by Ainsley Shay
“Blacwin, you know that’s not possible. I’m the reason we’re all in this. We need to find Carina and find out what she knows.”
“Iris, Carina will come to us. We just have to wait her out. Trust me on that,” Blacwin said.
I knew he was right, but I didn’t want to believe him. I wanted answers now. I wanted all of this to be over and to live my life without creepy statues, daggers, and witches.
Chandler cleared his throat. “Guys.”
Blacwin and I turned to look at him. “What?” I asked, and shuddered when I saw the look on his face. I didn’t like it. And, I knew I wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“I have a feeling the nightmares aren’t over.”
4
I wanted to throw up. Snake-like coils knotted in my stomach. My knees weakened and I crumbled against Blacwin. Not the nightmares. I wanted to ask Chandler what they would be about this time, but I couldn’t speak. Only small incoherent noises escaped my lips. I hadn’t told either one of them about the nightmare I’d had two nights ago. Adelina had been the star of that one as she severed my head. There were a ton of meanings I tried to figure out, but there was only one that made sense: Adelina, the Carving Witch, wanted me dead. Then, a thought struck me as deeply as any knife, what if the dagger was meant for me, not to be used by me, but to kill me?
The pressure of keeping my secret was too much. Besides, I could tell Chandler was already on to me. “The other night, I had a nightmare,” I blurted out, and then reluctantly, I told them about it. The details came to me easily, it wasn’t a dream I would forget easily. Last night, when Blacwin stayed with me, I hadn’t dreamt of anything, at least, nothing I could remember.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment. It was Chandler who spoke first. “Was that the only one you’ve had?”
Afraid to speak, I nodded.
“Was anyone else in it?”
“No.” My whispered word was faint.
Chandler picked up my coffee and took another sip. “I don’t foresee a complete story of the past like before, but, maybe one of the memories will tell us something.”
I hated the fact Chandler was like some kind of “seer”. It also irritated me he never had any great or insightful information to go along with his freaky vision-feeling. So, since I was the one who was being put through Hell, I thought I deserved to be a little pissed-off. The room was hot and a thin layer of sweat layered my arms and face. I wiped the dampness from my forehead. Moments ago, I was calm, ignorant, and free of this madness. It had only been for a few brief seconds, but it was a small victory of bliss I already missed. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Relax Iris. I took another deep breath. Accept this situation so you can do something about it. The self-talk was proving to be useless. Especially when I opened my eyes, and saw the two of them staring at me; the pissed-off feeling was right there where I left it.
Blacwin touched my forearm. When I looked into his eyes and saw the regret and pain he felt for me, some of the guilt for feeling so ungrateful faded.
He looked at Chandler. “I think it has something to do with the statues.”
“How so?” Chandler asked.
Blacwin rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t know exactly.” He looked frustrated for being unable to put why he thought this into words. “When I’m in her house, it’s like the statues have their own presence—”
“That’s because you’re surrounded by them. You can’t go anywhere in that house without running into one,” Chandler said.
“That’s not what I mean.” Blacwin dragged his hands through his hair. “Never mind.”
I wanted to know what Blacwin meant, what he was trying to convey. There was something about the statues but I believed it would stay a mystery until the Carving Witch wanted us to know what it was.
Lacking patience or possibly tired of the conversation, Chandler got up from the couch. “Let me know if you have any more nightmares,” he said as if he was telling me he was going to the store and if I needed anything. “I gotta go.” He gave me a quick hug and told me he’d call later.
I just wanted to have one normal day. It wasn’t asking for much. After Blacwin left, I pushed every thought that had to do with Carina, Adelina, statues, and daggers out of my head and focused on getting ready to go to the bookshop. I craved for the fictional worlds, in their perfumed pages, to take me away.
The door was unlocked when I arrived a little after nine. I walked to the back of the shop and draped my bag over the back of the chair. “Hello?”
Mr. Yves came out from the back room. “Ah, my dear, Iris.”
“I like the new plaid beret.” I’ve never seen him without a beret, but until today, they’d always been a solid color.
“Thank you.” He walked toward me. “I went to the vintage store a couple of doors down. You know, the one you frequently go to.” I did know; it was my most favorite place to shop. It wasn’t known for being a place where the traditional and old-fashioned shoppers hung out. So this little bit of news had put a smile on my face.
“Now, don’t you go getting all funky on me.”
“I can assure you.” He pointed to the top of his head, “this is as funky as I am going to get.”
I laughed. “Was Marley there?”
“I’m not sure of the name of the young lady who helped me. But if Marley has black hair with purple streaks, a nose ring, and a tattoo of a blonde Asian woman petting a koi down the length of her arm, then yes she was there.”
“That’s her.” The koi tattoo would have been enough to describe Marley. I would love to have seen Mr. Yves confronted by the slim figure: wearing no doubt, spiked bracelets, a chained wallet, and at least two shirts, one was a backdrop to the other with slices and holes.
Mr. Yves was the complete opposite. He’s an old-fashioned man with pressed pants, cardigan sweaters, a trimmed beard, and rimless glasses. He wore the definition of conservative.
“Now, she’s a person who can teach us why we should not judge others. To the eyes, she’s slightly off kilter.” I wanted to laugh, but stayed tight lip as I listened to his truths. “But, she was very pleasant and helpful.” He held up a finger. “I must also say, if I ever do, which I don’t plan on, decide to get funky, I’m sure Miss Marley would be a perfect mentor for the transformation.”
He never ceased to amaze me with his open-mindedness. I grinned. “You would definitely be in good hands.”
Snow came in around eleven. She planned to hang out with me while I worked, and she could work on her paper, which was due tomorrow. She wasn’t known for getting a head start on papers or projects. “What’s your paper going to be about?” she asked, as she settled into one of the club chairs in the middle of the store. She propped her feet up on the table and positioned her laptop on her thighs.
“I wrote mine on what the world would be like without books.” Our papers for History class had to be about something that would transform the world, as we knew it, either by taking away something we had now or by inventing it.
“You would write about books. What did it take you, all of ten minutes to pump out a two thousand word essay?”
“Hardly. What’s yours on?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking about pizza. What if pizza was never invented? I mean what would people eat on Friday nights or for breakfast, for that matter?”
“Have you ever heard of eggs?”
“Ugh! Disgusting. If most people really took the time to think about what an egg actually is and what they’re eating—they wouldn’t eat them.”
“You can shut up now, ’cause I like eggs.”
“As do I,” said Mr. Yves from the corner of the store.
Snow huffed and booted up her laptop. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll figure out something to write about.”
“I never had a doubt,” I shot back, but she already had her earphones in.
A new delivery had come in yesterday and I started to unpack the boxes. They
were donated from two counties over. Until a little over a month ago, the store was in complete disarray. It never really bothered me, because I knew where almost everything was, as did our regular customers. But, during the last year, it had gotten out of hand with all of the estate sales Mr. Yves frequented, and the book donations we received. Stacks had become taller than I was; the shelves had been over-run with story upon story. Now, while there still wasn’t an actual system, for which Mr. Yves had his reasoning, at least we had walkways and more floor space.
The store kept my mind free of negative thoughts. After a couple of hours sorting and shelving the books, I checked my phone. Blacwin had left a text saying he missed me and he’d call later. I wondered what he did all day; it wasn’t like he had a job to go to; he didn’t need one. I had learned over the last month that neither he nor Chandler worked. Though somehow they had all the money they ever needed, to buy whatever they wanted. I sometimes thought they inherited it, but that train of thought hadn’t felt right. Maybe one day I’d gather enough courage to get nosy enough to ask. Even reading the simple text, flutters invaded my gut, and it baffled me I had no idea when I had become such a sap for a guy. We did have our history; even though I’d only known him from my nightmares, we had a connection that was stronger than anything I had ever felt before. The few moments I had glimpsed in my nightmares were so painful and tortured I tried to erase them from my thoughts whenever they popped in. But, there is no mistaking what Blacwin felt for me. He said he feared losing me again, but he hardly knew me. I’m not Catherine, the girl I once was, multiple lifetimes ago. I am just Iris, with a screwed-up past. I shook away the thoughts and continued to look through my messages.
The display on my phone read Chandler had called three times, and left six texts. Having a brother was more different than I could have ever imagined. What a pain in the ass he was. Granted, we didn’t grow up together, with only a brief history I don’t remember, a very long time ago, but protective was a conservative word to describe him. Seriously, the guy really needed to get a hobby besides me.
“Hey! I’m done—and it’s awesome!” Snow’s voice boomed through the quiet shop.
Thank God, there were only a few customers. I bee-lined through the books to the middle of the store and pulled the earphone out of her ear. “What?” she yelled. “Oh, crap! Am I loud?” She took out the other ear bud. “Look!” She pointed to the laptop screen. “I finished.” Snow set the laptop on the table, stood, and did a little dance right there in the middle of the bookshop.
“So, how would the world be without pizza?”
“Pizza? What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t that what you did your paper on?” Although the girl had serious focusing issues, I loved her more than life. There were a few things she was able to focus on, not at the same time, mind you: me, Chandler, shopping, new charms to add to her Doc Marten chains, and pizza. Not necessarily in that order, it usually depended on how hungry she was.
“Ah, no.”
I set the books I was holding on the table. “Now, my curiosity is off the charts. Do tell.” Mr. Yves was not one for eavesdropping, but even he stopped what he was doing to hear what her awesome idea was for her paper.
“Okay, close your eyes.” I did. “Now, imagine life without the wheel.”
My eyes popped open, and I stared at her. I wasn’t sure if my face showed awe or utter confusion. Brilliant. “And, what was your outcome?”
“Well, the world would be at a standstill—literally. We’d all be stuck in whatever village we were born—well unless we walked...”
She went on and on, and the more she spoke, the more I was convinced she had written a great paper. I had to admit, I was impressed. “Snow, I think you just wrote an ‘A’ paper.” Her face beamed.
“I’d have to agree,” said Mr. Yves.
Snow knew if she was able to impress Mr. Yves, she was onto something great; and she showed it with the smile that took up her entire face, while clapping like a seal.
It was almost five, closing time. Mr. Yves waited until the last customer left, and locked the door. Snow packed up while I closed out the register and performed the few tasks to finish the day and prepare for opening in the morning. Snow hugged Mr. Yves and thanked him for letting her take residence in the club chair for the entire day.
“My dear, Morgan, I think it paid off. Please let me know if your teacher agrees.”
“I will!” she said, and then squealed all the way to her car as I walked her out. “I’ll call you later. Chandler is taking me to get pizza. He’s dying to read my paper.” Still bouncing, she said, “Do you know how awesome he is?” I knew how annoying he could be. “I mean, you know how much I love you, and for you, my best friend, to have a brother who is absolutely amazing and hot and adores me—seriously, what more could a girl want?”
“You are a lucky girl.” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and it worked, until my face involuntarily grimaced. Although, deep down I knew she was right. He was a good guy, and he would always treat her with respect and loyalty. Most likely because he was raised a half century ago.
“Lucky doesn’t even describe it,” she summed up. I watched her big-butt-tanker of a car until she turned the corner and it was out of sight. Her mom had bought if off the old lady who lived next to the store. Snow was grateful to have a car, any car; even the beast she drove away in. It actually fit her well.
Main Street was as still and quiet as the setting sun. Its glow dimming as it fell beneath the horizon. Mr. Yves was standing behind the counter when I went back into the bookshop. His cardigan was unbuttoned and he looked like he was spent for the day. But, I knew better, he had a lot more kick in him than he let on. I walked to the back of the store and retrieved my bag from near the desk, kissed my fingertips, and touched the picture of my dad on my desk. Wetness crept into the corners of my eyes, and I quickly turned away from the picture, and headed to the front of the store.
“Iris?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you see this?” Mr. Yves held something out to me.
I set my bag down and took the envelope from him. “No, where was it?”
He pointed to the edge of the counter near the register. “It was propped against the cash machine.”
Across the front of the envelope, were dark, beautifully scrolled letters, Ms. Iris C. Thorn. First and last name were correct, but my middle name was after my grandmother’s name, Stella, S not C. The back of the envelope was rough and when I turned it over, pinpricks of icy fear scampered up my spine. A wax seal secured the envelope’s flap. The letter ‘D’ was raised in the wax. Only one name came to mind, Darenfys. Holy Hell.
5
“Iris, what is it?” Mr. Yves asked.
I shook my head. Now I couldn’t stop the tears. They pooled in my eyes and my vision blurred. Without thinking, I picked up the letter opener and sliced through the parchment. As I slid out the folded piece of paper, Mr. Yves stood next to me. Unfolding the letter, dread flooded through me like lava, thick and hot. Letters and notes were something I was beginning to hate. Lately, they had nothing good written on them; at least the ones addressed to me. And this one was no different.
My Dear Iris,
My son, Penemuel, has safely returned to me. Along with his return, he brought me news he has found you, and you are well. As you can imagine, I was delighted to have this news bestowed upon me. It has been too long since we were together. For the duration of our separation, I tried to refuse my love for you, but I have failed greatly. I am coming for you my love; and soon, we will be together for eternity.
Yours always,
Lord Darenfys
“Holy shit!” I spat out. The letter slipped from my fingers and floated to the floor.
“You know I don’t like that language.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, then fell to my knees, and stared at the letter. It had to be a sick joke. Right? I folded it up not wanting to see the words tha
t made my stomach lurch.
“Iris, what’s wrong?”
I handed him the note. Maybe he would tell me it was a joke. The impossibility of it, and the insanity of it were out of this world. I heard the paper crinkle as Mr. Yves unfolded it. It was so quiet in the bookshop, the clock on the table in the middle of the store was all that could be heard...tick...tick...tick... “In this case, yes, I agree, holy shit,” he said.
It would have been humorous under different circumstances. But, there was no room for even an ounce or sliver of laughter; revulsion and fear filled my entire being. “Please, tell me it’s a joke,” I hissed through clenched teeth and strained tears.
“Iris, I—”
“It’s just a freaking sick joke!—Right?” When I stood, the floor swayed and the walls blurred. I put my hands on my knees to anchor myself. Mr. Yves threw the letter on the counter and put his arm around my waist to steady my staggering body.
He didn’t answer me. Instead, he asked, “Do you want me to call Blacwin?”
I nodded. “Please.”
Ten minutes later Blacwin was at my front door. Mr. Yves had called him and immediately taken me up the thin flight of stairs to my apartment. To sit in a corner and rock back and forth had been my desired immediate reaction. But, thanks to Mr. Yves, I was resting on the couch, a mug of hot tea in my hand, when Blacwin came in. The scent of brandy wafted from the mug. Even Mr. Yves wasn’t immune to calming me with alcohol when a dire situation arises. I began to relax after a few sips.
“Baby, are you okay?”
It took me a moment—more like fifteen-seconds, to realize how Blacwin had addressed me. Baby. The simple word was filled with more than just a pet name. He knelt in front of me and pushed my hair away from my face. His palm was warm and gentle against my cheek. Instantly, I felt calmer, knowing he was here. His gaze left mine briefly, to glance up at Mr. Yves, then back to me. “Show me.” He wasn’t demanding. His tone was cautious and protective. Mr. Yves picked up the letter from the kitchen counter and handed the folded piece of paper to Blacwin. He lowered his hand from my face and took the letter.