I almost soiled myself, but I managed to turn my head. Cara bit into my shoulder and body-checked me into the wall. My reflexes responded by launching an electrically charged fist into her stomach. She exhaled sharply, extricating me from her grip. The force of the body-blow sent her back a dozen feet. A trail of crackling light singed the carpet along her path. Hatred’s power was lightning.

Cara managed to land on her feet, but her muscles spasmed involuntarily. That gave me an idea. Charging my finger with a paralyzing bolt, I pointed at her. She had her head raised, sniffing the air. Twisting to look behind herself, just a few feet away, her mother was sitting up. She returned Cara’s gaze with shock instead of hunger. For the love of death, she smelled the blood. That didn’t align with her being a mindless creature.

Guided by my outstretched finger, I flashed across the floor. Using that momentum, I crashed into her. We cleared Mrs. Hasbrook’s head by a couple inches, flew through the air, and plowed through the wall next to the hospital bed. The sound of breaking glass reached us moments after we made impact with the ground. A gash in the recently cut swaths of grass marked our landing.

I sent a jolt of electricity through Cara to incapacitate her. That would only afford me a moment, so I grabbed her wrists and held them over her head. Unfortunately, I had no idea how much spirit had gone into her soul space already and she wouldn’t give me a chance to check. Hateful energy rushed into her at my command. I guesstimated what would be necessary based on how much damage our fight probably caused her body, then I added an arbitrary amount. Contempt was still affecting my thoughts. I wanted the fight to be over and really didn’t care about the potential consequences.

Hearing the loud crash of a wall exploding, several neighbors came out of their houses to check out the commotion. Their murmurs grew louder as they drew closer. In the war waged within me, annoyance stood on the front lines. Looking around, I swore that if even a single one of them came over to us, I would suck the life right out of them.

Before I could think further on that desire, a presence emerged within Cara. Focus returned and I regulated the flow of energy. Holding it steady, I helped the outside of her soul harden to contain it. Color filled her face and with it came consciousness.

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Welcome to your second chance,” I said with a tentative smile. Her eyes were no longer the lonely white clouds that drifted aimlessly in the sky, they were the gray, that ended the night, prelude to the sunrise.

Most people thought the color of our irises were interesting. Entrancing in a way and they usually mentioned that they’d never seen someone with them before. However, those that knew we had rejected death’s embrace viewed our eyes as a mark that invoked revulsion, reverence, or curiosity.

To the religious, we were either messengers from heaven or an afront to God. They likened us to angels and demons. I’ve had a woman throw holy water and point a cross at me quoting scriptures. It was like she was trying to perform an exorcism in the middle of the grocery store. Also, there was a guy that dropped to his knees and quoted the bible as if I were the next messiah. I couldn’t, for the death of me, figure out why religious people recited lines from their holy books as a response to the unknown.

People that weren’t religious tended to have an unending list of questions. Ones about death: “Does it hurt to die?”, “Did you see your life flash before your eyes?”, “Was there a bright light?” or ones about the afterlife: “Did you see your family?”, “Is there a heaven?”, “What was it like?” Otherwise, they’d start telling long-winded stories: “My aunt Margaret died six years ago, but my mom says she visits us sometimes because her picture falls off a shelf in the middle of the night. I tell her it’s from an earthquake or something, but she still says it. She’d be like, ‘Your aunt Margaret visited us again last night!’ Blah blah blah… Can you tell my mom she’s like totally stupid?” I hated it and I hated people. After staring into Shawn’s soul, I hated a lot of things.

After the battle, I was sweaty from the exertion and could have collapsed from exhaustion. Small bits of energy still circulated throughout my body, supplemented slightly by my replenished reserve. The impending pain of whatever damage I’d incurred during the fight was not an experience that invoked any excitement. It was another thing for future Jesse to deal with, so I continued to avoid it by continuously supplying the small stream that coursed through me. I looked down at Cara.

Since she wasn’t trying to eat us anymore, and if you ignored the blood dribbling down her chin, she was kind of cute. Her face was small and still a little pale, but her hair cascaded around it. It was long, dark, and shiny, with some dirt mixed in. Thick, but well-kept, eyebrows and low cheekbones framed her deep-set eyes and eyelashes that, if weren’t fake, but could have been featured in a Mascara ad. The blood and haunting beauty formed the visage one would expect from a bride of Dracula. Dirt was the topping on her ice cream cone pajama pants. The collision with the ground had pulled them just below her hips and her oversized sweatshirt was stretched, exposing the delicate skin of her lean stomach. Of course, I barely noticed those things.

“Are you going to get off me?” She said seductively, or angrily; I wasn’t sure which.

“S-Sorry.” I stammered and smirked nervously. I stood and held out my hand like a gentleman. She got to her feet, pointedly ignoring my chivalry. Rude. She dusted herself off and seemed to be taking stock of the situation, but confusion never crossed her face. Starting at the small crater we stood in, Cara’s eyes drifted toward the house and paused on the broken windows and person-sized hole in the wall between them.

She tilted her head to the side like a dog does when you say something curious. When she turned to me, I noticed she still hadn’t blinked. It was kind of creepy. Her expression and demeaner was underwhelming, like she was in shock, but her reaction was apathy instead.

“I assume that was your fault.” She said, pointing at the hole, stone-faced and crooking her neck in the opposite direction to her curious dog tilt. “A bit much, don’t you think?”

“You tried to eat us,” I replied. One of her eyebrows raised so I sighed. “It’s complicated. Let’s go back inside and I’ll explain.” We could hear more neighbors exiting their homes. A couple were creeping toward us. I didn’t think making good on my promise to suck the life from their bodies would be good for business, so I motioned her toward the house. There were several faces peeking out from it now. Shawn’s was among them.

His arrogance could have killed someone, and his cowardice made it worse. Remembering that fueled a predilection for vengeance. I would have to slash his tires or key his precious sports car. One way or another, he would pay for his transgressions. I would make him rue the- Then I remembered there was a ton of contemptuous energy raging inside me. I figured that I better warn the girl too, her soul was basically made of it.

“Cara.” I tried to brush the wood splinters and insulation off myself while we walked back toward the house. “You’re going to be filled with a lot of hatred that gives you powerful urges for the next couple weeks. You’ll need to come to my place a few times so I can take care of it.”

“Are you some kind of pervert?” She said eyeing me. It was my turn to quirk an eyebrow. Replaying what I had just said, using the word ‘urges’ followed by an invitation to my house must have been misconstrued.

“No, no. My name is Jesse and I’m 26. I mean, wait. What I mean to say is: your aura is off right now because of what I did to you.” I facepalmed. Recovering with an exhale, words finally coalesced properly, “I brought you back to life, but there were complications. I need to fix it, but it will take some time. It’s hard to explain, but you may do things you’ll regret later. Just be conscious of your thoughts and actions.”

Cara stopped and glowered suddenly. While it may have been an outburst, she finally blinked and acted more human. “I don’t give a shit who you are, creep. You don’t know me. Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”

“Language,” I said under my breath. I didn’t want her to cause any more of a scene, but she still heard.

“Now you’re my mother?” She questioned without hesitation. “Those are big pants to fill.” She hastened her pace when her steps continued. As she passed me, she flicked her hair into my face with a scoff. The attraction I may have had for her was gone. I despised her, and I was pretty sure she just made a fat joke at her mother’s expense. I did not envy her parents if this was her actual personality. I chose to ignore her and prayed getting back to the house would be my salvation.

Unfortunately, one of the neighbors had caught up to us. “Excuse me, what is going-” But, then he took a step back in alarm.

I got so close to the impudent peasant’s face that our noses almost touched. With loathing eyes, I simply said, “No.” It was a simple response, but its weight was unmistakable. The gravity weakened his knees. That one word was heavy with the threat of bodily harm and the promise of a slow and agonizing death. The man’s eyes widened when a cascade of sparks descended from a floodlight above the house’s back door. No one else had the gall to approach me after that.

Mr. Hasbrook was the first to meet us as we entered the household, but you could tell he was struggling to keep his nerves in check. “Is she alright?” he asked me, staring at his daughter. The quiver in his voice told me that he thought Cara might jump on someone else for another meal.

Cara didn’t give me a chance to respond, “Duh. I’m walking, aren’t I? You’re such an idiot. Get out of my way!” She pushed her way through her dad and into the house. He almost fell over from the shove.

She walked toward the couches. The seating that I hadn’t crumpled was upright again and Mrs. Hasbrook sat on it, staring at nothing. Cara stood over her, “Are you going to sit on the couch all day or make us breakfast… or lunch… or dinner? I don’t even know what time it is, but I’m starving.” Mrs. Hasbrook showed no sign of acknowledgment; she just sat there in a daze. Cara looked down at herself, “I’m also dirty. I’m going to take a shower.”

I had enough of the disrespect. Kids don’t deserve to be beaten, but she wasn’t a kid anymore. If her parents weren’t going to spank her for those words, I would. I took a step forward, but Shawn stopped me. He shook his head slightly, never taking his eyes off her, but he couldn’t hide the smirk that was trying to fight its way onto his face.

I looked at Shawn, then groaned. I wanted to leave the whole situation as quickly as possible, but Shawn wasn’t thinking with his brain. The man-boy, who was quaking in his ugly pink polo just a moment prior, wanted vampiric teenager, but she was already stomping down the hall, presumably toward a bathroom. Everyone’s eyes followed in her wake.

“Why is she acting like that?” Searching for the origin of the question, my eyes landed on one of the aunts. I had forgotten they were even there.

Before I could conjure a response, Mrs. Hasbrook piped up, still in a stupor. “That wasn’t her.” Her voice had a gravelly quality to it. Likely, the consequence of being bitten in the neck. She turned and stared into the broken fireplace. Bricks were scattered around it, but it still held. Her mind was lost in the ashes, from which dusty footprints disappeared into the white carpet. As if to no one, she continued speaking, “She would never attack me. She would never speak like that. That’s not my daughter.” I was distracted and only half-listening.

Those weird bird plates were still on the mantle. They somehow survived me collapsing the fireplace and Cara breaking out of it. I took a deep breath and exhaled, calming my emotions. I spoke in as neutral a voice as I could manage, “Mrs. Hasbrook, that was an unusual circumstance. The process doesn’t usually go like that.”

Her blank stare surveyed the room and the damage to her once idyllic home. One of the couches was bent and had splinters jutting out the back, the floor sagged in places, blood and scorch marks had ruined the carpet, and there was a hole, the shape of a person with a perfect physique, in the wall between broken windows and a hospital bed with a bent leg. There was so much damage around the room, but somehow, miraculously, all of the bird plates were unscathed.

Mrs. Hasbrook continued to scan the room. She was searching for the source of her suffering, the one responsible for the defilement of her home. Surprisingly, it wasn’t me. Her judging gaze settled on Shawn.

She swallowed hard and croaked, “This is your fault! You said you could handle it, but you should have never come here or at least you should have waited for your boss. Now there’s a monster in my home! That is not my daughter. She was quiet, kind, and obedient. She was precious. You took my child away from me. You screwed up and I have to suffer for your mistake. How are you going to fix this? How will I be compensated for damages?” Even though she was struggling to speak beyond a harsh whisper, Shawn shrank with each word. Unless I said something, he would leave the house in my pocket.

Her tirade reminded me of my first job. It was by far the worst one I ever had. It was basically just people lying to try to return things to the store that they’d broken. The customer was actually never right. Thankfully, it wasn’t all bad. The staff members were good, but my old boss was the best.

Herb Stern was a balding middle-aged man with a silver tongue. He could resolve any situation. One such circumstance involved a disgruntled scuba diver that wanted to return a camera that stopped working because the salesperson said it was waterproof. Herb somehow redirected the blame from the employee to the acidification of the ocean caused by global warming. The customer left a bit confused, but with the broken camera in hand. After the masterful exchange, he shared his wisdom, “Jesse, always point blame at something else. Now, where’s Eric? I have to fire him.” I just needed to figure out how to use that Herbism to my benefit.

Shawn endured more berating while my eyes perused the room. I noticed a bed pan tucked beneath the bed frame. Crutches had fallen from the wall to the floor near there and a wheelchair was parked next them. Energy doesn’t completely replace someone’s personality. It could have a powerful influence, but they’d still, more or less, be themselves. Certainly, her behavior was unreasonable, but I doubted Cara was as meek as Mrs. Hasbrook claimed. However, the deterioration of her health would explain the way she was being described. She didn’t have the strength to do otherwise.

With Herb’s lesson and my observational skills, I had a way to mollify Mrs. Hasbrook. I walked through her gaze which seemed more like a mine field at that point. Her eyes followed me as I leaned against the remains of the fireplace. Taking on a contemplative expression, I spoke, “Ma’am, this wasn’t Shawn’s fault.”

“I hired you to bring back my daughter,” she rasped. “That is not my daughter.” Mrs. Hasbrook’s attention didn’t stray from me as she gestured toward the hallway. The pressure she exuded made it difficult to remain calm.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mrs. Hasbrook.” I said, smugly waving a finger at her. My plan was to act like the protagonist in a crime show. Typically, at the end of each episode, the team asks why the criminal committed the murder. Then, as if it were obvious, the main character would go into an in-depth debrief. The explanation would break down exactly how the crime occurred, why the murderer killed the victim, what led to the killer’s descent into psychopathy, and conclude with a clever quip. A team member would sometimes even make a bad pun or joke before the transition to credits.

“You see, Mrs. Hasbrook. May I call you Mrs. Hasbrook?” I thought it was very polite and a good lead in to my debrief. My focus drifted to one of the plates on the mantle as I spoke. “Your daughter was very ill; her body was deteriorating. That’s all it may have looked like.” The decorative piece showed a robin standing on the edge of a nest, it may have been satisfaction gleaming from its bird eyes. The bird’s mate was gliding in for a landing to discover he was now the proud father of a bunch of blue eggs. I picked up the plate to inspect it further, then continued speaking, “But there was more to it than that. Something under the surface that couldn’t be seen. At least, you couldn’t see it,” I said to her. My head shook a little as I wondered whether other birds made fun of robins for having weird-colored eggs. That made me exhale in a little chuckle. “Maybe you could have felt it, I don’t know. I know I saw it, but I digress. The point is, Mrs. Hasbrook, her illness was doing more damage than you realized,” I turned to her as I said this. “Much more damage.” I punctuated and held her gaze, a pregnant pause for dramatic effect. “Her disease wasn’t just one of the body, Mrs. Hasbrook.” My tone changed to that of a priest revealing demonic possession as a diagnosis. “It was an affliction of the soul!” Then I smashed the plate on the floor.

The shocked expression on her face and the silence that followed was priceless. My performance was awe-inspiring, and I planned to work on my award acceptance speech later. I knew Herb would have been proud. I wasn’t done yet though. There was only one part left: I had to leave before the effects of my performance wore off.

I spoke quickly, “She will need to visit me a few times to complete her treatment.” I whipped a card out of my pocket and handed it to Mrs. Hasbrook. She took it absently. “Have her come to that address on Tuesday at noon.” Then I retrieved Shawn and left through the front door. After closing the door behind me, however, I remembered another part I had forgotten. So, I re-opened the door and said, “When I’m done with her, she’ll be free as a bird.”

I was so satisfied with how I handled that; I hoped my captivating showmanship was as well received as I thought. The execution was almost as impressive as my billboard. Both brought a smile to my face, but as I closed the door for the second time, I doubled over. I caught myself and straightened before Shawn could notice. My transition to being future me had begun. The consequences of using magic recklessly had arrived.