by Jackie Ivie
Very soon.
She’d be vindicated.
It was just and right that Caleb pay for what he’d done. It was also right that Jezebel meted out justice. She was committing a grave sin, but it didn’t matter. Not now. The old Jezebel was gone. She’d been replaced by a shell. Heartless. Listless.
Oh!
If she only had it to do over again! She’d never have opened his door that fateful eve. She’d have let the plague take its path...and somehow lived with the consequences. Just like she’d done years before with her family.
Instead she’d answered the knock.
An elderly woman stood there, framed in the light. She wore a threadbare cloak. Carried a basket over her arm. Her face was lined, but she had a kindly expression. Jezebel hadn’t been able to see her eyes, however.
“Oh! Thank the Saints!” Jezzie hadn’t hidden the relief.
“The Saints have little to do with it,” the woman replied.
Jezzie hesitated, but Caleb had taken a labored breath from behind her. It hissed with the rasp of approaching death. She opened the door farther. “Are you a healer?”
“I have been called that.”
Jezebel motioned the woman inside. “Please! Come in. You must help!”
“You must be certain, my dear.”
Certain? What an odd question! She was so grateful for the woman’s presence, she was near tears. Caleb attempted another breath in the room behind her. A long rattling moan accompanied it. Jezebel reached out and grasped the woman’s arm. Shook her.
“Of course, I am certain! I am so grateful to see you! I would welcome the devil, himself! Please, come in! Please. And hurry!”
Jezebel wasn’t paying attention to words, but who cared at such a time? She was listening for Caleb’s next breath, absolutely distraught that it might not come.
“We have a bargain, then?”
“Yes! Yes! Of course! Whatever your fee, I’ll pay! No matter how long it takes.”
“Very well.”
The woman brushed past, lowering her hood to her shoulders. Jezzie shut the door. Watched the woman approach Caleb’s prone form. It wasn’t far. The home attached to his stable was small. The woman looked down at him. Clicked her tongue. Jezzie caught her breath in case it was too late, but moments later, she released it with relief.
The woman pulled a small vial from her basket. Held it aloft, as if checking the contents. The multi-faceted glass sparkled like a jewel in the firelight though light didn’t reflect off the dark liquid contained within it.
“He...can’t drink,” Jezzie told her.
“Cease worrying, Jezebel. He will be fine. You will see.”
The woman knew her name?
Jezzie gasped. Her eyes widened. Her entire body went tense. She watched the woman lift Caleb’s head. Words accompanied her movements. Whispered words. Indecipherable. His mouth moved. He sipped. Then he swallowed, the sound abrasively loud. A moment later he reacted. His body arched upward and went into palsied movements that looked agonizing. His head flailed back, his mouth went wide, and he gave an unearthly yell that raised goose bumps.
“What have you done?” Jezzie was at the woman’s side, grabbing for the vial.
“Silence!”
The woman spun and glared up at Jezzie. Her eyes were no longer hidden. They were a deep red color, akin to blood. And they glowed.
Jezzie instantly backed away. Stumbled. And fell. A log shifted in the fireplace, sending a burst of heat and light into the room. Everything went off-kilter. The room enlarged somehow and filled with a reddish-colored haze that stung her throat and hurt her eyes. A deep sound boomed through the space. The haze dissipated. The space went back to normal size. And Caleb’s cry ended. Jezzie watched his body drop back onto the pallet. She was at his bedside a moment later. She didn’t even know how she got there.
He looked different. Already. His color was coming back, and, while it wasn’t possible, he was breathing normally! He pulled in long inhalations. Exhaled just as deeply. As if he slept. A touch to his forehead revealed even more wonder. His fever had broken. As she watched, the blackened pustules that had distorted his every feature started shrinking, as if somehow releasing their plague-filled poison from within. Jezebel slid her fingers through his and lifted their conjoined hands to her breast, bowed her head, and said a silent prayer of thanks.
“I shall leave you now,” the woman spoke.
Jezzie had forgotten the healer’s presence. That didn’t seem possible. She turned as the woman reached the door, the threadbare cloak once again draped over her head. The basket held in one arm.
“Thank you,” Jezzie whispered.
“Our master will be in touch, child.”
“Who?” Jezzie blurted out.
“I am a servant, my dear. One of many, I assure you.”
“You’re not...a healer?”
The woman pitched her head back and cackled.
“A witch?” Jezzie asked next, although her voice trembled.
“Be of good cheer, dearie. You may have bartered your soul, but our master is very fond of the young, attractive ones. You will see.”
Oh, no. No.
No!
Jezebel’s heart stopped. Ice invaded her veins. Shaking overtook her, rattling her teeth despite how she clenched them. The woman didn’t seem to notice or care. She merely lifted her unburdened arm in a gesture of good-bye. Stepped outside. And shut the door. A whoosh of night air sent hearth flames flaring upward before they subsided. The room went silent. Time ticked by. Normalcy gradually returned.
And Caleb kept getting better.
At some point, Jezebel fetched a stool and collapsed onto it. She didn’t move far from his side. She watched him the entire night, rushes of gratitude and happiness staving off most of the sensation of doom. She managed to convince herself that she’d dreamt the entire thing. The woman’s visit. Her words. The extent of Caleb’s illness. Why...he couldn’t possibly have been approaching death.
By morning, she was sure of it.
Caleb’s eyelids trembled just before he opened them. He had such beautiful blue eyes! But he’d looked up at her uncomprehendingly. Then he’d sat up. And stared. Jezebel couldn’t halt the joy. He looked as hale and hearty as when she’d first seen him.
No.
That was wrong.
He did indeed look strong again. Healthy. Manly. But he also looked annoyed. Truly annoyed. His ire was directed at her. Jezebel had shifted over to his fire. Cooked porridge. Flavored it with a bit of smoked pork fat. He’d shoved bites of it into his mouth amidst speaking words that inflicted wounds nobody would ever see or know. How dare she come to his house? Uninvited and unwanted? She tried to explain. He’d scoffed. He didn’t remember anything about his illness. He ended with phrases that still pained. She was branded now. By staying alone with him, she’d earned the name of Jezebel. She’d branded herself a harlot. No man would want her now.
He didn’t.
And if she was looking for an offer of marriage, she could just look elsewhere.
Her sobs started before she left the stable yard. They’d accompanied every step. She didn’t remember reaching the mill. Climbing into her loft. She’d cried until there were no tears left. And then she’d endured.
Jezebel tried to pretend it hadn’t happened.
A week passed, each day worse than the previous one.
And then they started arriving.
Jezzie began to be interrupted at her duties. It started during a walk from the mill, a bag of flour on each shoulder. She was greeted in the roadway by an elderly man. He offered her a cold flagon of water from a pail he carried. She’d waved him away. He’d accompanied her for several steps anyway.
And then, he’d disappeared.
She’d run the entire way with her burden, her heart thumping. Her throat clogged. The next day she was stopped and offered a basket of sugared honey. Then it was a measure of salt clumps. Another time, a bag of foreign spices, fol
lowed by a sachet filled with perfumed soaps. She’d even been offered a perfectly cut ruby, suspended on a chain. She’d been accosted by a myriad of people – a handsome apprentice to a shoe cobbler; an able seaman; two women on pilgrimage; a young man on a large horse with a wicked smile and an even more evil-looking sword; a noblewoman in a real carriage, her throat dripping with jewels. That was the person who’d offered the ruby necklace.
Jezebel grew more frightened by the hour. There wasn’t anyone she could tell. Nowhere to turn. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t eat. She could barely think.
And then her existence got unbearably worse.
It was rumored that the new smithy had a roving eye and lusty nature. The miller’s wife winked and tittered as she related gossip to her husband. It was said that he’d taken up with a girl from the castle. The man was certainly looking high in his aspirations. This girl was buxom. Extremely bonny. And dowered with some gold.
Something Jezzie would never have.
That was the night Jezebel faced reality. She was tainted. Used. Sullied. No good man would want her for a wife. But the worst was what she’d done. She’d sold her soul. There was no escape. That must be the reason she kept being accosted. They were a reminder. She had stared at the ceiling of her loft and by morning hatched her plan.
Caleb needed to pay for his perfidy.
And she knew exactly how.
The flames had crept higher through the stable as she’d relived what brought her to this point. Yellow and red colors spiked a glow throughout the stable yard. She heard shouting somewhere from the night as someone saw the fire, then the loud clanging of the church bell waking villagers to help. They were too late. Hot tears stung her eyes but she refused to shed them. Crying was a waste of time. It always had been. Nothing could change her destiny. She was slated for hell.
Well.
Caleb could just get there first.
But none of that explained why a sense of elation was missing. She didn’t feel anything except dread. It sat like a stone in her belly that nauseated. Then, over the cracking and roar of flames she heard a cough. It was slight. Barely noticeable. And that’s when she knew she couldn’t do it.
Her life may have changed, but she wasn’t a vindictive sort. Or vengeful. Or hate-filled. And, despite everything, she wasn’t a murderess.
Jezzie shoved at the logs she’d piled against the door, the act singeing her arms and hands. She slammed a shoulder into the door next. The wood was burning from within. It broke easily. The interior of the home was like stepping into a kiln. Smoke burned her eyes. Heat scorched her throat. Fire torched her lungs. Flames grabbed her skirts. Each step was torturous. Nearly impossible. The conflagration was a physical presence. A pressure wave of heat smacked into her while a crackling roar drowned out any other sound.
Jezebel found Caleb’s pallet by feel...but he wasn’t there. The body she discovered was much too small. Feminine.
And alive.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jezebel didn’t hesitate. She didn’t dare. Her back was a mass of agony. Flames feasted on her scalp. She heard sizzling. Smelled burning flesh. She could barely see to reach out and yank the girl to her. Yet, despite everything, that’s when she started praying, using every ounce of faith to beg for time. Strength.
Her one hope was the back of the structure. The one place she hadn’t set fire. She couldn’t feel her legs, but that was a blessing. She concentrated on forcing one step. Another. She counted five of them. Ten. Eleven. Flames had eaten an opening through the wall. Jezebel stumbled through it. Caleb was standing out there with the others, proving he lived. And she’d failed. The realization brought relieved tears that soothed some of the burn. That’s when her legs failed. She’d fallen. Lost consciousness...
And earned a spot in purgatory.
Not this actual purgatory. Just as she’d described it to Adam, Hotel Pit was one of many, all sharing the same characteristics. They were dull places. Dismal. Insipid. Mostly lifeless. A place to contemplate. Endure.
Or suffer.
That part she’d always avoided. It helped knowing that the girl she’d rescued was from a poor family. She’d been disfigured. And Caleb had been forced to wed her. All of that was satisfying. As was the impression that he hadn’t gone to a heavenly reward. Jezzie didn’t know for certain. She didn’t even know if she could check. She’d told herself she didn’t care...and as the years passed, found that to be true. She truly didn’t care about Caleb. He was long gone, and, while existence in purgatory had been mundane, it wasn’t bad.
Not until right now.
Because of Adam Ballantine.
Oh! How she loved him! She’d thought she’d felt that emotion for Caleb but now she knew the truth. She’d been infatuated, and it was but a pale comparison to the real thing.
Adam!
Jezzie’s heart gave a heavy thump as his image came to mind. Her eyes burned with unwanted tears. Catching a breath took on a whole new meaning. Jezzie shuddered in place, blinking rapidly the entire time. If this was to be her new existence, it was going to be brutal. No wonder some of the others took any means of escape.
The phone rang.
Jezzie instantly sat upright. A hairsbreadth of time later she stood in the main room of her suite, swiping moisture from her cheeks as she looked down at the telephone. This was such bad timing. She hadn’t experienced the Caleb nightmare in decades, and never with such intensity. She took a deep breath, cleared her throat, and waited for the next ring. Halfway through it, she lifted the receiver.
“Yes?” Good thing she’d waited to answer. Her voice trembled at first, but sounded as bland as always.
“Ah. Greetings, Jezebel.”
“GeHenna?”
“You were expecting someone else?”
This time, GeHenna sounded like a pre-pubescent girl. That was borderline amusing. Jezzie almost smiled.
“Not really,” she finally admitted.
The voice guffawed, completely unlike a young girl.
“All levity aside, it concerns Adam. Your Adam.” GeHenna stopped as if awaiting a response. Jezzie didn’t give one. “I know. I know. You asked me not to call him that, but it is amusing...and every old woman can use some of that.”
“What old woman?” Jezzie questioned.
There was a distinct pause and then the room shook with the strength of a minor earthquake. The furniture barely moved. The lamp rattled slightly. Jezebel tightened her grip on the telephone receiver.
“Nice effort, Jezebel dear. Truly.”
“Except it failed.”
“You know no one gets information about me...but it is refreshing to know there are those that still try. But enough digression. I need to tell you something.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve been wrong about this from the beginning. But that isn’t entirely odd. It is a very well-disguised plot. Years in the making. Years.”
“You know who is trying to kill Adam?”
“Not really, although I have my suspicion...but I believe I know why.”
Jezebel subconsciously stiffened. Don’t let it be about some woman. She pleaded it silently before replying. “And...you’re going to tell me at some point?”
“Don’t rush me. You know how much I enjoy this.”
Jezzie regarded a blank wall for long moments while her heart beat away in her chest and her lungs kept inhaling and expelling air. There wasn’t any other sound. She couldn’t even tell if GeHenna was breathing. Or needed to.
“Well. As always. It’s been nice chatting,” she finally remarked, using a carefully constructed monotone.
GeHenna sighed heavily. The sound reverberated through the phone line. “Oh. Very well. You win. The reason I have taken to calling him ‘your’ Adam is not simply because I guessed what he’d mean to you.”
Jezzie’s breathing halted. The thumping of her beating heart dulled. Her hand trembled next. She locked her knees to prevent dropping onto a sofa
.
“Don’t bother denying it,” GeHenna said.
“I...won’t.”
“Ah. Good. We can move on to what really matters, and the why of these attempts on his life. It does not make sense. The man is fairly innocuous. No enemies that I can decipher. At least, none with aspirations of murder. Therefore, it becomes plausible that the entire episode has a different purpose entirely. You follow my reasoning?”
“I believe so.”
“Excellent. We can continue. Because this is a bit deeper than it appears on the surface.”
“How deep?” Jezzie shifted from foot to foot.
“This was never about Adam Ballantine, my dear. It’s about you.”
“Me?”
“You are being baited.”
Jezzie managed to keep the exasperation hidden with an act of will. “We already knew that.”
“No. We thought we knew that. I initially hoped so, too, although that means I have a breach. And that someone has an inkling of us...and our purpose. All things I shall be checking into. It is still hard to believe. I have been so very careful.”
“Perhaps you should try disguising your voice on occasion.”
Jezzie instantly replied, despite the consequences. She even snickered. A dead silence ensued. It lengthened uncomfortably. Jezebel started tensing. Preparing. And then GeHenna laughed with such heartiness, the room shook again. This time, dust salted the air and a crack appeared in the wall.
“Oh! Jezebel. I do so enjoy conversing with you. You have such wit. And such courage. I shall miss both.”
“Am I...going somewhere?” The words carried a slight pause. It hid the fear beginning to overtake her, as well as the response she was stifling.
“This is out of my sphere of control. And I need to finish. You are being baited all right, but it isn’t by a group of young men who should know better. Your adversary is the evil one. The most evil one.”
Something cold landed in her belly with a sickening thud. Jezzie grimaced at the sensation. “You’re wrong,” she choked out.
