"Bash! Wake up, Bash!"

Owen's frantic yelling rattled my brain, startling me awake. The world tilted, and the hurricane lamps swam, smearing in my vision, but Owen was nowhere to be seen. The basement floor was hard against my back, and everything ached.

"Finally! I didn't think you'd ever wake up," Owen continued, panicking.

I sat up to search for him. My skull throbbed with the movement and I covered my face with my palms as I waited for the pounding to stop.

"Open your eyes! You're not going to pass out again, are you?" Owen asked.

"No. I'm okay, but quit yelling. My head's killing me."

"Sorry," he whispered.

"Where are you?"

"Seriously?" Owen scoffed. "Did you forget what we were doing here?"

The smell of mildew hung in the air, and open rafters gaped, revealing old pipes and cobwebs, but Owen was still nowhere to be seen. "You mean, it worked? You're inside me?"

"Can't you tell?"

"Not really. You sound loud and clear, but not in my ears. It's like my thoughts are blasting." I held my hands out to study them for change. "So you're really in there?"

"Why are you staring at your fingers? You look the same."

I lowered them as my cheeks warmed. "I thought I'd be able to tell, but besides hearing you in my mind, nothing's different."

"Well, it's different for me. Being in the house was rough, but being trapped in the dark with no control was worse. Any longer, and I might've freaked out."

"Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you were already freaking out."

"No, I wasn't."

"Sure, okay." I bit my lip to stifle my amusement. "How long was I out?"

"How the hell do I know? Hours maybe?"

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I checked the clock. "It's almost 10:30, so it was a few hours." A sheen of sweat coated my body, and I wiped my brow with my forearm.

"Man, it's weird when you move. It's like my body's numb. I feel it, but only vaguely. I tried opening your eyes before, but it didn't work."

Bracing my palms on the cold cement, I rose to my feet and stumbled, grabbing the edge of the desk for support. I felt more like myself now that I was vertical and everything stopped spinning. "It's pretty freaking weird for me too. But you told me we'd have to practice. So, uh, how do we do that?"

"I'm not sure. All Lilla said was whoever used the spell could take turns. Why don't you get us upstairs while you're running things? There's no room to do anything down here."

"Sounds good." I clutched the railing with one hand and dragged the other along the wall's rough texture while carefully climbing the stairs. I made it to the top with my pulse racing, and the house swaying again. Weak-kneed, I clenched my teeth and posted my back to the wall, sliding to the floor. "Did you know that would happen?"

"What do you mean? Me glowing, and you passing out before inhaling me like mist? Sure, that's how it happened the last time my spirit moved into another guy."

Owen's dry monotone made me laugh. "Yeah, okay." I probed the bump on my head and grimaced. "Your witch might have warned us, though. If I'd been sitting, maybe I wouldn't feel like crap."

"Don't push on it. That won't help."

"You felt that?"

"A little."

Dread filled my stomach. "Wait, can you hear what I'm thinking?"

"I don't know. I haven't tried."

My chest tightened as Emily's face fluttered through my mind. "Well, don't, dude. I'd rather you couldn't. I'm just trying to find out how this works. It's like I'm thinking what you say or your voice is in my thoughts."

"Did you hear that?" Owen asked.

"What?" I craned my neck, listening hard.

"Not out there you bozo, in here. I was thinking to myself to see if you could tell."

"Oh, nope. That's good; we'll have some privacy, anyway."

"It would've been convenient to talk without you speaking out loud though. How will we communicate when we're around other people? Say something in your head."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Think it at me, I guess."

I rolled my eyes. "Alright. Here we go." I thought, hello? When a minute of repeating that one word passed without a reply, I sighed. "It's not working, but I can hear you, and if I have to tell you something around people, I'll figure it out."

"I suppose that'll have to work. If you're ready, let's practice."

I shifted on the dusty hardwood floor, stretching my legs out in front of me. "What do we do first?"

"We figure out how you scoot to the back seat so I can drive."

I threw my hands up. "How?"

"This is a first for me too, but we'll work it out. Stay seated. We don't want you to hit our head again."

"Our head. Really?"

"I'd feel it too. Not to mention, I'd be stuck in here, waiting for you to wake up."

"Alright." I leaned my head back against the wall. "I'm already sitting. Now what?"

"Try to relax; meditate or something."

"I don't know how to meditate."

"Really? With this long hair, I figured you were into hippie shit like that."

I ran my fingers through it, pushing it back. "It's not long."

"Do you use a hairbrush?"

"Yeah."

"Case closed."

My jaw dropped. "Dude, you're ridiculous."

"Okay, don't move. I'll do it."

"Alright." I shut my eyes.

"Open your eyes! I don't like being stuck in the dark."

I snickered. "You do it, then." It was petty, but his superior tone grated my nerves and it was fun to knock him down a peg.

"Fine, I will," Owen muttered.

I steadied my breathing and stayed motionless until my butt went numb. Owen didn't make a sound, but I knew he was still trying—he wasn't one to give up. I didn't want to break his concentration, but if the movements were as small as blinking, I could be curled up on the couch downstairs.

Finally, my lids lifted, and gazing back, only inches away, was a pair of gray eyes. I tried scrambling to my feet, but nothing happened. I wasn't in control anymore.

***

"Man, you have to be more aware of your surroundings. I heard Cat walk up a while ago. You didn't?" Owen asked.

"No. Damn thing about made me piss my pants."

He cracked up. "Glad I'm running things, then."

"Ha-ha. Wait. Is the cat's name Cat?"

"Yup."

"Wow, creative."

"He's never complained." Owen shrugged, and I felt the movement in a strange, disconnected way.

I tried to wiggle my legs, but there was no reaction. Helplessness gnawed at me, but I pushed it away. This was what we'd planned for. "Okay, so when you're in control, you speak out loud and hear me in your, err... my head?"

"I guess so."

"Alright. What else can you do?"

"Let's see." Owen stood and stretched.

My fingertips brushed over my abs before he flexed my arms and inspected them from different angles. I saw everything like I was watching a movie from a seat behind my eyes.

"Are you checking me out?"

He chuckled. "I'm just seeing what I have to work with."

"Ah, you're welcome then," I said, mostly joking.

"Please. Did you see me? This is a notch lower in the muscle department, but it's not awful."

"I'm in great shape."

"For an eighteen-year-old. Don't be offended; I'm sure you were the talk of the high school chicks. I'll have you ready to hunt in no time." Owen bent my legs into a squat and bounced, testing his balance. Throwing a few fast punches, he smirked. "I can work with this."

"You seem to be running things easily. Trading control must be the hard part."

"There's a lot we haven't tried yet. Let's grab stuff from downstairs and go outside. I want to test my aim."

I cringed as he skipped down the creaky steps. "Careful, these stairs might not be as safe as you remember."

Owen shook my head as he cleared the landing with a little hop. "You worry too much."

Items rattled in the bottom drawer of the desk as Owen rooted around. He lifted out a small tin, pried the lid off, and plucked out a ring.

"Is that iron?"

He nodded. "My dad gave it to me before my first hunt. I put it here before my last. There was no need to test anyone; I already knew who they were, and I didn't want it to be lost if I didn't make it."

Owen's voice trailed off at the end, and my heart twinged at his melancholy tone. I left him to his thoughts, understanding that this was surreal for him, too—fighting monsters was Owen's whole life, and then he spent fifty years alone before I came along. It was more than anyone should have to handle.

Without warning, my vision changed and everything took on a dreamlike haze. My pulse pounded in my ears, drowning out all other sounds as I squinted at an unfamiliar white ceiling in a bright room.

Thick blood coated my hands, and I watched as they reached down without me telling them to, toward the crimson puddle on my sticky chest. Raised skin bordered the fresh gashes that peeked through what was left of my shirt. No wonder I was weak.

Owen's frantic heart raced as he turned his head, and a shimmering cloud of dust disappeared next to me. As the air cleared, Owen relaxed a fraction at the sight before an inhuman scream tore through the night, a chill tearing up his spine as he faced the sound.

Owen gasped, and we were in the basement again, staring at the ring pinched between my fingers. This was my hand, and there was no blood.

"What the hell was that?" I yelled.

He ran a palm over my uninjured chest, and inhaled a deep, shaky breath before placing the band on my right ring finger.

"Nothing." Owen spit the word, telling me we wouldn't be talking about it. He cleared his throat. "I guess we will see each other's thoughts sometimes." Standing, he crossed the room, and the ring slipped. He caught it before it fell and grinned as he switched it to my middle finger. "I didn't think about my hands even being bigger than yours."

I chuckled, glad Owen sounded like his cocky self. "Fine, dude. You're a beast. Happy?"

"I mean, I guess I'm as happy as I can be when someone's stating facts."

We cracked up while Owen unstacked the trunks lining the wall. The last one was heavier than the others, and he dragged it closer to the desk.

"What's in these?" I asked.

"Regular stuff—books, clothes, papers." He lifted the lid of the oversized trunk with a loud creak and removed a shoebox-sized wooden box. When he opened it, light reflected off sharp metal.

"Weapons, sure. I have a trunk just like this in my room."

Owen placed the smaller box on the desk. "You wish you did."

He chose a set of thin knives that were folded into a piece of tough, dark leather. Simple in design, they were solid steel with no frills. He wrapped them again before sliding them into the back pocket of my jeans.

The last knife he pulled out differed from the rest. It was bigger, and a sheath designed to attach to a belt protected the blade. Owen ran my fingers over the intricate details on the soft leather handle before setting it down to secure the holder to my belt. The reverent way he handled the weapon told me it was special to him.

These things must've held memories of his life and family, so I stayed quiet and let Owen reminisce. He needed the comfort after the memory I'd seen. With the weapon on my side, he drew in a slow, satisfied breath and crossed the basement to the stairs.

The serious tone broke when the third stair gave way under Owen's step. He grabbed the banister before my foot could go through the hole and laughed. "Okay, maybe you don't worry too much. We'll fix that later. Now, let's have some fun."

📚💜📚
Any guesses on what his idea of fun might be?