24. Hart

He thrashed against the rope around his wrists as Cane buckled him into Fix's truck. He had Fix's truck. They were in on this together. Plotting behind his back. Working against him like he was the enemy.

He hissed at Cane, feeling like a cornered animal trying to escape, like one of Wren's creatures when Cane slammed the door shut in his face. Hart pushed at the door with his bound hands, rattling the handle fruitlessly because the lock stayed firmly in place.

He glared at Cane's figure as he rounded the truck, turning to him when he sat in the driver's seat.

"Let me out!" he ordered, kicking the door for emphasis.

"No." Cane started the truck and let it rumble to life. "I get that you're pissed—"

"PISSED?" Hart screamed into his face. "You're taking me against my will. I don't want to go back. LET ME GO!"

"Settle down," Cane said, and Hart kicked out again, this time toward Cane, catching him in the hip. "Shit. Hart, calm down!"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" he said, banging on the window when he realized Cane was pulling out into the street, heading back toward the center of Slatehollow. Toward the Cursebreaker Headquarters. "I DON'T WANT TO GO BACK!"

"Well you don't exactly have a choice," Cane said, reaching out to turn the radio on. He cranked up the volume until Hart felt like the music had fingers, reaching inside him to twist at his organs.

He kept screaming to be heard over it.

He kept hitting the door. Kept trying to claw at Cane. Begging to be let go, then getting pissed at being ignored.

He tried pleading, promising things in return.

Then there were fleeting moments of clarity when he'd frown at the position he was in, trying desperately to figure out how he'd got there, before the haze descended all over again with a stabbing pain to his head that felt like it would never leave.

By the time Cane parked in front of the headquarters, Hart's voice was hoarse from screaming. His body felt fatigued and worn out.

Cane turned off the music and Hart tried getting him to let him go once again, but Cane didn't even look his way. He got out of the truck and came to Hart's side, opening the door and picking Hart up again like he weighed nothing.

Hart thrashed against him, distantly aware of the bystanders watching the spectacle of him being carried inside. There was a tiny ember of shame inside him at the idea of people seeing him like that, but then Cane crossed the threshold of Hart's former workplace and he realized he didn't care.

He wanted out.

He fought harder.

Argued louder.

Drowned the sudden presence of other steps and voices around him until he couldn't anymore.

Cane came to a halt in the middle of the foyer with Hart still on his shoulder.

"We've got him," he heard Ash say. "Put him down before you actually snap a rib."

Cane huffed but complied, lowering Hart to the floor, where he collapsed on his ass because he was so tired from struggling.

"The fucking wrapping loosened up." Cane grunted, cradling his torso and grimacing.

"I'll fix it before we exorcise the demon. Come here," Ash offered, sending Hart a worried glance before stepping toward Taylor's desk. "They're finishing prepping the room, and we need to go over the details with you."

Hart sat in the middle of the foyer, glaring at nothing at all, his mind turning over like a maelstrom. He came up with about fifty different plans for how to get out of there, each crazier than the last.

He was vibrating. He couldn't stop himself.

Escaping was compulsory.

He couldn't think of anything else.

Run. Run. Run.

The thought was pulsing in time with his rapid heartbeat.

"Hart?" Wren said quietly.

Hart snapped his head around to see him crouching beside him. He looked…unwell. Pale. His cursemark stood out starkly against his sickly pallor, highlighting the puffy redness around his eyes.

Hart tried to summon sympathy from within him.

This would have made him sad before. It would have inspired him to move. To act. Now all he felt was numbness, and all he could think about was getting out. That they were trapping him. That they were keeping him here against his will.

"Hart…are you in there?" Wren murmured, searching his eyes as if looking for recognition.

Hart sneered at him. They were the ones who should feel bad. They were the ones who needed to atone!

Wren's face fell at his angry silence, his blond braid falling forward when he lowered his head and shrank away into the corner.

Hart looked around him to see if it had given him an opportunity, but Fix was standing guard by the door with Taylor next to him. And he could feel Cane still had his eyes trained on him, even with his shirt up and Ash fixing his bandaging.

Hart wanted to scream.

At all of them.

At no one.

He began to work at his bindings some more, rubbing the already sore skin raw and bloody. If he could just get out of these…

"We're using one of the storage rooms. It's not a perfect setup, but Damir says it's workable," Ash explained in a low voice Hart probably wasn't meant to hear. Hart still picked it up though. "The main components he says we needed you brought with you."

"I'm not doing this cryptic bullshit with you," Cane said. "Spit out what you mean."

"Hart and you."

"No shit. Hart is the one who's cursed."

"It's a little more complicated than that, which is where you come in. We have no idea how breaking a curse on a cursebreaker will go. Damir had a suggestion," Ash said before pausing and side-eyeing Hart. "It's the best plan we have."

"I'm not cursed!" Hart yelled at him. "I'm a damn cursebreaker. I can't BE cursed!"

"Hart." Fix sighed just as footsteps approached.

It was Midas coming down the hallway, with Damir behind him. Wren got back to his feet, and they all stood at attention. Hart arranged himself into a defensive crouch, ready to spring at any moment.

"It's done?" Fix asked.

"As good as it's going to get. Midas was a big help…" Damir said before trailing off, glancing at Wren from the corner of his eye. Wren looked at his feet, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Damir?" Fix said.

Damir shook his head, a bit of red bleeding into the apples of his cheeks. He ran a hand through his thick hair and pushed it off his forehead. "Sorry. Um, have you briefed Cane?"

"Not fully," Ash said. "We didn't think it was wise while we were watching Hart."

Damir nodded. "I'll prep him before he goes in."

"How about less chatting and more doing your fucking jobs?" Cane suggested.

"He has a point," Ash said grudgingly. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can actually get our brother back."

Fix nodded, walking away from the door. "Taylor, keep us on hiatus. Someone help Hart up and we'll move."

Damir and Wren both stepped forward, reaching for him at the same time. Their hands brushed briefly, fingertips catching before they sprang apart like they'd been shocked. Their eyes met and held, a bubble forming around them, a suspended breath taken in unison…

Hart burst through the middle of it, desperately sprinting for the exit.

"Shit!"

"Hart!"

Cane intercepted and grabbed him with a huff of pain. "‘We've got him' they said. ‘Put him down' they said. Bunch of useless fucking cursebreakers."

Hart let out an enraged yell, fighting his relentless hold, trying to aim for his ribs.

"Hello?" a nervous voice said from the door.

Everyone's heads turned.

Hart distantly recognized the person framed there. Blond. Pretty. Looking a little lost. Hart was sure he had seen them before, but the thought dissolved in the mire of his rage.

"I'm sorry, the office is closed due to…unforeseen circumstances," Taylor said, stepping up to the newcomer.

The guy's eyes were wide as they fixed on Hart and Cane, then they shifted to the side and lit up as they reached Fix.

"I can see you're busy, but this is really important," he implored, stepping toward him. "If I could just talk to you—"

"Can't it wait?" Fix cut him off tersely, his frown making his eyebrows heavy.

The guy seemed both surprised and gutted at the response, stopping in his tracks and shrinking back. "Well…"

"Leave your name and number at the desk," Fix said, gesturing vaguely, his attention already a million miles away. "We're in the middle of something important here."

The guy swallowed, took a second, and then slunk out of the foyer without a single look back, and Hart kicked again, trying to follow in his footsteps. Freedom was in that direction. He just had to get to it.

"Hand him over," Ash said to Cane. "Damir needs to brief you once he gets his head out of the clouds."

Hart fought harder as he was passed between them like a sack of potatoes. Fix came to the other side of him, everything else forgotten.

"This is for your own good," Fix said softly. "Once it's over, you'll see."

Hart punched and kicked his way down the halls, screaming bloody murder.

Everything in his body was rebelling.

He whipped his head back and forth, looking at the familiar doors and hallways and mapping out his exit plans when they suddenly turned a sharp left right before the meeting room.

"NO!" he screamed, realizing they were taking him one floor down. Underground.

There were no exits there. No windows. No way to escape.

"LET ME GO!" he yelled at them, frustration building as he realized nobody was paying him any attention.

Fix and Ash had an unbreakable hold on him, their combined muscle mass about three times what Hart was packing. He had no way of shaking them off.

There was a cacophony of other steps and voices behind them. Distantly, he heard Damir talking to Cane. Deep down, Hart knew Damir already had a team, but he couldn't help but rage at how quickly and easily they'd found a replacement for him.

Like he wasn't theirs at all.

"Right here," Ash said, and someone scurried forward to open the door to the smallest storage room they had.

Ash and Fix pushed Hart toward it, and he kicked, lifting his legs into the air and bracing them against the doorframe, refusing to even entertain the thought of being placed inside.

"NO!" he screamed, but someone's hands gripped his knees and brought them together, allowing Fix and Ash to force him inside.

They lowered him to the floor and backed away. The door slammed behind them, the sound of the lock echoing, and Hart detected a single breath behind him.

He whipped around to see Cane standing in the room with him, his eyes focused on Hart, intent and fierce as they held his own.

Hart couldn't concentrate on that though, instead, he was horrified as he glanced around the room.

There were mirrors everywhere, mismatched, some big, some small, but they were covering every wall and the ceiling. He saw himself reflected back in every one, unable to escape wherever he looked.

Rage filled him and he ran over and smashed one outright with his bound hands before Cane grasped him around the middle and yanked him back.

"Stop, Hart!"

"Let me go!" he screamed, kicking out toward more of the mirrors. "Let me go! Let me go! I need to get rid of them. I need to break them!"

Cane gathered him close, turning him and pinning his arms between them. Still Hart struggled.

"You're cursed, Hart," Cane said into his ear. "Look into the mirror and see!"

"No! You're lying! You're all liars! Let me go!"

He closed his eyes tight, refusing to open them.

Liars. They were liars. He needed to get away. He needed to smash everything. It was an itch under his skin, burrowing deeper, punishing him the longer he couldn't scratch it. He wanted to scratch himself bloody.

"He needs to calm down," Damir's voice came over a speaker somewhere. "He won't be able to get into the headspace to see the curse unless you can calm him."

"What the hell do you think I'm doing?!" Cane yelled back.

"Talk to him. Don't yell," Damir said. "Talk about the things that are important. You'll know when to try what I told you. I'll do the rest."

Music began to play in the background, soft and soothing. It grated in Hart's ears like nails on a chalkboard. There was a hiss coming from somewhere, and Hart whipped his head around to see a cloud of smoke coming from under the door. The cloying scent of bergamot and sandalwood filled the air.

He released a bloodcurdling laugh, throwing his head back and howling at his own reflection, distorted in the ceiling mirrors.

"That's the best you've got?" he yelled. "You found someone to replace me, and this is the best you can do. Copying my techniques? Down to the scent and the music? FUCK YOU!"

Cane's arms tightened around him. He lowered his head next to Hart's ear. Hart could feel his nose brushing against the shell of it, but he refused to let it affect him in any way.

"Nobody is trying to replace you," Cane said, voice low and barely audible over the soft music playing.

"Take me away, Cane," he said, desperately clawing at the last lifeline he had. "I'll stay this time. I promise I won't disappear again. You can have me. Just take me away."

"Not like this, sweetheart." Cane shook his head.

"You don't want me?" Hart asked, gasping at the piercing pain in his chest. He tried pushing away, but Cane wasn't letting go.

"You have no fucking idea how much I want you," Cane said, pinning Hart to his chest, shaking him as if he was trying to push the words into his body. "I've spent years wanting you. Spent the last year waiting for you to come back to me. I never fucking stopped waiting."

"Then take me!" Hart hissed. "We don't need any of this bullshit. Let's just go!"

He tried to push Cane toward the door, but it was like trying to move a brick wall.

"I want the real Hart," Cane said.

"I am real!" Hart said, anger seeping back against the desperation.

"I want the prissy, stuck-up, three-piece-suit-wearing pain in my fucking ass back," Cane said. "I want the stupid quotes, and I want you to only curse when I'm fucking you. I want you looking at people down your nose and eating your ribs with a fork like a psycho."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Hart screamed in frustration, slamming his bound fists into Cane's chest as his head exploded with pain at the words.

The nightmare just kept on going. He couldn't see the end of it, anywhere. It felt like they'd just keep him trapped in that room forever.

"You're cursed, Hart," Cane said, allowing the blows to his body that Hart kept raining on him, even though they were clearly causing him pain. "We need you to see that. We need you to pull yourself out."

"Who's ‘we,' Cane?" Hart sneered. "The ones who shoved me in here after finding someone better to do my job? You really are siding with them, aren't you?"

"There is nobody better," Cane said. "And they all know that."

"No."

"Listen to me!" Cane said, giving his body another shake. Hart was sure if they got any stronger, he'd hear his bones rattling inside his skin. "They need you! Fix can't keep them from being fucking assholes on his own."

Hart tried to wrench himself away.

"Ash can't be left to his own devices without you there to balance him out."

Cane kept talking over Hart chanting ‘no, no, no' over and over again as he shook his head, eyes clenched shut, tears slipping free from the pain and dysphoria.

"Wren doesn't sleep well, Midas is absent almost all the time without you there to bring him back home," Cane continued. "Black's mouth is gonna get him in so much trouble without you. They all need you, Hart. They're fucking lost without you."

"You're lying," Hart said, but there was something behind the darkness inside him. A spark igniting and piercing through.

"I need you," Cane said, grabbing his face and tipping it up. "I need you to fight this! I need you to show me you're still in there, sweetheart."

Cane kissed him softly, and Hart frowned, that spark inside him growing bigger at the gentle treatment, so unlike anything they'd ever done. Cane held him loosely now. Like he was fragile. Like he was giving him a way out.

Hart tensed, that flight response inside him the first thing in his mind. But the kiss kept him rooted to the ground. The softest touch to his lips foreign, but somehow, so welcome.

"Cane," he breathed into the space between them, shivers racking his body now without Cane having to shake him.

"You're stronger than this," Cane said. "Your brothers told me that. They didn't bring your replacement, they just brought in someone to help set things up for you."

"I don't need help," Hart said but it sounded hollow, like he was starting to hear his own voice from a distance.

"No, you don't. You can fucking kick this curse's ass all on your own. You just have to let go, sweetheart."

"No…"

"Look around," Cane said, and Hart peeked over his shoulder for a split second before hiding his face in his chest again and shaking his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

Cane's hands drifted from around his body up to his shoulders, and Hart felt himself being turned around, pushed until Cane was glued to his back. His arms were around Hart's waist again, chin hooked over his shoulder, lips brushing his neck.

"Open your eyes, Hart," Cane whispered.

Hart did, finding himself face to face with the largest mirror in the room. He was staring into his own eyes, gasping at the dark circles around them. The redness inside them. The desperation and the rage swimming at the edges.

Holding his breath, he looked around to see his reflection staring back at him.

Hundreds of him.

Thousands.

Fractured and distorted.

Maniacal and wild.

Unkempt and messy.

His shoes were scuffed and dirty, pants ripped in places, and the shirt on his back didn't belong to him. His wrists were raw and bloody, and his hair was falling over his forehead, greasy and stringy.

But, unsettling as it was, that wasn't what drew his attention.

It was the pitch-black, leathery-looking cloud whirling around his head. Like a storm. Violent and unyielding.

It was wrapping its tendrils around his body, forcing its way inside him, clawing at his flesh. It was completely opaque, ruthless in its power. In all his years of training Hart had never seen anything like it.

It was so strong that he wasn't sure there was a way to uncoil it from around himself without pulling himself apart trying.

He lifted his tied hands and covered his mouth with his fingers, a sob rushing out of him and echoing in the small room. Fear gripped at him. Panic descended over him.

This shouldn't have been possible.

He was a cursebreaker.

But his eyes weren't lying. The mirrors weren't lying.

There was a curse on him.

And it wasn't breakable.

"This won't go away," he whispered, and Cane tightened his arms around him. Hart couldn't even see him standing behind him through the black.

"It will," Cane said, his voice hard. "You will fight this. You will fucking win."

"It's so strong," Hart said, raising his hands to grip the black tendril coiling around his neck. He tried prying it away, but it wasn't budging.

"You're stronger," Cane said, wrapping his hands around Hart's and pulling them away from his neck. He untied the ropes around them and placed something between his fingers.

"We all believe in you, sweetheart," Cane said, and Hart looked down to find a photo of himself.

He looked nothing like the person in the mirror. It shook him to his core. He was so far gone that he didn't even resemble himself anymore.

"I can't." Another sob tore through him, and he felt his knees give out.

Cane took some of his weight, lowering him to the floor and sitting behind him, letting Hart rest against him.

"I'm here," Cane said. "I've got you. But you gotta fight this on your own, Hart."

"It's everywhere," he said, running his hands all over himself, desperately trying to get the darkness to let him go.

"Then fucking make it go away," Cane hissed, and Hart clutched the photo harder, his chest heaving with exertion.

He'd led hundreds of people through this exact same thing. Pointed them the right way to get the curse broken. Guided them through the pain and the fear and the darkness of it.

He was Hart. He was good at what he did. He was a Slatehollow cursebreaker, and he'd be fucking damned if this was how he went down.

He sat up straighter, his hand coming up as he slammed the photo against the mirror in front of him.

Two versions of himself stared back at him. And only one would win.

Hart braced himself against the backlash, focusing on the curse whirling around him in the mirror. He tracked the movement of it, followed it until he saw a pattern. The tendril closest to his mouth would coil away, before sharpening and rushing at him in the next second.

Hart allowed it for a few seconds, just watching, before finally making his move.

It speared again, attacking, and he focused on his reflection in the mirror, mind alert as he stopped it from touching him again. With laser focus, he cut its trajectory and forced it into the photo.

The scent of burning paper hit his nostrils as his image in the photo turned darker. The curse attached to the imprint of him, eating away at it. A memory of him.

Hart held on to the tendril, pulling at it as it struggled to get away. Inch by inch, he forced it into the photo. Ripping it away from his skin, tearing at it until it screamed in his ear.

Blood dripped from Hart's nose and ears. His head was on fire.

It resisted.

It fought back.

It lashed out and gripped at his chest, his neck.

Hart gasped when he noticed it sneaking inside his body through his nose, his ears, his eyes. He tore into it, ripping at it, feeling like he was dismantling the very core of himself to get it all out.

He couldn't afford to miss a single wisp of it. The tiniest sliver of it would grow back and destroy him in vengeance.

He gripped it harder as it pulsed against his mind, trying to overpower him. It gained the advantage for a second, and Hart let himself slip back into his own mind, the ugliness of it overtaking him.

Cane's lips touched his neck again.

His brothers' faces flashed before his eyes.

And Hart fought back.

He screamed as he pulled at it, pushing it into the photo until there was nothing left of it. Until there was nothing around him in the mirror but Cane's arms.

Until he could see just the two of them sitting on the floor, holding each other and shaking.

Hart's photo fluttered, the scent of burning and decay spreading around them. It looked like it had grown, expanded with the curse now attacking something that only looked like a person.

"Finish it," Cane whispered, and Hart snatched the photo up again, tearing into it with so much rage he turned it into confetti. The curse screamed as it was broken, and Hart let the pieces flutter down to the floor.

He watched them fall, quiet and dead now that the curse was gone. Just pieces of paper that used to hold a memento of Hart. He lifted his hands and placed them on his chest, over the mark on his heart, burning under his fingers.

"You're still here, sweetheart," Cane said.

Hart took a breath.

Then another.

Then another.

Then the floodgates opened, and he broke down in Cane's arms, tears running down his face.

Cane shushed him, pulling him up until he was sitting fully in his lap on the floor, cupping his head and rocking him. "It's over. You did fucking amazing, Hart. And now it's all over."