Later at the Pearly Gates Cemetery, Zane kept his distance and was the last to stand over Eileen’s grave. I had secreted myself behind a neighboring headstone and listened as he grieved. He knelt down beside her freshly filled grave,
“Eileen, this was not supposed to happen. It was not supposed to be you. What made you take her car? You knew I had had the brake line cut. I just can’t understand why you were in her car. We had it all planned. Why did you go against the plan? Damn you! I needed that money to get into the Senate. You promised me!”
Six feet below, Eileen was screaming, “I’m here Zane! I’m HERE! SAVE ME!”
Three feet away, still hidden, I reached down into my pocket and withdrew a tape recorder. I neither wondered, nor worried where it had come from, but I was relieved to see it rolling. I started to rise, when the wind began to howl.
I looked up over the headstone and saw a woman approaching. She was cloaked in a dark hooded robe. In her hand was a long ancient looking athame, the hilt encrusted with rubies. I sat back down and cowered. In my drop to the ground, I upset the recorder and knocked off the stop button.
The woman appeared beside Zane and pulled back her hood. Her androgynous features were masked with hatred. She plunged the knife in a downward arc and drove it deep into Zane’s chest. I froze in horror, as I watched the man, I had loved, shudder and die. The woman looked familiar, and yet, she was no one I knew.
The woman stood and walked over to where I hid, too terrified to move. The air around me became hot and I felt stifled. She moved with a predator’s grace stalking her next prey. My pulse raced as she came to stop inches from my face. I could smell her breath, a scent so foul I tried to turn my face away from her. Her hand snaked out and grabbed my chin.
“Elaaaiinnnaaa” the woman hissed.
I tried to pull myself from her grasp and stood transfixed and watched terrified. Her fingers elongated and transformed into fiery red talons her nails tipped in black. The hood she had removed completely from her head and red curls tumbled free. This creatures’ appearance shifted from moments ago. The androgynous being was a beautiful siren in face with the body of a snake and yet she had arms and talons. Her image and my mind were at war to comprehend what stood before me.
I felt the ground beneath my feet rise up to greet me as started to faint; the She-Creature reached out and caught me. She pulled me close to her body and whispered into my ears,
“Elaina, a s-s-soul for immortality and your s-s-sister promis-s-sed me your s-s-soul if I would grant her immortality. The Other s-s-stole you from me, thus further denying me a s-s-soul. I will have my s-s-soul and I will have my vengeance.”
I felt her heated breath on my cheeks and smelled her putrid breath and knew this was not the boy, who had said he was GOD…this was something else. Inside, my soul was screaming for Aria’s protection and God’s grace for my sister’s soul. The creature placed one of her talons on my cheek and ripped open the flesh from my face. She dipped her black tipped talon into my blood and hissed.
“I will empty the bones for you tonight, and dine I will on Zane’s soul, tomorrow I will come to empty the bones of YOU and your tainted soul, I will add to my collection. Sleep now little Angel protected Elaina. The Other’s statement “It is finished” is so overrated…it was finished when Eve took and ate the apple I offered her.
The Lost Changeling
by
Jana Boskey
Elita Ray woke up with a start. She sat up too quickly making her head spin as if she had a hangover. Groaning, she put her hands against her temples, and tried to get her bearings. She could see nothing around her. The darkness that surrounded her was thick and oppressive, granting her vision of nothing except it's night colored air.
“Hello?” she whispered into the air and strained to hear an answer. Elita heard shuffling to her right. “Is someone there?”
“Not for long,” a deep, scratchy voice answered back before a scream sounded through the space, echoing in Elita's pounding head. Elita felt her eyes widen as she listened to the screech and felt her stomach turn and the scream was cut off by a gurgling sound. She put her palm to her mouth to stop her own yells.
Looking around she noticed that her eyes were adjusting to the dark, though only just a little. Elita saw a vague outline of what appeared to be a door illuminated by a stretch of light. Determined to get to it she got up, she took only a few steps before her legs gave out from under her, sending her to her knees. Biting her lip, she forced the cry in her throat to recede. Wherever she was, she did not want them to know she was awake.
Elita got up once more, feeling the agony burning through her legs with each broken step she made. After what seemed like hours the small light was only an arm’s length away. Tears of happiness pooled in her eyes as she reached her hand out to grab the door. Just as her fingertips brushed the aged wood the door swung open, blinding her. Squealing, she pushed her fists into her eyes to stop the pain.
“Oh good,” she heard a voice say in a softly lilting voice belonging to some accent she couldn't pinpoint, “you're awake. The King will be pleased.”
Before Elita could even recover from being blinded she felt smooth hands roughly grab her shoulders and pull her out of the room. “Careful!” the man snapped at her as they walked. Elita stumbled every few steps but the unknown man always caught her by the arms, and righted her on her feet, mumbling in a language she couldn't understand.
“Please,” she sobbed, “my legs...they hurt so bad.”
Elita turned to look at him for the first time through misting eyes. She heard herself gasp as she caught sight of his face, even through her blurry vision she could tell how beautiful he was. The man had long black hair, as long as her own, which reached the middle of her back. It was straight, and looked as fine and soft as silk. His skin was alabaster; it almost glowed under the soft lighting of the hall they were walking down.
The man turned and looked at her with eyes that were so pale of a blue they were almost white. They were as startling as they were striking. Elita noticed how sharp his cheekbones were, and the shape of his eyes was almost cat like as they tilted up towards his eyebrows. Wanting to see his face in more detail she started blinking her eyes to clear out tears. Elita wiped at her eyes gently, rubbing away the last bit of fog. When she looked at him again there was still a mist around him, as light as it was it still obscured him. She felt her eyebrows bunch together and her lips turn down into a deep frown. He gave her a dark smile, “That's the Fog you're seeing. Don't bother trying to clear your eyes, it won't work. You aren't ready to see us yet, Elita.”
“How do you know my name?” she asked quickly. She took a wobbly step away from him, her brown eyes wary. “Who are you?”
The man laughed a horrible, grating laugh that sounded like glass shattering, “Everyone knows your name, my lady,” he answered, dodging the last question.
“Why?”
He put up his finger and waggled it, “Save your questions for the King, he's more likely to give you an answer than I am. Now, come mortal,” he held out his hand for her, his expression impatient.
Elita regarded him with reservation, her gaze on his hand. She thought he had beautiful hands; the fingers were long and tapered, the skin smooth. She wondered what his flesh would feel like on hers. Hesitantly, she reached out to him and gently touched his palm. Elita bit back a gasp as she felt his hand, which was as cold as ice. She shivered as she grasped it with her own, “You're so cold,” she whispered.
He flashed a quick, twisted smile that was gone so fast Elita questioned whether or not she even saw it. “We must make haste, my lady, the King will not be happy if I bring you to him late.” Her escort walked up to her and before she had a chance to protest swung her into his arms, and carried her bridal style down the hall.
Shocked, she looked at him through narrowed eyes, “Do you have any manners at all?”
He shot her a dark look. Elita felt herself slipping as his hold on h
er loosened, she grasped desperately at his neck, her nails sinking into the frigid skin. “I can always let you fall,”
“No! Please, I'm sorry!” Elita pleaded as the hand that was supporting her top half let go completely; she fell back at the waist. Her torso dangled, her head narrowly missed hitting the stone floor while he had a firm grip on her legs, not allowing her to fall completely. Elita screamed and her high-pitched voice reverberated off the walls. She struggled to pull herself up, but her sweaty palms wouldn't let her keep her grip. “God, PLEASE!” she screeched.
Elita hung there for a few more seconds before she felt her body swing back slightly before catapulting up, the man's arm snaking back around her shoulders.
She grabbed the fabric of his shirt tightly as she tried to get her breathing under control, and quell the desire to punch him in his pretty little face. Elita could feel his body shake slightly in silent laughter. She shot her head over to glare at him, “You're not funny, you ass.”
At her insult he threw his head back and laughed, a rich sound the made Elita want to smile, but it also sent shivers down her spine. There was an edge to it, something that was almost sinister that lurked on the fringes of his laughter.
Biting her lip she turned her head and stared at the wall, noticing for the first time that they were made of ice, casting a distorted reflection of the two of them as the unknown man walked. Though the image was blurry she could see her pale blond hair was ratted and tangled, messily gathered up into a bun that was starting to come loose. She knew that her light brown eyes were wide with distress, the whites tinged pink from exhaustion and lack of sleep. Her caramel colored skin was flushed, the skin of her face streaked with mascara trails, her lipstick faded and smeared. Underneath her pant legs on her jeans her calves were decorated with bruises that throbbed. A cut ran across her collarbone, staining the fabric of her pale, rose-colored shirt, which was covered in dirt and ripped across her midsection.
What happened last night?
Elita wasn't aware that she even spoke out loud until she heard the man carrying her ask, “What?”
Looking away from her reflection she gave him a questioning look, “Excuse me?”
He let out an exasperated sigh, “You mumbled a question, which I assumed was for me, so I asked 'what' because I didn't hear you.”
“Oh, I was just thinking out loud, I suppose.”
He shrugged, “Suit yourself,”
“Can I ask you a question?” she asked before she lost her nerve.
“You just did,” he answered in a flat voice, his tone suggesting he didn't want to be asked anything.
“You know what I meant,”
“Do I, now?”
“YES!” she nearly yelled as she struggled to keep her anger in check, but she decided to rephrase, just in case he tried to pull the same thing again. “Can I ask another question after I ask this one?”
He answered her question with one of his own, “Didn't I tell you? No more questions!”
Elita puffed out her cheeks in exasperation. “Am I not allowed to know anything?”
The side of his mouth quirked up again, “Not just yet,” he said vaguely.
Crossing her arms tightly over her chest she worked her jaw for a few moments before speaking again. “Can I at least know your name?”
Elita felt the man stiffen underneath her slightly, his grip around her legs and shoulders tightened. “My lady,” he almost sneered the word, “if you could forgive me, I cannot give you my name. I can give you something to call me by, if that would please you.” His voice was tense, the words clipped.
She bristled at his tone, her hands clenching into fists. “How about I give you a name?” she asked through clenched teeth.
“If that is what you wish.”
“Bastard.”
He stopped abruptly, gaping at her. “What did you just call me?”
Elita gave an innocent look, “You said I could give you a name, sir. So I gave a name that suited your personality.”
The man suddenly threw Elita from his arms, sending her crashing into the wall, her head smacking against the icy surface with a meaty sound. Her breath left her, quickly and painfully, on the moment impact. She heard the sickening crack as a few ribs broke, agony shooting through her back and chest. Small cracks splintered their way up the height of the wall, racing their way to the ceiling. Elita landed in a heap on the ground, her hand twisting awkwardly beneath her. A few chunks ice broke off the wall and fell on her, their sharp edges digging into her exposed skin.
All Elita could do was lay there in shock, her mouth open, gulping down the breaths that she lost a few second earlier. She tried to speak but her vocal chords seemed frozen, words stuck in her throat forming a lump that was making it hard to swallow. She could feel warm liquid trickle down her arms, she knew without looking that it was blood. The acrid, copper smell assaulted her nose and a metallic taste tainted her mouth making her want to gag. She heard the sounds of footsteps nearing her and she braced herself for another blow.
“My King told me to bring you to him alive. He said nothing about damaged.” Elita could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke. Her stomach dropped as she heard the amusement he was taking from seeing her bloodied and broken.
Any fight that Elita had in her dissipated at that moment, leaving her vulnerable, her will crushed. She closed her eyes, accepting that death would soon come, and praying that it would be quick. Elita felt arms pull her onto her back and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out as her battered shoulders hit the ground. Her eyes flew open as she gasped when she felt the shards of ice that were embedded deep in flesh being pulled free. With each piece of ice that got extracted she felt herself slipping away, her vision dimmed little by little, blackening at the edges. As the last fragment exited her skin she first felt relief that overrode the sharp pain, and then she felt nothing at all.
Elita awoke to the sound of muffled voices speaking near her, the words garbled and slurred together. She caught a few words, king, queen, awake, death, rule, waiting, but nothing that could be put together to make a sentence, let alone make sense. When she attempted to move her body she felt white-hot pain lance through her body, causing her to scream.
“Elita?” a melodic voice asked from over her shoulder, “Are you all right?”
“Why did she cry out, Siaryl?” a deep voice demanded.
“I apologize, my King,” Elita's eyes flew open at that sentence. So this is whom that man kept referring to. “I swore that I gave her enough herbs to stave off the pain, shall I give her more?”
Footsteps made their way around the bed she was laying on, getting closer until Elita was met with the most gorgeous man she had ever laid her eyes on. The King was beautiful. He had long, wavy white blond hair that grazed his collarbone. His bones jutted out from his face in a grotesque, yet lovely way, somehow only enhancing his beauty. His eyes were the same clear blue of the man who had hurt her, they titled at the same angle, making him appear catlike. The King's skin was milky, the texture as smooth as marble. Elita had a strange urge to touch his face to see if it was a creamy as it looked.
He knelt down next to the bed, bringing himself eye level with her. His stare was piercing, scrutinizing as he raked his gaze over her body, making her feel strangely naked despite her clothes. Elita held her breath as he lightly touched the skin on her forehead and neck, his cold fingers dancing across her heated flesh. She felt her stomach contract with each touch, heat slowly building within her. She sucked in her breath sharply when he grazed the sensitive skin above her breast. A fierce need washed over her then, a desperate longing to be held by this man. To feel his hands on every inch of her body, to feel their bare skin touching, melting together until they became one. Elita's breaths came in shallow pants, her cheeks flooded with blood at the images she had racing through her mind.
The stranger’s eyes widened in concern, “My love? Are you in pain?” He cupped her cheek as he spoke, his
pale eyes softening.
Not trusting her voice she nodded her head, the pain had ebbed seconds after it erupted. Against her better judgment leaned into his palm, somehow feeling safer than she had all this time.
A smile curved onto his full lips as he stood up. Panic flitted through her as he retreated. She reached for him, “Please don't leave me,” she breathed, her outstretched hand shaking, moisture pooling in her eyes. Just as her tears began to fall the King bent down and kissed them before they hit her cheeks. Her heart swelled at his actions, the tender care he took when he kissed her.
“Do not cry, my Elita, I will return to you soon. There are a few things I must take care of first so I can devote all my time to you.” His deep, sensual voice sent shivers through her.
“Promise?”
He kissed her on the temple before answering, “Cross my heart,”
Elita closed her eyes, savoring the lingering feel of his lips on her skin. “Hurry back to me.”
The King stepped back, and bowed deeply to her, “As you wish, my Queen.” He turned on his heel and walked towards the door, before leaving he looked back and said, “Take care of her, Siaryl, or you will regret it.” In one smooth motion he opened the door, stepped out and then close it behind him.
Elita felt shaky without the King in the room with her. She struggled to pull herself up into a sitting position, resting heavily on the headboard she wiped a slight sheen of sweat from her brow before turning to look at the other man named Siaryl.
He looked a lot like the King, he had the same shade of blond hair, but his was longer, it was knotted into a braid that fell over one shoulder. The same angular face, yet it was slightly less pronounced, and the same pale blue eyes. He was much like a younger version of the King.
“Your name is Siaryl, sir?” she asked.
He bowed to her, “Yes, my lady, I am here to take care of you until my King returns. Anything you need, I'll get it for you.”
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