After a long and agonizing journey, Vega reached the platform where the Inquisitor waited. Once more, a black cloth hid his face as if he needed protection against breathing in her evil. But, above the dark wrap, his eyes shined like two sapphires swirling with hate and disgust as they peered out at her.
One of the guards took the candle away, emptying Vega’s twisted hands of its weight, and she sighed in relief as her arms dropped to her sides. Unable to look at the tall tier of wood on which she would burn, she cast her eyes downward as the local priest began to bellow about godliness and sin.
Outwardly, she pretended to be calm and unbroken. Inside, her thoughts raged and scattered as fear and agony danced along her nerve endings in a ballet of terror. Vega begged God to help her, wished she had made a deal with the devil so she could save herself, and wished a single person in the crowd cared enough to stop what was about to happen.
Just as all hope seemed lost, a small ray of hope caught her eye. The sparkle of the red gem set into the Master of the Guard’s sword held Vega’s attention, and she knew what she must do.
With impossible speed, considering her wounds, she grabbed the sword from its scabbard and brandished it with wild abandon. “I curse you,” she screamed. “I curse this town and these people. By my innocent blood, I curse you all to hell. Each of you turned on me in my time of need. You lied and brandished your untruths as if they were flags to be waved. So, may the devil have you.” To seal the curse, she spat on the ground near the priest’s feet.
The crowd gasped, most stepping backward in a wave of fear, but others daring to move closer. Vega ignored the onlookers because they did not matter. She hoped her words would somehow reach God’s ears, and he would smite every man, woman, and child who had come to watch her burn.
Her intended victim did not stand among them, so she wasted no more than that small hope on the crowd before she gripped the hilt and aimed the blade. With a mighty thrust, the razor-sharp sword pierced her flesh, causing a fatal wound.
Pain clouded Vega’s vision, and she fell forward, driving the sword deeper until it pierced her through and through. The rough wooden diesis scratched her skin as she turned her eyes upward, and her gaze settle on the Inquisitor as he watched her die.
****
Vega awakened with a scream, hands clutching her chest and attempting to stop the blood that she was sure would be pouring from the open wound. But, when her fingers came up empty, a blurry astonishment took the place of her fear.
It had all been a dream, but the crazed mob, agonizing pain, and the Inquisitor had all seemed so real. She had expected to reach out and feel the sword in her chest. She’d thought the blood would flow until it soaked everything around her. Instead, she was safe in her bed, whole and unharmed.
Hands balled into fist, Vega rubbed fresh tears from her eyes and whispered, “Zane?”
She waited, the need to feel his comforting embrace bearing down on her heart like a thousand-pound weight. Yet, he didn’t come. Long breathless moments stretched out into an endless hour as Vega cried for the parents she had never known, the life she could have had, and the love she would never know. Still, Zane did not come.
Too restless to remain in bed, Vega slipped from underneath her shabby comforter and stood. If she couldn’t sleep, she could at least sip coffee and watch the sunrise on her dark little world.
Before she could take her first step, a wave of heat and nausea hit her in an unexpected jolt. Vega’s vision darkened around the edges as she slipped back down and cradled her head in her hands.
****
Darkness and silence made the dorm room seem like a tomb, and the rustling of Vega’s skirts created the only sound. Female voices drifted in from the large, common room below, but Vega sat alone. Somehow, she knew she was dreaming, but the separation between her true self and her dream self had shrunken to a hairline fracture.
Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she looked out a high window over a courtyard. Candlelit lanterns hung from trees and banisters, casting a faint and flickering glow on the flagstone paths and verandas. Young couples mingled and danced, and the tinkling of glasses and laughter rose above the sweet orchestra as it played waltz after waltz.
Vega’s eyes sought out a young man—his body tall and well-muscled, and his attitude jaunty. When he finally came into view, her soul whispered, “Mine.” But her mind hissed, “Hers.”
On his arm, a petite brunette preened like the perfect accessory to the air of assurance the young man exuded. Even from her lofty position three stories above, Vega could see the love between the two, and it crushed her heart.
An onslaught of emotion addled her brain. Thoughts became broken, dark, and undecipherable as they jostled together with images in a cascade of recollections, busted aspirations, and tarnished dreams.
The boy, Anderson, had kissed Vega softly. He’d made her think, intentionally or not, that he loved her. She’d given herself to him freely, and a baby had been conceived of the union. But when she’d gone to him with the news, he’d turned her away. Callous and uncaring, he’d sworn to kill her if she’d told a soul.
Below, Anderson danced with Rebecca, and Vega rested her hand on the small bump hidden beneath her corset and gown. The word betrayal screamed in the darkest recesses of her mind as the life inside her stirred.
Fear seized Vega like a fist around the throat, choking her with sobs and pain. Crazed thoughts swirled out of control, and before the real Vega understood what was happening, her dream self slid her slipper-clad feet out the window. Though her nails dug into the stone sill, the girl scooted to the very edge.
No escape. Shame. A daughter. A death. No use going on.
“Anderson!”
His name bounced off the brick wall surrounding the courtyard before falling back to Vega’s ears. With a final cry, she pushed herself outward and let go. As she plummeted, the world slowed. For an instant, everything seemed clear, and she saw the others seeing her.
Confusion and horror ran amok through the sea of upturned faces. Happy expressions twisted in shock and fear. Screams echoed off the brick walls, and the ground loomed ever closer.
A familiar man stood at the edge of the shadows in the background, long coattails and white hair fluttering in a nonexistent breeze as he smiled.
****
Vega’s eyes flew open, and her arms covered her face as she landed on the worn carpet at the side of the bed. Air rushed from her lungs until she coughed and sputtered against the floor, the rough texture soaking up her tears.
Minutes passed before she could make herself move, before she could force herself to believe it had only been a dream. Afraid to move, she remained on the floor until her lungs no longer ached and the tears dried on her cheeks.
Then, on shaking limbs, she slowly pushed herself upward and rested on hands and knees. Breaths coming in shallow pants, she tried to rationalize away the sinking feeling in her stomach telling her she’d stumbled into something far beyond the bounds of normal reality.
“I must have fallen back to sleep,” Vega reasoned as she shook her head to clear away the odd dream still plaguing her. She rose from the floor and brushed her dark hair from her face. The desire to sleep had left her, fleeing into the remnants of the nightmares, and her mind wandered into dark things of the real-world kind.
With no tears left to cry, Vega collected a pencil and a pad of paper from her vanity. Perhaps making a list of the things she needed to do would help chase away the terrible thoughts eating at her soul. With the inheritance money, she could go anywhere and do anything. But, with no friends or family, she couldn’t imagine a life outside the shabby little house.
She’d learned early on how cruel others could be when they learned her mother was a druggie and a whore whose boyfriend was ten times as bad. So, she’d become a loner, never trusting anyone or welcoming them into her life. Now, Vega was all alone.
Dead. They are all dead, she thought as she took her place at the kitc
hen counter.
The dark inner voice in her head was quick to remind her that she had no one but herself to blame for that.
You killed them!
She pictured the way Diana’s face had looked as the life had drained from her already too vacant eyes. Vega shivered. The house seemed colder without Diana and Bill. Almost as if the faint spark of their reckless and drug addled lives had kept the chill away.
Murderer, her mind accused with a sinister tone.
Vegas slowly shook her head from side to side, unable to deny the truth of the word but unwilling to accept her misdeeds. I didn’t mean to. Not her, she was my mother, though not by blood. When I hurt Bill, it was self-defense. He got what he deserved. But I never meant to hurt Diana. I just wanted her to stop.
Vega’s righteous justification burned at the guilt, but not enough to ease the shame.
Without warning, chills raced up her arms, and a thin sheath of sweat covered her skin. Head dropping down on the counter, she mumbled, “Not again.” Her world shifted, and she was lost in the vertigo.
****
Eurynome was gone, but the damage he had done to Zane’s body still bled and festered. Still, even badly wounded, the young man smiled. He could feel Vega, suffering and in need, but there and stronger than she had ever been.
The power of his final gift to her in Oaksdale had found its way back to her hand. The small silver band engraved so innocently with tiny rosebuds stretched its power outward and shined like a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. It beckoned to him.
“Soon,” he promised. “I will come.” Weakened by starvation, the spirit of the death eater raised its head inside of him, its hunger awakened by the promise of freedom.
Chapter Six
Vega was a slave girl, shackled, chained, and screaming for the Master—a man with long white-blond hair and cold eyes.
“Kill me. Please, Master. I beg you.”
Her newborn baby had been ripped from her arms moments after birth, and in her heartache, she pounded her head against the prison’s mud brick walls. The hard blows causing her to become dizzy, she fell in a heap on a pile of bloody rags.
The real Vega cringed as she looked out from the slave girl’s eyes, seeing her hands search the ground until the thin fingers wrapped around a jagged piece of rusted metal.
Even as she whispered, “Please. Please, don’t.” Vega understood why her dream self would choose to take her life. No woman, no mother, could stand the pain she felt pulsing through the slave woman into her.
Dream Vega’s heart, though still beating, ached as fiercely as if it was being torn from her chest. She couldn’t even find the words to describe the deep sadness winding around her body and burying her in layers of agony.
The real Vega tried to reach her dream counterpart, once more. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t give—”
With the wild abandon of someone who has lost all reasoning, the slave woman drove the sharp object into her arms. Dozens of deep wounds opened up and spilled blood onto the dirt floor. When her weapon grew to slick to hold, she wiped the crimson liquid onto her dress and switched hands before slicing away at the flesh some more.
Vega’s dream self screamed curses at the man who had condemned her to such a terrible fate. The master with long blond hair who had taken her child away.
****
A fleeting vision of sunlight bathing the kitchen counter broke through Vega’s dreams. For a moment, she thought she might be okay, but then a stream of bile spewed from her mouth. The liquid splattered onto the dirty tiles, and coffee-colored sickness pooled at her feet. Vega fought against the pull of unconsciousness once again.
“Someone, please, help me,” she whimpered. “Zane, where are you?”
****
A band of heathens had overtaken the wagon. Gun powder and dust filled the air. Vega’s family, the other travelers, and even the horses all laid dead. War Cries echoed through the endless desert as savages surrounded her, their roughened hands pulling at her hair and clothes.
One man, his face painted as if a raven had spread its wings across his dark face, had smeared blood through his white hair. The contrast between the crimson streaks and the pale locks made the act that much more worse.
With a feral sneer, the man with the raven paint leaned forward—rotted breath stale in the desert heat, and spoke. Vega could not understand the words, but it sounded as if he thought she were the vilest creature to have ever lived. The fury in his eyes could not be mistaken, though the dried and cracked coating of paint and blood hid his features well.
The real Vega tried to intervene as she screamed at her dream self. “That is the man from your nightmares. He wants to kill you. He will kill you. Stab him with the knife hidden in your sleeve. Don’t let him murder us again.”
Vega didn’t know if her dream self had heard her, if her mind had simply taken her directions and worked them into the dream, or if her look alike had actually heard her.
Whatever the cause, the girl pulled out the short blade and tears filled her eyes. Too many men surrounded her. She’d only succeed in superficial damage if she tried to fend them off. The worst part came when she realized that death was the best she could hope for because, if she lived, they’d do things to her that would make her wish she could die.
Fearing what might become of her as their prisoner, Vega turned the knife on herself.
A cry of strength and bravery screamed passed her lips, as she plunged the sharp edge into her throat where her heart continued to beat hard against the tender flesh. The arc of crimson shot outward, splattering the raven man’s face just as Vega whimpered and fell. Death came swiftly, carrying her away into the desert sun on the wings of a black bird.
Somewhere down below, the man with the long white hair laughed.
****
Vega’s eyes cracked open, and her hands shot upward to her throat. The pain like a fading phantom ebbed away, and through a fog of haze, she realized she had awakened again.
Relieved, though panting and weak, she did not try to move. Even if she wanted to, she knew she didn’t have the strength to pull herself up from the cold and dirty floor.
Sickness washed over her again, and Vega whimpered. Vomit spilled from her mouth and slid down her cheek before she slipped away to yet another nightmare.
****
A young man drove recklessly through the streets as Vega cried beside him, the pain ripping her heart in two.
“How could you?” she asked, all pouty lips and green eyes. Hands wringing in the lap of her poodle skirt, she waited for an answer, unable to accept his confident sneer.
“Just shut up, Vega. I’m tired of hearing it. I told you she didn’t mean anything.” He growled between gritted teeth as his white-blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, and he push it back.
Dream Vega loathed that he looked so handsome, and the real Vega screamed he was the devil.
“No. I want to know why. You can’t just sit there, all smug and so sure I love you too much to leave you. I won’t let you do this. If you won’t tell me why you would betray me like that, then you won’t tell anyone anything.”
Vega moved without thinking. Her hand snaked out, grabbing the wheel. The convertible Chevrolet squealed to the right, and he hit the brakes. Tires squealed, but the reaction had not come soon enough.
A brick wall exploded in front of them. Metal screeched as it ground and crumpled into the building, and shattering glass showered down in a glimmering of sharp rain under the streetlight.
Vega’s eyes rolled downward, falling onto the man beside her. He smiled at her, uninjured by the crash and seeming pleased. She tried to be angry, but she couldn’t. The weightlessness would not allow it.
Pain clawed to the surface, but it could not fight the haze in her mind. The real Vega saw the girl’s broken and twisted limbs, could feel the destroyed internal organs, and knew the end was near. But her dream self only knew she was dying in vain for trying to take her l
over’s life.
****
“Help me,” Vega croaked as she tried to swallow another wave of nausea. “Zane.” His name was a dying whisper as her mind returned to the real world, and her body began to tremor and shake.
Drugs in the coffee? In the creamer? Her mind twisted, darkness coming again. Did the bastard drug me from beyond the grave? What’s happening to me? No, it’s not the coffee. This would have happened before if it was.
The next vision drove her thoughts away as it stormed into Vega’s mind like a violent thundercloud.
****
Vega’s feet were bloody, and the sticky wetness matted her dirty socks to her flesh. The shoes she’d worn on her walk to town were too large, but it was better than doing without. It didn’t matter anyway. She’d gone to find food for Toby, and though it wasn’t much she’d accomplished that small goal.
She’d looked at him that morning and had been sure, without something to eat, he wouldn’t make it through the night. Already, he had the dust pneumonia, brought on by the never-ending dust storms swarming across the plains and burying everything beneath layers of filth. So, she’d trudged for hours to bring back something for him.
As the too thin boy slowly ate the stale bread without complaint, Vega stared hungrily at the crumbs. Her mother had died on a bright spring day, and her father had left to look for work shortly after, but he’d never returned. In the two years since, she and Toby had waited but hadn’t heard a word.
Vega had to care for her little brother, and she wouldn’t dare let him die in that shack at only ten-years-old. The man from the state was coming soon. They had told her he’d be there in a day or two. Tears left muddy tracks on her cheeks whenever she remembered she’d have to say goodbye, but it was for the best.
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