Magic Incarnate the Box Set 1-3, page 70
What exactly am I?
“I was in a really bad way when I left the hospital. It was dark out, and the parking lot was deserted with only a few cars parked. There was one guy, sitting on the hood of the car, and his eyes… Crystal, I swear they aren’t human. I don’t think he saw me, but once he heard on his loud-enough-to-wake-the-dead radio that the victim died, he grinned the most eerie grin, got into his car, and peeled out of there.”
“Okay, that does seem a little off, but a demon?”
“I’m not done,” Gavin says darkly. “On the way back to the house, I had a vision.”
He falls quiet again, so I say, “You’ve been having a lot of them lately.”
“Yeah. Makes me afraid to drive in case I have one in traffic. They’re more powerful, more vivid. Before, I might be able to keep an idea of what’s going on around me while the vision is going on, but these are more… subversive. It’s like I’m actually there, and it’s taken its toll on me.”
“And the vision?”
“I saw the guy from the parking lot. I watched him steal the car he had been sitting on. I watched him plow into the guy. I watched him grin that same evil grin. I watched him follow the ambulance. I watched him wait. I watched him leave. I watched him drive off the bridge. I watched him drown.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “And I watched a black, shadowy form rise up from the water and take off back toward town.”
“You think the forms are demons inhabiting people and forcing them to commit the crimes.” I’m so horrified that I accidentally spill a little mugwort onto the counter.
“Yes. So I won’t be leaving. You can’t handle demons by yourself. Maybe if you were magic incarnate again, but…” He looks away.
“But since I’m so helpless now,” I spit out, “I need you to do everything. Look, Gavin, I appreciate you wanting to stick around, but I really think—“
“You just want me out of the picture, don’t you? I know you love Vince. I get that. I also can’t deny the visions I’ve had. Visions, Crystal, not dreams. I love you, visions or no visions. And maybe it’s selfish to tell you that I love you, but I do. I’m not going to run off so you can try to salvage things with him. I won’t stand in your way, but…” He takes a deep breath. “I’m trying to do everything, all right? I’m trying to help with the demons. I’m helping with the vial. I’m helping with keeping Brianna in line, which is no easy task, by the way. And I’m helping with the marks. And it’s too much. It’s all too much.”
I grind a little raspberry leaf and add it to the mixture and pour him a tall glass of the witch nectar. There’s a little left over, so I pour it into another glass for myself.
Gavin just stares at the glass I set before him. I sit across from him at the table and drink mine. It’s bitterer than the kind Silver Tiger and Sapphire Belladonna gave me, but I do feel a little refreshed from it.
I’ve finished mine, and he’s still sitting there like a lump on a log. There’s too much going on right now for me to process what he’s going on about as far as loving me and those visions about us being together, so I ignore it and focus on what matters more. “It isn’t right for you to feel like you have to do everything,” I say softly. I want to reach over and pat his hand, but I don’t. “That’s why I think you should go seek out the witches. We need more help. We need backup.”
“What if they can’t help us, though? They’ve never mentioned demons. Maybe they’ve never dealt with them before. What if they haven’t healed Sapphire Belladonna yet? What if they haven’t been able to help my sister? They might be too busy. It’s on us, Crystal. You and me.”
Not even Shira. It is just him and me. We’re the only magical ones in all of Claymore.
“So… what should we tackle first?” I venture.
He picks up his glass and chugs it. “Not sure. I haven’t a clue.”
“We have options.” Obviously, since there are so many things we’re up against. “One, we can try to figure out how to save my mom, since that gives us another witch to join us.”
“Or we can try to prevent the demons from killing another else,” he countered.
He has a valid point. An innocent has died. Others may have already, and still more would.
“You’re right.” I lower my head and rub my nose, trying not to sniffle. I’m being selfish, and I know it, but I can’t staunch the sudden burning of tears in my eyes.
Suddenly, Gavin’s before me, kneeling, clasping my hands on my lap almost tightly enough for me to wince. “I will help with your mom. I swear it. Just… not yet.”
A drop and then another one falls onto our joined hands. I stare at him through tear-laden lashes and hazy vision. “Did the witch nectar help?”
He yawns loudly.
“Guess not. I tried.”
“It’s not your fault. I think I’m that burned out. I’m gonna take that nap now, and then we can come up with a game plan for the demons.”
I nod, and he leaves me. For a minute or two, I remain sitting there, head still down. I feel so out of sorts, so out of touch, and I can’t stand being alone for another moment. Bri hasn’t come back, so I don’t know if she went to school with Gavin or not, and I haven’t an idea where to find her. Vince took off too, and Gavin’s asleep, and there aren’t many other people I can show myself to in this town.
The thought of seeing Father Joseph has me bolting out of the house faster than I can think whether or not it’s a good idea. I call the rectory and ask if he is willing to give an anonymous confession, and he agrees. Yes, I disguised my voice during the call. I’m not sure I can reveal myself to him yet—that I’m alive, that I used to be magic, that I still have power.
No one else is around the church at this time of day, thankfully. The light is on above the confessional. Father Joseph’s waiting on me.
I push aside the velvet curtain and kneel. The scents of faint incense and wood, the somber heaviness in the air… it’s all so familiar and warm and inviting. It’s like coming home.
And yet, my palms are sweaty, my heartbeat is rising, and I can’t breathe. A panic attack. I want to belong here, but I’m not sure that I really do.
“You may begin,” Father Joseph says, his voice washing over me.
I try to center myself, to find balance, to find peace. But penance isn’t about peace. Not until the end, after absolution.
Do I deserve absolution?
“Father…” My voice cracks.
“Have you come to make a confession? Sometimes, it is easier to just talk. Would you rather we do that?”
“Y-Yes.” I nod even though he can’t see me through the closed wooden panel.
“Where would you like to start?”
I’m not dead, I want to say. It’s me Crystal. Father… if you only knew what I’ve done, who I’ve become… you would be horrified.
Heck, I was horrified, and I lived through it.
Chapter 22
“Are you still there?” Father Joseph asks.
Instead of answering, I clear my throat.
“At times, just being here, in this holy place, can help. We can sit here and not talk, if that is what you want.”
That does sound good, but it’s the coward’s way out.
“Father…” I try to keep my voice disguised and hope the wood panel muffles my voice even more. “I don’t recognize who I am any more.”
“What’s going on in your life? What’s changed?”
“Everything.” I feel oddly drained, so tired. I’m surprised I don’t feel ready to burst into tears. If anything, I’m numb, and I hope this doesn’t mean another paralysis spell is coming on.
“We are human. We change. We evolve. Sometimes, we don’t like who we become, but that doesn’t mean you can’t change again.”
If only I could change again and return to my birth, to my original birthright. To be magic incarnate again… I could save my parents, ensure the portal to Hell is gone for good, wipe the mat with the demons, and get rid of Vince’s and Bri’s marks all by myself.
But I’m only a beast-girl with a death touch who is maybe losing her power. Hardly strong enough to do much of anything.
“I’m lost,” I whisper.
“Do you pray and ask for His help?”
I shake my head, my hair falling forward over my shoulders. It’s strange to have long hair. Sapphire Belladonna had given me my birth mom’s hairstyle, so I never had hair longer than my shoulders until now.
“I used to pray all the time.” I swallow past a lump of guilt in my throat.
“Used to?”
“I… I had a rocky period with my faith. I even…” At one point, I hit a low. It had been during the battle between witches and shamans. I stopped believing. I died a non-believer.
But then God sent me back here. I know He’s real. I know magic exists too. They don’t have to be exclusive, and yet I’m not making a huge effort to pray. I’m letting the excuse of everyone thinking I’m dead be the reason why I’m not going to Mass regularly, but it’s just a pretext.
“Everyone has doubts at some point. True believers return.”
He has all the answers.
“Do you want to believe?” he asks.
“I do believe. That isn’t the issue.”
“What is?”
“I… I’ve done some things…”
“If you truly repent and try to do better, no sin is unforgiveable.”
“Even…”
“Not everyone in the Bible was good. Paul, the apostle to the gentiles, killed many before he converted to the faith. David, the man the Lord made king, arranged for a man to be killed so he could have the man’s wife. Jonah was a coward, Judas a betrayer.”
“Judas killed himself.”
“Yes, but if he asked for forgiveness first… Who are we to presume to know if the Lord forgave him? But if God can forgive Paul and David and Jonah and use them to do great good, why do you think that anything you could have done is unforgiveable? You must doubt the love of our Lord.”
“I don’t doubt that,” I mutter. I know God loves me, or else He never would’ve sent me back here to Earth.
“Ah. Is it that you cannot forgive yourself for whatever offense you have committed?”
“I…”
I haven’t thought about that, but it’s definitely an issue. A part of me doesn’t want Gavin to forgive me for what happened to his father. I deserve his anger, his rage. His father did horrible things, yes, by killing witches, but I’m no different. I’ve killed witches and shamans too.
“I don’t deserve forgiveness,” I finally say.
“Why do you think that?” His voice is as kind as ever.
“Because… because I think I’ll sin again.”
“Everyone sins, my child. We all try to do better, and that is all we can do.”
“This particular sin…” Does he know it’s me? Does it matter if he does?
I need absolution. I need to get over myself. I need to be strong, to forget the past, to forge a new future for myself.
I need power, even if it’s not the same power I had before.
In order to receive absolution, I need to confess my sins.
“Father, I’ve used magic.”
For the first time, he doesn’t give a response.
“I think God gave it to me, and I always wanted to use it for good…”
He maintains his silence.
“I still mean to. I want to be good. It’s all I’ve ever wanted…” I’m fumbling for words. “I… Magic is amoral, right? It’s not inherently good or evil, right?”
That’s what my mom said, when I was first learning and accepting that I was magic incarnate. But what if she only said that because I needed to hear it? What if she’s wrong?
“God made magic, right?” I ask, desperate to fill the silence that feels like a void that can suck the soul out of me, suck my magic away. “Everything—“
“Everything good comes from Him, yes.”
“So, are you saying that magic doesn’t come from Him?”
Which would mean that magic would come from…
“No. You can use magic for good. I did. Several times. Not every time, but saving…” I shut my mouth. If I tell Father Joseph I saved Mrs. Fuller from the car accident, he might realize who I am, if he hasn’t already.
Maybe I shouldn’t keep trying to deceive him, but if he’s so against magic, if he realizes what I’ve done…
If someone confesses a murder to a priest, will the priest honor their oath to keep confession private and not go to the police?
“I’ve saved people with it,” I finish lamely.
Vince several times, from the grill almost blowing up in his face to the mental prison Mr. Venator trapped him in. I’ve helped shamans move on to the final plane.
“And yet you’ve committed sins with it too, haven’t you?” he asks, his voice odd. It takes me a moment to realize it’s devoid of emotion. Normally, whenever I have confession with Father Joseph, I feel like I’m wrapped in a bubble of love and understanding and compassion. He’s always so kind and sympathetic.
But now, he’s not mean, but he’s not kind, and that bubble is nowhere to be found.
Or maybe I am in the bubble, and it’s keeping me isolated, away from holiness, away from compassion, away from absolution.
Because I’m not sure I can confess my sins to him.
I could go to the next town over. Find a different priest. Confess to him. But it wouldn’t mean as much as receiving absolution from Father Joseph. I know that penance is forgiveness from God through the priest, but I’ve only ever completed the sacrament with him. He understands me more than anyone.
Except for this aspect of my life.
“I have committed sins with my magic, yes,” I say slowly. “I have a lot of regrets. I’ve been put in terrible situations, and I’ve had to make split second decisions, and, yeah, maybe I should’ve done things differently, but if I had, I wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be here. No one would be here!”
I take a deep breath. So many emotions are roiling through me, but I don’t have to worry about it. When I had been magic incarnate, I would’ve been leaking magic all over the place. I would’ve lost control. But if there’s a good thing about being less powerful, it’s that I won’t have freak out spells like before.
“I’ve seen things. I’ve fought in battles. Others have tried to kill me, and I fought back. Some would say it’s self-defense, that I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do. For all of them. And the one…” It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to go there. “I’ve seen things, things you won’t believe.”
Father Joseph clears his throat. “My name isn’t Thomas. I have no doubts you’ve seen things. The world is a dangerous place.”
“It is. Whether you have magic or not.”
He says nothing.
“Father, I know you believe in magic.” I’m treading on dangerous ground now if I don’t want him to realize who he’s talking to, but I think I’m beyond caring at this point. “Having magic doesn’t make me a sinner. Being human does. I need you to absolve me—“
“You haven’t confessed your sins, not entirely. Until and unless you do, and until and unless you forgive yourself, and until and unless you let go of your anger, you will not find peace.”
“I think peace is a lost cause. And anger? Who am I angry at?” But my hands are in fists, and I am trembling with barely contained rage. And I’m yelling. I’ve been yelling, I think, maybe since I admitted I used magic to commit sins.
“You tell me. The ones who attacked you? The ones who put you in the terrible situations? Yourself?”
“I am angry at myself,” I say softly. “I’m furious at the people of Claymore. They don’t know what I’ve done, what I’ve given up. I’m devastated that I’ve lost so much, terrified I’ll lose more. And I’m irate that God allows such horrible people into the world. Like the people I’ve killed. And like… like myself.”
Without waiting for an answer, I stand, leave the confessional, and sprint out of the church. I don’t stop running until I’m out of breath. I’m nearing Ms. Pullman’s bakery. I worked there a few times, and I’ve consumed so many sweets from there it isn’t funny. Mom and I used to splurge a little when we could afford to and have cupcakes or brownies or pies or cakes…
I can smell the deliciousness, the hint of cinnamon, the heaviness of the cocoa, the faint fragrance of vanilla. As much as I want to go inside, I can’t. She’ll recognize me, there’s no doubting that. Besides, that’s from another lifetime. Maybe one day, I’ll eat a death by chocolate brownie again with my mom, but that might not be until Heaven.
Heaven. Hell. At this rate, I might be more likely to go to Hell than Heaven.
“I don’t even know who I am any more,” I whisper as I slink out of sight of the bakery.
Instead of feeling worthless, I still feel anger and resentment, and I channel that into energy. For a few hours, I wander around the town, careful to avoid the more populated areas. By the time it’s twilight, I’m nearing the church again.
For whatever reason, I feel like I’m unwanted, that I shouldn’t go back there, that it’s beyond me, but I push that aside. All I want to do is to talk to someone, even if they can’t talk back.
And, yeah, I recognize the irony in this—that maybe one person I should talk to right now above all others is God—but I pick my way to my parents’ graves. On Halloween, I got to see them for the first time, got to talk to them, and there hadn’t been enough time to tell them everything I have to say…
Before I can even clear my throat, there’s rustling behind me. Great. Someone else is here. I shouldn’t feel this way. He or she is visiting someone they love, but I just need a moment to collect my thoughts.
“Crystal?”
I wince. I don’t know if I’m ready for another beat down of a conversation.
“Are you all right?” Vince asks. He’s standing beside me, and I don’t know when he came over. It’s like my sense of the here and now is slipping, like I can’t concentrate on this world. My mind is so caught up in the past and the dead that I can’t focus on the here and now and the living.
