It’s surprising when Cain breaks first, when he decides to start talking to the voice inside his head. He even turns down the radio. I’m not sure why. I guess so he doesn’t have to shout over the music.
No whispering this time, no strange softness. He’s brisk and growling, definitely annoyed with me, that’s obvious even discounting the rude way he asks, “You done having a hissy fit?”
I wasn’t the one yelling and hitting things, but I don’t point that out to Cain.
Yes. I’m fine.
“Good.”
It sounds a bit sarcastic, mostly distracted. Cain checks the rearview mirror and then reaches up to adjust it some. Rather than watch for the light to change, he keeps an eye on the flow of traffic, tracks for too long a white sedan. I wonder if he’s worried about the police.
“Answer without panicking. Do you know where you are?”
Besides here? No.
“Fine,” Cain snaps. He’s so quick and ready that I suspect it didn’t matter at all how I answered. The light changes to let Cain turn left onto the highway ramp. I try not to worry about the barreling roar of acceleration that he uses to gain speed. It’s easier to accomplish that modest goal once I hear Cain say, “That’s fine. I’ll find you. I know where you are.”
You do?
I told myself I wouldn’t ask Cain any questions, once he decided to start talking to me again, because I don’t want to shut up. Or get us killed, if me talking is really that distracting or — worse — if I really am controlling Cain. I told myself no more questions, and yet my incredulous reaction just compounds itself further.
Where am I? My body, you mean my body, right? Where am I? Take me there. I want my body back, I want —
“Stop. Shut up. No panicking.” Cain’s hand lifts, like I’m somewhere in the car to see the gesture. “You’re already there, you fucking idiot, and don’t say anything else stupid. Just listen. Can you do that?”
He’s teeth-gritted snarling, furious and snapping, and the question is so demeaning and rude that I realize he means it. He’s legitimately concerned. This is a genuine question, if I can listen and not panic as we talk about what happened to me and what we’ll do about it.
Yes. Yes, I’m sorry. I’ll listen.
“Good. This car’s too nice to crash.” Cain pats the matte beige plastic of the dashboard like greeting a loyal hound. And then without further preamble, “So you’re on the Otherside. Have to be. Get pissy about it if you want, but you’re the necromancer, not me. Obviously I didn’t put you there. You did this to yourself, sweetheart.”
Cain sighs, looks out the window for such a long moment that I wonder if it’d be panicking to remind him to watch the road. “I felt you reach, so I grabbed, and here we are. I’m stuck with you. Don’t suppose you know where I can find another necromancer?”
Am I actually supposed to answer that?
“Heh.” When Cain flicks a grin up at the rear view mirror, I realize he’s been adjusting it to look at himself rather than the back windshield of the car. “Go for it. Answer away, princess. You know where I can find another necromancer?”
No. Of course not. Cain, I didn’t even know I was a necromancer until you told me. I still don’t really understand what that even means. Please tell me you mean stuck with me like you meant stuck in a dead body. Cain, please tell me —
“Abel.” His eyes go to the mirror, so he can glare at himself to glare at me, and it’s more effective than lifting his hand or even yelling at me. It’s easier to judge where I am along the scale of amused to annoyed when I can see his face, easier to see that I’m scaring him because I can’t stay calm. I’m this panicking voice inside his head that keeps telling him what to do with increasing desperation. Cain is operating a motor vehicle at highway speeds, and I’m freaking out inside his head.
Sorry. Sorry, Cain, I’m okay. Just, scared.
His long glance at the side mirror is either to check traffic or ignore me. Cain switches lanes before saying, “Yeah. I know. Pretty fucking obvious, but try harder at keeping your shit together. Okay?”
Okay.
“Okay, then.” He breaths like bracing himself and rolls his fingers over the wheel. “So I can’t find you from here. Doesn’t work that way. I could find you easily if I was on the Otherside, but I’m not crossing by myself so don’t even think about it.”
It’s a warning. A dire one, too, because he’s quiet about it and not just because I’m a voice in his head. We’re completely alone inside the car, there’s no risk of anyone overhearing him or getting suspicious, no risk of getting caught besides the flashy stolen sports car currently exceeding the speed limit.
Could you?
“Don’t,” Cain snaps. “Don’t even fucking think about it. I’m staying on this side.”
I just want to know if it’s possible.
Silence forms his response. Cain glances to the side mirrors, the bit of back windshield he’s left himself in the rearview. He looks at the passing signs overhead announcing exits and lane splitting, and then a mile later watches the signs until they’re out of sight.
“I don’t know,” he says at last. “I’ve never tried. Why the fuck would I? I can’t go from the Otherside to here by myself, I’ve tried that loads, plenty of motive, everyone’s doing it. That’s the popular direction, sweetheart, you’re one in a million for thinking to do it the other way on a whim like this.”
It wasn’t a whim! We got hit by a car.
“No, I get it. Can’t get hurt in a car crash if you’re not part of it, can’t get fucked over by Deimos if you’re not around in the aftermath. Honestly it’s a neat party trick once you figure out how to get yourself back here.” He glances into the mirror so I can see his smirk, but then he looks away. There’s enough echoed sensation that I can tell the smile fades.
Cain’s worried over something. Me, it must be me, he must be worried about me and that’s terrifying. I don’t want a demon to worry about something I’ve done. I don’t want to have done something that worries a demon because he doesn’t know how to undo it, that’s even worse.
Knowing that I’ve started to panic isn’t exactly helping me stop before Cain notices, and then it’s too late. He’s scowling reassurances into the mirror. “Abel, it’s fine. I’ll find you.”
How? You just said you can’t and won’t and don’t know.
“I’ll figure it out somehow, you stupid piece of shit, without the help of my worthless fucking necromancer. You got yourself into this mess. You reached like you knew what the fuck you were doing, so of course I grabbed you and fought like hell to keep you.” Cain hits the steering wheel. “I should have let you go. Dammit!” Another hit, hard enough to knock the horn, and brake lights flash in front of us from whomever Cain’s confused by honking.
But I didn’t do anything! I remember we were going to get hit, and I – I think I even remember the impact, maybe, but I don’t —
Suddenly I recall that exact last moment, that small eternity of regret and despair and fear — and the clench of my fist into Cain’s hair, my last physical sensation. I think very rapidly over everything Cain’s said and done since the crash, everything I’ve experienced since the crash.
What if you let me go now? Would I go back to my body?
“Who the fuck knows,” Cain growls. It’s a rhetorical question, there is no answer, I know that, but it gets me thinking anyway. I’m still thinking when Cain decides to give a more serious answer. “Probably not. You don’t know where you are. Just say put with me, sweetheart, I’ll get you out of this mess.”
Phobos asked me to send him from this side to the Otherside. Maybe he knows how? And if I’m with you, then you don’t have to cross by yourself, right?
Cain shoots a brief glare to the mirror. “No,” is all he says. A firm, resolute no without any further sarcasm or follow up, so I know he means it. That won’t stop me from trying again, although I leave him alone for a bit. He’s back to focusing on highway signs, which makes me wonder if Cain has any idea where he’s going.
He speaks before I’ve figured out how to reapproach the subject. He sounds confident and self-assured as he says, “Alright. So there are my options. Wait for another necromancer, or play hide and go fucking seek with the one I’ve got.”
How long would you wait?
“Forty years,” says Cain. He flashes a smartass smirk at the mirror. “Maybe less, searching from this side. Maybe never if your world gets anymore fucking complicated. This used to be a lot fucking easier.”
I can’t believe I’m getting more or less straight answers out of Cain for once, and I don’t want to jinx it even though I have hundreds of questions stockpiled. I think carefully and make sure I’m perfectly calm before prying a little further.
How so?
“It’s called demon summoning, sweetheart. People used to kill each other just for the honor of killing for me. Necromancers knew what the fuck they were doing, did shit on purpose. Things used to be simpler, no fucking fingerprint tracing or computers inside cars. No one needing little fucking plastic with your face on it, keeping track of you in databases, serial numbers and — fucking electricity everywhere, fancy hospitals, all this bullshit.” His hand gestures to the passing strip malls and gas stations, stretching billboards, desolate intermittent spots of activity lining the stretch of highway.
“Used to be the necromancer did the calling, I did the answering. Now I gotta run around as a fucking cat just to get noticed. Used to be forty years felt like nothing, a hundred years felt like nothing. Now you blink and everything’s tits up.” Cain sighs, pulls his gaze from an illuminated billboard advertising the local news. “If we hadn’t done this the hard way, the risk wouldn’t be so high. I wouldn’t be stuck on this side without you, I’d be ditching a dead body. Hope you’re happy, princess.” He’s quiet, even though he doesn’t need to be.
I’m not.
“Yeah. I figured,” Cain hushes. He winds the car around a series of exit loops to reverse directions, starts heading toward the city again rather than away from it. “Hide and go seek it is, then. Let’s go do what Princess Abel wants, because that always ends well.”
I keep quiet for the drive back into the city. I can’t tell if Cain’s furious, annoyed, worried — I have no idea what Cain is thinking, now that he’s turned the radio up and stopped talking to me. I don’t think he’s happy with me, but I’m not really sure when Cain’s ever been happy with me. I keep messing everything up. I apparently jumped into Cain rather than stick around, so now here I am with no idea how to un-jump or even find my poor, abandoned body.
I’ve gained a new appreciation for having a body at all, for having a physical presence. Now I’m barely more than memory, nothing more than thoughts and feelings, but I do have a body somewhere. A living body, waiting for me. I hope it’s waiting. I desperately hope my body isn’t wandering around somewhere without me in it.
“Can’t fucking believe this,” Cain mutters. I’m pretty sure that’s what he says. Most of it gets lost into the radio. I guess it does matter if he turns the volume down. It must be like I told Aidan, I’ll only hear whatever Cain hears.
When Cain nudges down the radio, I know it’s so he can say something. He asks me, “How do I get to where you crossed before? That exorcism room, the one I couldn’t get into from the Otherside.”
Keep on the freeway until exit twelve, but, Cain — Deimos was there last time. He did the exorcism.
It takes me several seconds to realize Cain’s shrugged. He seems to realize this as well, belatedly tosses out a sneering, “So?”
Deimos wants to kill you. He said he had killed you.
“And I said I’d handle Deimos. He’s not the first to try. Fuck, he’s not even the first to succeed. Trust me, sweetheart, if there’s anything I can handle, it’s someone trying to kill me.” Cain laughs, a rolling roil of mockery and scorn. “I don’t even have to worry about keeping you clear of the chaos. You’re right here with me, safe and secure.” He thumps a hand to his chest, grins into the mirror.
He sounds gleeful. I think he’s looking forward to fighting Deimos.
I don’t know how to get into the building. It’s Praxis’ place, I guess, um, I’m not sure actually but he’s been there both times I’ve been there. He’s the one who tried to help me forget about you.
“Some fucking sorcerer or whatever won’t be a problem.”
Should we try contacting Phobos? I don’t know if he can be trusted, but —
“Fuck no,” says Cain. “Not getting a fucking fairy involved in this, shit’s complicated enough already. His damn fault for getting himself stuck here, not mine, not yours. I don’t want you talking to him.”
You’re not the boss of me.
It’s the most childish, immature response imaginable. I don’t even know why I say it, besides the overwhelming amount of terror and anxiety that is fueling the moment.
I get a laugh from Cain. Fully amused, too, he doesn’t seem annoyed in the least. “No, princess. I’m certainly not,” he says. Sounding smug, despite the admittance, and I have no idea if this is him mocking me or acknowledging an actual truth. I have no idea now if I should apologize for being rude. Cain’s unapologetically rude to me. I decide to keep quiet.
I sulk long enough that Cain notices, glances into the mirror like he expects to see something besides his own dark eyes, dark brows, a gentle scowl of an expression more like he’s puzzled than anything. “What?” he prompts me.
Nothing. I’m fine. Sorry.
Cain scoffs. “For what, shutting up finally? Don’t be.”
Oh. Um, okay.
It’s silence between us. Actual awkward silence, even though one of us is mostly silence anyway — one of us isn’t in the car. Would Cain be looking at me, instead of his own reflection, if I was actually in the car? I can’t even tell what his level expression means besides a lack of eyes on the road. The strangest part of being inside Cain like this is being able to focus on the corners of his vision. Surely he’s aware of the brake lights ahead.
I’m almost ready to scream when Cain slows the car. He looks to the road and slows further, glances, and then shifts lanes. “So then,” he says. His gaze goes into the mirror. “What’s the plan?”
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