Time Weaver

by Jacinta Maree

  The old woman lashed out, grabbing Sam by the chin and pressing her thumb against the inside of his mouth. He coughed and choked on the sudden intrusion, easily shoving her hand off, but not before feeling the coarse patch of her thumb run along his lower lip, collecting a smear of his salvia. She then pressed her thumb onto Klaus’ wound.

  “Eww! Oh, dear god!” Sam spat and rubbed his mouth.

  “Ma? What are you doing?” A second witch, a younger one, ran back into the room and restrained the other woman’s hand.

  “Did you just stick your dirty thumb in my mouth?” Sam shouted.

  Suddenly, Klaus’ eyes fully opened and he sprung upwards, scaring everyone around him. Immediately, he grabbed for his arm and flexed his fingers. The stone cast is gone. Did she get the poison out of me?

  “He almost gave me a heart attack!” Abigail gasped.

  Klaus searched the room. Smoke hazed around him, coming from the dozens of candles carefully placed across the floor. With the return of his consciousness, his fear returned. How close had he came to disappearing? How close had he almost been trapped in hell, living behind a wall separating the dead from the living? Klaus touched his quivering lips. Elizabeth. I have to get back to Elizabeth. Sam’s voice bounced around his head, remembering the stories of the Beaumont’s turmoil.

  “Hello? Sir?” Klaus turned at Sam’s touch. His swelling panic calmed and Klaus took a deep breath, letting his head hang in between his knees. “You’re okay, now, you’re okay.”

  “Where am I?”

  “We’re at the Bell Front Towers. You collapsed a few weeks ago and we carried you here. Abigail, can you get him some water please?” Sam asked. The younger witch fetched Klaus some water and carefully passed it over.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  Klaus took the drink and downed it in one gulp. “Grateful.” He glanced down, noticing his shirt and jackets had been removed, leaving him bare-chested. “Err…my clothes?”

  “Right, sorry.” Sam fumbled as he passed over Klaus’ shirt. Klaus quickly dressed.

  “Thank you, Sam.”

  “You remember my name?” Klaus caught the lift in Sam’s voice, recognising the surprise. During his time trapped behind stone walls, he’d developed a deep understanding of Sam. He could figure him out with one sentence. Flattered.

  “Of course,” Klaus smiled. “You wouldn’t stop pestering me while I slept.”

  Sam warmly laughed. “Do you know what happened to you? How you got that wound?”

  “I’m just not very popular.”

  “Well, you’re safe now. We didn’t think you were going to make it. You must have a guardian angel looking over you.”

  Klaus smirked as Abigail chipped in. “Not a guardian angel exactly, though she has been called far worse, haven’t you, Ma?” She turned smiling toward Ma, only to be met with panic. Ma shook her head, almost unable to speak. Her terror carried over to Klaus who promptly stood.

  “What? What is it?” He looked back down at himself, expecting to find an extra limb where there shouldn’t be one.

  Ma shook her head and stepped backward. “I didn’t…the creature pulled my hand.” She then turned to Abigail, the conversation suddenly private. “This isn’t our battle, child, let Billy accept his fate.”

  “Ma?”

  “What?” Sam looked between them anxiously. “My what?”

  “The transferring of fates,” Ma pointed from Klaus to Sam. “The ultimate sacrifice.”

  Klaus scrambled back the moment Sam’s body started crystalizing. Grey stone started to form on his shoulder, mimicking the wound Klaus carried, and then quickly spread across his torso, down his waist and to his crouched legs. Abigail quickly grabbed Sam’s shoulders as though she could physically stop the stone skin from spreading. Sam didn’t have time to react. He looked down at his hands then up at Abigail, his stunned expression immortalized behind the cracked, grey rock climbing up his neck and over the rest of his head. In moments, before Klaus could speak, Sam had completely frozen.

  “Sam!? Sam!” Abigail screamed before turning to Ma. “What did you do? Ma! Undo it!”

  But Ma’s attention remained on Klaus. He glanced back at her, feeling the reasonability fall on him. “You cruel creature.” She snarled. Klaus looked down at Sam, then back to Ma. “You really will do anything to survive.” Her words stung him with the truth. Klaus hadn’t intended it, but his desire to escape his fate behind the rock had transferred onto Sam, whose desire to save Klaus was at equal measure. A reversal wish.

  Klaus denied any wrongdoing. “It was through your hands, witch, not mine.” Yet, Klaus could feel the magic through his veins, the pulses of heat, the power only Collectors can conjure up through wish fulfilment.

  “No witch can do this.” Ma gestured to Sam’s body.

  His fingers twitched to reach for his blade, the final confirmation it was indeed Klaus’ doing that Sam was trapped behind rock. He fought against the temptation, but knew it was a battle he was going to lose. Blood trickled down his nose, the rebellion already kicking in, demanding he collect the time owed. He pulled out his blade and carefully cut Sam’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I don’t care if you are a Time Collector, you can still help him!” Abigail pleaded. “That’s what you do, isn’t it? You make the impossible, possible. Take back your curse.”

  “I don’t know how,” he honestly admitted.

  Ma stepped further away until she was pressed against the back wall of the tower. “Leave, Collector. There is no time left here for you to scavenge.”

  Abigail looked between them, confused. “No, he has to fix this.”

  Ma shook her head, feeling defeated. “A witch’s soul cannot be harvested. Our time is not ours to give, therefore it is barred from the Collector’s hands. I’m afraid we have been taken advantage of here. The Collector will not help us.”

  “I never intended—” Klaus rose into a shout but bit his tongue from saying more. There was no convincing them, and he couldn’t be placed back behind the disease of the bone’s poison. Not again, not after feeling the depth of its madness. “This was never my intention,” he finished in a softer voice. Klaus turned to leave, hiking his coat collar up as he did. “Please…forgive me.”

  #

  For hours, Klaus was stuck in a trance. He didn’t stop to drink or eat. He didn’t stop to think. Every time Sam’s face popped into his mind Klaus forcibly clouded the memory. He was thankful he didn’t get to hear the panic in Sam’s voice, but he heard it play in his head as though Sam had actually screamed for help. Was he now trapped in the darkness like I was? The whistle of the train docking shook Klaus out of his daze. He glanced out at the familiar buildings, looking toward the large gates surrounding Divin Cadeau.

  Weeks, he had said. Weeks. Elizabeth’s presence was lost to him. That’s to say, if she still was even in Divin Cadeau at all. He checked her old house in the Pitts first, then over to the hidden cabin by the swamp. She didn’t have any friends aside from Sara, leading Klaus to the only person left Elizabeth could turn to. Klaus approached Harry Smith’s house in Rosefire to find the residence surrounded by police. Harry stood out the front amongst the officers in a heated argument.

  “I’ve told you, I have no seen Lady Elizabeth Beaumont at all. How many times do I have to repeat myself? It is only myself and my sister living here, as it has been for the past five years.”

  “Sir, there was a report just an hour earlier today of money being withdrawn from the Wicker account, aside from Lady Beaumont, you are the only other person in possession of Doctor Wicker’s cheque books. Do you care to explain?”

  Harry shrugged. “I’ve never touched the Wicker money. Never.”

  “Looks like we have to leave it up to our investigation team to find out the truth.”

  Klaus stepped back behind the neighbouring building. She isn’t here either. The very fact the police were scavenging Harry’s place in search for her also i
ndicated Arthur Beaumont didn’t know where she was. But, he was keen on finding her and Klaus was more than happy to use that to his advantage.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine:

  It was the simplest of things to set off the trigger. This time, it was an ordinary apple. The fruit tumbled off a cart and stopped at Nikolas’ feet, its soft skin bruised. Ripe green. The color of her eyes. Memories flashed past, stabbing him with longing. Nikolas caught himself on the wall, bracing against the cold reminder of her absence. It’s amazing how I still have a heart to break. When he loved, it took everything out of him: his awareness, his common sense, his control. Being in the presence of Lady Claudia felt as if he was lost among smoke—he couldn’t think or breathe without her. Every gasp of air was for her. Every step he took was for her. To remove his love was to remove his reason to live.

  The true pain of a man self-destructing. Nikolas’ fists clenched. Klaus never felt this. Not yet, but he will.

  The gremlins bubbled. Excited chatter. Panic. Nikolas shooed them away, but they returned in packs. Something was wrong. Elizabeth. Nikolas pushed off the wall and stepped out of the shadows outside of the Burning Man. Tunnelling smoke saturated the air, darkening the skies in a never-lifting storm. The eternal night, as it was called. The only warmth he felt was made by fire, and when it rained, the puddles turned black with ash and soot.

  He found her easily. She was inside the lower furnace room at the bottom of the staircase, lying on her back with patches of blood soaking through her clothes. Her eyes were distant, unable to focus and each breath came in short and sharp. He knelt beside her, and felt nothing but distant disappointment. How sad. He doesn’t even love you yet.

  There was a strange beauty behind her death. The stunning red bled into her bulky clothes, pooling around her waist and staining her chilled pale skin. The thorn to Klaus’ side. Nikolas’ hidden weapon. He stood to leave, allowing her the chance to fade in peace, but then stopped.

  Her lips opened in soft pulls, mimicking that of speech.

  He inched closer, bringing her cheeks into the warmth of his palms. “Elizabeth, let me help you.”

  As soon as he spoke, Elizabeth’s gaze snapped toward him, her blue eyes dilating. Her expression wasn’t something Nikolas had seen before. It felt as if she finally saw him and his soul beyond the corruption. Her deep longing plucked his breath from his lungs. No one had ever looked at him in such a way, not since Lady Claudia. Even so, back then Lady Claudia had studied him as if he was some rare bird to capture. Elizabeth’s eyes begged silently, wanting him, needing him. For the first time in a very long time, Nikolas’ mind froze. He couldn’t breathe. Her stare paralysed him.

  “Save me.”

  Nikolas’ world crumpled. At her command, Nikolas felt his joints unfreeze and the clouds in his mind disperse. He gasped. The smoke in his lungs cleared. Devoted obedience crippled him. God, damn it, he wanted to obey.

  He tilted her chin up and gently touched his lips to hers. She drooped in his arms. With each breath, he filled her lungs with bursts of magic-coated oxygen. The magic stopped her body’s decline and sped up the healing process. The wounds healed themselves inhumanly fast and the blood she lost was quickly recovered. Nikolas pulled away. Her eyes fluttered open. Still dazed, she searched around before landing on Nikolas’ face.

  “Klaus,” she mumbled. “Thank you.”

  Exhaustion took her away and she slumped in Nikolas’ arms. Nikolas slowly closed his eyes, his grip on her trembling. Yes…amazing.

  #

  Nikolas turned away, panicked and breathless. She had called him Klaus, thought he was Klaus; only looked at him in that way because she saw Klaus. The mistaken identity wrenched at his heart, making it ache as if she’d crushed it in her hands. Heartbreak was not a foreign pain, one he quite often mistaken for love while within Lady Claudia’s presence.

  Lady Claudia’s final days were left in the hands of Heart’s Hospital. A white room. No flowers. No pictures. She was alone, attached to a machine, her brain activity deadly quiet. Her heart pumped for a body hollowed of spirit. In many ways, Nikolas saw himself in her. Now, more than ever.

  He had his Collector’s blade out of its unsheathed the moment he stepped foot into the room, but as soon as he saw Claudia, his mind slowed. His strength evaporated out of him until his knees weakened and he hit the ground. Carefully, he reached out to her, gently cupping her flaking, chalky wrists. She stared out into the room, her eyes milky and unfocused. If she could see him or hear him, it didn’t matter now.

  Nikolas could only whisper. “I always thought I would die by my own hands and yet here I bleed from a fatal pinprick. If we are both dead, then you must be in heaven, for I walk alone here in hell. Jos haluatte sen, minä hajoaa. (If you wish it, I will fall apart.) Jos haluatte sitä, me elää ikuisesti. (If you wish it, we will live forever.)”

  Nikolas drove the blade into Lady Claudia’s chest, vacuuming up the last strands of time she had. In the softest breath, she gasped. Colors snapped and dulled. He eased the blade out and gently brushed her eyelids close. He didn’t shed a tear for her, not a single one, despite how vicious the pain tore through him. The machines let out a long, flat line beep. It continued to ring in his ears as he walked away.

  He shivered. The disconnection spread like electricity. The strings broke, separating the magical bond between Nikolas and Lady Claudia. Heartbreak tore through him viciously, wishing he could sever himself from his heart as he could with magic. Eventually, the cold chilled his blood. The ropes binding him to her snapped, and soon, the love that warmed him quickly died.

  #

  This place was meant for them. An empty ballroom framed by mirrors on one side, glass windows on the other. Cracks in the roof scattered sunlight across the hall. Vines climbed the corners, turning stone pillars into trees. A private garden: the harsh white of marble warmed by dirty, earthy tones. This was their secret spot. The centre of his life.

  Nikolas gutted the ballroom when Lady Claudia first fell to the taint. The torn curtains bunched together on the floor. The smashed mirror left in pieces at the feet of its frame. The red lounge they shared had been destroyed. He promised the next time he returned it would be to set it on fire, but instead he brought her. What remained was a single chair for him to sit and a makeshift bed for her to rest, positioned carefully away from the windows. Soft blankets. Large pillows. Fresh clothes. A tea tray with a boiled kettle was placed within reach from her bed with a lemon wedge tucked beside the cup. He watched her sleep silently from across the room. The taint colored her white skin with rashes, climbing up her wrist into the bend of her elbow. He took a pained breath. He must be a monster, for everything he touched started to rot.

  Elizabeth woke. Birds chirped overhead. Soft white surrounded her. She touched the sheets beneath her body. Soft, silky, not the bed at Harry’s and not the hard floor of the furnace room. All she could remember was pain. It momentarily dazed her, tilting her off centre as she grabbed desperately at her waist. The pain spiked where she moved. She shuddered and collapsed.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “You were attacked.”

  Elizabeth glanced sideways at Nikolas, poised on a faded blue, cushioned chair. Dirt marred his usual clean suit, scuffing his knees and elbows. “Stabbed, three times,” he said.

  She gently touched her side. “Penelope…”

  “Yes, sibling rivalry. I can relate.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Gone.” Nikolas shrugged and looked away. “It doesn’t matter now.”

  “I need to talk to he-arh!” She tried to sit up, but buckled beneath the pain. She flopped back into the soft mould of the bed sheets.

  “There is no magic left, you must allow your body to recover naturally.”

  “Wait…you healed me?”

  “Yes. If I remember correctly, your exact words were save me!” he mocked.

  She looked down, trying to scavenge the memory within the fog. No, it coul
dn’t be. It was Klaus; she was sure of it. Her neck still itched where his warm hands had cupped underneath her head, how his golden eyes had softened and his voice tilted as he spoke. Wait…his voice. The more she thought about it, the clearer the memory took shape. The lump in her throat didn’t shift as she recalled hearing him whisper, let me help you. It was missing Klaus’ German accent. Elizabeth slowly closed her eyes. It was only an illusion, and disappointment weakened her voice. “I want to see Mr. Harry Smith.”

  “No, I think what you want to say is thank you.”

  “Why did you bring me here? Shouldn’t I be in a hospital?”

  “This is your hospital. You’ll recover here, out of the eyes of the public. Can’t have Arthur Beaumont finding you.”

  “Didn’t know you cared.”

  “This isn’t caring, this is…convenience.”

  “For how long?”

  “For as long as it takes.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, no point throwing a hook out there if I don’t have any bait.”

  “No, I mean why? Why are you doing all of this for me?”

  Nikolas glanced at her. The truth was too dangerous. He could be shattered and rebuilt by her words. With just her smile, his world could cease to exist. But unlike with Lady Claudia where he welcomed the warmth, the building heat made him uncomfortable. Nikolas took a deep breath. “Because…you asked me to.”

  “And you do as I say now?”

  “Only if it suits me.”

  Elizabeth’s voice waivered. “But…my time cannot be touched so…” He followed her eyes down her arm where the rash had spread. She touched it gingerly, understanding the weight it carried. “Did someone die to save my life?”

  “No. I promise, no one died.” Nikolas quickly stood and shoved his hands into his pant pockets. “Rest. I’ll be back with proper food. You must be hungry.” He turned away.