The man's soul had been strong, and it had been mean. He hadn't gone without a fight.
George could still feel his soul against hers, rough and cruel, fighting just for the fight, opposing her at every turn. The image of him spasming kept replaying in her mind, but now he was still, facedown on the floor. Some of his frothy spit was seeping into the motel carpet.
All she could do was stand in shock. It was like her head had been underwater, submerged in a rushing river. And now, the sweet relief of the Mark being sated—however temporarily—allowed her to finally breathe, to see again.
The fight was over, all the blinding rage that had been building up inside was quieted, and she saw the events of the night with a new perspective.
Her friends had tried to stop her, calm her down. At the time, George had been furious that they cared more about that than the fact that they were, ever-infuriatingly, letting Bess get away. George had just burst into the shoddy backstreet, trying to find Bess in the dark, when they caught up to her.
They'd been trying to talk to her, but George could not hear what they were saying. She'd been listening for Bess.
That was when they heard Bess scream, and by the time they followed the sound—George far, far ahead, her legs never tiring, just itching to chase—all they saw was the man's car speeding off.
Through the rush of blood in her ears, George heard Nancy reciting the license plate number and the direction the car was heading. Fine, let them sit around and reason it out, wasting time. George was kicking herself for hesitating when had Nick snuck up on her back in the hotel. She would not hesitate again, would not be caught unaware.
George pursued the car doggedly, but in the end, she was just a person, and it was a machine. As it slipped from view, George hailed a taxicab and urged it to follow the road.
She didn't remember what the driver looked like or how she'd phrased her strange request for him to follow the other car. She didn't remember paying him as she leapt out when she spotted the car parked, either. Maybe she'd neglected to.
The only thing in the whole world that mattered was getting to that man before he did something to Bess.
But she hadn't been thinking about protecting her, not really.
Most of the time, she'd been thinking, That's my kill.
Because, man, fuck this guy, taking what was hers, fuck him for making Bess scream like that, fuck him for his greed and guile and cruelty. Let him fucking rot in isolation in the damned Fen, let him hear the Sentinel's terrifying, soul-deep voice, he was just getting what he fucking deserved.
As she'd let the Mark choke the life force out of the violent man, all she'd been thinking about was retribution.
Bess had begged her to stop, God knows why. George wondered hazily if it had been sincere or if it had been an act, the one where Bess pretends to be a nice sweet innocent girl who doesn't want harm to come to anyone, who just wants friends and family and for everyone to be nice to her.
And then, Geoge saw the body crumple and realized in horror that it probably wasn't an act.
For what felt like a long time, she hadn't been able to do anything except stare the Mark on her left hand and gawk at the power it held.
At the time, she'd thought that Bess would be next after the man, that she'd have the two of them, but now she stared at Bess. was going to break down. The rage had left her. The rush of the hunt had left her, and it left in its wake only the realization of the permanence of her actions.
She was sure she was going to break down and explain everything, maybe beg for help, despite herself. George Fan doesn't beg for help, but she also didn't think she viewed people as prey, didn't think she'd ever be possessed by bloodlust like she had. The Mark, the Sentinel, had taken control of her. Or maybe it hadn't, she thought with terror; maybe it had just tapped into a bloodlust that already existed within her. In any case, George couldn't trust herself. She needed help.
And if anyone could help, if anyone could forgive her, it would be Bess. Bess, who begged her to stop when her life was in danger, who always chose to be soft and kind.
(Except, of course, when she left George soulless and dying.)
But that didn't happen.
Bess was out the door in the next moment, and George was too dumbfounded to follow. She couldn't blame her for running, even though the Mark on her hand burned and pulled for her.
It felt far away.
/
When Bess got back to the hotel room in a flurry, she knew her plan should've been to recover what few belongings she had to left and run off again. It wasn't safe in Vegas anymore; Nancy or George would find her.
She knew that she had to get somewhere else, fast, but after she slammed the door and double-locked it, she just leaned against it. She was so tired.
With one hand, she gripped the crystal as tightly as she could. At least she'd gotten it back before fleeing the motel. Shaking, either from fear or from the overpowering rush of air conditioning in the hotel, Bess crawled into bed and buried her face in her hands.
She would just rest for a moment before running off again.
She laid there and tried to remember the rush of leaving, the constant excitement of always arriving in some new location, but the novelty was gone, it felt cheap.
She stared at the crystal. Her shaking hands were turning white gripping it so hard. Odette's soul was still glowing and warm, but it suddenly felt shallow, like cold comfort. Odette couldn't comfort her, or hold her, or even speak to her.
It was a rock, Bess realized simply.
She thought about when George would be grumbling about The Claw or her family or whatever strange supernatural mystery they were solving that week. How she'd always complain, but she'd show up anyway. How Bess would try to soften her prickly friend, and George would roll her eyes and pretend to be annoyed, but how Bess could always see her stifling a smile. Bess had had a warm bed every night and friends who loved her and an ounce of stability for the first time in her life, and she'd blown it all up for a rock.
At least it was shiny, she thought bitterly.
She had been stupid for believing she could have the frivolous highs of the con artist life without the devastating lows.
She stared up at the unmoving ceiling fan and thought about when she was a kid. Stephen and his lowlife friends had felt only half-human, slipping so easily into and out of personas, committing atrocities without a trace of guilt. Bess had thought then that the problem was that she was too whole, too much of a human to join them.
Now, after seeing what she'd done with George, after failing to stick around for her… Bess realized that she wasn't whole enough to be a real person, either.
Her father was gone, and her mother cut her off, and the man who saved her life was a sociopath, and her extended family wanted nothing to do with her, and now her best friend wanted her dead…
Which left her here, in the glittering fancy hotel room she'd gotten for free, the roads that seemed so vast and exciting just days ago winding down.
/
Just off the Strip, George wasn't doing much better.
She was pacing her friends' motel room like an animal, afraid that if she stopped, if she rested, the rage would mount inside of her once again. She couldn't place exactly when she'd lost sight of everything earlier, and she wasn't sure if she'd notice herself slipping again now.
As she explained the story, the isolation of the Fen of Psychostasia, and the Sentinel's calm voice inside her head, her friends listened thoughtfully.
"And now, in exchange for bringing me back, the Sentinel wants me to take…" George hesitated; she hadn't told them about what had really happened to the man who'd taken Bess, and how he'd fallen from her grip, although she couldn't stop seeing it when she closed her eyes. "He wants me to take a life."
It was true; the Sentinel would only want one now.
Despite the guilt crashing down on her and the image of the man that refused to fade, George thought of her sisters, and the guilt subsided. She couldn't leave them alone, no matter the price. What would have happened to them if she hadn't accepted the Sentinel's deal? She tried to think of them while justifying herself to her friends.
"I'm so sorry, George," Nick said, burying his face in his hands.
"We should have talked to you sooner," Nancy said regretfully.
More guilt rushed through George. She knew they had tried to talk to her. Snippets of conversations on the plane and while they searched the Strip flashed in her mind. At the time, they'd been bothersome noise. Now, they made sense. She didn't want to be comforted. The Mark on her hand burned from rage, even though she was really just angry at herself.
What she wanted, what she'd always wanted so desperately was to have someone be there for her. And when they are, when her friends were apologizing and offering support, George always found it so difficult to take.
"I—" George wanted to say something, but it was all weighing on her. She'd barely slept the past few nights, so worked up in a bloodlust, and when she did, she visited the Fen again. "I just want to lay down for a little while."
"Get some rest," Ace said as though he could read her mind.
Nancy nodded. "We're going to find Bess and work this all out. Don't worry."
/
Maybe because of the clarity that came from sating the Mark, maybe because of sharing her burden with her friends, maybe because of Nancy's assurance, George slipped into an uneasy sleep without the usual turning and agonizing that had become standard since being brought back to life.
She was not spared from visiting the Fen again, however.
In the past nights, the Fen had been silent. The plants had grown quietly along the waterline, peaceful. George didn't know what to expect now that a human inhabited it, but she expected the same silence, the same serenity and acceptance.
What she didn't expect was to see the gambling man knelt in front of the Sentinel, just as George had all those nights ago, receiving the Mark.
"I'll bring you anything you ask if you save me."
George woke up in a sweat. The motel room was dark, the ceiling fan doing little to keep out the desert heat, and only Nick was there sleeping in the dark, her other friends out looking for Bess.
She took off the glove and looked again at the Mark on her hand, the one solid stalk branching out into so many smaller stalks. Had it grown bigger since she took the life of the gambling man?
She stared out the window, into the dark streets, and pictured him stalking, looking for prey just as George had.
She was starting to hunger for it again, imagining the hunt, but then she thought of what would happen to the soul she reaped for the Sentinel. Would they be branded, too? Would they bring the Sentinel more and more hunters, until countless souls were doing its bidding?
In the dark, George saw a sudden flash of men in armor, wielding not swords or shields, but the marks on their hands, violently sending more and people to the Fen and adding more and more people to their ranks of the undead. Flashes of blood, of burning flesh, of people struggling in vain and falling.
Annihilation.
Had it been a vision of the past, granted because of her connection to the Sentinel? Or was she just imagining it, speculating?
Sticky with sweat and heat, George paced the motel room. Had she inadvertently reawakened a spiritual disease, helpless now to stop the cascading effects and the hunter she'd released into the world?
Rage was building up inside of her again. It was still self-directed, but it still made the Mark burn hard, as though magma was running up her veins instead of blood.
/
Bess wasn't surprised when Nancy found her.
She was foolish, weak to stay in the same place after almost getting caught. She knew that. Keeping on the move was the first rule of committing cons, never staying in one place too long, and she was too pathetic now to follow it. Maybe all that time in Horseshoe Bay had made her soft, she thought as she failed to look Nancy in the eye.
And it was downright stupid to agree to go to talk to George.
Bess had this old habit of just going along with what people told her. Sometimes, she just let people do things. It was easier. Oftentimes, it was bad. Sometimes, it was life-destroying.
But letting Nancy in—Nancy, who was speaking gently and promising they'd work everything out—it didn't feel like she was allowing herself to be led to her doom.
She allowed herself to stand and watch while Nancy texted Nick and George. She allowed herself to stay in the room, getting twitchier with every passing second, while George approached.
She allowed herself to hear the tale of how George made a deal with a demon to save her soul.
/
"I'm sorry," Bess said for the thousandth time when George had nothing more to say. She certainly wasn't about to spill her guts about killing the gambling man in front of everybody, but Bess already knew what had happened, and respected George's apparent wish to keep it private.
George was still mad. Furious, Bess could tell. But she wasn't shouting or shoving Bess into the wall, and that was an improvement. It was certainly more than Bess deserved.
A tense silence, and another apology felt insignificant.
"You—" Bess hesitated. She'd been about to say, "You don't understand," but then she thought of George's father, her mother, her sisters. How many times George had faced death and refused to back down since they all became friends. George was a person who understood what it meant to stay. To stay, even when every fibre of her being was screaming otherwise. "It's just… It's not what I'm used to," Bess said lamely.
The Mark burned intensely, urging George to growl at Bess to stop making excuses. Instead, George gritted her teeth and asked, "What do you mean?"
"It's…" How could Bess explain it? How could she explain the last decade of taking the money and running, of being told and trained to put herself first? The years of practice in the art of ignoring guilt and just looking away, walking away? "I've never had someone who…" Bess gestured weakly to her friends—maybe her former friends—around the room, as though that could express how completely alien all of this was. "I don't know. It's stupid. I'm sorry."
George's frown deepened. The Mark was screaming at her. She channeled her spite into telling it to shut up. She remembered how Bess had cowered helplessly when the gambling man had attacked her. She hadn't really been looking at Bess then, but now she wondered if it had been learned helplessness. She saw again how Bess had flinched at George long before George had raised a hand against her. For the first time, she considered how it might have actually been hard for Bess to leave her home, her friends, all her stuff…
Long ago, Bess had taken pity on George's alcoholic mother, and for the first time, George had understood, really understood, that Victoria drank and ran off and was a negligent mother because she was miserable. And maybe Bess had understood that because misery had made her, too, do horrible things.
"You don't have to say it. I think maybe I know what you mean," George said quietly, trying to force her arm numb.
Another silence, Bess's eyes wide with gratitude and emotion, before she added, "I know people haven't exactly been there for you in the past."
George let out a bitter laugh. "Understatement of the century."
"And I did trust that Nancy could save you, but… I didn't stick around to make sure. And George, I am so, so sorry about that."
George wanted to ask if Bess had thought about her, how certain she was that George would be okay, if she had ever planned on coming back. But she didn't know if the answers would actually make her feel better, and then there was her pride. Always her pride, the fact that she couldn't let anyone know that she needed these things.
"I mean… Nancy did save me," George said, the very thing that she'd hated hearing everyone say for the past few days. But it hadn't been without consequences: namely, the Mark. George looked over at Nancy, Nick, and Ace. They were listening, ready to moderate if necessary, but they were a distraction. "Can we talk in private?" She made eye contact with Bess, trying to communicate that this was about the thing that had happened that they both knew about, but no one else did.
To her surprise, Bess actually picked up on such a social cue, for once.
When her friends exchanged looks sceptically, Bess nodded. "It's okay," she said. Something about George was different now. Her rage had been pure, unchecked before. Now, she seemed in control. Bess had to have faith that it wasn't in a calculated way, that she wasn't waiting for her friends to leave before letting loose.
"We'll be right outside, then," Nancy said. Translation: They'd catch Bess if she tried to run, and they'd be ready to interfere if George lost control.
Silence when they were finally alone together; neither one was sure of where to start.
"You killed that man," Bess said plainly, surprising George with how little emotion the words were betraying. Bess was trying to navigate the situation thoughtfully; she was certain that the others didn't know about it now, and she wasn't about to break George's confidence again, not after all this.
"Yeah."
"I… Why?" Bess struggled. "Not… for me?" She said it like she wanted it to be true, but knew it wasn't.
George heaved a sigh. "For the Sentinel. I told them I only needed to take one life. But the Sentinel told me to take two, and now I think the man I sent to the Fen was told to send others, just like I was."
Bess felt herself about to cry. As usual. "This is all my fault."
George didn't disagree. What was she supposed to say, that she should have just accepted her fate and spent eternity in total isolation? But she didn't say "Yeah, it is," either.
"I'm just… I'm sick of this," George said instead.
"Of what?"
"Of having to fix everything. Of having to decide who lives and dies. Odette, me, the man, you… It's just too much."
"I thought you and Odette could both survive," Bess said. "I really did." As she said it, the crystal seemed to burn in her pocket, as if Odette's soul, too, was scolding her for her irresponsibility. Her soul, which had once been so full of life, and then had been the fearsome Aglaeca, and then had cared for Bess, now reduced to an immobile crystal that fit in the palm of her hand. The solution was growing more and more apparent, but Bess was still looking for another way out.
"Well…" George thought about her next words very carefully. "What do we do now?"
We, Bess noticed. They were still a group; they were still going to navigate this together. She wasn't going to be exiled for her disloyalty. A sudden weight was suddenly lifted from her chest, despite now taking on the burden of destroying the Sentinel.
The thing was, she already kind of knew what she had to do. It was the reason she had been running for so long: she had been running from the inevitable.
Bess put one hand into her pocket and cradled the crystal, held Odette.
She couldn't trade George's life for Odette's. The world, she realized, didn't work like that.
Bess held the crystal out to George.
"Odette's soul is in here."
"I know."
"She's dead. And she's been dead for a long time. And I don't think I can give her a new life without… taking someone else's." Bess's voice broke. "I want you to take her soul."
George stared. One touch, and her curse would be broken. The Mark burned, the Sentinel calling for another soul. But she didn't want to kill again.
"You say the Fen is quiet and peaceful," Bess whispered while George stood and listened. "I don't think she wants a second chance at life. I don't think she'd play the Sentinel's gambit. I think… maybe she just wants some peace and quiet after all these years."
"I don't want to take another life."
"But it's the only way, isn't it?" Bess asked. "I know it doesn't undo what I did, but… I choose you, George."
It was what was meant to be, they both knew. That didn't stop George from hesitating.
In the moment that ensued, neither Bess nor George said anything. George tried to convey how much this meant to her, being chosen, being given her life back, being freed from the curse at the cost of Odette, but words failed. She was never good at that stuff anyway.
Silently, George removed the glove and reached out to take the crystal. "I know Odette's soul," she said solemnly. "It's strong. Stronger than mine, as much as I hate to admit it."
Bess didn't understand; she didn't know the feeling of one soul's life force struggling against her own.
"I'm saying that if Odette doesn't want to go, I won't be able to force her."
Bess nodded. This was for the best.
She didn't look away as George took hold of the crystal, and all the blue light drained from it. It didn't flicker, didn't resist. Didn't burn bright and then go out, didn't burn against George's hand.
The soul went quietly and peacefully, as it should have centuries ago.
/
The Fen of Psychostasia was still empty, but the new abundance of plants had made it a more scenic, peaceful location, as the Sentinel had claimed it would be the day George first arrived.
She could imagine souls at rest here, although none were present. If the gambling man had sent any souls here, they weren't around anymore, George thought ominously.
"You have done well," the Sentinel said in that steady voice that was only in George's head. His icy blue eyes glowed, pierced into George's soul with approval. "You have brought an old god's influence back to the mortal world, and thus you have saved me from oblivion."
"Get rid of it," George spat, holding out her hand where the Mark was still branded.
"As you wish," the Sentinel said sagely. Again, he moved, clasped the Mark in his bony, rotting hands.
A coolness that George hadn't felt in days washed over her. The swarming in her mind quieted. When George pulled her hand back, it was clean, smooth. She was free, but the burden wasn't lifted just yet. "We're going to stop you."
"You cannot stop a god."
"You don't know my friends."
"And my influence is growing, growing by the moment." The Sentinel's eyes glowed as George felt a presence behind her, the only other human soul in the Fen. "Which brings me to your latest sacrifice. I hope she will be as exceptional, as driven as your last."
There stood Odette, the face George was so used to seeing only in the mirror, never in life, never able to be touched.
"Don't take his deal," George warned. "We're going to stop him."
"S'il te plait," Odette scoffed dismissively."I have no desire to waste my time chasing down human souls just to put off the inevitable. I am no fool."
George tried not to be offended by that. It was much easier now that the Mark had been scrubbed from her skin.
"Very well," the Sentinel said, sounding not at all displeased. "You may stay here, in my Fen. I will watch over your soul."
"You do not know who you are dealing with, do you?" Odette said defiantly, stepping forward. "I am no mere human soul, submissive, mortal, who will bend to your will."
That was when George realized hazily, as she was starting to wake up. She hadn't just brought the Sentinel Odette's soul. Bess hadn't just offered up her lover's soul. She'd offered up the Aglaeca.
/
When she woke up, a calmness she hadn't felt in days spread over George's body.
She didn't have to look at her palm to see that the Mark of the Sentinel had been dissolved in the real world, too.
In the morning, they would fly back to Horseshoe Bay. She would return to her sisters and The Claw, and they would have to ensure the Sentinel had fallen to the Aglaeca. There was a peace inside of her, though, as if the horrors of the past few days had come undone now that everyone's souls were set right.
But George knew that it hadn't been that easy, that they couldn't just undo everything that had been done.
For now, though, she was comfortable in the king bed in the fancy presidential suite Bess had swindled her way into. They filled it up now, Nick and Ace in one bedroom, the girls in another. Habit told George to squirm away from the warm body that was nestled against hers—it was a little too intimate for her interests—but what was the harm? Bess was nestled against her, warm and sleeping peacefully among her friends.
But not for long, of course.
"Are you okay?"
Bess was looking up at her in the dark with wide eyes, studying George's thoughtful face.
"For now."
"If you ever want to talk…"
George smiled, despite herself. It was an offer she probably wouldn't be taking Bess up on anytime soon, but an offer that meant something to her, nonetheless. "Thanks, but I'm good." She looked again at Bess, who looked so small, who she still knew so little and yet so much about. "You know, unless… you want to talk some time?"
"I would like that," Bess said drowsily. George sat back and allowed Bess to settle her head in the crook of her elbow, their bodies falling perfectly into each other.
/
A/N: And that's a wrap! Lmk if you liked it (and even if you didn't)! I hope the ending didn't feel too rushed; I wanted to keep this a semi-short piece. Lmk if you also wish Bess's backstory and trauma had been explored more, especially as it relates to her relationships with the other characters. I mean come on, they really just dumped all that on us and then never touched it again D: