Six
Aaron scrambled to his feet, unsure of what to do next. He continued fastening the buttons of his shirt while staring at August. She stood silently, her gaze slightly averted. She had changed clothes from the plane, and her hair was messy and windswept, but she still wore her trim sunglasses.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“No.” He tried to keep his voice level. “August, what’s going on here?” He looked her up and down, trying to assess whether she was a threat.
“I have no intention of harming you, Aaron. I do need you to come with me,” she stated, gesturing toward the door.
“What are you?” he asked.
An awkward silence fell between them before she said simply, “A friend.”
“Yeah? This one was friendly too!” he said, pointing to Emily on the floor. “Are you one of those things? A Legion?”
August’s expression was stony. You’ve got a hell of a poker face, he thought.
“That,” she said pointing to Emily, “was a Jotunn, of the Legion sect. They are a radical and dangerous group.”
“Yes, I’ve gotten that. A yo-tun?”
“Yes, and I am not one of them.”
Absently rubbing the back of his head, he asked, “Are you an Incubus?” The corners of her mouth curled upward. “Did I say something funny?”
“No. I am a Succubus. An Incubus is male. We are the Cubi.”
“Oh, yes the cue-bye,” he replied, wondering if he was going insane.
“Aaron, we really must be going.”
“Where and why?”
“Somewhere safe.” Her head shot to the left. August could hear the hurried whispers of the occupant across the hallway. She was on the telephone with the police, describing the carnage she witnessed through the peephole. “The authorities are alerted,” August stated.
Aaron stared at her. Like with Emily, he felt an oddness from August, but it was somehow different. Something told him he could trust this woman, although why he did not know. She lifted her hand toward him, palm up.
“Why do I feel as though I can trust you?” he asked.
“Because you can. Come with me, I have a car waiting.”
Aaron reached out and took her hand. She gave him that half smile that was becoming familiar when a red light flashed from behind August. She collapsed to the floor. In the doorway stood a broad, brutish figure. His hand was outstretched; heat shimmers flowed as he lowered it. Hello, Will, thought Aaron, remembering the second figure from the alley.
“Dirty Succubus,” Will said in a low, grizzly tone. His dark green face was a mask of disgust; his glaring red eyes stayed fixed on August. Aaron went to her, crouching. He placed his trembling hands on her neck, feeling for a pulse.
A siren could be heard in the distance, growing louder.
“Time to go,” said the Jotunn. He bent downward, past August’s still body, and grabbed Aaron by his collar to pull him up.
“No,” said a weak voice. August’s hand shot up, covering the Jotunn’s face, and out of it shot a burst of blue light. The man was hurled backward and landed on his back. Aaron glanced at his unmoving body, not daring to take in what remained of his face. August twisted herself onto her front and tried to push herself up, but she let out a pained cry and collapsed. She was breathing quickly, and the sheer size of the mutilated burn mark on her back made Aaron go nauseous again.
Telepathically, Phillip called out, “Matriarch, the police are in the lobby. What do you want me to do? Do you want me to come up?”
“I will... resolve this...myself,” she managed. “Police,” she said out loud to Aaron.
He heard a door squeak open and the sound of running footsteps in the hallway.
“What do I do?” he asked frantically.
Two police officers appeared at the doorway, pulling out their guns and training them on Aaron. On instinct, he raised his hands in surrender. The officers surveyed the scene: One woman was on the other side of the room on the floor, another had with a large burn on her back, a man was lying on the floor with no apparent face, and then there was Aaron. A feeling of dread sunk into the pit of his stomach. Oh, no. Horror, fear, and rage filled the faces of the officers simultaneously. Both came toward Aaron, one officer throwing him against a wall and seamlessly putting him into handcuffs while the other tended to August.
“Dispatch,” said the officer into the microphone strapped to his shoulder.
“Go ahead,” replied a woman’s voice.
“We have a 10-33, we need an ambulance now!”
“10-4.”
“Ma’am? Can you hear me? Ma’am?” asked the officer. Aaron watched the scene out of the corner of his eye. The officer took August’s hand into his own. “I’m Officer McCullough. Can you hear me?”
“Officer…” she whispered.
The other officer dug his shoulder hard into the middle of Aaron’s back. He was pinned against the wall for the second time this evening.
“You’re going away forever,” the second officer spat between obscenities. “They might even bring back the death penalty just for you.”
“Ma’am, it’s going to be fine. Stay awake… Stay with me,” Officer McCullough said, gripping August’s hand. Then he reached out to Emily, placing his hand on her neck. Hazy bands of blue light started to flow from him. McCullough quickly looked back at August, an alarmed expression on his face. His look faded as his body started to slump, and he was still trying to tug his hand away as he collapsed.
The second officer, still pressing Aaron into the wall, looked back at his partner. August rose to her full height. She extended her hand toward the cop and hazy bands of blue light flowed from him into her. As she grabbed him by the wrist, the blue bands grew stronger and more vibrant. The officer looked at her with a mixed expression. “Why? We are trying to...” He dropped down to his knees, tried to reach for his gun, and then fell forward.
Releasing his wrist, August bent to one knee, and began rummaging through the officer’s belt. On the exposed area of her back, the burn was healing itself.
“How—” Aaron began.
“No time,” she replied sternly, retrieving the keys to the handcuffs and unlocking them. She made her way toward the doorway. “Come, now.” Aaron took the jacket off the ground and picked up his suitcase. He turned around to see August kicking in the door to the room opposite them. There sat a terrified middle-aged woman, her hands clasped around a phone.
August reached into her mind, looking for her name. “Frances,” August said in a low tone.
The fear on Frances’s face melted into a blank expression. August stood in front of her, looking at all the memories of the past few minutes. Taking care not to hurt her, she gently pulled them from the woman’s mind. The phone Frances was holding fell to her lap and tumbled onto the floor.
How do you know this woman? Aaron thought.
“Hush,” she said to him. They all kept very still for several seconds.
A void was left where August had removed the memories. If left alone, this void would eventually lead to a mental illness as Frances’s mind would keep trying to recall the lost events. The more memories August removed, the more difficult it would be to replace them with false ones. Once, she’d had to remove several days’ worth of memories from a human when she was much younger, and that man ended up with what they now call schizophrenia. If it wasn’t for her father, he probably would have been institutionalized for the rest of his life.
August swam in Frances’s collected experiences, looking on her happier memories, hopes, and desires. If she were to insert an event that was too unlikely to happen, the woman’s mind would eventually reject it. Before the events across the hall, Frances had been flipping through the channels, looking for her favorite television program.
“Frances, you watched your program and thoroughly enjoyed it, even though it was a repeat,” August said telepathically.
Frances stared straight ahead. “I understand.”
August made her way out of the room and down the hallway toward the stairs, running her hand along the wall.
Aaron trailed behind her. “Wait! Put on this jacket.”
She stopped and took off her old one, then thrust it into his hands. Her wound looked as if it were several weeks old now.
“Thank you,” she said.
“What did you do there?” asked Aaron.
“I have erased the memories of us,” August stated without looking at him.
“What about the police officers?”
“It is unnecessary. They will not remember. They will recover eventually.” When they reached the stairwell, she opened the door and stood at the top of the stairs. “Other than the front desk clerk, have you spoken to anyone here?” she asked, then began making her way slowly down each step with her hand on the rail. After the first flight, she moved faster.
How did you know I spoke to the front desk clerk? “Just Emily, I mean, the Jotunn, and the bartender,” he replied, following her with his suitcase pressed against his chest.
It took them just over a minute to reach the door to the lobby.
“Phillip, I need you to come in and remove the memories from the bartender.”
“Understood.”
She pushed open the door, stuffing her hands into the pockets of the jacket. Casually, she walked toward the front desk. Aaron took the cue and did the same, pulling his squeaking suitcase along behind him. The clerk was still there, typing away.
“Good evening,” the clerk said without looking at her.
“Good evening,” she replied.
“How can I help you?”
He looked up at her with a bored expression. His face slackened as August reached into his mind, extracted his memories of the evening, and replaced them with something plausible.
The front doors opened and Phillip walked in. Without making eye contact with Aaron or August, Phillip walked to the bar and started talking to the bartender.
“It took me all day, but I got the high score!” the clerk said triumphantly. Aaron looked back at the man behind the desk to find him smiling.
“Do you have an Aaron Alcott checked in?” August asked.
The clerk looked down and typed something into his computer. “Aaron Alcott?” he asked, still typing. “I do. Would you like his key card?”
“No. Remove him from your computers.”
“Of course!” The clerk continued typing furiously. “Done.”
Phillip walked out of the bar.
“It is done,” he stated.
“We must go now,” August said. She and Phillip hastily walked to the car, Aaron in tow. Phillip opened one of the passenger doors to let August in, and then gestured toward Aaron. Phillip put Aaron’s suitcase in the trunk alongside August’s and then slipped into the driver’s seat.
“A safe house, Matriarch?” Phillip asked out loud.
“Matriarch?” Aaron asked, looking at August.
“No, take us to the depot in Toronto.”
“Wait, don’t I have a say in this?” Aaron asked.
“No, you do not,” August said.