Page 9 of Haunted Hearts

I skid to a stop and gape.

What the hell is this?Who’sdoing it? It couldn’t be Fulton. There would be no reason that he would destroy whatever he’s working on here. The green-ish flames… Willow can summon those. But, how? Where is she? And since when can she summon a storm? There’s no way that she’sthispowerful, right? Maybe she is and we just never knew. If this is just one of the things she can do, what else is Willow capable of?

Trepidation sends a wave of adrenaline coursing through me, setting my feet back in motion as I hurry to help the others.

The sound of the flames roaring from the heavens is deafening. As the tree is eaten away, the purple quartz stones that surround the large area begin to explode. The sound they emit is nothing like what I would expect. As each stone is blown to pieces and turned to ash, screams rise up over the roar of magical flames and emit an ear-splitting wailing.Humanwailing. The sound lifts the hairs on my arms and neck, and bumps form along the top of my skin. When the last stone blows up, the flames cease and the clouds close.

There is nothing left except us and Fulton.

Kwil grabs Jonah and yanks him out of the way as Fulton throws a spell that barrels towards the two of them. In the next breath, Fulton turns and lunges for Theodon. Brock’s scythe comes cutting through the air, causing Fulton to redirect and duck out of the way. He throws two more spells, this time at Theodon and Brock, causing both to scurry out of the way.The warlock stumbles away from everyone as they regroup. He raises his hands towards the sky. Above us, a small dark void opens up.

Shit, he can open the Veil? How is that possible?

“You may have slowed me down, but I cannot be stopped!” Fulton’s voice booms across the empty wasteland around us. “Willow will be mine once more. Her spirit holds her power, and that power belongs to me. While it may not be everlasting, the strength I’ve absorbed from her will be enough to make me into the greatest warlock the world has ever seen. Mark my words!”

He throws his hands outwards as his head tilts back. The mage explodes into a thick white-ish gray smoke before us. As I hurry towards them, the mist rises and races towards the opening in the Veil high above our heads.

A scream, so full of rage and anguish, pierces the air, and my heart. Iknowthat voice. Though I can’t see her, I can feel Willow. But her presence is filled with her agony. It becomes my own as I take a deep breath and breathe her, and her pain, in, as I shudder under the intensity.

The wind picks up into a howl.

As I come to a stop beside Theodon, who’s staring up at the rising smoke that is Fulton, I search for any sign of Willow.

Streaks of lightning come raining down from the clouds. The ground explodes everywhere it hits. Bright green and full of power, the electrical bolts slice through the white mist that the warlock has become. It slows Fulton down, but it doesn’t stop him. His shrieks of outrage and pain follow the progression of the mist as it slips through the Veil and disappears out of sight.

Except for the sounds of our heavy breathing, silence follows.

Theodon and I exchange worried glances with one another. What now? Above us, the dark clouds begin to lighten and the storm ceases.

Something dark drops from the sky and hits the ground right where the tree had been. At first, it looks like a plume of smoke, judging by the way it hits the earth and mushrooms across the ground. We all scramble back, bracing ourselves for more trouble. Tendrils of the smoke reach Theodon first. It wraps around his ankles before rising up and encompassing his body. Kwil and Jonah shout out in alarm. My grip on my sword tightens as I step forward, ready to help however I can.

Theodon’s shoulders lift, shake hard, then sag as he sighs in what sounds like... relief.

As I come to his side, the smoke that’s encompassed half his body falls away, back to the ground.

“Theodon, what—”

The smoke shoots towards me. My heart skips in terror for just a moment, thinking I’ve walked into a trap. But then I feel Willow. As the dark smoke wraps around my ankles, rising up my legs, and encases the entirety of my body, her presence soaks deep into my pores and weaves through my soul. I can’t tell where I stop and where she begins. Her presence binds us together in an infinite circuit. Rushing through it is so much love and joy that there is not even the slightest doubt of what Willow feels for me. My throat squeezes shut as my own emotions choke me.

Can she sense that I feel exactly the same way? That I hadn’t been able to imagine a world without her in it, so I’d left life behind for her? Does Willow feel how absolute and fully I adore her as well? I hope so. Our combined emotions are so intense that when the darkness falls away and slides across the ground towards Kwil and Jonah, I feel bereft. Tears well up in my eyes as I fall to one knee.

I stare down at the dirt, listening to the others’ soft gasps or strangled sounds of surprise as Willow greets them in her strange form. What is this? Why is Willow’s soul not present like ours? The thought that something is wrong, that Fulton has done something to her, chills the warmth Willow’s love left behind.

Swallowing down the knot in my throat, I rise to my feet and glance around. The smoke has gathered by Brock’s ankles, which are covered by his dark cloak, but has not risen. Does she not know who this is? Is something amiss? Have we missed something about this reaper? Theodon and I take a step forward in tandem, clearly thinking along the same lines. I’m not sure what we can do, but there is nothing I won’t do for Willow.

We both stop when the smoke moves away from Brock’s ankles to float before him. It retracts in on itself then rises slowly from the ground. As it does, a shape begins to form.

A robed figure shimmers into existence first, dressed in the darkest shade of black that I’ve ever seen. A scythe appears next. This one is more ornate than Brock’s or even Death’s. The carvings engraved in the blade itself glow green in a language I’ve never seen. But while the blade is impressive, it’s the hand holding it that has garnered my attention.

Literal bones of a hand wrap around the handle.

The sleeves of the robe hide the arm of the owner, but I notice how the hand is attached to a bony wrist.

Holding my breath, I lift my gaze from that hand to where Willow’s face should be. What will it look like in this state?

But by the time I manage to drag my eyes up, the robe fades away, the scythe disappears too, and Willow’s standing there, wearing the same tee shirt and leggings that we last saw her in, all tattered and covered with blood. The loose braid her hair is held back in is coming undone, and she’s missing a shoe.

But she’s here.

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