Hazel - Post Chapter Ten (Patreon)

The upper floor was far quieter than expected given the destruction that was downstairs.  Willow branches shot through the floor and arched over the bookshelves to form a gate that while closed, still sat suspended before the front counter. Blood stained the unbroken boards and sigils painted in grave soil and the soot from the fire lined the entirety of the room.  Upstairs, however, there was almost the ability to pretend like none of it had happened. Except for the fact that Hazel didn’t want to.

Malcolm was asleep in his bed.  Old drawings littered the walls, some of them hanging on by only the rusted point of a pin.  Hazel didn’t wish to disturb him as she leaned in the doorway, looking in on his sleeping form and trying not to blink. For she was almost certain if she did, he would be gone from her once more.

Gabriel had helped drag him upstairs and get him into bed while the others had followed behind.  Tea was made and the fire was stoked and everyone sat in a kind of numb quiet because no one was sure what they were supposed to be doing now other than maybe staring at the wall and processing everything that had just happened.

Then again, Hazel should have known that Belladonna was not everyone.

When the woman's fingers wrapped around her wrists in a surprisingly harsh grip, Hazel yelped as the vampire pushed her the rest of the way into the room and closed the door behind them.  Quickly, Hazel jerked her hand away and put a few steps between them, looking at the simmering eyes in the otherwise grey room while also frantically glancing behind her to make sure that Malcolm did not wake.

“What did you do.” It did not fall from her lips as a question. Accusations rarely did. And while Belladonna had always been someone who had left almost everyone to their own paths, something about tonight had settled against her in a way that left her silence to be nearly impossible.

Hazel looked at her, trying to find the bravado she had held so tight earlier. That was before she had nearly bled herself dry and let the spirits of the dead wander through her like a revolving door.

“I did what I said I’d do from the beginning.” There was a waver to her voice that denoted the lie and later, Hazel wouldn’t even understand why she had tried.  Vampires smelled mistruths as if it were the blood they craved.

“You nearly killed yourself tonight,” Belladonna said.  “And don’t pretend like you didn’t because I can hear the heart in your chest and how it pumps with practically nothing. You are being held up by magic and magic alone.  How dare you do something so stupid and childish.”

“Childish?” Hazel looked at her in shock. It was the last thing she had expected to be thrown at her. Not in this situation. “He died for me. I promised him I would get him back and for ten years I have been trying.  How is this situation childish?”

“Because you should have known to go about it better,” Belladonna hissed. “The spirits from the alley are gone, Hazel Albright. Do you know what that means? Your mother, is gone.”

Hazel took a deep breath, tears filling her eyes. Her mother. Lucinda.  There were such complications to the emotions that came with her.  Lucinda had died by her own hands so long ago and while her spirit had certainly remained, it was one Hazel was willing to sacrifice so Malcolm could be returned to them in the flesh.

“I do believe I may have been the only person to have loved my mother so I really don’t see how this is a hardship to anyone that she is no longer wandering that alley.”

“It is a hardship,” Belladonna hissed, stepping forward. “Because it is not her spirit that was broken, tonight. It was the hold that kept her there.  With the little stunt you pulled, you may have very well returned an ancient back to the market proper.  And I doubt she’s going to be very happy given the way she died.”

Hazel felt what little blood was in her, drain from her face.  It wasn’t possible. She had been very careful with that spell. It was meant for the dead. To take their remaining energy and channel it to bring Malcolm back to this spot. Lucinda’s was the darkest of them all but the essence that contained the most power.  During life, Lucinda had done very little for her son. Hazel ironically thought that she could somehow make up for it now.

Shaking her head, Belladonna closed her eyes, forcing her anger to leave her in a whisper of a bat wing that fluttered somewhere high above.  “You were supposed to be better than all this, Hazel,” she said softly.  “And instead, you let another individual’s life, dictate how you lived your own.”

“Malcolm is my brother.”

Belladonna glanced towards the bed. “Yes.  And I wonder how your brother will feel knowing that his presence back within the living, may have brought back the woman who nearly destroyed his home and his family.”

Hazel felt a tear slip from her cheek. She couldn’t tell him. Maybe she wouldn’t even have to. If Lucinda walked the cobblestone streets again, maybe she would just stay away.

Reaching out, Belladonna caught the tear, cupping Hazel’s cheek within the hollow of her palm.

“I do hope that this is worth it for you,” she whispered.  “And I do hope you start living your life for yourself, and not the twisted memory of a man who had made peace with his death.”

When Belladonna slipped from the room, Hazel stood, frozen. She stared at the door that had quietly clicked shut. Paint had chipped from it long ago. A pretty sage green that had been one of Malcolm’s favorites all his life. He always did love earth tones.  She would need to repaint for him. Make his room more comfortable until he got better. There was a long road of recovery and…

Her hand came up to stifle the sob that threatened to escape her. Turning, she closed her eyes from the door. From the world that existed outside of it and from the carnage of the shop below.  Lowering herself onto the edge of Malcolm’s bed, she reached out, pressing her fingers to his warming flesh.

Turning, she looked at her brother's sleeping form.  “Please don’t hate me,” she whispered.  But Malcolm didn’t hear her.  Just like the last ten excruciating years, he didn’t hear her.