Covens and Proxies

7

I wake up on Monday, three days after the incident in the alley. It's time to investigate that warehouse Toby had told me about.

As I get dressed, I pause to look at the cut on my arm. The one I'd made as an offering for the power of the curse I used. The only wound I can't heal is one created by magic. It's healing faster than a normal cut, but it's still strange to see a cut on my skin. At all.

When I walk into the kitchen, I see Zemra wave while the door shuts, a vague goodbye shouted. I shrug and grab a piece of toast and my satchel before heading out the door after her.

I head down the street, still mulling over what would be a better idea. Myself, or someone else? Obviously, if it's someone else I'm going to pay them. I'm not like Jeff or Toby. But who would be willing to go through that? Only desperate people, but I feel like bribing a homeless or broke person is nearly as cruel as not paying them at all.

It's not that I don't mind doing it to myself, but between possible blood loss and exhaustion; I might not have enough strength to save myself. And now, with Jeff's attachment and possessiveness over me, he'll blame Toby--and that could lead to a war amongst their kind. Or a world of hurt for the boys directly.

It's a conundrum. Sighing, I stop in front of the warehouse. It doesn't look very big, but I guess it doesn't need to be that big. Taking a deep breath, I slide open one of the doors and step inside. When I shut the door again and turn around, I breathe in the musky scent of old books and cloth. It's dusty in here, but not unbearably so. Underneath the ancient scents, a floral one arises. I make a mental note to check everything out when I'm done with my practice.

I walk down an isle full of crates stacked to the ceiling, which I swear was not that tall on the outside, to the back of the building. There, I see a small number of offices, as well as a door leading outside. I check the offices, just in case, before finding a nearby crate and settling down.

I'd brought a knife with me, as well as my book. Yesterday, I decided to not only work on my healing, but my fatal curses as well. Toby made it clear that no one is to see my magic and live to tell about it. Of course, I think that's counterproductive. All of my spells cause deaths that are very obviously not normal.

I spend an hour or two shredding my arm, only to heal it again. Self torture. It's worse than I thought it would be. By the time 135 minutes(hour and 15 min) have passed, I'm cradling my arm, crying. I can't bring myself to make another cut. I can't bring myself to pick up the knife again.

So I calm myself, deciding I'm done for the day. Besides, I need to get back to driving anyways. I wipe my face clean, standing and brushing the dirt and dust that's gathered on my pants before taking my things and heading home.

~

That night, I sit in bed. It's late; around twelve. Zemra is asleep, but I can't rest. My phone is on, sitting a few inches from me. It's open to Toby's number. I'm fighting every urge to call him. Every voice in my head is telling me to do it, but I'm scared. I'm scared of what I'll hear, of what he'll say. Will he kill me? Or will he yell at me about when it's a good time? I want to call because I need help. I can't keep doing that to myself, but I don't want to screw with a stranger. That could be even more dangerous.

Sighing, I pick up my phone and hit the messaging button.

(M): I need help

There's a long pause before the ellipses(...) pops up

T: What's the problem?

(M): I can't keep doing this.

T: What do you mean?

(M): I spent two hours practicing. I can't do it.

T: Did you use someone else?

(M): Of course not!

T: There's your fucking problem.

(M): Who should I use?!

T: Some hobo or something. I don't give a shit who or how. Figure it out.

(M): I'm not fucking up a stranger.

T: Then who do you plan to fuck up? Zemra? I bet Jeff would happily let you do it.

An idea pops into my head. It's a little ridiculous, and he might not like it, but I have to try. After thinking on it for another minute, I type; Can I use you?

There's another long pause. Is he laughing? Punching or throwing something?

T: Why me?

(M): You can't feel pain.

There's another long pause, this one longer then the last two. I wonder if I just struck a nerve with him. Is it a sensitive subject? I don't know enough about him to know what's alright to say and what's not.

T: Name one time every day. I'll try to be there. If I'm more then five minutes late, I'm not coming.

I smile, though I'm not sure exactly why.

(M): Thanks Toby. Tomorrow, 7:15 AM. Can we talk more time then?

T: Fine. I'll wait for ten minutes. If you're any later without notice, don't expect me there.

I try hard to fight down the excitement and joy bubbling in my chest, but it's no use. It surfaces, showing in a wide grin while I type a thanks and goodnight. Maybe it's because he doesn't seem as volatile as Jeff, but I like Toby much more. Still, I know I have to be careful. A wrong move would mean mine and Zemra's death.