The End of Days

by A. E. Watson

  “Do you think he knows about you?”

  “No. I don't. There is no way he could have known it was me killing the girls. It was the past and he didn't know who I was then. He wouldn't have even known I existed.”

  He nods. “Okay. We go to their castle then.” He doesn't sound excited. “But we will need to stop for the night at an inn.” He laughs when he sees my face. “I know a nice one.”

  “An inn, in the Dark ages? Will I have to use a chamber pot?”

  “If you’d rather relieve yourself in the woods, I don't imagine the innkeeper would mind.” He nudges me and takes my hand in his again. It isn’t the grip it was before. He interlocks our fingers and causes a deluge of mixed emotions. “I can’t believe in this wide world full of uncertainties and evil, and let’s not forget your incredibly vile father, chamber pots are the worst thing you can come up with,” he mutters with a laugh and drags me through the forest to the path again.

  I stick my tongue out at him but still let him pull me through the woods.

  “Is that an invitation, Rayne?” he asks, using either the eyes in the back of his head or his weird vampire juju.

  “No!” I can’t fight the grin on my face, even if I should. I can’t fight the flirting or the ease with which we engage. We are something else here. Something that requires no effort to be.

  “I forgot how tedious walking is.” He groans. “I miss my SUV. I adore it. So roomy and the most appropriate use of leather, if ever there was one. The way it warms in the winter and cools in the summer, remarkable.”

  “Even with us walking and you missing the fancy cars, you’re loving it here, aren’t you?”

  He nods, not turning back. “I feel like myself here. I feel like we are us here. I sense you also enjoy it.”

  “I don't hate it the way I should.”

  “As much as I enjoyed the Dark Ages, I far more enjoyed the Age of Enlightenment.” He sounds excited when he turns to gaze at me, getting a strangely excited look on his face. “Actually, the cusp of the Renaissance and the Age of Enlightenment was amazing. It’s the next stop on this little trip of horrors. When we get there you will remember how much you love it. Everyone loves it. The gentility and romance are overwhelming.”

  “Gentility.” I nod, sort of weirded out by his use of the word. “I’ll be excited about gentlemen and ladies and formalities?” I feel like he doesn't know me at all. I may like old-fashioned things in movies but in the real world, not so much.

  “You will. Think Jane Austen.”

  “Oh, I am.” I chuckle. “My feet hurt. I am not actually enjoying the idea that the only other alternative to flying and walking is horseback riding. My ass hurts just imagining that. And I hate that it’s cold here. I have a sneaking suspicion it’s always cold, isn’t it? Even in the summer. It’s a dank cold, the worst kind. And everything smells just a little too pungent, like there’s a bit too much manliness in the air. It tastes like repression and suffering.”

  He takes a deep inhale and moans. “Ahhhh, the smell of the woods, grilled meats, and testosterone.” He nods and grins. “Welcome to my world, Rayne!”

  He saunters along the path, far too happy about being here, especially considering why we came. But like him I am having a hard time connecting to the fact we have come to kill my sister.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The inn isn’t picturesque, but it’s also not a heap made mostly of stone and mud like I suspected it would be. The floors and walls and furniture are all wooden. It smells heavily of food and sin and ale. The ceilings are lower than ours in the modern world and doorways are tiny, even for me. But nothing is filthy—it just doesn't have the same sort of cleanliness we used to enjoy before Lucifer ruined everything. The one thing I don't like is the smoke in the air. The ventilation for the fire is poor, making the air gray and hazy.

  In fact, everyone seems a bit gray and hazy.

  The innkeeper’s wife is old and haggard and missing teeth, but she looks better than the men. Her eyes travel up and down my body, clearly confused by what I’m wearing.

  “My lady requires some clothing. Perhaps a dress.” Constantine smiles. “We were robbed by highwaymen.”

  “Been especially bad, they have.” The woman nods blankly, no doubt due to being told rather than being asked. She slides an ancient-looking key across the wooden desk at him. There’s a symbol cut into the key. “Enjoy your stay, my lord.” She speaks softly, still mesmerized by him.

  We both look ridiculous, compared to the people in the tavern that’s attached to the inn. Everyone is dressed like this is a medieval festival. There’s too much chatter and laughter and spilling of food and drink for it to be modern times though.

  Constantine takes my hand in his again and walks to a small doorway with a narrow set of stairs for us to climb. “The style of the building is Bavarian. It’s actually a charming inn, for the times.”

  “It’s nicer than I thought it would be. I assumed we’d be staying in a hovel.”

  “My God.” He shakes his head and sighs.

  “What?”

  He pauses and turns, tilting his head. “You really thought I would bring you to a hovel?”

  “I didn't know there were other options. We don't have things as old as this in the US. Well, we do but they belong to the Natives. I don't even know what year it is.”

  He scowls and turns again. “I will say, it’s different here than the last time. There’s more than when I was here before in this time.”

  “Probably because of the evil I should have taken. This place is filled with nastiness. I can taste it in the air.” My mouth waters as I imagine the meal. “Even the lady at the front desk, or whatever it’s called, she was evil.”

  Ignoring me, he walks us down a long hall with sconces lit along the way. The constant smell of candles, flames, and ash is too much. The air is thin and the stench is giving me a bit of a headache.

  Constantine inserts the key and opens a small door leading to a little room. Everything is tiny. The bed might be a double, might. At least I don't sleep so it won’t get awkward lying next to him.

  Not that it could actually get much more awkward than it already is.

  I’m in the past to kill my sister before she eats the evil in the world for our father and my boyfriend’s family. Oh, and my boyfriend is also my brother.

  It’s a hot mess.

  Slumping onto the bed, I grip the dagger and contemplate everything that has happened.

  “You all right?” he asks as he closes the door. His voice holds none of the sarcasms and wit it normally does.

  “No.” The answer is small and true.

  He drops to his knees in front of me, lifting my chin so I can look up into his eyes. “Everything will work out, Rayne. It will. This isn’t the end. We will finish this and you will have your life back.” His dark eyes suck me in.

  “What will you have?”

  His lips toy with a grin. “The satisfaction of knowing you are happy, finally.”

  “Is that really the most important thing to you?” I don't believe him.

  “Yes. I have only ever cared about your happiness.” His eyes suggest he’s telling the truth.

  “I don't deserve the feelings you have for me.”

  “That’s irrelevant.” He laughs bitterly. “If I don't have them, then I have nothing. They are the only things connecting my humanity to me. If I ever stop loving you, I will be empty. You don’t have to love me back. You just have to let me love you.” He’s completely serious and it breaks my heart.

  I want so badly to cry, but I don't know if I will be able to stop.

  There are just too many things to cry over at this point.

  “If I could ever win your heart, I would wish that we could just go back to the time when we met and fell in love and married.”

  “You would wish you could have Ellie again.” It’s understandable, but it still stings a bit.

  “No”—he shakes his head—“I would wish
for you. If wishes were real.” His words and the look in his eyes make me feel like his wishing for Ellie hurts less than his wishing for me. He spends one more second staring down into my eyes before he nods and stands. “We will wait here for the middle of the night and then leave for the Van Helsings’ castle. We will need to fly, requiring the darkest part of the night.” He walks back to the door. “Lock it when I leave and don't open it for anyone.” He takes the key and leaves the room.

  Cold Constantine is back.

  I wish he’d never left.

  It would have made all of this easier if he wasn't so amazing.

  It’s easy to love Wyatt and fight the love I have for Constantine when he acts like a dick about everything. Something he’s been doing less and less.

  There’s a montage of happy memories that have come to the forefront of my brain. They all have his face in them, not Wyatt’s.

  Remembering him eating McDonald’s in his SUV, I realize it’s still one of my better memories. It mixes in with the others because the last year has been a wretched whirlwind of highs and lows so extreme I can hardly sift through them. But simple memories like Constantine and his weird junk food addiction float to the top. They require no work, no effort. Sort of like him. I know loving him would be the easier way to live.

  But I also know I am going to die, so I wouldn't ever toy with his heart like that.

  I curl up on the bed and close my eyes, letting everything sort of drift in and out of my brain—seeing the patterns in my lives before and now, the betrayals.

  He’s gone for a long time. I don't know how long, but long enough that I feel rested when he comes through the door holding a lantern and looking like a Sherlock Holmes movie.

  “Did you sleep?” He looks confused.

  “No. This is like a dreamland or something. I don't think the dead can reach me here.” I sit up, stretching and moaning. “But I am starving.” I get up off the bed and give him an expectant look.

  “Right.” He stands close, his chest only inches from mine, and his face close enough to kiss. He swallows, looking like he might make a move but then stops. He puts the lantern down on the table next to him and then looks back at me. His movements are slow and yet methodical. He lifts and cups my face with his warm hands. His eyes are filled with emotion, so much that I almost pull back. The kiss will mean more to him than it will me, and I’ll hurt him in the end when I see Wyatt and love them both still.

  But Constantine’s grip on me is firm. He lowers, brushing his lips against mine as a trickle of evil breath mixes in the embrace. His tongue tickles my lips as we each close our eyes and succumb to the want we share. His mouth tastes like the richest chocolate as I inhale him, eating all his evil.

  My fingers creep up into his hair, pulling his mouth down on me harder, taking more than I should, but I can’t stop. I don't want to. I want all of him. I want all of his kisses and his wicked deeds.

  His hands trail down my face to my neck and back, crushingly hugging me against him for a moment and then dragging me back, ripping us apart with an abrupt coolness.

  My breath, like his, is ragged and desperate. The wanton look in his eyes matches mine. I know it does. But mine might be devoid of the heart-wrenching agony that his stare is filled with. The desire is swirling in his eyes, mixing with the pain of my ultimate rejection.

  I hate myself.

  I swore I wouldn’t hurt him.

  “Right.” He nods once, straightening his jacket which I now see is fitting of the time.

  “You’ve changed.” I say it like there is nothing behind it but there is. He’s changed and I’ve changed, and yes, his clothes have changed.

  “I was hoping you’d notice.” He blinks and I swear for a moment there is a tear in his eye.

  “I did.” I deliver the ultimate blow, hating myself more than I hate anything or anyone. “I like the jacket.”

  He winces. It’s so fast I would have missed it had I blinked, but I didn't. “Yes. It’s very fine. I have a dress for you as well. It will also work when we get to the next stop.” He leans and picks up a bag I didn't even notice he’d put down. He hands me the silk sack and clears his throat. “I’ll-I’ll wait in the hall.” He nods his head and leaves, looking awkward and lost until the door closes.

  I exhale and allow the tremble to tear through me. My eyes lift to the sky and I want so badly to ask why. Why? How can it be possible to love two people and love the wrong one more? Why is this also part of my sick and twisted reality?

  The answers don’t need to come from someone else. They reside in me. They’re the common sense in the entire situation. Of course I can’t love Constantine and die. It’s better to love Wyatt who I won’t ever have.

  When I get the dress on, I grab my dagger and leave the room with the lantern, remembering how it felt to carry one with you everywhere you went. It’s something that lingers with the memories I have from the other girls’ lives. Things I recall in flashes.

  In the hall, he’s leaning against the wall in the shadows, more handsome than I ever give him credit for being. He’s impeccable. Perfection. Flawless and yet flawed in the ways that make my heart skip a beat.

  He bows subtly. “You look just as I recall.”

  My eyes lower to my body. “I look ridiculous. This dress is too big.” I pluck at the cotton.

  “The other option was too tight. And as much as I wanted to go in that direction, I knew it was a bad idea.” He offers me his arm. “We have to hurry. Leave the lantern, we won’t need light.”

  “I can’t see here like back home. My eyes don't glow.”

  “Mine see just fine.” He tugs me forward when I take his arm. As we pass a small table in the narrow hallway, I place the light down and let him lead me. It’s been a while since I wasn't able to see in the dark.

  He walks silently so I try to as well, but I don't have the body control he does therefore my footsteps are the only sound we hear, even when we get outside.

  He climbs into a dark carriage, pulling me with him. When he bangs the front, the driver calls out to the horses and we jerk forward. I barely catch myself before Constantine grabs my arm, steadying me. It’s not so much a carriage as it is a wagon with a domed top made of cloth and wood. It smells weird too, like maybe animals traveled in it before us.

  “We’ll take this as far as we can and then fly. We have to stay hidden.” He says hidden with a bit of a tone. I don't know what it means. He leans out the side of the carriage and looks into the dark forest. “We have two hours before dawn. This is the moment to strike. They’ll be at their weakest as the guards will be exhausted and ready for the changeover. And it’s the darkest before the dawn.”

  “Laid siege before, I take it?” I shake my head and chuckle.

  “I have indeed.” His tone doesn't match mine. He sounds annoyed, at my laughing maybe. “You will have seconds to kill her before they realize we’re there. You can’t drag it out.”

  “I won’t.” My humor is lost the moment I realize I am less than an hour from killing my third sister.

  The bumpy road and the dagger in my hand, work together to make my stomach uneasy. I don't know which is worse, the fact I have to kill another sister or that we might fail. I hadn’t given that much thought before but now we are going to the Van Helsing castle, and I will need to be on my toes so I don't blow this chance.

  Leaning my head out of the carriage I realize we are on the right path. The tingle in my skin tells me this is the way to Maggie.

  Constantine listens intently as we ride along the bumpy road. He bangs on the wood again, halting the carriage. He jumps out and I follow, not sure where we are or what is happening really. I can’t see a thing except his dark figure as the carriage pulls away.

  He pulls me to the side of the path and points at the darkness, taking my hand in his and pointing with it as well. “Fly that way. I will meet you there. I will be standing where you need to land. Give me to the count of one hundred before you fly.”


  My stomach tenses. “What are you going to do?”

  “Hurry to the room I know is hers.”

  “What if they changed it?” I wish we’d brought the stupid lantern.

  “I went and made sure she is still there. She is. She’s a child or something to them, kept safe and warm. She isn’t sickly at all. And I do not believe she is an orphan. I think she believes she is one of them.” His voice lowers.

  “Oh God. They’re letting her get all fat and comfortable before the slaughter?” It makes me sick to imagine them pretending to be her family and then murdering her. “They’re sick people.”

  “Right. So let’s not ruin this one chance at freeing her from that fate.” He squeezes my hand and then he’s gone, leaving me alone in the woods.

  The night becomes instantly cooler as I start to count to one hundred using the ancient technique of adding Mississippi to the end of each number. Of course once I start counting I lose the number I’m on when I distract myself with wondering when Mississippi was first added to numbers.

  The wind picks up, toying with my hair. My eyes clear a little as they get accustomed to being in the dark. My legs grow weak and heavy while terror and worry start to build as I start to count again, like I am counting for the moment I will die.

  I don't even make it to fifty when I jump, bursting my wings from my back and flying into the air. Above the trees, the castle and the light around it fill the skyline.

  It’s insane that I couldn't see the castle through the trees. It’s huge. It looks like something Constantine would live in, not Wyatt.

  There are torches lit along a lengthy driveway where I now see the carriage we rode in. It stops in front of the castle, obviously greeted by someone.

  I turn and fly toward the castle, opposite the gate and driveway.

  A tiny light flickers on the far wall where a small window and balcony are. When I get closer I see Constantine. He’s there, waving a candle, and then he’s gone but the candle remains. The wind blows it out as I land, holding the dagger and creeping into the night.