble with the first-aid kit was starting to sadden him.
"Gabriel's always been a damn sneak," Mars explained, taking the box from her when she finally asked. After how they had gotten off on the wrong foot earlier, Mars didn't want to assume that she needed anything from him even though he did want to help. It wasn't like him to be idle for long. "When we was younger, maybe fifteen, he stole from the last alpha, set up this whole elaborate plot just to blame someone else. All for fifty bucks." There had been red flags for a long time, but Mars had never thought that he would be the target of the man's malice. "He wants more territory, told me at breakfast today."
After a moment of fiddling, Mars popped the plastic latch of the kit and looked through the contents. "You gonna be okay?" he asked, taking hold of an antiseptic wipe. He was no doctor, and rarely took care of his own wounds—if something was bleeding, he (maybe) washed it off and waited for it to stop. He tore the packet open with his teeth and spit the top of the plastic-like wrapper aside before pulling the wet cloth out of its pouch. By nature, Mars wasn't exactly gentle, but he took care to clean her wound without hurting her too badly. There was a lot of blood, enough that she may have needed a stitch or two, but a tight wrapping would have to do. Next, he wrapped her thigh in a clean dressing, the white gauze standing out against her soft skin. If an ace-bandage was overkill, it was only to stop the blood that had seeped through the gauze. The application was good enough, he thought, and began to pack up the kit before putting it back in the basket.
"I'm gonna carry you back in if we're done out here," he said, thinking that she still looked weak and walking on that leg after slicing through muscle was sure to hurt her. At least inside, they could avoid being eaten alive by mosquitoes while they waited for the spirit to return and there was no way Mars wanted to leave without a plan of action. He didn't care how long it took, and reasoned that he had nowhere else to be. Delphine was at home and no one else knew his whereabouts—he was safe.
Still taking care to be gentle, Mars fit an arm beneath Estelle's legs and allowed the other to cradle her waist before standing with her in his arms. He didn't carry people often, not Delphine and not injured friends, but Estelle was the obvious exception. He walked along with her, bridal-style in his arms, back along the artificially lit path toward her shack of a house.
When they arrived, the light still thankfully on overhead and the shadows looking a little less menacing, Mars set her lightly down on the small bed in the corner. The continued breaking of their strange connection was starting to bother him, and he didn't know why, but he liked having her so close. His problems just seemed to get worse by the day.
He'd scooped her up before she'd really caught up with the moment. The potion still had it's hold on her and the capering of the spirits as they dispersed across the bayou was distracting. So too were the little flickers of awareness that sparked every so often from the blood-filled little spirit as it scrabbled over land towards the two it had been set to spy on. She could feel the way it shored up its courage, bolstered by her blood she senses it was heading for the cup man, Gabriel. She'd have started there too, she thought in approval.
The thought was cut off by a squeal of protest when she felt what he was doing, only belatedly catching up with his words.
"No! It's fine. I can walk." She said, though her voice was ragged and slurred. He didn't listen, of course. Mars Latier didn't seem like the sort of man who would listen to anyone.
"Shut up girl!" Her grandmother called, grinning. "Though by all means wriggle. I wanna see his muscles flex." Her grandmother whistled long, low and appreciatively at the man cradling her granddaughter as she drifted behind the pair, her eyes nowhere near his arms or shoulders but rather decidedly south. "Mmm-mm." She purred and then cackled.
When they reached the door of the shack the cloud of mosquitoes and flying pests that had gathered around them, buzzing and swooping in for any spare bit of flesh, seemed to hit something as palpable as a wall when Mars moved past the threshold into the house. The fell to the porch like stardust even as the door swung shut behind him.
As soon as he sat her down on the bed, Estelle struggled to stand and failed miserably, flopping back onto her bottom on the bed. Giving up she sighed as she leaned back against the pitted wooden headboard, her eyes slowly returning to normal as she regarded him. She felt strangely cold now that she was down, her limbs heavy as if gravity was acting differently for her.
"I could have walked," she said, never mind that her legs had just proved her words to be a lie. Stubborn pride required that she assert herself even if she felt foolish doing so. She dropped her gaze to the patchwork quilt that, upon close inspection was embroidered here and there with strange runes and characters.
"But thanks." With a groan she shifted and sat up, determined that she would get up, if not for a minute or two.
"Shit," she said as she rubbed her face. "That was harder than I thought it would be."
"Don't tell him that!"Giga hissed at her, professional pride clearly pricked for her successor. Estelle ignored her. She didn't want to lie to this man, well, not big ways. Saying she could walk, totally didn't count. That was pride. But then so was this. Where was her head?
"I need a drink." She said and pointed to the bottle of moonshine that still sat on the table near where he'd left the money.
"Would you get that for me? Grab your glass, this is likely to be a while."
"Well there you go, that'a girl. Get him drunk, get him to take advantage of you. Sturdy headboard there. I can tell you it's seen a turn or two."
"Oh god." Estelle choked as she blushed hotly, pulling her eyes from the battered headboard, seeing in the seemingly random pits patterns that hinted at teeth and fingernail marks. Realizing she could never un-see what she'd seen she pointed desperately for the bottle. "Hurry."
The whole damsel in distress trope was hardly Mars' jam, and if he thought that Estelle could have shuffled her way back to the cabin without falling over, he would have put her down. In the end, carrying her was just faster, easier for the both of them and he supposed that she could take up her offense with him later when she came around. Until then, Mars was happy to get back inside and away from every bug that was attempting to turn him into a snack. There were already a few patches of welts on his arms and hands from rogue mosquitoes and he didn't imagine that Estelle had fared much better when she had been much more exposed.
Once they were back inside, Mars started to relax. He watched Estelle as she attempted to get comfortable, still looking worn out. There was nothing else that he could do for her and for her sake, he could only hope that her bandage held out. That cut was deep, nasty and if she needed stitches, he wasn't going to be of much use. The most they could do was wait and see and while Mars hadn't anticipated waiting around with her until the spirit returned, he couldn't say that he minded much. When she wasn't glaring at him, Estelle was quite agreeable and the air she gave off was almost as relaxing as the shine he'd been given.
"Right," he chuckled, humoring her and her big ideas about walking. When she tried to get up, Mars was there with a hand, ready to insist that she lay back and not trouble herself. Never before had he been this helpful, not even for Delphine when she had broken her leg a few summers before. What was happening to him? Was this magic or just an extreme amount of empathy?
When Estelle confessed that the ritual had been harder than anticipated, Mars didn't know how to take it. He opened his mouth to speak, but Estelle seemed scolded by something, reprimanded by a thought or something greater at play. He didn't ask, and didn't comment and when she instructed him to grab the bottle of alcohol, he did just that. If it was going to be a long night, they might as well pass the time as painlessly as they could. "Are you sure you should be drinking?" he asked, perhaps a little too concerned for a customer.
That didn't stop him from grabbing his previously abandoned glass, though. Mars splashed a few fingers into the tumbler before handing the bottle over. Her exclamation came from nowhere, causing his express to turn curious as he handed the bottle over. "You seem a bit distracted," he said, finding her unseen discomfort amusing. Pulling up a chair from the table they had shared a cup of coffee at that morning, Mars positioned himself near her bed. And drink in hand, he found a spare crate to kick his feet up onto.
The drink inside was powerful, a reminder smacking into him on just the first sip. He took a few more and waited for Estelle to catch up before posing another question. "You feel anything else from the stuff I gave you?" He was still endless curious about the ritual and was somewhat under the impression that Estelle had all the answers after just one visit with the spirit world. "Maybe I'm being pushy," he considered aloud.
A watched pot never boils. At least, that was what Mars had been told while growing up. If they had to wait, if there would be no answers until the spirit returned, it was best to talk about other things. "You always lived here?" he asked, a weak attempt at conversation. Were there protocols for getting to know the local witch? Mars figured he was overstepping.
Estelle took the bottle in a grab that was only just this side of snatching. She didn't bother with a glass, just tipped the bottle back and took a good long pull. The Moonshine was strong, her grandmother's finest and Estelle was pretty certain it packed a punch on multiple levels. She didn't care. She needed it to steady her nerves and cut off the images dancing through her head. It wasn't just one set of images, but two, as if two movies were being projected onto a screen at once. Her grandmother, on her knees, gripping the same damn headboard she was leaning against while someone or something dark and featureless crouched behind her. Sometimes her grandmother looked younger, sometimes she looked as she did just before she'd died. Estelle shuddered, as if that wasn't horrible enough, the other "film" playing was eerily similar but she played in the starring role and thanks to her Grandmother's cackled words, so did Mars.
The god-damned bruise on her cheek wasn't even healed yet, what was wrong with her?
"Yes," she said belatedly to his question. "I absolutely should be drinking."
Another long, deep pull and it still wasn't enough to shut the damn film off.
"I am distracted." She told him when he asked. She shot Giga a glare fit enough to melt ice. Her grandmother's spirit shrieked with laughter but seemed to fade into the shadows behind her. Estelle wasn't fooled but appreciated not having the woman's presence visible. "There is tons of shit going on. I am feeling the bond with the spirit that went looking. I can see the ones that live here poking around and watching us. I can feel the cut in my leg throbbing and I can feel each and every mosquito bite with painful clarity. So yes, I am distracted."
She let her head fall back against the headboard and watched him shift his big body and get comfortable in her home.
"I didn't feel anything, I wasn't supposed to. Just supposed to be able to see what the spirits knew, to see if I could get one to look into things for me. Which I did." Little flutters of his passage came to her. She spoke a few aloud,
"past the gas station, around the church, the Baptist one. Now he's nearing a small white house… a car out front, something gray…" She shook her head and focused on her client.
"I think he's getting close. That sound familiar?"
Another swallow was needed, moonshine as medicine. It was taking the edges off of everything, softening even the hardness of him. She shifted on the bed, sliding a bit down that scarred, sturdy headboard, the white of her tank top sliding up along her back leaving a bit of her soft, taut belly. The warm coffee au lait of her skin in beautiful contrast with the shirt.
"No, I haven't always live here. I only came for summers as soon as Mama could get rid of me she sent me here. Then I moved north, to Boston. It's were I live."
Only that felt like a lie. She wanted so badly to live there, but she hadn't really lived there. She'd existed, she'd been alive, but not really living. The thrumming of the spirit bond filled her, reminded her of all she'd set aside. As much as she hated it, she loved it too. She felt like she was taking her first deep breath of fresh air in a long time. The trick was not to go under again.
In a way, it was a relief to know that he wasn't crazy, that the gathering shadows had a mind of their own. Mars gave a glance to the corner of the room, wondering if anything was lurking there in the darkness that still felt a little too black to be natural. All of this was so new to him, and although he told himself that there was nothing to worry about, that he wasn't going to walk away possessed or bring something back home with him, a logical part of his mind was still wary. Regardless, he turned a sympathetic face back to Estelle, who seemed to find the bugs a bigger nuisance than the spirits. His arms were crawling as well, as was a patch on the back of his neck, but mosquitoes were just something that happened on the bayou and if he started itching now, he wouldn't stop until there was blood.
As she continued on, Mars found that he liked the sound of her voice. He himself had never been overly chatty and there were times where he could be downright stoic, often frustrating poor Delphine who was left to poke and dig for days until he finally relented and opened up. Estelle was different and Mars didn't know why, but he was more relaxed around her. Chalking it up to the moonshine currently permeating his blood, Mars nodded as she relayed the spirit's path. "Something grey?" he repeated, pondering. "Tackle box?" During happier times, the three of them often went fishing but it had been a while since Mars had stepped foot onto Gabriel's property. "Hard telling," he finally decided, still leaned back in his chair.
For reasons that he couldn't rightfully explain, Mars trusted the spirit to find the right man. He looked back toward Estelle, ready to make more speculative and useless guesses when she slumped down onto the bed. It took him a second or two to avert his eyes as the hem of her shirt rode up, exposing a few inches of her flat stomach and soft skin. First a thigh and now this—Mars wasn't the uncontrollable type, but she had done more than just capture his attention. Now, he was glad that he hadn't brought his wife along, she wouldn't have approved of any of this. Running his tongue along his teeth, Mars finished off the contents of his glass in one brave swallow. The drink went straight to his head, making his vision a little softer, but the woman in front of him wasn't any less tempting.
Thinking on it, Boston didn't seem like a good fit for her and by the mark on her cheek, it was obvious the place hadn't agreed with her much either. It wasn't his place to voice that opinion, however, and Mars managed to silence the million questions that popped into his head. Mostly, he was just curious about whether or not she planned to take off again or whether this little shack would find itself worthy of being called her home once more. Only time would tell, he supposed.
When the question was turned around on him, Mars gave a curt laugh. "I've never even left the state," he admitted, "so yeah, lived here all my life. Sure I'll die here too." It was a little bit comforting to know that, and Mars was more than content to never see the rest of the world. Unlike some people he knew, lofty men with big dreams and ideas, spending his life in one place wasn't a waste and Mars was a creature of habit. He liked knowing every facet of a place, never out of his element. It was one thing that he thought made him such an excellent leader, but it was obvious that some begged to differ.
After turning the empty glass around in his hand a few times, Mars leaned forward and set his feet on the floor. "Can I get a refill, or is that all for you?" he asked, nodding toward the bottle in her hand. Joking, of course, he held out his glass to her and tried to keep his eyes from traveling. She was beautiful, but saying so was dangerously wrong.
She envied his comfort in his own skin. Even bleary eyed as a result of her Giga's potion and sauced with moonshine she could see he loved what he was. She saw too that he loved how he lived and he did so unapologetically. She had never felt that kind of comfort. Was it her mother's unfocused avariciousness that had bred true in her? Or was it simply the years being made to feel like an anchor weighing her mother down? Even comprehension that she'd never been that to her mother, didn't help the feelings and that had translated into loathing for all that she was, here.
Boston hadn't been far enough away to leave the self-loathing behind. She'd wound up in the bed of a man who took advantage of her, cheated on her and hit her. In the wake of that, this place hadn't felt so seedy or so loathsome. It might, given longer exposure to it. She watched him tip up his glass, taking the last swig of moonshine. The motion of his shoulders, the cords in his neck and that strong jaw hidden in that carefully trimmed beard of his. Maybe this place wouldn't grow loathsome after all. She swatted away the thought like a mosquito that way lay untold danger. The work of the last man she'd been with wasn't even healed, she had no business looking. It was the moonshine talking. Her work was not done yet. The spirit had yet to reach its destination.
As if summoned she was flooded with flickers of vision from the spirit. They came to her in surges, making her blink as she cleared her vision to focus. She could see bushes that needed trimming, a crushed can, countless cigarette butts and then a cracked open window. She could see the incorporeal claws of the spirit clutching at the sill, scrabbling silently over the mesh of the screen towards a hole in the netting. It could get in there. She sucked in a deep breath as its surge of triumph flooded her when she wasn't ready and had her defenses up. She flushed, the color flooding her face, her chest an even danced at the edges of her expose tummy.
"No," she said hurriedly to his question and his offered glass. "It's not all for me." She sat up, leveraging herself with a crooked elbow before offering him the whole bottle.
Gingerly she scooted back on the bed, careful of her thigh, the pain of which was starting to dull a little in the presence of Alcohol. When her back touched the headboard there was a creaking squeak that brought to mind the things her Giga had said to her in regards to the bed's stability and its ability to withstand the weight of the man before her as he... Tangled with the surge of emotion from the spirit was her own embarrassment and confusion. She shifted towards the edge of the bed. Bed was not a good choice. If she was going to stay here (which was doubtful) she was going to burn the damn thing, kill it with fire. She'd never sleep another sound night in it again, no matter how much she drank.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed she held her hand out for the bottle. They could take turns passing it back and forth she supposed. The damn stuff was potent enough that germs would be killed from just touching the bottle.
"I think it's almost there, it's at a window." She could hear voices through the link, flickers of conversation like over a bad phone connection. "give me your hand." She commanded, her voice sharp as her fingers, held up for the bottle, crooked towards him in gesture, urgently.
The flush that spread across her skin was as intriguing as the woman herself. Mars may have found Estelle's connection to the spirit world interesting, but there wasn't a single ounce of envy inside of him for her. Roots seemed to grip her that way, the bayou being something that she had never quite escaped from, and in just the span of an hour or two, the woman had walked away with physical wounds. The work was taxing, justifying the price tag and making her off-putting stature a little more understandable. In his mind, they were cut from the same cloth, a similar kind of cursed that inspired a bit of sympathy—or maybe that was just the drink talking.
When she offered him the bottle, Mars set his tumbler aside before wrapping his fingers around the neck. The electricity that followed from their brief touch wasn't missed but peaked curiosity never reached his eyes as Mars brought the bottle to his lips and took a long drink. It reminded him of high school, those nights that he, Gabriel and Jules would get drunk behind so-and-so's house, passing cheap liquor between them until none of them could walk a straight line. He could handle himself better these days, now much older, but the nostalgia added a bit of sweetness to the powerful poison.
After Estelle had forced herself into a seated position on the bed, Mars was ready to hand the bottle back over. The notion of catching something hadn't occurred to him, and he couldn't even remember the last time he'd been sick, but he trusted that Estelle didn't have some kind of serious, secret illness. Leaning forward on the chair, one forearm braced against the top of a powerful thigh, he let the bottle dangle from his fingers when Estelle requested his hand instead. News that the spirit had made it to Gabriel's place filled him with anxiety and without thinking, Mars moved to join her on the bed.
The old mattress sunk beneath his weight, forcing them closer together in the dip as Mars took her hand into his. The bottle was resting between their feet, ripe for the plucking as a current flowed between them. "And?" he asked, eyebrows raised as he fit his fingers more comfortably between hers. It seemed to intensify the charge some, and Mars could feel a stinging warmth traveling up his arm and to his shoulder. It was hardly unpleasant, and somehow, he wanted more.
Passing through an unoccupied bedroom window, the inside of the small house was barely lit. The spirit clamored over the unmade bed, scurrying over junk on the floor and around the corner into the hallway. A light from the living room signaled that the man wasn't alone, and two long shadows on the wall made the spirit stop in its track, lurking for just a moment or two to take in a dubious aura. It clung to the shadows and moved silently through the darkness, offering glimpses of feet beneath a table and muffled voices before inching closer.
Moving like a pest, it ran up the side of an old bookcase, oaken and found at a flea market. More glimpses came through its abnormal eyes, the blond back of Gabriel's head and the flat, tanned but scarred face of another man, whose long, black hair cascaded down around his shoulders. He wore no expression, but seemed to be listening intently. The spirit balked, stilled for a second as it turned away, the connection flickering into almost total blackness before opening back up from a different vantage point. A strategic curio cabinet overlooked the entire scene, and the spirit dug in with its tiny claws to watch.
"That's what he told me," the blond promised. He seemed unsure and the spirit smelled the air, taking in his concealed nervousness.
"I think you're lying to me," the other man said slowly, still unreadable. "He's never looked for a fight before." The connection began to fade again, fear overtaking the spirit briefly as anger dotted the man's consciousness.
Across from him, Gabriel began to speak again, but the words were muffled and only his lips showed in the spirit's vision.
The waiting was often the worst part for Mars, who had never done well with complicated emotions. He kept his fingers wrapped around Estelle's, his heart beat on the uptake as he waited for some kind of answer. Was Gabriel out to get him or not?
The moment his hand found its way to hers and the circuit of their strange energy completed Estelle's eyes rolled back in her head and her lashes fluttered so that her vision was briefly as garbled and discontinuous as the voices coming through the spirit connection had been. Her fingers tightened around Mars' and her eyes shut fully. She could hear it all now, see it all as if she were in the head of the spirit and not simply getting bits and pieces like photos from a cell phone. The house was dark, though what the sprit was seeing wasn't necessarily lack of light. Darkness had a great many causes after all.
Estelle tensed and strained, trying to catch the words as they came. To catch the words and hold onto them so that she would not lose them on her way back. Who was this man, black-haired and scarred face with an aura that frightened the spirit nearly as much as the blonde man she knew to be the one Mars was after if only because of the intent way the spirit watched him, and though him, Estelle did. He seemed to be of an age with Mars and though the air around him seemed to pulse with the same wildness that Mars did, there was less… punch to it.
But who was he speaking of? Who was he talking about? She felt the bond between her and the spirit fraying fast, burned off in the churning fear the creature felt for the blonde man before it. She pushed at it, trying to let her own spirit, her own will bolster it. That is until she felt a crack of pain on her cheek, her physical cheek just as the physical sound of a hand slapping flesh broke through the quiet tension in the cabin. In hear head she heard Giga muttering about a foolish girl who put out without getting pain.
That part of you should never be part of the bargain, Girl.
A red welt, just the size of an old woman's hand was forming on the cheek furthest from Mars as her eyes opened, her lashes fluttering open in a mirror of how they had closed.
"Shit!" she gasped, trying to discretely rub her cheek as she felt the spirit skittering away into the night, hopefully to the second location so she didn't have to wrangle it again.
"So he, Gabriel, was talking to another man. Black haired, scarred face. Your friend was telling him something the man didn't believe. I didn't hear what, only that the black-haired guy thought he was lying."
She reached for the handy bottle with her free hand, almost unaware of the way her fingers remained in his. She took a long pull and offered it to him.
"He said something about He never looked for a fight before and I lost the connection before I heard a response. I'm hoping the spirits off to your other friend now, but I don't know how long that will take."
God, she wanted to ask him if it was helpful. If it made sense or any number of questions that were as unprofessional as they were not-confidence boosting. Her cheek throbbed, her thigh, miraculously did not. But that didn't mean she was willing to risk another lesson from Giga about acting the part of witch. Implying through questioning that her answers might not be enough would be the height of foolishness, especially when the cost had been so high already. She could not risk him feeling she owed him, even though she felt just a little more invested in this venture than she should. Was it the fact that it was her first full divining?
She turned her face to regard him, her eyes as full of questions as they were of inebriation.
The longer this went on, the more anxious Mars became. For so many years, he had been in control of his own destiny and handing the reigns over to Estelle, sitting quietly and holding her hand as she relayed information was torture. It wasn't that he didn't trust her, or found doubt in her incredible abilities, it was the simple fact that he needed her at all. There was a part of him that was filled with regret and wrapped up in anger, something that said he should have looked into Gabriel and Jules the minute that he felt the winds shift. It would be the last time he ignored his intuition.
The silence of the room and the heat of the night was suffocating and Mars started to feel uncomfortable as he sat with Estelle. She seemed lost again, trapped between two worlds, but he looked on with growing interest as each new expression crinkled her brow. He was leaned closer, psychically expectant when a loud crack sounded through the air. The noise was startling and the wolf that had been bound to his spirit was dying to investigate. Mars gave a look around, but didn't see anything of interest until a glowing, red hand print on Estelle's cheek caught his eye. He'd been hit like that before as a child, scolded the old-fashioned way, but he had to wonder who or what had struck her.
There was little chance to console her, ask if she was okay or even look at the welt on her cheek before Estelle was filling in the gaps for him. The other man she spoke of should have been Jules, but as soon as Estelle mentioned his scarred face, Mars felt his stomach sink. "That's Hassun," he explained, a mixture of annoyed and wary. "He's Alpha across the river, we don't cross paths much." And when they did, it was never pretty. "I asked Gabriel and Jules to meet me earlier so we could talk territory." It hadn't been a serious power move at breakfast, but because Gabriel had betrayed him, that had to change. That shitty patch of grass across the river had never held any value to him, nor the wolves that called it home. Now there was going to be war over nothing.
"Fuck," he sighed, one hand gliding back through his hair. The moonshine in his system wasn't helping his decision making, but it was helping to quell some of the red-hot anger that was building inside of him. As it stood, Mars had half a mind to get in his car and run Gabriel down before dawn. He was a respected member of the pack, however, and killing him had the potential to reflect badly on his leadership. It was the typical bad situation, stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Nodding as the short-lived well of information dried up, Mars turned to look at her. He didn't realize that his hand was still clasped around hers, but as his eyes settled back on her cheek, he leaned closer. "You piss off a spirit?" he asked, having the feeling that he was being watched and it only confirmed his previous thoughts about something lurking in the darkness. Now that the bottle had been transferred to her hand, he reached out to touch her cheek. The pads of his fingers brushed gently over the reddened welt, and he could feel the heat coming off of her skin.
"You got any ice?" he asked, standing and taking a few steps over to the makeshift kitchen. Another part of him thought to put a steak on it, something his mother had actually done for him years ago, but he doubted Estelle would appreciate such things. Instead, he found a dishtowel and continued to poke around her kitchen.
"I don't think your guy's gonna get anything out of Jules," he mentioned, feeling like that was a good thing. Maybe he would only have to kill one of them. After filling the towel with a large handful of ice, Mars wrapped the cloth around the cubes and returned to Estelle. Moving with the same care as before, steps a little easier from intoxication, he held the cold bundle to her cheek. A passing thought had him noticing her beauty again, and another said she didn't deserve what had happened to her.
There were afterimages of what she'd seen through the spirits eyes that danced across her vision as she watched him, waiting for answers. She blinked a few times, trying to clear them and so was taken a little aback when he reached out his hand, and with surprising gentleness for a man of his size and forceful personality, touched her cheek. She blinked a few times, faster as if to hasten the clearing so that she might see him better, see if there was some explanation or meaning in his eyes that would give her a clue. Giga's dry and pleased chuckle across the room didn't help matter.
By the time the little fragments of vision had left her sight he was up and gone to the kitchen. She was treated to the sight of him leaning into her antiquated fridge looking for ice in the barren space. There was much in the way of food, she'd not yet gone to the store and most of what she'd had, had been offered to the spirits. The sight of him lit by the bright, bald bulb in the fridge was strangely appealing. It lit up the solid columns of his strong legs, not to mention the way he filled out those jeans. No droopy butt on this man. As she accidentally ogled his ass she had a quick flash of Shawn and his perpetually saggy pants. Giga made another of those self-satisfied chuckles which reminded Estelle that she'd not yet answered the questions she'd asked.
"Sort of," she answered semi-honestly. "It's impossible to avoid really."
Particularly if the spirit was a foul-mouthed, nosy, crotchety old hag, Estelle though savagely as she looked around to see if her grandmother had manifested to gloat. She had not. She didn't mention that she'd been out of practice so long that all her contracts and all her enmity had long since washed away.
"Thanks." She said as she went to take the ice only for him to press it gently to her cheek. Her hand fell softly to her lap and fiddled with her skirt, uncertain how to react to this strange display of concern he was almost easier to handle if he was snipping at her and acting like an arrogant jerk. She didn't know how to handle this.
"Well, even if he doesn't get anything, he should still go look. It's what he was paid for."
Her thigh as if noting her round about mention of it, throbbed a little so she shifted and looked up at him without meaning to.
"Damn..." she breathed without really meaning too. He was really beautiful, like really really yummy. Particularly when that scrumptious set of lips, straight and firm, was closed. Maybe because they'd normally been sneering at her, or moving and hidden in his beard, but she'd not noticed them before and now, despite Giga's latest smug laugh, Estelle couldn't look away.
"It might be a while." She said, absently, moonshine softening her vision, resolve and sense. She had a feeling she'd said that before, but it was worth repeating.
There was just something magnetic about her, interesting enough that Mars didn't think twice about lowering the walls he'd erected around himself years ago. Currently, sitting with Estelle was easier than falling asleep next to Delphine night after night, and Mars was surprised to find how little his wife was actually on his mind. It was a good thing that he hadn't brought her along, now sure that her often disagreeable attitude would have soured the night and brought unnecessary tension to their wait. Telling Estelle any of that, though, even mentioning that he was married, was crazy and if there was anything Mars knew, it was which skeletons to keep in his closet.
Every so often, the fragmented sound of a laugh reached his ears, but Mars no longer paid it any mind. As long as the spirits that were still attached to the home didn't bother him, or didn't attack him, he felt no need to worry. With the same gentle touch, he kept the ice-filled rag pressed to her dusky cheek, bits of that hand-print-shaped welt still visible on the sides. "Jules is just," he paused, trying to think of the right word, or a way to put the obvious a little more nicely, "the muscle. Even I let him do my dirty work sometimes." Maybe it was weak, maybe the other man was just tired of being pushed around, Mars didn't know, but he was confident that he would soon find out.
Still sitting there with Estelle, it was hard to ignore how beautiful she was. When it came to women, Mars had never been the most loyal partner, and he thought himself to be an even worse husband. The few affairs that Delphine knew about was just the tip of the iceberg in a string of one night stands and brief week-long affairs. There was no self-control in him in that respect, nothing that kept him from charming a beautiful woman into bed—but Estelle was a little more than that. It might have been the strong alcohol they'd had, or the heat of the night mixed with the sparks that ignited every time they touched, but for once, there was a genuine interest there. Mars couldn't say that he was proud of it, but shame had always been late in finding him.
When she mentioned once more that they could be there for a while, Mars smiled slowly. It was more of a smirk than anything and accompanied by a brief laugh as he consciously leaned a little closer. "Can't say I mind," he admitted. When they weren't snapping at each other or trying to see who could be more unpleasant, he really did enjoy her company.
A thick frustration filled the small room, and the spirit darted its tongue out, licking at the air. The men at the table were very different people, holding opposing world views and different personalities, but patience was beginning to wear thin. The spirit thought to creep a little closer, coming down from its high perch and skittering across the carpeted floor, still unnoticed. Its tiny claws dug into the leg of a third chair at the table, better for hearing but the view was completely obscured.
"Mars told me himself," Gabriel said. "I'm trying to warn you, you know? You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours."
If the connection was still there, it became fuzzy again as the dark-haired man took the other's glib speech for an insult. "I hope you know what you've started." Hassun stood from his chair, heavy boots creating vibrations on the floor as the spirit followed after him and slipped out the front door before the cheap screen flung back.
The girl had paid her debt, and the further the spirit got from Gabriel's home, the less anxious its own aura became. It sought out the other man next, the one with the spoon and made quick work of moving between trees and across dirt roads, hopping over swampy creeks until another part of town was reached. The second man's energy was much less strong, perhaps more naive, simple in comparison to the man who called him a friend.
A wooden house on stilts, complete with a rusted tin roof sat at the end of a long dock. There was little light from the outside, just a single lamp emanating from within and the spirit focused on it as it hopped closer, serpentine movements across the rotted planks. The window offered a fine view into the modest house, but conversation was minimal and the spirit caught nothing but muffled noise. Inside, it saw a dark-complected man and woman, their faces drawn in worry. It clicked its claws against the wood, eager to get inside, but could see little entry.
Had it been the little boost of energy that reinvigorated the bond? The energy her grandmother had slapped her for and in that slap, told Estelle just how dangerous the game she'd been playing was. She had left before she'd learned everything and in the years between lost a lot of that learning. That she had her grandmother there to guide her didn't stop the danger from being very real.
Whatever it was that caused the bond to surge back to life and flood her with the images of the dingy cabin, it had either lousy or the very best of timing. Mars had been holding the ice up to her cheek in a touch so gentle she could barely credit it. He was big and gruff and his tongue was quick to lash out at her and yet he held the ice to her cheek. She was almost confused by the conflicting inputs and almost wished he'd simply hand her the ice and let her see to it. Only there was something changing in his eyes, not a softening exactly. Some light almost came to his eyes as he watched her face from so close by she could see the pores of his skin. Her breathing came just a touch faster and she didn't exactly know why. Was it because he'd said he didn't mind the wait? Was there a subtext to that or was her drink and drug addled brain putting meaning where there was none?
He leaned a little close to her and she found herself leaning a little closer towards him. It was the slope in the bed, nothing more. She found herself licking her lips as her chin lifted only for the damnable vision to come flooding into her. She twitched, her thrash pulling her red cheek away from the comforting ice. Her eyes began to rapidly blink as the visions of what she sprit was seeing overlaid her reality of the delicious man who sat far, far to close and yet not close enough.
"Mars told me himself." She said woodenly, her tone deep and just a touch otherworldly. "I'm trying to warn you, you know? You scratch my back…"
Her head lolled to the side and her eyes when they looked at him seemed almost a different color,
"I hope you know what you started."
She slumped forward, her forehead falling against his chest, her mass of curls cushioning the impact of landing just a bit. She shuddered and did her best to slow her breathing.
This is why you were stupid girl. You deepened things and now you got to ride it out. At least the debt will be greater. You might make something of this, but stay where you are, I think he likes it.
That more than anything made Estelle lift her hand to his chest, totally not enjoying the feeling of his taut muscles beneath her fingers an palm. Pushing herself upright she looked up at him from inches and tried to shape her expression into the apology she felt she owed him.
"Sorry." She managed. "It's still working, moving…" she shuddered again, thinking he smelled very good, better than the cologne Shawn had worn. "It's trying to get into a second place.
The air between them was heated, humid from more than just the summer and lack of air conditioning. Mars knew that he was toeing a dangerous line and putting himself in a position that he would later come to regret, but there were parts of him that thrived on pressure and the chase had always been his favorite part. In the back of his mind, a sober part that had yet to be clouded by moonshine, Mars knew that neither of them needed more complication in their life. Fate was funny that way, though—always presenting the best opportunities at the worst times. Thoughtfully, Mars hoped to live long enough to see the consequences of his actions.
As the old mattress dipped under their weight, forcing them all the more together, Mars had nearly closed the gap between their lips when Estelle's eyes took on that far away look again. Startled, completely caught off guard by her words and mechanical tone of voice, Mars leaned back as he listened. His own eyes grew concerned, brows knitting together in anger as confirmation of Gabriel's betrayal finally came to light. "That son of a bitch," he said darkly, scowling as his fingers curled around the ice-filled towel.
Again, her eyes changed color, no longer that clear, gorgeous blue had gotten so fond of staring into. Mars could feel his anger waning, suddenly worried about Estelle as she spoke again, this time returning with Hassun's words. He barely had any time to let the implications sink in when she collapsed toward him, a mess of curls now covering his chest. Instantly, his hands took her shoulders and that jolt of energy returned with a stronger presence. Mars could feel his palms pulsing, heart thumping as she took a moment to collect herself. It was a relief to hear her breathing normalize.
"Onto Jules?" he asked, removing one hand to cup her unbruised cheek. It was a natural thing, something Mars did without even thinking about it, something he'd done with Delphine countless times. Estelle wasn't his wife, though and that same dirty, low-down feeling began to creep over him.
After several failed attempts and some skittering around from window to window, the spirit had finally managed to gain access to the house through a crack in the wall. It was a tight squeeze, but its small, bent and transformed, slipping between two worlds the way it slipped through the planks. Inside, it was dark, a general theme that the two men shared, but this house was much smaller. Following the voices and the licking at the sadness and worry in the air, it didn't take the spirit long to find Jules.
The large man was seated in an old chair, green in color with holes worn in the arms. He was hunched, elbows rested on his knees and head in his hands as a woman sat beside him, offering a comforting touch. The spirit moved closer, keeping to the shadows, but so much more bold in its movements. This man was nothing to worry over, no reason to be scared and his helplessness was palpable.
"There's nothing I can do now," Jules explained, lifting his head to look at the woman. "He's got Hassun involved—I thought he just wanted to be alpha."
Next to him, the woman frowned softly, one hand reaching to caress the man's cheek. "Tell Mars," she urged.
Immediately, Jules shook his head. "He'll never trust me again. You don't know what it's like to be pack-less."
The spirit inched closer, bravely flashing out of the shadows, its eyes taking in the dingy surroundings as it latched onto the back of the chair. The woman was a sensitive, an untrained one, but the heightened awareness raised the stakes. It listened, feeding off the energy swirling around them, listening as Jules lamented his decision to follow Gabriel's plans.
"Maybe he won't go through with it," the woman suggested.
The spirit could practically feel the dangerous glare she received, and flinched away. Its position slipped and it fell to the floor with a soft thud. The woman seemed to notice and immediately, it retreated back to the shadows, cowering for just a moment.
Straightened out by sundown. Fuck him. She resisted throwing her coffee cup at his retreating back and instead started down into its dark depths. Her reflection started back up at her, wavering like a goblin face on the surface of the black liquid. The bruise that marred her cheek seemed to spread over the whole side of her face, putting a darkness onto her visage that mirrored the darkness that seemed to be filling her. She sighed and blew a bit of stray hair out of her face as the sound of his footsteps on the rickety porch faded. She stayed where she was, listening to his footsteps retreating back up the path that led to the bit of dry, gravel strewn ground where cars parked. It wasn't until she heard the sound of his wheels kicking up gravel that she moved. Picking up her coffee cup as well as his she carried them to the sink. His she poured down the drain, hers she set onto the stained, scared countertop next to the percolator. 
For as long as he could remember, Mars had always felt more comfortable after dark. While the moon had always been something of an uncomfortable inconvenience, and sometimes an insufferable plague, the time between was always relaxing. If paranoia hadn't been haunting him so badly, and if he hadn't needed Estelle's over-priced help, Mars was sure that he would have been enjoying a slow night with Delphine on the back porch, sipping sweet tea and convincing himself that life wasn't so bad. Instead, he anticipated the opposite for the evening, sure that he was going to see and hear things that he had never thought possible. As he entered Estelle's cabin, he told himself that it was all going to be worth it.