by K.N. Lee
Melina crawled out of the earth, her eyes the flat black of Death's power made flesh. The power pulsed harder for a moment, the red darkening to a matching oil black shade, before it ended. On her knees, the girl blinked and looked around, head turning first one way then another taking in the sight before her. When her eyes fell on Cassandra, her mouth dropped into a deep frown which lengthened her years on the Earth. A shadow slipped out around the young woman, as if wings had settled upon her back without appearing themselves. In her hand, the scythe of Death's office appeared and she stood up.
"I am going to kill you."
Cassandra, her smile vicious, stood up and dusted herself off.
"You may wish to see to your own first."
Grimm breathed, one last time, a gurgle of bloody breath before his eyes blanked into the glassyness of a doll. Holding him, Phoebe let herself cry, a scream captive behind her lips.
The smoke of Canenda reformed at his sister's elbow and he tugged at her urgently. Melina advanced on the pair and they started to fade.
"I challenge you," Melina screamed. "In the Realm of Time, I will meet you and there you will die. I will have your HEAD!"
They were gone.
When she dropped down next to Phoebe, the older woman looked at her with tear filled eyes.
"Welcome back," she said.
"Thank you." Melina stopped looking at her but rather at the empty body of the man in her arms. The thin line of blue-gray smoke trickled up from his lips. Leaning over, Melina pressed her lips to his, drawing the smoke of him into herself. There was another nearby, she could feel it, but for now, Connor Volun, the former bearer of the ring of Life was of no interest to her. With a slow hand, she closed the eyes of Alion Grimm.
"He came back to me."
Phoebe shifted the body in her arms until she could kiss him herself.
"He came back to me, again."
"I was wrong, Mom."
Melina leaned against her, putting her head against her Mother's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
With a nod, Phoebe acknowledged Melina's words before saying.
"There was another one. I think they got him."
"A man with a shock of white hair, he ran into you on the street. Cassandra was chasing him. Grimm knew. Now I know." Melina reached into Grimm's bloodstained jacket and pulled the purple page of the Kumon from its hiding place. "Just like I know he took this and that he knew those two before they ever came into my life."
Melina stood up and folded the page once again, sticking it inside her shirt, pulling it away from her skin as she did.
"Just like I know he loved both of us with all his heart, even in the end. Stay with him."
The business of finding Connor Volun, who now looked up at the sky with bulging dead eyes of his own, suffocated by the smoke of Canenda, went quickly. Melina breathed him in as was her duty and felt the fear and confusion of his last moments running through her body like bugs on her skin. He hadn't been a particularly brave one, but he hadn't deserved to die this way. There was another one, Melina could feel her at a distance, like a voice singing in another room of a large mansion, maybe no more than an echo.
"Chance," she said lightly. The grass swept against the edges of her jeans seemed to confirm her thinking. "That leaves only the ring of Time and the Melesan says he never gave his out, which means it's probably still in the realm of Time somewhere."
Melina shoved her hands in her pockets and started walking back through the trees toward the ritual circle. Halfway across the circle, she felt the tug of the ring of life where it lay in the grass forgotten. Picking it up, she slipped it on and the third ring joined with the first two, the skull of Death seeming to grow longer with each addition. Melina smiled at the thought. Let Death grow stronger. She would need it, wouldn't she?
Phoebe hadn't moved. Grimm still lay dead in her arms. Above, rain threatened, but that was all it did. On the horizon was the suggestion of a storm coming in, the sky darkening toward night.
The rain would wash away the blood.
"Phoebe, we have to move him. It's going to rain."
"I know," she said without moving.
"Mom," Melina said the word again even if it felt foreign on her tongue. "We have to move Dad inside." Mom and Dad. Melina had never had either. A mother she had been in possession of one of those once, she was dead. Now she had a Mom who was in shock and a Dad who was dead. She put her hand on PhoebePhoebe's shoulder and shook her. "Come on, please."
The woman rose, the red bloom of Grimm's blood darkening on her clothes already, and began to bodily drag the man across the ground. Melina picked up his legs and together they carried him back to the Coven house, stopping several times before they reached it.
Rain splatted heavily against the leaves of the trees and the eaves of the house but they finally made it to the backdoor of the kitchen. The pair weren't soaked through, but wet enough. They struggled with the body up the stairs, then down into the cellar. PhoebePhoebe sat down next to the body of her beloved and picked up his hand.
"He has to be prepared," she said to no one at all.
"I don't know how."
"You don't have time," Phoebe said. "You have an appointment to kill that heartless bitch." Not one change in tone, not even a rise in anger; a simple statement of fact from the mouth of a woman who had previously chided Melina for her use of language. "She blamed him. Blamed him for my mother and for Patrick."
Melina shook her head.
"He gave her the curse they used on the family, but he didn't know what was going to happen. Just like he didn't know you were alive or that I was ever born."
Phoebe started to cry again and this time she did scream, the ache in her heart too much to bear without a sound any longer. For several long minutes, Phoebe's pain was the only sound in the secret room in the cellar where the family kept the worst of their magic. When it subsided, Melina knelt down across Grimm's body from her and without looking, she put both of her hands on the body itself.
"I'm going to get her for this. She and hers are going to pay for everything they've done, this I promise."
"I love you," was Phoebe's response before she shut her eyes and pressed her forehead against the chilling skin of her lover. "I love you both. Come back to me alive."
Melina left her mother in the cellar with a corpse. Inside her head, Grimm was quiet, but still alive. His most recent memories were clear in Melina's head, so clear they pricked at her like actual experience: the lack of understanding of knowing PhoebePhoebe's face but not knowing it, knowing Cassandra and fearing her without reason, the strange man who had entered his life and changed everything. The awareness he was in love with a face he barely knew.
Yes, Cassandra had a great deal to answer for.
Absently rubbing her left hand and the rings on it, Melina wondered if she might find Lester somewhere in the halls of the Dead. She hadn't felt him die, but Gergot said the wilds were different, that maybe she wouldn't be able to. If she didn't find him, well, that would be one more thing Cassandra and her friend had to answer for, now wouldn't it?
She mounted the stairs one at a time, knowing she was going to take a shower, get some sleep, and then she had a date in a graveyard.
To Live among those who Live No More is the Only Way into Death.
~The End~
About the Author
Alledria Hurt is a Northern born, Southern transplant with a penchant for the darker side of life. The author of the Fate Circle Saga trilogy as well as several others, she started writing seriously in the 8th grade, though she would never show any of her work from that era. She had the pleasure of graduating from college in sunny Savannah, Georgia with a degree in English Literature and a minor in Women’s Studies. Both of these influence her writing in varying ways. Alledria is married with one cat, Uhura, and living in Savannah, Georgia.
Join her newsletter at her website: http://www.alledriahurt.com
Also By Alledria Hurt
Ob
jects (short stories)
Dark King Rising
Chains of Fate (Fate Circle Saga I)
Blades of Fate (Fate Circle Saga II)
Ruins of Fate (Fate Circle Saga III)
October Sky (short story)
Harmony (short story)
Wearing His Ring (She Becomes Death I)
Winning His Kingdom (She Becomes Death III)
Marradith, Darkly
Lori Titus
A broken deal with a powerful demon has consequences for Rafael and those he loves; a parallel dimension where his life's work of loyalty and heroism was undone. Can he repair the damage and make it back home?
Prologue
“I have taken back his soul,” Xia said.
“He gave it willingly?” Adam asked. “Without reservation?”
She glanced away from his face then. “I threatened his wife. He gave it up then.”
Adam shook his head. This simpleton child, for all the accolades their kind gave her, knew nothing. His experience in the reclamation of souls spanned millennia longer than her existence.
“You know that he comes from a long, and powerful line of warlocks, don’t you? Despite the contract, one must be careful. It’s been centuries since the agreement was first made, and his collection far overdue. If some slight thing were to go wrong, there’s just no telling…. I don’t suppose he spoke any words that you didn’t recognize? An incantation?”
“I know what I am doing,” she replied, trembling. A sound, like claws against a chalkboard, burst from her mouth. Blood tears spilled from her eyes. Adam drew back. He laughed. Her histrionics didn’t impress him.
“I have one question for you then,” Adam said. “If you’ve taken his soul, why hasn’t the body died? Don’t worry, Xia. I’ll find him.”
Part I
The wind blew. Cold crept into his flesh; he could not even shiver. His eyes were heavy. In the darkness, he barely saw a sliver of moon. There were trees above and a pristine, black sky. Closing his eyes, floating in the depth of a greater darkness, calm washed over him.
“Rafael, get up.”
A female voice seemed to echo from somewhere behind him. The voice was familiar, though he could not place it. It didn’t matter, he decided. Nothing did anymore.
“Rafi.”
The familiar nickname made him think of his wife. Fiona. Bright red hair and sky blue eyes. He cringed. Just as he remembered her name, she evaporated before his mind’s eye, a wisp of smoke and fancy.
“Damn you.”
The voice was closer now. Who was this woman? She seemed to be whispering in his ear. He felt the soft warmth of her breath against his cheek as she bent over him. There was a pause. She was moving around him now, carefully placing her steps in the snow. He could tell by the sound, the crunch as she moved. Then was a whoosh of sound. A boot connected to his ribs. He screamed as the pain shot through his side. He cried out, half cursing, half sobbing. A hot flush of liquid bubbled up from his stomach, acid burning his mouth.
“Fuck you!” he yelled, spitting, getting to his knees. His voice echoed back through the emptiness, the dead trees and their burden of snow.
A feminine giggle erupted into a full laugh. “You wish,” she said. “Get up.”
It took a while for him to stand, and eventually she had to help him. His sight was blurry. He couldn’t tell if it was the snow or if there was something wrong with his eyes. The woman slung his arm around her shoulders and half dragged him forward. She did not speak, other than to utter curses under her breath. She wore a long black coat with a hood that concealed her face. Her voice was familiar. He just couldn’t place it.
“Who are you?” he said again.
“How long were you in the snow?” she asked. There was a tinge of concern in her voice. And then she sounded irritated again. “How did you manage to get yourself lost out here?”
He couldn’t answer her and didn’t try. Eventually, a house came into view between the trees. It was built like an old fashioned lodge. He shuddered, suddenly realizing how he craved the warmth and comfort that would be found inside. A hot shower, a bed. Maybe something to eat. He felt oddly empty, though not hungry in the usual way. Once they made it through the door together, his female companion steered him towards a chair and he fell into it, limp as a rag doll. Inside, it was a beautiful modern house. The huge living room was sparsely decorated; two leather couches, a fireplace, and a flat screen television above it. The hardwood floors gleamed. The fireplace was already lit, but the fire burned low. The woman removed her coat. With her back to him, she stoked the fire on the grate, speaking softly.
“I thought maybe your car got stuck somewhere on the road in, Rafael, but I had no idea that you were stupid enough to get out the car and walk up here on your own. If I’d found you any later you’d have frozen to death, for sure.”
Rafael watched her movements in fascination. Her long hair was wavy and laid in curls along the middle of her back. There was a gold necklace on her wrist, and it moved back and forth as she manipulated the poker.
“Treacherous weather,” he muttered, just because he did not know what else to say. He knew his name. He was Rafael Castillo. But he had no idea what he was doing here, or how he’d gotten into this mess in the first place.
The woman turned to him then. The planes of her face were different. But the stance of her round mouth, her dark eyes were the same. She had aged. She seemed taller than he remembered, but part of that could have been the boots she wore.
“Dad wouldn’t have been too happy about you freezing steps from our doorway,” Marradith said. “Not with all the guests he has coming.”
“Guests?” Rafael muttered.
“I know that he invited you,” Marradith spat, crossing her arms. “Snap out of it, will you?”
“I’d like to,” he replied. “Have you got some liquor? I could use a drink.”
“In this house? Of course. I guess you want me to go fetch it, right? Why do I always have to be the maid around this place?” she sniped.
She walked out. Rafael felt like he wanted to run behind her, shake her, demand to know what was happening. But he couldn’t do that. In fact, he wasn’t sure he could even get up again without help. Now that he was in a warm room his body ached with all kinds of injuries… his back, knees, and his left side where Marradith had planted her boot into his rib. His head felt fuzzy.
When Marradith came back, she was carrying a bottle of whiskey. She poured a glass and shoved it at him unceremoniously. He watched as she poured her own glass and swallowed half of it in one gulp.
“Are you old enough to drink?” he asked.
She smiled then, a grim twist of her mouth. “I know I was nine the last time you saw me. Yes, I’m old enough to drink! I’m twenty-three.”
“Time…um, goes fast,” he mumbled. “I guess I was thinking you were more like… seventeen.”
“Whatever.”
Rafael took a long draught of whiskey before speaking again. “Where’s Granthem?” he asked.
Marradith tensed. He saw her back straighten; if she were a cat her hackles would have been raised. “Granthem? Why do you mention him?”
Rafael caught something in the tone of her voice that he didn’t like. He sat up a little straighter. “Because wherever you are, he’s never far behind.”
She got up from her chair. In one liquid movement she stood over him, with a knife at his throat. “I don’t know how you know about that,” she whispered. “I don’t care if someone told you, or if you divined it by magic. But you don’t utter a word. Not a mention of that man’s name, and especially not to my Dad. I might have grown up calling you my uncle, but I’ve no compunction about killing you. We have an understanding?”
Rafael nodded in agreement.
She moved away from him and slid the knife into a sheath beneath her skirt. She smiled.
“Good.”
The doorbell rang just then.
Marradith ran for the do
or, and Rafael suppressed the urge, again, to follow. She was not the girl that he remembered, but she was at least somewhat familiar. Rafael heard her call out Dad, and he felt hopeful. If that was Paul at the door, that meant there would be another rational adult around, someone that could tell him what was going on.
He stood up and walked as far as the hallway, and saw a man coming towards him. The man was thin and tall, with blond hair that skimmed the collar of his coat. He frowned at Rafael, and then laughed.
“You look horrible, man. Mari told me she found you face down in the snow. Is that true?” Leighton Ryder patted Rafael on the shoulder, laughing heartily.
“Mari? You mean Marradith?” he asked.
“I told, you Dad. He’s still loopy.” Marradith cut her eyes at him, a warning look about the little secret they shared.
Rafael felt as if the room were spinning. He walked back into the den and sat down again, this time closer to the fire. He’d never met Leighton Ryder, but he’d seen enough pictures to know him. Leighton had been dead… for months. And what was this about Marradith calling him Dad? The Marradith that Rafael knew had only met her great- grandfather once- shortly before she killed him.
“You must get some rest and pull yourself together, Rafael. Mari, be a sweetheart and show him his room.” Leighton asked.
“Yes,” she sighed.
“That’s my girl,” Leighton said, and planted a kiss on her cheek.
Marradith brought Rafael to a small, cozy room with its own fireplace and a window that looked over the back yard of the house. She helped him onto the small couch, and began taking off his boots.