by Bea Paige
It is more difficult for me to fly. Fern is still no weight in my arms, but I am exhausted and bone weary. Behind me I hear the soft whoosh of more wings taking flight and know that both Ether and Gabe are following.
It takes a good while to reach the temple, my fatigue making it difficult. Although still muttering, Fern has not convulsed or twitched with pain since leaving Tillan’s home and though this makes it easier to fly, it doesn’t make me feel any better. At least with pain, there is still fight. Her stillness scares me now.
Eventually, I see the curved wooden roof of the temple and the blinking flames of the candles just beyond the entrance. The candles are always lit to remind Clan Vitae that even in the darkest of times there will forever be hope. Another reminder of a past where life was abundant and filled with joy. I used to be comforted by that. Not anymore.
Landing on unsteady feet, I make my way into the temple. It is not a large space, only able to fit half a dozen angels at one time. There are no places to sit, just bare stone walls and floor. The candles are placed around the edges of the room, and on the dais is a statue of a mother holding her newborn. She is gazing with such love at her baby. I look away, it reminds me too much of the soul I have taken repeatedly to save my own.
Gabe and Ether enter behind me.
“You should lay her down, Mihr. You’re exhausted,” Ether says, his own voice telling me he feels much the same.
“The floor is cold, I shall sit with her in my arms.”
Entering the centre of the temple, I make myself as comfortable as I can on the cold stone floor. Fern barely makes a noise as I settle her in my arms and place my hand on the centre of her chest. I can barely feel the thump of her heart. “She is fading.” My wings automatically wrap around her in a protective embrace.
“Mihr, please let me touch her,” Gabe implores, dropping to his knees in front of us. I look up at him through the dip of my joined wings.
“You’ve done enough. She’s dying.”
“If that’s the case, then my touch won’t make a difference now, she is already lost.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Ether approach. “Perhaps Gabe is right, Mihr. It’s worth a try, is it not?”
“If he touches her now, it will speed up her death. Whilst her heart still beats there is still hope.” As if to prove a point, Fern convulses in my arms, her head thrashing from side to side. I hold onto her tightly, trying to comfort her.
“Then Gabe’s touch will bring her swift release. It is all we can give her now,” Ether says as he too kneels in front of us both.
I look from their faces to Fern’s. Pain is etched in the lines around her mouth, in the tight press of her lips and the rigid hold of her muscles. She doesn’t deserve to feel so much pain.
“Do it,” I say quickly, before I am able to change my mind. I withdraw my wings and take one of Fern’s hands in mine. Gabe shuffles forward and reaches out for her other hand, grasping it firmly. The reaction is immediate. Gabe’s eyes slam shut as Fern’s body falls limp in my arms.
“Gabe, what’s happening?” I say. He doesn’t answer me, he can’t. I watch as his own body stiffens, his wings shooting out from behind him. Between their clutched hands a white glow appears.
“Ether, what in Life’s name is going on?”
He shakes his head unbelievingly. “Look at your hand, Mihr,” Ether says, pointing down. A white glow erupts from where my hand is wrapped around Fern’s. I feel a gentle warmth where our skin meets. It’s soothing, comforting.
Then it all makes sense. How could we have been so stupid? For the first time in five days I feel hope.
“I’m connected with Fern, but only physically,” I say in a rush. Ether looks at me with confusion. “Don’t you see? I can touch Fern without harming her, she can understand my sign language, the movements of my body, but for all those years she never heard my voice as it should be with the Harmonia coupling, she only ever heard Gabe’s.”
“You believe the Harmonious bond is something divided between the three of you?” Ether asks. “That’s unheard of.”
“Not just Gabe and me, Ether. It is already noticeable that Fern is your match. You are alike in the way you think. You’re both stubborn, passionate, strong.” I point to my hand clutching Fern’s. “Body,” I say, then aim my finger at Ether. “Mind,” I continue. Then finally I point to Gabe. “Soul. We all touched her. We all started this process. Now we have to finish it. Whatever this may be. Put your hand on her, Ether.”
He hesitates.
“Do it now!”
Ether grinds his teeth but does what I demand. The moment his hand presses against the bare skin of Fern’s cheek, the same white glow erupts from where their skin touches. I feel the change before I see it. A blast of warmth, followed by cold, followed by heat. The different temperatures shoot up my arm, spreading over my body. Ether lets out a low groan, as does Mihr. I feel what they feel too, the thrilling sensation feathered in darkness, rolled in light. Somewhere inside I feel the urge to sing. It has been a while since I have sung with my brothers, eight hundred years or so.
Now, to sing once more with my brothers seems fitting. I begin to hum, and before long Gabe joins in. The low bass of Gabe’s voice rumbles through my chest, followed shortly by Ether’s baritone, layering over the top and merging with his. My own voice floats above both of theirs as I reach the higher notes they can’t. Together we harmonise beautifully, complementing one another. I’ve forgotten how good we sound together. Queen Adrielle’s rule had forbidden it, our own despair has prevented us from enjoying what was once integral to our people. Now, I sing with everything I have, knowing it is important to us, to Fern.
Pushing away the darkness, I let go of the anger I feel for Gabe, let go of the guilt and the pain from all the lives I’ve taken as a Death Bringer. Instead, drawing Fern’s hand against my chest, I concentrate on the melody and the sound of my brothers’ voices as they strike the perfect chord, of my own as I reach the highest note. A perfect harmony twining in the air around us. We sing of hope, of joy, of better things to come.
The light pours from our touch, it ripples over Fern’s body, over ours. We are connected, the four of us. The air swirls with it, a vortex of bright white, blue sparks flashing within. The candles flicker, then burst into flame.
And just as our song reaches its crescendo, below us Fern begins to stir.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fern
Am I dead? I feel I must be, for the voices are back and this time there’s more than one. They seem familiar to me.
I can’t open my eyes. I can’t move any part of my body.
I am a feather drifting in the air. I am weightless.
A memory returns, one I’ve long since buried. A tiny hand holding onto my father’s. I remember his last hot breath. I remember the warmth seeping out of his body as the coldness settled in. These voices that sing now, that is what I heard as a child.
A beautiful harmony.
Death’s chorus.
And yet, I feel different.
I feel alive.
My skin hums with electricity. Every inch pulses with sensation. My senses are heightened, sound and touch intermingling with one another.
Warmth. Heat. Cold.
The singing draws me from the depths of my body. These voices, they don’t scare me now.
The melody floats over my skin, caresses me in a lover’s embrace.
I welcome it.
I need to hear it.
I am not afraid of it any more.
Out of the melody, three voices become crystal clear. Each of them distinct, perfect.
Gabe.
The low bass of his voice pulls at a chord within my chest, urging me to awaken. I am reminded of his glacier eyes and how they cut right through to my very soul.
Ether.
The next layer of the melody. A strong, steady baritone. His passion and strength hold the higher and lower notes steady. The one who challenges me.
Mihr.
The voice that sits high above the others. Warm like the sun, just like his touch, just like his smile. The one who makes me feel safe.
Slowly my heart rate becomes steady. There is no longer any pain.
I feel my strength return, and something infinitely more powerful with it.
Belonging fills my heart, courses through my veins.
A large hand tightens around mine. Cold creeps in, followed by warmth, followed by a blazing heat. My other hand is pulled up against a firm chest where a heart beats as true as my own. Warmth starts here too, then blazing heat, then ice. My face is cupped by another strong hand where heat is followed by ice, followed by warmth. Each the same, but in a different order.
A circle of life, death and rebirth.
Rebirth.
My eyes snap open.
Epilogue
Abanthe
“Fern, is that you?” the old woman says, not bothering to look over her shoulder at the person entering her home. She assumes she is safe. Untouchable. The people of this land are far too trusting. It makes my job that much easier.
I lick the blood off my fingers, savouring the taste. The woman who had heard my cries was indeed very tasty. She hadn’t seen me fall from the sky, but she had heard my pleas for help and had come running. The fool. Her blood, and that of the male who tried to fight me off her, has regenerated me fully. My torn wing has grown back, my senses are heightened once more. I can still smell the scent of that pretty blonde, committed to memory the moment I saw her held in Mihr’s arms. It has brought me here to this place after finding her empty home, and that strange blue stone glinting in her hallway.
The old woman slams her hand on the arm of her chair in frustration.
“Fern, I gave you a key so you could let yourself in without disturbing me. The least you can do is wear your bloody hearing aids so that you can answer me when I speak to you!”
I watch from the darkened hallway as the woman hauls herself out of the chair. She is feeble, nothing but a weak bag of bones. This really isn’t going to be much fun. Perhaps I should take her to the Queen instead? Better to bring back something than nothing at all.
No. No, I cannot go back without their heads unless I want my own torn from my shoulders.
“Fern!” she screeches.
Fern? That must be the name of the woman those traitors are determined to protect. Another woman who has the attention of the Queen’s Death Bringers.
Well, they are not her favourite men any more.
I have taken that mantle now. I’m her fucking demon. The fucking fools.
Their heads swayed by a piece of beautiful arse.
Rhain, Ezra and Devin with the dark-haired beauty, Accacia.
Now the Angels of Death have taken a liking to this pretty blonde, Fern.
Queen Adrielle is going to worship the ground I walk on when I return with Fern’s head as well as theirs. I just need to find a way to get into the Shadowlands.
That place is impossible to enter…
Or find a way to draw them out.
Yes!
The old woman walks towards me, muttering under her breath. She has no idea I am lying in wait. She has no idea that she is going to be the bait.
I watch as her hand reaches up, pressing something on the wall. Light fills the space. I step out of the shadows.
Her shrill scream rips through the air. She turns on her feet and runs back the way she came. The old woman is surprisingly quick for someone so decrepit.
This is going to be fun.
The End
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Read on for a sample of Accacia’s Curse – Book one of Accacia’s trilogy in the Sisters of Hex series.
Accacia’s Curse
Bea Paige
Sisters of Hex – Book One
Prologue
I remember the first time the sun almost killed me. I was a toddler, barely three years old. I had found my way out of my mother’s sight for no more than five minutes, but it was enough time to sneak out of the back door and onto the porch that surrounded our house.
It was such a beautiful day, the sun high and bright. The sky empty of cloud. I could hear the laughter of other children playing in neighbouring gardens. I so desperately wanted to play with them. With no other thought than the need to join the fun, I stepped out into the sunlight, my bare feet soft against the warm wood of the deck.
I heard my mother’s horrified scream before I felt any pain.
No child should have to endure what I did that day, and the long days that followed. It was a burning, scorching, terrifying pain that my younger self could not properly comprehend. Then there had been darkness, sudden overwhelming darkness.
Darkness that has remained with me long after my mother passed and will remain with me until I die. That’s if I am unable to find a cure, and find a cure I will because I know that I wasn’t destined to live in darkness, I was destined to stand in the light.
Chapter One
“You almost done?” Roland asks me. He pushes his thick spectacles up his nose, and wipes a hand through his greasy hair. I lift my eyes from the microscope and wait for his next inevitable question. I try not to shudder.
“You fancy a bite to eat?”
“Sorry, I have plans,” I say automatically, knowing full well those plans extend to another lonely night with a microwave meal and Netflix for company. That lack of company, however, is a lot better than a date with creepy Roland.
His cheeks redden, highlighting his pockmarked skin and fuzzy facial hair that, despite his age, hasn’t quite decided whether it wishes to remain prepubescent or form into a stubble.
“Quite the busy one, aren’t we, Accacia, given you spend most of your time either locked away in here or locked away at home?” he says, before pinching his mouth shut on the remark. I narrow my eyes at him.
“What I do in my spare time is none of your business, Roland,” I say, avoiding the fact that he has practically confessed to stalking me. I glance to the right of me where a pair of scissors is resting on the workbench. I would use them should he get any funny ideas, and I most certainly will be reporting him to the lab manager in the morning. This kind of behaviour is unacceptable.
The red on his face deepens further as he holds his hands up. “I meant nothing by it, Accacia. I just… well, we’ve worked together in this lab side-by-side for, what, two years now? I just never heard you mention anyone else, and I thought you might want a friend,” he stutters, trying to backtrack.
“This is work, and that is private. I never mix business with pleasure,” I snap. I might be lonely, but I am not desperate. How dare he assume I need anyone at all. I’m quite happy as I am with my microwave meals and hours of Dexter on TV. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
Besides, I’ve heard the rumours about Roland, the whispered comments by the other technicians. According to their hushed conversations, which are not so hushed, given I can hear them from the other side of the lab, he’d had a crush on a member of nursing staff at our sister hospital and was moved to this lab after the managers brushed her accusations of stalking and weird behaviour under the carpet. Apparently, there are advantages to knowing someone on the board of directors. This certainly appears to be true in Roland’s case, if the rumours are anything to go by.
“Of course,” he says, finally backing off.
I release a sigh of relief, covering my anxiety with a fake yawn. I don’t want him to think he has me spooked. He looks at me for a long moment.
“Well, goodnight then.”
“Goodnight,” I mumble, watching as he leaves the lab. The door clicks shut behind him. I rush over and type a few numbers into the keypad, overriding the external entry combination so he can’t come back in, should he decide to try to persuade me further. It’s unlikely he’ll ever really try anything to ha
rm me, but of late I’ve been spooked. A few nights ago, I could have sworn I saw a man standing in my back garden. I had been staring at the moon, which had this funny red band around the edges of it, when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. It had been brief, and probably just shadows, but it had certainly looked ‘man-shaped’. An involuntary shiver runs down my spine, but I push the feeling of dread away. For a scientist, my imagination has a bad habit of running away with itself, despite my inherent logic. Surely Roland wouldn’t go that far?
Sighing, I head over to my office in the far corner of the lab and click the computer on. My eyes run over the results of today’s tests. Unfortunately for me, whilst I’d determined two cases of skin cancer and one breast cancer case from the biopsies sent to me earlier that week, I’d got no closer to understanding my own rare genetic disorder. The sun is still my enemy and the night the only time I can feel a little more human and a little less like a freak of nature.
None of my colleagues know of my disorder or my efforts to find anything close to a cure, they just think I am a workaholic, arriving to work at dawn and leaving at dusk. Unlike Xeroderma Pigmentosa sufferers, my skin is able to regenerate following any exposure to the sun. Whilst theirs can, and almost always turns into skin cancer. The fact that I can self-heal is the biggest mystery and something I keep to myself. The few friends I do have only know about my condition, not my ability to heal so fast. No one, apart from my dear, departed mother, knows about this anomaly, and that’s the way I intend to keep it. Don’t get me wrong, going out in the sun still hurts, it’s excruciating in fact. The difference is I can heal quicker than the average person. All the blistered bubbling skin that appears so quickly after exposure to the sun is completely regenerated within a few days.