“Show-off,” I say, meaning it to come out mocking, but it sounds high and nervous, close to a squeak. It’s like Anna said. He is whatever he wants to be here. He can probably twist his head all the way around. I wish I could tell my dad how well I’m following his advice about always being afraid.
“I’ll slow him down, try to hold him,” says Anna, and her hair turns black and starts to lift. The white recedes from her eyes and dark veins stretch beneath her skin. The dress goes red in a slow, deliberate soak.
The Obeahman has come down from the wall and walks briskly on disjointed legs. His stitched-over eyes are trained on me. He doesn’t want Anna anymore. He has her. I’m the last loose end.
“He’ll break my arms first,” Anna says.
“What?”
“I’m just telling you,” she replies like it’s a matter of course. “I’m going to try to hold his arms, so he’ll break mine. I can’t beat him. Don’t rely on me. I don’t know if you can.” She looks at me and her expression reads easy. Regret. Empty wishes for more time or better chances.
I wish Thomas and Carmel were here. Only I don’t. I just wish there was a plan, or a trap, like last time. It would be nice to have some kind of advantage, aside from the one clenched in my fist. Anna steps forward.
“Aren’t you afraid?” I ask.
“I’ve done this before,” she replies. She actually manages a smile. Then she’s gone, closing the distance, her movements quicker than I remember. She throws a punch and his teeth rake a red gash into her forearm. She doesn’t wince, or scream. The way she’s fighting is robotic. She knows she’s going to lose and she’s used to it. She doesn’t even feel the pain.
“Don’t just stand there! Help her!” Jestine yells at me as she streaks past to jump into the fray. I have no idea where she came from. It’s like she popped out of the rock. But it doesn’t matter; she doesn’t hesitate. She dodges one of his arms and jams the end of her chisel into his shoulder. Anna has hold of his head, but it isn’t a good hold.
My legs are frozen. Between the two of them I don’t know what to do, where to attack. None of their movements have any effect. We should have gone. Gotten out when we could. Inside my head, Thomas is talking to me, his voice urgent. I can’t pay attention or look back. Instead I watch as the Obeahman snaps Anna’s arm like a twig, shoves her, and sends her rolling. Jestine he just shrugs off like an annoyance not to be bothered with. Not once has he taken his gaze off me. I stare where his eyes should be, watching the movement of the black stitches and the slow trickle of blood. I fear him. I’ve always feared him. He jerks his head once when he unhinges his jaw. He’ll be on me in seconds to tear pieces out of me like he did with the others, and my dad and I will stay here forever.
Black tendrils of hair rise up about his shoulders in the instant before Anna’s arm snakes around the front of him and takes hold of his jaw, her fist folding over his teeth and squeezing down. The Obeahman screeches, his black tongue lashing as she wrenches him around, grimacing.
“Stay away from him,” she growls, and smashes his body against the rock. The force is enough to send pebbles skittering. She does it again, and again, bashing him against the stone. I hear joints popping.
I hear Jestine say, “Bloody hell,” in a breathless voice.
The Obeahman is like an angry animal. His fingertips sharpen down to points and he slices through her chest and shoulders, shredding muscle until her arm falls and his feet find purchase on the ground. Still Anna doesn’t stop, jerking her shoulder, pounding his head into the rock so hard that any moment it must burst like a watermelon. But it doesn’t. And the only blood running down his chin is from the cuts his teeth are leaving in her palm as she holds his jaw. She goes down on one knee and her grip finally fails. He claws across her back and she slumps down into the dirt.
Impossible, I think as he strides calmly toward me with Anna’s blood dripping from his fingertips. I want to kill him more than anything, for her, for my dad. But it feels impossible. He’s closer now. Close enough so I can smell his smoke.
Jestine scrambles up off of the ground; she rises up behind him, screams, “Leithlisigh!” and strikes her hand down onto the back of his head. He falls forward, but not before catching her with his arm and slamming her down, so hard, onto the rock. I scream her name but the sound of her bones cracking is louder than my voice.
I dart forward and drag her out from under his arm. There’s blood on her teeth, and leaking from the corner of her mouth. Her legs trail behind, bouncing across the ground like rubber.