by E. E. Holmes
I had no words for her. Anger was beginning to stir, rising up through the numbness, forcing it aside. I turned my back on her without replying and ran for the door.
I shoved my way through the entrance hall, knocking people aside, ignoring their cries, blinded by tears. Somewhere behind me, Hannah and Milo’s voices called out, but I ignored them. My only focus was on reaching Ileana who had just slipped through the massive front doors.
I stumbled out into the night behind her, panting.
“Ileana.”
She turned, her expression triumphant. The smoke from her pipe wreathed her head like a laurel wreath of victory in the battle she had just waged against me.
“Why?” I choked.
“Oh, I would have thought the answer to that would have been obvious, Northern Girl,” Ileana said, raising her scraggly eyebrows in surprised amusement. “I cannot prove that you freed the Walker, but I know that you did it just the same. Action had to be taken.”
“I see. No mercy for Irina, no mercy for me. Everyone who defies you gets destroyed, is that it?”
She took several steps toward me, leering maliciously.
“We are the Travelers. We are a proud people and we do not brook interference from anyone. I handed down my judgment on Irina. You did not heed it.”
“It was wrong,” I said through gritted teeth. “You were wrong.”
“That was not for you to decide,” Ileana said. “And so, we have exacted our vengeance. Now we are square, Northern Girl.”
She raised her face to the sky and let loose a wild, cawing noise. I leapt back in alarm as a great swooping black something detached itself from a nearby tree and landed lightly on her shoulder. It was a raven, all shining ebony feathers and fierce snapping beak. It turned a single beady eye on me before turning to peck at the hair of its mistress, revealing an empty socket where its other eye had once been.
“A betrayal for a betrayal, Northern Girl,” she said softly, stroking the raven’s breast. Then she turned and walked away. I stood and watched long after the night had swallowed her, leaving me alone with nothing but the cold, distant stars above my head, and an aching hollowness in my chest.
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About the Author
E.E. Holmes is a writer, teacher, and actor living in central Massachusetts with her husband, two children, and a small, but surprisingly loud dog. When not writing, she enjoys performing, watching unhealthy amounts of British television, and reading with her children.
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