“Your brother and you are twins,” he continued. “You share a special bond. One that was broken when he turned to the Dolch Erbe. That might be why he had to link your lives, so the bond would be recreated and your magic wouldn’t combat one another.”
‘It sure seemed to do battle well enough at the ritual site.’
He closed his eyes and held them shut for a few seconds. When they opened again his irises were red. His palms were turned out and I could see the funnel of his magic flow from his hand and spin up his arms.
“Release your magic,” he instructed me.
I closed my eyes and mimicked his actions, letting my magic ooze from my skin and weave around my arms like a serpent circling my flesh.
“Good. Now extend your right arm,” he said.
I did so, eager to see what he had in mind and what would happen.
Our magic slowly began to leave our bodies and reach across the study to touch one another. It mingled in a circle and spun around like fireflies chasing each other around the room.
“Hold it right there,” he said just as our magic touched for the first time.
A jolt of electricity fired through my arm and sank deep into my chest. I nearly took a few steps back. It was a struggle to maintain my posture. The familiar heat I felt in his presence magnified, pushing straight through me and filling my limbs with energy. Our magic sent red sparks across the room and dissipated before it touched the floor. Rodrick was glowing in a sea of luminous red light. And for the briefest moment, I knew he felt the exact same sensation that I did. His eyes were locked onto mine, seeing me through the light if our magic as it engaged in a strange duet. Testing our willpower and challenging us both to resist.
I still didn’t know much about magic. It was a mystery to me in so many ways that both frightened and thrilled me. And yet, the one thing it wanted of me was something I wasn’t sure I could submit to.
Liberation. It wanted to liberate me. And it wanted to liberate Rodrick. Whatever was shackling us both down and making us resist one another was fading. My lust wasn’t one-sided. When his magic touched mine, I instinctively knew he was resisting it too.
Rodrick let his hand down and forced his magic to slam back inside his body. He let it happen so fast that it collided into his skin and ripped his flesh open.
I heard him scream as his body fell to the floor and blood spilled out onto his trench coat.
“Rodrick!” I screamed, letting my magic slowly fade back inside me before rushing to his side and opening up his trench coat to see the damage. His shirt was stained with blood. I ripped it away to see that the slashes on his muscular bare chest were already healing.
Our eyes met as his skin stitched itself back together and he found his strength again. Only he didn’t raise his arms to prop himself back up. He held my face in his hands and brushed his thumb over my cheek, sending a wind of excitement straight through me. His scent struck my senses. The same scent I smelled on Devon. I shut my eyes, trying to force away the memory of Devon’s deceit. When I opened them, Rodrick was dangerously close to me. In fact, I think he was pulling me in closer. I could feel the heat rising from his muscular chest, inviting me in. Then in the blink of an eye, he pushed me away and got up from the floor, forcing me aside as though it never happened and leaving me completely flustered.
“I’ll tell Ellinor you recognized the luxra on the vixra’s list of possible suspects,” he said. “You’re dismissed.”
He stepped away from me and stretched his arms down as they finished healing.
I opened my mouth to ask if he was alright only to close it. He didn’t look back at me for even a second as he reached for a door on the other side of the study and disappeared. I snatched the vial of liquid silver from his desk and rushed out without looking back.
Rodrick was feeling the same intensity that I did. Only he refused to act on it. The essence of our magic touched for the first time. He enjoyed it. And so did I. A little too much. And for whatever reason, that scared the hell out of him. So much so that he withdrew his magic fast enough to split his skin open. I was determined to figure out why.
3
Maybe it makes me a bit of an arse but I was relieved when I got back to the dorm room to find it empty. I had quickly come to adore Alina. That didn’t stop me from occasionally needing some time to myself. If she was out this late it usually meant she was either helping students or that the Vontex had their hands full. Granted the moon was full I figured it might be the latter. Untamed lycan would be at their strongest and out in search of prey, leaving the remains for the Vontex to pick up.
I walked in and made myself comfortable by the large wooden desk in the corner that we shared. Tucked away in the side cabinet was the journal Lothar gave me with the entries from a Blackatter that lived in the 19th century. I had only a few opportunities to read from it in private so I wasn’t about to waste a free moment when I was all alone.
I read most of the important stuff and already applied it. How to control my crowning magic while I was asleep with the mixture Rodrick helped me to acquire, how to get out of a vision if it was really bothering me while I slept, and even how to use the visions in various ways. The gentleman who wrote the book actually managed to learn how to revisit the same vision, again and again, re-examining it from different angles to see if he missed something or if there was a finite detail that wasn’t obvious at first.
I opened up the front page and smelled the musty scent of the old ink. It had the owner’s name written in fancy cursive handwriting that I truly wished people still practiced today. It was an art form.
Edward Blackard, 1893
I flipped a few more pages and began scanning the book for the obvious term that had quickly become the bane of my existence. Dolch Erbe. To my surprise, it didn’t take long. On the eighteenth page, the name appeared. I slowly read the entry before me.
February 4th, 1893
Difficult day. I rose from bed with the moon to find once again that Sybil wasn’t by my side. Not an unusual occurrence given she likes to be up before me to make a fresh breakfast. We’ve been deprived of our maid but thank goodness dear Sybil didn’t always have the luxury of one and can easily make us a small meal. Only when I went to the kitchen, she wasn’t there either. She doesn’t usually leave without telling me. I discovered a note laying just above the tablecloth. A message letting me know where she had gone. Or perhaps that she left in the middle of the night to return to the library once more. Her study of the Dolch Erbe is nearing obsession. And I can’t say I’m deeply pleased with it. I have no problem with a woman exploring her interests. Sybil has always had her opinions, most of which I can’t argue but I certainly do not voice in polite society. This particular curiosity gives me no solace.
The entries about the Dolch Erbe were dabbled throughout the notebook. I continued skimming until I found more.
May 17th, 1893
I cannot rest. Not after what I’ve seen. My dear Sybil has gone too far. I allowed myself to peer into the fireplace for far too long as I shifted the logs about. She came over to me and held me tight, watching the flames flicker over the logs. I held her arm only to feel something over her delicate skin. When I looked down at her thin arm, there was a marking on it. I’m sure I saw it. She thought I was imagining things. I even wondered if I imagined it myself. When I stood up and took a closer look at her arm, the marking was gone. As if it was never there to begin with. She held my face with her usual quiet laugh, insisting I must be tired. I knew better. The one thing I’ve heard about repeatedly from those who have encountered the Dolch Erbe was their markings. Ones much like sailors had inked in them from the Orient. Only these markings were signs of a person who has been courted by the Dolch Erbe. My dear Sybil may be in danger. And I don’t know what to do to stop it. I’ve long suspected that some who succumb to the Dolch Erbe don’t do it of their own free will. And if that’s the case I cannot allow her curiosities to run away with her. She may resent me b
ut I’ve forbidden her from going to the library without me from this night onward. We live in dangerous times. I won’t lose my Sybil. I’ve already lost too much.
I sat back in the chair a bit stunned by what I read.
‘Could it be true? Did those who joined the Dolch Erbe not come willingly?’
As disturbing as the thought was, I desperately wanted it to be true. If it was, it meant Dirk might not have been given a choice. He didn’t knowingly betray his own. Or if he did, he might not have done it of his own free will.
I carefully skimmed through more pages. There were a few more entries about Sybil Thornbrooke. The woman I learned through more reading was Edward’s loving wife. The had only been married three years and decided to pursue a life of quiet solitude at the academy, living in seclusion from the human realm. Only their happiness seemed to dwindle the more she took an interest in subjects Edward found distasteful for a respectable young woman of her time period.
August 22, 1893
My dear. My dear. I have gone too far. My dear Sybil has not been back for three days and three nights. I scolded her. I told her not to continue down this path. To mind what she reads and don’t become too fascinated with evil. For evil knows those who can be easily drawn in by the subtle appeal of danger. She did not take my precautions well.
She claimed she could only find the information she needed in the human realm. I made her swear that she wouldn’t leave without me. Two students have disappeared from the academy recently and the Dean suspects it was the fault of the Dolch Erbe. She would not hear me. Or perhaps she could not. Perhaps there’s more going on in her mind than what I can see.
‘More going on in her mind?’ I thought. ‘Like what? Possession.’
August 24th, 1893
Sybil has returned. In some form. One I don’t know and I’m not sure I care to. Her eyes didn’t look on me with the same love and devotion I have always known. The love that makes me want to become a better man. A brave man. She looked down on me as though she was superior. When she did speak it was in a harsh tone that does not suit her character. Not her soft and gentile demeanor that always comforted me more than the mere words spilling from her mouth.
She did not give me an explanation for her absence, even though I demanded one.
Nor did she tell me if she had found any further information, even though I demanded to know what she discovered, if anything.
It was only after she left to eat that I, to my shame, looked through her things. The contents of her pockets only had one item out of the ordinary. A small piece of paper with a droplet of blood. There’s little doubt to me that it might be vixra blood. How she came to possess it, what she needed it for, and what she intends to do with it, is beyond my knowledge. I fear if I pry the subject, I will receive nothing but the continued indifference from her once delicate and soft features. This I cannot handle.
The entries became more frantic. More desperate. He started following his wife everywhere, logging where she went and how long she was gone. It didn’t seem out of the ordinary. The library was her most common venture. Then into the Alluring Forest on a few occasions to pick berries. The only peculiarity he noted was the way her skin never again appeared to have the markings he was so certain he saw on her arm the night in spring before the fireplace.
I continued to go through the pages, scanning page after page. It felt almost as though it was the diary entries of a man slowly driven to madness. Not because his relationship with his wife was so strained but because he couldn’t find a way to stop it from unraveling.
November 1, 1893.
This home Dean Larkson of L.I.T. permitted my dear Sybil and me to build near the academy, so happy once, so full of joy, in a time that feels long lost, is now full of nothing more than screaming and tormenting headaches. Sybil leaves for days at a time with no note and no sign of intention to return. She angers far too quickly. And I cannot bring her to stop with her obsession. She continues to read about them and study their ways. Everything she can possibly get her hands on. And I think she may even visit the human realm to investigate recent believed sightings. I told her that such business is for the Vontex to investigate. She refused to listen to reason. She even claimed the Vontex were too weak to take on such an enemy. That it must be done from inside. I adamantly refused to hear such nonsense. I cannot protect my wife from her curiosities or her mind. Her persistence once attracted me. Now it frightens me. One cannot stare into an abyss of utter darkness and not expect it to consume them, body and soul. Eventually, the darkness will swallow all within its reach.
I turned more pages. Edward noted his visions. They began to disturb him on a deeper level each night to the point where he didn’t sleep. His handwriting became nearly illegible. Until a single entry caught my attention.
January 19th, 1894
My life, my breath, my reason, has been stolen from me. I received word from Dean Larkson of L.I.T. that Sybil has been found. After a fortnight of vanishing with not so much as a note or a single declarative sentence of her intention to return, Dean Larkson summoned me to his study to tell me Sybil would not be back. I nearly fell into the chair he offered me, expecting to hear of my wife’s demise. Larkson informed me that she suffered a fate worse than death. She didn’t disappear because she died. She disappeared because she was believed to have committed treason against our kind. She joined the Dolch Erbe. I fear she may be lost forever to an enemy I’m not equipped to fight. For even if I find her and somehow force her to see reason, she has committed a crime for which there is no return.
I blinked a few times and reread the entry multiple times. Edward saw the signs before him but couldn’t stop his wife from falling prey to the Dolch Erbe. First the markings on her skin, then her change in attitude, the disappearances, then finally word that she had done the unthinkable and joined the Dolch Erbe. There was nothing anyone could do. Or perhaps nothing they knew they could do.
I flipped the journal to the final few entries to the back, skimming over the various paragraphs of what looked like the musings of a man left with nothing but a bottomless pit for a soul. He was tormented by his visions, many of them about Sybil. He saw her do things he didn’t want to see. Things he couldn’t fathom or stomach his wife doing. But most of all, the more he studied the visions and revisited them in his sleep, the more his notes became erratic. The details were numerous and practically chicken scratch on countless pages. He noted the angle that she studied, the facial expressions of Sybil’s victims as she found and tormented lycan, the way she wielded weapons, and the new ways she manipulated her golden magic.
‘Golden magic? Like Nurse Roslyn? Was Sybil a kruxa witchling?’
He noted the changes in her. The way she used to be versus the mannerisms and viciousness she developed. Every part of her seemed to forsake what she once was. As if she was another person entirely.
June 27th, 1894
My Sybil, if I may be so bold as to still call the person that is only my Sybil in appearance, has been captured by the vixra. She is to stand trial before the council. She will surely be executed. Not for joining the Dolch Erbe, but for hunting down Dean Larkson and murdering him. He was found torn to pieces deep in the forest inside northwest Austria-Hungary. Only the parts the animals didn’t care for remained. He was identified by his pocket watch and the crest of the academy still pinned to his blood-stained collar. I didn’t need the telegram that carried the message to know the gruesome details, for my dreams haunted me weekly with the knowledge of what was coming. I revisited it endlessly, observing every angle and detail. I begged Dean Larkson not to leave. My efforts were meaningless. All that I once knew has been lost to the Dolch Erbe. I leave this entry now to travel to Budapest to see Sybil for one final goodbye before her sentencing. I need to see the look in her eyes. The expression that haunts my memory from my visions must be observed in the flesh. I must know if any shred of my Sybil remains. For if it does not, it shall confirm the one thing I’ve suspected an
d feared from the start of her obsession with this evil residing in the world. The Dolch Erbe doesn’t recruit by finding willing allies. They recruit by forever destroying their enemies. My Sybil didn’t leave me willingly. She was transformed into something else. Someone else. In truth, I may have lost my Sybil long before I realized a change had occurred.
That was the final entry. There was nothing more. No writing on what happened or if Edward received the verification he was looking for. Perhaps he was so heartbroken that he couldn’t write anymore. Either way, his pain and anguish were enough to disturb me to my core. It also gave me information that I desperately needed and couldn’t find from anyone else.
There was a chance that my brother didn’t willingly betray the lycan. The Dolch Erbe might have forced him into submission and changed him the way they did to Sybil Thornbrooke.
‘Lothar was the one who recommended this book. He must have read it. Does he know this?’
This was why Lothar agreed to help me. He knew my suspicion might very well be correct. The Dolch Erbe wasn’t finding willing recruits. They were forcing their hand. But how? Why? Did Lothar want me to see this for myself?
If Lothar read this notebook from cover to cover then he knew what I did. And he might have been sending me a message. Which was either to stop myself before I got in too deep or that my brother fell into something that was beyond his control.
I closed the notebook and tucked it away just in time for Alina to come back through the thick wooden door to our dorm room. I could smell her before she even put the key into the outdoor lock.
Resist Page 3