sanctuary | on hold indefinitely

twenty-four | confessions

Devan was curled in the corner of the cabin, reading quietly, when she heard it: the door rattling as someone twisted the rusted handle. She pulled her old pen-knife out of her pocket calmly, standing up from her mound of sleeping bags and clothes on the floor. When the door opened, she threw the blade without thinking twice.

"Defendo!" Greer shouted, outstretching her hand just in time to suspend the knife in mid-air. Her eyes were wide as it stopped just in front of her temple, and she held her hand out to catch it quickly. "Jesus. Do you always greet people like this?"

"Well, it's either that or getting naked again," she smirked, relaxing as she folded the page of her book down and placed it on the table. "You told me you were coming on Sunday morning. Unless I've lost my last shred of sanity in this place, I believe it is Saturday afternoon."

Greer was soaked. Rainwater dripped from her coat and onto the floorboards, her boots caked in mud and her trousers sticking to her thighs. The rain was still coming down in torrents outside: Devan had been listening to it for the past hour as it pattered against the fragile wood and obscured the view through the windows. She pulled her hood down, now, her red hair sticking to her face in damp tendrils. She had caught the rain in her lashes. "This couldn't wait."

Devan couldn't help but notice that she looked tired as she placed the knife on the table along with her drenched backpack—tired, and emotionless. It made Devan feel unsettled as she watched, and she tried to joke to lighten the mood. "Any excuse to see me, Reid."

She hadn't been expecting a laugh, but she had been expecting a scoff or some other form of unimpressed reaction. Instead, she looked Devan dead in the eye, her lips pressed into a harsh line. "You lied to me yesterday, didn't you?"

"Excuse me?" Outside, the wind howled aggressively, and Devan could almost imagine it tearing down the cabin with its force.

"When I got back to the bookstore yesterday, I found it completely wrecked," she said, narrowing her eyes. "My best friend was attacked by two Dark witches in there. Shyla—I believe you met him."

"Briefly," Devan replied, her voice cautious as she bit down on her lip.

Greer nodded. "One of the witches claimed to be your sister. They were looking for you, Devan, and they nearly had Shyla killed in order to find you."

Devan paled as the words registered. She swallowed, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I—"

Greer cut her off before she could say anything, and she was glad, for she had no idea what she should say. "A few hours later a body was found around the corner from the store: a witch, Necromancer. Her child was still in the backseat when she was found. She was murdered in a car park in broad daylight in front of her baby. I'm not naïve enough to believe two incidents in the same place weren't connected." She took a sharp breath, her green eyes burning into Devan as she shuffled, treading the mud into the floorboards."I'm giving you one chance to tell me the truth. You owe me at least that."

"I owe you nothing," she responded, though she could hear the lack of commitment in her own voice.

"You owe me everything!" Greer exclaimed, her voice rising in anger. "Did you hear what I said? My friend nearly died. The bookstore is ruined. A woman was killed a few metres away from her child. All of this because I am helping you!"

"Then stop helping me," she challenged. "Go. Nothing is keeping you but your own selfish need to fix everyone and everything. So, go."

Greer shook her head but didn't move. Devan watched her for seconds, minutes, waiting for her to leave her alone with the weight of what she had said, but she didn't. She stood defiantly, her jaw clenched as Devan tried to keep her expression neutral.

A laugh, distorted and unsettling, escaped Devan, breaking the suffocating silence. "You can't, can you? Even now."

"I have seen what the people you are running from are capable of, now," she whispered. "If what you said is true, if you want to get away from that, then I want to help you, but I can't do that if you don't tell me the truth."

"You still want to help me?" Devan raised an eyebrow.

Greer nodded. "Yes."

"Even if it means you and the people closest to you are at risk?"

"Yes."

Devan scoffed. "Then you're a fool."

"Yes," she repeated quietly, "and so are you if you don't take the help I am offering. I'll only ask once more, Devan. Do you know who has been killing other witches?"

Devan glowered at Greer in defiance, her black eyes piercing in the grey, dimming light. Greer sighed, nodding, and pulled her hood up. She pulled the sapphire ring that Devan had given to her yesterday from her pocket and placed it on the table, grabbing her backpack and turning to leave.

Devan closed her eyes. She hadn't let her go yesterday, and the same impulse urged her to stop her from leaving again today. "Wait."

Greer paused, turning back expectantly, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag.

"Okay," she agreed finally. "You were right. It is Dark witches killing the others. I know that because I was one of them."

Greer sucked in a breath, her gaze shifting to something past Devan as though she couldn't stand to look at her.

"My sister still is one of them," she continued. "It wasn't our idea. A couple of our people have grown tired, angry, at the way that you treat us."

"And rather than changing our opinion of you, you thought mass murders would be more effective."

"I know it doesn't make any sense; that's why I couldn't do it anymore. I am not a good person, Greer. I have done unspeakable things. I've hurt a lot of people." She couldn't feign remorse. Instead, the ice began to pool in her stomach again, drawing her away from her words and from Greer, drawing her into the darkness where nothing could touch her. "You shouldn't help me."

"But you ran," Greer said. "You left them. Did they turn on you?"

"No," she answered. "I turned on them. I meant what I said yesterday: I didn't belong with them. I don't want to be like them anymore."

"Because you want to be better."

Devan let out a laugh. "I'm not walking the path of redemption, love. I was just tired of washing the smell of corpses out of my hair."

She began packing, fidgety under the weight of Greer's scrutiny. She could tell from the way her eyes glimmered that she was weighing her up, trying to find something worth helping.

"Where are you going?"

"If they suspect you, it means they're close to finding me." Devan shoved her creased clothes into her bag, and then the book she had been reading. "They might have followed you here."

"Shyla didn't tell them anything." Devan was surprised by the gentleness in Greer's voice. "I made sure to protect myself and my car against Locator spells and Dark magic. No one was following me, Devan. You have time."

She stopped packing, glaring at the red-haired witch. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you still helping me, even now? Why are you still here?"

Greer hesitated, her mouth opening but no sound coming out. Then, with a blink, she pulled her hood down. "Because as much as you like to say that you don't care, I think that you do. Because I have seen what your sister and her friend are capable of. I have seen the things you've been apart of. The fact that you chose to leave it behind, the fact that you don't belong there, suggests to me that there is a part of you—no matter how small—that wants something better than to kill, and if you want something better, it means you are capable of being better. I don't want to be the reason that you're harmed or forced back into a place you don't want to be, not if there's hope for you yet.

"Because, Devan," she said, taking a careful step forward, "I think out of all the people who have ever asked for my help, you are the one who needs it most."