Page 76 of Possession

“We’ve never had a problem,” he says with a shrug. “They probably just blame it on shoplifters.”

With that dismissal, Henry pulls out a cart, and I’m struck by the simple domesticity of it all. Wouldn’t this be such a cute moment, going grocery shopping with a handsome guy? If everything weren’t distorted, of course.

Henry pays the stillness no mind, and I try to follow his lead. I’m grateful that he’s with me, and is a fit really how I want to repay his kindness? Besides, it’s better this way. I don’t have any way to pay, and if people could see me, they’d recognize me. That wouldn’t be good.

I ignore a twinge of loneliness and slight panic at the thought that I’ll only ever interact with mages from now on. Normal people hate me; I’m not one of them anymore, but in this place, a flash of regular life, I wish that I could be.

We start wheeling around, and it’s strange at first, mainly because this place is very crowded. I have to constantly maneuver around people walking diagonally or in the middle of an aisle. The worst is bending in front of others to grab what I need, inches from their bodies. I have the feeling that their eyes are following me, and they’ll unfreeze and grab me any moment now.

I can’t help but wonder if I was one of those people at some point, if a mage ever needed something at a store that I was in. Had they walked right past me, ruffled my hair, taken something from my cart? How many impossible things happened around me, all to which I was none the wiser?

After shopping for some time, I realize that I’m going to need to try on clothes. What Henry got for me at the cabin doesn’t fit as well after filling out the past few weeks.I’ll also need bras and underwear, and the thought of Henry next to me while I do make my cheeks heat. There’s no way I could get through that.

“Could we maybe separate for a bit?” I ask maybe too casually. “You probably have some things that you need—you’ve been away for a while, too.”

His lips lift from an easygoing grin into a smirk, like he knows where my mind is really at. “I have everything I need,” he says, leaning forward on the cart. His shirt raises slightly in the process, revealing a toned stomach beneath, and I quickly look away with a flush.

“Okay.” My voice is a squeak.

When I glance at him again, he’s straightened, his shirt back in order, and his smirk is absolutely Cheshire. For a moment, I have no idea what he’s going to do and am taken aback by the predatory look in his eyes. I picture him leaping at me, taking us both to the floor as he pins me with his weight, and have about prepared myself for that exact scenario when he takes a step back, pushing the cart my way.

“I’ll meet you by the front, Mary,” he says.

With that, he leaves, and I stare after him in shock. Was he flirting, or teasing me? Surely, he knows how he makes me feel. Or maybe I’m reading into things. To be fair, it’s been a long, insane day, and I could just be losing my mind.

With a shake of my head, I leave the hygiene area, pushing the cart in front of me.

On my own, the eyes of the shoppers cut into me anew—deeper, this time. I try my best not to think about them. They aren’t being hurt in any way, but isn’t freezing time, stopping their perception and movement, some kind of a violation?

Luckily, my mental list keeps me distracted. There are so many things to get that I’m certain I’ll forget something, but the cart is overflowing, packed from bedding alone. I’ve never needed many products for my skin and hair, but fresh bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and the like take up space. Clothing as well. I try things on quickly, learn my size, and grab a bunch of random outfits I could see myself wearing—plain colors, nothing remarkable.

I feel bad about the amount of merchandise I’m stealing, but everything is a necessity, and I’m about done.

Before meeting back with Henry, I have the thought that I might be spending a good amount of time in my room. It’s hard to picture myself venturing out, and if the Grand Mage does change his mind about me at any time, I should be prepared to be locked in.

I browse the entertainment section, wandering down the book aisle. I didn’t get to read for myself while I was with Aris; I was too slow, and the things that interested me didn’t interest him. I pop a few romance novels into my cart because, why not? I can read things like that now and no one will know or laugh at me. Besides, there is something appealing about a love story that I can imagine myself in, with someone devoted to me completely.

I’m about to leave the aisle when I spot something disturbing: a picture of myself. It’s a school photo from when I was maybe eight, and it’s on the cover of a book. Forehead wrinkling, I pick it up. Certainly, I’m wrong—maybe this is someone who looks like me?—but, after a glimpse at the author’s name, I know that I’m not; it’s me

My Daughter, The Devil

I stare at the title for a hurt moment before turning to the first page.

When Mary was born, I knew that something was wrong with her. We planned to name her something different, but when I held her, I saw nothing good in her eyes.

I’ve heard that holding your baby for the first time makes you forget the pain of pregnancy and birth. You forget the sore ankles and back, the lethargy and vomiting; you forget your body changing into something unrecognizable. Or, maybe you don’t forget, but you don’t mind it anymore, the second that you hold your baby.

For me, it was the opposite. It was like I’d undergone all of this torture, only to create something defective.

We named her Mary, because I felt the need to appeal to God to save this child’s soul. Of course, it didn’t work.

I was at first convinced that this child was not my own. I saw her come out of me, the cord being cut, her wrapped, but I refused to accept what was in front of me. I researched frantically. I looked into changelings, children switched at birth—anything. At one point I begged my husband to give her up for adoption, but he refused. He didn’t see what I saw.

And how could he? To everyone else, she was a normal child. She had fine features, wasn’t ill, and cried a healthy amount. She had fits only when warranted, when she desperately needed to be changed or fed. She had rosy cheeks, a small nose, and full lips. People on the street would stop me to remark on how cute she was.

It seemed that only I could see that something was direly, innately wrong with her, but no one would listen. Those I told looked at me pityingly, sometimes angrily, and I eventually had to accept that I was stuck with this child.

I felt like I’d been cheated out of my dream.

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