Page 39 of Hex

I want to. I really do, but there’s only darkness. My eyes aren’t listening. I’m losing connection to my body.

Hex calls for me, but his voice gets fainter like he’s moving away from me. Somehow, I don’t think he’s the one fading away.

CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE

Graveyard was already on his way to check on Tory, so thankfully he quickly took over from me. I hate seeing my friend like that. It’s fucking terrifying, and I already know Seer will be a mess when he returns. I only hope he doesn’t find a way to pin Tory’s illness on me. The tension between us hasn’t lessened one bit since he tried to beat me up yesterday.

Graveyard orders me out of the room. There’s nowhere for me to go except down to the basement to see Juliana. My heart races as I see Tory’s body seizing in my mind. It was like something attacked her the moment she warned me. What if the same spirit has come for Juliana?

I call out her name when I get to the bottom of the stairs and expect her to answer. After our sexual experience last night, I hardly wanted to leave her, but she insisted I go back to bed. She told me I was the one who needed to sleep, and I couldn’t argue with her.

She doesn’t answer me, though. I get to the doorway to find it’s wide open. No one is inside. That isn’t possible. Juliana can’t leave the room. Tory and Mama made sure of that. A proper ghost wouldn’t be able to leave this room. They’ve enchanted it to shit. But it’s empty.

She can’t be fucking gone. It’s not possible. If she is gone, everything Seer and Pocus said during our fight is true and she’s tricked me again. I refuse to believe it. She’s too pure to be in league with whatever or whoever has been fucking with us over these last few weeks.

I walk around the room three times as if that will make any difference. It’s a bare room. It’s not like she could hide anywhere. We’d purposely removed everything so the spirit wouldn’t have any weapons when it was trapped. Mama will know what to do. She’ll know where to find Juliana’s spirit.

I look up to the window when I see it. It’s the fucking rock from my room, lying on the windowsill. The Lazarus stone, Tory had called it. I reach up and grab it, but the second my fingers make contact, it burns my hand, searing my flesh. I let go and watch as it falls from the sill to the floor, glowing a bring green. When it hits the floor, the glowing stops.

Panic rises in me. Juliana could be trapped in that stone. What if I’ve fucked it up somehow? Dropping it might have harmed her. I curse and pick up the rock gently. It isn’t burning anymore, and I put it in my pocket. I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’ll find Mama and get to the bottom of this.

My wife lies perfectly in bed, serene as if she’s dreaming, but she’s far away from me. When Bones called me, I knew something was wrong. I heard Hex frantically screaming in the background, and I immediately turned back toward the house. I never should have left her. This is my fault.

I sit in a chair by our bed, not wanting to accidentally disturb the wires and tubes surrounding her. Graveyard treats this like a normal coma, but something much more nefarious and supernatural is going on. It’s why I called Mama.

When she steps into the room, I instantly feel at ease. She’ll know how to fix this, she has to. She’ll do some incantation or brew some kind of witchy tea and bring my wife back to consciousness. She has to bring her back to me.

“Your soul is heavy,” she says to me, gently patting my shoulder as she walks to Tory’s side. “You don’t have to stay and watch this.”

“I’m not leaving my wife,” I growl at her. She means no harm, but the idea that I would possibly go anywhere else is absurd.

Tory might be in a coma, but I know she can feel me. She never left me last year, and she never would if I was in that situation again. There’s nowhere I’ll go where I can’t instantly get to her. I have to be here when she wakes up, to be the first thing she sees when she opens her eyes. She has to open her eyes.

Mama looks at Graveyard, who yields the floor to her with some apprehension. The two have a tentative relationship, mostly because he doesn’t trust “Witch Doctors.” He says he had to suffer through years of medical school, so he shouldn’t be usurped by non-licensed women who rely on spirits to heal them.

He’s out of his depth here, though. I see it in his face. Everything he’s done for Tory has been for my benefit. He’s trying to make her comfortable, but nothing is medically wrong with her. Her vital signs are normal, especially compared to where they were yesterday morning. She’s been on fluids since then, so she isn’t dehydrated.

No, this is an illness that requires a shaman, and we both know it. I appreciate him no less. I nod at him as he excuses himself, promising to be back in a few hours.

Mama takes out her bag and removes random odds and ends. There are more herbs and jars. She makes quick work of surrounding Tory’s body with a plant, then seems to strategically place the jars around the room. To me, it looks like nonsense, but I won’t get in her way. She’s the only person in the world I trust to help my beloved right now.

When she’s satisfied with the setup, she pulls out sage and a match and burns it. She waves it over Tory’s body, chanting an incantation over and over again. Then she walks the sage around the room.

“I hope you aren’t harboring an evil spirit, Seer,” she jokes. “All darkness has been purged from this room.”

I want her words to ease my spirits and cheer me up, but I watch her dumbly. My throat is heavy and sore. I don’t think I could form words if I wanted to. Just a silent prayer repeating in my head.

Please wake up. Please wake up. Please wake up.

Mama sets the burning sage in a bowl and puts the bowl on our nightstand in front of our wedding picture. The smoke from the sage catches my attention, and it’s all I can look at for a long time, the steady stream soothing my nerves. Mama continues moving around and chanting things, but I only see the smoke.

“What did Graveyard say, child?” she asks me, snapping me back to focus.

I swallow hard and clear my throat. When I speak, my voice sounds weak even to my ears, but I’m not surprised. It’s raw from unshed tears. I will not cry when my wife is perfectly healthy, lying in front of me. She will be okay. She has to be okay.

“Her vitals are fine,” I croak. “The baby’s heartbeat is strong. Physically, there’s nothing wrong with her.”

She nods and places her hands on Tory’s temple, chanting again. “I see,” she says after a few minutes. She doesn’t expand on what she sees, just keeps humming and nodding at some unknown entity. Her bedside manner could use some improvement. I hear someone approach the door and see Hex standing there, seeming helpless and lost.