Page 60 of Possession

Aris, whose every movement is planned, misses a step and goes tumbling off of a log. He quickly corrects himself, landing like a cat. “Like this?” he replies carefully.

Yes. He knows exactly what I mean—does he want me to say it? In peace.

“Peace,” Aris scoffs and continues walking, brushing a hand against the trunks of the evergreens we pass. He’s back to being the personification of grace. “How boring.”

You don’t have many complaints about our life here.

“For now,” he says pointedly. “But think it through. Let’s say that this arrangement is suitable. Let’s say that you even like it. What happens, then, when we’ve read all of the books in the library and seen the trees in every season? You can’t mean that you want to spend the rest of your life here. Even you aren’t that dull.”

I ignore the jab, considering his point. He’s right, at least on his end: he will lose interest. And then what? He’ll move to the next thing to amuse himself with. He will kill; he will want to kill.

Even after everything, I still struggle to wrap my head around the act of murder. Aris has ended people forever—many people. He has stripped away everything that they could have been, done, and felt. He wants to do it again, and I’d be forced to bear witness, see the faces and hear the voices of his victims. Maybe they would cry—beg.

I couldn’t be there for that; I don’t want to be.

I try to rid myself of my rising despair as his irritation spikes, but I can’t help how I feel; he’s forcing me to think thoughts that I know will make him angry.

“You just want to stay with Henry,” he says. The way he says his name makes me genuinely question how much longer Aris will tolerate the man’s presence. We haven’t told Henry about the amulet, so he isn’t helping us research; to Aris, he is just in the way.

“Unfortunately for you,” he continues with an edge in his voice, “I’m here, too.”

And what does that mean? I ask.

Something dark emanates from him: a flush of need to destroy.

He suddenly reaches for the nearest tree, digging into the bark until our fingers are inches deep in the trunk. I don’t know what he’s planning to do—rip it from the ground? But, a second later, he simply pulls his fingers out.

“Nothing,” says Aris, wiping stray bits of bark and sap on our pants as we walk back to the house in strained silence.

**

The next day, I wake knowing that something is different. I go to the window in my room, pulling back the curtains to look outside while nervously stroking my amulet. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. The sun is still there. The sky is, too. Why does it feel like something has shifted?

Aris? I prod quietly. We didn’t speak much last night, and he hasn’t said good morning, either. Are you mad at me?

Don’t be juvenile.

It takes an effort not to sigh. So, he’s in a mood.

There’s not much I can do, so I go about my routine. After a brief shower and change of clothes, I head to the kitchen to scrounge something up. Henry isn’t there, which means he’s probably in the living room. The thought makes my pace increase.

It takes a minute to make a sandwich, which I eat on the go while seeking him out. True to habit, Henry is reading when I find him. He smiles as I enter, my breath catching at the sight. “Morning, Mary,” he says, eyes sparkling.

I try to say hello through a mouthful of food, but it comes out like garbled nonsense. I wince when his smile widens. “Hi,” I say after a big swallow.

He returns to his book, and I take a seat next to him and look him over quickly while he’s preoccupied. Naturally, he’s as handsome today as he was yesterday. He smells as good, too, like cedarwood and aftershave. Sometimes I drive myself wild thinking about that scent, and it’s always an effort not to lean towards him when we’re close like this.

All said, I’m not stupid. I know that I don’t have a chance with someone like him. I’m not anything special to look at, not the kind of girl I’m certain he’s used to, and I can barely hold a conversation with the guy. I’m also sharing a body with an evil entity.

Still, with just the three of us in this house, it’s easy to feel close to him. Knowing the length of his showers and how he cooks his eggs—these things are welcome intimacies.

He turns a page, and I shuffle in my seat. This is truly the mother of all crushes. It seriously can’t be normal how much I want to stare at him. Just to look at him. Memorize his freckles and the color of his eyes.

My lips start to twist as I think of the particular cerulean shade when chaos strikes.

One second, everything’s fine; I’m eating my sandwich, digging my toes into the shaggy rug. The next—there is a loud bang and glass is raining down from what seems like every direction.

Henry jumps to cover me before I can see what’s happened, pinning me to his chest with his back to the sharp onslaught. The feel of him is extraordinary, and I am fully aware of how quickly he acted to protect me; it’s all worth savoring, but I haven’t seen his wand. He doesn’t have it—what if he gets hurt?

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