Serafina and the Black Cloak

by Robert Beatty

  She moved swiftly through the maze. She imagined she’d see the ghost of Anastasia Rostonova searching the paths for her little white dog.

  The Man in the Black Cloak followed her down one pathway after another.

  “Why are you running away from me, child?” he asked in a hideous, raspy voice.

  Too frightened to answer, she just kept moving. When she looked over her shoulder to see how much of a lead she’d gained, she saw him coming up behind her. In the long, flowing black cloak, he flew a foot off the ground, standing erect, his arms stretched out like a wraith, his huge bloodstained hands reaching to grab her.

  Her breath caught in her throat so severely that she couldn’t even scream. Terrified, she sprinted forward with a burst of speed.

  To stop was to die, and it was far too early to die.

  Seeing a hole in the bushes, she dove through it. She left the manicured paths of the Rambles behind her and ran into the wild forest.

  Tearing through the underbrush, she made quick time. She ducked behind trees. She scurried into and through thickets. She delved into the deepest shadows of the forest. She ran, and ran, and ran, deep into the darkest night, her nemesis close on her tail.

  The thickness of the forest made it difficult for her pursuer. The trees grew so close together that an adult could barely squeeze between them. The spiny thickets were so bristling with thorns that they were nearly impenetrable. But with her smaller size and her agility, she could move easily, darting betwixt and between, scrambling below and leaping above. She moved as swift as a weasel through the brush. The forest was her ally.

  She was terrified that he’d catch her and kill her, but she didn’t want to lose him completely, either. When he fell behind or lost her trail in the snow, she slowed down to let him catch up. Deep into the woods she led him. She had studied the way and formed a map in her mind. But even with the shortcut she planned to take, they still had miles to go.

  As she ran, she kept thinking about Braeden, her pa, and the Vanderbilts. She kept thinking about what had happened to Clara, Anastasia, and Nolan. She had to defeat Mr. Thorne. She had to kill him. Her only chance lay ahead of her.

  She was out of breath and desperately tired. Her legs ached, and her lungs felt like she was breathing through steel wool. She wasn’t sure how much farther she could run. But then she finally saw what she’d been running for.

  Gravestones.

  There were hundreds of them standing in the silver light of the moon beneath the bare branches of the gnarled old winter trees.

  This was the place that terrified her, but she knew she must come.

  She ran through the old cemetery. An eerie fog was rising among the twisted branches of the ancient trees and the decaying monuments of the dead.

  She looked behind her. The Man in the Black Cloak flew toward her out of the mist, his bloody hands reaching for her.

  Serafina ran with all her heart.

  She dashed past Cloven Smith, the murdered man.

  She leapt over the two sisters lying side by side.

  She raced through the sixty-six Confederate soldiers.

  She arrived, finally, panting and exhausted, at the small glade with the statue of the winged angel.

  Serafina could hear the Man in the Black Cloak crashing through the brush behind her. She had only seconds before he arrived.

  Fear flooded through her veins. She became sickeningly aware that she was bringing two great forces together and she was between them. From one direction or another, there was a good chance that death would soon be upon her.

  She ran to the edge of the moonlit glade where the old willow lay with its upturned roots. The thick trunk and heavy branches of the fallen master of the forest swirled with ghostly mist. Its delicate leaves, somehow still growing bright green in the winter, glistened with the starlight.

  Praying that the great yellow-eyed prowler of the night was out hunting, Serafina found the hole in the ground beneath the roots. She dropped down onto her hands and knees and crawled into the mountain lion’s den.

  She came face-to-face with the two spotted cubs, who stared at her with large, frightened eyes as she moved toward them.

  “Where’s your momma?” she asked them.

  When the cubs saw that it was her, they jumped up in relief. They moved toward her, smelling her and rubbing themselves on her body.

  She crawled past the two cubs and curled into a little ball in the earthen den.

  Now the trap was laid.

  Just as she had done when she crawled inside the machine in Biltmore’s basement, she made herself very still and very quiet.

  She steadied her lungs and her heart. She shut her eyes and concentrated, extending her senses outward into the forest.

  I know you’re out there someplace, hunting your domain. Where are you? Your cubs are in danger.…

  Serafina could feel it. Out there in the darkness of the woods beyond the graveyard, the mother lion paused in her hunting. She tilted her head at the sound of two intruders in the forest. Her forest. Her cubs were in danger. She turned and charged back toward her den with all her speed.

  The Man in the Black Cloak came into the angel’s glade and looked around him. “Where have you led me, dear child?” he said, trying to figure out which direction Serafina had gone. He circled the stone pedestal of the moss-covered angel. “Do you think you can hide from me, little rabbit?” he asked.

  I’m not a rabbit, Serafina thought fiercely. For a brief moment, she felt a sensation of triumph because it seemed like her plan was going to work. The Man in the Black Cloak would be left standing haplessly in the angel’s glade. He would have no idea where she’d gone. She had disappeared. She had escaped him.

  But then she remembered the snow. She had not accounted for the snow. Her tracks led straight to her hiding place. The tracks would betray her.

  “Ah…” the Man in the Black Cloak said when he saw the tracks. “There you are…”

  He walked over to the den, got down on his hands and knees, and looked inside. “I know you’re in there. Come on out, my dear child, before I become angry with you.”

  Serafina tried not to breathe. The Man in the Black Cloak reached deep inside the den, his bloody hand searching in the darkness. She could smell his horrible, rotting stench. The folds of his slithering cloak twisted and turned as it snaked its way through the opening, rattling in anticipation of the coming meal.

  Holding the cubs against her chest in terror, Serafina pulled back as far as she could go. She knew that if that man’s hand or the folds of his cloak grabbed her, he’d drag her out of the den and her life would end in the most hideous way.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, child…” he rasped as he reached for her.

  At that moment, all the power and ferocity of clawed mother-hood came ripping out of the woods. Enraged by the intruder at the mouth of her den, the lioness pounced upon his back. The terrific momentum of her attack rolled him to the ground. She struck her front claws into his back and chest even as she sunk her teeth into his neck and head.

  The Man in the Black Cloak shouted out in a shock of pain. He fought hard to defend himself from the powerful cat. He drew his dagger, but the lioness slashed his hand. Hissing and growling in fury, the lioness bit and clawed him repeatedly, mercilessly.

  The Man in the Black Cloak punched and kicked and tried to get to his feet, but the furious lioness was too fast and too strong. He didn’t have time to find the fallen dagger. He tried to slam her with a large branch, but she swatted him so hard with her razor-clawed paw that it ripped open his flesh and knocked him to the ground. Then she lunged at him and bit down on his neck, forcing him to the ground with her weight the way she would kill a deer. She held her powerful jaws clenched on his throat until he slowly stopped struggling and finally became still.

  The Man in the Black Cloak went limp.

  The lioness dropped him into a bloody black heap like the carcass of a dead animal.

  T
he trap had sprung. A rush of joy and relief poured through Serafina. Her plan had worked! She’d finally defeated the Man in the Black Cloak. She’d done it! She’d saved Braeden. She’d saved Biltmore. She’d really done it! Her skin tingled with excitement. She wished she could somehow magically communicate with Braeden from a distance and tell him what had happened. It almost felt like she could turn herself into a bird and fly away. She’d fly up into the sky like a whip-poor-will and do loopty loops in the clouds until she was too dizzy to fly anymore.

  Ecstatic, she began to crawl toward the entrance of the den so that she could run home, but it was too late.

  Death was upon her.

  The lioness, still fiercely angry, entered the den to kill the second intruder.

  Her.

  There was only one way in and out of the den, and the lioness was going to tear Serafina to shreds. The lioness would kill her the same way she had killed the first intruder. To the lioness, there was no difference between them.

  With a surge of panic, Serafina scrambled to the back of the den, trying desperately to get out of the lioness’s reach. She sucked air in and out of her lungs. Her legs were kicking and thrashing like the hooves of a panicked horse, but she had no place to go.

  The lioness came straight in. Her muscles bulged and rolled beneath her tan coat. Her eyes blazed. She held her mouth partly open. Her massive, sharp teeth gleamed. Her breaths froze in the frosty air as her sides heaved in and out. Steam rose off her body. As she pushed her way in toward Serafina, the lioness growled a low and menacing growl, fiercely determined to kill the creature that had invaded her den.

  Serafina cowered behind the cubs with her back against the earthen wall. She tried to brace herself, to stay strong, but she shook uncontrollably. Unable to escape, she pulled her legs up against her chest, ready to defend herself, ready to kick. She tightened her hands to scratch and claw. She snapped her teeth and snarled.

  Just as the lioness was about to lunge toward her and snap her neck, Serafina looked straight into the lioness’s face and screamed as loudly and violently as she could, her teeth bared and threatening, like a cornered bobcat. She wanted to let this lion know that she might be small, but she wasn’t going to die easy.

  Undeterred by Serafina’s defense, the mountain lion stared her down with her huge, penetrating yellow eyes. Serafina gasped. The cat’s eyes were the exact same color as her own.

  She looked into the cat’s face. And then, in the next second, she saw what appeared to be a flicker of recognition in the lioness’s eyes.

  The lioness hesitated, stopping just a few inches in front of her.

  She could see in the animal’s expression that the lioness was thinking the same thing she was: their eyes were the same.

  They weren’t predator and prey.

  They weren’t protector and intruder.

  They were connected.

  She looked into the lioness’s eyes, and the lioness looked into hers. There were no words between them. There could not be. But in that moment, there was understanding. There was a bond between them. They were the same. They were hunters. They were prowlers of the night.

  But even more than all that, they were kin.

  With her back crammed up against the rear wall of the den and her knees pulled up to her chest, Serafina stared at the mountain lion in amazement. Her heart pounded. Her body was folded up so tightly that she could only take short, shallow breaths.

  The lioness gazed at her with the most mesmerizing amber-gold eyes she had ever seen. How was it possible that they looked just like hers? Images and ideas flashed through her mind in a swirling confusion, but none of it made sense.

  The lioness took another step toward her.

  Serafina remained perfectly still, trying to breathe as steady as she could. She made no sudden movements.

  She saw an intelligence and awareness in the lioness’s eyes. They were filled with a gentleness and understanding far beyond that of a wild animal. She knew she could not speak to the lioness in words, but she yearned to.

  The lioness pushed her nose against Serafina’s shoulder and smelled her. The lioness’s breath was loud in her ears, her lungs sounding like a bellows, the air rushing in and out. The moisture around the lioness’s partially open mouth glistened, and her teeth shone. Her deep scent was both foreign and familiar to Serafina. She’d never smelled a lion in her life, but it smelled exactly the way she expected it would.

  As she looked at the lioness, she wished more than anything in the world that she could somehow communicate with her. She felt a deep longing to know what she was thinking and feeling in that moment.

  Serafina exhaled gently and then took in a breath and held it as she slowly raised her trembling hand and touched the side of the lioness’s head. She caressed the lioness’s fur.

  The lioness stared at her, her eyes locked on her, but the lioness did not move, she did not growl or bite, and Serafina began to breathe again.

  She stroked the side of the lioness’s head and then down her neck. The lioness rubbed her shoulder against Serafina’s body, and Serafina felt the power and weight of the animal against her, so much weight that it prevented her from breathing for several seconds and she almost panicked, but then the lioness moved again and she could breathe once more. When Serafina relaxed her folded knees, the lioness put her head against Serafina’s chest. Serafina touched the back of her neck and her ears. Then the lioness slowly leaned down and lay down beside her, with her cubs around her, and swished her long tail.

  Serafina held the fuzzy little mewing cubs in her arms and hugged them. She felt her chest swelling and her limbs tingling. She was filled with pride and happiness. The little lions were welcoming her—they loved her—and for a moment she was swept up with the feeling that she had finally come home.

  She thought about how she was different from other people, the seeing in the dark, the moving quietly, the hunting at night. She looked at the palm of her hand and opened her fingers, and then examined her fingertips one by one. Were they fingernails or were they claws? What was her connection to the lioness? Why did she feel like she belonged here?

  But the more she thought about it, the more ludicrous it became in her mind. She was a person. She was wearing clothes. She lived in a house full of human beings. And that’s where she wanted to be. She had to get back to Braeden and her pa and the world she knew, the world she loved.

  Clenching her teeth and shaking her head, she crawled out of the lioness’s den. She stumbled into the open glade and stood beneath the stars in utter confusion.

  She looked over at where the battle had taken place. The Black Cloak lay in a heap on the ground. Thorne’s bloody body lay beside it. His other clothing had been shredded by the lioness’s claws. Blood stained his white shirt. A large open wound bled at his side. His head and face were badly bitten and clawed. She could see his blood glistening, and she knew from watching rats die that glistening blood meant he wasn’t completely dead yet. But he soon would be. Sometimes you killed a dying rat, but other times you just let it die.

  Standing in the angel’s glade, she looked up at the sky and the trees, and all around her. She had won! She had defeated the Man in the Black Cloak! It felt like every muscle in her body was alive and moving. There was a part of her that felt elated, almost euphoric, like she was floating on air. But another part of her was deeply confused. She had solved one mystery only to be confronted with another. Why did she feel this way inside? And why hadn’t the lioness attacked her?

  “What does it all mean?” she asked aloud in frustration. She took a few steps, kicking her feet roughly through the snow. She was so sick of not knowing anything, not having the answers. “Tell me what it all means!” she shouted to the heavens.

  Put me on…came a raspy voice.

  Serafina looked around her.

  Put me on…

  She felt the words in their ancient, raspy voice more than she heard them, and she knew exactly where they were co
ming from. She looked at the Black Cloak, lying there on the ground beside Thorne’s body. The cloak lay crumpled in the snow by itself, torn from him by the force of the attack.

  Imagine knowing all things…

  “Shut up,” she told the cloak, her words spitting out of her like she was reprimanding an uppity rat she’d captured.

  Imagine being able to do anything you wanted to do…

  She gritted her teeth and snarled at it. “You’re dead! Now hush up!”

  There’s nothing to fear…

  Serafina felt the trembling agitation of pure fear growing deep within her. Every muscle in her body was telling her to flee, but she was too angry to go. She clenched her teeth. She wanted to fight. She wanted to win.

  Put me on…the raspy voice came again.

  She looked at the cloak. It was the cloak of power, the cloak of knowing. She felt an overwhelming desire to touch it. She wanted to hold it in her hands. She could feel it using its power to draw her in, and she didn’t care. She wanted the power.

  Imagine understanding and controlling everything around you…

  She took a step toward the cloak.

  Put me on…

  She reached down and picked up the Black Cloak. The satin material reflected the sheen of the moonlight as she turned it over in her hands. Despite the running through the thickets, the flying through the forest, and the battle with the mountain lion, the cloak wasn’t torn or dirtied in any way.

  She examined the cloak carefully, looking for any sign or symbol of the power that it contained. As she moved the material through her hands, it didn’t feel like a normal piece of clothing, but like a living, pulsing thing, like holding a giant snake.

  Put me on…the cloak said again in its low, raspy voice.

  She looked at the cloak’s silver clasp, which was engraved with an intricate design: a tight bundle of twisting vines and thorns. When she held the clasp in the moonlight in just the right way, she could see the image of tiny faces behind the thorns.