Altered Souls (6 page)

I knew Logan was trying to make the best of the situation, but I also knew, deep inside, whatever spell Trevor had cast at him could have grave consequences. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. It was my task to get him off the mountain and to try my best to save him before it was too late.

Logan coughed, interrupting my stirrings. I glanced over and saw the dullness spread through his blue eyes. I slipped my hand off the wheel and slid it onto his, which was ice-cold.

“You’re freezing,” I whispered, trying to choke back the fear.

“One of the many side effects of a wound like this,” he teased, but the effort made him cough again.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise,” I said, squeezing his hand.

“Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”

His words shocked me into another world. A silent one where I refused to argue or believe what he was trying to tell me. I didn’t have the strength to offer a rebuttal, and he certainly didn’t either.

I slid my now sticky hand from his so that I could up my speed even more and feel slightly safer doing it. His blood began drying on my fingers and palm, tightening my skin like someone had slathered egg whites on them.

We’d managed to cover another hour of ground in thirty minutes, and we were so close to Seattle now — so close to life. The entire bottom half of his shirt was red. I didn’t want to think what that could mean, but I prayed my suspicions were wrong about his wound.

Unable to hold in my fear any longer I blurted, “Hold on. Please, hold on.”

Logan was silent. Only his breathing signaled that he was still alive. My mind started going through all the different healing herbs and spells that might work in this situation. If he became unable to tell me what I would need to do to reverse this then I’d have to figure something out on my own. Soon I’d have to hop off the freeway and begin battling the Seattle streetlights and intersections. Thankfully it was the middle of the night so traffic should be pretty sparse.

“We’re almost there, baby,” I whispered. “Almost there.”

“You can’t trust your aunt,” he mumbled, startling me. “My mom might be suspect too. Jenny and Angela might be helpful or at least a good place to hide in Colorado.”

“Stop it,” I replied.

“Your father will stop at nothing until he gets what he wants. You’ve got to figure out what that is. It’s not just you he covets.”

“Knock it off, Logan. You aren’t going anywhere. Quit acting like you’ve got to tell me everything now. Save your energy. If anything, tell me what to do to reverse this,” I replied.

“I love you, Triss. Always have and always will,” Logan replied softly as he moved his hand to my leg.

His breathing quieted. My eyes filled with tears as I turned the car onto the Seattle exit. I would not let it end this way.

Chapter 7

I slid the car up to the curb in front of my aunt’s apothecary shop with a hard stop. Logan’s breath was almost inaudible as I jumped out of the car. I ran to the shop door, unlocked it quickly and propped it open while trying to figure out how I would get Logan inside. I couldn’t drag him, but I couldn’t lift him either.

Sliding my arm under his back, I resisted the urge to raise his shirt to peek at the injury. That would only delay getting him inside. I would see it soon enough.

A strength I didn’t know I possessed ran through my veins as I attempted to lift him from the car. Wrapping his arm around my neck, I heaved him partially onto my back as we moved toward the shop. His breathing was shallow, but it was still there. I felt one step closer to getting him back. I only wished he would open his eyes — his beautiful eyes. Forcing back my tears and doubts, I held onto his arm as we made our way to the concrete sidewalk.

We were only about ten feet from inside the store yet every step felt like a struggle with this amount of weight perched on me. Logan’s legs would sometimes take a step and other times only drag, but we would make it. We had no choice.

Making it to the doorway, I scanned where to place him on the floor when it hit me. Several large workbenches, where my aunt, mom, and I often mixed tinctures and oils, seemed like the perfect option. Instead of every step feeling like a struggle, it felt like a victory.

“Almost there,” I whispered not sure if he would even hear me.

The overwhelming smell of whatever my aunt was working on last filled the air. It was an odd mixture of sweetness. It wasn’t a combination I was familiar with.

Finally landing on the last table, I turned my body to gently wriggle out from under Logan. Trying to work as fast as I could without causing further pain, I climbed on the tabletop, and began hauling him onto the planked surface.

“Come on, baby. We’ve got this.”

His eyes were closed, skin pale, and shirt completely saturated with a deep crimson as I struggled to pull him into place.

“Now about that reversal spell…” I said quietly, not expecting an answer, but praying for a miracle.

I wasn’t sure if I should start trying to heal the slice on his skin or the possible infection that the spell referred to, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to figure anything out until I raised his shirt to assess the injury. I had no idea what to expect, but I was usually pretty capable around people’s injuries. At least that’s what I told myself.

I ran behind the counter and grabbed a whole bunch of towels. Folding up one, I placed it under his head to act as a pillow and threw the others next to me. I wanted Logan to know everything I was doing, whether or not he could hear me.

“Okay,” I whispered, “I’m going to start unbuttoning your shirt. I’m starting from the top and will work my way down.”

He remained lifeless until my finger gently glided along his collarbone. A slight twitch of his mouth signaled life.

Please let that be a sign.

Not able to remain calm any longer, I ripped his shirt open, horrified at what I saw. It was alive — active. The room started spinning, and I braced myself. My legs began to buckle slightly, so I looked away trying to refocus my attention. I couldn’t associate the laceration with Logan. I needed to focus on healing the wounds, not the person. The injury could be on anyone. I had to separate the two; otherwise I’d never make it through.

The strength returned to both my body and mind. I looked down at his injury to gauge what might be happening. Figure out how it was forming.

From the look of the slice, the initial insertion point was where the infection began so the older the cut, the more likely the infection’s core.

The positive side of that observation, if there could be one, was that the bleeding tended to stop wherever the infection had started. Infection points were signaled by tiny red veins darting under the surface of the skin, allowing me to figure out how the cut was spreading. As far as I could tell, the flesh wound broke off into two more directions and that was where the blood continued to escape. I couldn’t believe this was Logan I was staring at.

“We’re going to get through this,” I replied.

I tried not to look at Logan’s face. “First we’re going to purify your blood. I’m going to grab some sarsaparilla bark, senna leaves, and grape root. I’ll boil it quickly and apply it to the oldest part of your wound.”

Talking to him helped me feel not so alone.

“Once we get you conscious again, I’ll feed you lots of hoppy beer. See how crazy I can get you while I continue to purify your blood,” I hoped my fake sense of reality would help bring him calmness. Who was I kidding? I needed it to bring me calmness. “Hops actually have a lot of good attributes. When you get better we’ve got to find time for you to learn.”

My stomach started twisting in knots at the thought of never getting to teach him healing or —I couldn’t go there. I needed to stay on task.

Going to the far shelves, I realized whatever my aunt had cooked up last involved the main ingredients I needed, hence the sweet smell of root beer and grapes. The tincture was already on the shelf. How could that be? Not that I would have faith in her version— I needed to cook up my own batch— but why would she have brewed that particular tincture? Remembering Logan’s words about not trusting my aunt, I quickly grabbed the raw ingredients and headed to the stove, pouring everything into the pot.

While the mixture heated, I continued onto the next compress for the other part of his wound. This wasn’t reversing the spell, but at least it might make his body begin to fight the infection so he’d regain consciousness, and we could go from there.

“I’ve got what I need now,” I hollered back to Logan. As I grabbed the compresses and white pine and tea tree oils, I headed back to my patient. The mixture on the stove was beginning to boil, releasing more of the familiar scent of root beer and grape. I couldn’t worry about my aunt’s overwhelming ability to provide the right ingredients at the right times just yet.

“This is going to sting a bit,” I told Logan, sprinkling the white pine oil on the freshest part of his cut.

He gave no reaction — not even a grimace.

“You can’t tell me that doesn’t hurt,” I teased him. “You don’t have to act this tough.”

Instead of crying like I wanted to, I grabbed the compress and began dabbing away the dried blood and replacing it with tea tree oil. The pungent smell started to arouse a little movement from Logan. His brows furrowed slightly and excitement filled me. I wiped quicker and placed the open container of the liquid by his head, hoping it would add the extra oomph he needed.

“Your
blood and mind will be so pure after this episode, I won’t know what to do with you,” I whispered, but my voice caught, and I pushed down the tears that threatened to make an appearance.

Grabbing the salve made from Red Oak bark, I began smearing it on his wound. Not that I was trying to hurt him, but I wanted some sort of sign as I applied the pressure that he was still with me. I wasn’t getting one. The fear that the infection was too rampant, and the blood loss too severe, frightened me to an almost paralyzed state. I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of a meltdown.

My work stopped the infection, at least temporarily, from creeping up to the newly produced openings, which only created a small amount of gratification. I needed him to wake up. We needed to purge this spell. That’s the only thing that would completely stop it.

The mixture on the stove was ready to use. The entire shop smelled like a sickening root beer float. I placed the pot on the next table over and shoved the gauze compresses into the pot.  Watching the steam rise worried me a little, but I wanted to shock him. Using tongs, I grabbed the long pieces of white material out of the liquid and placed them on top of Logan’s abdomen. His back arched up, and his eyes flashed open in agony as the heat dove and swirled deep into his abdomen.

“Please tell me how to be brave like you, Logan,” I whispered.

He hollered in agony, but at least he hollered. He grabbed my hand and wouldn’t release it.

“I love you, Logan. Please stay with me. Tell me how to reverse the spell,” I begged. “I don’t know how much time we have left.”

Holding onto his fingers tightly with one hand, I tried comforting him with my other. Surprised by how much dried blood managed to cover my hand and arm, I quickly hid it from him to not cause more alarm.

His breathing was erratic, but no longer shallow. There was a subtle strength stirring inside him. A moan escaped deep from within as his body began to slowly relax back down to the table.

“Do you think you might be able to drink a sip of water? Valerian might help with some of the pain,” I said.

He shook his head. The muscles in his neck completely strained.

Letting go of my hand, he turned toward me and placed his palm on the tattoo that was almost completely hidden by the mess his wound created.

“Is this part of it?” I asked. “The spell?”

He nodded while attempting to sit up.

“Whoa, let me help.”

“I got it,” he replied as he inched his way up slowly.

Words! He spoke! Hearing his voice sent a shock wave through my system as it hit me that only minutes before there was part of me that wasn’t sure I would ever hear his beautiful voice again.

“I was so worried—.”

“We aren’t in the clear yet,” he mumbled, his voice almost hoarse.

“You don’t want anything for the pain?” I asked.

“I need a clear head for this. We need to stop him. Make him unconscious.”

Even though it felt like I just resurrected the dead, I was quickly reminded of how dire our situation was by watching Logan’s somber expression. We clearly weren’t out of the woods.

“This right here,” he said pointing at the artwork permanently embedded on his skin, “links me to your father. His organization. And as you know, Trevor’s part of that organization.”

He avoided looking at me and continued.

“It’s also what enabled Trevor to throw this kind of spell on me so quickly. I was hopeful he wasn’t capable, but I guessed wrong.” His words were filled with exhaustion and pain.

I nodded waiting for him to proceed.

“I can’t get rid of it, and I really don’t want to. It has some very helpful attributes…”

“Logan, I love you. I do, but can we just get to how to reverse this? I don’t know how much time we’ve bought.” I placed my hand on his, searching his eyes for the sparkle I was so used to seeing, but only dullness was returned.

“Do you have a small knife of some sort?”

Nodding, I ran to the drawer where we kept all of our knives for preparing the herbs. Grabbing the smallest one, I poured a vinegar disinfectant over the blade while trying not to worry about what Logan wanted me to do with it. I had an idea, but hoped I was wrong.

“Okay. Got it,” I said, standing in front of him.

“When I recite the spell, there should be a part of the tattoo that glows. When that happens, I need you to insert the tip of the knife into that portion. Not deep, just into the flesh.”

A lump formed in the back of my throat. I wanted to swallow but couldn’t. I was horrified at the thought of having to dig into his skin and couldn’t begin to understand why this would help. Maybe I should’ve let him continue explaining.

“What will this do?” I asked, hoping he would look at me.

“It should stop the person who cursed me.”

“Trevor,” I stated.

He nodded, “We are all bound together whether I want to be or not.”

I wanted to learn more but didn’t have the luxury of time to find out.

“I’m ready when you are,” I whispered. “You’re sure it will glow?”

“Hundred percent,” he replied, attempting to smile. “You’ve got this.”

I’m glad he had faith in this process because I sure didn’t. I took a deep breath and stared at the circle of darkness that swirled from quadrant to quadrant with one symbol after the other that I didn’t recognize while I waited for his words to deliver the spell.

Quietness filled our space. The air was heavy with anticipation. I was about to look up when his words began.

“
Nota liberaret ancillam inveniret, qui prodit mendacium ante omnes.
”

Fixating on his tattoo, I began to get nervous when nothing happened. Afraid I might miss something, my eyes stayed glued to his abdomen.

After a few moments of seeing only bare skin, a faint light began to radiate from a tiny portion of his tattoo. The area was no bigger than a pinhead, but it was large enough for me to complete the instructed task.

I placed the blade against his abdomen, barely allowing the tip to enter into the ray of light that was guiding me. He’d been through so much agony in the last few hours. I didn’t want to make things worse, but I kept promising myself that this would end it all. The tip went in a little deeper and the light began to spread. Not knowing what to expect, I looked up at Logan who nodded his head, and he began again.