confessional the weight of the wallholds the weight of the crossas you confess your sins of loveof lustof greed you want to talk for hours and hoursuntil your lungs ache and your tongue sticksto th…
one of my favorites!
the weight of the wall
holds the weight of the cross
as you confess your sins of love
of lust
of greed
you want to talk for hours and hours
until your lungs ache and your tongue sticks
to the roof of your mouth like words you end
the entire session with about the one
whose laugh makes your blood course an extra time,
whose smile makes your cheeks bright berries,
whose hand you wish to hold through the full day or
one tiny little inhale
just to know how it feels.
how greedy can you get?
your cunt is wet and all you can do to help
is stick your fingers in and breathe his name
low, from deep in the depths of your heart
as you orgasm and instantly feel dirty, filthy
for doing that here in front of god and everyone
but you really couldn’t help it, he drives you wild
and you absolutely drip with lust
but you also know it’s not his fault he does this.
you need him. you need his voice
honey dripping from your ears
when he speaks. the sun sets in his eyes and rises
in his hands. you only allow yourself these feelings
in the dark, when he’s asleep hundreds of thousands
of miles away, so you can’t even be tempted to
tell him how you feel about the music he sends.
the way he calls you angel
like you get enough of it.
the way his eyes dart over to you
when he’s making music, like he’s
embarrassed that you love it.
you should be embarrassed that you like it all him.
he’s no god, but you still place him above it all.
sweet something crawls off your tongue, cascades
over your barbed wire teeth along with the ash
of your disintegrated could-have-beens. it claws
across the floor, pushing away the have-beens
and the should-not-have-beens that you uttered.
the have-beens allow themselves to be pushed
because they know they do not matter anymore,
not after this. the should-not-have-beens fight
to be seen all at once, an aching pit of fallen tears,
red hot and sparking, desperate to know what they mean.
behind your teeth lie the things that matter
the could-have-beens, they are silent. they lie in wait,
under your guard tongue and deep
in your sleeping gut, wishing on every spark for escape.
you have neglected them for too long.
keep neglecting them as they are powerful– they can
draw weapons or draw hearts– they can burn forests,
this one is for your shared teeth, crooked, and your smile
this one is for your shared teeth, crooked, and your smile
which only shows your top teeth you can breathe through
into your gut (which isn’t as big as you think) just to slow
breathe all the bad back out. it’s okay to let go if you’re
tired of the heartache. it’s okay to love outward– put the dishes
in the dishwasher for him after your hands rinse them clean.
they’ll sparkle when they’re out, just like your wisdom teeth,
and the finish will dissolve. you’ve never lived in grief for another
human. you’ve experienced heartache– some say they’re similar when
you watch yourself grow, pour water over your garden bones. sprout
flowers and bloom seeds til harvest season comes. pick your fruit,
squeeze lemonade to embrace the sour, sprinkle salt over the savory,
allow yourself to enjoy the sweet nestled between your crooked teeth.
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The trees have dressed themselves in the fresh, bright yellow green leaves that only suit late springtime. These leaves wave softly with the breeze. The lakewater ripples blue-green, the kind of color that can only be produced by dyes, though it’s darkened with dirt from the floor and there are still leaves scattered from the autumn. Tiny fish dart back and forth in an eternal dance with the sunlight, water, and leaves. The water is just cold enough to shock at first, but it becomes more comfortable the longer she’s submerged. Juliet’s face is the only thing above the water as she leans back, soaking her hair. She listens to the rush of water flooding her ears happily. It’s a comforting kind of white noise.
It’s so comforting she forgets to open her eyes.
A hand wraps around her ankle. One by one, fingers touch her skin.
Juliet screams, trying desperately to get away, but every stroke against the water just pushed her backwards instead. A laugh shatters the image. The laugh grows louder, high-pitched and punctuated: Ha ha ha ha! It sounds so amused it leaves a metallic sting in her teeth.
A hand curls in her hair and plunges her face into the water again. Right when her lungs start to ache, she is pulled back up. Raw, amused gray eyes meet hers. His lips curl into a vicious, too wide, toothy thing. She can’t tell if he’s baring his teeth or smiling. “You’re so fun to play with. Andy messed up my instructions but he gave me some fun shit. Maybe he does deserve a reward.” He shoves Juliet under again for a couple seconds, then laughs again when she comes up gasping and wiping water off her face with water-soaked hands. He readjusts his grip on her hair and holds her chin in his fingers. “You’re a pretty one, y’know?” He winked at her.
Juliet just stares at him, breathing hard through her nose. She doesn’t dare to open her mouth. Especially not after that.
“You wanna know my name, sweetheart? Kalos.” Kay-loh-sh. “It’s Greek. It means good. Isn’t that ironic?” He laughed again and Juliet feels her stomach convulse. His nostrils flare in his amusement. He pulls harder at her hair when her knees slip in the mud. She gasps at the feeling of follicles tearing, staring up at him. Her face is wet with tears now. “Aw, she’s crying. I love when they cry!” He reaches down and traces her cheek, up to her eye. She keeps it open, staring at him. Daring him to do something.
His smile falls at her stubbornness. “And I hate when they stare. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that staring is disrespectful?” He grabs her jaw so hard something cracks and pain shoots up her cheek. “The fuck is your problem?”
“You,” Juliet spits out at him in a sudden surge of power. Her jaw hurts like hell from it, but it’s worth it. “Where am I?”
“Oh, come on. Religious girl like you should know where you are.” He shakes her head lightly, pressing his fingertips into her jaw where he’d shattered it. “Though this is more like a spell on your soul than it is an actual place. I’m just your watcher.” He smiles again and taps her nose. “You want an explanation, brat? I’ll give you one.”
He drags her onto shore by her hair, not giving a single shit when her face falls under the surface of the water or that fact that she’s scrambling trying to follow him without being literally dragged by her hair. She sucks in frantic breaths when he finally stops and shoves her down against a tree before plopping down next to her. He points at their wrists side by side. A pair of handcuffs appears to connect them.
He points again and a small white board like the kind Juliet would use in elementary school appears in his lap with a red marker. “You like red, right? Me too. It’s the best color.” He draws a little stick figure girl on one side of the white board propped on his knees. She was smiling. “That’s you.” He draws a guy with horns and an angry smile. “That’s me. No, I’m not the devil, but I’m pretty close.” He grins and draws an X over the girl. “You’re dead, and—“ He circles her. “Trapped in this spell. Basically you’re fucked, destined to relive your worst nightmares and your death and whatever else I want you to imagine and experience.” His voice picks up speed as he continues. “I could rip your arm off. I could tear out every hair on your body one by one. I could hang you upside down and bleed you into a bucket, pull out your fingernails, pluck out your eyes, staple your lips, extract every single tooth in that mouth— Basically I can do whatever I want with you, because you’re mine now. Got it?” He smiles at her as she stares at the girl on the whiteboard. “You’re dead, your corpse is six-feet under, and your soul is here. Suck it up, princess.”
Juliet shakes her head. She’s not fully dead. She can’t be. “Mason’s gonna save me,” she breathes. “She will. I know her. We have to—“
Kalos laughs again and lifts his hands to hold her face. Her hand lifts with his. “Oh, girl, you are rich. This shit is strong. You really think you can just be broken from this by a cute little witch? She hasn’t even mastered illusions! She hasn’t even been a witch for a year! You are hilarious!”
Juliet shakes her head more. Panic is welling in her chest. “That won’t matter! She’s— You don’t know her and you don’t know our friends and you don’t know shit about me!”
“I don’t know shit about you?” Kalos snickers and tosses the whiteboard and marker to the side. They disappear. He stands up and drags her up with him. He faces her, so close Juliet could smell every word on his breath. They smell like cigarette ash and rotten meat. “I have seen you through every lifetime you’ve had. I have seen you as Jullian Hill, transgender rockstar. I have seen you as Jullian Hill, transgender single father. I have seen you as Jullian Hill, male superstar, male lead singer, male hockey player, male art teacher.... I have seen you as Juliet Hargrove, stripper, Juliet Hill, famous actress, Juliet Hargrove, popstar. You changed your last name then, you couldn’t stand your family. You tend to favor music, sweetheart. It’s funny that the one time I catch you, you don’t seem to give a shit about making it. I’d been planning some wicked shit with destroying your vocal cords.” He wraps a hand around her throat. His sharp, claw-like nails dig into her skin. They draw blood that drips down her neck slow and warm. Images of every lifetime drip into her mind. “Mason found you in every different dimension, too, that bitch. Of course she did. I’m not surprised; she’s strong. So did Aurora, and boy, I can’t wait til she sees this spell and what her new boy toy did to you and tears herself apart trying to fix it. I can’t wait to have her in my grasp again.”
He stares at Juliet for a second, then smirks. “Aw, that’s so sweet. You’re curious about my work?” He taps her nose again and leans in closer to rub his against it. He stays that close. “Well, baby, let’s just say you should really behave. You’re gonna be here a long time. Juliet Hill, Hargrove, Jullian, Mona, whatever you go by? They don’t exist anymore, sweetheart. You don’t exist. There’s no reincarnation, no other dimension, no time jump, no getting fucked into another life to keep safe this time.” He lets go of her, but she stays right where she is. Her palms flatten against the tree bark. “Juliet Hill is no more. Juliet Hill no longer exists!”
After cackling again, he smiles wide at her speechlessness. “Good girl.” He lifted his hand near her eyes and snapped his fingers. “And back to your regularly scheduled programming!”
Juliet gasps, eyes opening to the ceiling of the motel room. Next to her, someone whispers.
Aurora, Stella, and Mason left the Conway University area around eight in the morning with the following in the trunk of Stella’s Chevy Chevelle: ten deer bones sitting in a bag of water, a large Taco Bell cup taped shut and full of blood from a pregnant dog, one plastic tupperware container of freshwater pearl oysters, a bottle of red wine, and a bottle of olive oil, three plastic bags full of herb sprigs they’d tied last night, and various sizes of metal bowls and multiple different kinds of knives. It was like they were going to record the weirdest outdoor cooking video ever. Aurora Yamamoto, a Japanese trickster demon with an air of casual indifference sat in the passenger seat. Stella, a vampire, drove while tapping her toes against the gas pedal in time with the classic rock blaring from the radio. Mason, the witch, hid herself in a hoodie in the backseat like she didn’t want to be there despite this whole thing being her idea.
Two weeks ago, Juliet Hill, Mason’s roommate-slash-almost-girlfriend and everyone’s friend, was found face up in the lake on their college campus. It had been ruled a suicide. Her death had left Mason a mess. She’d gone so deep into her grief that she could hardly even say Juliet’s name. It still took a second to get it out from between her teeth.
Mason had sprayed the hoodie, the one Juliet loved most of all her clothes that represented some numetal band she loved, with some of Juliet’s lavender perfume before they left Stella’s apartment. It smelled like her. She couldn’t stop holding the sleeves against her nose. There were still a few blonde hairs strewn around on the hoodie that Mason couldn’t bring herself to remove either. She was also wearing the Saint Monica College sweatpants Juliet always stole from her. Both of these things would go on Juliet’s body as soon as she was back with them. If she was back with them.
She hoped to have Juliet back by dawn.
A week ago, Mason had been visited in a dream by her patron goddess, Bast. She could still hear Bast’s voice in her mind when she thought about it: “This is an imbalance, my child. I will lead you to right it.” It hadn’t been the first time Mason thought that Juliet didn’t deserve to die. She’d been thinking it from the moment it happened. Juliet was too young. She was in the middle of her redemption arc, for lack of a better term. She was turning into a better person. Of course, those had been Juliet’s own words, but it still applied. She hadn’t wanted to die anymore. She’d gone through eighteen years of being the unwanted trouble child, of ruining relationships, of suicidal thoughts, of doing other things that she had only alluded to Mason about yet, but had finally made it to a good place in her life. Of course, that was when he took her.
So Mason was going to bring her back. Well, Stella and Aurora were helping, and so was some human they hadn’t found yet. She didn’t understand why Juliet couldn’t just be friends with a human for once, still. Maybe it had something to do with the repressed siren magic that had to be in her blood, since her twin was a siren. Mason blinked and stared at the back of the car seat in front of her. What if that complicated things? What if they needed siren blood, not human blood? The spell wasn’t for a siren. What if this didn’t work because of that?
“Turn left.” The GPS voice snapped Mason back into the present. Stella and Aurora were talking back and forth in the front seat. Their voices melded with the radio commercials in Mason’s ears as soon as her eyes landed on the clay dolls in her lap. She was keeping them as close to her person as possible to continue the flow of life into the dolls. One represented Juliet. The other represented Mason. If-- After Juliet took her first breath, Mason would have to tie the dolls together and burn them in order to bind their souls. It was the only way to keep Juliet on Earth, an aspect Aurora had advised her was missing from the spell.
Mason had made the dolls by hand. They’d taken over an hour to make. She’d mixed the clay in a pot in Stella’s cheap apartment kitchen, transferred the clay to two mixing bowls, and formed each doll while thinking about the person they would represent. Juliet’s doll had hairs picked off the same sweatshirt Mason was wearing massaged into it, but otherwise it hardly represented Juliet. It was necessary for Mason to think about Juliet while forming the doll. She hadn’t given her this much thought since two weeks ago when Juliet died.
She really missed her. She missed the goofy, toothy grin Juliet would give her when she almost got caught doing something she shouldn’t be. She missed Juliet’s lavender and honey perfumes, or the scent of the green apple shampoo and conditioner Jules used in her tangled mess of curly hair. She missed trying to figure out the best way to describe the color of Juliet’s eyes. The closest she’d come was seafoam, but even that wasn’t right. They were more blue than green. She missed trying to count the freckles on Juliet’s cheeks (106 was the highest she’d gotten) while Jules rambled about something Mason didn’t know much about, like her art classes or things she’d learned in her psychology classes. She missed the tone of her voice when she was talking like that. Her ridiculous laugh that Mason had to coax out of her on the first day they met. Juliet’s hand in hers, even if their palms grew sweaty while they walked together. Juliet’s snoring and sleep talking waking Mason up at night, turned into sleepwalking the night before an exam. Singing in the car together. Everything, every moment Mason had with Juliet was flashing through her mind like she was reliving the last moments of her own life… Which she very well could have been. Nothing felt right without Juliet there too.
She looked down at the formed and dried doll in her hand, trying to hold back her tears. It was lumpy and brown, and to make it even worse it hardly even looked like a person. Her own wasn’t much better off, with her own saliva mixed into it. It looked even less like a person than Juliet’s.
They arrived in Traverse City, a tourist city on the edge of Lake Michigan, about two hours after leaving. The entire drive had seen them surrounded by trees, water, and other cars along the highway. Traverse City was Juliet’s hometown. As soon as they hit downtown, it made sense. Stella’s car coasted through the streets downtown, passing local shops, restaurants, and glimpses of the lake. People lined the sidewalks, excited to take in the summer day, some of them dressed in swimsuits and sheer cover-ups, others a bit more modest. It was easy to picture Juliet wandering these streets with her sister or friends, laughing loud, excusing herself when she inevitably bumped into someone while walking backwards. Hopefully, she’d be able to take Mason shopping there soon. Mason tried going over the Greek for the spell incantations in her head. Fuck if she knew what it meant. Aurora had translated it for her, but she could barely remember. Something about giving Juliet’s soul back.
They stopped at the rundown motel they’d booked and set everything they could need up in the room. They had lunch at a place Juliet had talked about multiple times before, where Mason ordered Juliet’s favorite burger. They went to visit her gravesite afterward.
The walk along the path from the parking spaces of the graveyard was hard. Last time Mason had been here was the funeral, where Juliet’s mother complained about how sad she was having lost her daughter all while smiling and chatting on the phone, even during the eulogy. It had disgusted even Rosaline, Juliet’s twin and their mother’s perfect daughter, to the point of shouting. Juliet would have both hated it and loved it.
The day was comfortably hot in a hoodie and sweats, which was the average of a day in late April. Mason walked alone right now, having left the others at the car after asking for some alone time with Juliet. It would help her feel closer.
When she arrived at the grave, Mason sat on the grass in front of the stone. It was already showing signs of wear. There were new flowers set in front of it, on the grass. They’d been knocked over. White roses were scattered sideways, looking just a little trampled, and the vase they’d been in was pink and black. Rosaline probably left them. They were Jules’ favorite flower and the vase was Rosa and Juliet’s favorite colors. Mason picked them up as carefully as she could, swearing softly when thorns on the first two stung her. Once the vase was upright again and all six flowers were looking better, she traced Juliet’s name with her pinky fingertip.
“You’ll be okay,” Mason whispered. “We’re going to make sure of that. I already told Mama that Stella’s coming home with me after a couple more days around Conway. She’s excited to see Stell, since they used to be friends too. Apparently they went to college together, back when Stella was in college for the first time. That’s something I’ve got to tell you about. It was weird seeing them all buddy-buddy at the funeral.” She laughed weakly. “I think Mama’ll be excited to see you. And she’ll definitely take you in. There’s no way she wouldn’t, especially after how your mom acted at your funeral. You won’t ever have to see your mom again. We’ll take care of you. My family’ll just get even bigger.” She tapped the headstone with splayed fingers. “I can’t wait to see you again, see you breathing and shit. Even if it’s weird. Even if you’re weird. I can’t tell you how many laws I’m breaking to get you here, Julesy. Supernatural and human laws. We’re getting you back tonight. No matter what. I’ll have my best friend back. We can bring more new flowers here tomorrow, too. And get you some to have for yourself.
“I’m doing the right thing by bringing you back, though, right? Stella and Aurora seem to think I’m fucked in the head. They’re indulging me and miss you, so they’re helping, but it feels weird. It feels like they’re-- They already said they’re prepping for the worst. They said they talked about how they’d take care of it if you came back wrong in some way. I didn’t even know that was a possibility. I thought you either came back or you didn’t.” She rubbed her hands together, then started plucking lightly at the tips of the grass, snapping them off with her fingernails. “I just… I wish I knew where you are. Are you in Heaven or Hell? Do those places even exist? What makes one better or worse than the other? I wish I knew so I could know if I need to help you or if I could leave you alone and you’d be happy. I feel like everything’s a fucking wish without you though. I miss you. I want you back.” She sighed weakly, staring at the gravestone and rubbing a blade of grass between her fingers. “I’m so selfish.”
Mason rubbed the headstone one more time for good luck. As she approached the lot, she caught a glimpse of someone standing in the distance, leaning against the car. He was at the car. He killed Juliet. He was going to hurt Stella and Aurora. “Hey!” Mason shouted, starting toward the car. “Get the fuck away from them!”
Andrew Roberts was standing by the car, looking at Mason like she was some bird waddling toward them instead of a powerful witch running at the guy who killed her best friend. She shoved hard at his chest, taking him to the ground and slamming her foot down on his chest hard enough to make him cough. “What the fuck is your issue?” she snapped. “I told you I didn’t need your help. I told you to fuck off. You caused this.”
The last time Mason saw Andrew, he was handing her sheets of paper he’d ripped from a book in the Conway library restricted section. He had threatened to turn her in for attempting an illegal spell if she turned him in for killing Juliet. It was the moment she’d realized Juliet was more important than getting legal justice. Mason could turn him in later, after she had Juliet back. She didn’t want him anywhere near them right now, though. He was the one who killed her for some demon named Kalos. For all she knew, he was going to fuck up their spell so Juliet was required to stay wherever she was.
“Mason!” Aurora hissed, shoes slapping the pavement of the sidewalk as she hopped off the trunk of the car. “Leave him alone. He’s helping us. Andrew, tell her.”
“Like fuck he is! We don’t need him.”
“We do!” Aurora shouted. Her voice was shrill and loud now. “Shut up and listen for once in your life!”
Mason shut up, glaring at Andrew as hard as she could. She wished she could rip his head off already. With her bare hands. They were in a cemetery. It’d be easy to bury him.
Andrew spoke, his voice quiet and trembling. He sat up now that Mason’s foot was off his chest, rubbing at his arms and pushing his long, greasy dark hair off his face. “I didn’t want to kill her. Kalos was going to kill me if I didn’t, though.” He got to his feet, carefully keeping his eyes away from everyone else’s. “I left the watcher he has on me and Aurora is keeping me hidden. I want to help. You need human blood, they just told me. I want to give it. I can spot him easier, too. And I-- She wasn’t a bad person. She doesn’t deserve his f-”
“We need him,” Aurora explained, interrupting him. “He’s the only human we have who’s willing to give the spell blood. We need him. I don’t care what vengeance you have against him right now. Isn’t bringing Juliet back a thousand times more important to you than this?”
Mason’s fingers curled into fists. Her nails dug into her palm hard enough to sting. “A million times more. This piece of shit doesn’t matter to me at all.” She looked away from him, lips pursed. “I don’t want him anywhere near any of the stuff we have prepped. He waits in the car while we get the body tonight. I don’t want him alone unless he’s in the bathroom, and even that’s got a time limit. Got it?” She looked at him. “Got it?”
Andrew nodded and Mason got in the car without another word. He sat in the backseat on the passenger side. Mason glared at him briefly, then settled for looking out the window instead. Hopefully they’d need enough human blood to bleed him out. She really hoped so.
☥☥
The night air was cool and crisp, as it usually was during the summer. It smelled like soil and decay in the cemetery. The moon was full. Mason’s power felt strong, which was astounding for the night. It was necessary. She was invoking every deity she could tonight. She was bringing life back into a corpse tonight.
Mason stopped to scratch at her neck. Mosquitoes were rampant right now, and the dirt flying up as she dug toward the casket was not helping the itch. She swore softly and kept digging. Her hands hurt at this point. The shovel they’d brought was not meant to be used for so long.
Aurora had already started her illusion. Apparently it seemed to others that they were doing a prayer circle around the grave or having a picnic, an activity that screamed "leave us alone.” Stella brought out the pry bar and sledgehammer from her trunk once Mason hit the concrete burial vault.
Everything was real. They were going to rob Juliet from her grave. Mason got out of the
grave with Stella’s help.
Mason leaned against the car, trying to ignore the pain in her hands as she watched Aurora and Stella use the sledgehammer to break the liner open, then wedge the pry bar between the nailed edges of the coffin. She held her palms out flat, facing the stars, and breathed out slowly. She started praying softly to Bast, asking her to make sure this pain didn’t cause an issue in the spell she was meant to complete. She didn’t know what else to do right now. It was pain from digging combined with pain from the thorn pricks earlier. She hadn’t told anyone yet, but the thorns had apparently embedded in her skin. They’d broken off from the roses and were painful as hell, but Mason had to work around them. Massaging them out from her skin earlier had proven a difficult but fruitful task, albeit one that left behind red marks and a dull ache spreading from her fingers to her palms.
Now that doubt was planted in her mind again. She’d doubted this entire thing two days ago, when Aurora revealed to her that she’d seen a resurrection only once before and no one had come out alive. There was a risk that Juliet wouldn’t come back normal no matter what, demon thorns involved or not. It wasn’t like resurrection spells were listed in a book of 10 Things Every Witch Should Know! or anything. They were illegal as hell and involved some illegal things, both human and supernatural. It went against everything Mason was for, yet here she was, doing this.
Juliet’s death had really fucked with her head, huh?
It took them a minute, but soon enough Mason heard a loud, “Holy fuck, that reeks!” from Stella, followed by Aurora’s high pitched giggling.
Things were going to be alright. They had to be.
She wandered away from the car after they lifted Juliet’s body out of the hole wrapped in a sheet. They needed to be careful with her and keep her as still as possible. They didn’t want to risk hurting her too much. It wasn’t like Mason couldn’t heal whatever broken limbs or whatever happened, but it wouldn’t work on a dead body. She’d have to bring Juliet back, bind their souls, then use her remaining energy to heal whatever happened to her. It wouldn’t be pretty. That much energy, actually, could kill Mason, and that would ruin the whole plan. It was beyond risky.
Andrew got out of the car to open the trunk when Stella and Aurora gathered up the ends of the sheet Juliet was wrapped in and lifted her. They settled her in the trunk and Aurora and Stella drove her back to the motel alone, leaving Andrew and Mason to fill the grave and replace the sod.
While they were gone, Andrew filled the grave again for Mason. She couldn’t move her hands very well. He’d definitely noticed her stiffness, because he immediately started on it without question. She watched him quietly at first, then sighed and sat down on the edge of the grave. Her feet dangled just a little down toward the cracked concrete burial vault and coffin. He glanced up at her for a second as he pushed greasy hair out of his eyes, then looked back at the dirt he was pushing into the empty grave. Mason watched him for a minute, then sighed. Silence was awkward. “Why would you kill all those people? If I were you, I’d’ve killed myself before killing them.”
Andrew stared at her for a second. The shovel in his hand was steady as he stared, then he nodded once. “I want to stay alive,” he admitted. “It’s a better life than the one I was living before.”
Mason stared at him. “I’d rather be dead than know I’m putting someone through this pain.”
“The only people close to me who’ve died deserved it.” Andrew shoved some more dirt into the hole, then stuck the tip of the shovel into the grass. He looked up to meet her eyes. His gaze was always so emotionless. “I didn’t know Juliet was so close to all of you until it was too late. This is the first time I’m dealing with this.”
“Does it make you want to stop?”
Andrew was silent.
Maybe it was just something Mason would never be able to understand.
Mason stared at the dirt as he tossed it into the grave. It made her think of Juliet’s funeral, when her dad had tossed the first handful of dirt into the grave after the vault containing the coffin was lowered. It was tradition. Death was a weird process for the living. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again to say, “I don’t know if I should be bringing her back.”
Andrew stopped transferring dirt for a minute, then sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you. The spell I gave you takes her out of a spell I completed for Kalos.” He met Mason’s eyes. His didn’t waver as he spoke. “She’s not in a good place. She needs saved.”
Mason stared right back at him, then sucked in a shaking, crisp breath once she remembered to. “Really?”
He nodded once, then went right back to placing dirt without a single word.
For some reason, Mason started thinking about how, a couple months ago Juliet had told Mason something that someone in her psychology course had told her about people lying. “Liars look into your eyes dead on when lying because society told them shifty eyes are a sign of a liar. Eyes shift around when you’re telling the truth.”
“Help me with the sod.”
☥☥☥
On their way into the motel room, Mason watched Andrew squash a pearly white maggot into the fibres of the carpet. It had probably fallen from Juliet’s body. Was she full of maggots? Mason really didn’t want to picture that. She didn’t even want to picture Juliet’s corpse at all.
Luckily, she didn’t have to. The sight was right in front of her when she followed Stella and Aurora into the bathroom, Andrew trailing between them. He stared at the body, then looked at Mason, who was slowly losing her composure. Juliet’s body was right in front of her, in a bathtub, looking worse than she’d ever even considered it could look.
Mason hadn’t expected her to look so dead. Her skin was starting to turn yellow, and there were bugs crawling across her face. Whatever makeup the mortician had put on her was caked into her face and dried out, making her lips a weird bright matte red and her eyelids a greenish-black. The dress she was buried in was covered in dirt, but had held up pretty well. It was a shame she couldn’t be wearing it. Her legs looked normal, and so did everything else. She just looked like she was sleeping in a weird position with makeup on and… Mason exhaled slowly, trying not to breathe in the stench. It was awful, like Mason’s bedroom that time she’d hidden weeks of uneaten food from her mama, but somehow worse.
“Andrew, get out,” she said quietly.
He obliged, standing within view of the bathroom door so Mason could keep an eye on him. It was a wonder how good of a sport he was being about this. It made her feel even more uneasy about believing what he’d told her at the grave.
Mason licked her lips, then looked at Stella and Aurora. “Who’s doing this? She needs to be as clean as possible.”
“Stell, you’re the one with the undead expertise,” Aurora said happily, smacking her on the shoulder.
Stella scoffed. “Maybe Mason should! She’s the one who has to spend all this time with Juliet. Plus it feels weird, I’m almost seventy and Juliet’s only, like, a couple months into eighteen. Gross. Plus Mason’s seen her like this before.”
Mason looked at Stella. “Do you want me to throw up? I can’t do it anyway, I have to be as pure as possible. Touching her would be like dying or something. It’s weird.”
Stella groaned and then sank to her knees by the tub. “Fine.”
Mason did hang out in the bathroom, though, watching Stella carefully run her hands over Juliet’s skin after using scissors to cut into the dress. Stella was doing it all with care. She rubbed water gently over Juliet’s stomach, cleaning out the autopsy scar along her chest and between her ribs. She tried to run her hands through Juliet’s hair, but the second Mason saw a clump of curls break out into Stella’s hands, she stopped her. Stella cleaned under Juliet’s fingernails gently with a dollar store toothbrush.
Mason watched her, having moved closer at this point. She stared at the dirt coming out from under the nails into the toothbrush. The dull ache in her own hands increased every time she thought about it. She could deal with the pain. It didn't matter.
Her eyes lifted up to Juliet’s face. The makeup was running down it now. Stella couldn’t rub hard enough to take it off without risking harm. What mattered was Juliet, and this wasn't going to slow her down. Nothing could slow her down now.
Andrew and Stella moved Juliet’s body back into the center of the room. While Stella cleaned Juliet’s body with Mason’s supervision, Andrew and Aurora had pushed the bed into the corner and stacked the nightstand and whatever else they could on top of it to get as much room as possible. It was a mess, and the carpet would definitely be stained, but they could hide it with the bed again. It would work out. Everything would work out.
Stella climbed up on the bed carefully to take down the smoke alarm. She knocked the batteries out of it and dropped it into the drawer of the nightstand to keep it safe. Andrew locked the door and tugged the curtains closed. Mason took out all of the sheets of paper they’d copied, scrawled all over, and drawn on. They had every single note she needed, the timing for everything. Aurora set the fire pit on the floor not too far from Mason or Juliet’s body, filled it with fire wood, and lit it.
The fire sparked to life. Mason shivered.
It was time.
Eyes closed, Mason took a deep breath, then reached forward to cut the stitches holding Juliet’s lips closed as carefully as she could with a small paring knife. Juliet’s lips parted gradually, her jaw falling slack without the pressure of the stitching keeping it tight. She followed that with the same action on the stitches holding her eyelids closed. Her eyelids fell open, exposing pink muscle, ruptured seafoam blue, and gray-white. Her eyeballs were sunken, deflated sacs of some kind of liquid. Mason’s grip on the knife handle tightened. She pried Juliet’s lips apart gently, making sure her mouth hung open wide.
After that came the hard part. Mason gestured for Stella to come close. Stella helped her break up the deer bones, using her vampire strength to snap them. They scraped out as much bone marrow as possible into one of the metal bowls they’d brought. It was hard not to think about how weird it looked. It was like a weird pink hummus. It smelled awful, though. She followed that with a generous pour of the dog blood. She then mixed the two slowly with her fingers, thinking of Juliet. She had to bring her back. This was to bring her back. Juliet’s soul mattered most of anyone’s. She finished mixing the two and reached into the container Stella had opened for her to grab an oyster. She smacked it hard on the floor, then pried open the crack she’d made with her knife. She sliced into the meat of the oyster. She cut the meat up further into pieces as small as she could, then scooped it into the mixture. The pearl fell last. Mason plucked it out and set it gently in the dip of Juliet’s collarbone. She pressed the mixture together with her fingers.
Once she was done with that, she scooped a gentle handful out of the bowl and whispered to herself as she gently smeared some of the mixture along Juliet’s sternum, between her bare breasts, between her ribs, to her navel, along the stitching of her autopsy cut. Her finger bumped along the uneven stitching as she whispered her prayer. Prayers went to Anubis, to Osiris, to Ra, to Bast, to Iris, to Zeus, to Hades, Enki, Nergal, and in general anyone who would help them purely, to bring them life, rebirth, rejuvenation, revival, resuscitation, resurrection, life, life, life. It was all Mason focused on. What she told the others to focus on.
The energy of the room amped up gradually with every prayer. Mason’s fingers glided over Juliet’s limbs with the mixture. She followed the covering of Juliet’s body with her own, smearing the paste down her forehead, along her nose, over her lips, and down to her heart. She was in one of Juliet’s bras and a pair of her sweatpants. Mason placed her entire hand into the mixture, then placed her bloody palm on her ribs over her heart as she sent out the last prayer, a repeat to Bast, begging her to give her the energy necessary to restore life.
Next came the offerings. While Mason was busy with her prayer and the mixture, Aurora poured generous amounts of wine and olive oil into cups and handed them around to everyone. Mason received hers last. She took the plastic cup in her hands, one wrapped around the curve of the cup, the other covering the opening. She was quiet for a breath before she turned the cup to the side and slowly let the mixture pour out onto the carpet of the motel. Her eyes remained closed. When the cup became weightless in her hand, she opened her eyes. There was no stain. There was no stain in front of any of them. She reached up to her ears and removed her authentic gold earrings, holding them in her palms, a piece of lavender infused chocolate between them. She stayed with them extended, palms flat, until the chocolate had melted into her palms. When she opened her eyes again, the contents of her palms were gone.
Mason stood when she was done with that. She moved to the fire, burning larger in the metal pit now. She picked up the Snoopy, holding it gently in her hands. She pressed her lips to its forehead. When she pulled away, there was a bloody lip mark on the white fur. It pained her to do this. It really did. She held the plush toy over the flames. “Juliet has kept this safe since birth. She has slept with it every night for the past eighteen years. I offer this to you, gods, as a sacrifice. Her most precious possession, for your taking.” She lowered it into the flames, setting it gently on the pile of wood. “She’s going to kill me for doing this.” She smiled slightly as she said it. She leaned over the fire and inhaled the smoke produced from burning the fabric, then breathed it out as she spoke the sacrificial incantation. Her eyes lingered briefly on Andrew, who was standing near the door, entranced as he watched the events of the spell unfold. She made herself look away from him. She couldn’t afford malice.
She turned away and grabbed a clean knife. This one was larger than the paring knife. This one was for the living.
Mason started with Stella. She held her hand out to take Stella’s. Her fingers wrapped around Stella’s wrist to hold her in place, her hand straight, palm angled down over Juliet’s gaping mouth. Mason sliced into the flesh of Stella’s palm slowly and methodically. She curled Stella’s fingers in, ignoring the pained hisses, and squeezed her hand as tightly together as she could. Blood poured out from her palm into Juliet’s mouth, onto her teeth, onto her tongue. Once she had enough, Mason let go of Stella’s hand and helped her stand. She gestured for Andrew to step forward.
Mason would be lying if she said she didn’t get some satisfaction from the ritualistic slicing into Andrew’s palm. She pushed the knife as deep as she could, slower than she had for Stella. She pushed it, tearing through his skin, his fat, his muscle, until she hit bone. He didn’t make a single sound. She curled his hand in the way she had Stella’s, holding it over Juliet’s mouth. His blood came out much faster, as he was human and his wound was deeper. She moved his wrist slowly, dragging it up to drip just slightly into Juliet’s eye sockets, then down to pour into her autopsy cut. When she was done, she helped him stand.
Now for herself. She stopped to take a breath to steel herself, then dug the blade into her palm. It sliced easily into her skin, past her own fat and muscle. She could feel the tearing. She let her blood pour into Juliet’s mouth, mixing with the human blood and vampire blood. She followed this by placing small sprigs of sage, ivy, and aloe vertically over her mouth and horizontally over her ribs. When she was done, she turned her hand so her palm hovered over Juliet’s mouth. She spoke.
“O theoí iketévoume gia ti voítheiá sas to éleós sou kai tous epaínous sou. Epistrofí psychís sto sóma kai to aíma…”
O gods we beg for your aid, your mercy and your praise. Return soul to body and blood. With life let this cavity flood.
The more Mason spoke, the more exhaustion threatened. Despite this, she could feel the energy taking over the room. The air rippled like sound waves. Her fingers prickled like they were asleep. The fire burned brighter. Mason wasn't sure if it was herself, the gods, or something else. The fire began to burn at a higher speed, crackling loud and increasing in size by the second.
Then it was gone. All that remained were crumbling white clumps of ashed out wood.
The fire grew out of control, not widening but spreading upwards, almost touching the ceiling. The windows clattered. The ground shook like there was a low-intensity earthquake happening right there in their room.
The stuff of horror movies.
This wasn't a horror movie, though.
This was going to bring Juliet back.
Mason was more sure of that than she ever had been.
She cradled Juliet's face in her palms, pulling her closer as the cheap coffee maker crashed to the floor. The glass decanter shattered. The lamp threatened to do the same, but it stayed on the dresser. The painting above the beds swung wildly on one wire, connected to the ceiling by a flimsy nail that threatened to fall out with the movement.
Mason wasn't focused on any of it at all. She was looking at Juliet. Her Juliet. The girl she loved. The one who took Mason out of her shell, brought light and life out of her. Brought life out of everyone. The one Mason felt like she'd known all her life, who deserved a life. This was an imbalance.
She was righting a wrong. That counted. She was doing it. She could feel it. She could. She felt like she was going to pass out. The pain in her palm spread to her chest. She couldn’t…
She took a deep breath, focusing on Juliet's face, ignoring everything else. One hand on her chest, over her heart. The other on her cheek. Fighting to keep chanting, the words known to heart already.
She was going to wake up. She was going to be okay. She could feel her energy.
And Aurora's energy. She hadn't realized she'd been chanting with her for the past couple minutes, reading from the pages.
She could almost see it already, Juliet’s eyes opening. Those blue eyes. Those lips turning up in a smile, dimpling in the corners. She needed to see that smile.
"Come on, Juliet. Wake up," Mason paused her chanting to whisper desperately. She wasn't sure how much longer she could keep going, but she would. Until she passed out. Until.... whatever happened. She wasn't stopping. "Wake up!"
Everything stopped. The lamp finally fell onto the carpet, the light going out. The sound of glass and porcelain shattering went unnoticed. Everyone’s chests heaved as they stared at Juliet's body. Her body, lying still on the white and brown-stained bedsheet, curls spread out around her head in a blonde halo. Mason wished Juliet was on a bed of grass, not some shitty scratchy green carpet in an equally shitty motel, the moonlight shining in through the now open curtains, onto Juliet’s pale skin. Mason needed to take her tanning this summer, or else.
Movement. All they needed was one tiny movement. Miniscule. A finger lifting. A heartbeat. A flutter of eyelashes. A shoulder lifting. A muscle flexing.
A breath.
For the love of every god and goddess in existence, breathe.
That was the only thing Mason could think as she stared at Juliet’s face. It was a horrific image, the woman she loved laying there dead, mouth gaping open and full of blood, face slack, eyeless. Her eyelashes were clipped where the paring knife had knocked against them. Her hair was patchy from where Stella had pulled a clump out while cleaning her body. She was naked, covered in blood marrow, and laid out on a stained bedsheet. She looked so sad.
Maybe Mason wasn’t doing the right thing. Maybe Juliet was in Heaven and Andrew had lied to her. Maybe Mason was playing into Kalos’s wishes by bringing Juliet back. It didn’t make sense for Juliet to be in Hell, anyway. She was too perfect. She was funny, loud, confident, passionate, creative, strong, crazy out-going, and so much more that Mason could hardly think about without crying. Juliet’s soul was bright and perfect and Mason was ruining it with all her worry and need.
All she needed was for Juliet to come back. She couldn’t stop now, even though she wanted to now. Exhaustion was taking over. Doubt was taking over. She didn’t know where Juliet was. She didn’t know anything other than the fact that she needed to complete this spell, so Juliet had to breathe. If she didn’t, they could all die. It was something she’d talked about with Aurora before, when they’d discussed the one other form of the spell Aurora had seen over two hundred years ago. If they didn’t complete it, they’d all be killed.
☥☥
“Wake up!”
Mason’s fist slammed against Juliet’s chest for the third time. “Wake up!” she screamed, then shook her body. “Wake up! Breathe!”
They’d finished the spell. Everything had gone silent and still.
It had stayed that way.
It had taken around three minutes for Mason to start screaming. She’d been screaming at Juliet for the past five minutes. Her throat hurt. Tears and snot were salty in her mouth, combining themselves with the disgusting mixture of raw oyster, dog blood, and bone marrow that had been settling in on her tongue. No one else had moved yet.
She hit Juliet again. Her head lolled to the side, a stupid bowling ball of useless matter. Blood spilled from her mouth onto the sheet, as useless as her head. As useless as her corpse. As useless as the spell. It was all useless.
Stella’s hand rested on Mason’s shoulder when she went to hit Juliet’s chest again. “Mason,” she whispered.
Mason felt like her chest had been ripped open. She sucked in a shaking breath. She whispered, voice trembling as she continued the incantation again. Aurora hadn’t stopped. Stella kneeled next to her, hand tight on her shoulder.
“She’s gone, Mason.”
“No,” Mason whispered. She shook her head, then placed her hands palm down on Juliet’s chest. She pressed down on her. She went into the incantation again, pressing against Juliet’s chest. She imagined her energy flowing, seeping into Juliet’s skin. She could almost imagine filling Juliet with everything she had for her, all the memories and life Mason saw in her, all the perfection and imperfection Mason had seen from Juliet when she was alive, and even after she had died.
Pressure pressed up against Mason’s palms. Her palms rose and fell with Juliet’s chest, second by second, as air filled her lungs all over again. Hope flooded through Mason, extending from her palms. Mason kept breathing out the incantation, nails digging gently into Juliet’s skin. She could feel blood flowing. There was a heartbeat under there. There was another breath on its way.
Everything went silent again as really did she suck in another breath, even slower than the first.
Her eyes had closed. They opened just enough for Mason to see blue irises, shockingly blue compared to the black makeup still caked around them. Mason leaned over her more, grinning so wide her cheeks hurt.
“You’re alive.”
“Mason, the bond--” Aurora piped up.
Mason’s eyes widened and she nodded, grabbing the two clay dolls. She tied them together, then threw them into the burning fire pit with a loud crack, followed by a crackle as they lit up. She started removing the sprigs of herbs from Juliet’s mouth and chest. She helped her sit up, amazed by the chill of Juliet’s skin and the emotion swelling to the surface in her own. Arms flung around Juliet’s shoulders, Mason buried her head in Juliet’s neck and breathed in deep. She smelled like dirt and decay, but she had a heartbeat. She had some semblance of warmth. Why wasn’t she super warm like usual though?
Mason wrote it off fast, because she suddenly felt something flooding down her back and then wriggling. Her entire body stiffened. “What was that?” she asked.
Juliet’s voice was low, scratchy and quiet as she replied, “I threw up.”
Mason made a face of disgust. “What did you throw up?”
Stella sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “The blood. And some maggots.”
Mason whined loudly. “Gross! Gross, gross, gross!” She didn’t pull away from Juliet, though.
Juliet was alive. She was breathing, and she was smiling, and she seemed like she was laughing a little at having thrown up on Mason. She was standing in front of Mason after they got to their feet. She was showering with Mason. She was scrubbing her face clean, scrubbing everything clean… Mason couldn’t stop watching her. She was beautiful. She was alive.
They laid down together once Mason started yawning every three seconds. Stella and Aurora seemed exhausted too. Aurora left the room with Andrew, though, claiming that she didn’t want to stress Juliet out any further. Coming back to life was stressful enough without the man who killed you sleeping in the same room as you. It didn’t help that Juliet kept staring at Andrew wordlessly while everyone moved the room back to normal.
Actually, she was pretty wordless. She’d hardly spoken since coming back, which was really out of character. Mason watched her. Blonde curls were just starting to poke out of the neck of the sweatshirt by the time Mason spoke. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” Juliet replied. She left it at that as she sat down on the bed next to Mason. She looked over Mason’s face. Mason stared back, then smiled at her. She smiled back, but it was tight and closed. Jules didn’t smile like that. Her smile was supposed to be loose and dorky and toothy. It was always a grin, not a tight, closed-lipped thing.
Mason let it go, though. She was too tired to fret too much yet. She could do that tomorrow. Stella had turned out the light already. They pushed back the covers on the bed together, which made Mason giggle. They laid together, Mason’s legs wrapped around one of Juliet’s. Practically the second Mason’s eyes closed, she was asleep.
She didn’t know what time it was when she woke, but the moonlight was still coming through the curtains, so she couldn’t have been asleep that long. Mason’s hand was under Juliet’s sweatshirt, though, on her chest. The stitching was still there in Juliet’s skin. It was scratchy against the thorn pricks in Mason’s palm. She’d forgotten about those until now. She could feel Juliet’s chest rising and falling. It was insane to know she’d done this. She’d brought life back into a corpse. Into her best friend. Into the girl she loved. Juliet owed her, like, the best sex ever when they finally did that.
If they did that. If Juliet was normal. Gods, she hoped Juliet was normal. She seemed mostly normal, just missing some of that spark Mason was accustomed to. Her smile wasn’t the same toothy grin. Her voice wasn’t the same emotional voice. Her eyes didn’t have the same shine. Even her freckles didn’t seem like they were in the right spots at the right intensity. Was there even still more than 106 of them? She’d have to count later.
The shoulder under Mason’s temple shifted. She lifted her head to look at Juliet. Jules was restless. Her head tossed a bit, then her entire body went still. She wasn’t even breathing. Mason felt panic start to set in, but Juliet whispered.
“Juliet Hill is no more.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Part 2, Juliet, is located HERE. It will provide more insight to what has happened at the end of this piece and in Juliet’s absence!
Every picture frame you hang is empty. The obviously handmade, obviously elementary project clay frame you purchased at Goodwill that hangs above your bed has the same purpose as the ornate 24x36 frames hanging evenly on either side of the TV, both of which have the same purpose as the blueberry pie slice shaped picture frame in the kitchen: to wait.
You pass the frames, varying in height to track your way down the steps from the second floor to the first floor, every morning after you brush your teeth clean of sleep. Your steps echo in the empty house, half a horse clopping down your steps and into the kitchen. You start the kettle. It whistles in precisely six minutes. Five more minutes, you’re holding a fresh cup of orange-cinnamon tea. You sit yourself down in front of your half a cinnamon raisin bagel.
There’s a loud rap on the door.
You freeze. Your front teeth haven’t sunk far enough into the bagel to get past the butter. Your eyes dart to the door, to the window, to the front door on the other side of the chrysanthemum wallpaper. You’ve stopped breathing.
You exhale. With the inhale of cinnamon comes the trembling.
Another knock— This one is harder, more urgent.
You stand on seashell legs. Click to the front door. Your breath smells like sweet mint and the door smells like cold wood and metal as you lean forward to look outside through the peephole.
It’s Hannah, your neighbor’s child, frantic. She probably needs another ride to school, like last week, when her mom was too doped up on alcohol to drive her, or the week before when it was meth. You’d done her hair last week, too. You’d also been lectured by the principal last time that if she was late again, she would have to stay after school.
You stand, wrestling with your conscience for the decent part of a minute before another urgent, small fist slams against the door and you open without any further consideration.
Magnified eyes meet yours without hesitation as words about needing a ride to school tumble over each other out of her mouth, then cease just as quickly as they were coming out. She stares at your wide collar bone sticking out over the Peter-Pan collar of your blue dress, the plastic and fraying ginger red (chosen to match your natural color) hair curled down over your shoulders, and the black stilettos strapped around your feet. She doesn’t know they’re squeezing a bit too much for your liking. She doesn’t know your ears were already starting to itch from the fibres of the wig and the wig cap. She doesn’t know this was you laid out bare. She is the first one to witness this.
This tiny little seven year old with uneven braids, bottle cap glasses, and butterfly clips reminiscent of the 90s in her hair is the first one to witness your personal milestone, but she doesn’t know.
“I like your dress, Mr. Adam.” Mister always comes out as mithter without her front teeth. “Can you drive me to school?”
You pause for a second. Can you drive her to school like this?
Well, you have to. She can’t be late.
You nod. “Yes, Hannah. Can you do me a favor first?”
She nods. “Yes, Mr. Adam.”
You hand her the disposable camera you’ve been keeping on the table next to the door for weeks. You pick up the purse you had prepared the night before. “Will you climb up on the stump in the yard and take a picture of me before we leave? I’ll stand here.”
Hannah sheds her gaping maw of a backpack, stumbles over a fallen Junie B. Jones novel as she runs to climb up on the stump, takes a moment to place her feet. She lifts the camera to her eyes. Within seconds she’s down, running back to you. She scoops up the book and her backpack. As she fumbles with them, she hands the camera back.
You drive her to school. At the nearest fotomat, you hand over the disposable to someone you swear should be sitting in a desk picking at his acne at this time of day, sit in your car in the parking lot for an hour while your photos are developed, then leave once you have the envelope in your hands.
Inside your own home again fifteen minutes after, your trembling hands open the package. You take two photos out. One is fuzzy, half a thin flesh-colored finger blocking the view of the lens. Your body is a blue sky blur against the black of your dark front door. The other is clearer. You can see the sharp angle of your jaw despite how far away the photo is. Your hair is perfectly coiled over your shoulders and your dress hides any curves that may or may not be present. The number of your house is on your left in metal numbers, but you swear the three digits may as well be a countdown in minutes to some sort of doomsday.
It’s sure to get around town, if it isn’t already. The principal saw you rushing Hannah up to the front doors of the school. The fotomat teenager saw you as well. Mrs. Lovinsky probably saw you driving around town from her shop window. News travels fast, y’know. It’s bound to get out that Mr. Adam, who drives his neighbor’s daughter to school and works from home, isn’t Mr. Adam. Who are you?
There’s no time for that now, though. You remove the first frame— from Goodwill as well, pink with a white bow— from the wall above the final step onto the first floor. You push the metal pieces holding the back of the frame in place away. You remove the back of the frame, set the first photo inside it and carefully line it up. Replace the back.
