I nodded, swallowing hard and managing a shaky smile. “Definitely. See you tomorrow.”
I escaped while I could still move my legs, especially in these heels, zipping around the back pathway to the gate that led to our house. I jammed my key in the door and stepped inside as quickly as I could, my head in the clouds and my cheeks burning.
Coop had made sure a fire was lit, and the warmth of it hit me instantly, crackling and leaping, reminding me how much I loved our little house and my life.
And maybe even Higgs, too…
Yes. I just admitted that.
I decided not to dwell on all these feelings Higgs was stirring up in me and instead change, wash this gunk off my face—which felt as though it had twenty pounds of grease on it—and, if I still felt up to it, start scouring the Internet.
I made my way to the bathroom, the quiet house making me sigh with happiness. I loved this time of night, when everyone was tucked safely in bed and we were all together.
Padding to the bathroom, I used the makeup wipes Coop had given me and thoroughly cleansed my face, which she told me was very important after a night with full makeup on. Throwing on my pajamas, I snuck toward her room to check on her, grateful to find her sound asleep, her gorgeously shiny auburn hair spilling onto her pillow, her hand curled under her cheek.
I tucked the covers around her, pressed a kiss to my fingers and dropped it on the top of her head, then went to find my laptop. I figured I had about an hour in me before I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore, but I decided to put it to good use.
I hunkered down on the soft recliner by the fireplace, pulled the blanket from the back of the chair and covered myself, placing my laptop on my knees, my eyes grainy and tired, and began the hunt for information on Kelly Leigh.
And the next thing I remember is Coop shaking me.
“Trixie! Trixie Lavender, wake up! Artur is at it again!”
Chapter 15
My eyes flew open wide, but my body felt limp and heavy. Coop grabbed my hand, her steel grip forcing me to let go of something, but I had no idea what.
“Trixie, give this to me now, please. I won’t ask again.”
I slumped forward against her, my head throbbing, my eyes grainy and sore. “What?” I asked, which of course, I always do.
An attack is always followed by a one-word question, but it’s almost all I can manage due to how exhausted I am after a possession.
“Artur,” Coop answered back. “Now look at me, Trixie. I need you to look at me and listen to the sound of my voice, please. Hand over the paintbrush.”
I forced my eyes to focus, and when I did, I saw Coop, her perfect features gazing back at me, her blank expression comforting as she bracketed my face with her fingertips, and made me look at her.
“Okay,” I murmured, blinking as the rest of the room came back into focus, and I let go of what Coop had said was a paintbrush.
“Trixie girl,” Livingston called to me from somewhere in the room. “’Twas a doozy this time, me darlin’. There was no talkin’ ya down from this one. Now you listen to ol’ Quigley. Listen to the sound of my voice and come back to us.”
Livingston had a beautiful singing voice, almost angelic in its purity, which he often joked was impossible, seeing as he’d landed in Hell. That leads me to this small confession. Since Artur made his appearance, I occasionally have nightmares about demons and all manner of hellish things. They feel quite real and very vivid.
It’s happened a few times now and is most frequent after one of my particularly rough possessions. One night, when I’d wondered out here to the living room in quite a foggy state, still trying to shake a really rough one off, Livingston witnessed the after effects and in an effort to soothe me, he sang to me.
Music soothes the savage beast they say, right?
Anyway, since then, if he was awake when I had a bad dream, he’d taken on the responsibility of soothing me by singing anything he could think of to distract me. Knowing some of my favorite music consists of, among many artists, Celine Dion and Disney songs, he’d learned every single soundtrack from each of my favorite movies and every Celine song in order to have an arsenal of music to combat my terror, and it had worked. Just the way it was working now.
It pulled me from wherever I went when the demons took over my dreams and gently dragged me back to the here and now. When Livingston sang, the descent didn’t feel as much like a hangover.
As he landed on my shoulder, draping his wing across my cheek to caress my skin he sang “The Prayer” by Celine Dion and Andrea Bocelli, his gentle, perfectly pitched voice swelled in my ears and I floated back to the present.
“Tell me,” I demanded of Coop, inhaling deeply, hearing the notes of “The Prayer” rise and fall.
She knew what I meant when I asked, and as my muscles contracted and released, she said, “Open your eyes and see for yourself. But if I let you go, you have to promise to stay still, Trixie. Understood?”
Sometimes, Artur would play games as he left my body, and he’d have me reassure Coop I was depleted, only to rise up again for one last prank.
“Okay,” I promised as Coop let go of my wrist and brushed the hair from my eyes.
She took her place behind me, wrapping her arms around me in a light but purposeful embrace, letting me know she was prepared to restrain me if need be.
“It’s okay now, Trixie. Everything’s okay. I’m here. Livingston’s here. We’re both here,
