Page 50 of Soulmates

The emptiness in his chest was good. But something tinged it with anger, and that bored him. After thirty minutes of running, he slowed to get his bearings. Gods, the landscape was weird. Trees and plants everywhere, bursting from the ground wherever he looked. And anywhere there weren’t trees, the ground was too wet to traverse. That was okay; he could adapt. He found himself surrounded by cypress, pine, maple, palms, oaks, and a bunch of other shit he couldn’t name. Moss everywhere. That handy little trick about finding the moss on the tree to find north didn’t work in this place where all things seemed to grow indiscriminately.

There was no getting out of this swamp on foot, and he didn’t know where a ranger station might be in this hellscape. His best bet was to circle back to Cricket’s house and steal the jeep while the rest of them slept. He could crack a ward if he had to—if his magic held up under Cricket’s spell. But still, the problem of Maddox lingered. He had to end Maddox’s existence. That was the only way to keep this emptiness. The emptiness that made him feel so light. No attachments. He didn’t know how he’d borne it all those years.

The scent of oranges invaded his senses. He snapped his head around, looking for Maddox. But there was nothing there. And no oranges grew here despite Florida’s fame for citrus. It was too wet in this place. He cast his senses outward, trying to feel for humans, but felt no one. He let them travel farther, and the orange scent abruptly left. Strange. Jake could have sworn he smelled Maddox.

Never mind. He had to stick with the only plan he could think of. Wait until dark, sneak to Cricket’s, stay back far enough not to be noticed, and when the house quieted and slept, he’d steal the jeep.

He’d need water if he could get it. Why was it hot this early? His outrage at being spelled abated with his focus on logistics. Logistics he could do in his sleep. Water, maintain shade, watch for snakes, and get a weapon.

That last one was easy enough. He needed to find wood that was dry but still sturdy and snap it diagonally to create a spear. There were no rocks around to sharpen it, though he might dig one up with enough surface area to try. Everything was so damn wet here. And not a drop to drink, he thought and hummed to himself.

Hours later, Jake had had moderate luck in creating a weapon, but no luck with water, and he was getting thirstier. He noticed it both with indifference and irritation, the two pushing each other back and forth like errant children in the background while he slid a rock along the bisected wood of a branch he’d broken. He sat on a fallen log, covered in moss—because of course—and stared at a trickling stream made of more mud than water.

Years of training and he could survive in the mountains, the desert, the Godsdamned ocean. But not a swamp. Because who in their right mind would battle in a giant cesspool of breeding bacteria and dense, damp, choking air? He hated everything about it. There had to be clean water somewhere, but how many miles would he have to travel for it? Every attempt to purify what he had found had been a waste of time—his spells frizzled out before he could clean the little water he’d found.

He was thirsty as hell, but it wouldn’t kill him. By morning, he’d be coasting on the highway headed north. And he’d damn well have a case of water and a giant soda with him. And food. Lots of food. He’d start with breakfast sandwiches. Maybe six for the first trek. At least until he could find someplace open and selling burgers. He could eat a dozen of those.

Enough. He had to stop thinking about what he didn’t have and focus on what he did. A weapon and a plan. One glide down the wood, then another, and another. The familiar stroked soothes him. Familiar, but not in that annoying way the sight of Maddox was familiar. Weapons he knew. Weapons he understood. They were tools. Maddox was an impenetrable wall. He needed to be destroyed. But since all attempts had failed, Jake had to find another way. Strategy. That’s what he excelled at, and that’s what he would do. He just needed out of the swamp.

The sweet fragrance of orange hit him at the same moment he sensed something in the water. No, that wasn’t right. He…sensed the water. He paused, rock still in his hand, and cast his senses out. There were creatures around, but he ignored them. There were no people. He cast his mind at the water where he sensed…something. Fish, reptiles, amphibians, bugs. But that wasn’t what had his attention. He waved off the annoying orange scent, or tried to at least.

Focus. Ignore the oranges. The muddy, murky water looked the same as it had all for hours. But it didn’t feel the same. There was something new. His veins hummed in response to the slow movement of the water as it swirled in algae-covered eddies against the mangroves. He was transfixed.

He put his weapon and rock down and lifted his left hand, palm down, not casting, but almost…seeking. He was reaching for something intrinsic to his very being.

A soft blue light emanated from his palm. He turned his hand over, and there it was, a liquid light. So fluid it looked alive. It pooled around his palm and flowed up his fingers, twisting around them like snakes. He curled his fingers together, and a ball of light formed, similar to his normal amber mage ball, but it had more motion. It looked…like water.

He sensed the presence in…no, of the water again. He reached out once more, palm down, fingers out, moving in a wave just slightly up and down. There was a purity to this magic, and exhilaration, which wasn’t something he’d felt in the brief times they’d all left him the hell alone long enough to enjoy the emptiness.

Picturing the emptiness acted like a dampener on the new magic. Fuck. He had been enjoying that. He closed his eyes and breathed. A warrior’s breath. Calming. Meditative. Focused. An exercise meant to prepare for battle. And wasn’t he going into battle? The weapon, the wards, the car. Yes. He had a plan, and he needed to prepare.

The water reached for him again. Was that what was happening? And why? And how? It didn’t matter. He needed to do this with the same drive that he needed to kill Maddox. The desire was all that mattered.

He focused on the water. The cold blue light reappeared around his hand, and he rather liked the color, so he kept moving it around his fingers and palm and gave it a little push. The blue flowed out from his fingers in little rivers and explored the surface of the stream. Phantom wetness hit his throat and he held in a groan. He needed water badly. Clean, pure water to quell this terrible thirst distracting him. And the magic answered.

He felt it first in his fingers, like harp strings being plucked—a vibration that traveled all the way up his arms and into his empty stomach. He pulled at the string, both mentally and using the motion of his hand. He watched, awed, as water travel up the blue of his magic. He kept pulling, not wanting to lose concentration, and as it neared the tips of his fingers, it collected in a ball. He maintained the slow motion of his hand and it kept coming, swirling in a larger and larger sphere in front of him. This liquid didn’t look like it had come from the stream. It was clear, and it smelled clean. He paused and turned his palm to rest just under the ball to see if it would hold. It did, and he leaned in, pressing his lips against it, and took a sip. It was perfect—clean, pure, perfect, as if it had come directly from a spring, if a very warm one. For a moment, everything seemed brighter, and he gulped down precious mouthfuls. Literally, the world around him seemed to shine a little. Were his eyes playing tricks on him now that he wasn’t so thirsty? Or…

“Since when can you summon water?” The familiar voice grated, and his hard-earned drink splashed down around him, splashing over his shoes.

He whirled on Maddox. “Where the fuck did you come from?”

“Over there.” Maddox pointed behind him as if that was a reasonable explanation.

Jake didn’t know what to do. Hurting Maddox didn’t work. Running away from each other hadn’t worked. The scent of fucking oranges was invading his senses as if he could not only smell it but taste it and see it. His chest pulsed in waves. Despite the clear futility, he reached for his stick.

“What’re you even going to do with that? Hit me? Stab me?” Maddox said with a slight smirk. “And then what? What if you killed me?”

A weird pang shot through that pulse point in his chest at Maddox’s words. Why? Why did he feel…displeased at the suggestion of Maddox being killed?

“You going to kill me and then drive off into a normal life?”

Jake hadn’t thought that far ahead. He’d only been thinking in the present tense. Destroy the object of his irritation so irrevocably that he would be free of the anxiety, consternation, focus, emotion…all the things he’d been stuck with before. Before he sent it away. He was free for now, but as soon as Maddox touched him, it would all come back.

Why was he sick to his stomach? As if Maddox’s presence made him anxious. Must be because he needed him dead. Who cared what came next? What was the point of living in such constant confusion? No, Maddox gone was best. He took a step toward Maddox, who danced back several steps.

“Scared, Maddy?”

“Not particularly. Just not ready to touch you yet.”

---