by Rachael Wade
He nodded swiftly and moved to join me, giving the coffin lid a strong push.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when we opened this thing, but given the circumstances, it couldn’t be pleasant.
“What…the…hell?” I groaned through gritted teeth, throwing every ounce of my human strength into pushing the damn lid. “This thing isn’t going anywhere!”
“Keep trying. Harder.” Gavin bent his knees and shoved mightily, working to slide the stubborn slab of stone to the left.
“Ahh! I give up.” I dropped my hands at my sides, completely out of breath.
“It’s times like this I wish we had our frozen soul strength again.”
“Was I always this physically weak as a human?”
“Pretty much.” He shrugged, falling back against the wall with a labored sigh.
“Please, don’t try to spare my feelings or anything.”
A little chuckle slipped out between pants for breath, and Gavin shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “Well, the book gave us plenty of light and pointed us to this coffin. This doesn’t make any sense.”
I was about to agree, but a low, heavy rumble and the sound of stone grinding against stone stole my breath, calling my attention to the coffin’s lid. “Gav, it’s moving.”
Gavin pushed himself off the wall and hesitantly moved forward, taking my hand and aligning me to the left, just behind him. “Dagger,” he whispered.
My hand slid under my dress to the leather strap that held one of our old silver daggers, the same ones we fought with during our battles as frozen souls. We didn’t have the luxury of super human strength anymore, but we still knew how to fight in combat, and these simple weapons would have to suffice.
Gavin grabbed his knife, too, and we readied ourselves for whatever was about to greet us.
As we kept our eyes glued to the stone coffin, an irrational giggle bubbled up beneath my breath.
“What’s so funny?” Gavin hissed, glancing nervously at me.
“Nothing,” I said, forcing another laugh down, “except for the fact that we’re holding up knives to protect ourselves from…a dead person?” Gavin’s head swiveled in my direction and his brows raised.
I stopped laughing.
Yeah. Vampire kings and queens, dead-witches-turned-reanimated-corpses, and magic? Suddenly, a confrontation with a dead body didn’t seem so unlikely.
The Book of the Ancients’ light flickered and flared, swelling and bathing the passage in an even brighter light, almost to the point of blinding. The coffin’s scraping sound gnawed at my ears and I winced, my heart flip-flopping in my chest when I heard the cumbersome lid land with a clunk on the ground. The scraping sound ceased and the tomb’s light dimmed, leaving Gavin and me standing there in the quiet, musty hole. I swallowed hard and tensed up, waiting for something to pop out at us like a cheesy haunted house display.
But nothing happened.
The air was still cold, the space eerily calm.
Gavin picked up a lantern and took a step forward. “Are you ready?”
I nodded then waited, not moving a muscle.
He cautiously stepped forward, the sound of his shoes on the dirt path breaking the piercing silence, and held the lantern up to hover over the stone coffin. Every muscle in his neck and shoulders locked up, the tension in his back visible from where I was standing.
“Gav? What is it?”
“Come see for yourself.”
My eyelids blinked rapidly, my mind unsure whether it wanted to propel my body into forward motion just yet. I fought the fear and took a step in Gavin’s direction, slowly walking up to meet him at the edge of the coffin.
“It can’t be,” I gasped and stumbled back, covering my mouth with a trembling hand. “That’s not…it can’t be. How?”
“I don’t know.” Bringing the lantern closer, Gavin illuminated the corpse’s face. Only it wasn’t a corpse. The woman inside didn’t look dead at all. She was flawless. Exotic. Strikingly beautiful.
She was Samira.
5
“I told you,” I said, slowly backing up, “something’s not right. Gav, we need to leave. Now.”
“Leave?” his head swung around to look at me, his lantern still hanging above Samira’s body. The top shook and rattled, his hands just as unsteady as mine. “We can’t go anywhere until we find an explanation for this.”
“Explanation? There is no explanation for this!”
Gavin was right, of course. We couldn’t leave. I was just freaking out. But the passage walls—or tomb walls, or whatever the damn Book of the Ancients said they were—were beginning to close in on me, and I couldn’t breathe.
“We watched her leave. We saw her ourselves,” Gavin whispered, obviously trying to convince himself. “She left with Arianna. There’s no way….no way…”
“Whatever’s going on, the Book of the Ancients wouldn’t be leading us to this unless there was a reason.” I inhaled sharply, drawing the comfort from that realization deep into my lungs. “Right?”
“I…I don’t know. I’m still in shock here, give me a second to think this through.”
I looked warily away from the passageway walls to Gavin’s stunned face and back to the woman lying in the coffin before us. The Book of the Ancients slammed closed with a loud smack, causing us both to jump, but its glow still lingered, keeping the tomb bright and Samira’s body exposed. My eyes raked down every inch of her, from head to toe. She was intimidating and breathtaking, even dead.
She was dead, right?
A long-sleeved burgundy velvet dress covered her pale, porcelain skin, the dropped-waist style accentuating her svelte hips. Long, cascading raven curls fanned over her shoulders and chest, their color shiny even in the dim light. Her deep red lips against her ivory skin made her black lashes and eyebrows even more striking.
And then I noticed her nails.
“Gav, look at her hands.”
“Huh?” He shifted a bit, eyeing her arms, which were crossed and draped peacefully over her chest. She was a Gothic sleeping beauty, just waiting to be awakened.
“Her hands. Look at her nails.” Those dagger-like nails that were such a prominent feature of Samira’s were nowhere to be found. This body’s fingernails were short and natural, well-manicured, with no color coating them at all.
Gavin leaned closer, extending a hand toward her face.
“What are you doing?”
“Searching for fangs.” His fingers cautiously pressed against her cheek first, before floating down to her lips. “Cold,” he said, shivering. “Freezing.”
“Fangs? Are you serious?”
“That’s the only thing that would explain why she looks so alive.”
I closed and opened my fists, keeping them balled at my sides. There was no way he’d find fangs. The frozen soul curse had been lifted. We’d seen it and experienced it for ourselves. Many of the villagers we now lived with were once vampires, either because they were former guards, or because they were from the resistance, stuck here in our realm after the war, after I’d plunged the dagger into Gérard’s heart and ended his reign. They were fully human now, as were we.
There was absolutely no way.
“Either that, or she never really escaped Amaranth with Arianna that day,” I said.
“But she did,” Gavin insisted, his tone utterly disbelieving, “we know she did. Even if that theory were true, why would she by lying here, in this stone box, buried in some hidden tomb?”
“Well, I don’t know. Hurry up and look…I want to get out of here.” I knew the answer wasn’t to run. The Book of the Ancients brought us here, and the second we walked out of this tomb, an entire realm of people would be waiting to hear exactly what we found inside this secret passage. But right now, my mind was trying to process the fact that Samira was lying in that coffin, alive and immortal looking, not to mention the fact that the Book of the Ancients led us to her.
I begged silently to please let this whole thing
be a hoax, a crazy dream, anything but this. Anything but another nightmare that would threaten to steal Amaranth’s hard-earned tranquility.
Gavin’s fingers carefully grazed Samira’s lips. No fangs. A deep gasp made him stumble back, his hand recoiling at the sound. Samira’s onyx hair began to rustle softly, a mysterious wind coaxing her locks into magical waves. Gavin gripped his dagger tightly and positioned himself in front of me. Another desperate gasp sounded from Samira’s body, her eyelids suddenly dancing. They flew open, her back arching as she drew in a ragged breath.
That’s when I saw them.
Rich emerald eyes. Not blue. Deep as jade and absolutely spellbinding.
“That’s not Samira,” I breathed, retreating backward until my heels made contact with the wall. Gavin remained in front of me, lantern raised in one hand, dagger in the other.
Samira’s doppelganger slowly rose from the coffin, her arms gripping the sides of the casket to pull herself up. Her eyes clouded over for a second, as if she were lost, trying to focus on something. She suddenly spoke, her tone light and smooth, Samira’s familiar Russian accent present. “This isn’t a dream,” she said, with a hint of disappointment. “I was hoping this was all a dream.”
“Who are you?” Gavin asked, flexing his knuckles over the dagger handle.
Her head turned, her knowing eyes falling on Gavin. “Anastasia. You are Gavin Devereaux, and that is your lover, Camille, yes?”
“Wife,” he corrected her. “Why are you here? What are you doing in Amaranth?”
“Oh God,” she cried, cringing and bringing her hands to her chest. Tears spilled down her cheeks and her head rolled forward in anguish. “I really am here.”
I stepped forward. “What do you mean, you hoped this was all a dream? Who are you? You look almost identical to—”
“Samira,” she gasped on a sob, a hand moving to rest on her forehead. “Is Samira here? Or is she still on Earth?” Hope swelled in her eyes as she looked to Gavin and me for an answer.
“What?” Gavin lowered his lantern. “No, she’s…wait, how do you know her? And how do you know who we are? How long have you been in here?”
“I…I don’t know.” She sniffled, lifting her chin to look around. She scanned the tomb ceiling and surveyed the dirt floor. “Can you please help me up?”
“Not until you answer our questions.” Gavin’s voice was pitiless, his position with the dagger unwavering.
“I was sent for you. I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep.”
“Sent by whom? Original witches?”
“What?” She searched Gavin’s face, then squeezed her eyes closed. “I’m confused. I’m sorry, I don’t understand what’s happening here. Everything’s groggy—”
“Who sent you?” I repeated Gavin’s question, watching her grow more and more disoriented by the second.
“I am the original, the original…” she said, her voice faint as she slumped back into the coffin, her head thumping onto the satin pillow.
“Anastasia?” Gavin asked, rushing forward. I followed on his heels, wanting more answers. “Anastasia, can you hear me?”
“She passed out.” I picked up her hand, letting it drop back to her side. She was out cold. “What do we do now?”
“Take her back to our place.”
“What? How will we get her down that hill, and past all of the villagers? They’ll be swarming us with questions.”
“They’re just going to have to get over it.” He bent down and started to scoop her up. “We’ll have to have Greta and Denise distract everyone. Can you lift her legs? I can carry her from here.”
I lifted her feet and then swung her legs up and out of the coffin, arranging her body so Gavin could lift her up and into his arms. “Be careful, Gav.”
“I will, love. Grab the Book of the Ancients. Come on, let’s get out of here. We need to wake her up and find out what the hell is going on.”
The Book of the Ancients was tucked under my arm in less than a second. We high-tailed it out of the tomb and back to the main village, both ready to collapse by the time we made it back to the house. The trek from the castle down the valley hill, although exhausting, wasn’t the worst part of the journey. Amaranthians had followed us, pestering us with questions the entire way home, and we’d managed to ignite a wave of worry from the castle all the way to the main village. Greta and Denise had shooed people away, assuring them they’d get answers soon, and had also made sure Ava was brought home safely while Gavin and I did our best to carry Anastasia into the house. We’d covered her with a sheet, doing our best to shield her face.
But it wasn’t enough.
We shut the door the moment we stepped inside, locking up and drawing the curtains to avoid the suspicious, impatient glares and hollering voices on the street.
I leaned against the door with a relieved sigh. “What do we do now?”
“We’ll make sure Ava gets something to eat and then we’ll put her to bed,” Greta offered soothingly. Gavin and I nodded our appreciation and watched quietly as she and Denise led Ava out of the living room.
Anastasia lay on the couch, still out cold but breathing softly, letting us know she was at least conscious, and not dead. “This can’t be happening,” I muttered, grumpily chucking the Book of the Ancients onto the table.
“We’ll figure this out,” Gavin said, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “Let’s hope she wakes up soon.”
“Maybe we can wake her ourselves.” I walked over to the Samira look alike to gently shake her shoulders. I waited, then shook again. Still nothing. “I’m going to warm up some soup and make some tea while we wait.”
Gavin nodded silently, his head in his hands as he ran his fingers over his hair. “Hey, Cam?” he called to me from the living room rocking chair.
“Yeah?”
“Samira must’ve known about the castle passageway, don’t you think?”
“I would guess so,” I said, stirring the pot of soup in the kitchen. “She kept your mother hidden away all those years. We know about the tower, but that passage went farther back. We didn’t finish our search.”
Gavin mumbled in agreement, leaning on his elbows and rubbing his knuckles, lost in thought. “When things settle down outside, I should head back to the castle and dig around some more. I need to find out where the entrance is in the conservatory.”
I stilled my stirring. “I don’t want you going back there alone, Gav. Who knows what else is lurking in that damn tomb.”
“Someone needs to stay here with Ava. Greta and Denise can’t stay here all night.”
“I could ask them if they wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t know,” his voice lowered, his eyes flicking to mine, communicating something.
“We’re going to need help when this thing blows up, Gav,” I answered with a warning, letting him know I received the message loud and clear. Greta and Denise were good, dependable women—except when they let my daughter wander into secret tombs with coffins—but we couldn’t chance any rumors getting out when villagers were already in a panic over what was happening. There was no hiding what we’d found, though.
“Besides,” I continued with a whisper, “there’s no use trying to keep Greta and Denise from this. They already know everything we know, now.”
“Now, yes. But when Anastasia wakes up, we might need to keep whatever she has to say close to the chest for a while, until we figure out what to do with whatever’s happening here. We’ll ask them to leave. You can stay here with Ava and I’ll run back to the castle and see what else I can find.”
“What if Anastasia wakes up while you’re gone?”
“She might. Just see what you can find out.”
I resumed stirring the soup, moving on to the tea next. “Please be careful?”
“Of course.” He stood and walked to the kitchen, kissing me on the cheek before turning for Ava’s room, his expression still miles away. “I’ll let Greta and Denise know we’re going to
take things from here.” He disappeared around the corner and I turned my gaze to Sleeping Beauty on the sofa. Her chest was still rising and falling with even, peaceful breaths.
I only hoped some of that peacefulness would stick around when she finally woke up.
6
“Camille?” Anastasia’s voice stirred me, her accent throwing me into a time warp. It was so similar to Samira’s, I could’ve sworn it was Samira herself standing there right in front of me, holding out a mug to me in offering. “Tea?”
I stretched and stifled a yawn as I sat up in the rocking chair, closing my notebook. It had been propped open on my lap. I’d tried writing after Greta, Denise, and Gavin had left. I’d had some soup and must’ve dozed off. Every human defense was on red alert as I sat up straight and accepted the tea, my tired eyes turning focused as I took a hesitant sip. My attention was drawn to the absence of long, red nails.
This was not Samira standing in front of me.
“So, are you going to tell me who you are now?”
Anastasia’s eyes darted around nervously. She sipped at her tea and carefully sat down across from me. “You were meant to find me. You and your husband. I’ve been summoned as a link to give you a message.”
“A link? So, this does have something to do with the original witches?”
“Yes, you could say that. I am—was—an original witch.”
“Okay…”
“Yes,” she smiled shyly, shakily setting her mug down on the table, “and I was meant to be a hybrid.”
“As in…frozen soul and witch hybrid, like Samira?”
“And like Gérard, yes.”
“Wait.” I scooted forward on the rocking chair, trying to grasp this. “There are more hybrids?”
“No, not that I know of.”
“Why do you look almost identical to Samira? Sorry,” I laughed, baffled, “but if you’re here to give us a message, you must know we have tons of questions.”
“Yes, of course.” She tucked her black hair behind her ears and began to fidget. “I’m sorry I fainted like that, but this is all just as much a shock to me as it is to you. I was murdered, you see. And being as I was, well…dead, you can probably understand why I’m shocked to be alive right now, sitting here, speaking to you.” She flashed me another small smile, one that obviously begged for a little sympathy.