The Impaled Bride

by Rhiannon Frater

  “Ágota! Ágota!” I call out.

  The familiars scamper past me and climb over her prone body, meowing loudly. With a grunt, she rolls onto her back and blinks, scattering the furry creatures.

  “Ágota! Are you well?” I exclaim, reaching her.

  With a grin, she stares at the castle towers. “I did it!”

  “Is it truly done?”

  “This place is woven into the fabric of this world. This is our home now,” she answers. Her eyes flick toward me. Veins in her eyes have broken, turning them red. I realize then how pale she appears and thinner still. She has paid a high price.

  “And the portal?”

  “Closed. On their hideous faces. They almost breached it,” Ágota answers, exhaustion in her gaze. “You gave me the strength to finish the task.”

  Balázs descends on us, falls to his knees, and sweeps us into his embrace. “My beautiful daughters have brought us to a new home!”

  The familiars rub against us, purring loudly with approval.

  “Ágota did well,” I say with pride.

  “I could not have done it without you,” my sister says, her fingers gently caressing my cheek. “You are the one who pulled the magic from the ruins and fed it to me just in time. Without you, I would have failed.”

  Relieved, delighted, but weakened by our ritual, the witches slowly stand around us. The familiars scamper after Balázs as he hurries to check on each witch. I remain with Ágota, my arms around her as we watch the dawning of a new day. We shed our cloaks, for the air is warm. Ágota opens her bag to store them, but hesitates. Reaching inside, she draws the stone she took from the ruins to the edge of the bag so it will remain hidden from the others.

  “Is it drained, too?” I ask in a whisper.

  She shakes her head. “The bag protected it. This is the last bit of magic from our home.” Hastily, she shoves it inside before storing away the cloaks.

  “What will you do with it?”

  A small frown forms on her forehead as her gaze grows secretive.

  “Ágota? Why do you look so pensive?”

  “There are many paths before you. This bit of magic will make certain that I can find you,” she answers.

  “Find me? Why would we be parted? I do not understand.”

  “You do not have to as long as I am watching over you,” Ágota replies with a wink. She stands and pulls me to my feet. “Now, shall we explore our new home?”

  Before I can answer, I open my eyes to darkness.

  I have returned to the mausoleum.

  The terrible and familiar pain of my captivity returns, and my hand grips the stake.

  Witch magic.

  Those were the words Lucifer spoke.

  Hope fills me anew.

  Perhaps Ágota saw this as one of my possible fates and has set in motion the spells that will free me. She may be lost to me, but her magic appears to live on. Perhaps I will be free again!

  “Now that you are awake,” Lucifer whispers in my ear “we should talk.”

  Chapter 19

  Gritting my teeth against the pain ripping through my torso, I ball my hands into tight fists. I am so weakened by the loss of blood, my vampire sight cannot pierce the gloom. Since the torches are extinguished, there is absolute darkness.

  Lucifer leans closer to me, his sulfurous breath hot on my cheek. “Come now, Erzsébet. Do not keep secrets from me. I am, after all, your only hope of salvation.”

  I have no patience to deal with the monster who murdered my mother. I place my hand on his face and thrust him away. “Leave me!”

  Raucous laughter reverberates through the small mausoleum. The devil is not so easily dissuaded, as I well know, and I sense him stalking about the bier. I ignore his presence, focusing instead on my latest vision. It lingers in my mind’s eye full of hidden importance. I had long forgotten the stone imbued with Witch World magic that my sister had hidden from the coven and that she’d vowed to use it to my benefit. Lost to the mists of time, I wonder what significance that memory holds and if the relic still exists.

  Lucifer’s too-warm hands settle against the sides of my face, his fingers curving along my cheeks. His eyes burn like pale blue fires through the dark as he peers at me. “Speak to me, fairest Erzsébet. Tell me your secrets.” Though his voice is gentle, a threat dwells in the deeper tones.

  “Leave me to my torments and be gone. I have nothing to say to you, devil.”

  I am tired, emotionally spent, and do not wish to parry with his duplicitous tongue. I wish to be alone in my misery. My remembrances of a time long past are a heavy burden on my dark soul. Much has been forgotten over my supernaturally extended lifetime. I long for the spell to return so I can once more see beloved faces and unlock the mysteries of my past.

  The devil’s fingertips burn against my flesh and his eyes grow brighter in the absolute darkness. “But we must talk. What was that delicious witch magic I tasted earlier?”

  “I do not know of which you speak.”

  “Where did your spirit abscond to? Your body was but an empty shell awaiting its return.”

  “I was asleep, you fool!”

  Lucifer’s arrogance knows no limits if he truly believes I will be drawn in by his machinations. Though he can be a charming and devious fellow, he cannot undo the truth that he murdered my mother and played a significant role in Ágota’s fate.

  “You were not asleep. Do not lie to me, Erzsébet. A spark of witch magic absconded with you and I will know who cast that spell. I have not felt such power since before your sister—”

  “Do not speak of Ágota!” I attempt to wrench my head from his grip, but his hands are as rigid and unyielding as stone.

  His fingers dig into my cheeks and he hisses, “We. Must. Talk.”

  I scrabble at his hands, kick my feet, and thrash about, worsening my impalement wound. “I refuse. We are not friends. We are enemies. I shall never submit to your desires!”

  The darkness of the mausoleum becomes absolute as his eyes vanish from my line of sight and he releases his hold on me. The raw fury of his anger fills the mausoleum with an eerie reddish hue as I tense in preparation for whatever horrors he will unleash on me.

  I let out a startled cry when a hole opens beneath me. My body slips off the iron stake with a revolting suckling noise as I fall, my fingers scrabbling at the granite of the bier desperate to find purchase. The stone floor and the packed earth beneath it open to swallow me. I lash out at the dirt, stones, and roots around me, attempting to still my descent. My fingers wrap around a thick root stopping my plunge so I sway over a deep black pit. The only light comes from the red fires burning far below my dangling bare feet.

  “I will not be fooled by your tricks, Lucifer!”

  My voice echoes endlessly, which I am certain is yet another illusion. Yet, I cannot help but feel a twinge of fear. Do I truly know the full extent of Lucifer’s powers? Vlad, his most successful student of the dark arts, has great power. How many times has he moved my mausoleum to hide me from the eyes of the world? Could Lucifer use the same magical ability to transport objects over some distance to suspend me above the fires of hell?

  The rough texture of the root digs into my palm when I tighten my grip. Every sensation resembles reality, yet I have experienced vivid illusions in the past. If I were to release my hold, would I fall into flame and be consumed or break the illusion completely?

  “Tell me what you know, Erzsébet,” Lucifer hisses out of the darkness.

  “And what do I receive in exchange?” I dig the tips of my nails into the stem and attempt to pull myself upward. I am weakened from not feeding in many nights and my endeavor is doomed. I swing in the humid blackness listening to the creak of the root.

  “I will set you free.”

  “Truly free? Or an illusion of freedom?” My tone is mocking, though fear tries to strangle the words before I can utter them.

  “All freedom is an illusion.”

  The fire raging belo
w is freedom. Witches and vampires both meet their final deaths in flames. If this is not a trick, I will burn and die. I will escape my prison and discover what lies beyond the Veil. I do not believe in a hell where the devil lives for I know he walks the earth. Perhaps there is nothing but peaceful sleep. Or maybe my mother and Ágota await me. I cannot be certain of what lies beyond death, but I am convinced of one simple thing.

  This is not real.

  I release the root and fall.

  Lucifer’s sharp intake of breath is followed by me tumbling onto a marble floor in a heap of silken skirts. Though this is an illusion as well, it is a relief to my fatigued body to be on solid ground. While Lucifer watches from his perch on a gilded chair in the corner of a very luxurious parlor, I struggle to stand on weary, emaciated legs. The pain of the stake returns and I press my hand over the jagged wound while I regard Lucifer with contempt.

  “Games and more games. Do you ever tire of this?”

  “This is not a game. I prefer this environment to your disgusting mausoleum. If we must be cordial during our discussion, I would rather be comfortable.” Crossing his legs, he regards me with a smirk on his lips.

  The small parlor is far too warm with a raging fire in a marble fireplace and heavy velvet curtains over the tall windows. The oil paintings and statues are all of Lucifer in garb from various centuries.

  “None has vanity equal to you,” I remark.

  “I am a very beautiful being. I have every right to my vanity, do you not agree?” Tapping the armrest of his chair, he points me to the matching one opposite of him. “Sit and talk to me.”

  “There is nothing to say.”

  “Amuse me. Sit.”

  Blood seeps through the fingers pressed over my wounded torso. I stagger toward the chair, struggling to keep upright. He has not granted me the illusion of health for a purpose. It is his desire that I feel weak, afraid, and in awe in the revelation of his power. I sit at the edge of the chair so I may shift my frozen feet toward the warmth of the fire. Perhaps everything I am experiencing is a mirage, but the warmth on my skin is delicious.

  “How did you know I was not truly dangling you over the pit of hell?”

  “You cannot free me unless I ask,” I reply. “Though for a moment, I thought perhaps you could transport me. Then I reconsidered.”

  “You have always been a rational creature.” He sniffs with either contempt or admiration; I am not sure which. “It is easier to deceive those who allow emotions to rule over their lives. Fear and lust are powerful weapons against such people. But you are not like them. Only one emotion has betrayed you, yes?”

  Only love has both empowered and crippled me. I am aware of that weakness in my constitution. I have never been able to break free of its power. “You wish to mock me for allowing love to bring about my fall,” I say boldly in an attempt to wrest away his argument against me. “Do so at your own peril for I am no ordinary woman and I will not respond in the way you desire.”

  Lucifer’s eyes regard me in a cold, steely manner that reminds me of the sharpness of daggers. “Oh? You believe you are that clever?”

  “I have killed those I love. I have betrayed those I love. And in my finer moments, I sacrificed myself for those I love.”

  “And you believe this makes you immune to threats against your loved ones, do you?”

  “You cannot frighten me or entice me by using the love I have for Cneajna and Vlad. I lost them long ago. They are not weapons to be used against me.” My voice is clear and strong as I speak this truth.

  “What of Ágota?”

  My weakness.

  My sister will always be my weakness.

  “She is gone.”

  Leaning forward, he gives me a triumphant grin. “I think not! That magic reeked of her. You know it! You may try to hide that truth from me, but I see it. That small spark of hope that your sister is somehow reaching out to you from beyond the Veil. That she has found a way to defy God and death to rescue you from your woeful state.”

  It takes every ounce of my strength to remain stoic.

  “You cannot hide that truth from me, Erzsébet! You may be a vampire, one of the damned, but that little spark of your true witch nature remains vivid enough for me to see. It glitters with life whenever I speak of the spell that whisked your spirit away. I want to know where you travel to when it takes hold. Do you see your sister? Do you see where her well of power remains on this plane of existence?”

  “I was asleep, you imbecile,” I retort with a dismissive snort.

  “You are lying!”

  “Ágota is long gone due to your dealings!”

  “Witches are very difficult to kill,” Lucifer reminds me.

  To my dismay, this brings tears to my eyes. I glower at the devil with rage burning in my chest. I want to tear into him with my nails and shred him to pieces.

  Mocking me with laughter, he settles comfortably into his chair. “You have seen Ágota. When I speak her name, I see that glow of hope in your soul. You cannot hide it from me.”

  “I dream of her when I sleep. That is what you see within me. The joy of revisiting the fond memories of a sister and time long past.”

  A half-truth.

  “Do you really think you can deceive me? The Father of Lies?” Lucifer regards me incredulously. “That spell took you elsewhere. I want to know exactly where that was!”

  I scoff at him. “I told you the truth. I revisit my fondest memories of my sister and find peace away from my imprisonment.”

  Lucifer scrutinizes every aspect of my being, attempting to ascertain if I am lying or not. I can see I have confounded him by telling him a degree of the truth. I will not admit I suspect the visits to the past serve a purpose, or that the spell is one Ágota cast long ago.

  “I do not believe you,” he says finally. “You want to be free of your captivity and you have a bargaining chip in this mysterious spell which has clearly captured my attention. Yet, you are not wielding this knowledge to your advantage. I have stated unequivocally that I want to know where your spirit is absconding to. Therefore, you are in a position to make demands. But you are not doing so. It is evident you wish to keep this knowledge hidden from me, even if it means you will remain a captive. Therefore, the spell must have to do with Ágota. You love her more than yourself.”

  It is difficult to remain stoic as panic starts to build within my chest. If she cast the spell long ago in an effort to protect me, I will not betray her legacy.

  “Does it pain you to always be so suspicious of everyone’s motives? Did you consider I am wise enough to ascertain that indulging you with falsehoods will only result in you adding to my torment when you discover my lies? I am in enough pain. I wish for no more.” I press my hand to the ugly wound and blood leaks through my fingers to make my point.

  “You have always been clever,” Lucifer says grudgingly. “But there is witch magic interfering in your captivity. I have witnessed it.”

  “If it is a spell, then it is the sweetest one of all, for it allows me moments of respite in fond memories,” I say.

  The devil grunts, his blue eyes peering at me as though they can slice away my flesh and reveal the truth. “Maybe it is not Ágota. Maybe it is another witch, hidden out there attempting to find you. How many are left alive now?”

  “I would not know,” I reply.

  “Oh, that’s right. They shunned you.”

  I stand sharply, the pain from my movement nearly rendering me unconscious. Perhaps this is not an illusion and I am temporarily free. No, no. It is an illusion and I must not give it power. “I am done here. If there is a spell, it is a weak one to influence my dreams. Dreams that I greatly prefer to my current company.”

  Lucifer glides to his feet in one swift motion and seizes my shoulders. Staring into my eyes, he says, “Lies, lies, lies... It must be Ágota’s magic. You would not deign to play the fool otherwise. What did your sister do? What is this spell? I must know!”

  The d
ark shape of a dragon’s shadow passes over the room and Lucifer snarls.

  The illusion vanishes in an instant.

  Vlad stands at the end of the bier, his hand resting upon my ankle. Lucifer releases his hold on my head with an angry growl and draws away. For once, Vlad’s appearance is a relief. His long dark auburn hair sweeps over his shoulders as he menacingly advances on the devil.

  “This is unexpected,” Vlad says in his oh-so-deadly voice, stopping at the end of the bier to glower at the devil. His gaze is raw with wrath and barely contained violence.

  “Is it? I am visiting my dear friend.”

  “You are intruding on my personal matters.”

  “Speaking of personal matters, you are supposed to be in Vienna.” Lucifer’s handsome face takes on a bored expression. “Begging your Mistress for freedom or some such nonsense?”

  Vlad would never grovel before the vampire who created him. He despises her.

  “I bow to no one, as you well know. Why are you here, Lucifer?”

  “As I said, visiting an old friend,” Lucifer answers with an indifferent shrug.

  In a barely contained manner, Vlad says, “How did you find her?”

  “Your magic comes from me, remember? When I realized you had moved her, I followed the trail of the ward to find her here. Did you really believe you could hide her away?”

  “She will not go to the Scholomance! I forbid it!”

  “It does not matter if you forbid it. She is not interested. Refused my offer outright. So unfortunate. Maybe she enjoys being here in this dreadful place, this monument of your great and terrible love.”

  The devil’s words are mocking, yet a relief. He has not revealed the discovery of the spell cast by Ágota to Vlad. Though I know this is for his own nefarious reasons, I am glad he has decided to keep my secret.

  “She is wise enough not to trust you. As I was once wise enough to outwit you.”

  “Are you still carrying on about that minor victory?” Lucifer pulls on white gloves and straightens his hat on his golden head. “Really, Vlad. You are such a petty child at times.”