by Lee Roland
My once dark hair, the legacy of my Chinese and Hawaiian-born father, turned pure white that day. My eyes, also dark, faded to the strange pale blue they are now. My mother the witch had marked me with the scar on my cheek where I’d held her hand against my face. She’d given me a constant reminder of my duty.
Only seventeen, I had never killed anyone, nor had I ever wanted to kill. I was not by nature a vengeful person, and if it had been up to me, I probably would have allowed the police to pursue justice. But my mother’s will, amplified by the power of her magic, forced me to accept the burden. For two years I diligently pursued those three men.
I’d caught two. It was simple enough to take them. Got them drunk and promised sex. The first one died quietly, bleeding out in a dark alley in Seattle, my knife in his heart. An easy kill with no witnesses. The act itself, quick and cold, left me crying and washing nonexistent blood from my hands for days, sick at what I’d done. Then the need for revenge rose again and I had to continue the pursuit of the second killer.
I was a young girl, though, deep in mourning, and at the time unskilled and reckless. The second killer died the same way in New York, this time in a parking garage under the lens of a security camera I hadn’t noticed.
Had there been proof that he was my parents’ killer, the court might have been lenient. Visions of murder from your dead mother don’t count as evidence. Driven by the compulsion to kill and the knowledge that I would never fulfill my duty from jail, I fought. I injured two of the police officers who captured me. I was lucky they didn’t kill me, though maybe I wanted them to. Death would free me from the nightmare my life had become.
Two things kept me going during my first years at Justice: my absolute rage and the hope that I might one day escape and fulfill my need to kill the final murderer of my parents. After I learned to control that rage, each day was filled with the desire for knowledge of how to kill silently and competently, should I one day be free.
Sister Lillian and I went through the massive double doors and—bad news—down the grim, silent, stone hallway to the Judgment Room. A sudden chill slid over my body as if a winter wind glided down the hushed corridor. The building darkened and became more medieval, with its arched ceilings and stained-glass windows. Brown and beige rugs stretched across the floor to mute the echo of footsteps. Our feet gave only soft brushes of sound, barely more than a whisper. Paintings hung along the walls, weapons and artifacts, the thousand-year history of the Sisters of Justice. I had no details on that history, only stories of the valor of Sisters long dead. The place reeked of secrets.
I drew a deep breath and exhaled. My brain would need oxygen to deal with this. I’d been here before, though I usually knew why. My mind raced through scenarios of possible infractions. I could think of none that I believed they had discovered.
I walked into the room, and Sister Lillian directed me to stand by a chair facing a long table where Mother Superior Evelyn sat on a dais. Three Sisters sat on one side of her and a Sister and two empty chairs were on the other. Sister Lillian went to sit with them.
Prisoners were required to stand for an inquisition. I’d been here before. The chair surprised me, but I hadn’t been given permission to sit.
The aptly named Judgment Room had the requisite stone floor, high windows, and bare stone walls that were known to weep at times. An ill omen, that weeping. A skeptical person would call it condensation. I didn’t check the walls. I focused my attention on the judges.
I stood before them, supposedly filled with remorse and contrition. As I waited, Sister Eunice stalked in and filled the last chair. Seven judges dressed in black and one ill-tempered enforcer in fatigues. I was in deep trouble.
Sister Vera, seated next to Mother Evelyn, gave the formal speech that one of them gave before every gathering, including meals.
“We are the Sisters of Justice. We serve the Earth Mother, the Mother of Men. Our blades are sharp and we strike upon her command.”
“By life and death, we serve.” The others spoke simultaneously.
A moment of silence followed; then they turned their attention to me.
“Be seated, Madeline,” the formidable Mother Evelyn said. Her blind, milk-white eyes stared at me. Eyes aren’t the only means of vision, and it frightened me to think what she knew about me.
I held steady for long seconds—resistant to authority, as always—before I sat.
Sister Eunice scowled.
I refused to show weakness or apprehension. That lesson had been pounded into me over the years.
Mother Evelyn smiled. Unlike some of the Sisters, she seemed to perceive my defiance as an asset. She leaned forward. “Tell me what you want, Madeline.”
I frowned. No one had asked me that in years. “I don’t understand, Mother.”
“Do you have no goal beyond these walls? This prison. If you were free . . . ?”
I’d long since learned the futility of lying to them in such a tense situation. The occasional casual lie might pass, but here they would sense falseness and gouge out the truth—or incite such fury that I would give them far more than they wanted. In spite of my control over my anger, they still had the power to do that. Over the years, these women had stripped all the deep secrets from my soul, save one.
But I could speak the truth this time without giving that secret away. They knew what had brought me to Justice. My mother’s deadly vision, her desire, remained vivid. I would remain true to her.
“I want the man. The third killer. The man who strangled her. I want him to die.”
Mother Evelyn laid her hands on the table in front of her. Odd, since, like the others, she usually kept them hidden in her robe, probably close to a weapon of some sort. “Madeline, the Earth Mother created the Sisters of Justice a thousand years ago to fight evil. Evil most men do not know exists.”
I knew the dogma. To kill the creatures they called the Drows. Invaders who slipped through places scattered across the earth where the boundaries between parallel worlds are weak. Creatures that can be killed only by bronze. Though they were named after the ancient dark elves of myth, I was taught that while they came here through magic, they were not magic themselves, only evil monsters who pollute our earth. When asked, the Sisters who had seen them refused to offer any description.
“The one I want is a man, Mother, not a Drow.”
Mother Evelyn didn’t move. Finally, she relaxed. “Very well, Madeline. We’ve trained you, and your services are required. You may refuse and stay here with us for the remainder of your very long sentence, or you may accept your assignment. This offer concerns a parole, not a pardon. If you fail, you will go straight to prison, not return to Justice.”
I fought an inappropriate smile. “Mother, given my training and desire to kill, if I fail I will most likely be dead.”
“Yes. It is good that you understand that, too.”
The Sisters glanced at one another, faces wide with surprise—or maybe alarm.
I thought it would be years before they let me go. I had questions, though.
“Mother, may I know the assignment before I choose?”
Sister Lillian opened her mouth as if to speak.
Mother Evelyn abruptly raised her hand.
Sister Lillian drew a sharp breath, but said nothing.
Mother Evelyn slowly lowered the hand. She cleared her throat. “Do you know why those three men came to your parents’ home that night?”
“The police said robbery. They wrecked the place. Broke open a safe.” Suddenly uncomfortable, I caught myself before I betrayed that emotion.
“The Earth Mother gave your mother, one of her blessed witches, a precious stone to guard,” Mother Evelyn said. “Your mother, rather than keeping it hidden and safe, wore it around her neck like an ornament.”
I heard her contempt at my mother’s vanity. The word vanity personified my mother, but with her extraordinary beauty, her loving nature, and her kindness, I didn’t condemn her for it. She’d la
id an agonizing curse upon me, but I did not believe she’d done it maliciously, only out of fear and pain. I loved her and my father, and desperately missed them. I kept my face rigid, but I’m sure Mother Evelyn saw my anger at her words.
The stone Mother Evelyn spoke of was jet-black and laced with threads of gold, as if tiny creatures with feet dipped in precious metals had trekked across its surface.
“The Portal,” I said. “She called it the Portal.”
“Do you know its use?” Mother Evelyn asked.
“As a focus for her magic, she once told me. Mother Evelyn, don’t look to me for magic. I can feel it, recognize it, and sometimes see it. But I am not a witch. I cannot use it. You know that.”
The Sisters of Justice acknowledged magic and its uses. But to the best of my knowledge, while they served the Earth Mother, too, they did not have the power to work with it as earth witches did. The Sisters’ weapons involved bronze and blade, not the ritual of potion and spell.
My mother was an earth witch, and like all the witches I knew, she had served the Earth Mother all her life. The holy bitch had deserted my mother, her faithful servant, the night she died. My mother should have been able to use her earth magic to defend herself against the three men who killed her and my father.
I shut down my thoughts. Control. I would control my emotions.
The Sisters whispered among themselves, then slowly fell silent.
Mother Evelyn stared straight at me with her milk-white eyes. “The third man, the one you seek, has the Portal in his possession. He took it from her that night. We, and others, have searched for it all these years. It was located last month. You, Madeline, must retrieve it for us. If you kill the man in the process, so be it. But the Portal comes first. If you retrieve the Portal, you must return it to us without delay. After that, you may exact your revenge against your parents’ killer.”
The Sisters gazed at Mother Evelyn as if she’d uttered heresy. Sister Eunice glared at her with pure fury in her eyes. She’d taunted and sneered at me over the years, but she’d never burned me with the wrath she now focused on her superior.
In five minutes, I’d seen more expression on these warrior women’s faces than in the last six years. I had to know more.
“Mother, you and the Sisters have taught me many things—not just how to fight. If the decision is mine, then I respectfully request additional information.”
Sister Lillian gave me a happy grin. Her own lesson. Know your enemy and the situation around him as much as possible. Much as I wanted to leave, I would not jump blindly into even limited freedom. To my surprise, Sister Eunice smiled, too.
Mother Evelyn nodded. “You will have a guide. But for the most part, you must find your own way in this matter. Consider it a final examination, a test of your power and ability to survive. If you are successful, you may return and receive full Sisterhood.” She laughed softly. “Though I doubt it would suit you.”
I’d already made a decision. I didn’t want Sisterhood. I wanted to live again. I wanted to be free of my mother’s vision and free of the Sisters and their patroness, their goddess, whom I would never forgive for abandoning my mother. I understood perfectly well that the task was dangerous. Those trained by the Sisters of Justice were never given easy missions.
I stood. “I accept the assignment.”
Acceptance, yes, but I required something else. They would bear some of the burden of responsibility in this mission, too.
“Mother Evelyn, I suggest you and the Sisters consider it your test, too. The measure of my success may be judged by the lessons that Justice has imparted to me.”
Mother Evelyn nodded. “You are quite right, Madeline. This test, this burden falls upon us, too. We pray we have taught you well.”
I lost my hard-fought battle with my temper. “Pray? To whom, Mother? Your Earth Mother? The demon whore of magic? I place more faith in the Sisters and their fists and blades. Their lessons will serve me far better than your prayers.”
Silence fell on the room. I’d just uttered a mortal insult to their goddess.
They all stared at me. Their faces had reverted to the same blank neutrality with which I was familiar. Had I totally blown my one chance at freedom?
Mother Evelyn cleared her throat. “Know this, Madeline.” Her voice was hard and cold. “By placing your faith in your teachers, you have made a choice. By your own words, you are one of us.”
By my own words, I had a feeling I had totally and royally screwed myself.
Chapter 3
I had only one personal item when I arrived at Justice: a picture of my mother and father. By the time I returned to my room, someone had cleaned out the meager possessions I’d acquired since that first day. Gone were the drab brown uniforms, the few necessary toiletries permitted, library books, and all my underwear except the pair I wore. In their place were a small cloth tote bag, socks, sneakers, jeans, a light nylon jacket, and a white T-shirt. The Sisters didn’t provide a bra, but I didn’t have a lot to fill one out anyway. I would be permitted to take very little from Justice except memories and the skills they’d taught me.
Inside the tote was my parents’ photo and a small drawing of the third killer, made years ago by an artist as I painstakingly described him from my vision. The police had taken it from me when they’d thrown me in jail. How and when they obtained the drawing was a mystery, but mystery personified the Sisters.
There was a wallet with two hundred dollars in twenties. I’d need the money. After my arrest, my paternal uncle, may he rot in hell, petitioned the State of New York to give him my parents’ considerable estate. The state obliged—after it confiscated a good percentage.
The obviously wealthy Sisterhood could have provided more funding, but that wasn’t their way. Nothing would be easy for me. Ease of accomplishment breeds complacency—one of the first lessons they had taught me. I could be on a desperate mission to save the world, but I’d have to be a heroine on a budget.
The wallet also had a social security card and a Missouri driver’s license with my name, Madeline Carlotta Corso. The driver’s license also said I lived in Duivel, Missouri. Duivel? I had never heard of it.
I’d just changed into the jeans and T-shirt when Sister Eunice stalked in. She always stalked or marched. Simply walking wouldn’t suit her. My body assumed a defensive position, as it always did when I spotted her. She liked to ambush me. She’d do it anywhere. She’d drag me out of bed or hit me in the shower, anywhere she thought I’d feel complacent or secure.
Sister Eunice’s posture indicated she didn’t want to fight. I relaxed. A little.
She came to me, closer than she’d ever been except for when we fought hand-to-hand, as we had only an hour ago. Her dark eyes held a shine I’d never seen before. Surely not tears. Her thick, rough fingers brushed my cheek, lingering for a moment on the scar. “I’ll miss you, bitch. You’re so beautiful. Beautiful and brave.”
While I stood speechless at the first gentle words she’d ever spoken to me, she removed the amulet she always wore around her neck and slipped the gold chain over my head.
“Don’t take it off,” she said, her voice husky and low. “Wear it in the shower; wear it when you sleep.” She laid her hands on my shoulders and kissed me softly on the mouth. A lovely kiss, but it aroused no desire in me. I’m sure she knew that. I was leaving, though, and for all her cruelty, she’d taught me well. I kissed her back. After a moment, she broke away. This time, I’d surprised her.
“Thank you, Sister Eunice.” For the first time in all my years at Justice, I smiled at her. “I’ll remember you every time someone kicks my ass.”
“You damned well better remember me when you’re the one kicking ass.” She whirled and marched out of the room.
The pendant was round, an inch and a half across, and incised with tiny runes in a spiral on both sides of the flat surface. Ancient and indecipherable, they meant nothing to me. I turned it over in my hand. I’d never seen her without it
. Sister Eunice, my teacher, my tormentor, had given me a precious gift—and she’d called me beautiful. How amazing. I tucked it under my shirt.
Sister Lillian followed her. Sister Lillian always carried a knife strapped to her forearm, a slender six-inch blade in a leather sheath. She handed them to me. “This blade is bronze, forged in the shadow of Mount Ararat before Christ’s birth. It has a power of its own. Use it wisely and honorably.”
I accepted the weapon and she walked away, tears in her eyes.
These women, strange and dangerous women, had taught me the art of killing. Not necessarily killing for revenge as I had done, but the cold skill of an assassin. They’d also fostered my education. I could read Latin and ancient Greek writings and understand some of the runes, the symbols created at the beginning of recorded time. The Sisters required me to constantly observe the outside world via computers. I read the news, books . . . and researched prison breaks—until they caught me and made me stop.
But with the exception of Lillian, it never occurred to me that anyone might actually care for me, especially not Eunice.
Something more shocking and painful came next. Van Gogh arrived. Van Gogh got her nickname because she looks a lot like the painter, beard and all. She isn’t a Sister; she’s a sadistic tattoo artist. She grinned at me.
“Drop ’em, baby. I got something for you.”
The Sisters of Justice have tattoos, a two-inch knife blade in a place of their choosing, usually on an arm or a leg. One blade for a novice; a full Sister has five. I’d been here for three years when I got my first. I didn’t want it. To my knowledge, prisoners were never marked as Sisters, no matter how competent they might be. Though I quickly figured out that I was being treated in a different manner than the others, I never knew why. My questions, as usual, went unanswered.
