Bring Me To Life
The End of the Beginning:
"Life is a circle. The end of one journey is the beginning of the next." – Joseph M. Marshall III
It was bittersweet to return her the safety of her apartment after the events of the day; the pain and the heartache and the birth and the…death, it left an uneasy feeling in her stomach. There was something about her apartment, a seclusion that made it feel like a safe haven. She let out a tired sigh as she dropped the keys in the bowl situated on the table by the door and walked towards the kitchen as she kicked off her heels in the process, slightly amazed that they stayed on the entire day. She pulled her cell phone out of her pants pocket as she ignored Elijah's presence on the other side of the counter and she pulled the device into the charger she always left in the kitchen to charge while she cooked.
She could feel his gaze burning into the side of her head as she went about the calming ritual of making tea; she had recently started observing the practice after being scolded by Elijah for drinking coffee at night, even taking the time to teach her how to brew it the proper English way. There was something soothing about repeating the same process over and over again until she could complete the task with her eyes closed. It gave her sense of control, she could easily shut her mind off so that she didn't have to think about the consequences of her actions or her words like she had to when in the company of others. It was peaceful.
It surprised her how easily Elijah seemed to ingratiate himself into her everyday life; when they woke up together, which had been often the last few months, she hardly ever tensed at the warm presence beside her, one of them would cook breakfast for them both while they bantered about inconsequential things, and then they would go about their day like any other couple. The change had been almost natural for them; of course, there had been the ordinary speed bumps couples went through in a relationship and times when one or both of them wanted their own space.
Thoughts swirled through her like a whirlpool, going round and round with no end in sight as she poured the tea into two ceramic mugs and avoided looking at the Original standing on the other side of the counter. They hadn't spoken a word to each other since they left the compound, and had hardly spoken other than a brief check-in whilst there. It was slightly unnerving to have his intimidating presence linger in the peripheral of her vision, especially when he was merely staring at her without a word. She felt like her nerves were frayed, her skin hypersensitive, and his very presence was suffocating her, causing her to feel claustrophobic. Anxiety clawed at her chest from the inside, making her skin feel itchy underneath her skin and she absently scratched at her forearm as she turned away from his probing gaze so that he wouldn't see the fear clouding her eyes.
There were a few times in her life when her anxiety had gotten the best of her and she worked incredibly hard to hide it from everyone around her, burying her weakness from those who would take advantage of it. Sometimes the itching got so bad that she accidently left red scratch marks on her wrists and forearms, causing her to cover them up with long sleeves and bracelets and watches so that no one would see them.
The itchiness was growing more intense the longer that Elijah stared at the back of her head as though he was attempting to see into her mind, to read her thoughts and she couldn't help feeling somewhat violated. She rubbed her forearm absently as she resisted the urge to dig her nails into her skin and she bit down on her lower lip as she forced her hand away from her arm before she could draw attention to the movement.
"So, um, Davina texted me earlier, before we left the compound. She's been with Josh, safe on the other side of the river, but she's on her way here now." she informed him curtly with her back to him as she busied herself grabbing a box of Guylian chocolate from the back of her cupboard, ignoring the slight tremble of her hand. She winced, squeezing her eyes closed as she realised how dismissive and sharp her words sounded but she couldn't bring herself to apologise for them.
"I'll, uh, leave you to your evening then." he muttered softly as though he was speaking to a skittish animal, causing her to clench her hands into fists as she scolded herself for showing weakness that suggested she was fragile. She hummed in acknowledgement as she opened the box of chocolate, dropping the lid onto the counter as she listened to his retreating footsteps and subsequent sound of the front door to the apartment opening and then closing. She released a deep breath she hadn't even known she had been holding, the air 'whooshing' out of her and she dropped her head forward as she dropped the chocolate box on the countertop.
Imogen tried to even out her breathing, afraid that she was on the verge of hyperventilating and she slowly lowered herself to the ground with her back pressed against the cupboard doors. The cool touch of the floor on her bare skin worked as an anchor, tying her to reality so she didn't get sucked into her thoughts. She brought her knees up to her chest, crossing her ankles as she used her arms to keep them up and she felt tears stinging the back of her eyes as her lower lip trembled slightly in despair. She tilted her head back against the cabinet as the urge to cry overwhelmed her and she allowed the tears to leak from her eyes, streaming like endlessly rivers down her cheeks. Her body felt like it was shaking, her veins vibrating inside of her skin and she felt like a rubber band that was about to snap under the stress of her being pulled in ten different directions.
Everything came crashing down on her; all of the pressure that had been sitting on her shoulders for the last two years had finally won out over her tenacity and steadfast determination. She had been walking across a frozen for the better part of two years, and with every new problem or issue, the surface got thinner until eventually the ice fell through. And now she was drowning with no one to pull her out.
Sobs tore involuntarily from her throat as she struggled to catch her breath, causing her lungs to burn from the lack of oxygen and she loosened the tight hold she had on her legs when they started cramping from being kept in the one position too long. She flexed her fingers experimentally, focusing on keeping them from digging into her skin and she concentrated on trying to control her breathing because she knew it wasn't healthy for her to hyperventilate for an extended amount of time.
She gritted her teeth together as she opened her eyes, blinking repeatedly to clear the tears from her eyes and she viciously scrubbed her palms over her cheeks to get rid of the moisture lingering on her skin. she shook her head almost violently to clear it of the depressing thoughts that were plaguing her mind and she slowly let her legs stretch out in front of her as she muttered harshly to herself, "Pathetic. Utterly pathetic."
A frown pulled at her at lips when she caught sight of the dried blood that was caked around her nailbeds and underneath her nails that she must have missed during her shower at the compound. It was slightly concerning that she didn't even know whose blood it was on her hands; Hayley's, Monique's or her own.
At the stark reminder she subconsciously raised her hand to her throat where Genevieve had sliced her jugular earlier that evening and she bit her lower lip anxiously when no pain or tenderness was aggravated by her touch. It wasn't normal. Unless someone had cast a resurrection protection spell, the dead were meant to stay dead.
Determination suddenly seized her like a vice as she stood up from the kitchen floor, brushing non-existent dust from her pants and she poured what remained of her tea into the sink before placing the empty cup on the counter so she could wash it later. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that at some point she was going to break down even further, it would be impossible not to with the life she lived, but she was of the 'later' school of thought when it came to 'sooner or later'. But she needed to know how and why she was resurrected before the other shoe dropped unexpectedly and everyone and everything went to hell in a handbasket.
Imogen looked towards the front door, making sure it was closed before striding down the hall towards the room at third bedroom of the apartment; she had taken the master bedroom for herself, decorated the second largest for whenever Davina was able to come home, but the last bedroom she had turned into a home office/library/study. It was the one room in the apartment that no one other than herself had ever entered because it housed a majority of her family's grimoires, certain dark objects that had been either inherited or gifted to her from other covens, and most of her witch paraphernalia. It was her private sanctuary.
All of the walls had been painted burgundy before she moved into the apartment and a dark wood cube shaped shelf took up the entirety of the furthest wall, the perfect place to display the grimoires and other miscellaneous items that she had collected in her travels from other witch covens. An antique desk was beside the opposite wall, a matching armoire filled with supplies and ingredients for spells against one of the walls, and a comfortable plush couch pressed against the other wall with a handcrafted coffee table centred in front of it.
There was a mystical energy in the room that soothed Imogen, reminded her of something akin to home and she always smiled instinctively whenever she entered the room. Some of her tension eased away as she wandered over to the armoire, opening the doors to reveal shelves of ingredients and collected six white pillar candles, a container of ordinary table salt. She dropped her armful on the couch, not terribly concerned about making a mess and she wandered over to the wall of bookcases that housed her collection of grimoires.
Anxiety prickled at her skin as she stood in front of the shelf with her palms upwards and she took a deep breath to steal her frayed nerves before murmuring softly, "Voyez dans mon esprit. Donnez-moi ce que je cherche à trouver."
All of the grimoires began vibrating in place, shaking uncontrollably until one solidary volume flew off the shelf and landed on the floor with a 'thud' before the pages started flipping rapidly. Imogen smiled proudly as the pages eventually landed on a specific entry and she walked over to pick up the fallen grimoire, careful not to disrupt the page. A grin spread across her lips as she read the title of the page, pleased that the trick had worked and she skimmed over the ingredients needed, the procedure that needed to be followed. She carefully placed the grimoire on the desk so it was easy to read and then proceeded to collect the container of salt from the couch. She hummed tunelessly as she tipped the container on its side, allowing the salt granules to pour onto the floor as she walked around in a circle, creating a thick ring of salt on the carpet. A pleased smile touched her lips as she proceeded to place a single white pillar candle at each point of a pentagram and then took a step back as she surveyed her preparation work. She tilted her head to the side in consideration, pursing her lips when something seemed to be missing and then blinked, solely for dramatic effect, as she lit the wicks of all six candles simultaneously.
"There we go." she murmured to herself proudly as she watched the glow of the flame burn brightly and then she sighed to herself as she glanced down at the grimoire, checking the next ingredient needed.
A Hand of Glory; one of the main dark objects that was few and far between. Only a few Hands of Glory had been made throughout the years, many had been lost over the course of history but a few had managed to turn up in private collections. They were whispers in the dark, gossip that passed from witch to witch, generation to generation, but only few had ever seen one in person. It was said to resemble a large dark red candle that was held by a hand-shaped candelabra that might have been the severed forearm of a mummified human. Once the wick of the candle was lit, it opened a supernatural window that enabled interaction with the other side of the veil but once the candle was consumed the connection with the afterlife was ended.
Imogen turned her head towards the shelves, smiling slightly at the disfigured hand shaped candle that sat proudly at the centre of her collection. She was delighted to be gifted one on her eighteenth birthday by Regent of the New Orleans Witch Community and Elder of the Garden District Coven, Josephine LaRue. She could remember how nervous she was when she received the summons the morning of her birthday; her mother was irritated, her father was infuriated, Sophie was walking around with a smug smirk on her lips, and Davina was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement. It had shocked her that Josephine had even heard about her given that she reigned over The Nine Covens of New Orleans but she made her way to the Garden District and joined the Elder for brunch. At first she was nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her dress as she watched Josephine pour coffee into porcelain teacups over the perfectly decorated table but after a few minutes of polite chitchat the two of them had eased into a companionable conversation. By the end of the visit they were speaking as though they had known each other their entire lives and she had left the meeting hours later with a treasured gift and a lunch date for the next weekend.
Imogen gingerly lifted the Hand of Glory from the shelf with a quirk of her lips and she walked over to desk as she made sure not to disturb the salt circle or candles, setting the artefact down in the centre. She stepped back from the table as she licked her lips nervously and she glanced around at the set up for the spell, taking note of the impeccably choreographed scene in front of her.
"Okay then." she mumbled to herself as she rubbed her hands together anxiously and she moved towards the side of the room so that all of the candles were in her sight as she felt magic stretching inside of her stomach, tingling in her veins. She mentally held onto the energy as she imagined the candles catching alight and a moment later all of the wicks were burning, the combined flames casting an ominous glow around the room.
She strolled around the desk, sliding open one of the drawers and pulling out a sharp carving knife that she kept on hand for blood spells or protection depending on the circumstance. Normally when this spell was used the caster personally knew the person they were trying to contact on the other side of the veil but Imogen had learned that every spell had a loophole written into it. Magic had brought her back to life, and that magically energy still lingered in her veins.
"Ah!" she gasped more out of shock than pain as she sliced the blade of the knife across her palm and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from making any other form of protest as she held her bleeding hand over the base of the Hand of Glory. The first thing she did once she received the gift from Josephine was research any and all information she could find on the dark object that was now in her possession.
'Hubris was often the downfall of the enlightened', it was something that she had often quoted to her sister during their studies and she tried to best to live by those words. It didn't matter how prepared you were; you couldn't plan for the unexpected. It didn't matter if you thought you were the smartest in the room; someone else could always be smarter. It was better to be underestimated than overestimated; it could give you the upper hand. Imogen prided herself on being intelligent but not arrogant, resourceful but not overconfident.
The red blood pooled around the base of the candle, the magic that was threaded within the blood seeping into the wax and causing the flame to rise with intensity once it reached the wick. She smirked happily when she realised that it had worked and she dropped the knife onto the desk as she curled her hand into a fist to stop the bleeding.
Imogen licked her lower lip apprehensively as she held her hands out in front of herself, palms upturned as she closed her eyes and she took a deep breath before chanting the incantation, "La ma me dicie, dic ka lore. La ma me dicie, dic ka lore. La ma me dicie, dic ka lore."
If she concentrated hard enough, she would be able to hear the faint flicker of flames and the distant thud, thud, thud of her heartbeat in the otherwise silent office for a brief moment before a loud gasp sounded in front of her. Imogen let her eyes flutter open slowly, almost afraid of what she would find when she opened them and she blinked a few times as she fought to register the sight in front of her. Tears sprung to her eyes as she reached up to cover her mouth with her hand to stop the choked sob that crept up on her and she felt tears stung the back of her eyes but she fought to hold them back so they didn't fall.
Familiar dark brown eyes stared back at her in shock, unshed tears collecting on their eyelashes as their lips parted in surprise and Imogen let out a strangled incoherent sound before asking softly in a disbelieving choked voice, "Sophie?"
Sophie Deveraux lifted her head slightly in acknowledgement but was too mystified to respond verbally as she continued to stare at her best friend with wide eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Imogen stumbled backwards until she hit the desk, nearly knocking a stack of books onto the ground as her hand fumbled to right herself. After months witnessing the pain, the heartbreak from afar and thinking about what she would say if she was there next to her friend but now she was standing in front of her and she couldn't think of a thing to say. Her mouth gaped open and closed a few times before she settled on staring blankly as she pressed her lips into a tight line, her hands hanging limply at her sides.
"Oh, my god. You…you saved me?" Imogen asked in a hushed tone as she gripped the edge of the desk behind her until her knuckles were aching from the pressure and she watched her late best friend nod shakily from the middle of the salt circle. Something sparked in Sophie's eyes as she immediately straightened her shoulders in determination and she seemed more like the confident woman she during the course of her life.
"The Ancestral Plane…it's a complicated place. It's inhabited by thousands upon thousands of New Orleans witches that have been consecrated to the earth." Sophie said firmly with a hard glint in her dark eyes as she clenched her hands into fists at her side and her lips upturned in a bitter smirk as she continued in lighter tone, "Not all of us agree."
Imogen blinked in surprise as she loosened her hold on the desk, unconsciously relaxing the moment she heard her best friend's voice and she folded her arms across her chest as she shifted impatiently on her feet. The frustration of not knowing why she had been brought back to life had been steadily increasing throughout the day and it was reaching its peak now that answers seemed to be on the horizon.
"Genevieve…the faction she works for, they are ridged in their beliefs. They believe that vampires and werewolves are beneath us and humans, and that it's the witch community's job to govern, and if need be, exterminate them. But there is a sect, albeit a small one, that disagrees with their principles. We don't agree with that outdated philosophy, and we want the witch community to move forward into the 21st century. New Orleans was once a mecca for the supernatural; a place were anyone of any species could feel welcome. And, as much as it pains me to say this, there are finally leaders in place that could unite the Factions. Like Elijah attempted to do. Marcel, for the vampires. Camille, for the humans. Hayley and Jackson, for the werewolves. And you, for the witches. That's why I brought you back. You can lead the French Quarter coven, and the entire New Orleans witch community into the new generation. You are the voice of the new age. We need you."
The words echoed through Imogen's mind, garbled as though she were listening through mass amounts of water and she blinked once as she tried to focus her attention on what her friend was saying. What she was saying made sense on an intellectual level but it was overwhelming to be fed information regarding a life changing revelation from your dead best friend and her mental faculties were fried from exhaustion so it was taking her a while to come to terms with everything that was happening.
Sophie cocked her head to the side in consideration with a pitying glint in her eyes as she watched the varying emotions that displayed across her friend's features; the sadness, the anger, the hopelessness. Imogen had always been the strong one in their relationship; a pillar of strength when everyone around her was on the brink of collapsing and it made her seem other than human, but watching her now it was humbling and heartbreaking to witness.
"I – I don't – "Imogen mumbled almost incoherently as she stared down at the ground, her eyebrows scrunched together with a frown painted on her lips and she fidgeted nervously with her fingers as she shook her head in denial. "I don't understand."
"You will. You're going to be good at this, Imogen. You're a natural leader. But let's – let's not dwell on that, okay? You're alive. Davina's alive." the deceased brunette reminded her in a faked chipper tone as she tried to change the sombre mood that had settled between the two of them but unshed tears had pooled in her eyes.
"You're not. Mon – Monique's not." Imogen countered sorrowfully with tears unapologetically streaming down her cheeks, the guilt from not being able to prevent the younger girl's death plaguing her.
The tears that she tried to keep at bay cascaded down Sophie's cheeks at the reminder of her niece's death but she attempted a shaky smile as she shook her head slightly and she sucked in a breath before speaking softly, "She's not, but that's okay. She, uh, she made a choice, and her choice led to her death. It's sad, but that's life, right? Decisions and consequences? She's with us now; me and Jane-Anne."
But guilt wasn't something that could be erased so easily. The responsibility Imogen felt from the part she played in Monique's death settled on her stomach like a heavy weight; pulling her downwards into the seemingly endless dark pool of blame and sadness and guilt. It felt like she was drowning as she tried to stop herself crying; she didn't want to cry anymore, she didn't want to ruin her time with Sophie by placing her problems on a dead person or waste the borrowed time she had with her deceased best friend.
But she needed to unburden her conscience, and so she took a deep breath as she regarded her friend solemnly for a moment before whispering quiet, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't save her. I'm sorry for the part I played in her death. I'm sorry."
Long eyelashes blinked away tears as the other witch smiled tremulously without saying a word; she didn't need to accept the apology (in her mind there was nothing to apologise for) but she knew that Imogen needed to say the words out loud. She knew enough about her friend to know that nothing she said would make a difference, that Imogen would feel guilty more matter what was said in reassurance. Her friend was notorious for carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. It was something that she had done since childhood, always taking the blame or easing the burden from others. It wasn't something she could simply unlearn; it was one of the fundamental aspects of her personality and it made her the person that she was.
Sophie waited patiently for her friend to compose herself, watching her wipe the tears from her cheeks with a nostalgic smile on her lips and she breathed out a soft chuckle as she crossed her arms over her chest. Imogen looked over at her with her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a frown playing on her lips and Sophie shook her head dismissively but answered the silent query in a quiet voice, "I've pictured our reunion so many times, but it was never like this."
"Yeah, well, we've never been what you call 'traditional'." Imogen murmured sardonically with a roll of her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest and Sophie chuckled slightly as she nodded in agreement.
"I really missed you. And I'm sorry. About everything." Sophie told her sincerely as she let the smile fade from her lips, her dark eyes glistening with unshed tears and the other witch opened her mouth to argue but Sophie cut her off with a shake of her head as she continued speaking, "Just shut up for a second. We don't have a lot of time. But I needed you to know that everything that happened was my fault. I didn't stand by you. I asked Hayley to find Celeste's bones. I finished the Harvest ritual. Everything that's happened is because of me. And I'm sorry. You don't deserve everything you've been through. And Davina seriously didn't deserve everything that happened to her. I was a horrible friend to you, and I don't know how you could ever forgive me. But I needed to tell you how sorry I am for what I did, for how I acted leading up to my death."
"If it's what you need…I forgive you. But I never blamed you for anything that happened, Soph."
"Thank you." she breathed out in relief as her shoulders slumped like a heavy weight had been lifted from her conscious and Imogen sniffled gently as a single teardrop rolled down her cheek but her lips twitched into a small smile. Understanding past between the two of them as Imogen gingerly, almost fearfully reached out across the barrier, careful not to break the salt ring and ruin the connection. Sophie chuckled drily in amusement as she grasped both of her friend's hands with a roll of her eyes and, for a brief moment, they were just two friends in their twenties. They weren't witches. One of them wasn't dead. One of them wasn't in the middle of a war. They were just two girls.
Imogen gasped in surprise when a sudden 'thud' sounded from somewhere in the apartment, causing her to stumbled forward and her accidently skidded forward as it broke the salt ring on the floor. Her head snapped up in denial when her hands were suddenly grasping thin air and she swore under breath as she frantically looked around for any sign of her deceased best friend but she was alone in her study. She gritted her teeth in annoyance as she turned around to face desk, blowing out the flame that still burned on top of the Hand of Glory and focused on the fact that someone unknown had just broken into her apartment.
Most young women that were home alone when someone broke in to their apartment would hide in fright, praying that it was a mistake or rushing towards the phone in order to call the police. But Imogen wasn't most young women. Ever since she realised that her friends didn't have bruises on their arms or have to deal with broken bones on an almost daily basis, she had started taking self-defence classes at the local rec centre. She was willing to do anything in order to never feel that helpless ever again, she would protect herself and Davina and everyone else she loved, even if that meant hitchhiking to the local YMCA every Tuesday after school once she organised for Sophie to look after Davina while she was at classes. After years of lessons she was proficient in self-defence and had even got her handgun license when she turned eighteen, so she never had to rely solely on her magical abilities.
The silence sounded especially loud in the apartment as she crept out of her office, careful not to make too much noise and she headed down the hallway towards the living room where the intruder entered. Her pulse accelerated in her chest, adrenaline rushing through her veins but she remained calm despite the circumstance and she felt the magical energy surge to life inside of her at the potential threat that lingered around the corner.
From where she was standing at the opening of the hallway she could see that the front door to the apartment was closed and she frowned slightly as she slowly strolled forward towards the main area of the apartment. A slight chill broke out across her skin, dread settling heavily in her stomach as she slowly exited her hiding spot, allowing anyone to see her.
A startled gasped escaped her lips as she sight caught of the familiar figure standing in the middle of the living room with a small duffel bag at their feet and she came to a complete stop in astonishment. She was surprised by their appearance, although she shouldn't have been because she knew they were on their way.
Tears blurred her vision as she took a small step forward, one hand covering her mouth but she dropped it to her side and she called out in a shaky voice, "Davina?"
The younger Claire sister spun around, her brunette hair flying with her movement and her blue eyes widened at her sisters sudden appearance as she looked at the older girl; messy brunette hair, tearful blue eyes at matched her own, smudged makeup, but still the epitome of beautiful.
The two sisters stared at each other silently, unsure how to procede; it wasn't like they hadn't seen each other recently or that they hadn't spoken to each other nearly every day over the phone. But it had been nearly two years since they had been in the same room without either of them being hidden away, or on the run from witches, or held against their will, so it was overwhelming.
Davina fidgeted with her fingers as she chewed on her lower lip worriedly, unexplainably nerves for some reason she couldn't identify and she waited to see if Imogen would be the one who broke the unsettling silence. When it became apparent that no one was going to speak, she sighed to herself as she shifted her weight on her feet and she glanced down at her duffel bag before looking back at her sister with wide eyes as she asked hopefully, "Do you have space for a roommate?"
Imogen breathed out a laugh as her lips turned up in an amused smile, causing a similar grin to spread across the younger girl's lips and then both of them were crossing the length of the room at the same time until they crashed into each other in the centre of the room.
From the moment Davina had been separated from her at the Harvest ritual, ripped from her arms for her own safety, something inside of Imogen had been…out of place. That was the only way that she could describe the unsettled sensation that had been a part of her since. The love she felt for her sister was something she thought akin to a mothers love; absolute and steadfast. A mother's love for her child was like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dares all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path. That was the kind of love she had for Davina.
Everything that had happened in her life was inconsequential; all of the blood, sweat and tears. Every beating she took, every lie she told, every life she had to take, none of it was important when Davina was safely encompassed in her arms. It was all worth it if it meant the person she loved most in the world was safe.
Something inside of her 'clicked' back into place as she held her younger sister in her tight embrace and she sighed happily in contentment as she whispered in a sincere tone, "Welcome home."