Covens and Proxies

25

Reader's POV

It's been several days since Toby started staying here and each day is so similar then the last you almost lost track. Every morning, Zemra wakes up first for her coffee, soon followed by Toby. They'll pass in the hall, each giving the other a snide comment before moving on. Toby would hug you around your waste or sit on the counter while you cooked breakfast, making the occasional suggestion for seasonings or the like. After the morning meal, Zemra and Toby would do the dishes and be fairly okay with each other.

While Zemra is off at work, Toby and you would find ways of passing the time with boardgames or television or training. While your roommates home, Toby would usually disappear to your room and sulk while you talked with her over whatever came up. To be more accurate, she would talk while you fiddled with something and listened.

Then she'd leave again and you'd find Toby flipping through your spellbook. The first time you saw him, you cursed him to be silent the rest of the day. When the spell wore off, he asked what would happen if he read it. You, having been given no previous instruction, theorized a great deal of pain and bad karma, but you have no proof of this. He'd smiled and shrugged, saying we should find out. So you don't bother him about it anymore.

The only difference is the early, early mornings when you first wake. At first, Toby had done his best to stay as far from you on the small bed as possible. Now, you often find his arm resting across your body or his hand in your face. He's cute when he's sleeping.

Zemra is at work tonight, Toby is digging in the fridge for a late-night snack while you scroll through Amazon for a decent movie. You find an old favorite of yours and smirk.

"Hey, Toby, how do you feel about IT?" You call.

You hear him grunt. "The new ones or-or the old one?" He asks, half growling.

"The new ones." You respond.

You hear him choke into a coughing fit, peering into the living room with a flushed face. "I'm b-eginning to think you're the one that's bat-bat-shit crazy." He snarks.

You stick our your tongue, he wrinkles his nose and goes back to his foraging. "Well, I'm putting it on!" You tell him. He groans, which you ignore.

He comes out with a slab of cheese and ham, flopping onto the couch with his head in your lap. Ever since his late night over, this has been his default sitting position.

Half an hour through, Toby is completely wrapped in the gore of the movie. He doesn't move when someone wraps on the back door, which you find strange. Lifting his head off your lap, you slip from under him and answer the door.

Tim is standing there with his mask pushed up, smoking a cigarette in the rain. He takes a long draw, blows it out and nods. "Just here to check on you two." Something in his voice is almost taunting. Almost.

"We're doing fine. There was an incident on the first day, but everything's fine." You tell him, glancing back at the sounding of screaming.

He cocks an eyebrow. "Where is he?"

You smirk. "He's watching IT with me."

He looks shocked and amused. "He's never living this down." He snickers. "How the hell did you tame him?"

You shrug, stepping out and shutting the door behind you. "It helps to have magic, but he's kept himself in check pretty well."

He blinks, putting out his cigarette. "Don't let him get soft. Slenderman will kill me." He's about to leave, obviously irritated, when you grab his wrist.

"You should say hi to him, at least. He never shuts up about you and Hoodie."

He glares at your hand as if you'd burned him with iron, but doesn't move to do anything. "Let me go." He growls deep in his chest.

You don't move, your grip tightening slightly. "I don't think you understand how homesick he really is."

He snarls. "A real pasta wouldn't give a shit where they are or who they're with, just as long as they satisfy their bloodlust. You are making him soft."

You bite back a retort, instead flooding him with magic. His face goes slack, his muscle relaxing, his mind unwinding. You shut your eyes, pulling him back to the door. He stumbles slightly, you having to catch him. When he's back in the light of the dining room, you let go, taking your magic with you.

He blinks, snapping out of the daze. It takes him another moment of looking around to focus in on you. "You damn witch." He snarls, slamming you into the wall of the house, a knife to your throat. "Don't touch me again!"

In a blink of an eye, you've slipped your hand onto his temple and are racing through his thoughts, just to get him to go slack again, only to find yourself in a memory.

You're standing on a cliff, hand in hand with a woman. Her long auburn hair being blown back behind her, the skirt of her dress flapping in the wind. The sea crashes far below you, though you're only concern is with the sunset and the beauty of this girl. Her lips are stained red with lipstick, her eyes big and milky-brown, her lashes thick and her cheeks bones high. Her body curves perfectly, her dress fitting to her form without flaw.

Without understanding how you know, you know you've been with this woman for weeks. She smiles at you, squeezing your hand. Your heart thunders in your chest, only to squeeze.

Something's wrong. Something is very wrong.

You don't remember being with her. You don't remember seeing her before today, except in a photo from Slenderman. And you don't remember her touch ceasing since you tracked her to an old Victorian home.

You throw yourself from the cliff face just as she spins, trying to yank you over the edge, and draw your knife. She glares balefully at you, only raising a hand without saying a word. Wind knocks you on your back, pushing the air form your lungs with painful force.

Fighting through the haze, you roll and pop to your feet, slashing out at her as she closes in. You caught her raised hand, forcing an infuriated shriek from her. Letting instinct take over, you lunge, shoving your knife into her side. She stumbles to the ground, crying and begging for your mercy.

You want to look away, to escape this horrible, horrible memory of watching your coven die, but you can't rip free.

You watch as Masky raises his hands, your hands, standing over her, and bringing it down through her neck.

Finally, the memory releases. He stumbles back, choking and sputtering. You, pressed to the wall, slide down in a fit of choked back sobs, your gut twisting in sickness and agony.

You don't notice Toby standing in the doorway until he's at your side, shaking you, trying to get you to look at him. But you're not there with him. You're reliving the mortifying moment over and over when the final blow is dealt, her body going limp under you and her blood staining the ground.

You can only look at Masky, his fury waking your own unbridled rage.

He'd killed one of your sisters. He'd killed one of the few witches left. Pushing Toby gently aside, you get to your feet. You don't shake, you don't speak, you simply close the few steps between you and him, look him dead in the eyes, and ask "Why?" with a steady voice.

He doesn't look away, he doesn't stutter, he doesn't seem the least bit concerned. "Because I was told to. You saw that."

You want to do something horrible to him, like he'd done to her. Something he'll never forget, something that'll make him regret. But you don't. "How many have died at the hands of you and your... Cult." You spit the word as though it were something fowl you'd eaten.

He doesn't flinch. "I've only killed one. All together, 385 in the past century."

This time, you can't stop your body. With a flick of your wrist, your book is at your side, your hand is dripping hot red liquid as yoi draw furiously, muttering the chant over and over until the diagram is complete and it's power is coursing in your veins. In another moment, you've wrapped him in tendrils, squeezing him, letting your anger blind you even to Toby, who's yelling and ripping at your shoulder to get you to stop.

You don't. Drawing your hand back, a spine of abyss forms in your grip, aimed for his head. You watch as fear overtakes him. He starts to thrash and kick and jerk, but you don't give.

You're poised to thrust when Toby is there.