Her eyes closed. She blocked out the rich scents of blood and sweat from the cramped back room. Tariq’s words dimmed until they were distant and then not at all.
Aerwen’s heart searched for Wezlei’s.
The telltale soft beats pulsed in her ears within moments. It was open, even if he didn’t know how or why, or what it meant. She prayed he would understand the language, for she had no other means of sharing details of her strategy with him. And she needed Wezlei, or her plan would fail. We live together, or we die together.
Wezlei. Hear me if you can.
No response. Aerwen would not lose hope. She wouldn’t return to the outside world yet.
Wezlei. This is a safe place for us. He can’t find us here.
Aerwen? How? She almost heard it in his youthful voice. Her own heart raced with joy.
Right now, that is not important. What matters is that we are not going to die here today, my love. But what I’m about to do, I cannot do alone.
Tell me how to help. I can keep Tariq talking. He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.
For now, yes. But I need you to draw from a place within yourself where you’re only yet learning. I need your true strength, Wezlei. I know it’s unfair to ask you to know how to do this without being taught, but if this doesn’t work, we will die here, if not in body then in spirit. Of that, I am certain.
Much as I don’t hate the idea of rutting with you like a wild animal for eternity, I’d rather do it at our own pace.
Aerwen’s heart skipped a beat to hear him play. She needed him here, where he was closer to himself than the prisoner Tariq had tried to create with his beatings and fear.
What am I looking for, exactly? Inside myself?
A strength born of need, she answered. Speaking with Wezlei, their hearts connected, and she felt a new surge of strength burst through her as if she had never been more herself than in this moment. When you see my own magic begin to take hold, ask yourself, your greatest, deepest self, for help. Call upon your heart and your courage and turn it into a physical manifestation of strength. I know how that sounds, but I also know how it feels. I have faith you can do this or I wouldn’t ask it of you.
Wezlei’s heart went quiet for several seconds. How long do we have?
Now. Be vigilant!
Wezlei, undoubtedly, believed it a great insult that his worst moments would happen in his own shop.
Aerwen thought this could not be more fortuitous.
Days earlier, they had moved half his crops to pots to prepare for the created fall and winter seasons coming up in the Complex. Some would go dormant for the seasonal change, others would die and resurrect in the springtime. For now, hundreds of displaced plants lined the shelves above his sink, and in the corner of the floor, beyond where the cluster of Dhampir stood awaiting orders.
Outside of the farming areas and the central treed area in the Forest Quarter, there was nowhere else in the Complex where Dryads were surrounded by more of what gave them strength.
Aerwen called upon the flora with every last inch of her soul. She beseeched it with her heart’s language, asking for a return to herself, to her homeland. To deliver the two of them from an act that could end their race in this small room.
The belladonna twitched first. A slight bend in the stalk, like a whisper of a breeze. Next came the roses. The red petals pulsed with blood-red energy; their thorns glinted like steel weapons. The ferns dipped in half in response. The fronds tickled the floor, growing in length as they sneaked across the cement toward the Dhampir.
A row of lavender sprang to life like a line of soldiers standing at attention. Opium swayed languidly nearby, a sultry predator with a very specific tool in its arsenal.
One after another, every plant, bush, and flower awakened, awaiting their instruction.
Call to them, Wezlei. Beckon them to do your bidding!
Aerwen didn’t wait to see if he understood. She couldn’t. They had no time, for Tariq’s motley crew were anxious to be on time for their shift at Intra. Tariq’s influence only held so far before they would break off, consequences be damned.
My children! Her heart cried. Arise, and avenge us!
The three Dhampir in the back were the first to fall. Vines snaked around their ankles, pulling them off balance, while the ferns and roses bound around and around their torsos, lengthening, sharpening, squeezing. By the time the others turned toward the chaos, the trio’s faces were blue.
But Tariq, his Necromancer, and his Punisher had no chance to intervene. A Venus Flytrap sailed across the room, and as it flew, its tiny teeth widened into a jaw of two dozen sharpened knives. The plant came upon the Punisher so swiftly that the creature’s head still bore the expression of shock as it sailed into the wall with a squishy thud.
The Necromancer took steps to flee, but a vine yanked him back, pulling him deeper into the bedlam. Tariq whipped his head in every direction, searching for an assailant despite what unfolded before him. Only as the belladonna crept up his pant leg did his eyes widen and fall on Aerwen.
“You,” he accused. “You. You stop this at once, or I’ll make your life a nightmare, and you’ll never wake up from it.”
“Sure thing. You mean the last two years have been a dream?” Aerwen rose. Her arms lifted, the conductor of this madness. Metal burst through the air in sharp arrows as she shattered her bindings, one by one. “What a letdown to know you were holding back.”
Tariq’s head snapped around as ivy wound tight into thick braids, formed a noose around his neck, tightening and yanking him back and away from the prisoners. Pained screeching noises escaped his mouth, but Aerwen couldn’t make out words. She didn’t need to.
He had nothing left to say.
Aerwen turned and pressed her cheek to Wezlei’s. His eyes were closed in heavy sway, and she knew then, for certain, he had helped her incapacitate the assailants. She loved him at that moment more than any other time but also understood she would love him more once they were free of this place.
With the same rooted strength she’d used to burst her own shackles, she freed him of his. Wezlei fell into her arms, and her touch sent a surge of healing force through him. He bucked and backed away. A great light surrounded him as he gaped at her, open-mouthed, receiving the full impact of her healing love.
Behind them, the living creatures struggled against the growing army of plants. It had worked. But the effect would not last forever. Once they broke their focus, the plants would return to their source.
Aerwen pressed her hands against both sides of Wezlei’s face. “It’s time to end this. If we leave now, they will haunt us the remainder of our days.”
Wezlei nodded, his focus was torn between holding the plants to command and staring at her face as it swam in his vision.
“I know this is your life, my love. This shop means everything to you.”
“You are,” Wezlei struggled, then gasped for air. He was so strong but had used all his energy for her.
“Fire,” she whispered. “We have to burn it down.”
Wezlei looked past her at the horrors unfolding in the back of his shop. Aerwen caught the outside of his thoughts. This isn’t my life anymore.
He nodded and broke away. Wezlei disappeared into the front of the store, searching for something. She remembered he had a box with extra oil for his stoves, still unpacked.
Aerwen turned back to her so-called husband and the creatures who had enabled him to steal two years of her life. She scanned the shelves behind where Tariq was bound by seven or eight species of plants and found what she wanted.
A vial of all the worst of what Uni Flora Obscura could cultivate. Oleander, belladonna, the fruit of the manchineel tree. Only those truly seeking to punish had asked Wezlei to make it. He had never sold the concoction but kept one on hand. He couldn’t say why. He just knew he should.
A Dryad always knows.
Aerwen reached past her furious, struggling husband and pulled the vial into her
hand. Very carefully, she uncapped it and recoiled at the vicious scent.
She said nothing. She had no words to say. Aerwen threw the contents over Tariq’s face and backed away slowly, watching as he first seemed confused and then plagued with the terrible understanding of all the horrible ways his body would die in the next few minutes. As his face slid from his skull, it melted down the length of his chin and dropped in sizzling splatters to his chest.
Aerwen turned. She didn’t need to witness his misery the way he always chose to see hers. It gave her no pleasure. Only closure.
Wezlei stepped forward with the oil and a torch. His chest heaved with his soaring heartbeat, but when Aerwen tried to take the items from him, he pulled them back gently and shook his head.
“Let me do this one thing for you, Aerwen. I need to.”
She kissed Wezlei, the love of her life, her heart, on the lips and left him to finish cleaning up the last of her horrible memories.
Epilogue- Wezlei
June 4, 5 AS
A fresh spring rain pattered outside the window of their small apartment. Whether the drizzle was a product of the godlike Ama Seldova or not, it soothed the two Dryads as they lay wrapped in blankets, their daughter swaddled at Aerwen’s breast.
Deirdre, named for Wezlei’s mother, cooed and awed at the room, blissfully unaware of anything more serious than colors and shapes. Wezlei had never seen anything so beautiful and pure in all his life. His heart had never been so full. Looking back, he had a hard time understanding how he’d gone through life at all without the two pieces of his heart now pressed against him.
“One year,” Aerwen said with a light sigh. She brushed her lips against the downy fuzz of Deirdre’s soft scalp. “And then we are free. Truly free.”
Wezlei felt less confined in the Complex than Aerwen, but he had not lived a life of such physical autonomy. His world outside was small and safe. Hers knew no limits. With the threat of Tariq extinguished, there was nothing left here to hurt him, so he was less rushed about the future.
Aerwen, by contrast, claimed the Complex was her gilded cage. Wezlei understood she probably meant this in another way than literal since she had been brought here against her will in the first place.
Neither the Intra or the Ama Seldova, in the series of interviews Aerwen and Wezlei gave following the explosion at Uni Flora Obscura, showed any suspicion toward the couple. The questions were all the ones Wezlei might have expected out of formality. Nothing serious, nothing indicating they were suspects under investigation. Within days, the authorities had closed the case. Two weeks later, he and Aerwen began construction on his replacement store and repairs on the two adjoining businesses that were damaged in the blast. Not another word was said.
Months later, one of the investigators, a Warlock, stopped in the store. Wezlei didn’t recognize him, but he learned the creature was a barkeep often hassled by some of the less-savory Intra. He’d casually browsed items in the store, but it was apparent the Warlock wasn’t there to purchase anything. Finally, he stated his purpose.
I come on behalf of many of us in the coven. We extend our thanks to you. You are always welcome in any of our establishments.
Wezlei also came to learn it had been a Witch who kept the investigation short and simple, as appreciation for the problem that had been solved for everyone. She had also paved the way for Aerwen and Wezlei to apply for a companionship license so Aerwen could move in. Such a lovely couple, she had said, strange to them at the time given how Witches felt about Humans, but now so clear.
Aerwen and Wezlei were bonafide heroes.
“Where should we go first?” Wezlei asked. This wasn’t a new conversation, but a regular one of daydreams and happy plans. A broad smile erupted as he entertained Deirdre with the smallest of gestures; scrunching and widening his face, blowing out his cheeks. She giggled and cooed.
“More and more, I think we should seek out your mother. I would love to meet her, of course, but I believe she must know something about your father’s whereabouts.”
“What if he really is in Arda doing as the Council requested?”
Aerwen shook her head. “None of us would go so willingly. I believe… I realize I don’t know your father, but I know our race… that he may have left to protect you and your mother. But I think he’s out there, somewhere, looking for others. As we should. We have our life together now, but what future awaits Deirdre?”
Wezlei grinned. “What you’re saying is, you wouldn’t be too terribly keen on her settling for a Human.”
Aerwen landed a light smack on his arm. “Hush, you. And you’re one of us, too, remember? Your false wounding doesn’t fool me.” She shifted Deirdre, who had fallen asleep. “I want her to have options, is all. I want her to understand who she is and have a chance to know her people.”
“Do you really think there’s many out there still? Or do you believe the rumors of the Dhampir killing us off are true?”
“They’re not false,” Aerwen said. Her expression darkened, but as she rested her lips against her daughter’s forehead again, the darkness faded. “But we are a resilient people, Wezlei. Surely some of us fled Arda and found other havens. I believe the truth falls somewhere in the middle, and we will find more Dryads than we think.”
“I hope you’re right.” Because of his own situation, Wezlei also needed his daughter to know who she was. He never wanted her to be denied anything, least of all her right to understand her own heritage. And if his mother could lead them to his father, who might lead them to more Dryads? It seemed the best plan out of all the ones they’d discussed.
“And,” Aerwen said, twining her fingers through Wezlei’s as she pulled his hand to her belly. “Deirdre is going to have a sibling soon.”
Wezlei’s jaw swung open, and a sound filled with shock and absolute joy echoed in the tiny room. “When? How long? How soon?”
“Oh, now you’re in a hurry!” Aerwen teased. She squeezed his hand. “Two months, maybe. We’ll be leaving the Complex with two children, not one, Deirdre and her brother.”
“Brother? And how would you know this?”
Aerwen leaned her head into the curve between his head and neck, nuzzling. Tranquility stole over him. He sensed all three—no four—heartbeats connected in strong symbiosis. “Close your eyes, Wezlei. Let us speak now and forever with our hearts.”
Thank you so much for taking the time to read my novella from The Complex!
All reviews are appreciated.
If you would like to read more from The Complex series, please click on the link below:
The Complex Website
Sarah is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Paranormal Southern Gothic series, The House of Crimson & Clover, born of her combined passion for New Orleans, and the mysterious complexity of human nature. Her work has been described as rich, emotive, and highly dimensional.
An unabashed geek, Sarah enjoys studying obscure subjects like the Plantagenet and Ptolemaic dynasties, and settling debates on provocative Tolkien topics such as why the Great Eagles are not Gandalf's personal taxi service. Passionate about travel, Sarah has visited over twenty countries collecting sparks of inspiration (though New Orleans is where her heart rests). She's a self-professed expert at crafting original songs to sing to her very patient pets, and a seasoned professional at finding ways to humiliate herself (bonus points if it happens in public). When at home in Oregon, her husband and best friend, James, is very kind about indulging her love of fast German cars and expensive lattes.
Follow the links below for more information on each title, as well as purchase links for all vendors.
Crimson & Clover Series Prequels
The Storm and the Darkness | Shattered (novella)
The House of Crimson & Clover
Volume I: The Illusions of Eventide | Volume II: Bound (novella) |Volume III: Midnight Dynasty | Volume IV: Asunder |
Volume V: Empire of Shadows | Volume VI: Myths of Midwinter | Volume VI
I: The Hinterland Veil | Volume VIII: The Secrets Amongst the Cypress | Volume IX: Within the Garden of Twilight
La Famille Lagniappes (Character Bonus Stories)
Flourish: The Story of Anne Fontaine | Shame: The Story of Jonathan St. Andrews | Banshee: The Story of Giselle Deschanel
Crimson & Clover Lagniappes (Bonus Stories)
St. Charles at Dusk: The Story of Oz and Adrienne | Surrender: The Story of Oz and Anasofiya |
Fire & Ice: Remy and Fleur Fontenot | Dark Blessing: The Landry Triplets | Pandora’s Box: Jasper and Pandora Broussard |
The Menagerie: Cyler| A Band of Heather: Colleen and Noah | The Ephemeral: Autumn Sullivan
Box Sets
Lagniappes Collection I | The House of Crimson & Clover Boxed Set Volumes I-IV | The Prequels | Lagniappes Collection II
And many more to come…
"Cradit’s words flow in prosaic candor like a melody of the ages: pronounced, patient, lingering, and beautiful.”- Dionne Charlet, New Orleans Examiner
"Her (Cradit's) talent for creating atmosphere rivals Daphne du Maurier. This is modern Gothic with fierce smarts. Can't say it enough. I loved this book."- Christopher Rice, New York Times Bestselling Author of The Heavens Rise
"It takes a great writer like Cradit to weave the threads of so many characters into an enjoyable story. I have no doubt that the name Cradit will one day be associated with the echelon of gothic fiction writers, namely Radcliffe, Blackwood, and Rice."- Becket, Bestselling Author of The Blood Vicicanti and Assistant to Anne Rice
The Last Dryad: The Complex Page 8