Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [105]
Thomas pushed the bottle back to Steve but Steve wouldn’t take it.
“One drink? When did you turn into such a lightweight?”
Thomas frowned, but took another large gulp that ended up with him doubled over, coughing and choking. Then he shot up tall, his body rigid, the bottle falling to the ground as his spirit was ejected from Brent’s body. Brent fell, stiff as an ironing board to the ground.
“Are you okay?” Steve dropped to his knees, his drunken act forgotten as he bent over Brent.
I jumped from my hiding spot and Steve spun toward me, his fist curled ready to strike.
He sheepishly dropped his hands. “Sorry.” He looked again at Brent lying on the ground. “Did it work?”
“Yep.” I hoped we had added enough of the licorice powder to the alcohol to keep Thomas away until I was ready for him. Steve and I hoisted Brent, carrying him across the line that marked the edge of campus. The back of my shirt clung to me, moist with perspiration that had nothing to do with physical exertion. Cherie was waiting for us and looked anxiously at Brent’s limp body.
“Give him more to drink, just to be sure,” I instructed, tossing the open bottle to Steve. He crouched down next to his friend and cradled Brent’s head, tipping it back and pouring a few ounces into his open mouth. Steve set the bottle down and collapsed on the ground next to Brent, wiping the sweat from his face.
Cherie folded her arms behind her back as she took her post as guard. She gave me a confident smile and a small nod, letting me know she was ready. My necklace was secure around my throat and I stroked it lightly for comfort. With a deep breath that didn’t stop my knees from knocking together, I stepped back across the invisible barrier and separated from my body. This was the part of the plan that worried me the most, leaving my body behind on campus, relying on my necklace to protect it.
I paused briefly to appreciate the still life photo of my friends, the determined set to Cherie’s shoulders as she tried so hard to be brave, Brent, pale and helpless on the ground, and his best friend worriedly sitting beside him. I turned away, ready to act.
****
My insides couldn’t have been more queasy if I were about to plummet out of a plane without a parachute. Thomas was a serial killer without remorse and I was about to confront him. Every part of me was begging my spirit to flee but it was more than just my life on the line, I couldn’t run away. I took a deep steadying breath, my hand on my chest as I stepped forward.
Thomas sauntered toward me. “Pretty clever, Yara,” he conceded with a bob of his head. “You saved your boyfriend, but it won’t do you any good.” Within a split second he had thrown his arms out and began to change before my eyes, blurring, distorting, changing into a giant shadow of dark mist. Thomas was gone, and in his place was a wall of inky fog. His voice turned my marrow to ice. “What did you think would happen now?” He taunted.
The metallic taste of fear in my throat and the sulfur-like odor of cowardice glued my feet to the ground and my tongue to the roof of the mouth.
Thomas’s shrill cackle strained my nerves. His black vapor circled, gathering itself until it shaped back into Thomas’s form. The green of his irises kept undulating, changing color— green, brown, hazel, blue, back to green— while his dark pupils glowed with hatred directed entirely at me. His spirit was distorted, stretching at odd angles where hands and feet from the spirits trapped inside pushed out against him, trying to free themselves, his whole skin crawling with the efforts of the enslaved souls. His prisoners moved inside him and his stomach rolled and shifted. Bile churned inside me as he pushed his captives back, watching me the whole time.
“All those people you’ve killed . . . you’ve trapped . . . you keep them . . .” I shuddered unable to finish.
“Yes, I keep them with me.”
“But they’re fighting against you.”
Thomas smirked. “Yes they do, but it