by S. K. Sayari
“Treachery!” screamed Daymira. “I curse you, Desmond! I curse you to a life in Hell!”
Desmond grimaced, tendrils of pain piercing his chest. He coughed, letting go of his sister, who bolted for the door, but the Doe Priestess—or whatever that woman was—was faster. She wrapped her hand around Daymira’s throat, and Daymira convulsed, writhing. Her skin greyed, and her movements slowed until she exploded to fine ash.
“So delicious,” growled the priestess, her voice a multitudinous cacophony.
“Heal me now,” pleaded Desmond, his own voice hoarse.
The priestess grinned, revealing pearly, tapered teeth. She stalked to Desmond, raising a clawed hand, running her nail along the length of his jaw. Desmond shivered, his strength returning to him. Yet the more vigour he felt, the more his vision blurred. Metallicity settled on his tongue like a thick film, leaving him gagging. “What’s…”
“Your sister cursed you,” whispered the Doe Priestess. “And cursed you shall be, to a lifeless existence in Hell.”
Desmond arched and raised his hands for the priestess. “Help…me.…”
The voice laughed in his head, a guttural, dark sound, and Desmond’s mouth contorted into a grimace, realizing the voice was Rasha’s. Hot tears rolled down Desmond’s cheeks, and he reached out for someone, anyone, to save him.
The priestess stepped away, grinning, and Desmond’s skin turned as grey as a rabbit’s fur. His fingers began to crumble, and he screamed. The last thing he saw was the Doe Priestess…or perhaps, the Lady of the Dead herself.
“Welcome to eternal Hell.”
Beauty’s Curse
A. M. Dilsaver
Don’t go into the forest.
A warning Derrick had heard his entire life. Unreasonable, given the sheer number of tall pines that surrounded the kingdom of Groschier, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the world. Ancient, looming black trunks formed a maze around him, with needles so sharp they could poke an eye out. Derrick pushed one of the dangerous branches out of his way as Rivi passed between the narrow trunks, the horse’s hooves muted by snow-covered needles on the muddy ground.
There’s a monster at the heart of the forest.
Demoni, they called it. A beast of nightmare and madness that preyed on the Groschier queens, drawn by their youthful beauty, their flawless grace. For years, Derrick had thought it little more than a bedtime story designed to scare reckless young princes, to keep them from wandering too far from the formidable stone walls of the castle.
But they had all seen the box. Left in Queen Lilith’s bedroom, elegantly carved and sitting primly on her nightstand. Empty, an omen of what it would hold in one year’s time—the queen’s heart.
His mother’s heart.
Derrick had been traipsing through these woods for months with no sign of the monster, but he could feel it. An invisible darkness lurking in the trees. A menacing presence that hovered at the back of his neck. A sense of something dreadfully wrong.
And yet…nothing.
Rivi whinnied softly, tossing his head as he picked up on Derrick’s tension. Derrick tried to loosen his shoulders, easing out a tense breath, but he couldn’t relax. Not when his mother’s life hung in the balance. He had to find the monster and kill it before it claimed her heart as well. He had to be the one to break the curse. Eight generations of queens had fallen, killed exactly one year after they’d received the box, their hearts ripped from their chests. Queen Lilith would not be the ninth.
Only a week remained, the year whittled down a month at a time as Derrick forged into the forest over and over, while his mother withered away before his eyes. Every time he returned to the castle, she seemed to have aged another ten years, her eyes slowly leaking their light, the rosy hue of her cheeks faded and sallow.
Rivi snorted and veered sharply to the left, though Derrick saw nothing untoward. Just a pile of wood from a fallen…
Not random wood—a structure. Built halfway into a slope in the ground, the door stood a good head shorter than Derrick’s six-foot height. Though dilapidated, the brown brick chipped and crumbling, some semblance of the hovel’s original charm shone through the sagging shutters and lopsided chimney. Window boxes even hung below dirt-encrusted panes, though any plants had long since withered to dust.
Derrick dismounted and tossed Rivi’s reins loosely over a tree branch as he approached the structure. The horse shuffled uncomfortably, but the trees remained as silent and unrelenting as before. Derrick doubted that whatever monster lurked in these woods lived in a forgotten little hovel on the side of a hill.
The door swung open on creaking hinges, exposing the darkness beyond. Stale air rushed out, tinged with the bitter tang of ice and death. Not the overwhelming stench of a decaying body, but the haunting chill of the forgotten. Derrick ducked through the doorframe and discovered a room bigger than he had anticipated, a long rectangle that burrowed into the hillside.
Nothing moved. The cottage lay still, laced with cobwebs and frozen memories. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, Derrick picked out shapes—the short slope of a chair, the tall angles of a stovepipe, the gaunt hollow of a firepit. And beds. An entire wall of beds.
They weren’t empty.
Derrick sucked in a breath, every instinct telling him not to look. To get out of this hovel, where death tainted the air and coated his lungs. But he had to know.
Breathe out.
Step forward.
The body that lay on the first bed was almost unrecognizable as human. Two legs, two arms, a lumpy head, but the skin resembled leather that had been twisted into shape and melted over the bones with heat and horror. Mouth open in a silent scream, frozen in everlasting terror. And the chest…
Derrick clamped a hand over his mouth. While the rest of the body appeared mostly intact—right down to the scraggly nest of hair that had once been a beard—the chest had been ripped open, a gaping hole surrounded by petrified flesh and shredded skin. The heart was missing, torn clean from the body.
Fighting the urge to vomit, Derrick stumbled to the next bed, then the next. Six bodies. Six mummified corpses. Hearts missing, dead so long they no longer smelled of decay.
Fear trickled down his spine like the cobwebs that tickled the back of his neck. Six bodies.
Seven beds.
Spinning so abruptly that he almost knocked over a chair, Derrick staggered for the door, collapsing to his knees in the muddy snow. He sucked in deep gulps of air, welcoming the bitter cold that burned his throat and scrubbed away the wrongness of the cottage.
He had thought the monster only killed Groschier’s queens, but those…things…in the cottage—men?—had definitely not been queens. Again he thought of the box by his mother’s bed, imagined it holding her heart, pictured her body twisted and mutilated like these corpses. Tears speckled the snow, mixing with the grime on dirt-stained hands. Anger churned in his gut, burning away his tears, strengthening his resolve. He forced his legs to move, worn boots scratching gouges in the earth as he heaved himself up. If he could not find the monster here, he would return to the castle, defend his mother there at all costs. No one knew how the beast got in, only that every queen was found dead after the allotted year. Derrick refused to let that happen.
But first, he would take care of that death hole. Retrieving his flint from Rivi’s saddlebag, Derrick strode purposefully back toward the dilapidated dwelling. He didn’t even need to gather firewood; the hovel was full of dusty furniture that would blaze nicely, obliterating the ghastly remains. He tossed a flaming pine branch inside and glared into the wreckage, as if daring the demoni to come out and fight him right then and there.
Rivi whinnied anxiously, breaking Derrick out of his trance.
“I’m coming.” Wearily, Derrick made his way back to the horse and mounted, clicking his tongue as he turned Rivi away from the cottage. The air had grown colder as the sun sank lower, its amber rays blending into the flames behind him until the snow reflect
ed the same deep ochre.
They had barely traipsed a hundred yards when the trees ended so abruptly that Rivi stopped short. Derrick looked around in awe. The clearing curved unnaturally, as if some ancient hand had reached down and pushed the trees back to form a perfect circle. A stone casket covered by a dome of glass rested on a plinth in the center. Nothing moved, not even Rivi, the forest devoid of all sounds, silence resting heavily on snow-laced branches.
He dismounted quietly, afraid to disrupt the surreal silence, and tossed Rivi’s reins over a tree branch. It did not feel right to bring a horse into the somehow sacred clearing. Even the amber rays that slipped through the branches of the pines stopped short before reaching the strange coffin, as if unwilling to disturb what lay beneath.
A chill seeped through Derrick’s skin, latched onto his bones, but he forced himself to walk forward. He needed to see, needed to know what lay inside. As he approached the bizarre sarcophagus, his heavy boots crunched through dead briars, twisted brown fingers that tugged at his pants, urging him to go back. A sense of foreboding slithered through his gut, the feeling of something dangerous lacing the air. This was not natural. This was not supposed to be here. This—
Was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
Thick glass covered the coffin, etched with symbols Derrick could not hope to identify. A girl about his age lay inside, still as death, as if she had merely been frozen in time, trapped in eternal youth. Her presence simultaneously filled him with fear and awe. As much as instinct warned him to run as far away as possible, another voice urged him to stay, to wake her up, to take her home. His hand pressed against the lid, and it slid back with an almost imperceptible hiss.
If the girl had been beautiful through the glass, she was breathtaking now—her lips so full and red they looked as if they’d been painted with blood, her skin so perfectly smooth and pale she resembled the delicate china dolls his cousins played with. Thick, black hair framed her head in a dark halo, a perfect contrast to her pure white gown. The girl possessed a fearful perfection that made Derrick lean closer even as he tried to turn away.
Closer, a voice whispered in his head, a silent urging, a desperate need. His eyes widened in horror as he found himself obeying, those red lips looming closer, beckoning sweetly. Fear cooled his bones even as desire heated his blood, and he could not stop now, did not want to stop. He loved her already, he was sure of it, and a chaotic swirl of emotions swept through him as his lips touched hers.
A gasp, a fluttering of lashes, and the girl slowly turned to look at him with eyes dark as kohl. Derrick reeled back in horror, both at what he had done and at the supernatural chill that lingered on his lips.
“My lady!” Derrick fell to his knees in a display of obeisance, the thorny branches poking through his pants. “I did not mean to disturb you.” He bowed his head with a trembling fear, half-expecting to feel the tang of steel against his neck.
“Where am I?”
He looked up at the sound of her voice, impossibly small in the vastness of the forest. “You don’t know?”
She sat up, dried rose petals gathering in a crumbling array in her lap. “I…it feels like a dream.” Her eyes blinked in wide-eyed innocence, no trace of anger at the kiss. Or perhaps she did not even realize he had done it.
Derrick stood slowly, not wishing to scare her. Guilt twisted his stomach, and yet a warm feeling still flowed through him, drawing him toward her, urging him to kiss her again even while his stomach revolted at the thought. Disgust welled in him—disgust at himself? Or at the thought of touching those deathly cold lips again?
He squeezed his fists together until the skin around his knuckles split in the winter air. The pain centered him, kept him focused. “The monster, it did this to you?”
She blinked, and for a second Derrick imagined he saw an amused flicker in those coal-black eyes, the corner of her perfectly formed lips twitching in humor.
“I…I don’t know,” she replied softly, and he found himself falling, falling deep into those eyes. Eyes that filled him with terror and desire, revulsion and longing.
“Who are you?” he asked gently. “Where did you come from?”
“I am Evangelline,” she replied, voice light and singsong and not of this world.
“Evangelline,” he repeated, the name a caress on his tongue. His foot slipped forward half a step, as if compelled by something outside himself.
“Are you from Veranmoor?” she asked.
He frowned at the name, distant and familiar, a warning in the back of his mind. Another kingdom? His heart jolted as he remembered that other kingdoms existed, that his kingdom existed. Reality came crashing back—a burning cottage, a monster in the woods, his mother’s curse…
“No, my kingdom is Groschier.”
Evangelline stretched out one slender arm, ghost-white in the near-darkness, reaching for him. “Help me down?”
He moved forward at once, nearly tripping in his haste to reach out, to touch those dainty fingers, to feel the warmth of her—
“You’re freezing!”
She slid off the coffin gracefully, the silk folds of her dress shimmering like liquid. The dried flower petals fluttered to the ground, and he noticed she wore tiny black slippers, not nearly sturdy enough for an extended trek in the forest.
Ripping his cloak off, Derrick gingerly wrapped it around her shoulders. The rich fabric fell around her in thick grey folds, suddenly looking like little more than a potato sack on such otherworldly beauty.
“Would you…take me with you?” she asked haltingly, staring up at him with such irresistible sweetness that he had to clench his fists to keep from kissing her again.
“Yes. Of course.” He stepped back, out of the briars, and offered his hand. Evangelline took it and he shivered at the touch of ice on his palm. How he longed to wrap his arms around her, to share his warmth, to bring this beauty back to life.
Rivi shook his head, stamping a hoof restlessly at the edge of the clearing as they approached. Evangelline extended a hand, so small and delicate that Derrick almost jerked it back, afraid of the horse’s testy nature. To his surprise, the stallion froze, not moving a muscle as Evangelline stroked his sturdy neck.
“Good creature,” she crooned, and Derrick’s body shuddered at her voice. The sound reached inside him, erasing his worries, until she filled his mind completely.
“I’ll take you to my castle,” Derrick murmured as he watched her stroke Rivi’s mane with a moon-white hand.
And then she was stroking him, her palm caressing the curve of his cheek, eyes dark and hungry as they flicked down to his mouth. Her lips parted slightly, danger lurking behind the outline of her teeth, but Derrick leaned forward anyway, already craving the kiss.
A shriek pierced the air, making them all freeze, and a shadow of irritation skimmed over Evangelline’s face.
Derrick yanked out his sword, scanning the trees for the source of the scream. The echo lingered in the air, a buzzing in his head, but he saw nothing. It sounded again, its ungodly tenor reverberating off the trees, filling his very marrow with ice. Nothing he’d ever heard screamed like that.
Nothing human.
He turned to Evangelline. “Take Rivi,” he urged as the need to protect her washed over him. “Get away from here.”
He lifted her up onto the saddle as if she weighed nothing, the white folds of her skirt fluttering around him like angel wings.
“Be safe, my prince,” she said, then turned Rivi away with a delicate flick of the wrist.
Another scream shattered the night, and Derrick turned back toward the coffin, sword brandished with both hands. This was it—the moment he’d spent the last year chasing. Today he would slay the demoni and save his mother from the curse, free his kingdom once and for all.
The monster appeared on the other side of the clearing, stepping out of the trees on two legs. It stood shorter than Derrick had expected—smaller, but no less malicious. Evil seeped off the
creature in almost visible waves, its body a horrible amalgam of man and beast. Twisted black skin covered every inch of the demoni’s frame, its hands and feet tapering into vicious claws. Deep yellow eyes dropped to the empty coffin, and the demoni shrieked in fury.
Derrick held his ground as the monster barreled toward him in a flurry of black limbs and hatred. He sidestepped and slashed his sword as the demoni lunged, but the creature barely seemed to notice the gash in its side, or the thick black liquid oozing out. It lunged again—quicker this time—and the sword twisted out of Derrick’s hand as the beast pinned him to the ground. He gasped against the sudden weight that crushed him, the burn of angry claws slicing his shoulder, and opened his eyes to a mouthful of teeth. Derrick managed to get one hand around the beast’s throat, forcing the elongated canines to stop an inch from his face.
Growling, the demoni’s mouth opened wider, flecks of saliva burning Derrick’s cheeks and forehead. He locked his elbow, fingers struggling to hold their purchase on tar-black skin that flaked under his hand and desperately tried to free his pinned arm. Pain radiated with the movement, a burning that sank deep into his bones as the monster’s claws sank in further. Relief and desperation flooded through him as his fingers brushed the dagger strapped to his thigh. He jabbed the weapon blindly, relieved to feel the blade connect with something solid.
Howling in rage and pain, the demoni lurched sideways, giving Derrick enough leverage to slither away. He scrabbled to his feet, snatching his sword just in time to block the monster’s lunge. The demoni fell back, anger and pain combining into a lethal fury that rent the night in another eerie scream.
Derrick didn’t give it time to attack again. Raising the sword with both hands, he swung, severing the monster’s head in one swipe. The dark mound rolled across the ground, staining the snow with a tar-like fluid that hissed against the cold. Panting heavily, Derrick stared down at the mutilated corpse, its twisted limbs twitching sporadically before finally stilling in the black-flecked snow. The monster in the heart of the forest...a creature of death and nightmares...and yet, somehow humanoid.
