by D. Fischer
He pauses, turning his body toward hers. I can’t see his face anymore, but I can see hers through the back of his head. Her eyes flit between his eyes, before he leans forward, brushing his lips against hers.
It’s a tender kiss, one rarely seen. The sort of affection and love that’s been extinct for years.
His fingers slide through her hair while her eyelids flutter and her shoulders sag. He brushes her cheek with his thumb and she smiles at him before they turn, continuing their walk.
Their steps are light, careless, like they’re taking a leisurely stroll in a friendly neighborhood on a beautiful sunny day. As if they have all the time in the world.
As they get closer, Aiden catches my eye and points. “There he is,” he says, wrapping his arm around Eliza’s waist. “It’s Dyson, right?”
I nod absentmindedly, my eyes glued to his arm and the fingers that caress her side. I blink a few times before slowly lifting my eyes, brows raised. Aiden watches me as he kisses the side of her head, claiming her as his own with that simple gesture. I clear my throat. This could complicate my plans. Having lovers in a rebellion is a weakness.
“How?” I ask, my tone clipped.
“How what?” Eliza asks, confusion scrunching her forehead, displaying her innocence and naivete.
Her head swivels to Aiden when I don’t answer.
He shrugs. “It just happened.”
I glare, foreseeing this to be quite the issue and all the possible complications this could have. Not only are they risking themselves, but they’re risking our cause, all in the face of love in the afterlife.
“Come,” I demand, turning on my heel and starting through the forest. Reaper’s Breath roams through the trees, a blanket of churning curls but never straying far.
My head swivels this way and that, keeping a constant watch for reapers delivering shades to their final resting place. I want to snort at that thought.
Escorting souls back to this realm is supposed to be a reaper’s job but Reaper’s Breath has intervened every time we ask. Could it be that it’s equally tired of Kheelan’s games? His unjust punishments? I’ll never know, but I believe its loyalties are in the right place. The Death Realm isn’t supposed to be like this. The shades shouldn’t be his servants, his pawns in his sick and twisted game of entertainment. Death is meant to be peaceful. I think Reaper’s Breath knows that.
“Where are we?” Eliza asks behind me.
“The Tween,” Aiden and I say together.
I tune him out as he explains everything he’s learned during his short time in the Tween while keeping a constant watch on the forest’s activities. All seems silent, but I know better than to believe it.
When he’s finished, I add, “The Death Realm’s entrance is just ahead.”
“Dyson . . . where’s my mom?” Aiden asks.
I stop in my tracks and turn to face him. “I sent them back.” When steel replaces his love-struck puppy eyes, I add, “You’ll see them shortly.”
“Them?” Eliza asks.
Aiden glances at her. “My mom . . . and yours.”
Her breath hitches, her hand flies to her chest. “She’s here?”
“Yes,” I say. “I’ll let her explain everything when we get there.”
Swiveling her head to me, she bites the inside of her lip, watching me. I know that look. She’s considering how much trust to place in me. Maybe I misjudged her and her naivety.
After a moment of consideration, she squints, turning her head to the side, and takes in the silent forest. “It’s so quiet here,” she mumbles, breaking her hand holding and rubbing her arms.
I know she doesn’t feel chilly, she can’t, but the eerie stillness tends to have that effect.
Aiden and I watch her take in our surroundings. She’s so innocent. She has no idea what she’ll be walking into. Neither of them do. This isn’t dream-worthy. This isn’t happily-ever-after. This is the closest place to the hell you can get.
“You need to prepare yourselves,” I begin. Their eyes return to mine, Aiden’s eyebrows pinching together, creating two lines above the bridge of his nose. “What you’ll witness . . . you need to be prepared.”
Before they can answer, I turn back around and begin walking. I glance back at them a few times to make sure they’re still following.
As shades, we don’t make a sound as we move. I’m still getting used to that. Even though Kheelan locked my wolf inside me, I still have his extra senses, but they’re of no use when it comes to the transparent.
We’re getting close, the few scored-marked trees signal my direction. I lift my head, watching Reaper’s Breath swirl and shape, happily trailing along. What it would be like to be so free. To know no harm can come to me, to be many places at once, providing help while fooling the cruel.
“What’s that?” Aiden asks.
Glancing back in front of me I watch the wall of swirling thick fog. So thick it’s impossible to see through. It’s the Reaper’s Breath entrance to the Death Realm. “That’s our door,” I answer.
Once we reach it, I stop, hesitating and coming to a decision. They stand beside me, Aiden on my left and Eliza on his left.
“I want you to stay here. Stay here and stay out of sight until I come back for you,” I whisper.
Aiden angles himself toward me while Eliza leans forward, poking a finger into the fog.
“Why?” Aiden asks, his voice equally as quiet as mine.
I stand still as a statue, a feeling of dread overcoming me though I don’t know why. “Shades . . . we aren’t supposed to be gathering the dead. That’s the reapers’ job.” I look at him. “I need to make sure it’s safe.”
He shifts his weight. “What exactly are we walking into, Dyson?”
I look back at the entrance, Reaper’s Breath swirling, swaying, billowing. It calls to me, like it does to every shade. “The beginning of a rebellion,” I supply him. “Hide—wait here. Do not enter without me. Wait until I come back, okay?”
In my peripheral vision, I watch as Aiden nods once. He takes Eliza’s hand and leads her away, stepping behind a nearby tree.
Taking a deep breath, I walk forward into the thick wall of fog. It covers me, surrounding every edge and dip of my body while pulling and tugging, taking me to my destination.
As soon as I land, I instantly search the area. The entrance to the city of Death is just ahead, its stone arches beckoning me with such a force that it’s hard to deny. It’s Kheelan’s magic, the work of the Fee, to have the strength to build such a call.
The arch has such intricate details that I often wonder if the cruel man has some sort of calling for architecture.
Did it take him years to form the grooves? To design such dread in the form of stone? Or did it come to him on the spot? My guess is the latter. The cruelest of men can have such vivid imaginations.
Beyond the arch is a white brick wall, a path to the inside. The bricks are sporadically placed, like symmetry was a distant thought when this was built. Or maybe it was placed that way on purpose, conveying the disorder and chaos inside.
The city is built of stone, white and gray in color, just like the stone underneath my feet. No light is here, only torched flames that never run out of fuel light my vision. No trees, no animals, no sky. It is nothing like I had envisioned the afterlife to be.
Jane and Tanya hover against the stone wall, their faces lighting with delight before they frown and take a step forward.
“What’s wrong, dear?” Jane asks. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing,” I whisper, using my hand to gesture for her to keep quiet.
Kheelan doesn’t create life, maybe by choice or because he likes to be surrounded by those significantly weaker than he is. Either way, each creation holds a purpose, and his personal army of vampires are no different. They are the ones who guard the city, who instill fear and punishment into each shade. Rumor has it that he built them to search for his long-lost daughter a few hundred years ago. T
here are many in the Earth Realm, but I imagine they’re kept there for a reason. If he or his vampires haven’t found her yet, I don’t think they ever will. If she’s still alive, someone has hidden her well.
“Ready?” I ask Jane and Tanya.
They nod, grins taking over their features. They stand before me and we walk back into the thick layer together, transporting us back to the Tween.
“Mom?” is the first thing I hear when we exit. Eliza runs forward, leaving Aiden behind to leisurely follow. He stands next to his mother while Eliza throws her arms around Jane’s neck. She stumbles back from the force of it and laughs with delight, returning the embrace. A smile stretches over my teeth, a small victory inside a great risk.
I let them hold each other for a moment longer, tears of happy delight stream down their cheeks.
Eliza looks over at Tanya and Aiden, a look of wonder on her face. “Tanya . . . you- your—I know you.”
A little annoyed that they have a loving family reunion that I’ll never get, I clear my throat. They can have this conversation later.
“Come on.” The four of them glance at me. “We need to get going before we’re discovered.”
Eliza unfolds her hands and takes hold of Aiden’s. She leans into him and he tilts her chin, softly kissing her lips. A tender love, one that’s just blossoming. This is no place for love. I pity them, yet envy seems drown me.
I turn, gesturing for them to go through. The fog billows, waves, and tendrils like fingers curl toward us, begging our entrance and calling upon everything that we are.
Jane and Tanya nod to one another before they step through. Aiden and Eliza follow one step behind. I wait, taking a moment to gather myself. Hope desperately tries to grab hold. My plan may just work. Their love may not be all for not, if we’re successful. Maybe then I’ll be able to find some sort of peace.
Glancing around, I make sure I’m truly alone before I, too, follow. The familiar sensation takes hold, the fog licking every inch of me, heaving and towing. Noise reaches my ears before I can see where it comes from. A struggle, a scream.
The fog clears in a rapid, swift motion, as if it wishes for me to see what’s happening as quickly as possible.
Vampires. The white-skinned, black-veined, red-eyed creatures of the dead swarm like provoked wasps. Some have Aiden and Eliza pinned to a wall, while others hold Jane and Tanya to the stone ground.
Eliza cries, begging and pleading for the vampire to release her mother. Aiden struggles in their grasps, but it’s no use. The vampire slams his back into the edge of the archway stone. Vampires are notoriously strong. His attempts to fight back are futile.
“Stop!” I shout, holding out my hands and rushing forward before I’m tackled to the ground next to Jane.
A vampire hisses, the smell of death splashing across my face with showers of spittle. His red eyes are the same color as the blood he drinks. “Having yourself a little adventure, shade?” he asks me, his lips struggling to form words around his fangs.
I squirm, attempting to loosen my arms, but it’s of no use. The weight of too many vampires press me into the stone, holding me hostage with no upper hand to gain.
Strong fingers grip my arms, lifting me and placing me on my feet. “Take them to the Keep,” one of them says, the words a slurred, raspy hiss.
The horde of vampires surround us, pushing into the stone archway entrance to the city. A march of sorts to the dwelling of the acting devil himself.
Eliza whimpers, tears streaming down her face as she turns to me. “What’s going on?”
“Kheelan. They’re taking us to Kheelan,” I growl.
“Who’s Kheelan?” she asks, wiping away the moisture with the palm of her hand. Aiden attempts to pull her to his side, but a vampire marching behind us hisses and he drops his hand back to his side.
I continue, “The Fee—the ruler of the Death Realm.”
I look away from her questioning eyes. I’m less worried about her curiosity than what fate lies ahead. Shades aren’t allowed to leave the Death Realm. I imagine this encounter won’t end with a cup of tea and a discussion about the non-existent weather.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
KATRIANE DUPONT
MYLA’S PAST
Staggering men pour out of the tavern, surrounding me. I glance around, Corbin nowhere in sight. I shake my head, trying to clear my hatred that causes my eyes to glow, but it’s too late. The men coming to investigate have seen them, their faces and bodies frozen in fear for a brief moment.
Two men step forward, grabbing my upper arms with such strength that I wince in pain.
“Wait! You don’t understand!” I shout at them, attempting to raise my voice above theirs. They don’t listen, intent on a new destination as they march, half dragging me, to the center circle of the town. They smell of sweat and piss, half the men staggering about.
Too quick, we reach the gallows. My arms struggle in their grasps. “You don’t understand!” I yell again as one opens the gate to the cell Myla had been stored in.
Several hands push against my back and I fall face first inside the cell. They laugh as I struggle with my dress, attempting to stand. I roll over and sit up, fear pricking each nerve across my skin.
A few sneer through the bars, the man who I caught assaulting the woman is the first to speak. “Tomorrow the witch dies.”
My eyes widen, and I attempt to stand once more. “No. No, you can’t!”
DYSON COLEMAN
DEATH REALM
The same stone bricks pave the path we walk along as the walls that tower up until you can no longer see them, giving the impression of no ending and no beginning. Windowless rooms fill the walls, homes for the dead.
Some shades aimlessly roam the path, stopping and staring as we’re escorted by Kheelan’s vampire army. They press themselves against the wall to allow passage, fear in their eyes. A few I recognize—the few I’ve managed to recruit. I incline my head, telling them to stand down. Their brows furrow, a silent question in their eyes. I look away, not wanting to draw attention to them.
A vampire shoves me forward and I stumble, almost falling to my knees. Jane slows, her hand outstretched to help me when a stick touches her arm.
Electric currents zap her transparent skin, sending waves of visible blue zig-zagging bolts from one end of her body to the other. She stills, her eyes wide, her teeth clenched. A scream rips from her throat as soon as he releases her.
Aiden, shocked-still at the display of authority until the shriek exits her mouth, goes to her aide. He’s halted in his steps when the vampire waves the stick, threatening him with the same fate.
“I wouldn’t try it,” the vampire snarls.
He glances at me and I give a simple shake of my head, telling him to obey. We continue our march, even though Jane isn’t ready. She hobbles along, urgently trying to gain back her strength.
It’s a long walk, never a break in the street’s tall walls or the expanse of onlookers. The vampires’ feet pitter-patter a threatening trudge against the path. There’s never an alley to look down, a tree to admire, a smile to return. Some eyes hold shame, others hold sympathy. I ignore them as best I can, but it’s difficult to disregard.
We reach a break; the walls open to a circular clearing. A castle sits on the expanse of stone—The Keep.
It would be an admirable building—walls so smooth they look like marble, towers on each corner, windows lit by candlelight—if it held someone else inside. A better ruler, a better creator, maybe even a better Fee. I can’t imagine that all Fee are the same. I have faith that there’s one that cherishes those under their care. One with a shred of humanity.
Fear threatens to cripple me, to strike me down and root me to this very spot. Forcing myself to push forward, to ignore it, I search the windows, the unnecessary breath feeling constricted inside my chest.
Large stone doors matching that of the walls slide open, the grind causing me to cringe. My wolf growls inside me, sta
rtling me.
Black. Pitch-black. I can’t see anything.
A vampire lights a match, the strike loud in such a quiet area. He touches the small flame to his torch and it engulfs in it, the fire licking the air, searching for more to feed on. Spreading the fire to other torches, he steps inside, the group wordlessly follows.
The room is dimly lit as the vampires continue to light the candles along the wall one by one. Nothing adorns them. No pictures, no décor. Just candles. Aiden stumbles once as he glances at the ceiling. It’s hard to tell where it ends—nothing but black dwells up there.
A large expanse with nothing else in it except for the empty stone chair at the far end of The Keep. A small thread of Reaper’s Breath slithers along the throne, waiting for its master to arrive.
As I take survey of all the archways leading to other areas, a nail scratches against stone. My shoulders hunch and I grind my teeth, searching for the reasoning to the sound.
Dressed in black robes from head to toe, fingertip to fingertip, it’s hard to see where his long dark hair ends as it cascades over the cloth. He’s a short man. So much so, that the bottom of his robe doesn’t touch the floor from his chair. In his defense, the thrown is large.
The vampires in front of our group halt. I almost believe them to bow, but they don’t. They stand before him like whipped puppies, waiting for their next instructions.
Just as my feet stop, Kheelan opens his mouth, addressing our entourage. “The rebels.” His lips turn up with a warm smile but there’s something in his eyes. Something that makes my skin crawl and the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. His voice is much deeper than I imagined it would be, rumbling through the vowels as if they came from such a deep place in his lungs.
“We caught them returning—” the vampire at the front begins. Kheelan holds up a hand, silencing him.
His eyes land on me and I feel my soul being stripped piece by piece, hope by hope. My sternum bows out against the intrusion—it’s as if he knows my every desire, my every wish, exposing it to himself in such a way that I know he knows. It’s at this moment, as my mind is being exposed, left bare, that I know he’s conscious of what I’ve been planning.