I Entwine Thee

The brush I'd been holding flew out of my grip, a rush of air brushing over my knuckles. I let out a strangled sound and whirled. "Are you going to do this all night?"

"Are you going to stop?" Erick challenged. One infuriating brow quirked. He leaned up against the battered wall. He wore the same outfit he'd worn every day since last Halloween. Long lean legs exaggerated in black pants, matching pirate boots crossed at the ankles. The white billowy shirt disappeared beneath a long black coat with red brocade that stretched over his broad shoulders.

I gritted my teeth, fighting back the emotion clawing up my throat, "No," I snapped, "and I will super glue this brush to my skin if I have to." Anger flared in his blue eyes, but I turned back before I could catch the worry in his fidgeting.

Thankfully, I'd packed extra supplies, knowing all too well just how infuriating he could be. We stood in the abandoned house just outside of town with its paint peeled walls and many cobwebs. In only minutes, it would be Halloween and officially the barrier between worlds would thin. Lightning cracked, sending shadows dancing along the walls. The many white and black candles lining my work table were my only source of light.

Ghosts had the annoying ability to manipulate air currents to their will. Like slamming doors, knocking mason jars off of counters, or in this case, tearing the brush from my hands. However, it took an ungodly amount of energy out of them. This having been the third brush that he'd thrown, it merely dropped to my feet rather than clattering against the wall like the first two.

I lifted another brush, confident he was well out of energy. Slowly, I dipped it into my tin can and lifted it, letting the excess blood fall off of its bristles. A life for a life. It was what the ritual called for. I took a deep breath and continued my work, painting the symbol with its many pointed edges as I listened to the howling wind. Erick bristled behind me.

"Daliah, you need to stop this."

The way he said my name, the way he'd always said my name, sent pleasant shivers down my spine. Just another reason why I needed to do this. Once the clock struck midnight, the witching hour would commence. I had put on the same costume I'd worn last year. A short black dress with pannels of blue sparkling fabric and long sleeves that ended in points over the back of my hands. Black webbed tights, boots, and a witch's hat perched ontop of my blonde hair. It was a very on-the-nose costume, one that I'd rather burn than ever wear again. But I had to be sure this would work.

My gaze fell, for the hundreth time, to the dark brown splatters on my skirt. I tried and failed everytime not to think of how they paired well with the large stain on Erick's own chest. My throat tightened.

"I can't." The words came out airy, choked. All the anger had escaped me.

I saw more than felt him crouch beside me, "You don't know if it will work."

"I have to believe it will."

"And if it doesn't?"

Then I'll die as a witch where I'll either go to Heaven or Hell. Not to the Mist like him. The Mist was a space between Hell and Heaven where the most hated supernatural creatures lived out their enternity. Usually, it was reserved for the supernaturals that even the Devil didn't want. However, in Erick's case, he was cursed. His murderer having done the darkest of magic to send him into the Mist.

A lot of the books had claimed it was similar to Purgatory. But no, it wasn't even close to the same. At least the souls who went to Purgatory go out, eventually sent to Heaven or Hell. The souls in the Mist stay forever. Or they fade into nothing.

If they're lucky.

This ritual would turn me into a vampire, since witches weren't technically supernatural, and then, I'd die and join him forever.