by Dima Zales
"I … We all came from you, your family … didn't we?" she stammered, not quite believing that the people Aya had come from had given the first witches their power.
"This is important, Gabby," Aya said, deadly serious. "You must keep this secret. It's not for others to know. What I am, what you've come from, this is a secret that must be learnt. If you were to tell anyone something horrible will happen."
"Like what?" she asked, a note of fear in her voice.
"I don't know. I've never known anyone foolish enough to try. That is enough warning in itself."
Gabby sunk to the ground, exhausted, as the edges of the forest started to reappear. Nodding feebly, her head sunk to her knees. It was done. They had won, but she'd learnt a deadly secret in the process. She couldn't fathom any of it.
Suddenly, there was a gust of wind that blew her unruly hair into her eyes. Scraping it away from her face, she gasped as she saw a dark shadow flying around them. It had the semblance of a person, emanating a dark malice that penetrated deep into her bones. She knew that it was trying to get back into reality, back into the forest where her friends were. Zac, Sam, Liz. But her power was spent; she could do nothing to help them.
"Stay down," Aya cried, standing over her. "It's not over yet."
Aya had risen to her feet, positioning herself over Gabby, raising her hands to fend off the shadow, but now that she had returned her power to Gabby, they were equal. A stalemate. Nevertheless, she tried to fend it off, but her fingers slid through its inky blackness. It had to remain in the between place. She kept trying desperately, aware that their reality was coming back into focus, the presence of the three vampires waiting for them pressing on her senses.
Abruptly, the wind dropped and the shadow thing wailed out into the forest and collided with Zac, disappearing into his body. Gasping in shock, he fell to the ground and began convulsing. Sam dropped to his knees beside him, holding his shoulders down, calling for Aya.
Liz fell to her knees beside them, grasping his shaking hand. "He's dying, his skin is turning grey!”
Aya dropped into a crouch beside them, placing her palm on Zac's forehead, "She's cursed him. Katrin has cursed him." Tears began to well in her eyes as she gazed down at him and she brushed them away furiously. Katrin knew exactly what she was doing when she sent the curse, a last ditch effort to hurt her. She knew Zac was her weak spot, that she would do anything for him. Even if it meant giving him her blood, the only thing that would save him from the curse. And she would do it, knowing full well the consequences for doing so. Leaning close, she brushed his messy hair from his forehead and whispered, "Please let me save you, Zac."
She bit the vein in her wrist open and went to place it at his mouth, but Liz grabbed her arm, "What are you doing? Your blood will only make it faster!" That's right, she'd lied and told Sam that her blood was poison to vampires, with good reason.
Aya pulled her arm free and glared at the vampire who Zac had once loved. "My blood is the only thing that will save him now," she growled. "Do you want him to die?" Liz edged away, fearful.
Turning back towards Zac, Aya leaned in close and whispered, "Please let me do this for you. Trust me, Zac."
His eyes were wide as he shook his head. She couldn't bear to force him to drink her blood after they had all been turned against their will. He would have to choose to live on his own and she hoped that he would. He was a dark grey now, his body almost desiccated. Time was running out, and fast. All she had left was the truth, and she hoped it was enough.
Her blue eyes were full of sorrow as they pierced his dying muddy green and she whispered, "I love you, Zac. Please let me save you." Stroking his face, she kissed him softly on the lips, her tears dripping down onto his cheeks. When she offered her wrist again, he willingly took it and drank and drank until his convulsions began to still. Color began creeping back into his skin as her blood purged the curse from his body.
Sam relaxed his grip and looked sidelong at Aya, concern etched into his features. She couldn't look at any of them. Such an admission tore her apart and her blood … She was alarmed at what Zac might see once he recovered. She stood hastily and backed towards the line of trees, her knees shaking. The loss of blood had drained her physically after her transformation, the emotions flying about the clearing overwhelming and it was all she could do to focus herself.
Liz was back at Zac's side, stroking his hair from his eyes, her hand against his forehead and she felt a stab of jealousy. His skin was almost back to normal, the curse disappearing as her blood circulated. Zac was out cold, his breathing so slight it was a miracle his heart was still beating.
"Thank you," Sam murmured, looking up at her.
Aya shivered with exhaustion and wavered. "He will sleep a while," she said detached. "When he wakes, he will be well."
Sam nodded his acknowledgment. His eyes focused on a point behind her, widening in surprise and she knew that she had made a fatal mistake.
The last thing Aya saw was a hand bursting through her chest clutching her heart. Then there was nothing.
Sam and Liz stared in shock as Aya fell to the ground, eyes wide and vacant, a gaping hole through her chest. But she couldn't die, she just couldn't! Liz grasped Gabby's hand, she was still exhausted from the fight with Katrin, deathly pale.
Sam hissed and stood over Zac's unconscious body, glaring up at Aya's murderer.
He was shorter than Sam by a head, deathly pale skin, close-cropped dark brown hair and a hard face. A long scar from forehead to jaw marred his otherwise good looks. He had blood up to his elbow, a heavy hand still clutching her heart. He threw it nonchalantly to the ground beside him, a sly smile on his lips. "So, the witch made some friends. How quaint."
Sam growled deep in his throat in warning to the vampire who stood before them, "And who the fuck are you?"
The man bared his fangs, eyes turning black. "I am Arturius. I was her maker."
Epilogue
Arturius stood inside the tree line watching the group of vampires. Their witch was calling forth the void. The void where Katrin's soul dwelt. Her vampires had been watching them ever since Alistair had been staked. He wasn't sure if the man who had managed to kill someone that was three hundred years older should impress him. It was almost unheard of.
He stood and watched the show, hidden by witches’ magic. As long as he didn't move from the tree line, he would be hidden from everything. Katrin wanted Aeriaya dead and he would see it to the end. He was here at her bequest, but he would have done it anyway. After all, it was his mistake to fix.
Aeriaya was just as he remembered. It had been hundreds of years since he had laid eyes on her and he could scarcely remember the circumstances, but he would never forget that day he sat with her in that dungeon. His lips on hers, her soft translucent skin under his hard calloused hands. He would never forget the moment he held her head in his hands and snapped her delicate neck.
After so much time, it was hard to separate the lies from the truths. There was never any hope for him. As soon as he set foot in Britannia, it had disappeared forever.
As she vanished into the void with the witch, he remembered the blood between his fingers and grimaced. He had ripped Aeriaya's brother to pieces at Katrin's command. He had no choice. That was the moment when he realized that he would never be able to escape. She had trapped them all.
It wasn't long before he felt a pull at the edges of his mind. He felt disoriented for a moment then the clarity hit him like a ton of bricks. Gasping, he clutched his head. For the first time in two thousand years, he felt free. Aeriaya had done it, as he knew she would. Even he knew that this time was different.
As the void slipped away, Arturius watched as Katrin's curse wailed out into the night and collided with the man who'd killed Alistair. Now he would wait and see what she would do. They assumed that she would save him. After watching them so closely, he knew that she cared for this vampire and that would be her greatest mistake.
Sneer
ing as she knelt over the vampire whispering how much she loved him, he rolled his eyes as she gave him her blood. Stupid woman. He had thought better of her. Vampirism had turned her into something cold and heartless, so how could she justify to herself that this was the right thing to do? Even if she loved him, it would give away everything.
Aeriaya stumbled back towards the tree line where he stood hidden by witches’ magic. He didn't have to do it anymore. Katrin was gone and the compulsion had evaporated along with her. But, he would never forget his dead brothers and his poor, dear sister. Men he had known in life and death; brothers in both. He hadn't loved her for a long time.
As Arturius stepped out into the clearing, he caught the eye of the younger male vampire, whose eyes widened in surprise. He didn't hesitate. Plunging his hand into her chest from behind, his hand grasped her heart and pushed it straight through into the humid night air. She would see her death, just as his brothers had.
He wrenched his hand away and let her fall, blood dripping onto the ground. It stained his arm up to the elbow, her heart still clutched in his palm. He threw it nonchalantly to the ground beside him, a sly smile on his lips. "So, the witch made some friends. How quaint."
The vampire growled deep in his throat, standing over his fallen friend, "And who the hell are you?"
He bared his fangs, feeling his eyes swirl into darkness. "I am Arturius. I was her maker."
The End
The series continues with The Return.
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Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent
Beyond the Fortuneteller’s Tent: Book 1 - Kristy Tate
1
The Royal Oaks Renaissance Faire is the brain baby of Mrs. Brighton, part-time English teacher and full time witch. Glass blowers, potters, and herbalists mingle with students, teachers and parents on sawdust strewn paths lined with wooden stalls. Axe throwing is not only allowed but encouraged. Games include Drench-a-Wench (Mrs. Brighton) and Soak-a-Bloke (Principal Olsen). Wizards, elves, beer and barely covered booties are all welcome as long as they help raise thousands of dollars for the high school drama department.
—Petra’s notes
Petra stared at the fortuneteller’s tent -- silky curtains, beaded strings, the faint aroma of vanilla, a gaudy riot of color. She’d been waiting forever, but now that she was here, she took a breath and then another.
Robyn squeezed her hand. “It’s so romantic,” she whispered. “This is the perfect place for him to ask you.”
“It’s so him, right?” Petra returned Robyn’s squeeze, but her gaze never left the tent. She thought it ugly, garish in a more-is-less way. She sighed and wished that Kyle had asked without hoopla. Maybe she should have asked him. Maybe they shouldn’t go. Prom was so yesterday, dated like a debutant ball… Or a jousting competition, she thought, her gaze going to the nearby stadium.
The frustration of denial settled between her shoulder blades like an unreachable itch. Why did she even care about prom? She’d been with Kyle for months; a silly dance didn’t define their relationship.
Or did it? Some of her friends already had their dresses. Petra hadn’t bought one, that would have been presumptuous but she knew which one she wanted. She’d found the perfect shoes. She hoped Kyle would be okay with the coral-colored vest she’d picked out for him.
“It’s so who?” Zoe demanded.
Petra put her hand on top of Zoe’s orange curls. Zoe was the pooper at the party, the stepsister that never should have come to the fair.
Petra could understand why her stepmother, Laurel, didn’t want to take Zoe to a hospital to visit her Aunt Ida. No one sane would ever want to take Zoe anywhere, especially a place where people needed quiet and rest.
Robyn rolled her eyes at Petra. Robyn and Petra called themselves tele-friends, because they could read each other like open books. Now Robyn nodded at the tent, just go.
“Do you think he’s in there?” Petra whispered.
Robyn widened her eyes. “He said he would be, didn’t he?”
“Who’s he?” Zoe demanded. “Are you talking about Kyle?”
Petra swallowed and tried to forget Zoe’s existence. “He didn’t say anything, but his note said to meet at the fortuneteller’s tent. What if he didn’t send the note? What if this is a joke?”
“Then it’s not a funny one.” Robyn shook her head and her curls bounced around her shoulders. “It was Kyle.” She sounded way more confident than Petra felt. Robyn cut her a sideways glance, and another flicker of doubt tickled Petra’s thoughts. Why did she suspect the fortuneteller’s tent was more Robyn’s idea than Kyle’s? Petra squelched the thought. Kyle was her fortune. Nothing else mattered.
“Kyle has hotitude that sadly so often accompanies physical beauty,” Zoe sighed, parroting her mom.
Petra groaned. Did her parents dislike Kyle because he was rock-star gorgeous? She shook away the other more legitimate reasons why her parents might not like Kyle.
“Ignore her,” Robyn mouthed over Zoe’s head. “And just go already.” She gave Petra a push toward the tent.
Petra dug in her silky flats. “Wait. How do I look?”
“As always, you’re beautiful.” Robyn straightened Petra’s tiara, gave her a small hug, and then turned Petra tent-ward.
“Pretty as a Petra poopy picture,” Zoe muttered.
Petra frowned at Zoe and then glanced at her dress, last year’s prom gown. She and Robyn were the only two at the fair dressed as princesses. All around her she saw women in laced up bodices, men in tights and knee-high boots, horses in bright cloths and even a snowy white owl on a perch. Zoe in her pink flip-flops, cut-up pillowcase and drapery tassel looked more in place than Petra and Robyn. Petra sniffed. She loved the silky fabric, the seed pearls, and poufy skirt and didn’t care that she was overdressed. She put a finger on the tiara; maybe the faux diamonds were too much. Too late now.
Straightening her shoulders, clutching her beaded purse, she headed to the tent. Her steps faltered, and she turned back. “Come with me,” she said to Robyn, taking and tugging her friend’s hand.
Zoe’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t leave me alone!”
Robyn motioned to the fair-goers: teachers, fellow students, neighbors. “Alone?”
Zoe’s eyes, for a moment, looked almost as crazy as her hair. “There are witches, people with swords, wild animals!”
Petra saw several people she knew, but Zoe had only just moved to Royal Oaks. Petra knelt so she could look in Zoe’s crazy eyes. “And not one of them will hurt you, I promise. It’s a petting zoo—no wild animals! But if anyone bugs you, which they won’t, call a yellow jacket,” Petra said, referring to the Royal Oaks security guards who patrolled the school grounds and used blow horns to keep peace. “Please, just sit.”
Petra stood and pointed at a convenient stump, wishing for the zillionth time that Zoe would take lessons from their dog, Frosty, who greeted all instructions with lolling tongue and wagging tail. Zoe didn’t receive instructions; she counterattacked them. Poodles and stepsisters had very little in common, except for in Zoe’s case, the hair-do.
“If you leave me here—” Zoe began.
Petra silenced her by holding up a finger. “If you can be quiet, sit and not say a word, I’ll buy you a funnel cake.” She raised her eyebrows to see if Zoe would take the bribe, or if she needed to toss in a caramel apple. Health-foodie Laurel wouldn’t pony up for brand-name peanut butter, let alone treats fried in oil and covered with sugary powder.
Zoe humphed, then sat and picked at the hem of her pillowcase tunic. Petra followed her gaze to the corral across the path. Zoe’s expression lit up. “I want a funnel cake and to ride that horse.”
Petra and Robyn both turned to watch a guy lead a stallion through a wooden gate.
“Giddy-up,” Robyn said, staring.
The guy had brown, shoulder length hair tied back with a leather thong and w
ore soft, fawn-colored breeches and matching knee-high boots. His white shirt billowed around a wide leather belt that hung about his hips. Three simultaneous thoughts struck Petra. First: Everyone else, including herself, wore costumes, but this guy looked at ease in his breeches and boots, as if they were his everyday clothes. Second: His eyes and the small smile curving his lips sent a jolt of recognition up her spine although she knew they’d never met. She would have remembered. Third: This guy would never wear a coral colored vest.
“Isn’t he awesome?” Zoe breathed, her eyes large and round. “He’s so huge.”
Robyn gave Zoe a look, and Petra laughed. “You can’t ride him,” she said, watching the Arabian toss his mane and pull at the reins held by the guy. The stallion fought the bit, rose up on his hind legs and scissored the air with his hooves. “He’s not one of the ponies they lead through the rink.”
Zoe frowned, sending her freckles south. “I’m sure he’d rather be with me on the trail than in that horrible jousting place.” Earlier, they had tried watching the knights’ competitions. Zoe, unconcerned for the men being thwacked about by lances, had wailed for the sweat-dripping horses.
“I’m sure you’re right, Zoe, but I’m pretty sure I’m right too,” Petra said. “They’d never let you take him out of their sight. Besides, he looks fast and barely tamed.”
“I like them fast and barely tamed,” Robyn said under her breath, smoothing her pink chiffon skirt.
From the jousting arena came cheering and huzzahs. Petra heard the horses’ hooves thundering and the clanging of lances hitting shields and armor. She smelled roasted turkey legs, the fires from the pottery kilns and dung. Her senses careened on overload, and when the guy with the horse caught her eye and winked, dizziness and a skin-pricking sensation of déjà vu washed over her.