Legends of Astræa: Cupid's Arrow Book 1 (Legends of Astræa Series)

by Sophia Alessandrini

  Muttering voices inside the music hall broke my grief.

  After strolling with fear-inspiring authority through the hallway framed by rows of seats, Sister Agatha and Sister Magdalene appeared in their lengthy black habits, accompanied by the new Mother Superior. We all stood in formal greeting at the sight of her standing next to Mr. Tarbelli.

  I couldn’t help but compare her to my memory of Mother Clarisse. Her sallow pale face differed from our Mother Clarisse, who was always smiling with rosy round cheeks. Her face was a piece of sunshine. Unlike her, our new Mother superior’s face was marked with a great ordeal of severity, which brought me all kinds of questions.

  What were they doing here? Were they here to see me play? Very unlikely. To talk to me? To exorcise me because I had nightmares or two hearts? I couldn’t even imagine that I had. That was impossible, wasn’t it?

  “Please continue.” She waived her hand to us, but her gaze was fixed on me. I held my breath. They took a seat in the front row, right in front of Tiffany and her clique. I looked at the seat Mr. Pratt had saved for me with horror.

  Gathering up my dignity, I sat straight in my chair in the honors quartet and picked up Mr. Pratt’s old violin from the open case next to my chair. I felt miserable and tried to choke down my anger, but I did a poor job of it.

  My eyes went blurry from pent-up tears as I watched Lisa prepare her flute. At least Lisa was good at music, something I couldn’t say for Simone or poor Tricia. Both lacked any kind of musicality, but playing their instruments made their parents proud.

  I would never make mine proud. Never.

  I held an intense sob in my throat as we tuned our instruments for a minute and waited patiently for the silence that preempted Mr. Pratt’s opening signal. I had to hold tears back. It felt like if I even let one escape, I would be crying for eternity. My hands shook.

  I concentrated my eyes over the partita in front of me, but the lines blurred. I didn’t really need it; I knew every note by heart. We were going to play Bach’s Air on the G-string. It was supposed to be something easy for Tricia and Simone. Lisa exchanged a glance with me and shrugged her shoulders, perhaps confusing my anxiety with nervousness at the presence of the new Mother Superior. Gratefully, it would be a group effort, and I wouldn’t be on the spot for Mr. Pratt to pick on me. But I had something worse, Mr. Tarbelli and the Sisters and the new Mother Superior here to watch.

  It was so unfair. I was so angry. Why now? I wanted some peace. I tried holding back the electricity that snuck to the tips of my fingers, but the turmoil inside me was breaking through my composure walls.

  Tricia started on the cello, but she missed the fifth note, making us all cringe. Simone hit her notes but couldn’t follow the simple tempo, playing a sostenuto like a bemolle and making Tricia lose her concentration. Mr. Pratt twitched his eyes.

  But my mind was stuck like one of those old scratched LP’s that Mother Clarisse used to listen to. My mother didn’t love me. My mother didn’t love me. My mother didn’t love me.

  Simone didn’t even notice she was not keeping tempo. Tricia missed another note. I cursed poor Tricia under my breath, furious with her for missing the same note again and again. I shivered, feeling asphyxiated and somewhat annihilated.

  Why was finding out about my mother abandoning me here hurting me so much? I’d been an orphan my whole life.

  A long and discordant note played from my violin. The back of my neck prickled as I played it, striking a resonant chord deep within me. I closed my eyes and felt the electrical charge in each of my fingertips and around me.

  I was fine knowing I was an orphan before, but now…

  Now, I was the freak for real. The one with malefic afflictions. A single tear slid down my cheek.

  I was the evil child whose own mother didn’t want her. All of a sudden, I felt powerful with my anger, and that felt better than the shame that had nearly drowned me. There was heat behind my eyes, and I could feel the silver tendrils on my shoulder burning and writhing as if I were being branded. Like a furnace being stoked, I could feel power rise with my anger. It was stronger than it had ever been before, and my hands shook a little as I felt alive with power I could never have imagined, regardless of the consequences…

  Gravity decreased around me.

  The music partitas floated and suspended in the air on their own.

  Everyone stopped.

  “Oh. My. God. She is possessed,” Tiffany blurted, while her clique gasped. She was unfortunately right. I had never been possessed before—until now.

  It took Tricia a little longer to notice that something was very wrong with me. Solely the screeching sound of the violin in my hands filled the music hall. I could not stop. My hands were in control. I let them play one note after another. The scent of the rosin on the bow strings wafted as it began to heat. Somewhere in the distance, I thought I heard wolves howling. I felt their lamenting voices.

  “Ailie, are you okay?” Tricia asked. She was scared.

  I, too, was scared. I was scared of being malefic, evil, of being rejected by everyone. But I was more angry than scared. And the part that was scared was getting smaller and farther away with every second that passed.

  My mother. My own mother didn’t, couldn’t, and wouldn’t love me.

  Anger ran in my veins like red-hot lava and the air grew thick around me. As the smell of it, along with that of my bow rosin, reached Lisa, Tricia, Mr. Pratt, and Simone, they cautiously stood from their seats and backed away from me just in time, as a sudden gust of wind touched my face.

  A whirling roar followed and rose as a tower made from music pages and electrical tendrils around me turned into a maelstrom inside the music hall. My glance assessed everyone around me while my hands played something I had never played before. Tiffany couldn’t decide whether to hold on to her uniform skirt or protect her hair from messing up. Her clique hid behind the seats on the floor. Tiffany and the rest of the girls’ never-ending despise had turned into terror.

  The new Mother Superior stood from her seat, crossing her heart in slow motion and holding on to her white tunic with the other hand as it fluttered with the wind. She was gaping just like everyone else who watched me with shocking fear. Except Mr. Tarbelli who stood with his arms crossed, watching the side-road horror show with disappointment on his face. I didn’t care. I wanted this hurt to go away. It was killing me.

  “Sancte Michael Archangele, defende nos in proelio; contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium,” Sister Magdalene recited in prayer.

  St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the Devil, my mind translated. Prayers… Sister Magdalene had a “bad mojo” expression written all over her face as she held her silver cross. It was a reaction unlike Sister Agatha, whose derisive contempt was turning into a cruel mirth, I realized. Nothing new.

  I desperately wanted to stop the hurt—to stop feeling. I couldn’t bear it anymore. I disconnected everyone and everything. Instead, I connected to the fifth bottomless dark note.

  The wind whirled and whirled, creating a maelstrom of random things in the air. The power that surged through me spread from my fingers randomly, forming small and delicate tendrils. They shot like a ramified nervous system, ready to misbehave against any trespassers who foolishly would dare. As a result, I had created an infrangible curtain that isolated me further.

  Discordant and angry fast moves continued to play from the violin. My hands played by their own will. I knew then that I had lost control of who I was. I was falling into a deep dark place. I knew I had heard this music before. I just couldn’t remember where.

  NO ONE. I had no one!

  I told myself I was an orphan because my parents couldn’t be with me anymore, but most importantly, I had come to believe that they loved me. At least I had that dream, that content in my heart. I wished I had never known the truth or the old saying, be careful what you wish for. I had wished for parents. Well,
I had a mother, but she hated me enough to abandon me here forever. No matter that there were evil dark forces trying to get me. No, no one cared a bit for me. My life was worth nothing to them.

  How many times had I daydreamed of my parents? I imagined their faces. I imagined they were so many things, like doctors, teachers, or missionaries, and that they had been victims of a tragic accident. That they had loved me… but they didn’t. They never had.

  I was so angry.

  So very angry, I could taste the bitter anger in my mouth, something coppery, like I’d licked a penny. The smell of the bow string smoking from angrier, hateful, dark, and ear-piercing notes reached my nostrils. It was the only sign left that told me I existed still inside this body. Yes, it was music but not from this earth.

  I floated farther away, and I knew darkness was stealing my reasoning, but somewhere inside my mind I remembered where I’d heard this music.

  Ash’s lullaby.

  “Miss Ailie, Please. Stop. This. At. Once,” Mr. Pratt ordered. I recognized the fear in his broken voice. But I could not stop, I was no longer in control. My hands were.

  Darkness was.

  Chapter 11

  I was falling into a dark abyss—a pit hole.

  Darkness was taking control of my actions, hands, feet, sight, and I could feel my free will submitting to it. Like icy syrup it enveloped me further, reviling, slowly coating my soul, seducing and numbing my senses. I saw how much of it was my own darkness, but the darkness that controlled me wasn’t mine solely.

  My body stood rigid like a steel rod, my eyes had rolled, and my head had snapped as it stretched toward the ceiling. My hands opened and extended on their own, dropping the violin to the floor. I couldn’t feel pain or numbness, but my body thanked me for the sudden relief. My mind went into a cathartic oblivion.

  Emotions had stopped. Time had stopped.

  And then it skipped a beat. My world turned dark, bless the silence. I couldn’t hear anyone praying, whining, or condemning me. Everything was dark. And darkness had become my master. I was no longer in the music hall. I should have broken into sobs, but the truth was that I couldn’t. I felt nothing except cold numbing ice in my being. It is then that I realized I had left my body behind.

  A small spark of light came into the dark space. It hovered like a firefly. Suddenly, Ash stood like a super hero with his widespread gold wings and beautiful radiant face that contrasted with the empty drab space. I focused my eyes on him as he approached me.

  “Ash, tell me what is wrong with me?”

  “My beautiful girl, your powers are growing, and that scares the hell out of them.” He walked around me, studying me. “Look at yourself,” he urged, examining my soul. I did. My soul had become a crystallized, colorless version of me, a frigid dark ice that had turned off almost all emotions. All, except hatred.

  “Why do I have these dreams? Why does everyone think I am evil? Am I evil?” The tone of my voice was oddly even. I should had felt desperation, but I didn’t. The thought was a relief, but I couldn’t feel even that.

  “Sweet pea, hell no. there is no such thing as evil. Trust me,” Ash told me, but my face must have told him I didn’t believe him. “Sweet pea, do you have a tail and horns?”

  I shook my head, but it didn’t mean I wasn’t going to have any. Please, God, no.

  “You see, you are so special that nothing you’ll ever do could ever be a bad thing. By definition, if you do it, it’s good.” His puckish grin was like a drop of optimistic light breaking through after a tempest. “Nothing is wrong with you. You are perfect, more than perfect. The world hasn’t seen your worth,” he said, leveling his face with mine. He couldn’t possibly believe that. I didn’t.

  “Then why do normal people, decent people, good people that are suspects for murder, not have freakish bits of swirling light under their skin or see or dream scary fantasies?” He wasn’t answering, so I continued my desperate rant. “Why can’t I be normal?” I needed to understand.

  “Sweet pea, the time has come for you to fulfill your destiny. You will create a new world where no one will ever hurt you again, a better place for us.” Ash was so eloquent. Except, I didn’t care about making a better world. Not anymore. I didn’t care to help anyone. Period. I hated everyone. I hated my mother. I hated Tiffany and the Sisters.

  “Together, you and I will make great things. Magnificent, grand things,” he said somewhat enthusiastically. Then he frowned at the tumult of thoughts processing on my face.

  “Ash, no offense, but I don’t want to change the world. I won’t,” I said, perplexed at my own pragmatic, cold answer. No one deserved a better world. Suddenly, I felt the chilling, cold-hearted satisfaction of seeing everything destroyed just because I could. It was an expiatory feeling of self-righteousness.

  His eyes flashed red cinders as he exhaled in exasperation, just to draw a sweet smile in his face.

  “Very well. I can see you are very confused now, but trust me, things aren’t like that… I want you to see this first,” he said, taking my hand. He waited for my agreement.

  I nodded, feeling a little reluctant to give him permission to do whatever it was he wanted to do but wanting so badly for him to prove to me that I still wasn’t a bad person. Suddenly, we were transported, and just like that, in the blink of an eye I was inside a large greenhouse, a conservatory.

  We were inside what someone could describe as a greater botanical garden. I looked at the contrasting beauty of my surroundings, full of exotic plants and dozens of colorful flowers everywhere I looked. Dozens of standing gold candelabrums lighted the room. Tabletops layered with trays of the most delicious food and drinks lined the walls. There were pheasants and beef, a bowl of roasted root vegetables, creamy sauces with garden herbs, and best of all, there were fresh minted strawberries from the garden, lemon tarts, crème brûlée, and orange blossom cakes. There were decadent chocolate bonbons that oozed brandy and maraschino chocolate-covered cherries on first bite and meringues so beautifully shaped it was a pity to feel indifferent about them. At the sight of the delicacies, I wished my mouth could water, but it wouldn’t.

  “This is all yours. Do you like it?” he asked me, gesturing at the grandiosity of the place in front of me. I couldn’t feel that I liked it, if I did. I shrugged my shoulders.

  He smiled, arching his brow at my St. Mary’s ridiculous uniform that I still wore, even when the grayish ice had taken all the colors away. I hated it. Suddenly, it transmuted into the most elaborate dress I had ever seen. A necklace of diamonds on my neck contrasted with the blue silk gown. A large mirror displayed an image of a princess. My head was crowned with a silvery tiara with blue diamonds. Ash was like my fabulous god-fairy sans the wand.

  The sounds of voices and rustles of silks broke my attention from myself. People were in costumes as colorful as a summer garden—lemon yellow, orange, mauve, cyan, and emerald green. Wherever I looked, there were painted faces and masks, sequins, sparkles, and feathers. It was every outrageous thing, and it brought such life to the large glass house.

  They were all smiles and laughter. Without looking, their smiles extended toward me, attempting to turn my face from what, from who, I was focused on. Music filled the greenhouse, and I felt their feet disturbing the ground around me. Their bodies moved together as they celebrated, rhythmically breaking into shapes and colors.

  I imagined this was like attending one of those parties for the rich and famous that Tiffany bragged about so much. However, my distinct remoteness showed no interest at the way the women admired my gown or how the men toasted in my honor and celebrated me. They didn’t know a thing about me. I looked at them with disdain.

  Everything about the flowing silks reminded me how much I had dreamed about dancing one day, about a party. Why was this not a joyful moment? Uh, right… I couldn’t feel anything. The longer the darkness took over me, the better. I just didn’t care about anyone or anything, and it was wonderful. Except, I didn’t experienc
e wonderful. The sound of celebration and live orchestra music continued to fill the place.

  The syrupy lullaby played in the background.

  “It is nice to fit in, isn’t it? Look at them. They adore you.” He paused to see my reaction.

  The idea now seemed distant. I didn’t care anymore.

  He cleared his voice and continued. “Is that not the mechanism of all humanity? To be special. I can give you this. I can make the whole world—ehem—love you,” he said.

  Love… what an impossible task. I didn’t care anymore if any one did, and it was for the better. No more pain. No more suffering. What a delightful concept. If only I could feel delight, but I couldn’t. Not in the state I was in. Hate was easier.

  From above, I heard abrupt, loud popping sounds, like those of hot popcorn. Instantly, I turned my glance at the skies, and through the glass, I watched a display of magical fireworks. Deadpan, I watched a scene of hundreds of tiny stars burst in pinks, golds, blues, greens, and whites.

  I watched them with scientific curiosity. I was beyond experiencing any kind of excitement or any kind of awe.

  “Fireworks?” I asked. It was the very first time I had seen any.

  “For you, simply the best. You are my very special star,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. No disrespect, but he needed to start working on his poetic stanza.

  “Promise me that you will leave that nefarious and unhealthy convent. You will need nothing.” He grinned, handing me a glass of champagne that he produced out of nowhere with his other hand.

  Everything was so obscured and so muddled to me, but the idea of leaving was more than appealing. I longed for my freedom. I smelled the golden liquid first and sipped it cautiously. It was tasteless, effervescent, with a bitter, oaky, lingering aftertaste. I wondered if I had lost the ability to taste too.