Stella Maris (The Legendary Rosaries)

by Marita A. Hansen

  I raised a hand to her cheek, running the back of my fingers down it, her skin so soft. She didn’t object, her earlier protests gone, her pretence shattered. I knew I annoyed her, but I also knew the attraction she felt for me could override that.

  I leaned my head forward and pressed my lips against hers, revelling in the contact. Catherine responded, moving her lips against mine, not even hesitating. So inviting, the way she opened her mouth the sweetest invitation. I continued to kiss her, getting lost in the taste of her lips, in the tangle of our tongues.

  As we kissed, I ran my fingers down her throat, still revelling in how soft her skin felt. So satiny smooth, a tease to my senses. I wanted to replace my fingers with my lips, tracing the line of her neck, but couldn’t rip them away from her mouth, her kisses intoxicating.

  My fingers dipped beneath her shirt, brushing over a hidden necklace. Without warning, pain shot through my middle finger, an ice-cold shard biting into my flesh. I yelped and whipped my hand back, breaking our kiss. I shook my hand out, what had happened so similar to—

  My eyes instantly snapped to her shirt, praying she wasn’t wearing a rosary. I reached forward, brushing her long white hair aside. A couple of blue beads were sticking out from beneath her T-shirt, causing me to whip my hand back even faster.

  “You can’t be a Maris,” I said, in disbelief.

  My grandfather had told me I would always recognise one, like the last Maris I’d come into contact with. I’d felt the overwhelming pull even before I’d seen him, the fire in my veins telling me to run. And I had. But the demon had caught up with me, torturing me, then almost drowning me, only my grandfather miraculously saving me from certain death. It was why my family had moved to New Zealand, since the Maris wouldn’t stop coming after me. But Catherine didn’t give off the same vibe. Not only that, the pull I’d felt with her was totally different—willing. She also didn’t have the right coloured eyes. All Marises had blue eyes, whether cerulean, aqua marine, or an ice-cold azure.

  Not hazel eyes.

  Never hazel eyes.

  Plus, my rosary hadn’t reacted to hers like it had to the other Maris, only touching her beads warning me to back off.

  And I did. I took a step back and pointed at the beads. “Why are you wearing the Maris rosary?”

  I remembered the Maris who’d attacked me. The male demon may not have been wearing a physical rosary, but he’d had an image of one on his chest, the rosary having merged with his flesh. He’d also been wearing demonic black beads, the combination too powerful for me to fight.

  Catherine looked down at her chest, then back up at me, her expression confused. “It’s just prayer beads a nun gave me.”

  “Don’t lie,” I spat, angry I’d fallen for her ruse. “You’re a honey-trap, aren’t you? Here to lure me in like a Maris siren.”

  The sea creatures from Greek mythology were one type of Maris. Like the myth proclaimed, they lured men to their deaths with their voices and beauty, Catherine having both. Not to mention the way she’d drawn me in, the intense connection I’d felt.

  It was unnatural.

  She’d done something, probably casting a demon spell over me. It could explain why her emotions had switched so suddenly, how she’d gone from scared to aroused within the blink of an eye.

  She’d tricked me.

  She screwed up her face. “Why would I lie? It’s just a rosary, so calm the hell down, you loon.”

  “It’s not just a rosary.” I yanked out my red rosary from my pocket and pulled it over my head, getting ready to protect myself if she attacked me. “Like my Seraphim one. I made my eyes red to spook you the other day, I just didn’t realise you knew what I was. You obviously were leading me on, pretending not to know merda until you got me alone.”

  Her face turned angry. “I wasn’t leading you on! I don’t want to be anywhere near your crazy arse. And why the hell would I care that you have a rosary?”

  I grimaced at her. “You’re either a really good liar or ignorant as hell.”

  She moved forward fast, shoving me back. “And you’re a complete prick!”

  Anger flared through me. “Don’t touch me!”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Only minutes ago you were pressing your hard-on against me, now you don’t want me to touch you?”

  “Now that I know what you are, I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

  “What am I?”

  “Haven’t you been listening to me? A Maris.”

  “Is that some sort of insult in your language or something? Because if it is, I’ll punch you in the face.”

  I sneered at her. “Try it and see where it lands you, Maris, because I won’t allow another of your kind to hurt me ever again.”

  “Another of my kind?”

  I shook my head. “Why am I even talking to you? You’re a fucking demon.” I turned to leave.

  She grabbed my arm, yelling something in Slavic at me.

  I swung around, yanking my arm free. “I told you not to touch me!”

  Her eyes widened. She quickly backed up into the locker, fear colouring her expression. I knew why. The fire inside of me had lit up my eyes, turning them from brown to red. I clenched my hands into fists, willing them to change back, the flames already trying to burst forth. But it wouldn’t stop, my panic and hers now fuelling the fire.

  Needing to get away before I set her alight, I turned and burst through the corridor’s doorway. I sprinted through the school, upset that she was a Maris, but even more upset that I couldn’t do my duty: which was to burn her alive. Because like the Maris who’d tried to kill me, she belonged in Hell—with all the other demons.

  Chapter 6

  ~ CATHERINE ~

  I hadn’t knelt to pray since Vesna had died, but what had happened with Christopher had shaken me. Deeply. His chocolate-brown eyes had turned red, giving them a demonic glow, and when I’d touched him, he’d been burning up, his flesh searing my palm. I looked down at my hand. The skin was still tender, as though it had been badly sunburned.

  And he’d called me a demon.

  I looked up at my ceiling, thinking this was insane. I could brush off what Sister Cecile had said, but what had happened with Christopher? How could I explain his eyes turning red and his heated skin? It almost felt like he was burning up from the inside, about to self-combust. I didn’t even know if someone could do that.

  I looked back down at my rosary. It was now lying on top of my Def Leppard shirt, looking beautiful, not supernatural. There was nothing about it that should have made Christopher go nuts at me. And right now, I was wondering whether I was going nuts, because what had happened wasn’t humanly possible.

  I lifted the rosary over my head and placed it in my left palm, my right one a bit too sore. I ran a fingertip over the star-like jewel above the cross, reconsidering what Sister Cecile had told me. I’d wanted to speak to her about what had happened with Christopher, but she wasn’t answering her phone. She also hadn’t been home when I’d popped over to her place. It was probably a good thing, because what had happened couldn’t be real. There had to be some logical explanation for Christopher’s appearance and behaviour—like there had to be one for Sister Cecile knowing about my dream. I’d asked my parents whether they’d spoken to her recently. They both had said no, their replies freaking me out, because I didn’t think they would lie to me. Regardless, there had to be an explanation. And if Sister Cecile had answered her door, I’d be right back at square one, trying to excuse myself from her crazy talk.

  Because it was crazy.

  The star-like bead started to vibrate in my hand, startling me into dropping it. I cursed as the rosary hit the floor. I quickly picked it up, wondering whether I’d imagined the vibration, my nerves so jumpy. I’d probably caused the bead to bounce. I stared down at the star-like bead again, running my thumb over its smooth surface. It didn’t vibrate or react to my touch, my imagination and agitated state running away with me.

  I looked ba
ck up at the ceiling, needing to voice what was inside my head. I wasn’t sure whether I believed in God anymore, my sister’s death having severely shaken my faith, but I wanted to believe.

  “I don’t know what’s happening,” I said softly, feeling silly for talking to Him. “I don’t understand any of this, but most of all, I don’t understand how Christopher’s eyes changed. He’d called me a demon, but he was the one who looked like a demon. His eyes… How could they change like that? It wasn’t human. Am I losing my mind?”

  I dropped my gaze, wondering whether it was true—that I was losing my mind. Or maybe Christopher’s kiss had made me temporarily insane, because the way he’d kissed me ... held me ... pressed up against me. That had felt unreal. The passion had been overwhelming, so much so that I’d forgotten where we were. I hadn’t cared that a student or a teacher could’ve walked out of a classroom and caught us kissing. The consequences weren’t even considered, everything around us disappearing. It had almost felt like we were the only two people in the world. I’d never felt anything like it, and I’d had a few boyfriends.

  The star bead lit up. But instead of panicking me this time, a calming effect washed over my mind like a gentle wave lapping at the shore. Deep down, I knew what was happening wasn’t right, but I no longer cared, the change from confusion to peace a welcome relief.

  Still holding the rosary, I climbed into bed and laid down. My eyes fell shut as soon as my head hit the pillow, sleep pulling me into its loving arms.

  ***

  Loud snoring awoke me. I sat up and went to rub my eyes, my hand stopping halfway to my face, what I saw freezing me. I was no longer in my bedroom. Instead, a dormitory spread out before me. There were two rows of beds filled with sleeping boys, all wrapped up in their blankets. I closed my eyes and reopened them to check if the beds were still there. They were, the moonlight from the large window at the far end of the room casting an eerie glow over them. I went to pinch my arm to see if I was awake, but stopped at what I saw. Even in the faded light I could tell my arm was more muscular than it should be. My eyes instantly dropped to my chest. I ran a hand over it, feeling a flat chest instead of the curve of my breasts. My hand dipped lower, touching—

  I gasped and whipped my hand back. I had a penis!

  How was that even possible?!

  A dream. It had to be a dream.

  Sister Cecile’s words popped into my head. What she’d said about my dreams being real, that the rosary was creating them. Or maybe they acted as a portal into some freaky dimension, possibly another time. But if that was true, I’d be myself. Maybe only my spirit had been transported. Maybe I was just borrowing a body from that time, because what I’d just touched felt very real.

  The Invasion of the Body Snatchers movie instantly came to mind, though a reverse version, where I was the alien inside someone else’s body. God! I couldn’t get my head around this. This was the stuff of sci-fi, not real life.

  Without warning, a calming wave of warmth washed over me, pulling me out of my confusion and panic. I looked down at the rosary in my hand, which I was still clutching. Two of the beads on either side were glowing softly. Unlike the other jewels, they were pearls. Little veins of blue circled the beads, marring the polished white surface. I ran a finger over one, the pearl warming even more to my touch.

  A loud snore startled me, pulling my attention away from the pearl. The boy in the bed next to me turned over and snuggled further under his cover, only the top of his head now visible. I scanned the room to see if I’d woken anyone, but no one else stirred.

  Realising I was here for a reason, I slipped the rosary over my head and under my night shirt, then pushed the scratchy blankets off me and lowered my feet to the floor. They landed on wooden floorboards so cold that I felt like I’d stepped out onto an ice skating rink. I whipped my feet back up, then lowered them again, bracing myself this time. I wanted to know why I was here, and a bad case of cold tootsies wasn’t going to stop this girl—or guy, because being in a male body was seriously freaking me out.

  Careful not to wake the room’s occupants, I tiptoed away from the bed, shivering, my breath coming out in puffs of mist. Two beds near the entrance were empty, the covers rumpled. Wary of being caught, I poked my head around the doorway to check if the coast was clear, then stepped through it cautiously, entering a large corridor. A balcony lined the far side, overlooking an empty atrium. The glass dome above it shone under the moonlight, which sent shadows skittering across the polished floor, like restless children refusing to sleep.

  I glanced both ways, noticing a faint glow coming from the west wing of the corridor. I crept towards it, picking up muffled voices as I drew closer to the room. I stopped just outside it and placed my ear to the door, wincing as it pushed open a fraction. But unlike my previous dream, no one noticed. The people in the room carried on with their conversation, not missing a beat.

  I angled my head forward and peered through the slit, spotting two teenage boys close to my age. Both of them were far too wrapped up in their argument to notice me spying on them. The one who was closest to me looked like a young Reprebus Rosario, with his strong features and muscular build, while the other boy was obviously related, his features too similar not to be. Though, he had a slimmer, more wirier build. I focused on him, wondering who he was. He was sitting on a desk, playing with a red rosary similar to Christopher’s, the sardonic tilt of his lips almost disturbing. It reminded me of the way Christopher had reacted to me in the corridor, right before he’d kissed me. So sure of himself. Arrogance obviously in his family’s DNA.

  Straining to hear their hushed tones, I could just make out the general gist of their conversation. From what I could tell, the young Reprebus was upset with the other boy for stealing the red rosary and killing their owner.

  “You didn’t have to kill Father O’Malley, Michael,” Reprebus said, raising his voice.

  Michael’s face instantly went hard. “Keep your voice down,” he hissed.

  “Why? No one will hear us with the sleep-hold. And I wouldn’t even be speaking about this, if you hadn’t killed the father. He was harmless, one of the few nice people in this damn place.” He wiped at his cheeks, tears falling freely.

  The other boy scowled at Reprebus, his expression devoid of sympathy.

  Reprebus continued, “Please, Michael, get rid of the rosary before it’s too late. It’s changing you.”

  “Not on your life. I have control over it, not the other way around.”

  “You don’t have control, otherwise Father O’Malley would still be alive,” Reprebus replied, flinging his hands out in frustration. “And what happens when they find his body? They’ll hang us.”

  I frowned, knowing they didn’t hang people in New Zealand anymore, the last one I’d heard about happening in the 1950s. We’d talked about it in my history class, a man having been hung for poisoning his wife.

  “You didn’t kill him, Cristoforo,” Michael said, the name instantly capturing my attention, what Sister Cecile had called her father returning. “And no one can harm me now that I have the rosary. Actually, you can shout it to the world and I won’t care. Nothing can touch me. Nothing.”

  Reprebus, or Cristoforo, whatever his real name was, continued to pace in front of Michael, the boy too restless to stay in one place for long. “Father O’Malley probably thought that too, yet he’s dead.”

  “That old fool was stupid and reckless. He had no idea how to use the rosary, so calm the hell down before I make you,” Michael snapped, now looking annoyed with Reprebus.

  Reprebus stopped pacing, his expression shocked. “Are you threatening me?”

  Pushing off the desk, Michael slipped the red rosary around his neck and tucked it under his nightshirt. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, stopping a breath away from the other boy. “You’re my cousin, the only relative I give a damn about. I will do everything to protect you. But you have to rein in your panic or you’ll get us caught, and if we
’re caught, I’ll burn this whole place down. Do you want everyone’s ashes on your hands?”

  “They won’t be on mine, they’ll be on yours,” Reprebus snapped.

  “But unlike you, I won’t care, so keep your goddamn mouth shut.” He jerked his head to the side. “Let’s go back to bed, the sleep-hold won’t last for much longer.”

  At Michael’s words I took off, heading back to the dormitory as quietly as possible. As I settled under the scratchy blankets, faint footsteps neared the room. After the two boys got back into their beds, I closed my eyes, falling into another slumber, this one taking me to Christopher. But unlike before, it felt like a dream, or a memory of what had happened at school. Christopher was standing in front of me, staring into my eyes. Though, I didn’t feel threatened this time. Instead, pure excitement welled up inside of me. My heartbeat sped up as I examined his frozen form, feeling a strong, unwanted attraction to him. And despite the flames in his eyes and his harsh words from earlier, I couldn’t look away from his beautiful, angelic face. He was both Heaven and Hell rolled into one sinful package, a paradox I couldn’t even come close to unravelling.

  I lifted my hand, unable to resist the temptation of touching his chiselled cheekbones or the soft brush of his dyed-black hair. It was hanging around his face, a perfect frame for a stunning picture. And his lips...

  They were so sensuous.

  I brushed a finger over them, remembering how they’d felt against my own lips. I’d never felt passion like that before. Even though I knew it was wrong, that he wasn’t good for me, I placed a hand behind his head and pulled him to me, smashing my lips against his, needing to taste him one more time.