by J Wells
“Lucian, thank you.” I sigh, happier in the knowledge that Tristan is to be made more comfortable.
“Oh yes, and Edmond, there is no key, so you are to stand at the door at all times.”
Lucian peers down at me.
“Your friend sleeps there alone. That part of the castle is out of bounds for you. Do you understand?”
I nod as Jazlynn takes my hand. Not wanting to add my own thoughts, I am escorted away quietly. Tristan is safe for now, I think to myself.
“This is my room,” Jazlynn says, closing the door behind us. “We will be sharing, but not for long.” There’s no kindness in her voice.
I make a joke and suggest we top and tail in the four-poster bed, trying to lighten the atmosphere that falls heavy around us, but her face remains blank and not amused. She leads me towards a free-standing mirror. I see her face as she smiles at her reflection, then reaches down and picks up a brush from the wooden dresser. The knots in her hair untangle as she runs the bristles through its length; it is an undeniable beauty and I can’t help but admire its inky-black sheen in the candlelight. It’s a shame her tongue is not so sweet.
I watch as her amber eyes leave her reflection and refocus on me.
“Fucking human,” she sneers, roughly brushing my hand aside.
I stand alone in the mirror’s reflection. I can sense her stale breath on the side of my face. I feel her pointed, claw-like fingers lifting the ends of my hair and then make their way up to my roots.
“You’re pretty, but I’m so much prettier,” she says.
I jerk my hair out of her hands, leaving long dark strands hanging between her fingers. I rub my head.
“If you hate me so much, then why did you help me?”
She avoids my gaze and looks down at her fingers. Flicking away the stray hairs, she shakes her head.
“I didn’t help you.”
“You let Tristan out of the dungeon to save me … why?” I question.
Blatantly ignoring me, she continues. “Can you not see the contours of my face, my bone structure?”
“Jazlynn!” I shout. I take a deep breath and count to three in my head.
I turn away from my own reflection. Her skin is ice cold as I take her face within my hands and make her look at me.
“Jazlynn, you are stunning, you really are,” I tell her as I examine her features.
It’s as though I’m looking at a life-size porcelain doll. With her lighter than ivory skin tone, full lips and hair as black as night, she is a welcoming gift on the eye.
“Rose…” She grabs my wrist, pushing my hand from her face. “How is it you always manage to win me over?” Her actions are harsh, yet her words are soft.
I frown, and she shakes her head.
“I’m supposed to hate you, yet I don’t. God damn it, you’ve done it again.”
I see how closely she examines me, her squint holding me like the lens of a camera.
“You really don’t remember, do you?”
“Remember what?”
“The bridge, the night of your attempted suicide.”
“Yes, of course I remember.”
“Well, it was after that. You spent months with Lucian and me. We couldn’t keep you in the castle; the family were sniffing around, asking questions. We couldn’t lie for long, and even with all those rooms we couldn’t hide you away.”
“Why are you lying?”
“Rose, I’ve no reason to lie to you. Let’s just say our friendship came to an abrupt end and Lucian wiped us from your memory.”
I toss my head in the air. “I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Guess that’s your prerogative,” Jazlynn adds with an unreadable smirk. “You may not remember the past, but I do. We were good friends. Friends do friends favours, so remember, Rose, you owe me.” She winks, and again her expression softens. “Look next to the dresser.”
I do as she asks. Two thick ropes lie coiled on the floor. Jazlynn’s voice breaks into my thoughts.
“Lucian has it all planned. He gave me orders to bind your wrists until your hands are unable to move and your knuckles turn white. Then I am to tie you to one of the bedposts and leave you to squirm in your restraints.”
The kinky sex I was imagining turns into control and I take a step back.
“No, wait!” She steps towards me. “I don’t always obey orders…”
I watch her break into a laugh.
“Well, not since leaving the nineteenth century.”
I roll my eyes. “And you expect me to trust you?”
She grabs my shoulder and I flinch as she squeezes tightly.
“In about an hour’s time, when the sun comes up, we will be dead to this world. We will be in a state of unconsciousness such that nothing can wake us except the return of the night.”
“Jazlynn…” My tongue glides across my teeth. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
She smiles. “You and Tristan have a few hours together; I suggest you make the most of them.”
“A few hours?” I snigger. “Can you really see us coming back?”
I pull away, leaving her to stand without reflection, and head back towards the door.
“Lucian won’t let you go that easily. He knows where you live. You’ll always be looking over your shoulder. And sometime in the near future, probably when you least expect it, he will find you and bring you back. You can’t escape him.”
I grab the door handle and turn my back on her.
“I have family in Jersey … he won’t find me there.”
“Rose, he’ll kill me.”
Her words stop me and my fingers release the handle. I turn slightly.
“How can he kill you? You’re already dead!”
I watch her frame fall as she walks towards the four-poster bed. She says no more and sinks down onto the covers. Leaning forward, she buries her face between her hands. Her hair falls like a veil, hiding her emotion.
“Jazlynn…”
She raises her hand. “Just go, leave me.”
The floorboards creak beneath me as I step closer.
“Sorry, that was thoughtless of me.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
She doesn’t raise her head, and just looks up at me from under her lashes.
“We are not dead; we are the living-dead. A vampire can be killed by the sun, bullets of silver, fire… When we’re taken from this earth our souls will burn in hell for all eternity.”
I settle down on the bed at her side.
“Jaz, I don’t understand.”
“Jaz…” she repeats. “That’s the old Rose I remember.”
There’s warmth in the atmosphere now. Her cool hand slips into mine and I smile.
“Tell me more … I want to know.”
“What do you want to know?”
I lean forward and push her hair from her face.
“Everything.”
“Very well,” she replies. “It was the year 1813. I was the same as you, young and pretty, I had a life. Lord Wick St Gabriel, the most eligible Earl in the land, had arranged a masquerade ball.”
“Who?” I chuckle.
“Sorry, Lucian…” She continues. “Carriage after carriage pulled up on the long driveway outside the castle. As my carriage approached, I looked past the horses and could see him standing outside. Even masked, he looked handsome. I could feel the quickening of my heart, and longed to be the lady walking in on his arm. The carriage before me drew up. I saw her get out, saw her bow her head and saw the hand she took. My dream was over. The entire night he never left her side.”
I’m unable to utter a word and look away. My stomach churns; I feel sick. I know the girl she speaks of was me. I hear her take a deep breath.
“Lucian and his mystery lady left the ballroom and the dancing continued. It could only have been a set or two, if I remember right.”
I imagine Jazlynn to be reminiscing as I see a smile touch her lips.
“Unmasked, Lucian entered and collapsed.” She sighs. “He was ill and had been for a long while, his lungs eaten up by consumption. The orchestra fell silent and we gathered round. Edmond, his valet, ushered us aside. He lifted Lucian up into his arms, strode out of the ballroom and took him to his bedchamber.”
Her voice is raised and there are very few gaps between her words. I feel the mattress release her and watch as she rises. My gaze follows her as she walks around the room, twisting her hair between her fingers.
“The evening was ruined. People began to leave, and even down in the hallway we could hear Lucian’s incoherent ranting. There could only have been about twenty of us who stayed behind. We watched the front door close, and no matter how hard we all tried, it wouldn’t open again and let us out.”
Jazlynn’s steps slow. She leans back against the door and closes her eyes.
“Hearing Edmond’s footsteps on the staircase, we turned. His face was ghostly white, his neck bleeding. Blood oozed its way out of the wood-clad walls, portraits, candle holders, everywhere. Small pools ran down onto the marbled floor. Edmond was like a man possessed; he jumped at Caspar from over the banister. God, I can see it as if it was yesterday.”
I jump as she slams her hands back against the wooden door.
“We saw his face contort, his bloodshot eyes, and watched as he sank his teeth into Caspar’s neck. That was just the start, but also the end for us all. A bloodbath frenzy as one by one we were bitten. We held silver goblets under the fountains of blood. We toasted to Lucifer and drank. We signed the contract written in gold, and as we stood and revelled in this newfound life Lucifer had gifted us, the foundations shook beneath us and the castle and all its inhabitants were swallowed up by the earth. On that night our whole existence was erased and we were wiped off the map.”
Dry-eyed and unable to blink, my mouth falls wide.
“We worked together as a team. It took us months of digging; each and every one of us had to claw our way from the hallway to the landing, out of windows and past turrets, but eventually, we reached the forest floor. During those months we formed a bond … Lucian referred to us as his family, and that’s the way it stayed. We’re not related by blood, well…” She smirked and paused, as if awaiting my response.
But I am lost for words and sit in silence. I hear the click of the latch and see the door open behind her. Her fingers loosen the handle and she steps aside.
“So now you know,” Jazlynn says. “If you head towards the west wing of the castle, you’ll find Tristan in the Lavender bedchamber. Go to him. I’m tired … my inner strength leaves me. I can feel daylight approaching.”
I stand, and we brush shoulders as she passes. She takes my place on the bed and lies down, burying her head in the bolster.
“I knew Lucian was dying… The masquerade was my last chance to meet him, for us to dance. He was my dream; all I ever wanted was to be the lady in his arms, the lady he waltzed around the ballroom.”
I watch her head sink deeper into the bolster.
“But it was not to be. She stole his last dance.”
I hover in the open doorway, step out of the room and then turn back. Jazlynn is lying on her front, her hair splayed out over the covers. She doesn’t attempt to speak. There is no movement; she is deathly still. It would be so easy to release Tristan and for us both to run away. Yet Jazlynn’s words and her life story play on in my head.
Tristan, the west wing, I think to myself. Not being a geography buff, I reach for my iPhone, switch it on and search for the compass app. Following its lead, I veer left along the landing.
Every corner I turn is dimly lit, yet I can still make out and admire the high ceilings. I am captivated by the decor, the portraits that appear to watch me as I pass; the castle is an exquisite work of art. Continuing along, my eyes are everywhere as they dart between the candlelight’s jumping flames. My imagination awoken, I stop and stand for a moment; then, with my arms outstretched, I spin round and round. I imagine this to be the way Belle would have felt, the beauty locked in the beast’s castle. Maybe I’m the Rose beneath the glass’s encasement in their fairy tale.
All the doors are identical and I read each plaque’s inscription. They are all names of flowers: Iris, Poppy, Honeysuckle. It seems I am never going to find the Lavender room. I don’t know about a maze of mirrors, the castle feels more like a maze of rooms.
The landing narrows and I am faced by a couple of steep steps leading down. There is no banister, so I hold onto the walls to steady myself. I continue to walk through a far darker corridor where the wall candles are few and far between. Spooked, I jump back and scream. A tall figure of a man stands motionless before me.
“Rose!”
I hear cries coming from the other side of the door.
“Tristan…” I swallow my words as my glance shifts to Edmond, the dark figure guarding the room.
I take a step closer, squinting up into his open face. His blonde ponytail hangs limply over his shoulder. He makes no advance, nor does he utter a word. He is much how Jazlynn was when I left her moments earlier, dormant, statue-like. The door behind him appears to be his prop. I let out a long sigh; I was quite expecting to be restrained and Lucian to be called for.
Stepping forwards, I stoop. Being careful not to brush against Edmond, I pass beneath his arm. I see the sway of his body as I push open the door. Like a felled tree, he falls back into the room with a thud. I cough as dust clouds are expelled from the bold-patterned carpet.
Rocking on my heels, I wait a second. Looking down at my stilettos, I take a tentative step between Edmond’s open legs. Lifting my other leg, I take one more step above his shoulder. Re-balancing, I look up.
“My God!” I cry out. “Tristan, what have they done to you?”
I feel like I’m looking at a condemned man. He is restrained in a crucifix stance and I have to choke back my tears. I try to run to him, to aid him, but it seems my feet are welded to the floor and I am unable to move. Its feels as though my head is on fire, and the room around me is spinning. I collapse to the floor, the heat in my head turning cold. I shiver, breaking into a sweat, and I squeeze together my clammy palms.
Tristan stands against the far wall. He has been restrained in the cruellest of ways, his exquisite wings stretched taut and pinned back with long silver blades. Knives pierce his rich feathers and the wood-clad wall behind him. He stands on tiptoes, stretching upwards. Thick veins bulge in his neck, running up the sides of his face and temples. I hold my hands over my ears to block out his animalistic cries. I can hardly watch him as he struggles to rip out the blades. Even standing on the far side of the room I can see his body trembling. Blood oozes from the tips of his wings, trickling down his arms and torso.
“Rose, help me…” he splutters.
Sick to my stomach, I jump to my feet. Faltering, I steady myself and rush to his aid. I throw my arms around his waist and my salty tears fall softly against his abdomen. Momentarily it appears that my hold appeases his violent shaking.
I shiver uncontrollably as cold trickles of blood cover strands of my hair, sticking them to my cheek.
“Get them out of me!”
I feel his open fingers grab at my waist. He screams out as his arms lift me up above his head.
“Get them out, get them out!” he screams.
I can feel the shudder of his arms as he takes my weight. I grab for the handle, but the blade is buried deep in the wall. Thinking fast, I begin to prise the knife up and down, up and down. There’s a slight movement, and I move my hand faster and pull. With the force of my arm, I throw the knife back over my shoulder.
We swing to and fro from Tristan’s remaining wing and he cries out. Then I hear a gut-wrenching tear as the wing that still holds us rips and we fall. The back of my head smacks against the floor…
“Rose … Rose.”
My eyes remain closed. I can make out Tristan’s voice, though it is distant. The darkness under my eyelids has
been replaced by a bright-red tinge. I’m ensconced by warmth, and feel hands on my shoulders that rock me from side to side.
“Rose…”
Again I hear Tristan’s voice, though now it is far clearer. I attempt to pull myself up.
“Ouch!” I shout, rubbing a sore spot beneath my hairline.
Lowering my head back onto the floor, I peer up and see a face looking down at me, though it is masked by the brightest of lights.
“An angel … am I dead?” I whisper.
I blink and the vision is gone.
Upon hearing the splashing of water, I lift myself up onto my elbows. A rustling below causes me to look down. I’m surrounded by leaves on the forest floor, but I don’t know how I got here. Sunbeams fall into my eyes, and I squint up into daylight. The morning sun sits low in the sky, throwing its presence around the trees. Shocked, I sit up straight. Then I see him.
“Tristan…” I murmur as I look towards the river.
The fast-flowing current breaks around his thighs. He stands with his back towards me, facing the opposite side of the bank. His wings are outstretched, glistening with droplets of water. I look him up and down, and I feel my cheeks flush and bite down on my lip.
“Are you okay?” he calls.
I nod and smile. My eyes quite forget his ripped torso and the angel-winged tattoo it wears. His wings are missing many feathers, and appear jagged and frayed at the edges, their white perfection stained crimson. I watch as they rise and flap in the breeze, and see him lower them beneath the water’s surface, leaving only his head and shoulders visible.
My first thought is to join him, but still jaded from earlier I cross my legs and sit watching instead. The lump on my head is tender; I wince as I rub it with my hand. My fingers stick in my hair, which is clumped together, still congealed with Tristan’s blood. I snigger quietly as he buffets from side to side in the river’s strong current. I gather his unsteadiness is due to the weight of his waterlogged wings.
“Give us a hand, Rose.”
