Willow's Sacrifice

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Ron stepped up to Oliver’s side. “What can I do?”

“Stay close.”

Before them, white smoke began to swirl from the top of the window. It expanded to the width of the window, then a shadow darkened in the middle. A woman’s hand with pale, dead skin formed outside.

The mark on the window above Oliver’s head lit with a searing glow, as if it attempted to burn through the glass.

Oliver pressed his hands against the window. Whoever intended to enter was strong, but his defenses had to hold. The one responsible for this attack counted on his fear to weaken the spell around the house, but he wasn’t afraid. His mom’s protection mixed with his own strength could match this witch’s power. He surged that confident energy into the window he touched.

“The unwelcome shall not enter.”

The woman’s image faded in the smoke, then took shape once again before him. She wasn’t real, wasn’t challenging the protection. Why not?

He closed his eyes, focused on the dark energy that wrapped around the house. Every window, every door was being tested. The figure before him had power associated with it, but it was detached.

The mist solidified to reveal a woman with long, black hair and yellow eyes that locked on Oliver. She grinned as she placed her hands on the glass to match his.

“The unwelcome shall not enter!” He tensed the muscles in his arms, stepped closer as he pushed the energy around him through the window, at the figure before him. “Azbareth!”

Her form dispersed for two breaths before she reappeared.

The fire-like glow from the wards above him illuminated the living room with their strength. The defenses were holding, so why was the power collected in this ethereal being?

“This isn’t the threat.” Oliver glanced at Ron.

“Just a distraction?”

The recessed lighting above them and in the kitchen glowed to a blinding level for several heartbeats and then every bulb exploded. Glass rained on them as the house went dark. While the glass wall remained intact, the protection marks faded.

“No, no, no.”

He grabbed Ron’s arm with his right hand as he held out his left to the window. “The unwelcome shall not enter! No one with intent to harm shall break the bond!”

A shock rushed through him as he fell against the sofa. Energy gripped the muscles in Oliver’s chest and arms, and squeezed.

Ron collapsed against him.

In the kitchen, a man wearing a white, slick mask and a dark hoodie stepped into sight. Green threads of energy pulsed around his right hand. “Already here.” His voice was altered, deepened.

He threw the energy at Oliver.

“No!” Oliver held up his left arm so his wrist tattoo deflected most of the spell. The force behind it still knocked him to the floor.

The man slammed his fist against Ron, sending threads of energy dancing across Ron’s chest. Ron curled into the blow, cried out.

Before Oliver could stand, the man grabbed him around the neck, pinned him to the floor with his right hand. He pressed his left hand against Oliver’s chest as the energy swirled. In the palm of the guy’s hand, a small, solid object pushed a chill through Oliver’s shirt, down into his skin.

Oliver braced his hands against the guy’s shoulders.

The man leaned close, tilting his head from side to side. “Ohhhh….”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I want the video.”

“What video?”

“The one of Allen’s delicious death.” The man tightened his grip around Oliver’s neck.

“What?”

“Dr. Brandt’s video or your daughter joins her daddy.”

“Go to Hell!” He pressed his hands flat against the man’s shoulders, shoved him away. “Azbareth!”

The man was thrown into the kitchen. The object in his hand hit the tile floor, bounced twice and then the green energy disappeared.

The man scrambled to his feet, turned and ran into the dark hallway as Oliver rushed after him. The bedroom door slammed shut, followed by the sound of glass breaking and what could’ve been the bed scooting over the wood floor.

As Oliver barged into his bedroom, the man ran out the open patio door. The TV now hung from one bracket, his framed photos were broken on the floor. The bed sat at an odd angle, as if the guy had tried to check under it before he ran out.

“Norah?” Oliver held his hands out toward the patio door. “The unwelcome shall not enter!”

The symbols on the glass glowed for a breath before they faded, hidden from view but their strength filtered into the room.

“Norah?” He pulled on the linen closet, finding it locked. “Norah?”

“I’m okay.” The lock released.

“Okay, stay here, there’s glass all over the floor. I’ve gotta help Ron.”

Back out in the living room, Ron rolled onto his side, his face distorted in agony.

“Let me see. What did he do?”

“Feels like I’m being twisted.”

“Let me see.” Oliver lifted the shirt enough to see the wound on Ron’s side. Veins of black and green energy moved under Ron’s skin, up his side and over his ribs.

Ron’s breathing slowed, his eyes wide.

“Hang in there. I can stop it.”

Oliver rushed into the sunroom, past rows of herbs in pots that sat on the floor and on a wooden work table to his left. On his right, white cabinets lined the wall, their glass-panel doors exposing the collection of bottles and pitchers inside. From the shelf along the outer glass wall, he grabbed a cobalt blue vial, then raced back to Ron.

The dark veins along Ron’s chest had grown wider. Oliver pulled the stopper in the vial with his teeth, then spit it aside. “This may…” He poured the liquid on Ron’s chest.

Ron tensed, gritted his teeth.

“…hurt.” He put his left hand on Ron’s belly, his right over Ron’s heart. “Remove the curse, its power cannot hold.” Oliver closed his eyes. “Remove the curse, its power cannot hold.”

Ron gripped his arm.

The spasms had slowed, but so had Ron’s breathing.

Oliver shoved Ron’s shirt up, then slid his finger through the healing potion collected on Ron’s skin. Over Ron’s heart, he drew a horizontal arrow, then crossed it with a vertical one before he connected them with a circle. He pressed his hand against the symbol of protection. “Ron…please…please be okay.”

Ron’s hold tightened as he took a deep breath.

“No, no, stay with me. The pain will stop. It will.”

Ron gasped for breath.

“Stay with me.” Tears filled his eyes. Oliver spread his fingers on Ron’s chest, over his heart. “My strength travel to you, the one I love. This curse of one cannot withstand the power of two.”

Ron’s gaze locked with Oliver’s as his breaths stopped.

Oliver drew a capital A, swirled the edges of it, then drew a line through it. “My strength travel to you, the one I love. This curse of one cannot withstand the power of two!”

Ron let out a slow breath, his hold loosened as he touched Oliver’s arm with his other hand.

“No, no…” His tears fell. “Ron, stay with me.”

“Daddy?” Norah stood in the kitchen, her eyes wide.

“Stay there, Sweetheart!”

The power of the coven’s protection and his own spell would defeat the attacker’s spell, it had to. The guy’s power had faded when he’d lost the object he’d carried. This spell had to fade now that the guy’s power was extinguished.

It had to.

“This curse of one cannot withstand the power of two.”

Ron’s hand landed on Oliver’s back as he exhaled slowly, his muscles relaxed.

Oliver met his gaze before Ron closed his eyes, took several shallow breaths.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Oliver grabbed Ron’s face, kissed him. Just a light, quick press of his lips against Ron’s, but then he froze. He took deep breaths, moved his thumb across Ron’s cheek. The guy’s power had faded, but what if it hadn’t? Even with the energy of the spell detached, Oliver’s strength had been tested and he’d struggled to defeat it.

Ron put his hand on Oliver’s face, wiped a tear with his thumb.

“I was afraid…” Oliver slid his hand down Ron’s side, moved in close. Perhaps one kiss could break through their fears.

“Daddy?”

Oliver caught his breath, looked at Norah. “It’ll be okay. Be careful, there’s glass on the floor.”

“Okay.”

Ron took a deep breath, exhaled.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.” Ron nodded. “Yeah.”

Oliver took several deep breaths as he sat against the sofa. “I’m so sorry about all this.”

Ron sat up, ran his hands over his face. “No, thank you for stopping it.”

“Can I have your phone?” Norah took a step into the living room.

“Yeah, Sweetheart, stay there, though.” Oliver took a deep breath, forced himself to stand. “Don’t walk around without shoes until I get this cleaned up.”

“I won’t.”

Careful with his own steps, Oliver carried her to the sofa, where he brushed his hand across the cushion. Finding it clear, he sat her on it. “Nana will probably be calling. Answer her call, ignore anything else.”

She nodded, tapped on an app to open a doll design game.

Ron stood, let out a deep breath as Oliver approached him.

“How do you feel?”

“Better.” Ron gripped his side, winced.

Oliver waved his hand in the direction of the candles on the coffee table. The three there lit, as did the six on the floor.

Ron caught his breath.

“Sorry.” Oliver smiled. “That’s my favorite trick.”

Ron chuckled. “Well, tonight’s not going like I expected.”

“You’re lucky that wasn’t a real witch.”

“Wasn’t a real one?”

He kept his voice low as he said, “You probably wouldn’t have survived.”

Ron glanced at Norah. “I’ve never felt that kind of pain before.”

“I’m really sorry I got you mixed up in this.” Ron had come to help and suffered. Tonight hadn’t gone like Oliver had expected, either. It’d been much worse. “Do you have your phone?”

“Yeah.” Ron pulled his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. “What’cha need?”

“Flashlight.”

Ron started it, then handed his phone over.

Oliver looked under the dining table and then along the cabinets in the kitchen. “The man had something in his hand that he dropped. His power seemed to go away after that, like it wasn’t his own.”

Under the cabinet, next to the fridge, a black quarter-sized crystal rested in the corner. A simple crystal once again, it was cool to the touch. Maybe it would lead to the one who had bewitched it.

He handed the phone back to Ron.

“The guy wants a video of Allen’s death?”

Oliver nodded. “What he said, yeah.”

“Does that exist?”

“No.” Oliver ran a hand over his chest, but it didn’t comfort his heart. “No.”

“Daddy, whose heart?” Norah held the phone up.

“What? Let me see.”

His phone buzzed over and over as he went to the sofa.

Norah placed the phone on the back of the sofa.

Forty-seven messages total. Most of them were simple.

Blocked: I’m sorry.

Blocked: My monster escaped.

Blocked: Please help me. I’m so sorry.

But soon, the messages returned to their original tone.

Blocked: I can’t wait to hear her last breath.

An image followed that showed six jars with white labels. Dates and what looked to be names were written on the labels in black ink. With the quality too blurry to read the labels, what was inside the jars held Oliver’s attention: dark, tissue-y lumps sealed in liquid. They weren’t heads, weren’t eyeballs or teeth.

“What…” He tilted his head.

Ron whispered, “I think they’re hearts.”

“Hearts?”

“Read the last group of texts.”

Oliver clicked on the message from the blocked number. Text balloons danced side to side, filling the screen.

Can’t wait to get that precious heart.