13. Heads Will Roll

13

Head's Will Roll

Morgana

F or some reason, Alistair protested to attending an event he wasn't invited to. Since when did he care so much about who he was offending? Unlike most of the men and boys passing us as we walked to the designated party location, he did not stare or gawk at my outfit. Although I didn't expect the outfit to have such a revealing low V-neck where the pentagram straps made their shape over my chest, I was enjoying the flow of the short open dress and the autumn air touching my skin through the fishnet stockings. Since the school didn't allow for heavy make-up and Alistair insisted I followed those rules, I went all out for the event, splashing my face with black eyeliner and heavy lashes. The only thing about me that wasn't black, was the deep red lipstick I decided I'd tease Alistair with – after all, he said he liked red.

As we approach the small mansion I can see why these mortals think so highly of Darren. His status at the school must be subsequent of his family's fortune – at least the Lamborghini parked in the driveway would suggest as such. Making our way through the barrage of drunken teenagers testing each other on the front lawn to battles of soberness, we eventually come to the front door where Darren happens to be standing. His eyes light up and an almost devil-like smirk breaches his features as he steps towards me. Rather disgusting that it reminds me of my father. "Morgana!" He exclaims, clearly a little intoxicated himself, "I'm glad you made it." His attention then turns to the figure standing beside me, his tattoos pertinent for the first time on Earth since I lost my powers – part of his 'costume'. "I see you brought a plus one." Darren's comment is snide, to say the least, but personally I'm entertained at the fact that I upset him.

"Well, someone has to bury the bodies." I remark, which makes him chuckle.

"So right. Come in, both of you, let's get you some drinks. I have a wicked story to tell you." As we follow him in through the grand double doors, we are greeted by marble floors and framed doorways which lead in various directions. In one direction, clearly the bulk of the party, was the foyer which adjoined a living quarters. In the direction Darren was leading us, was where many people were gathered around a large dining table, picking off food and beverages nearby a white and gold themed kitchen. Clearly, his parents had more money than they could care about spending. Glancing behind me I can see that Alistair is choosing to keep his distance. It's fine, he doesn't need to be at my side every moment, but at least he's in shouting distance. "A drink?" Darren queries, handing over a red cup with a foul-smelling mix of punch. I take it regardless, I'm used to alcohol in my system and drugs don't affect me. After taking a long drink I realize that the human side of me might not be so resistant to drugs and I place the cup down beside me. Darren, moments later grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me toward the crowd of dancing teenagers. As inelegant as this is, I copy the movements of those around me, allowing this human male to hold me uncomfortably close. When it comes to proximity, the only one I allow this close is my pet, and he endures every touch of mine, whether or not it is a punishment.

"Do you often host these kinds of events?" I query, glancing to the threshold where I see Alistair's darkened expression. Between that moment, and one where someone blocks my view, he disappears.

"All the time. Mom is a saleswoman who spends a lot of time interstate, and Dad got a sizable inheritance, so he spends it traveling the country looking for items for his collection."

"What kind of collection?"

"He collects weapons, guns, knives, swords, daggers…" He pulls back from our unbearably close contact dancing and looks down at me with a wicked smirk, "Would you be interested to see? I'm not exactly letting anyone upstairs but I can certainly make an exception." A room full of daggers collected by a man with an obsession in rarities? What a place to find a potentially magical missing dagger.

"Very well, lead the way." I whisper the words into Darren's ear, and he tugs on my hand to guide me through the swarm of sweaty pubescent humans toward the central staircase. My eyes glaze over the faces as I walk up the stairs, ignoring the eye rolls directed at me. As we pass a few closed doors, he stops and guides me into a room that bears no furniture except for large glass display cabinets lining the four walls.

I hadn't expected this when I heard the word "collector." There are easily more than fifteen cabinets here, each filled with an assortment of weapons ranging from medieval to modern-day tools that could harm and maim quite easily. I glance over most of the daggers and other athame-type weapons, but none of them fit what I'm after. Clearly, this is nothing but a big waste of time. I turn to leave the room, but the door slams shut in front of me.

Normally, I would demand someone to do the opposite of whatever they just did, but I can see something in Darren's eyes that shouldn't be there. I've seen many demons over the years who torture for fun, not just because it's what they're supposed to do. In Darren's eyes, I see nothing but evil intent. With my powers, I'd probably just send him flying, but I have no option to use them at this time. Glancing around, I try to see if there's a weapon within reach, but since they're all locked behind glass doors, I'd have to shatter one first. I can't guarantee that the guns are loaded, so I dash toward the cabinet with the daggers.

But I'm too slow. Darren grabs hold of my forearm and throws me backward onto the ground. My head vibrates as it hits the floor, and I'm dazed for a moment. I attempt to fight back as he jumps on top of me. Grabbing hold of both my wrists, he pins me down and whispers menacingly, "It's not like anyone can hear you because it's way too noisy down there. So if you just shut up and behave, nothing bad will happen to you. At least nothing permanent." I struggle beneath him, but without my powers, I have no chance. My strength and speed are gone, leaving me vulnerable. Darren's grip tightens, and his breath is hot and foul against my face. "Come on, at least give me a kiss for my efforts," he demands, his voice dripping with malice.

"Never," I spit out, glaring up at him with defiance. My mind races, searching for a way out, but I'm trapped. Just as desperation begins to take hold, I feel the weight lift off of me.

In the same moment, an arm wraps around me and lifts me to my feet with a strength that leaves no doubt about who it belongs to. I look up to see Alistair's enraged face, his eyes blazing with a fury I've rarely seen. This is more than just his demonic self coming forward—this is pure outrage.

Alistair's grip on me is firm but gentle as he ensures I'm steady on my feet. Then, with a swift and deliberate movement, he steps towards Darren, who is crumpled against one of the cabinets. Alistair reaches down and grabs Darren by the collar, lifting him effortlessly until his feet dangle off the ground. Darren's face contorts in pain as Alistair's fingers dig into his chest, and a sickening crack suggests a rib has indeed broken.

"What the fuck are you, man?" Darren whimpers, clutching his chest with one hand while the other tries to pry Alistair's fingers off his shirt. His eyes are wide with fear, darting between Alistair's enraged face and the demonic aura that seems to radiate from him. "That's not a costume!" Darren yells, his voice cracking with terror.

"No, it's not," Alistair replies calmly, his voice a stark contrast to the fury in his eyes. He lowers Darren just enough so their faces are inches apart. "So if you don't want to find out what's going to happen next, I suggest you run."

Alistair releases Darren, who stumbles back, clutching his chest and gasping for breath. Despite his injuries, Darren scrambles to his feet, his fear giving him a burst of adrenaline. He dashes for the door, pushing past someone standing there in a giant bear costume. As he runs past, the person pulls off the bear head, revealing Sierra's concerned face.

Relief washes over me as I realize she must have contacted Alistair or found him at the party when she saw Darren bring me upstairs. Alistair moves to my side, his expression softening as he checks me for injuries.

"Are you alright, my lady?" Alistair whispers, his voice filled with concern.

"No." I respond, taking a step back from him and out of his arms. "You had to save me." He blinks a few times, probably confused by my statement, but I don't really care. I push past him and Sierra as I run out of the door. I don't care who sees me or who is going to attempt to follow me. I just keep running until I'm outside of the house.

The street is still filled with hundreds of children and their parents, going around wishing people "trick-or-treat." I continue to run down the street, my mind racing. There was something I saw as we walked past and arrived here this afternoon, and I'm sure it'll be a great spot to just sit and hide. I come close to the clearing where I see a giant fair being held in Halloween honor. I look around and see all sorts of things: carnival rides, two haunted houses, but the one thing that catches my eye is the haunted maze. There is no line outside and no one even maintaining it, so there can't be anyone inside. I run through the front and try to lose myself within the hay maze.

I need to find a spot before it happens. Coming to a dead end, I let myself drop to the floor, sitting on sharp, annoying hay. I touch my cheeks and find that it's already started to happen. I'm crying, and I can't stop. I pull my knees up to my face and hold on as I try to bury my head away. I don't need this right now. I don't need anyone to save me. How is it that a human could take such advantage of me? Not that he got any chance to do what he wanted, but it's degrading to know that he could have.

I hear footsteps in front of me, and just knowing that because of the lack of words, it had to be only him. "Go away, Alistair," I say, but he doesn't respond. "I'm not in the mood, go—" As I lift my head, the realization that it isn't Alistair hits me hard when a bony-fingered hand wraps around my neck.

The creature before me is horrifying. Its skeletal frame is draped in tattered, black robes that flutter like shadows around its gaunt form. Sunken eye sockets burn with an eerie, malevolent glow, and its face is a ghastly mask of decaying flesh, stretched tight over sharp, angular bones. The Grim's breath is rancid, smelling of death and decay.

The creature lifts me high off the ground and tightens its grip on my neck. I can't breathe, but I try to knock its arm away from me. Its bony fingers dig into my skin with a vice-like grip, and its hollow eyes seem to pierce into my soul.

I'm going to die to this mindless creature. I keep trying, but the Grim doesn't let go. My vision starts to blur, and I can feel myself letting go.