by J. J. McAvoy
“Happier than when you were painting?” I asked gently. “Happier than when were you in that moment—right before he killed you—that moment when you must have thought how lucky you were to be with him, to be so supported?”
She hung her head and sobbed, her body shaking as she cried her heart out. Who knew ghosts still felt pain?
Walking over to her, I knelt in front of her. “There is nothing I can do for you but tell you the truth. Your mortal life ended in tragedy. It’s actually very common, unfortunately—”
“You are not making me feel better.” She sniffled and inhaled once before lifting her head to glare at me.
“Says the ghost who made me want to claw my ears out, threw me all over the world, and nearly scared me into a grave with your evil ghost face,” I shot back.
“It’s what you get, showing off your love in front of me like that,” she muttered and tried to push herself off the ground.
Grabbing her arms, I lifted her with me.
“Showing off what?” I stood back up defensive. “I wasn’t showing off anything.”
“You and your husband.” She nodded behind me, and when I turned, Theseus stood beside his father and mother, watching me. Her eyes were wide when I turned back to face her.
“I forgot that they were there,” I whispered, knowing they could hear me, but it wasn’t like my thoughts were private, either.
“They? As in us? Are they talking about us now?” Ulrik questioned, but I just kept my face forward.
A small smile appeared on her lips. “Even to the unearthly, you must look like a madwoman to them, now, brawling with yourself.”
I glared at her. “Thanks. It’s my first day as a part of their family; I’m sure I’m making a marvelous impression on them all.”
Her smile widened brightly to a full-blown grin. “If not, they will not say anything for your husband loves you far too much for them to object.”
“I feel like I should help you with that.” I pointed to her neck. “It can’t be comfortable.”
“I would be grateful.” She lifted her chin, and it was only when I reach for it that she added, “So grateful as to ignore your obvious desire to avoid praise of your husband.”
“I’m not married,” I whispered, tugging gently on the crown.
“Then may I haunt him for eternity? He is quite splendid,” she asked.
I paused and stared at her. “You’ve been waiting in a painting for almost two hundred years because of one man with such a deep love, and yet, you are moving on so quickly.”
“What can I say? I am a romantic.”
“Better luck if you get another chance.” I shook my head.
“I believe I will, and thus, I owe you thanks. In burning that painting, you’ve almost set me free.” She giggled but then pointed to her neck. “Yet you seem to be having trouble now because I brought up your husband.”
I let go of her neck and stepped back. “Obviously, it’s because I need a spell, instead.”
“The magic of love?” she asked.
That was so cheesy, but I’d let it slide. “Please stay still. I’m still learning my magic.”
“Impossible.” She frowned. “To have helped me so much so far, you must have a great mastery of magic as my husband did.”
“You knew he was a witch?”
She nodded, a sad frown on her lips. “He never told me. I never asked. But I knew. Just as I knew my benefactor was also of the unearthly.”
“Your benefactor?” I asked, confused.
Once more, she nodded behind me, and when I turned to look, Sigbjørn glanced over to Rhea.
“She was always far too perfect and wary of my husband to be human herself.” She said. “I should have listened more. Tell her—though she will surely say there is no point in acknowledging it now—that she was right.”
“I’ll let her know.” I nodded as her eyes looked at the ashes of her painting. “Was it for her?”
“No, she inspired it nevertheless, painting my heart as she said she saw it. In the end, I found myself trapped in the dark there.” It was not sadness in her eyes but peace as she stood straighter. “I did not know how to leave once I entered, and I became heavy with the pain of the truth. Then there was light, not so bright it blinded but like the moonlight. I looked, and it was you. I could come out. Forgive me for harming you or seeking to harm your husband. I was very confused and hurt. Light set me free; now, I must move on.”
“Apology accepted.” I nodded to her, feeling my hands tremble, and I knew what to say. “And as you should…wild thing, unfilled soul, free from broken body left to rot, no longer trapped in a killer’s knot. Magic done, is now undone, peace to you once lost one.”
“And to you lighted one,” she whispered as the crown of thorns burned to ash around her neck. An in that same moment, I felt something loosen as my body became lighter. When she faded into nothing, and I could no longer see her, my eyelids were too heavy to keep open. So, I closed them, melting into whatever I was feeling.
Chapter 29
Blood.
The smell of it caused my throat to ache so badly I swallowed my own saliva. I wanted it, but yet, at the same time, I was so comfortable, I didn’t want to move. It was warm and nice here. I could hold off hunting for at least another few minutes. Cozying up to the source of my heat, I smiled.
“You are very cruel,” I heard my heater say.
Heaters can’t talk. Wait. Why am I so warm?
Opening my eyes, I shut them and turned over, pulling the sheets over my head to avoid the sunlight.
“Does it burn?”
“No, it doesn’t burn. It’s just so bright.” I groaned and then remembered the short series of events which had just occurred. Hunger. Heat. Voice. Sun. Turning. Sheets. That made no sense.
Sitting up, I saw the large king-sized bed I was in, the silver, silk sheets I held, and even the silk nightgown I wore. My eyes widened, and I looked over to find Theseus sitting upright against the headboard, shirtless and reading an old Greek translated copy of Dante’s Divine Comedy in one hand and a glass of blood in the other.
Confused but hungry, I reached over and snatched it from his hand, all but dumping the blood down my throat. Licking my lips, I stared at the empty cup frustrated there was nothing more.
“Should I call for more?”
Hearing his voice, I met his gaze. He watched me carefully.
I was less hungry but still very confused. “What happened? Did I faint again?”
“Not at all. You did something much stranger, young one.” He leaned forward, taking the cup from my hand and placing it on the nightstand beside him. “Would you like to know?”
“No!” I groaned, fell back on to the bed, and put the pillow over my head. “I’m tired of being strange. You’re supposed to be the strange one. You were the naked one in the woods. Now, every time I enter a new room, I’m labeled something else. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Let’s just blame magic for whatever happened and move on.”
“As you wish,” he said, and I heard him lift and open his book again. He was still and quiet. He took his time with every page like he was memorizing it, not just reading it. I felt comfortable like this. Next to him, doing nothing. It was nice. But the longer the silence went, the more I wanted to talk—to hear him talk.
“Are you enjoying your book?” I asked, gently turning onto my side.
“I do not believe the intention of this work was enjoyment.”
“I beg to differ. It is, after all, called the Divine Comedy,” I shot back jokingly, but the joke was obviously lost on him as he replied like one of my old literature professors.
“There were only two styles of literature in those days, tragedy and comedy. The only difference between the two was the way in which they ended.”
“I know, a
nd it still proves my point. The fact that the ending is a comedy means that Dante’s intention was enjoyment. Otherwise, he’d write like Virgil did in Death of Eurydice.” I lifted my pillow slightly to get a look at him when he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. I noticed that his 5’o clock shadow was back on his jaw.
“You’ve read the Greek classics?” He smiled.
“I kind of had to; most classical art is inspired by classic literature.”
“Of all the Greek tragedies, why did you choose the Death of Eurydice?” He leaned back on the headboard, no longer interested in the book but rather me.
Removing the pillow, I sat up on my elbows. “I chose Virgil because he is the guide of Dante in the comedy.”
“Yes, however, there are other, much more well-known works of Virgil. The Aeneid, for one,” he replied, and that was true.
“Dante wrote the Divine Comedy almost like a self-help book. He was exiled from Florence, lost all of his possessions, and his love, Beatrice. In the Death of Eurydice, the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice is told, and Orpheus, like Dante, loses his love. They both search for them in death. So, it’s the best similarity in his work to use.”
“You are right.” He grinned, placing his hand under my chin, lifting my head. “However, both Orpheus and Dante lose their loves forever.”
I frowned, taking back my chin. “What do you mean? Dante meets Beatrice again in Paradise. She’s the one that guides him in.”
“But when Dante reaches Paradise, Beatrice does not love him as he remembered. And the farther he goes, he realizes his love for Beatrice is not true happiness. They are together in the end, but their love is inconsequential. If the tale was merely for entertainment, why would he not have ended it at meeting her again?”
“Because Dante was also very religious and didn’t want to be blasphemous,” I stated, leaning forward.
He leaned down, too. “He wrote of popes in hell’s fire and nearly condemned the whole church.”
“The church isn’t the religion. It’s people. Condemning people of that religion is not condemning the whole faith.”
“Exactly, faith is not meant to be for enjoyment but to teach a lesson to those who believe in it. Therefore, his purpose was not enjoyment.” He smiled in his victory.
I sighed. “Why are you reading this? Are you hoping to be taught something?”
“Yes and no. Recent activities had me wondering where mortals’ souls go after death. When I die and return, it is as if I were sleeping and just awake to a new place,” he stated, and I felt a small ache at the thought of him dying even for a little bit.
“I still prefer to read it as work of enjoyment,” I whispered, resting my head on my hands. “Dante went from misery to bliss. It’s good no matter how he and Beatrice ended up. At least she was still there with him.”
His eyes locked with mine. Quickly, gently, he kissed my lips. However, it was quick, so I didn’t have time to respond before he spoke again. “You have the fortitude of a justice.”
“Is that the old one way of saying I like to argue?”
“Yes.” Theseus voice, drawing my attention to his bare chest as it rumbled. Each one of his muscles…“My eyes are up here.”
“That’s where I was looking,” I lied, and he only laughed more.
“So, you will argue with the truth as well as ghosts.”
It was then that I remembered. “Ghosts—I think I set Elisa-Maria Götze free.”
Calming down, he nodded. “Father showed us your memory.”
“He can do that, too?”
“We can all remember. It only takes sharing of blood. But only he is able to allow us to see via his mind,” he said, reaching up to brush my hair from my face. “To us it looked as if you were battling and talking to air; a much clearer explanation was needed.”
“So, everyone saw my thoughts?” What exactly was I thinking then?
“You did not have many thoughts. Your main focus was Elisa-Maria Götze. In the end, it looked as if you two had become friends.”
“Yeah.” I grinned at that. “She kind of reminded me of Lucy, actually.”
“Is that how you knew the way to help her?”
How did I know? “No. I was just mad.”
“Mad?” He looked confused.
“Not crazy mad, more like angry. I was angry about her husband, and then I was angry at her for attacking me and trying to attack you. It was only when I spoke out of anger and told her I’d summon her husband that I realized she was just a woman who loved someone and was hurt by them. She was unable to let go. In the end, I wanted to slap some sense into her, but she was so stubborn.”
“You are one to speak of stubbornness,” he mused.
“Is that so?” I backed away from his hands, causing a soft grumble in his throat. Putting even more space between us, his eyes narrowed on me. “This is me being stubborn and reminding you that we aren’t—ah!”
Because he was older, he was faster. And because he faster, I couldn’t react in time. I tried to jump off the bed, but he caught me. His hands were like bars around me. I tried to wrestle my way out but only succeeded in getting pinned back to the bed.
He was above me with a wicked grin on his lips. “After what you did, you still dare to pretend as if you are not mine?”
“What?”
“Did I not tell you that you did many strange things? Do you not want to know why I called you cruel?”
I thought back to just a few moments. “Why did you call me cruel?”
“How could a woman who was kissing, biting, and pressing herself up against a man clearly battling his lust not be deemed cruel?”
My mouth dropped open. I shook my head. “You’re joking. I’ve done none of that.”
“None?” He cuffed, a single eyebrow raised. “You have been compelling me to the brink of madness.”
“I have done nothing but lie here. You’re just teasing me,” I said innocently, smiling up at him.
His jaw tensed, and our eyes locked in battle. He clearly wanted to say more but released me.
“You are the queen of cruelty,” he stated, getting off me. Laying down, he closed his eyes and shook his head.
Big baby. I sat up and looked at him “Okay, maybe I hugged you—”
“That is not all you did,” he said with his eyes still closed. “But as you do not wish to be the strange one, I shall merely hold on to those fond memories for us both.”
My mouth parted, and I tried to remember, but I couldn’t. “You’re mocking me.”
“Melora could stand as my witness to your crimes.”
“Crimes now?” I laughed but was still a little unsure. “Now, I know you’re making it up.”
“Should it ever happen again, I shall have it recorded and displayed on one of the boxes for you to watch for yourself,” he stated confidently with a smirk on his face.
“What…What happened?” I asked a little panicked.
“You said—”
“Forget what I said. Apparently, I’m doomed to be the freak of this family, so tell me.”
He frowned, opening his eyes. “You are not a freak,”
“How many witch vampires do you know?” I pressed back.
“None. Nevertheless, you are merely different, not a freak—”
“Theseus, you’re stalling. What did I do?” I questioned, sitting on my knees, looking directly at him.
He sighed, shifting in front of me. He leaned in and brushed the hair from my face.
“Theseus—”
“You, a one-year-old vampire, an infant, a young one, have been sleeping for the last two days,” he said gently, and I couldn’t grasp that.
“What?” I shook my head. “That’s impossible. You told me I had to be centuries old before I had my first sleep.”
“It
seems vampire witches are different.” He snickered, cupping my face. “After the ghost left, you collapsed. I thought you had fainted, but you stirred when I tried to wake you. You said you wished to rest for a bit.”
I thought back, and I could faintly remember someone holding me.
His thumb caressed the side of my cheek. “Like elder vampires, we sleep as though we are dead. When fully asleep, you were the same—not moving or speaking. No heartbeat. It was maddening as I was not sure what was happening to you.” He placed his forehead on top of mine.
“This is what I mean,” I whispered as he was so close to me. “Every time I enter a new room, I find out something strange.”
“Worse could have been done than worrying me so,” he whispered back.
“Wait,” I pulled my head from his. “I thought I did something ‘criminal’ as you called it. I knew you were bluffing.”
“No.” He grinned. “You did jump me.”
“What?” I gasped. “No, I didn’t.”
“I carried you to bed. But before you fell so deeply asleep, you would not stop kissing my face. You even bit my neck.”
“I did not,” I repeated, and he pointed to a shirt that sat on the edge of the deep blue couch. The collar had blood on it.
I brought my hands to my mouth and stared back at him.
“I bit you?” I whispered and looked at his neck. There would be no scar but even still.
“When I placed you on the bed, you began to strip, tossing your clothes there.” He pointed to the left side of the bed where my bra hung on a lamp. “Melora picked out the nightdress for you, and you said, and I quote ‘Clothing is for mortals. I won’t wear it anymore; you shouldn’t either, Theseus. I like to feel your skin; sleep with me.’”
He was doing his best not to laugh as I just shook my head. Because this could not be real life. Shifting, I laid back down on the bed and closed my eyes.
“Going back to sleep again?”
“No. I’m going to wake up from whatever this is, and then we can have a normal conversation,” I said, lifting the sheets and closing my eyes. I kept them closed tight, hoping that when I did open them again that everything would be better.