Sinister

Chapter Twenty-One

Leighton stared at the clock. The hands were frozen at the time of Tate's arrival, stuck at 9:43am. Her cheek was numb where it was resting against her hand, her elbow sore from propping herself up on the table. She had been sitting there for hours while Tate sat across from her, staring over her head and into the greenbelt beyond her backyard.

Tate had brought the stone down from her room, laying it on the table between them. When he wasn't staring out the window he was staring at the stone, almost as if he were searching for telltale signs of forgery.

Leighton's eyes and cheeks were stinging, her mouth was hanging open and her hands seemed unable to close completely. The only thing she could feel was devastation. Everything else was completely numb.

"Killian's coming," Tate announced, eyes glassy.

Leighton would've shrugged, but the effort was too great. Not more than a minute later there was a small tap at the door and then Killian was in the kitchen, hovering by the entryway near the fridge.

"Well... this is a sight."

Tate closed his eyes, veins along his neck tensing.

Killian moved forward, taking off his suit jacket and hanging on the back of his chair before taking a seat. His face was almost completely healed, the worst of the bruising faded to a washed out yellow. The cuts were now thin white lines that Leighton suspected would be healed by the next time she saw him. Looking at him now, with his pressed pants and collar shirt, made it hard for Leighton to picture him in the graveyard.

Killian sighed and tapped his fingers on the table before leaning forward and taking Leighton's stone in his hands and rolling it between his fingers. He frowned at the small rock as if he had never seen one before.

"So what's the plan?" he asked.

Tate looked up sharply. "I won't―"

Killian held up his hand. "Hold your breath, Tater-tot, I'm not here to ask you that." Tate sunk back in his chair, pale and tired. Killian swore and tossed the stone back on the table, it bounced once before rolling to Leighton. A smile twitched onto her face.

"There isn't a plan," Leighton said, rolling the stone between her index fingers. "There's a natural order."

Killian's eyebrows shot up as he looked to Tate for explanation. "The girl who made my life hell for not wanting anyone to die, now wants to die herself?" Tate shrugged so Killian turned to Leighton. "I must admit that this is shocking, Lovely, but strangely not entirely surprising."

Leighton felt Tate's glare but didn't move her eyes to meet it. "We do have a plan. I'm going to contact all of the old players, see who knows something and who's willing to help."

Killian almost laughed. "You want death deities to help you preserve life?"

Tate's cheeks flushed. "Do you have a better idea, Killian?"

To Leighton's surprise, Killian seemed to deflate. "I don't actually, not yet."

"Not yet?" Leighton inquired, heart ramming into her ribs. She knew it was dangerous to let herself hope, but if she didn't hope, than she wasn't sure if she'd be able to keep going.

Killian gave her a dry look. "If it were up to me, Lovely, I would've buried you already." His eyes slunk over to Tate. "But you and I are not the only ones involved."

Tate's hands turned into fists on the table. "Don't get involved Killian, this really isn't your issue. At least you'll have some deniability when it comes down to it."

Killian's look was dark. "I'm already in it, little brother." His lip curled as though he were disgusted in himself, and knowing Killian, he probably was. "I already tried to bargain for your girlfriend, I already asked her to be spared. My... contact... assured me that her life was non-negotiable."

Tate seemed genuinely surprised. "You asked to spare Leighton?"

Killian nodded, adverting his eyes from his brother's. "Yes."

"Thank you," Leighton spluttered.

"It wasn't for you," Killian shot back.

Leighton wasn't fazed. "I know, but thank you just the same."

"What now?" Tate asked, on the edge of his seat. His brother's support had ignited a fire in his eyes, a cocktail of desperation, hope and momentum that hadn't been there before. Leighton was afraid of what that look would do to him later.

Killian stood, grabbing his jacket and slinging it over his shoulder. "Now we have to find a way to save a life."

Leighton pushed her wet hair out of her face, rushing into Petra's shop in order to escape the torrential downpour outside. She slipped off her jacket, which was soaked, and made her way into the shop.

Petra wasn't at the counter or mulling around the shelves so Leighton headed towards the backroom, shoving the strands of beads to the side before pushing her way into the tiny space. Petra sat up abruptly, nearly spilling the coffee in her hand. She was sitting in her green velvet chair reading what seemed to be a hand written journal.

Petra looked down, checking to see if the book was free of coffee spills before closing it and setting it aside. She stood, her hair done up in an elaborate knot and glasses covering her mismatch eyes.

"Oh no," Petra said, her face drawing downwards, "you poor thing."

Leighton stood, dripping wet and desperate. The stone was sitting on her outstretched palm, in clear view for Petra to see. Leighton felt raw and exposed, like her skin had been removed and her organs were on full display.

"It's over isn't it?"

Petra took a step forward, reaching out for Leighton and taking a hold of her wrists. Slowly, she nodded. Leighton felt the air leave her lungs. Her shoulders lowered slightly, her stomach dropping and then settling. Strangely, this was what she needed. She needed someone to be straight with her, to forgo pacifying her and to tell her the truth.

"I'm sorry," Petra murmured, "I really hoped..."

"What's next?" Leighton asked.

Petra looked hesitant. "The future is a dangerous thing to know too much of."

"I need to know," Leighton pressed.

Petra looked at her for a long moment and then seemed to resolve herself. Petra sighed and sat down, tucking the journal away and offering Leighton a seat. The chair was soft under her and Leighton found herself sinking into it, grateful for its comfort.

"I don't know any specifics," Petra told her. "I only know what stories say."

"Tell me everything."

Leighton walked out of Petra's shop, her shoulders stooped as she ventured into the rain. She didn't bother with her jacket, the waterproof material was a sham, the rain would've soaked her skin anyways. Besides, she wasn't sure how many more opportunities there would be to walk freely in the rain.

She remembered a time when she used to love rain. When she thought it was powerful, the only thing capable of taking away her pain. Now it barely touched her.

Leighton sat in her car, listening as the rain pelted the roof and shivering as the night's chill started to mingle with the dampness of her skin, clothes and hair. She turned the car on and waited a while longer, the seatbelt light dinging and flashing.

She debated for a long while over what to do next. She could return to her home and sit with her mother, but how could she when looking into the face of the woman who gave her life would only remind her that her life was coming to an end?
A part of her wanted to see Tate but the other part wished to avoid him. Spending time with him while he stared at her with fresh grief felt like admitting defeat. Every time she looked into his eyes she felt like she was at a funeral.

"Killian has an idea."

Leighton made a startled sound and jumped, smacking her head on her visor and letting out a string of curse words. "What are you―how did you―what―"

Tate smiled at her, but it was vague and unconvincing. He tucked his necklace underneath his t-shirt. "Apparently Killian has been talking to some of our old friends. He thinks there might be a way. We might need to speak to your friend Petra."

Leighton didn't bother asking how he knew about the shopkeeper. "I really doubt she'll help us," Leighton said, "she's all about balance."

Tate eyed the shop of Mystical Mayhem warily. "Killian said something about her mother Natasha. He's pretty confident he can trade the information he has for her cooperation."

"Great, so we're blackmailing now?"

Tate gave her a dry look. "Priorities."

Leighton blew out a long breath and pulled her hair back whilst she attempted to resolve herself. "Okay," she said, "where are we meeting?"

Ten minutes later Leighton and Killian were sitting in a booth. They were sitting in the corniest Pizzeria in the county. The store's mascot was a fat Italian man with a heavy mustache and a shirt patterned with pepperoni.

"I don't understand pizza," Tate said absently. "It just doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps pizza is a mystery better solved at a later time, brother." Killian slid onto the bench opposite of us, smiling at the waitress and ordering a glass of water. He turned his attention to the menu then, pretending to struggle between meat lovers and Hawaiian.

"What's the plan, Killian?" Leighton asked after a long moment. She was trying not to show her agitation but her cuticles were already destroyed and her leg was shaking constantly. Tate placed a hand on her knee to reassure her.

Killian leaned back in the booth. "I don't have a plan per se. I spoke to some old colleagues, who by the way, placed bets on when you would need a favour for this sort of thing, Tate."

Tate grumbled something under his breath and fiddled with his baseball cap.

"Anyway," Killian started, "they think it might be possible to hide her from the Council. To shield her from view. They seem to think that hiding her is the best option."

Leighton tried to hide her disappointment. Whatever she had imagined Killian's plan being, it wasn't this. She wasn't interested in spending the rest of her life under a rock. She didn't want to go off the grid and never see her mother again.

"And how do we do this?" Tate was leaning towards his brother, eyes shaded by his hat.

Killian shrugged. "That's where Petra Karkovski comes in. She's the only medium I know of within a hundred miles. Her mother, Natasha, had some sort of affair with a death deity some years before she was born. The guys in the South seem to think that Natasha lied to the father."

"Are you telling me that Petra is half―"

"That doesn't matter," Killian interrupted. "What matters is that there is some hope."

Tate leaned back on the bench, lost in thought. Leighton thought too, twisting the idea in her head, looking for angles to argue. Something was nagging at her. She looked over at Tate briefly and figured out what it was.

"Wait a second, when you say that I have to go into hiding don't you really mean we have to go into hiding?"
Killian was silent.

"Absolutely not."

Tate sighed, "Leighton."

"No!" she shouted, drawing the attention of a few tables. She lowered her voice. "No, I will not―forget it, Tate." She looked to Killian for answers. "So what? You and Tate go on the run? Fight for your lives? Get reset or die?"

Killian shrugged, "I've had a long, long life, Lovely. I wouldn't mind it so much if it ended after a good old fashion cat and mouse game."

Tate took Leighton's hand and touched her cheek briefly. "Leighton, this is the best option. If we can get you safe, if we can hide you from the Makers, than you can live out the rest of your life. Truthfully, we both know you would have a more prosperous life without me."

Leighton's gaze slid to the tabletop as she considered it. It was hard to picture a life without Tate, without feeling the air chill when he was around her, without watching the clocks stop. How could she return to the mundane after finding another world?

"No, Tate. This wouldn't work. Even if Petra could hide me, even if it worked, how would I get the shield taken off of me? How would I die when the time was right?" The look on Tate's face told her that he couldn't imagine the right time. "No."

Killian stood up abruptly. "Why don't we all take the night to think about it?"

"Killian―"

"I have to go." Killian forced a quick smile. "We'll talk tomorrow."

Tate sighed and dropped a few bills on the table before standing and tugging Leighton along with him. He pulled her into a tight hug, setting his chin on top of her head and folding both arms along her shoulders.

Leighton pressed her face into his chest and locked her hands around his waist, needing his comfort. Any hope that had blossomed in her chest had withered. A way out without Tate was just a way into another cage.

"We'll figure it out," he whispered to her, "don't worry."

Leighton couldn't find it in her to respond. The drive back to Leighton's house was quick and silent. They held hands over the middle console and set the windows all the way down so they could feel the night's air.

It was a rare night in St. Hope, a night where you could see the stars. For once, the sky was cloudless and clear. Leighton looked up as she closed her car door, suddenly feeling tiny and insignificant before all that space.

No lights were on in the house, meaning Karen was likely at Tom's. Leighton took Tate's hand confidently, pulling him behind her as she entered the house and made her way to her room.

She laid in the center of her bed and he laid beside her. At first they laid separated, nothing meeting except for their eyes. Then, slowly, they began to unfurl. Tate's fingers twined through Leighton's, their palms melding together.

Her ankles crossed his and their knees bumped, making them both smile. Leighton moved closer, placing their foreheads together and skimming her nose softly against his. Their breath touched just before their lips did, bringing them completely together.

Leighton grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him as close as she could. His fingers skimmed her leg, her hip, her stomach. Every touch ignited a flame that built a burning fire within her. His skin was pressed firmly to hers but she still felt like she needed him closer.

"I love you," Tate whispered to her, "and I'm scared that I'm going to lose you."

Leighton let her lips graze his jaw. "I'm here in this moment, now."

"It's not now I'm afraid of," he grumbled, "it's the moments after."

Leighton opened her eyes to find him staring down at her. She pressed her hand to his face, just brushing the ends of her fingertips to his hair. "I'm scared too."

Tate reached up and put his hand over hers. "I don't know how I functioned before you, Leighton. I don't remember a time when I didn't think of you first. I don't remember closing my eyes and not seeing your face. I hear your name, I see your eyes, I feel your touch. Everything is you, Leighton."

"When I close my eyes," she whispered, "I see us together in your kitchen. I see you cooking fish and putting raspberry jam on it."

Tate's laugh caught in his throat. "Sounds good."

Leighton smiled and closed her eyes. "And I see us at Dante's Tavern, kissing in a tucked away booth while I'm on my break."

"Of course," he murmured.

"And I see you meeting my mom; she adores you by the way. And I see Tom trying to shake you down; he's protective."

"Naturally."

Leighton eyes opened and a few tears slid onto her cheeks. "I see us Tate. I see us in our past, our present, our future. I see us holding hands and bickering and feeding ducks when we're old."

Tate's smile wobbled as his eyes filled with tears. "I can't get old."

Leighton rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

Tate slipped his hands to the back of her neck and kissed her forehead before tucking her into his chest and wrapping his arms around her. She rubbed her cheek against his t-shirt, trying to hold her breath so Tate wouldn't realise how hard she was crying.

"We'll find a way," he promised her. "Together."