Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [110]
“It burns,” he cried. “Please stop! I swear never to take another body again!” On and on his promises went as he begged and bargained, promising me he would change his ways if I would just show him compassion.
His desperate pleas tugged at my heartstrings. I wanted to believe that people could change, and for a moment my hands loosened as I contemplated showing him leniency. Sensing what I was doing, however, Brent forced them back with a firm shake of his head.
“Yara, we have to finish it. There are some still trapped,” he said, softly but firmly, his eye shining with the same agony that my heart felt. Brent kept his trembling hand over mine, lending me support, as the remaining victims of the curse were sucked from Thomas. He now lay panting on the ground, a withered old man with thin hair, seeming too weak to even stand.
When the last spirit wrenched itself from his control, I pushed away from Thomas, shaking, disgusted and emotionally scarred. My stomach curdled and I dry-heaved, leaving an acidic taste in my mouth that I tried to wipe away with the back of my hand.
I was still trembling and needed Brent’s arms around me. Looking around frantically, I thought for a horrible moment he had gone into the light with the other spirits. I soon found him, though, standing a ways off with his brother. He and Neal were huddled together hugging and talking quietly to each other. Sensing me watching them, they both looked my way and Neal gave me a smile that was a twin of Brent’s charismatic grin. He leaned toward Brent and whispered something before turning back to me with one last smile. He hugged Brent before walking straight into the light.
With the last soul in its embrace, the light quietly shrunk to a small pinpoint, then vanished, leaving me blinking in the dark night. There were no stars in the sky but I could see Brent perfectly as he stared silently at the spot where his brother been, his eyes glistening. He angled away from me and I pretended not to notice him rubbing the tears from his eyes.
“Brent?” I called timidly, wanting to offer support but not force it.
My voice seemed to snap him back into the moment. He straightened, rolled his shoulders a few times as he composed himself, then turned to examine the remnants of Thomas, who was still curled up pathetically. Thomas’s eyes swung toward Brent, his expression wild as he watched Brent advance. When Brent was only a few feet away, Thomas suddenly roared, his face becoming crimson, and he morphed into a thin veil of fog.
Brent was prepared for this; his arms were thrown wide, conjuring a miniature cyclone out of the formerly still air. Thomas, weakened as he was, couldn’t fight back, even in his fog form, and his essence was trapped in the circular frenzy.
“You got him!” I shouted.
Brent shook his head. “Maybe, but I’m not sure what to do with him.”
“I know where to put him.” I lifted my finger and one of my herb-laced vials that had been hidden in the nook of a tree floated toward me. “In here.”
I coaxed the stopper out of the glass and held it out for Brent who smiled in satisfaction. “If that isn’t poetic justice, I don’t know what is,” he said, pointing his finger toward his small twister and guiding Thomas’s fog toward the bottle.
Like a genie forced into its lamp, Thomas was funneled into his glass prison. Brent put the cork cap into place and made the vial levitate in the air. He walked completely around it, inspecting it
Thomas’s hatred radiated from the bottle like poisonous venom. His inky consciousness glittered lethally in the fading light. The smoke swirled and twisted like tentacles until finally Thomas’s face appeared, warped in a grotesque haunting grimace as he pushed