Premonition

by Rachael Krotec

  A young man kneels and holds her body, his breath ragged and his hands bloody. He looks up into Marcus’s face. What could he want with her? He glares down at the boy, who mumbles, but fear or shock conceals his words. Marcus gazes then at Lilah’s listless body, swimming in blood.

  Marcus’s heart skips erratically, and he turns away. Her heartbeat is weak, but she’s no longer bleeding. “What have you done to her?” he asks through his teeth. “What’s your name?”

  “I . . . I’m Caleb Addison,” Caleb stutters.

  Marcus kneels down to pick Lilah up, pushing the boy away with one hand as he tries to fight him off, but her skin is slick with blood, making it difficult for him to get a good grasp. The boy persists, grabbing Marcus on the arm.

  “Where are you taking her? Alessandra—”

  “I know!” Marcus sneers, pulling away from his grasp. “What’s it to you?”

  “I’ve . . .” He bows his head and sniffs.

  Marcus laughs. He’s crying? Holding Lilah in his arms, her body light, fragile, he walks away. Her face relaxes as he holds her closer still. So much like her mother.

  The rustling of leaves alerts Marcus of her wakeful state. The fire holds her face in a warm light and her eyes become blue beacons. Her disheveled face, marked with her own blood, grimaces as she turns to get closer to the heat of the fire.

  “Marcus,” her voice like a wisp of air over the roar of the fire, “am I Alessandra Hilt’s daughter?”

  When she lifts her head and looks him in the eyes, the unabashed sorrow in her gaze tugs his stomach. “And how did you come to that conclusion?” He remembers the book she stole from the library and then frowns.

  Lilah stares at him with tear-filled eyes. “I—I—” A tender sob breaks from the back of her throat. She covers her face with two blood-stained hands.

  Marcus struggles for words. “Lilah, listen.” He waits until her breath calms and she sits attentive. “I’m working on orders from Florence Hilt. She told me that you might be in trouble.” He sighs. “But first I need to apologize for what I’ve done to you.” He motions to her hands, the brands blacker than the darkness surrounding them, but he can’t say the word. Unforgivable. He sits back, away from the light of the fire, so his face is hidden in the shadows. “Have you heard of the ancient saying, ‘The truth will set you free?’ No, that doesn’t sound right, does it?” He checks Lilah’s face; her lower lip droops still with shock.

  Marcus continues, “Is it, ‘Lie to be kind’ or ‘If you lie to be kind then’—no that’s not it either. ‘To lie out of kindness is a justified thing’—oh, forget it.”

  He looks to Lilah again, and she stares blankly back, then he drops his gaze. “What you didn’t read in that book you stole is that . . .” Marcus sputters. He glances at Lilah, no longer sitting, but slouched over, her eyes closed, fast asleep.

  Marcus watches as the fire flickers and crackles. Light encases half of her body, darkness the other. He grabs a blanket from the small pack he brought along with him and covers her with it.

  Perhaps the truth should be left in the dark.

  A knock on the door wakes Alessandra from her fretful rest. Damn my sister and her tricky spells, but she won’t be able to do that to me again. She glides over to the door and blinks at one of the many faces she will soon forget. Names were never her forte, but now she has no care to try and make them into memories. Her eyes widen in anticipation.

  “Ren Auer is here,” he says, his voice subtle and unremarkable.

  She nods, then frowns, the lines in her cheeks becoming more pronounced. “I will be there momentarily.” Quickly, she changes into something more suitable, a long and windswept dress, and then follows the worker bee up the spiraled stairs, across the corridor, and down the hall. Alessandra sighs. This’ll all be over soon.

  Ren stands in the center, his head bowed. When Alessandra takes another step toward him, he turns toward her. She’s known Ren for a long time, but this is the first time he’s met her since they began their correspondence some years ago. His youthful glow and long, silky white hair confuse her still. And his eyes. Silver, almost as pure as the light of the sun. Unused to the dim light of the underground, he squints. “Perhaps we can speak in private?” he says, his voice guttural.

  “Ren Auer,” Alessandra says, her voice dripping with malice. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to let any of them talk?” She sticks out her tongue and points to the back of her throat. “It’s a rather simple enchantment. Maybe the Six should consider it?” She smirks. He grimaces. Alessandra takes his arm and leads him down to the lower level, where she performed the experiments. “Now, I can tell you the good news.”

  “Perhaps I should tell you my information first?”

  She meets his gaze with black eyes and a hungry grin.

  “The child’s gone off with Marcus Gyfford.”

  “Marcus Gyfford, there’s a name I haven’t heard in a while. Ah, makes me nostalgic. Are you sure of this?” He must be operating under Florence’s orders. I will let out my own agent. Perhaps the shadow will do. That boy follows her still, too, if he cares for his life.

  Ren glowers down at her. “There’s been no mistake.”

  Alessandra turns away from him and grins. The black slips over her eyes and into her heart, and she clutches her hair with shaking hands. A little longer, just a little longer. The black corruption leeches into her bloodstream and filters through her muscles and bones. If she were alone, she might have kneeled with the pain. Pinching skin, Alessandra recovers enough to turn back to Ren, who gazes at her with raised eyebrows. “Ren, I have succeeded.” Alessandra’s voice echoes down the long cavern.

  Ren inhales, not quite a gasp, but audible enough. “I can’t believe it,” he says, his voice somber. “I honestly can’t believe it.”

  Alessandra smirks, her white teeth gleaming like tiny knives. “Ah, yes.” She glides down the hallway. “I shall show you, if you please?”

  Ren’s silver eyes alight, and he leans forward with a smile. “That would be lovely.”

  “Alessandra?” Ren asks, wringing his hands. His silver eyes capture her with their wonder.

  Alessandra stares at him with blue eyes. “Yes?” She exhales and stands. Blood rushes to her fingertips, itching to perform the spell again. She coughs, swallows, then wipes her lips to find blood on the back of her hand. Fatigue washes over her in a heavy wave. No, there is still more to do. She pulls the sleeve of her dress up and her veins stand darkly against her skin.

  “This,” Ren mutters, “this is remarkable.”

  The prisoner stumbles to his feet, dazed. He glances over his body, chuckling, then raises his arms and hoots with excitement.

  Alessandra scowls, then nods and stumbles up from the ground. She knows her hold will vanish—the settling of the darkness too prolonged—and she doesn’t trust herself. “Yes. Now—”

  “You understand what this means, don’t you?” He stares at her, mouth parted. She has never seen a man look more ravenous. He grabs the prisoner’s arm and stabs the man in the heart with a dagger he unmasks from his cloak. The man implores Alessandra with wide eyes. Ren pulls the dagger out and the man dies within moments.

  Alessandra’s lip curls up at the smell of the blood. She shakes her head. “You are just the same, aren’t you?” He blinks at her, his mouth closing in a hard line. “Shall I kill you now or later?”

  He grins. “Now, now. Look at you.” He gestures to her failing form. “This is not a suitable time for such talks.”

  “Don’t underestimate me, Ren. I’ve endured this long because I’ve proved those assumptions wrong.” If I give in, I will be lost.

  “Hm? Assumptions?” He opens his arms wide as if to embrace her. “I think it is you who has underestimated me.”

  Alessandra laughs, clutching her stomach at the pain. Oh, no. Her eyes falter, and she feels the black slipping over her once more. “Want to test that theory, dear?” She stands straight and conjures a shor
t dagger, then strokes the blade, blood blossoming on her palm. “I’ve been quite bored all these years. My bloodthirst needs quenched. Would you do the honors?”

  Ren lowers his hands in front of him. He laughs uneasily. “Okay, I get it. I’ll cooperate as promised.”

  Alessandra darts before him and grasps his throat. “Gentlemen should never tease a woman.” She pinches the skin beneath his jaw with the edge of her dagger. “It isn’t kind.” As quickly as she attacked, she drops her hold of him, relishing the gasp of air he takes. She hands him a sealed letter enclosing the incantation. “There are two things I want you to do. First, I want you to disperse this throughout our ranks. This knowledge is not just for me, but we must be careful with it. Then, when the time comes, we will expel it and usher our new era in.”

  “And the second thing?” he says, still collecting himself.

  “I want you to kill the Six.” She gives a pointed look. “I don’t have time for any more interruptions.”

  When Lilah wakes, her brain throbs against her skull and white spots haze her sight. As her eyes adjust to the dim forest light, vague confusion allows her to believe last night to be a dream, but then, her eyes find Marcus sprawled in a makeshift bed, next to the glowing embers of a dying fire. Her lips tremble. “Verna.” She pulls her legs into her chest and bows her head over her knees. It can’t be. She takes a deep breath and hardens herself. Alessandra Hilt must die for what she has done.

  Lilah sits up and her shoulders spasm with pain. Placing a finger tenderly on her shoulder, she cries out. Her skin oozes where the daggers punctured deeply into the flesh beneath her clavicle. Whoever healed her hadn’t done it well—or wasn’t given enough to time to finish. “Did you do this?”

  Marcus shakes his head. “Nope. Your partner in crime did.”

  Caleb? She covers herself with the blanket and bites her cheek to don a serious expression. “I have some questions,” she says.

  Marcus looks up at the rising light. “I think a ‘Good morning’ or a ‘Thanks for getting me out of there’ would be a more appropriate greeting, given the circumstances.”

  Lilah tests her legs. The pain in her shoulders radiates down into her ribs and her breath catches. She decides the ground isn’t that uncomfortable. She inhales and places a hand back on one of her shoulders. The blood, so much blood. Lilah notices the dark circles under Marcus’s eyes, the weariness in his puffy cheeks.

  “We need to get to a safe place. Right now, we’re vulnerable.”

  “Why didn’t we go to a safe place last night?”

  “You’re kidding me. You wouldn’t have made it,” he scoffs. “With the amount of blood you lost, the stress of the spell might have killed you.”

  Lilah sighs. She forces her agony down to where she hides all the horrible truths. Glancing at her own hands, she finds blood—My blood or Verna’s? “Where?”

  “There’s a sanctuary. Florence said she’d meet us there.” Marcus glowers, looking more like the castigator that Lilah is so familiar with, not this strange man who looks like an innocent while he sleeps.

  Lilah grasps her torn and bloodied dress, rotating so that Marcus can’t see the unbidden tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t care where we go as long as none of them get in my way. Once I’m healed, I’m going to kill Alessandra.” She turns back, her anger dying with her tears. A look of distain holds Marcus’s face in an upside-down smirk. He stays quiet. Wild wind rakes through the barren forest—Lilah feels nothing.

  Marcus stands and shakes the leaves from his back. He walks over to Lilah and holds out his hands. “I’ll transport us.”

  Lilah eyes him with suspicion. Teleporting is illegal these days, but if Marcus can perform tenebrae without pause, why would he care?

  Marcus tilts his head and makes a grabbing motion. “Let’s go.”

  Carefully, she stands and takes his hands. She feels warmth spreading from Marcus’s hands to her own. The heat trickles over her skin and seeps down into her bones. She closes her eyes and her gut tightens. Wind whirls around her ears and a buzzing sound lingers in her head. When Lilah opens her eyes, she is no longer in the woods of the southern Lux territory, but in the mountains of the northwest. A faint smile remains on her lips as she takes in her surroundings. Dark blue mountains rise up from the horizon and the air feels icy against her arms where the shredded remains of her dress expose the skin. The mountains’ snowy peaks mingle with the winter sky, a haze of gray and white. The silence resounds until a crow’s call echoes close by, a noise caught between a meow and bark. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees something red skipping through the dying brush, the snowfall freshly covering the land with another layer of white. A fox?

  “Careful with your first step,” Marcus says, releasing her hands. Lilah wavers on the spot. “No fainting,” Marcus commands, grasping her arm.

  Lilah breathes deeply and everything turns bright in sight. She throws her arms out in front of her before taking a step but stumbles off to the side. Taking another deep inhalation and focusing on a tree in the distance, the nausea slips away and her vision stabilizes.

  Thick calloused white-barked trees sprout up from the soppy ground speckled with snow. When a shift in the hard wind stirs, the trees quake. They stand parallel to a worn dirt path. The grass barely lingers, just peeking through in dead tufts. Winter might be beautiful, but Lilah no longer notices things like beauty.

  “Come,” Marcus says somberly. He turns and begins walking down the heavily trodden trail without waiting for Lilah to follow. Lilah chases him on the winding path, until the trees become scarce and a house appears, down in a valley. Impossibly, the field is still alive with color. Tall grasses and lavender flowers wave with the wind. It must be a spell.

  As they come closer to the house, Lilah sees that patches of grass lays in clumps where the snow suffocates it. The house sits in a valley where a large meadow crowds the front and giant pines that shelter the back. Lilah hears the faint echo of rushing water but can’t see a stream. “What is this place?”

  “A sanctuary.” Marcus strides into the meadow.

  Failing to keep pace with Marcus, Lilah follows at a distance. Every step sends a shock of pain through her shoulders and down her legs, but the physical pain isn’t what limits her. She hears the crunching of snow beneath her feet and flashes to Verna kneeling down on ice, encouraging Lilah to come out and skate. She sets her jaw and blinks several times before looking up into the open expanse of sky. Snow will come soon. Lilah turns her gaze back to the home and sees Marcus paused before the steps. Clutching her arms uncomfortably, she limps toward him.

  Dressed in a light robe, a man walks out the house and down the porch steps. Lilah’s heart pounds and pain shoots through one shoulder to the other. She waits with shuddering breaths as he comes closer. Her teeth chatter. The man, tall and slender, has dark hair that flops over to one side. His topaz eyes unsettle her, and her stomach twists as she watches a smile spread over his lips, parting his thick beard.

  Marcus goes to greet him, hand extended. The wind gobbles the words from their lips and drags them into the woods as they speak in hushed voices.

  “This is Lilah,” Marcus says, waving her forward.

  Still clutching her arms around her, Lilah limps another step.

  “Javier Cota.” Lilah stares into his topaz eyes. She notes the man’s shifting feet and his tightly gathered hands. She glares at him. Her anima rising of its own accord within in is reason enough for her not to trust him. “It’s nice to meet you, Lilah,” he says with a deep voice that slurs with an accent. Javier makes no effort to shake her hand as he did with Marcus.

  Reluctantly, she follows Marcus as Javier leads them through the double doors of the modest wood cabin. Inside, Lilah grows suddenly faint, the spots in her vision returning, and she grasps the wall for support. Javier comes to Lilah’s aid and sighs when he takes hold of Lilah’s arm. He leads her to a room off the foyer. “I’ll make you something for the loss
of blood,” he says, his grip loosening. He disappears behind another door.

  The room is clearly for medicinal purposes, a cabinet full of jars rests along the whole back counter, two beds dressed in white sheets stretch on either side of the room, and books labeled with scribbled handwriting line a bookcase.

  Lilah slowly lies on one of the beds, and the hinges sigh in protest. There is a strange, earthy aroma to the room, which poorly covers the smell of old dried blood. As she sits, her eyelids come down over her eyes of their own accord, but when the darkness comes all she sees is Verna’s suspended body—blood pouring from her wounds.

  Javier gently touches her shoulder, and as she tries to sit up, pain shoots down her shoulders and back. He pulls the fabric away from the scars. “Hmm. Mediocre.”

  Though she has no loyalty to him, Lilah wants to defend Caleb for his attempt at healing her injuries. A memory of Caleb and herself twirling to the music overwhelms her mind. Tears trail down her soiled cheeks. She wipes them idly and looks at her moist fingers with anger and fascination.

  Javier scoots to the counter and prepares a concoction. Moments later, he hands her a mug. “Drink this,” he says, the glass effervescent. Lilah blinks at the outstretched hand. “Come on. Here, look,” he takes a sip, “it’s fine.”

  Lilah swallows the concoction in three big gulps, quickly regretting it as the liquid pools in her stomach like fire. She gasps, the pain excruciating. But then, the pain numbs. She senses the filling of her veins, the rejuvenation of blood pumping through her body. Things order themselves in her mind, as fragments of yesterday come into place like a giant mosaic. It is a feeling she quickly decides she never wants to feel again.

  “Your color is returning.” Javier smiles. Something about the way he smiles leaves Lilah with an uncomfortable feeling. “I don’t suppose you’ve had much for food or drink?” Lilah makes a nondescript noise. She watches a peculiar expression come over his features, but Javier doesn’t allow the expression to truly form. “Yes, news of last night’s events has already spread.”