Page 3 of Obsession

“More name calling.” His eyes slit while watching her head spin in a full circle.

“That girl, that girl…” she mutters, eyes glazed. Delirium is beginning to set in; her words are slow and stupid. “I’ve always known… I always knew she was… evil.”

Aris abruptly stands, silencing Olivia. The woman looks at her torturer with open fear, flinching as he comes closer. The horror grows in her eyes, and Aris is absently aware that he is losing his patience. But what is he to do? No one talks about Mary like that. No one but him.

He considers tearing her to shreds. Removing her eyes and letting the demon eat them. But, in the end, Aris’ temper abates. He leans back on his heels, smiles, and tells her cheerily, “You have not seen evil.”

He snaps his fingers, and the red curtains close again. They open an instant later, revealing Olivia Dessen on the couch, composed again, though tears dribble down her cheeks.

Aris goes back to the director’s chair. “Take two!”

Chapter one

I’ve only been in this forest for a little over a day, and I’m already weary of overgrown brush and thorns. The weather has been fair by luck alone, but I don’t know if it will hold. The soil I slept in was damp and rocky, a cold breeze and my rumbling stomach keeping me up late into the night.

A rough start, I’ll admit, but the discomfort is a reminder that I’m free. On my own, at last. And I’ve got a plan. Bare bones, but a plan all the same: Find Jaegen. Convince him to help me.

Take Aris down.

I’d classify myself in the pre-phase of phase one—as in, regarding finding Jaegen, I have no clue where he is or how to summon him. I still have my book, buried in the bag I’ve been dragging along, but I haven’t taken the time to look through it. Once I start, it could take days to find the proper sigils to contact him—and weeks to determine the right order to put them in.

But I’ll figure it out. Because I have to.

I’ll start looking once I find shelter. And food. And water. My tongue is so dry that it sticks to the roof of my mouth, my teeth covered in plaque and tasting sour. The hunger pains are striking and frequent, and, when I look down at my stomach miserably, I notice the dirt on my legs from sleeping on the forest floor. My back and neck are still sore from the night, no matter how many times I stretch or massage the muscles.

The thinning of the trees keeps me on my feet, hope powering me forward. What was once a jungle of green has slowly turned into foliage trimmed or felled. I’ve been searching for marked paths, but haven’t found any yet. I would very much like to; my jeans snag on thorns, my face smacked by a low branch every minute or two.

Still, there are signs that the forest is being managed. And that is a sign of civilization.

As the sun begins to dip and I consider setting up camp for the night, I spot the streetlights. Hit with a fresh jolt of energy, I scurry toward the light, pushing through the brush to find a building with a faded MARKET sign and advertisements for discounted food in the windows. A parking lot with vehicles within white lines tell me that the store is still open.

At first, I think the building is a mirage, but it doesn’t disappear as I approach. I laugh in manic relief, and almost cry at the thought of getting help—and at a grocery store no less! But my stomach sinks as reason kicks in. There is food and water inside, but the presence of others raises a different issue: recognition. I am known as Aris’ host and almost as infamous as he is.

I dance on my feet, unsure what to do. Do I risk it? There aren’t that many cars in the lot—maybe I can sneak past anyone inside? Finally, I come to the decision that I can’t pass this up.

I enter the store anxiously, one foot angled out the door. A person glances my way, and I brace to run, for someone to start screaming my name accompanied by a slur, but the shoppers’ gazes pass over me like I’m not there at all.

My rune, I remember with a start. It’s holding.

While the Following searched for me during the attack at the Institute, I had enough time to find a mark in the book. Something to hide me. I tattooed it on my arm with a safety pin and ink from a pen.

It worked at the Institute when the man was searching for me, but the others were able to see me: the Grand Mage, Henry, Silva… Aris. Maybe it only works when I want it to?

I want you to work, I say to the tattoo desperately.

It does not speak back, obviously, but I remain invisible to the shoppers as if the tattoo listened all the same.

Taking a breath, I start looking for the things I need. Browsing, I take note of the accents around me—people exchanging neighborly pleasantries. Everyone sounds Scottish, or at least something close, and I have to wonder if the Grand Mage sent me to the U.K. It would make sense—I don’t recognize any brand names or the packaging of items, and even the layout of the store feels foreign.

The thought terrifies me. I know nothing about this area. What currency do they even use—euros, pounds? I think I heard someone say “quid” in a movie once. And geography. Where is the nearest airport? Are there trains to get there? Where could I find a station?

I try to focus on the task at hand. I grab as many granola bars as my duffel allows and hesitate in the cosmetic aisle before taking hair dye. Who knows how long the sigil will hold? In case people start to see me, I need to look different.

Other necessities for incognito work come to mind: scissors, sunglasses, a hat. The supermarket doesn’t have a grand selection of any of these, but there are a few things by the registers and tucked between aisles.

Finally finished, I hurry toward the “WC,” and my luck holds; the bathroom doesn’t need a key to get in. I lock the door behind me and wash my face and under my arms with the harsh soap in the dispenser. After using moss as a pillow last night, grime and dirt sticks to me like a second skin.

After a few minutes, I’m still not satisfied with my hygiene, but I’m worried that someone might come knocking at the door. I need to move on; there’s more to do. Still, I hesitate, my gaze drawn to my reflection.

---