Minds Like Poetry
"You're an artist, you should want to impress," Cass had told her once, and Terre was starting to discover that she did.
Although, Terre also found that Cass wasn't taking any chances; there was a particular tingle of her fingertips when they brushed one of the halter tops just past the everyday wear. With a snort of disgust, she pulled it off the hanger and held it in front of herself. It would show far more cleavage than something she'd pick for herself, but she had to grudgingly admit that it would look good. She tossed it toward the bed, and found a skirt similarly 'tagged' for her attention.
"Fine. I'll let you choose my clothes tonight," she muttered to herself as she walked out of the closet and closed the door behind her, "but mark my words, Cassie Stevens, I'll learn this magic of yours and use it to keep you out of my closet."
Cass was just as likely to have done this the last time she was over, though, so Terre let it drop just as she let herself drop on the bed. Long minutes were spent tuning out her parents' fighting, which she only acknowledged enough to hope they would focus on each other rather than where she was, and trying to unwind from the long schoolday. Then there was that conversation she'd had with Cass while sitting on the steps above the student parking lot.
'I always thought I was magic until the adults in my life tried to convince me otherwise,' had been the thought that started it all.
"You are," Cass had told her once she'd confessed it. "You still can be."
Adrienne finished the call to the police and rejoined him as he slid himself out from under the woman and cradled his injured hand against his chest. She gave him a glance that indicated she thought he was overdoing it, being melodramatic with it, but another one of the type of thoughts he'd had earlier -- that she didn't have to put up with this shit -- floated through his mind. He had the wisdom not to say it, and just watched as she ran a finger along the edge of a wound, and brought it to the tip of her tongue. A sour expression crossed her face and she dropped her arm back by her side.
"Well, that explains it, then."
"Explains what?" he asked irritably.
"Austin, these cuts were made with pure silver."
He could feel the colour drain from his face. There were few objects made of the sort of silver that would do this kind of damage. Most of it was mixed with some other metal, or was an alloy of some sort, and that would negate most of the damage. But pure silver...
The image that broke through the clearest stopped the pain sharply, and had him pausing in the doorway with absolute horror.
Liane's bar. They're swarming at Liane's Bar.
He cursed under his breath and moved to the stairs, taking them two at a time until he was able to land upon the first floor with a solid thud. He couldn't even spare the time to see if his aunt's partner was in the house, he had to get to the pub to try and minimize the damage that was being done.
Once outside the house, he could call upon the transportation that had served him so well since he'd gained Earth status, and he trusted it to bring him as close to the situation as possible. When he landed just outside the door of the bar, he didn't even pause to hesitate, but instead pulled the doors opened and stood there for a moment to take in what was happening within.
They're back. Fucking Christ, they're actually back.
When he broke through the trees, Marcus saw that telephone poles had been turned into stakes and there were women tied to them. All of them were women he had known; Deirdre, for whatever of her sins, was against one and her eyes were still blank and utterly mad like they had been the last time he'd seen her. The last time before Nicky had shouted at him and told him to go away forever and slammed the door in his face. Again and again he could see that door slam until he dragged his eyes away to see Cassie against the second pole. She was screaming and shouting and cursing as they lit the fire under her feet, and it rose upwards in a rapid spiral, almost the same shade as her hair, and by force he dragged his eyes away.
When he saw the woman tied against the next pole, saw that it was Terre, he found that he couldn't move, that he couldn't turn his face away, but could only watch as they lit the fire under her feet and set her aflame. She screamed, and cried and begged for his help while he could do nothing but stand there and watch, witness-bearer to the flame and the death and the destruction.
Somewhere behind him, a wolf kept howling, and the sound of it rose gooseflesh on his arms. It howled again, and again until all three women were nothing but the burnt husks of human form, and the fire spread. All fires did this, and they were in the middle of a clearing. Eventually, the fires reached him, and he found he still couldn't move and could do nothing but stand there and allow it to engulf him while the wolf continued to howl.