Devils Roses 05 - Death

fallen and they make me feel funny.
    "She died saving you."
    He winces, "If it ever happens to you, let me know if it makes you feel any better to be the one who's still alive."
    "I'm sorry."
    He squeezes, "I know. I know you wouldn’t have hurt her if you didn’t have to." He looks at me but puts a hand up to the old wooden door and knocks.
    The door creaks open. I nervous giggle. "Holy snap, it's the Blair Witch Project."
    He pulls me inside the old cabin. The smells hit instantly. I almost gag, but hold my nose.
    A pair of white eyes greets us from the darkest far corner. I jump when I see them. Her face is dark like the wood on the walls and the shadow she sits in, but her eyes are bright and white. Like Aleks's did, they glow like a light shines out of them.
    "You know you no welcome. You know he no want me to help." Her accent is thick and Cajun. Her white eyes look as if they don’t see just us, like they see the things I can't. Which is saying a lot since I can see the dead. Sometimes.
    He drops to his knees, "I need you momma Holt. I need your aid."
    She is peeling something, a vegetable or a root of sorts. Maybe. Maybe it's the arm of the last person who was here. I cringe. She points her knife, "Momma Holt don’t eat no people. Don’t need skins from no people."
    Oliver looks back at me and mutters, "Try not to think. Her kind are always readers. Among other things."
    I blank my mind and think about science and Blake and how much I miss him.
    "Momma Holt don’t help, no you. No demons in my house." She mutters it.
    He puts a hand forward, "I am pure. No demon."
    She stabs the blade into his hand, making him wince in pain. She pulls it out and tastes the blood and spits it in the pot next to her, "That be good, pure and good. Drip some in the pot demon."
    He stands and holds his closed fist over her big black cooking pot I can't help but think is a cauldron.
    "Momma Holt ain't no bad juju conjurer, demon."
    Oliver gives me a look.
    "I meant no offense Momma Holt." I whisper. She terrifies me. I don’t think I can kill her. I blank my mind quickly as she chuckles and peels the thing in her hands.
    "You need da witch back?"
    Oliver nods once.
    "You trade Momma Holt."
    Oliver shivers, "What would you like?"
    She glances at me, "Dem souls. Dem souls she gone and ate."
    Oliver looks back at me. He closes his eyes. "Done."
    I panic inside, quietly. I don’t know what that means but I can guess it's bad. Oliver looks desperate and his hands are clenched together. Momma Holt even looks surprised at his agreeing.
    When he opens his eyes he looks at me long and hard and then whispers, "I'm sorry Aimee."
    I'm about to die. I understand. She's going to take everything from me. She is the thing that can kill me.
    Fear and terror fill me.
    Oliver looks back at Momma Holt, "You raise the witch first."
    She spits on her hand and puts it out to him. Oliver spits on his hand and presses it into hers. They steam and sizzling.
    She nods, "We raise dat witch den."
    Oliver pulls his cell and sends a text. A second later a grin crosses the old woman's face. She sniffs the air and mumbles to herself. My insides are churning and twisting. I want to run and wink and free myself but I can't. We need O. I thought we needed me too, but I realize Dorian can just make another me. I'm replaceable.
    A knock at the door startles me.
    I jump and look back at the old wooden door as it opens. Dorian walks in with Aleks behind him holding Ophelia's limp body.
    Dorian stops mid step and looks at Oliver. "What have you done?"
    Oliver shakes his head, "It was her demand. Lorri said whatever it took to get her back."
    Dorian steps into his face and shouts, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"
    Momma Holt grabs her walking stick and slams it to the hard wooden floorboards. Her white eyes are gone. Replacing them are dark crimson eyes.
    Dorian bows his head, "Forgive me Momma Holt." He says it through a clenched jaw.
    Momma Holt walks to the table, "You put da witch on da tableau."
    Aleks lays her down on the wooden table amongst the jars and herbs.
    Momma Holt starts mixing and chanting.
    I look away. I should want to watch. I should want to see it, the greatest thing I will ever see, a necromancer raising the dead. A real act of god. But I don’t. I'm frozen.
    I let silent tears stream down my cheeks and stare at the wall, away from everyone else. Knowing I'm about to die, horribly, is much worse than just dying. I'm like a pig. The memory of my father