“Shhh,” a translucent voice whispered, waving its hand in a dismissive gesture. “Some of us are trying to study.”
“Sorry,” she said and flinched. She lowered her voice. “You don’t understand… or… maybe you do, but I can’t stay with her. I’ve been trying to get back to my own life. I told her I’d help her find answers and I did that. I’m done now. I already screwed things up by bringing us both here. I don’t think that old woman’s ritual was supposed to do that.” She rambled on, not considering her words. “I always screw things up. And this time, I’ve messed up big. We’re stuck here without a way to get back, without a way to help Camilla get rid of Rory. I screwed up, as always. And I don’t want to keep screwing things up for her.” She finished, the silence louder than her voice had been. The different-colored auras floating about distracted her. She should have felt afraid but didn’t. She couldn’t. It was all so much like a dream.
The guide said, “Are you through?”
Libitina sighed. “Yes.”
“Good. Because, as I already said, I can get you back to your world. And you will be close to where you need to be. Camilla will find the place you need to go. You need only protect her, guard her, make sure she gets to the ritual unharmed. You are the guardian of the dead. This is your purpose.”
“No,” she said.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“I mean, no. I’m not going to do this. It’s absurd. First, that old woman in the forest says she can get this Rory who is supposedly possessing Camilla out of her body with a ritual. She does this weird thing in her little shack. I don’t know.” She was talking fast, eyes wide, looking down at her hands as she spoke, not daring to look back at the entity seeming to pry the information from her lips. “She tried telling Camilla she was meant for this, which was bullshit.
“I’m sorry. I can’t believe it.” She gestured around her. “Spirit world? Hah! A bad dream. That’s all any of this has ever been. There is no spirit world. We have no destiny, no purpose.” She stepped up to the spirit, looked it in the eyes, and poked her finger in his direction. “You live, you die. End of story. You say Rory will try to push Camilla’s spirit out. The old woman said they were suffused together, bound until Rory leaves. Who am I supposed to believe? The real woman, or you, a figment of my overstressed imagination? Or, better yet, my instinct, which tells me it’s all bullshit. All of it. Not to trust you, not to trust the old woman, but to find different answers.”
The spirit grinned. Libitina was surprised to see teeth in its mouth, and found herself wondering if it could bite her, if it would.
“You think I’m fake, but only a few days prior you thought Camilla was a zombie, a flesh eating, reanimated corpse. You could believe that but you can’t believe in destiny?”
“No. I can’t.” But she was beginning to feel a sense of purpose.
“Then what about this book? What about everything I’ve shown you? Everything I know?”
“I’m dreaming.”
“If you were dreaming, would you feel this?” He snapped his fingers.
Pain flared through Libitina’s body. Hunched over and gasping, she looked at the spirit through watery eyes. “Yes,” she whispered through grunts. “Yes I would. It’s a pretty fucking vivid dream. That’s all.” She held her stomach and gagged through the pain. It was all real, but she was tired and that made her stubborn.
“Fine. Then, if it’s a dream, you shouldn’t have a problem going along with it.”
The pain diminished. She stood, panting. “I have every problem with it. I can’t go against what I believe. I have no purpose.” She swallowed the lie, a bitter pill, and grimaced, as a large part of her yearned to go along with this.
“Then, do it for Camilla. This ritual will release her. She needs you to guide her. She can’t do it on her own. Even if you don’t believe in your purpose, you can’t deny that she needs you.”
And she couldn’t.
She stopped resisting with as much grace as she could muster, then nodded. “Okay. For Camilla, then.”
“Then it’s settled.”
The spirit snapped his fingers and the three of them stood next to a glowing arch. Camilla looked around, mumbled something, then gazed at the arch. The substance inside it looked like illuminated water. Its surface rippled and waved, the bright blue making her dizzy if she gazed into its depths. Libitina could see the world beyond the gateway as a quivery half-existence.
“The gateway home,” the spirit said.
Libitina leaned over to Camilla and said as quietly as she could, “Are you sure we can trust him?”
“No, but what choice do we have?” Camilla’s breath stank with rot and something else, a high, sweet smell. If smells could be said to have a sound, this smell would be a whisper, existing just below the more pungent smells emanating off her body.
“Okay.” Libitina steadied herself and followed Camilla to the gateway. Just before going through, she had a strong urge to grab Camilla’s arm and pull her back. Two things stopped her. First, she didn’t want to touch Camilla’s arm. It was slimy and covered in blood and because of the cold, moist air around them, it would be clammy. Touching her would be a complete affront to Libitina’s senses. The second reason, though, was the stronger. She didn’t want to fuck up again. She should’ve just let the old woman finish her ritual. Maybe then it would just be Camilla in this mess and she could have gone home and forgotten this whole thing ever happened.
She wasn’t about to fuck up again. She wanted things to go smoothly. The more she cooperated, the faster she could go home. So she walked into the watery surface of the gateway after Camilla.
Just before it sucked her in, she looked over her shoulder at the spirit world. Their guide floated just beyond the threshold, hands crooked together at his chest like a praying mantis’s. The grin stretching over his features made Libitina shudder. All the hatred and malevolence in the world hid behind that grin. The red glint in his eyes lit the spirit world, as she’d first thought.
“Wait,” she screamed and tried to hurl herself back toward the spirit side of the gateway. Just as she did, something wrapped around her waist and pulled her, screaming, into her world again, the image of their spirit guide imprinted in her memory. She would never forget it as long as she lived.
Chapter Sixteen
Camilla hit the Earth moving, with anger fueling her. Libitina tumbled to the ground behind her, sprawling on her back, sobbing into her hands. For a moment Camilla thought she was laughing and had a second to contemplate this before she was hit with visions. They lasted a moment that might have been eternity. When they were done invading her mind, she stood straight, neck crooked.
The umbilicus extended straight out from her body, tight. The witch woman was close. Camilla could taste her in the air.
“Aludra,” she growled and stomped in the direction the acid-green cord extended. “You added a few more, you green-eyed witch!”
“Wait,” Libitina yelled from behind her, voice choked with tears.
Camilla didn’t care. She wouldn’t wait. “The bitch has to die,” she said. “I will suffer no more.” Her tortured voice sounded rougher than it had before. Timberwolves circled the two of them as they moved forward, Libitina trotting like a frightened, wounded animal, Camilla stumbling determinedly, torn eye sockets seeing everything around her, her night vision better than it had ever been.
“You can’t scare me anymore,” she whispered into the night. “I know who you are now, and you don’t scare me. I’m your worst nightmare, bitch.” And then she said something Aludra said to her, or, rather, to one of her own victims: “You will hate me in the end. Promise.” Her grin made her torn face even more hideous.
Wolves growled, grumbled, howled, the ululating cry bouncing through the trees. Libitina screamed with the howls. Camilla heard all, heard nothing, continued on with one purpose only: Aludra would suffer like no other.
* * *
Though the air w
as cold, it felt warm compared to the frigid spirit world. The lack of moisture was comforting, though only a bit. Libitina chased after the monstrosity before her, tears blurring her vision. When the wolves started coming out of the trees, she ran to keep up with Camilla.
“I’m not her guardian,” she whispered, but she wasn’t convinced. She followed Camilla because she reasoned Camilla would provide some kind of protection. Drawn to the blood, no doubt, the wolves circled, growling and grumbling.
Then one howled and all the horrors of the last few days, all Libitina’s anxiety, all her fear, burst like a scum bubble in a swamp. She screamed, her hands clamped over her ears, crouching down next to a batch of nettles. One brushed against her arm, leaving a cluster of burning bumps, but the pain was distant, unimportant compared to the anguish of her mind. She ran to catch up to Camilla and her canine circle, desperate for her protection.
The wolves followed Camilla. This didn’t make Libitina feel better. But they didn’t seem interested in attacking. The wolves almost seemed to be guiding. She wanted to believe they were guides. It made her feel better. Wolves were seen as majestic creatures, wise, helpful, but also cruel if crossed. She hoped she hadn’t crossed these wolves somehow.
It was at this moment, watching the circling predators, that she realized Cerberus wasn’t there. Too terrified to think, she hadn’t noticed his absence. Had he crossed with them to the spirit world? No. He hadn’t. Suddenly she needed him.
“My dog,” she cried. The nighttime creatures paid no attention to her plight. “Cerberus,” she called, but not too loud. And then she remembered. The old woman. Her barking dog. And she knew. Cerberus’s journey had ended. She would probably never see him again. The thought all but crushed her. Each step became harder to take. She needed to smell him, feel his warmth and love as he licked her face. Never again.
“What the hell am I doing out here, anyway?” she asked herself. “I have nothing left. I don’t even know where the hell I am.” But Camilla walked with purpose and she could see again, could feel.
Camilla stopped every so often and twitched, her torn face twisted into a rictus of pain. Every time a spasm ended, she’d grumble under her breath and continue on as best as she could, dragging her left leg behind her. Eventually, she didn’t stop anymore. Libitina knew the images were flooding her reality and felt sorry for her. To feel what so many others felt while dying… no one should have to suffer like that.
Her own problems—Cerberus missing, wanting to go home, being hungry—were miniscule in comparison. She caught up with Camilla and vowed to herself to help in any way she could. At the very least, she would help end Camilla’s suffering. The poor thing couldn’t even escape through suicide. But there was a way to fix her problems and Libitina would help her find it.
They came to a clearing. At first, Libitina didn’t understand why Camilla had stopped. And then she saw it. A large manor seemed melted into the mountainside, dark in the moonlight, part of the cliff’s surface.
“What is this place?” she asked Camilla.
“This is it,” Camilla said. Libitina felt it, too. After gazing at the manor a moment, Camilla walked forward, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her body shook as she moved, unnerving Libitina.
“I can’t do this much longer,” the living-dead girl said to no one.
No windows. Libitina didn’t know how they were going to get into the manor without windows. Camilla insisted they couldn’t simply use the door. No matter. They would find a way in.
Camilla pointed to a side of the windowless building, up and to the right, that particular wing lit by the rising moon. “She’s in there,” she said.
“Who?”
Camilla didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
Libitina began searching around the base of the manor, sure there would be some way inside.
* * *
Pain filled her. Pain became her. And then Camilla drifted. Memory. Swirling as if from the pages of her mind. Memory, the intangible thing shaping her life whether she willed it or not. Pain rushing at her from all sides. And then, transcendence.
In her car, driving. Red lights fill the night, pulsing. A siren bleeps. She pulls over. What the hell? Ma’am, do you know how fast you were going? But I thought… Can I see your license and registration please? Gruff voice. Gruff hands. All stiffness. It’s not there. Digging. Sorry, officer, I don’t have it. Step out of the car, please. The wind whips. The smell of hairspray in the night. A wolf howls in the distance. Cringe. Stand with your hands on the hood and your feet apart. Crunching gravel. Back door opening. Flashlight bobbing inside the car. Laughter from the backseat. And what might this be? Confused. What could he be talking about? The duffle bag? Traveling, going to school. Ma’am come take a look at this. Leaning into backseat. What?
Something hard against her back shoves her forward. She turns. He’s on top of her, ripping clothes, pulling hair, smacking. Her screams meld with the darkness. She is awake. She is aware. He’s squeezing, biting, pulling, tearing. Blood trickles down her neck from her torn earlobe after he’s ripped the earring away. The knife. So large. So sharp. Holds it against her neck. Shut up, bitch. Screaming, thrashing, screaming. Pain flares through her head, a train light in a dark tunnel, then all is black.
She feels him, far away, thrusting, biting, clawing. Feels him, far away, inserting his knife where he used to be, inside her and slicing down, feels but doesn’t see, can’t move, can hardly breathe or think. The pressure is gone. Life fades as blood flows. She feels it, warm, then cold on her ass, her naked ass, he took her pants and her ass is naked, naked, exposed, vulnerable, someone might see. Can’t move to fix it. Can’t move, think, breathe. Cold. Everything is getting colder, colder, freezing.
Dead. Nothing. Floating. The smell of rot, another flash of light, then she opens her eyes and screams again. She knows the rest.
In the forest, Camilla looked toward the manor. The bitch had to die. She would find a way in, find the green-eyed witch and kill her a thousand times over. No torture. She’d like the torture. No. A swift death. And then again and again, if possible. Could she kill the essence? Torture the soul? She would find out. And then the ritual. But first, to take revenge for all the wrong, all the hurt, all the suffering.
She would avenge all who felt this pain, would give the hurt for the hurt received. Eye for an eye. Yeah. She liked the sound of that. An eye for a fucking eye.
Chapter Seventeen
“Yes, High Priestess,” Aludra said to an empty room under her breath. Practicing. “Yes, as you wish… no, as you command. Yes, that’s it.” She held a razor between her fingers, over the healing wound on her thigh, and took a deep breath but didn’t cut herself. She sat, thinking.
She tried the door to her sparse room again, knowing what she’d find, but unable to stop herself. Locked. No surprise. Back to the corner, skirt up, stockings down, blade point just touching the scab. But still, she didn’t cut. “Yes, High Priestess. I will do as you command.” No spirit meant no ritual. She couldn’t feel the spirit anymore. She sensed something coming toward the manor, but didn’t know what and didn’t think it had anything to do with her.
But there had to be a way to kill the High Priestess and take over. Aludra was stronger, more powerful. She just needed to play their game a bit longer. She wondered what her punishment might be. She’d heard of the rope room, had seen the scars on the High Priestess and some of the slaves. Maybe she would be punished in this way for losing the spirit, for destroying what their order had been created to do in the first place. Without the spirit, without Rory, they couldn’t do their precious ritual, couldn’t gain eternal life, would now have to wait for another nine hundred years.
The nine. Her birthday. Her mother, cut open just so she could be born on the precise day. The day when her birthday would equal nine-nine-nine.
The order was sure to fall apart without purpose or leadership. The High Priestess was getting tired, that Aludra coul
d see without needing to be shown. But Aludra could lead them, could help bring about another chosen one.
* * *
The petulant brat didn’t draw the spirit. The Dark One still claimed the ritual would go as planned, that Aludra had drawn the spirit. So where was it?
The High Priestess stood tall, steadied herself, then continued with the preparations. She needed to prepare despite the lack of Rory’s other half. Could they do the ritual with just one half?
She couldn’t let on that she knew the ceremony wouldn’t happen, couldn’t show a shadow of doubt or the Dark One would know, might, in fact, already know. It was just a matter of how long she could pretend that everything their order stood for wasn’t destroyed. And it was. She was sure of that.
Aludra would pay with every ounce of her blood. She would find a way to make the stupid child suffer. That was for sure. Coming back empty handed…what was that? The chosen one. Ha. She’d show them chosen.
The High Priestess had other plans that didn’t involve any such ritual. When she was through pretending, she would take them all with her into the spirit world. She would not take the blame for the child’s mistakes and she would not go into the darkness alone.
* * *
The High Priest raised a gnarled hand and pushed opened Aludra’s locked door. He saw the girl, always a girl in his mind, though she was coming on forty years, and attempted a smile, but before the smile could reach his lips he was shoved backwards, hitting the wall behind him. At least that’s how it felt. He shook himself and looked up only to realize he hadn’t moved.
“The ritual will continue,” his voice boomed, though he didn’t say the words. The Dark One spoke through him. Heat filled his mind and body. Thank you, Lord, for choosing me for this honor, he thought.
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