by D. Fischer
“You’ve lost me.” I purse my lips. “What made this witch so special? How do you not have basic functions like emotions? Wait . . .” My eyes widen and my eyebrows pinch. “You slept with a fee?”
Shifting again, I hear his nails tunelessly tap against the stone. Much to my dismay, he only answers one question. “As the price to pay for a simple request, the witch was reborn with two souls: her soul and the soul of Kheelan and Erline’s daughter.”
Eyebrows dipping, I blink as my eyes widen. “Myla? Kheelan’s daughter? She’s alive?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Inside the body of Katriane Dupont.”
Unfolding myself from the huddled ball I’ve curled up in, I start crawling my way closer to his cell, shocked by the recognition of the name.
“Beasty! End-inning. End-inning!” Gan cackles, making my back arch in fright. He’s been so quiet, I forgot he was here.
“Who is that man?” Sandman asks as Gan quiets.
Frustrated that I’m unable to ask my questions, to share what I know, I blurt an introduction. “Gan meet Sandy. Sandy, meet Gan. Gan is a crazy shade from another time. Satisfied? Now, tell me about Kat.”
“You know her?”
“Yes.” I slap the stone with a flat palm. “What do you know?”
“Gan,” Sandman whispers, as if he’s refreshing his memory. “Gandalf. I know him.”
Confused, I tilt my head to the side. “What?”
“I know that man.” He points, his fingernail, shining by the light in his eyes. “That shade.”
I sigh and slip back into a seated position. “How could you possibly know him? What? Was he your charge, too?”
Slowly, he swivels his head back to me. “Are you always this crass?”
“Prison changes you, dude.”
He sighs, answering my question. “Yes, but only once. Several hundred years ago, I was asked to deliver him a specific dream.”
I wheeze in fake shock.
“Kheelan had visited Sureen.” His eyelids narrow at me, taking most of the light with it. “Kheelan sought to find his daughter, but she was protected by Erline. Kheelan could not reach her by his own means. He asked my creator to do it for him. He wanted to bring her to the death realm by force.”
We halt our conversation when half a dozen vampires blur into the cell’s walkway, the one leading deeper into the dungeon. One torch lit in a vampire’s hand. It’s scarcely enough to see them and the shadows they cast along the wall.
They stop in front of one of the walls with no cells. Two vampires hold a human in between them, whether she was human to begin with or Kheelan made her that way, it doesn’t matter. I know the purpose of her being here.
She’s quiet, making me believe she’s unconscious. It’s a small mercy for her, to have no idea what’s about to happen. That heart in her chest will soon be drained of blood.
A vampire presses against the wall with a flat palm. I puff my lips and bite the inside of my cheek, confused. It’s not a wall but a hidden door. The stone moves, scraping against the floor, and I cringe at the sound. The vampires are as quiet as a deadly predator as they enter the hidden room behind the wall. Light flows out as someone lights a candle, illuminating the walkway between cells.
Gan, sitting in his cell, huddled in a ball, doesn’t seem to notice, but his rocking accelerates. It’s the first time I’ve actually seen him. A part of me wishes I never had. His tormented expression makes it impossible not to sympathize, to want to save him from himself. What did they do to him to make him this way?
With finality, the stone wall closes, taking the sliver of light with it. My eyes stay glued to the spot though it’s dark, and I can no longer see it. Listening as closely as I can, I gulp, waiting for the screams of pain from the human, but they never come. The only thing that fills the quiet is the constant ring of dripping water.
“What’d Kheelan do?” I ask distractedly.
The sandman’s voice is lower, remorseful, as he processes the reality and potential hazards of living amongst vampires. “He struck a deal with Sureen. He wanted to expose his daughter to the humans, to bring her to him by death. I was told to deliver a false dream, one that created speculation within Gan’s thoughts surrounding Myla’s witchcraft.”
“I’m guessing it worked,” I comment, my tone dry.
“It did. It always does.” He pauses, revisiting his past. “Kheelan then sent his vampires to the village after he grew impatient with human suspicions. He is not one for tolerance.”
“I’m fully aware.”
His voice raises above my own. “The vampires attacked the village, and Myla was forced to expose who she was. They hung her.”
Sighing, a grunt rumbles up my chest. “What happened to her after? She didn’t arrive here.”
“I do not know,” he whispers. “Perchance, Erline kept her daughter’s soul. She’s a powerful fee, maybe more so than the rest. It is difficult to tell when the fee mask their true nature to fool the others.”
I sit there, thinking about the horrors Myla endured, the imagery of such an event filtering through my mind. I went through it as well, hung for crimes that weren’t my own, fear and dominance at root.
His speculations of the fee keeping their strength hidden is an interesting theory, one which makes perfect sense. It’s always wise to let your enemies underestimate you.
A question pops in my head, a half-witted plan forming. “Do you know where Kat is now?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
TEMBER
DREAM REALM
“Wait here,” a female sandman mumbles. There’s no tone to her voice, no emotions. It’s eerie. The whispers slithering past her barely moving lips are as slender as her build. Her gestures and speech are automatic.
Long, braided, black hair sways at her waist, her legs stiff as she walks from the main area of the dome.
This dome is bright and blinding, the light pulsing and reflecting off her dark skin seeming to be the smoothest of chocolates. It casts glows of gold over every surface. It’s captivating, and I watch her stroll until she disappears down a main hall, her footprints alighting along the rock floor, disappearing after she does.
The dome is like walking into a pulsing star. It’s larger than I expected, much larger. It must be expanded inside by magic. The inside sounds . . . hollow, similar to placing my ear against the scoop of a seashell.
“How long do we wait?” I ask, frustrated that we don’t already have an immediate audience. Kat’s life could be on the line, and Corbin has been silent, refusing to give insight on what’s happening in the past as the memories form and surface.
“As long as Her Majesty wants,” Corbin responds. His voice is chipper.
Examining Kat within his arms, her head resting against the collar of his striped, long-sleeved shirt, my heart aches within my wrist. If it weren’t for the slight rise and fall of her chest, I’d believe she was dead.
I suck in a breath when I take in her wrists. Abrasions and deep cuts line them, blood trailing down her hands. “Corbin,” I whisper.
He brings his bright eyes to mine before following the direction of my horrified, pinned gaze. His jaw ticks once, and he looks away. “It’s almost time.”
“Time for what?” Erline demands, stepping forward.
He doesn’t answer, swallowing instead, and for a moment, I see worry cross the crease of his full lips. What is Kat to him?
“The hostility of this room is smothering. I’m growing quite bored of it.”
I whip around to the voice. My eyes narrow when I catch sight of the fee who put Kat under this sleeping spell in the first place. Sureen delicately sits on a throne, a chair that wasn’t there before. Stomping forward, I’m halted by Erline’s gentle hand placed on my forearm.
“You did this,” I hiss between clenched teeth, my torso leaning frontward. My nerves are raw and my emotions foreign but driving.
Sureen smiles, exposing white teeth. She’s satisfied with herself, and
judging by the grin, I can tell she has been expecting our visit.
Reclining back in her throne, she responds, “I did. You forced my hand, Angel of Erma. My sandmen are not at your disposal.”
A thought crosses my mind. “What’d you do with him? Where is he?”
Tilting her head back, a beautiful laugh sings from her throat, the Inferaze cave floors absorbing the sound with unnerving captivity. “Eternal punishment.” She pauses, her eyes sweeping the fee beside me. “As a shade.”
“How bold of you, to collaborate with my one and only enemy,” Erline states, her tone quiet and deadly.
“Interesting. I had considered myself at the top of your enemy list.” Sureen slouches and props her chin on her fist, her elbow placed on the arm of the throne. She lowers her voice, raising it toward the end of her speech. “Have you forgotten, dear sister? Have you discarded your kind? Have your creations made you as soft as they are? I suppose when you create beating hearts, their emotions become contagious. That is why you and I despise each other, is it not? Did emotions get in the way when you denied me the strength for beating hearts?”
Dropping my wrist, Erline advances, her fingers curling into her palm. I debate holding her back as she did for me but think better of it. An angel in the middle of a fee war wouldn’t survive.
A gentle breeze whistles in from nowhere in a threatening manner, displaying Erline’s might and smite. “That’s correct, sister,” Erline snarls. “I know you best. I’m aware of your intentions. I see how you treat the creatures you’ve created in the absence of life. They’re your slaves, not your cherished, otherwise, you’d never sentence one to eternal punishment. You would have shown mercy and ended him to prevent further torment.”
“Did you know,” Sureen whispers. “Did you know your daughter reborn would shift the realms? Your little power play – keeping your daughter’s soul and breaking the cycle He had designed by inserting her into another – is what caused all of this. My sandman paid the price. He experienced emotion and heartache which he was never capable of withstanding. He was my favorite you know. That’s the result of your power play, Erline. The sandman grew emotions by proximity to your sweet daughter.”
Erline glances away, her jaw firm.
“What other ways have you disobeyed?” Sureen snarls. “What is this daughter of yours? What does she mean to you I wonder.”
Erline refuses to answer, the wind whipping her white hair over her shoulders.
“Ah, I see.” Sureen reclines into the back of her throne, a ghost of a smile playing at her lips as she draws some sort of conclusion. “She’s your ultimate weapon.”
Erma squints at Erline. “What does she mean?”
“In order to shift the realms, a creature must be most powerful. She must hold more power than a single fee,” Sureen answers. “You’ve always been the jealous sort, Erline. We began creating our own creations, and you grew envious. And perhaps a little frightened. You procreated with the intent of the ultimate weapon to use at your disposal. After all, there’s no stronger bond than a mother and daughter. When she died, you took her soul for yourself so that someday, you could rebuild her. You kept your weapon in your pocket.” She lowers her voice. “But I bet you didn’t bank on the consequences. I wonder what He will say when He finds out.”
I cock my head to the side, unsure of this He they’re discussing. It must be someone they fear for Sureen to use him as a scare tactic.
Corbin chuckles, shaking his head while Erma’s body tenses. “Is this true? Did you birth a daughter for selfish acts? For strength?”
Laying Kat on the ground of the cave, Corbin tsks with humor. “Let us not fight. We all know Erline has terrible judgment. We can bicker over this later.”
Sureen’s bottom lip pouts, and she sighs. “But we were just getting started.”
Corbin dips his head, tucking his chin with a grin. I want to wipe that grin from his skin. “As you wish. However, we came to speak to you about different, but related, matters.”
“You want your beloved woken.” Sureen points to Kat, lying on the ground.
“Yes,” Erline and I hiss as one.
She steeples her fingers and brings them to her lips, her eyes turning to Corbin’s. I know she fears him. His demons outrank her sandmen. Yet, she hides it well behind the steel of her black eyes, the purse of her lips, and the snarl of her words.
The group holds its collective breath, waiting for her decision. She could easily direct us away, and there wouldn’t be a thing we could do about it. They could kill her, try to force it, but that could do more harm than good.
“I will grant your frivolous request,” Sureen proclaims behind her hands. Her attention flashes back and forth between Erline and Erma. “On one condition. Give me the power to build life.”
They glance at each other, their eyebrows dipping, and a silent conversation passes between them. Erline and Erma are close – closer than the rest of the fee combined, and most of the time, their intentions are pure and equal, their thought processes on the same wavelength.
Swallowing in fear, I bend down to Kat’s sleeping body, fixing a wrinkle in her cherry-printed pajama shirt. The cotton is smooth, fuzzy, and I rub it between my fingertips. My movements feel slow, and I’m hyperaware of every sensation, including the breath leaving my lungs. For the first time, I’m truly frightened.
They won’t agree to this. Even I know the terrible plagues of her pending request. Sureen doesn’t wish to have life to cherish. She wishes to have life that’ll aid her in whatever her agenda may be. Perhaps revenge.
“We agree to your terms,” Erma announces, her tone final and sure. I peek up at her, eyes wide in shock, and my lips part.
Holding up a finger, Erline glares. “After you return Katriane Dupont from the past.”
ELIZA PLAATS
DEATH REALM
The kitchen fireplace crepitates before us, heating my bones from the never-ending frozen state they’ve been forced to endure. Inferaze feeds the fire, the tips of the flame the same brilliant black and blue. The smoke’s aroma is strong, smelling oddly like sage.
“He’s a what?” Mrs. Tiller asks, her voice filled with disbelief. She tilts her chin toward me with a listening ear, eyebrows pinched, and picks up the wooden spoon to stir inside the pot once more.
The contents inside the heated pot bubble and roar. It’s uncanny how much it sounds like a waterfall. If I close my eyes, I can almost see one. The colors of blues, greens and whites, flowing over rocks and crashing into the body of water below. I miss it.
I was shocked at how fast the liquid began to boil compared to heating over normal fire. It took seconds, not minutes. The pot is cast-iron though I’ve never held one quite this large or heavy before. It’s situated over the small black and blue fire inside the kitchen fireplace, supported by metal chains attached to the wall of the chimney, which remain unaffected by the heat.
There aren’t any regular ingredients here for normal dishes, but luckily, Mrs. Tiller is used to making up new recipes. In the time we’ve spent together, I’ve learned a lot about her. She is frugal with what she’s offered. Without her, Dyson may be eating hot mush.
Reaper’s Breath hovers above us, my explanation already given for the creature before Mrs. Tiller had time to ask. She’s more curious about Dyson than she is about the foggy snake floating above our heads, though.
Lifting my hand, I run my fingertips over the mantle made of stone, a layer of grime and dust sticking to my skin. I pull it away, rubbing the goopy dust bunnies between my fingers, and watch them plummet to the floor.
Reaper’s Breath has remained absent for the last few days, possibly laying low. I believe it’s afraid, as odd as that theory is. It was caught helping and aiding a rebellion against its creator. I am surprised the creature still exists.
Resting my shoulder against the wall next to the fireplace, I bite into a green apple, grimacing as the sour taste slides over my tongue. My teeth slice through
with ease, the juices activating my salivary glands, and my stomach growls, eager to greet the nourishment.
“He’s a wolf shifter,” I explain with a full mouth. “I saw it with my own eyes. He turned into a wolf, and that’s what Kheelan used to kill Aiden.”
“I see,” Mrs. Tiller mumbles, her tongue snaking out to lick the corner of her lips. Her eyebrows are pinched together, and stress wrinkles the skin around her firm lips. “Aiden, you say?”
Tilting my head, I watch worry lines crease her transparent skin. I wish I could read minds – that’d make life much easier. It’s no wonder Kheelan uses it to his advantage.
I can tell her thoughts are overwhelmed with all the new information she’s learning. It took me a long time to come to terms with it as well. But something in her face, something in those eyes, is troublesome.
Shaking her head, she dispels whatever thoughts were there, leaving me to wonder what caused them, but I know that look. It’s the look of grief.
When I was alive – the first time – losing my mother was the hardest thing that ever happened to me. My father was never in the picture. I have no idea what happened to him after he skipped out on my mother while she was pregnant. However, sorrow swimming in the depths of watery eyes isn’t hard to miss. That feeling – that emotion – lingers in the air. It’s as smothering as a hot and humid mid-summer day.
I shove the emotional reminiscences aside. Her grief threatens to ramp up mine. Whatever she’s dealing with, she clearly wants to do it privately, or she would have voiced her concerns aloud. She begins to talk again, but I shush her when I hear male voices inside the dining hall. I place my index finger up to my lips. Her jaw snaps shut, and she turns her head in the direction of the sound. With stealth, I tiptoe to the archway opening that leads to the dining hall and place my back against the wall before it, waiting for a better listen.
“Excellent, Yaris,” Kheelan beams, his voice chipper and shrill as a child. I cringe, my shoulders bunching at the same time my nostrils flare. Even his glee is repulsively dark.
