by Lenore, Lani
No! This could not be!
Almost like a song of mocking crickets, Christian heard a squeaking sound to his left. He closed his eyes in silent prayer and leaned over to peer out the window and near the road below. Though his view was only slight, he could see the wheel turning crookedly on its post, producing the squeaking sound that was now haunting him and causing him to sweat.
Two will die together on the road…
“What is it?” Cindy asked, looking at him quite worried.
His eyes grew wide as he looked back at her, but could not stand another moment of hesitation.
“Stop the carriage!” Christian yelled – just as the latch broke and the wheel flew free.
5
The town officials scattered about as the lawmen tried to push the crowd away from the bloody mess on the street. The body splattered there was quite the scandal and the officials wanted it cleaned up quickly so all worries would be done away with.
Isabella van Burren’s drastic actions had stirred thoughts of demon possession – especially after all this recent talk of witches. The girl had thrown herself from the tower, and some had said she was bleeding from the mouth after the ceremony was over. The town was in panic. All possibilities of mass hysteria must be done away with.
The chapel was left in a state of utter shock after the groom had simply walked out on his bride. No one had stopped him, yet the Charmings were drowning in embarrassment. They did not even want to be associated with the event. As far as they – especially his mother – was concerned, he was no longer their son.
Samantha gazed up to the broken window above. The glass was completely chipped out, the image ruined. That particular piece had been the finest window in the church – a large red rose and a cross.
The woman saw the police asking questions and was itching to get away. She wanted to be home – away from all this! Where was her husband? She searched the area for him and finally saw him emerging from the crowd gathered at the church door.
“There you are,” she said, grasping his arm and pulling him to stand with her outside the crowded circle. “I think we should get out of here.”
“The police have asked us to stay,” he informed her.
“Drat!” she said. “Out of all these people we have to be the ones!”
“What do you expect, dear?” Anthony asked her rather flatly. “It was our event.”
Samantha shook her head. Perhaps now she saw where her son got his disagreeable attitude from, though she’d always believed her husband to have as much backbone as a worm.
They stood outside the circle that formed in front of the church, peering as the people scrambled about and the police were set to work.
“I wonder what possessed that poor girl to do such a dreadful thing,” said Samantha thoughtfully, clutching tightly to her husband’s arm so that he would not slip away from her.
“I’m not sure,” Anthony said. “She was under a lot of stress. Her mother and sister died and all that.”
“I surely hope it had nothing to do with Christian’s actions. That wretched boy! Who does he think he is?”
“I don’t know, my dear,” Anthony said rather dismissively. His wife did not seem to notice.
“One thing is for sure, he is not getting his hands on any of that money! You will change your will as soon as possible and not a moment later! That child has always had his head in the clouds! He’s selfish and spoiled and thinks he can walk over us without facing consequence! I say that, indeed, this time he has stepped much too far over the line!”
“Yes,” said Anthony. “His name will be removed for this embarrassment.”
“The nerve of that child!” Samantha continued, making sure to keep her voice low. “I am glad that he’s gone! We’ll be getting no more trouble from him!”
Samantha stopped her speech as a black-haired lawman stepped up to the couple. She forced a smile as he opened his mouth.
“Could I ask you to step back a few feet?” he asked. “The crowd is out of hand and we need more room.”
“Oh,” said Anthony. “Of course.”
The man and his wife stepped away from the crowd to give the officers more room to move the people. Samantha scowled through it all then, thinking of what a fool her son had made her out to be.
“Yes,” she said. “First thing tomorrow morning, his name is coming out of that will. I’m tired of waiting for him to grow up!”
Anthony nodded to the words he didn’t even hear his wife say – words she had already said before – but jerked his head abruptly upward when a yell reached his ears.
“Look out!”
Anthony turned only to see a carriage barreling down the road – moving too quickly for either he or his wife to get out of harm’s way. The two of them froze, their pupils shrinking to pinpoints. Nothing could save them. The horses plowed through Anthony and Samantha Charming as they released their last yells of desperation. The large, shoed feet trampled their faces while the wheels of the carriage did their part to splatter the blood on the street.
People gasped and pointed as the carriage finally came to a halt after the entire thing had rolled over the crushed couple.
“What is all the fuss out there?” came the feminine voice from inside the carriage.
The driver dropped down from his seat as the shocked townspeople began to form their circle around this scene now. The young black-haired driver knelt down to touch Samantha’s wrist. He stared over both of the bodies for signs of movement. There were none.
Another black-haired man, a footman, came from the back to open the door for the lady inside. A long dress of purple velvet began to spill out the door of the carriage when it opened. Out stepped the woman, looking quiet disappointed about her interrupted ride but not seeming to care much for the bodies on the road.
“What of them?” the woman asked, glancing over the two who had been crushed beneath the horses’ weight.
The man who drove the carriage looked up to her with no emotion in his eyes.
“They are dead, miss,” he informed her.
The woman with the red wine locks and the black hollow eyes scoffed. Many eyes saw her, and though many of them had seen her recently and nearly all of them had spoken of her in whispers, she was recognized by no one. If they had known her, they would have been struck with fear.
This woman should have been dead.
“It’s a pity,” she said unfeelingly, “but they should never have crossed me.”
Then she gathered her cloak around her shoulders to shield her pale skin from the cool air. She looked down at the man who was her driver, leaning over the death they had caused.
“It is finished,” she said quietly.
The black-haired man smiled up to his mistress, his eyes gleaming red in the sunlight. She smiled back at him as well, looking over the three bodies on the street. One had died by her own hand. Two had died together, bloody and crushed on the road.
And so ended the prophecy.
Epilogue
1
In the name of God, Amen.
I, Anthony Charming of Greenhaven in the State of Virginia, being of sound mind, memory and understanding, and being desirous to settle my worldly affairs, do therefore make and publish this, my last will and testament, in manner and form following:
I will to my wife, Samantha Charming, for and during the term of her natural life, my house, with the garden, and the rooms in said dwelling occupied by family at the time of my death. I leave my wife all of my worldly riches and possessions which dwelt with me on earth.
In the event that my loving wife shall die before me, I will offer this selection: If my wife is not able to become the sole taker of my possessions, I implore that my possessions by divided amongst my five children: Anthony William Charming II, Theodore James Charming, Winston Bartholomew Charming, Joshua Andrew Charming, and Christian Elliot Charming. Should any of these children die before me, I would have everything be divided between the remaini
ng of my sons.
In the event that there are some of my sons left that are not married and have not received their inheritance, my riches shall be divided amongst them. If I shall die before my youngest son is grown, for I am getting on in age, if the son is not married at the time of my death and has not received his inheritance, I leave everything I possess to my youngest son, Christian Elliot Charming. May he use the wealth in a manner that would please God.
2
Three years later…
Cindy stared up at the sky through the window. Her life was remade in a town called Providence and her happiness rode steadily with the passing days. It rarely crossed her mind of what life would have been like had she not trusted Amanda – or Cassandra, rather – or if she would never have gotten Christian’s help. Her life was different now; she had no time to worry about the past.
The years had been good to her. The day that Christian had told the driver to stop the carriage, the wheel had flown off its place, but not before the carriage was appropriately under control. They and the driver had all walked through the woods to get back into town. When they’d gotten there, they had found that Christian’s parents had been trampled by an oncoming carriage – both left dead in the street. Isabella had thrown herself to her death from the belfry tower. The prophecy was done. After these events, Christian found that he was the sole possessor of everything that was his father’s. It was quite confusing at first, to see how it had all happened, but perhaps it was destiny – part of the promise.
Christian had married Cindy the very day that they had arrived in Providence. He left the family home to his brothers and fled, never to return. He and Cindy had lived their last three years in this new town as rich citizens. They had bought a lovely house on a hill above the town and made the place their own.
A year into their marriage, Cindy had given birth to a lovely little girl, who they named Amanda Margarette. The child was nearing two years, but already she had quite a personality about her. Cindy smiled at the thought. Her life was finally whole.
“Would you give me a hand, Cindy?” came Christian’s voice into the room as he entered, dragging the body of Desmond Mitchell.
“You’re supposed to be the strong man,” she reminded him, but came over to help him lift the corpse besides.
Christian glanced down at the wrapped body on the table and then back up to his wife whose long hair was tied back in a tight bun – reminding him of the day he had first met her.
“You know, you never told me exactly how damned smelly these corpses can be,” he said.
“I do believe I did give you fair warning,” she replied, “but you were the curious one, Mr. Surgeon.”
“I suppose,” he said, pulling on his gloves and picking up his scalpel. In this town, Christian acted as both doctor and undertaker – with Cindy always at his side – and no one seemed to have negative thoughts on the matter.
He lowered the blade to cut into the flesh, but stopped abruptly in thought.
“It’s strange,” he began, “that it takes being underground in a cold mortuary to make us happy. Perhaps we’re a bit too morbid.”
“No,” she said. “Only interested in the like.”
He smiled and kissed her lips over the corpse. Then he began to go to work, preparing the dead man for the grave. It took only a few years to realize that what it truly was that he wanted was something he never dreamed he’d find. This girl was his life and he never regretted what he’d had to do to get her.
3
The wind blew gently through the field behind the house, playing with the small girl’s hair. The child’s laughter filled the area and made the sun smile. The baby smiled as gentle breath blew the fuzz from a dandelion, filling the air with downy white fluff. She grasped a few of the red wine-colored strands of hair blowing in the wind. The woman’s faintly colored lips smiled at the child with motherly warmth.
“Did you know you were named after me, Amanda Margarette?” she asked the small girl. “It’s true, even though my name is Cassandra. You may not be able to say that yet, but you can just call me Cass.”
“Ca!” the little girl said gleefully.
The woman’s laughter was full of affection.
“That will also work,” she said. “Did you also know that you are a very special little girl? You were born of real love. Not many can say such a thing.”
The small girl with dark hair continued to grab at the woman’s long tresses.
“And it seems we will be spending lots of time together, you and I,” the woman continued. “Your mother wants me to teach you a few things…”
Cassandra plucked a flower from the ground and made it levitate to the girl’s grasping hand.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” she asked. “There are so many things I can teach you, and I want you to know something now: I will always be here for you. No matter what happens, I will be here beside you. I am your Godmother now, and I will do anything it takes to keep you happy. I promise.”
~the end~
****
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Nevermor (Book 1 preview) by Lani Lenore
LONDON, 1873 - In the foggy city, polluted by coal smoke from the factories along the river, 15-year-old Wren is clinging to a small thread of hope: the shimmering silver dream of a better life.
Wren and her brothers, Henry and Max, are orphans. They wish to be adopted, but no one wants to take in all three of them. Wren won’t be separated from her family, but no matter how hard she fights to keep them together, she fears she will lose them nonetheless. Henry grows more distant by the day, and Wren worries about how young Max will be affected if he continues along the path of this hard life.
She wants more for both of them - for herself. She wants an escape.
Prompted by a world she sees in a dream, Wren begins to tell her brothers stories of a place where they can be carefree forever - a place called Nevermor. It is an island at the edge of the universe, where all dreams go. There is a boy who guards it, and he is known only as the Rifter. Wren believes that this place truly exists, and desires her own life there, where she can keep her family together without anyone tearing them apart.
But Wren gets more than she bargained for when she is kidnapped by the arrogant and volatile Rifter and taken to Nevermor against her will. It is not completely unwelcome, however. The land is beautiful and there is freedom. The Rifter and his pack of wild boys accept her, and she feels that her brothers will be happy in this place too.
Wren falls in love with Nevermor - and with the Rifter - and yet the more she learns of the conflict between the Rifter and a wicked man called the Scourge, the more she comes to realize that Nevermor is not a place for children.
Nevermor is a dark fantasy based on the legend of Peter Pan.
A portion of the upcoming novel, Nevermor by Lani Lenore
Text Copyright 2012
Remember, oh child; do not forget
When storms roll in and darkness sets,
Though truth be heavy, keep it still,
As fire will burn and swords will kill,
What happens once comes ‘round again.
As it began, so shall it end.
~~
Prologue
The sea was calm, glittering beneath the moon like an endless sheet of diamonds. Often, it was rocked with the turmoil of violent dreams, during which the black remnant of nightmares washed up onto the land, but on this night, the waves lapped gently at the sandy shore and the wind was steady.
The Rifter was pleased with this, even if it meant that his sword would not taste blood tonight. The cool breeze rushed through his hair and he felt at ease, for the world was also at rest.
Finding that the beach was safe, he brushed back his coat of leaves and sat down on the rocks that were jutting out toward the ocean. From here, he took in the silence – breathed it in like the salty air. The dark water stretched
as far as his eyes could see, fading away until it met the blue-black sky. There was not a threat to be seen – not a nightmare or an ominous cloud – and to see nothing at all on the horizon was better than noting danger.
Though if danger had approached him, he would have laughed in its face as he cut its throat.
The Rifter often brought the others with him, but he had come by himself tonight. What he had to do, he had to do alone. The weight of this choice was on his own shoulders.
A small orb of light drifted lazily over his head, staying close to him always, as per their bond. Though it was uncommon to see a fairy wisp keeping so close to a human, this one rarely left his side. As he was the guardian of this place, she had made it her personal duty to watch over him – yet her consistent hovering led him to forget that she was there at all.
She dipped low now, flicking his ear to have his attention.
“Yes, yes. I’m awake,” he told her with a hint of annoyance. He didn’t like it when she fussed over him.
The boy lifted his eyes toward the sea again, observing the calm beneath the light of the large moon.
“Think there’s anything out there?” he asked her.
His only answer was a steady stream of whispers, spoken in a language that not many could interpret, but it was as clear as English to him.
“I guess we’ll see,” he responded. “Why don’t you go scout; try to bring something in.”
The whispers swirled nastily as the fairy zipped around him, cutting bright streaks through the air, but the Rifter gave it no attention.
“I don’t care,” he said, uninterested in her complaints. “Just do it.”
With one last curse, the wisp shot off across the sea, keeping low, until she was only a tiny pinprick in the distance.