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Scylla was on her feet in an instant, rushing forward like the others away from the still popping campfire with the case of beer and humming guitar to hear what was happening.
Fort Salem had fallen?
Her mind whirled as she tried to slow it down, the thoughts muddled in the swirl of champagne and beer. She blinked and tried to internally shake it off, the word “ Camarilla ” a cold splash to her face, ripping her awake and the slightest bit of folly or fun dragged out of her system and replaced with a coldness she could never properly explain. A dread that chilled her deeper than her bones. Worse than the harshest winter and unforgiving, relentless, like an unending blizzard. Ice so cold it burned. Snarled. Bit.
Fort Salem had fallen.
To the Camarilla.
She instantly wanted to ask questions. Figure out what was happening. She gulped down any speck of fear, fear that the one place meant to always be safe, that took so much time and effort to infiltrate as Spree, had succumbed to their mortal enemy, to the people who wanted to kill her and her lover, and focused.
She needed to focus.
Just like the Spree taught her to do.
Close herself off.
Focus on the mission.
Nothing else mattered.
No feelings except those driving you to succeed. To finish the fight.
To further the Cause.
Except now her Cause was slightly different.
It wasn’t gathering Intelligence. It wasn’t taking a balloon and making a statement. Showing the world that witches were powerful. Were strong. Were a force to be listened to and not treated like farm animals sent to the slaughter or second class citizens with no rights, slaves to civilians and high atlantics.
No.
Anger and hate and grief fueled revenge were not her Cause. The Spree and their words The way over is under; the way out is in were not her mantra. She didn’t fight to die. A sacrifice for the greater war to come.
No.
Now her Cause had a name. A face.
A future.
She had a future.
Her Cause was Raelle. Their marriage. Their lives. Together.
She fought to live.
Thumb pressing against the ring safe and secure on her finger, the smooth metal the only ember of warmth in her entire being, Scylla felt the air shift around her.
The air snapped. Whistled. Flowed unevenly. Warped.
It hit her.
Hard.
A sudden burst in her chest. An explosion. One that should have decimated her. Erupted and left nothing in its wake.
Noise roared so loud inside her it made her ears ring and her pulse race. Made her deaf. Her hands ache to cover her ears.
Every nerve ending sizzled. Crackled.
The ice tightened her muscles. Her veins.
Her blood froze.
Solid.
Something was wrong.
Very very wrong.
Her body knew before her mind would admit it.
Knew what was wrong.
She would always know when something like this was wrong.
Always.
The brush snagged at her coat and slashed at her face.
Scylla didn’t stop.
She ran faster.
She knew why Raelle was sick!
She had to get there.
She had to get to Raelle now!
Slowly turning her head, Scylla stiffened.
The black death consumed Raelle’s body, covered every inch of her.
Every inch of the body Scylla knew by heart.
Worshiped in her bed in Fort Salem, back when they were together, when Raelle held her hand, when Scylla could pretend they would have a happy ending.
The body withered in pain.
Raelle was fighting.
She wouldn’t last long.
She wouldn’t last.
Raelle.
She was…
The other witch stood a few steps away, her back to the group.
She simply stood there.
Silent.
The roar grew impossibly louder in Scylla’s head. The claws clenched, suffocating her throat, stabbing into her soul. The talons sunk deeper and deeper.
“Raelle?” she didn’t even hear her own voice, everything lost to the wind except the fear.
Pure fear.
Scylla’s legs quivered. Weak. Her lungs refused to take in air.
Why was Raelle standing there like that?
Tally’s arm whipped out, blocking Scylla from moving one more inch.
What the hell?
Scylla frowned harder. Brow furrowed and eyes darting around, she tried to see something, anything, that would give her an answer.
A sign.
A lie.
That the coldness, the dread, the feeling of wrongness wasn’t right.
That her body and mind weren’t right.
The first speck of blood to hit the ground reverberated like an earthquake inside her. An invisible windstrike that threatened to knock her off her feet.
To destroy her.
The blood hit the ground.
And the world stopped turning.
“Raelle!”
Scylla rammed past Tally, eyes wide and heart crying out.
Goddess!
No!
No, no, no, no, no.
“Raelle!”
Blood wet the earth.
Red rain.
Pouring death to where life was meant to grow.
Feeding the earth with Raelle’s lifeforce.
With Raelle’s life.
Scylla sprinted. Pushed and strained.
Blood thickened on the ground.
Red.
Everywhere.
The blonde fell.
Collapsed.
Slammed to the ground.
Her knees buckled, her body twisting ghoulishly.
Deathly.
“No.” Scylla skidded onto her knees.
She didn’t feel the earth scratch at her. Pebbles and twigs slash at her jeans. The hard dirt a cushion of steel and iron against her bones.
Red soaking her pants.
“No.” shaky hands thrust out; scrambled to catch her lover, her wife.
Her wife.
They were married.
They were just married.
Fingers mindlessly running across the blonde’s body, her belly, her arm, anything, Scylla gasped.
Blood poured out of Raelle’s mouth.
Her eyes were wide open. Unblinking. Unseeing.
Shimmering white.
“Raelle.” Scylla tried to swallow the horror bubbling in her throat. Choking her.
Raelle was hurt.
Raelle was sick.
Oh…Oh Goddess.
Raelle.
“Hey,” Scylla crawled closer. She scooped her arms under soil strewn hair and tenderly, slowly, lifted Raelle’s head to rest in her lap, “Hey, Raelle.”
Her lips shivered.
Her face began to crumble.
No.
Blood painted her wife’s lips a grotesque red.
So much red.
Dark. Disturbing.
A promise that no one could truly escape from, not even Raelle.
Death was life was death again.
Please.
Scylla watched. Wordlessly begged.
To feel the same roguish grin she fell in love with.
To see baby blue eyes sparkle with mischief and adoration.
To hear corny jokes that were a Collar special.
To smell anything other than the stench of copper and brittle ending life.
Please.
Let her see those blues she needed so much.
The white taunted her.
Continued to taunt her.
Her eyes weren’t the familiar blue that Scylla could get lost in for hours. That one glance from made her feel safer than any lighthouse ever could.
They were the white of the witchbomb.
Of the Mother. The Mycelium.
Of a force that took Raelle away from her before.
That was not going to take her again.
“Raelle,” was quiet enough only one person’s ear would have heard it.
It didn’t.
Scylla hunched over the prone body, spoke comfortingly as her hands moved.
One rested over Raelle’s heart.
The other on the side of her neck.
“You’re ok. You’re going to be ok.” Scylla promised.
Tears burned her eyes.
She ignored them.
Ignored the people gathered around her. Talking. Trying to get beside her.
She ignored the universe.
All that mattered was the girl in her arms.
Was her wife.
Was Raelle.
Closing her eyes, Scylla inhaled deeply.
Pushed away the image of Raelle’s blood pooling at the corners of the fixer’s mouth. Dripping onto the ground. Puddling near Scylla’s feet.
Pushed away the image of Raelle falling.
Broken and lifeless.
Focus.
She had to focus.
Nothing mattered but the mission.
Raelle was her mission.
She’d always been her mission.
She vowed to always love her.
Vowed to be her home.
Be hers.
Raelle did the same.
Damn it, she did the same.
They were finally together.
They were going to be together.
No more lies. No more running.
They were figuring it out.
They were…a family.
Damn it!
Scylla wasn’t going to lose her.
Never again.
Blood coated Scylla’s hands.
Painted her ring with death.
The only ember of warmth in her entire being.
Keeping her eyes closed, Scylla concentrated.
On Raelle’s heartbeat.
The heartbeat she fell asleep to the night before, head pillowed on Raelle’s chest and an arm slung sleepily over her back.
The heartbeat she lightly kissed as she awoke with the sun.
Awoke on her wedding day.
She focused on the beat.
On her lover.
The link began to open.
She could feel it.
It was going to be fine.
She would link with Raelle. Heal her enough to get help.
Heal her.
She wasn’t going to lose her this time.
Not this time.
The link was there.
She just had to…
Raelle jerked out of her grasp.
Scylla’s eyes snapped open.
Raelle toppled onto her side.
Thrashed.
Her body arched painfully, her mouth open, silent screams flooding out in wisps of blood and spit.
Her back slammed into the ground.
“Raelle!”
Scylla burst forward, desperately, frantically.
She fought to grab Raelle’s arms. Her shoulders. Something.
Raelle flailed.
Her arms thrust out. Her legs kicked.
Dirt flew into the air.
A pair of hands jumped through the haze and grabbed the blonde’s shoulders, shoving her to the ground.
“She’s seizing.” a voice called out.
No.
No. No. No.
Scylla’s head shook.
Raelle.
Goddess.
Diving onto her, Scylla threw herself on top of Raelle.
“Raelle.” she used her body to press down on Raelle’s hips, “Hey, look at me. Raelle!”
Someone caught the fixer’s feet.
Just as suddenly as the thrashing began, it stopped.
It stopped.
Raelle sank down.
The life seeping out of her, second by second.
A rag doll.
“Raelle,” Scylla leaned forward.
Fingertips threaded tangled blonde strands away from Raelle’s face.
Her blood and mud streaked face.
“Raelle, can you hear me?” she traced the length of her jaw, trailed along her scar.
The scar she kissed as they danced hours earlier.
Their first dance as wife and wife.
Raelle’s eyes closed.
The white disappeared behind quivering eyelashes.
“No.” Scylla curled her hand, thumb pressing against Raelle’s chin, palm holding her, “Open your eyes. Raelle, I need you to open your eyes.”
Raelle was ok.
She was going to be ok.
Scylla didn’t care if her eyes were white or blue or purple.
She didn’t care.
She just needed to see them.
The body beneath her seemed to deflate with each passing tick of the clock.
The energy, the willpower, what made Raelle Raelle was draining away.
Taken from her.
“S-Scyl?” croaked out.
Goddess.
“Yes,” Scylla pressed her forehead to Raelle’s, “I’m here. You’re going to be ok.” She bit her lip to stop the wobble in her voice.
“W-wha…”
“Shhh. Relax. Save your strength.” she sniffed back the tears. Forced herself not to weep.
“C-Can’t…”
“I know. It’s ok. I swear. It’s ok.” She was going to make this better. She would figure this out.
Raelle’s eyes cracked open, barely a slit. “Scyl?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she quickly kissed a sweaty forehead, “I promise. I’m right here.” She peeked up.
Tally was inches away.
She was the one who grabbed Raelle’s shoulders.
“Get help.” Scylla ordered before dropping her gaze back down to the blonde.
Raelle coughed, blood dribbling out to roll down her chin.
“You’re ok.” Scylla repeated. She delicately wiped the cuff of her sleeve at the mark, brushing away the blood.
“Got…got…blood…” Raelle wheezed, voice jagged and painful. Her wrist bent upward, as if to lift her hand, but it collapsed.
Unable to move.
Powerless.
Scylla blinked, then peered down at herself.
She had blood on herself.
Raelle’s blood.
“It’s ok. I’m not hurt. I’m not hurt, Raelle.”
“Not?”
“No. No, I’m not.”
“Ok.” Raelle’s eyelashes fluttered, “Ok.”
“You’re going to be ok, too.” She had to be.
Raelle didn’t respond.
Scylla pressed her lips together, the mask she needed to wear, the calmness she needed to maintain, the focus, cracking. Breaking.
Like her heart.
There had to be something. She could try linking again. Some piece of Work she wasn’t remembering.
She had to think.
Damn it, she had to think.
“Hey…Scyl?”
“Yes?”
It took moments, a minute, before she murmured, “Wife.”
Scylla nodded, doing everything to not cry.
To not let Raelle know there were tears in her eyes.
That Scylla was dying inside right along with her.
“Yes, I’m your wife. You’re mine.”
A ghost of a grin poked at Raelle’s lips, her blood tinged lips, “You’re…beautiful.”
Scylla carefully slipped off of Raelle and eased the injured woman into her lap, “You were too.” She found Raelle’s hand and brought it to her lips, “I love you.”
“Love…you.” Raelle grimaced.
A crumpled groan jerked up from Raelle’s chest. She coughed and wheezed, eyes almost rolling to the back of her head.
“Scylla,” a hand landed on the brunette’s shoulder.
Scylla didn’t look away from Raelle.
“Scylla, let me take her.”
Scylla ignored the voice.
Stared at Raelle.
At the love of her life.
Her future.
“Scylla, I need you to let me take Raelle.”
Scylla blinked.
Anacostia.
It was Anacostia talking to her.
Almost like a child, Scylla tilted her head.
Anacostia was crouched before them, eyes worried but determined, “Please.”
“Raelle’s hurt.” Scylla whimpered. “She’s sick.”
“I know.” Anacostia spoke gently, “Let me help her.”
Scylla nodded.
She trusted Anacostia.
Anacostia wouldn’t hurt Raelle.
She wouldn’t.
Scylla turned her eyes back to the face she dreamt of at night. That she woke to that morning. That grinned at her as they danced and blushed as they said their vows.
Anacostia slowly reached out to the unmoving witch.
Scylla gulped and placed a kiss on Raelle’s forehead. “I love you.”
Raelle’s hand went limp in hers.