The cat twitched his tail, and flattened his ears in response to her. Tamyra threw up her hands. “What do you mean she disappeared through the stairs? That doesn’t just happen!”
The cat hissed at her, moving further into the alley. As the Witch watched, the cat changed. One moment a black cat, and the next minute a gloriously naked man. Removing her gaze from his all too provocative body, she paced the alley, refusing to look at him again.
“Tell me again. How did you lose her?”
“I told you, there was a creature, pin-striped suit, and raven cane. I’ve not encountered his kind before. He wanted the girl. I held him off, and she fled into that door, and up the stairs. I was right behind her, but then, she just vanished.”
Tamyra fell back against the brick wall of the building. Taking several deep breaths to calm herself, she gritted her teeth. “There is no telling where she is, where she could have gone. I checked those stairs. They are not a portal.”
Stopping abruptly, she forgot the nakedness of the man in the alley, and turned to face him again. “Pin-striped suit? Raven? Do you mean a Corvo? It’s impossible. They were banished from earth long ago…”
Trailing off, her eyes trailed over the well-defined muscles of the man. “Can’t you put some clothes on, Damien? Seriously, do you think I enjoy having to stare at your naked body?”
The man’s yellow eyes crinkled at the corners, and his mouth formed a sly grin. “In all honesty, Tamyra, I think you enjoy looking upon my body very much, indeed.”
Cursing beneath her breath, she stormed toward the end of the alley. “If there was a Corvo after her, we are in deep trouble, Damien. She doesn’t know anything, let alone how to take care of herself.”
Damien studied her. “What, exactly, is a Corvo, Tamyra?”
The Witch turned to look at him again, being careful to keep her gaze at eye level. “It is a plague upon this world, a collector sent by the demons of hell to gather the souls of those who are deemed evil, corruptible.”
The sly grin vanished from the lips of the Panther shifter. “If he was after the girl, what does that mean?”
Tamyra sighed. “It means, that great evil lives within her soul, and we need to get to her before something bad does.”
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7
Tree of Ashes
Ifound myself alone and uncertain in a world I knew nothing about. Belladona had promised to watch over me as well as she could, and Viren had given me a word. He told me this word would call him to me. He also cautioned me that I must only call upon him in an absolute emergency. So, I found myself alone and helpless once again. In a city I didn’t know, left to wander the cold dark streets and “Discover myself” as Viren had put it. He had decided I should avoid the Lost Cities. He believed that I had more of a chance to survive if not thrown into the midst of too many Casts. It didn’t matter to me where I was. I was alone. I was scared. Confused and lost, I wandered down street after street.
I had no direction, nor reason in life any longer. I was afraid of every shadow, every sound. It is a difficult thing, to be heartbroken and unable to release that misery. I could not even shed a single tear, my voice seemed to have been stolen. Bleakness welled up within me until I felt I would suffocate from it. How do you release your anguish if you do not have a way to let it out? I struggled, I teetered on the edge of insanity. I tripped and fell, wanting nothing more than to wail, to cry and thrash, and dislodge the dam on my hurt.
My first reaction to being left alone was fear. I was terrified of everything and everyone. I never knew when a man would shift into to a dog-like creature, or a Vampire would jump out of the shadows. I missed Tamyra and her corrosive humor. I even missed the black cat. At least with him at my side, I knew there was someone to protect me. Now, I was completely alone, just as I had been when I had first woken up in the ash and soot that had remained of my home. I didn’t know how to deal with being alone, and scared and completely ignorant to all the things I had learned.
Fear is a tricky emotion to deal with. At times, it makes you feel paranoid, as though each person you pass is out to get you. At other times, it gives your imagination wings, creating monsters where none exist, and inventing new ways to freak you out. For a while, I was stuck in this state. I hid from everyone I saw, whether that involved climbing trees, disappearing beneath houses, or trying to become part of the shadows. I slipped into a routine. See a person, hide. Hear a noise, disappear. Expect the worse at all times. That was my motto for a period of my lonely existence.
As I slowly became weary of hiding and being afraid, I began experiencing new sensations, and new discoveries. The scents of the city wafted to my nostrils, beckoning me out of the dark hiding places I frequented. The sounds of people laughing and socializing made my heart ache to once again be part of this tangible existence, to have friends, and carry on conversations. As the hermit I had become slithered back down into the fearful pit of myself, the young innocent Valkyrie began creeping out once again. That part of me that had died on Halloween was still with me. She was still full of life and curiosity.
In many ways, realizing that I was still me, more or less, made me feel less alone. I would never truly be alone. I carried with me the memories of the people I had lost. They crouched upon my shoulders, whispering tender comforting words in my weakest moments and appraisal when I overcame my fear. Although I knew they were not really with me, it still helped to keep my head above ground, to give me motivation and a reason not to give up. We all need a reason to keep going when life feels overwhelming.
Days after being left in this peculiar city alone, I found myself standing at the entrance to a graveyard. It sat precariously upon a hill overlooking the town, and I stood outside the gates, speculating whether or not these bodies enjoyed being buried on the edge of a hill. What if it flooded, and their rotting corpses were washed away? Standing there, I stared at the dismal gray headstones. Eventually, I moved into the cemetery.
For whatever reason, roaming through the empty cemetery at the cusp of daylight seemed to soothe me. It made me realize it was possible that there really might be darkness within me. To feel so close to these long-dead people, to feel consolation in their presence. I was becoming a freak. Nothing I knew about life was true, and I didn’t know where to go from here. To quiet the mulling questions in my mind, I read the headstones placed there. Some had intricate phrases, some even had poems carved into their stone façade.
Even the plain, unkempt headstones felt personal to me. Beneath them, someone was buried. People who had lived their lives, achieved their dreams, and perhaps, some who had not. Were there people like Emily and Vanessa buried here? People whose life had been snuffed out before they even had a chance to live their dreams. Walking over the green slopes of the cemetery, daylight rose from the east, and fog descended in thick clouds. Like a cloak you pull tighter around you, the fog was comforting to me. It gave the sense of obscurity, as though I were completely alone and hidden from the rest of the world.
It was ironic, that after days of being afraid of my own shadow, I would find solace here in this labyrinth of decomposing bodies and lingering souls. Although I could not see the Spirits, I could feel them. The chill they caused along my skin was enough to tell me they were here. For whatever reason, I was not frightened. I didn’t think there were actual Spirits present, more like the lingering residue of their souls. It was not something you could see or touch, but I could feel it, with these heightened senses I seemed to be developing.
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I saw her, her long dark hair hanging down her back in a thick shroud. Her pale ivory skin like porcelain against the gray fog in which she walked. My heartbeat sped up at the sight of her. She was slightly different, and yet, I knew, without a thread of doubt in my mind that it was her. She lived. Emotion like I had not felt in centuries flared-up within me. My breathing became shallow, and my knuckles paled where they gripped the iron fence surrounding the cemetery. What if th
is was a trick of my mind? Did I seek to torture myself so? She glanced my way, as though she knew a predator lurked in the shadows, but she could not see me.
Her eyes were the same liquid amber I recalled, startling in their intensity, yet subtle and seductive at the same time. I longed to go to her, but I would not, could not. Why should I put myself through the same heartache? Hadn’t I suffered enough in this long life? She was my poison, like a drug I was addicted to, I could not get enough of her. To look upon her, seeing her alive, was like the ultimate high. My body lusted for her, needed her in ways I had never needed anything. My heart ached to hold her, to hear her soft, sultry voice against my ear.
Anger filled me. Memories that had long haunted me flared to life. She was not mine, would never be mine. She had chosen her path long ago, and I was not it. It seemed fitting that I should watch her from afar for all eternity, suffering my inability to keep her safe. I had failed her, and I paid the price every time my memories conjured images of her, naked, in his arms. I had learned that night, she brought out the worst in me. The monster I had caged long ago was not so well controlled when she was near.
Even now, I could feel wings stirring in the recess of my soul. Just the thought of touching her unleashed the darkness within me. How had I not seen the darker side of her soul that first night? If only I had seen through the veil of her beauty at that masquerade, perhaps then I might have known she would be my downfall. So many long years, my family had struggled to contain me, to teach control and discipline. It hadn’t mattered. None of it. The second I saw her, I had wanted her with an intensity unknown to me, as though the darkness within her beckoned to the Darkness hidden away in my own soul.
I recalled the old man’s words from so long ago. “Together, you may very well doom the world, but separated, she will destroy it.”
How many long nights had I lain awake, thinking of her, wishing her alive, with those words hanging over me, I couldn’t begin to count. It mattered not what the old man said. In the end, she had made her choice. She had chosen another. With the darker side of myself rattling its cage, I turned away from her. I needed to feed, or I would lose control. I was risking too much just being this close to her as it was. With one final look at her delicate, hauntingly beautiful face, I turned away from her.
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A shiver coursed down my spine. I stilled, trying to use my new senses to listen to my surroundings. That was odd. I had felt as though I were being watched. Glancing around the fog-enshrouded cemetery, I looked for anything visible through the thick grey clouds lying low to the ground. My eyes caught the dark silhouette of a man. The fog was thick, and I squinted, but I could only see the form of his dark suit and the back of his head as he walked away. There was something about him, however, that made me linger, watching. His walk was predatorily, like an animal stalking slowly. I wasn’t sure why my body was reacting so strangely to this person, but I shoved the thoughts aside, and decided it was time to explore this city.
The city where Viren had deposited me was filled with old-world charm, and mysterious historical buildings and landmarks. I was torn between wallowing in the depression I had fallen into and exploring this culturally-rich place. I knew the town was Charleston, but I had never seen or heard much about the place except in history classes or in web searches. I wandered from place to place, looking over the historic townhouses, and the Victorians on RopeMakers Lane.
I found myself strangely comforted by this town. This place made me feel like I was walking into the past. I loved the buildings and all the richness and diversity there. Ambling along, I found myself blending in with a tourist group. An older couple led the tour, and there were about twelve people following them. The couple regaled them with exciting stories as they led them down the Battery and along the historical routes.
Smiling at their epic rehearsal of times gone past, I was pulled more and more into the quiet, charming southern atmosphere. A few times, I got the odd glance, but otherwise most people seemed to hardly notice me as I sauntered down the cobblestone pathways. Of course, I didn’t need to eat, to sleep, or do any of the necessities humans did. This allowed me the freedom to view this remarkable town at times when there was no one about.
More and more I seemed compelled to walk in the dark. It was quiet and comforting. I found there were very few people out walking late into the night. It was this time that I liked to view the old haunted mansions the best. I began to wonder if I had some connection to this place in my past. The further around the town I walked, the more I felt like I had been here before.
One night, about a week or so after I had been left to fend for myself, I headed west out of town. Something compelled me to walk in this particular direction. It was dark and very late. The Witching hour some would call it. During my time in Charleston, I had lost my fear of being alone and of the darkness. I had acquired a backbone, I guess you could say. As I traversed the dirt paths that led off the main roads, I discovered what had brought me there.
All along the unpaved roads, giant moss-covered oaks abounded. They hung over the walkways and roads of this green island like sentinels keeping watch. With their long curving branches descending over the paths like claws reaching out into the darkness, they certainly gave me a feeling of foreboding. I felt the sensation of sinister Spirits as I entered this labyrinth of oaks. It was spine-chilling and exciting at the same time. I was enchanted. I was awed by the sight of the moss hanging from the arms of the great trees, swaying gently in the breeze.
The scent of swamps and the sea wafted toward me as I slowly took in all the beauty and mystery of this compelling place. The further into this island I walked, the more enchanted I became. I was utterly alone here, with no sign or sound of another living soul nearby. Descending into the jungle of moss, I found a tree of enormous size. With its gnarled and twisted branches hanging low to the ground, and its moss-covered canopy blocking out all light, it was spectacular.
It also gave me the chills and a sense of loss. I felt a wave of desolation wash over me, and I was baffled as to where these feelings were coming from. The sadness hit me like a blow to the stomach, and I found myself kneeling in grief before this ancient tree. Crawling forward, I latched onto the monumental marker that depicted the story of this old tree. Gasping for breath, trying to release the sobs that tore at my chest but refused to leave me, I tried to focus on the words written there to distract myself from the pain and overwhelming emotions.
The tribute to the tree called it the Tree of Ashes and claimed the tree was somewhere between three hundred and four hundred years old. As I stared at the words written before me, I read them over and over again. I needed to know what my connection with this old tree was. It was a desperately crucial necessity that I know. The desperation I felt within my soul was overwhelming.
According to the text written by a historian, this tree was believed to have grown from the ashes where locals had once, long ago, burned a woman alive. The woman had been accused of practicing Witchcraft in the early seventeenth century. I know not why this was so important to me, but the craving to know more was nearly undoing me. Fire coursed through my veins, as I now knew that had to be it. My emotions ran high, fueling the fire within me.
Backing away from the plaque, I stepped over the rope fence that surrounded the breathtaking tree. I had to get closer. I had to know the truth of my connection to this ancient life. Slowly, I crept closer and closer to the giant trunk of this mighty oak. The closer I came, the more my desperation grew. My hands shook from my nerves, and my stomach was doing somersaults. When, finally, I stood before the mighty trunk, my hand outstretched, only inches from feeling the rough bark, I hesitated. I was afraid.
What if I didn’t like what happened next? Staring at the brown trunk, I shook my head. It didn’t matter whether I liked it. What mattered was what I discovered. Viren had said I was ignorant, and ignorance was death. He had told me that in this ever-changing world where humans lived ignorantly
beside monsters, the ones with the most knowledge held the most power. I needed to survive. I wanted to live.
Taking the plunge, I let the skin of my palm rest against the ancient bark of this tree. Immediately, I was plunged into a world I didn’t recognize, nor understand. I could see images, but I could not make out a sound. The world was dark, but in that darkness, I saw fire. Torches. Men and woman carrying torches. They pulled a woman by her arms, bound in ropes. A beautiful young woman with long dark hair and big golden eyes. She was silent, not moving her mouth to utter a sound. Her chin was held high as she was led by ropes to the cross erected in the empty field.
Dozens of people gathered around her, but I realized they were not ordinary people. They were all uniquely beautiful. Their clothes spoke of wealth and position. Some wore the powdered wigs of an era long gone. The woman herself wore a Baroque gown of fine satin. As the people tied the woman to the wooden cross, her face reflected no anger. Only sadness and disappointment graced her lovely features.
One man, in particular, stuck out amongst the others. He was bigger, more handsome than most. His long dark hair was pulled back from his face with a leather cord. His eerily light blue eyes reflected anger. He screamed at the woman now tied to the cross. I wished I could understand the words he spoke. Even without words, I understood the gist of it. This was no simple accusation of Witchcraft from the town’s people. No. This was much deeper, much more personal.
In the crowd gathered around the sacrificial cross, a woman struck me with familiarity. Her lovely dark red hair hung around an extremely lovely face, and her icy-blue eyes reflected immense grief. She screamed words unheard by me. The man with the dark hair left the bound woman as he raged toward the fiery-haired beauty. They argued. I had a moment of clarity when the red-haired woman looked up at the man.
Belladona. It was her, I was certain. She looked somewhat different, younger perhaps, but it was her all the same. The dark-haired man stalked back toward the dark-haired woman. He bellowed at her. Others gathered around, appeared to chant as they raised their torches high. The man turned away from her suddenly, as two men emerged from the darkness to tear their way through the crowds.
Becoming Valkyrie Page 7
