Page 67 of Possession

Our interests align.

And what interests are those?

Must you always be so suspicious? He shifts inside me, energy distinctly unhappy. He might be acting differently, hiding things, but he’s still Aris, and I know him; he’s disappointed with my reaction.

But did he really think I’d jump for joy to have yet another important decision taken from me? Did he think I would be impressed? He’s purposefully leaving me out, and I only want to know why!

None of this is your concern.

Why won’t you talk to me?

Because, Mary… He hesitates for a moment. I told you that I tire of things. Do you remember that? I see that you do. Mary, I wasn’t just talking about this house or Henry; I was talking about you.

What does that mean?

Must I spell it out? You have started to bore me. You are becoming… predictable.

Oh.

It isn’t about saving me; it’s about being sick of me.

I sit on this for a moment. It shouldn’t be an insult, coming from Aris. “Boring” means no desire to slaughter my way to the title of king of the world. “Predictable” means I am not an incarnation of chaos.

Still. How long has he thought this for?

He knows what I think; he knows what I feel; it’s impossible to spare my dignity. Maybe it is best if he leaves—at least I could feel things privately, then. As it is, there’s no use trying to tell him how embarrassed I am. What he said has obviously hurt me. He knew that it would hurt before he even said it.

Mary, we have had our differences.

I scoff. Differences. That’s one word for it.

He pauses. Do you really think that you have not earned this?

My first response is disbelief—twist, is he actually thinking about someone other than himself?—and then I pause, considering his question. Have I earned this? Do I deserve it—

No voice in my head, uncaged, and in control of my own body? Of course I do. These are things that others see as fundamental rights. To me, they are outrageous luxuries.

Let me do this for us, Mary.

Taking a deep breath, I feel myself start to deflate, the fight leaving me. “Okay,” I say.

***

Sometime during my absence, the living room floor was cleared of glass, but the windows haven’t been replaced or even covered by tarps. Goosebumps rise on my arms from the wind, blowing remnants of a late season’s snow. At first glance, the room doesn’t seem like the best place to congregate, but it is the largest area in the house. With all of the furniture pushed against the walls, courtesy of Ryan, there is enough space for a big chalk circle, similar to the one Cera made. It’s intricate, not just lines or a pentagram; the symbols traced in a spiral towards the center are carefully done. This has obviously taken some time to plan.

The room is lit only by the fireplace and a few candles scattered around, barely managing to illuminate the edges of Ryan and Henry’s bodies. The flames stutter with each gust of wind, though they never quite blow out, each flicker and crackle the only noise in the room.

Ryan stands in the corner of the room, while Henry is beside me on the outskirts of the circle. I know what will happen; Aris explained it. He told me how the magic works.

I should be excited, jumping for joy.

But, among it being too sudden, not having a choice, and getting left out of Aris’ plans, it feels… too easy. After setback after setback, getting what I want is a bizarre turn of events.

When something feels too good to be true, it usually is; this is a fact that sets me on edge. Magic has never done me any favors. Why should I start trusting it now?

“Mary, this is going to be relatively simple,” says Henry, drawing my attention as he breaks the heavy silence. His face is open—excited, even—which is such a contrast to my mood that it only depresses me further.

I briefly wonder if he missed me while I was gone. He hasn’t shouted giddily or hugged me yet, but that doesn’t mean much. Maybe he just wants to reunite in private. As in true privacy. A tentative rush of excitement hits at the thought of being able to talk to Henry without Aris hearing everything.

---