Blood Haven: Year Three: A Mayhem of Magic World Story

by Nicole Zoltack

  “Not me,” I say firmly. “Dying once was enough, thank you very much.”

  My uncle laughs, and this time, when he holds out his arms, I hug him. Maybe I will take my uncle up on his offer and learn some demonic abilities. What else am I going to do down here? It’s quite possible that my father has murdered other demons who might seek me out in some kind of misguided sense of revenge against him. I do need to be prepared.

  “Welcome to Hell, Romelia,” Uncle Argon murmurs in my ear.

  Chapter 22

  Julian

  Romelia is so very light in my arms, but with every step I take, I feel as if I am weighed down by heavy stones. My grief weighs me down to the point that I don't know how many more steps I can take. Still, I push through. I do not want her family to have anything to do with Romelia, and that crypt… No. Romelia's resting place should not be underground. It should be somewhere she felt happy, somewhere she laughed, a place where we spent a great deal of time together.

  Our place.

  The cave beyond the waterfall at Crystal Creek Cascades.

  Honestly, that might have been a wonderful location for our wedding, but I wouldn’t change the fact that we had a home for the few hours we had been married. Well, longer than a few hours, but we never had a honeymoon. We never had a chance to survive and thrive as a married couple. Maybe Romelia would still be alive if we hadn’t gotten married, if we hadn’t pledged our lives to each other. After all, Tyra challenged me because she learned I was Romelia’s husband and not just her fiancé.

  Yes, the cave can be where Romelia is laid to rest.

  It’s not easy, carrying her the long way there, and there are times when I have to stop and readjust her in my arms. Dead weight is no joke, and I hate that my arms feel as if they are going to fall off, but then they turn blissfully numb.

  Eventually, though, as the sun rises, I have to stop and pause. My body is being pushed to the brink, and I don’t know if I can survive without stopping, resting, eating.

  Thankfully, there are a few rabbits nearby, and I cook and eat them, watching over Romelia all the while, and when my eyelids grow heavy, I first place Romelia up in a tree so that no one and nothing can disturb her. My love's body is scared. My memory of her is sacred. She is absolutely everything to me.

  Still, even as I lean back against the tree trunk, my eye practically closing themselves, I attempt not to give in to sleep, but I'm weak, and I fail.

  I’m all alone, in a void of some kind but only for a few seconds before I’m back at Red Moon Ball. This time, I’m dancing and laughing with Bellanore, the werewolf I thought I loved back when I didn’t know what love truly was. Honestly, I didn’t even know Bellanore all that well to even claim to love her. I had been in love with the idea of love, and I know that’s some of why Mercy took exception to my feelings toward Romelia. Mercy thought I didn’t know or understand love, but I did. I do.

  Bellanore is wearing a mask of some kind, and she goes to remove it, and I know that she means to kiss me. Up until this point of the dream, I’ve been like a puppet, acting out a part that’s been given, but I reject that. I reject Bellanore, and I shove her aside. Rude, yes, but I know this is a dream, and in a dream, Romelia might be alive. I might be able to find her, to hold her, to kiss her, to just talk. I don’t care if we can’t touch one another. If all I can do is tell her how much I love her, that will be enough.

  The dance, the partygoers, they all fade away, turning into a gray mist that hovers around my legs, curling upward, capturing me, smothering me, and I start to fall.

  I’m terrified the sensation of falling will cause me to wake up, but I don’t. My back slams against something hard, and I stare up into the spiteful red eyes of Constantine.

  “You think you love her, but she’s gone. She went and left you, and she’s much happier now,” the vampire declares as he presses his boot against my chest.

  I grab his boot, and I twist it hard enough to snap and break bones. Constantine buckles, and he lands hard. Tears stream down his face, and he seems like nothing more than a big baby.

  Quickly, I scramble to my feet, and I leave Constantine behind and enter some kind of forest. It's not Silver Ironwoods. It's not a place I've ever been before. The tree bark is… I can't tell what color they are in the darkness. The branches just above my head block out any sun or moonlight. I walk straight ahead, and a tree root lifts up to trip me. I go sprawling down. To help me stand, I place a hand against a trunk.

  The trees are made of liquid.

  Not any liquid.

  Blood.

  Congealed blood.

  The tree runs its blood over my hand, trying to pin me there, but I yank my hand free. In a near panic, I turn around to try to leave the way I came, but the forest goes on for miles in every direction.

  A shriek rings out, and I do my best to head in that direction, but the sound seems to change its location, and I end up in circles. Tree branches reach out to strike me, and I duck, running now, ignoring the shrieking.

  Abruptly, I come to a clearing. A figure is held up high, arms outstretched, her head hanging down so I can’t see her face, but I recognize her just the same.

  Romelia.

  The trees come alive, dripping with blood. Their branches beat at me, their razor-sharp leaves cutting into me, but I don’t care. I don’t stop even though my clothes and skin are being ripped to shreds. I reach Romelia, and I yank her free. She collapses against me, and I whirl around, ready to defend her, but the trees and branches and leaves all fade away into the gray mist.

  The ground beneath my feet gives out, and I fall only a short distance this time. I cling to Romelia as we plunge into the icy water. We swim to the surface, and up ahead is the waterfall. The rocks are slick as ever, but we know the way. Holding hands, we jump from one rock to another, and then we're drenched by the waterfall and enter our cave.

  Although the water is freezing and our clothes are dripping wet, the magic of the dream has us in new clothes. My old wounds are gone, and I’m wearing the tux from the wedding. My gaze shifts to take in the cave, seeking out Romelia, but she’s gone.

  A hand slips into mine, and I look over to see Romelia there, in her wedding dress. She’s not wearing her gloves, though, and the scar on her arm isn’t there.

  She is wearing her rings.

  I bring her hand up to my lips and kiss her knuckles before kissing where her scar had been.

  Romelia smiles gently and cups my face with one hand. “This isn’t real,” she whispers.

  “I know. I know you’re gone, but if I can see you in my dreams, then I’ll sleep for hours and hours, longer than my body needs. I’ll take drugs—”

  “You will not.” She brings up her other hand. “I won’t allow it.”

  “You aren’t real. You can tell me what to do, but I don’t—”

  “I won’t come to you in those sleeps.” She removes her hands and walks farther into the cave before glancing over her shoulder. “Will you come with me?”

  “To the ends of the earth,” I promise, taking long strides to reach her and reclaiming her hand.

  “To Hell?”

  “If that’s what it takes to be reunited with me.”

  “Don’t.” Her voice is soft, gentle, but her features twist as if she’s in pain.

  “What is Hell like?” I ask her desperately.

  "You forgot. This isn't real. I'm not real. I can give you an answer, but it's just what you imagine it to be, and maybe you're right, and maybe you're wrong, but neither of us knows."

  My heart aches. “I want the real you.”

  “I know you do. I do too.”

  “This is the real me.”

  She laughs softly. “Oh, silly Julian. This isn’t you either. It’s your dream self.”

  “Yes, but my dream self is connected to my real body. When I wake up, I’ll remember this.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “I will remember,” I tell her earnestly, need
ing her to believe me.

  “Fine. Say that’s true.” Her grin is slow to form but so very bright.

  “But I’m dreaming of you. It’s not your dream self, so it won’t reach the real Romelia.”

  “No. I’m sorry. I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

  I swallow hard and ignore when she squeezes my hand. She’s only alive and here because of my imagination. I can see her perfectly before me, but she’s flawed. The scar isn’t there. Why isn’t it there? I can recall every detail of her scar despite the gloves she favored, but the scar isn’t a part of my dream.

  Because I think of my Romelia as perfect.

  She’s not perfect, but she’s perfect for me.

  I’ve thought that before, haven’t I? It’s the truth. She is all I need, all I will ever want, but she’s gone, out of reach, beyond my reach.

  “Do you hate me?” Romelia murmurs.

  “Why would I hate you?”

  “I made a huge decision without you. I choose to do whatever was necessary to save Mercy, and I think I knew deep down that it would kill me. I did it anyhow.”

  I grip both of her hands, turning to face her head on instead of standing beside her.

  “Romelia,” I say firmly, but my breathing hitches, and I have to take a moment to compose myself. I know this is just a dream, but I have to say the words aloud.

  I have to face the truth.

  “I’m furious. I’m hurt, and I’m terrified at the idea of living the rest of my life alone.” I squeeze her hands hard, not trying to hurt her but needing to squeeze just the same. She doesn’t react at all. “I hate that you’re gone, and I’m so proud of you for being willing to give up your life for someone you know means a lot to me, for someone you didn’t know, but, Romelia… you left me. You made a choice, and you left me, and I… I…”

  “Go ahead,” she murmurs in that soft, sweet voice of hers. “Go ahead and say it.”

  “I love you,” I say simply.

  Her face changes, her eyes narrowing, and she squeezes my hands to the point that I gasp from the pain. She’s crushing my fingers, breaking the small bones, and I crumble down to my knees as she towers above me despite her five-foot frame.

  “Say it!” she demands.

  “Say what?” I ask of the apparition of the woman I love.

  “Say it!” she shrieks, her hair wild, her eyes crazed. Her fangs reveal themselves, growing longer and larger than ever before, reaching down to her chin.

  “Say what?” I shout as the wind grows to that of a hurricane’s gale force. I can barely remain on my knees, but while my clothes whip out, my hair too, her hair and dress don’t move at all.

  “Say that you hate me. Admit it!”

  “I will only ever love you,” I say. “I don’t hate you, not even for leaving me alone. All I will ever have for you is love. Only love. I love you, Romelia, wherever you are, but you… this…”

  I yank my broken hands from her and, despite the pain, wave my hands at her, banishing her to the gray wisps, and then my eyes open.

  In my sleep, I held onto Romelia’s hand, and as I breathe my first breath after the dream, she shifts and falls against me as if in answer to my sigh. I rub her back, but I don’t want to leave this spot. At this very moment, I’m at peace.

  Minutes pass, and I listen to the birds sing their praises to the sun, and a bunny hops along, takes one look at me, turns, and hops away frantically as if he knows I ate his brothers.

  A smile crosses my face until I hear a cell ringing.

  Romelia’s.

  Unnerved and disturbed, I reach into the pocket that I hadn’t realized her dress had.

  “Hello?” I ask.

  “Julian? Are you with Romelia?”

  I lay my head on top of my love’s. “Yes,” I tell the vampire who wed us.

  Professor Marius Cross breathes a sigh of relief. “Is she—”

  “She’s… dead.” I shut my eyes.

  “Her body, do you have it?” he asks urgently.

  “Yes.”

  “Good, good. There might be a way to bring her back using blood magic, but I don’t know. It’s a tricky bit of business, especially because she is—was—a living vampire. What can work on a vampire, a turned one that is, won’t necessarily work on her. The delicate balance between vampire and demon—is it even accurate to use the word delicate in regards to anything related to a demon?”

  “Professor,” I say mildly, not daring to get my hopes up.

  “My potion worked to transfer over the affliction from the werewolf to her, I take it, but her healing ability hadn’t been enough to overcome it. I can see how that wouldn’t work for anyone to oppose. Reanimation is a terrible bit of business. Just ask any necromancer. To try to reanimate already living flesh… Reanimation is nothing at all like mind control. Nothing at all.”

  “Professor.”

  “Yes, yes. I’m sorry. I haven’t slept in I don’t know how long, haven’t stopped to drink blood either, so I might be rambling and not making any sense. My point is that… What is my point? Oh, yes. Once Romelia left with the potion, I immediately set out to study ways to bring back a vampire, living or turned, in case the worst should happen. It’s always best to have a backup plan, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” I say slowly.

  “It’s called blood rising,” the professor says. “It’s a process when—who goes there? Hello? Can I help you?”

  “You can,” a chillingly familiar voice says, and then there’s a death shrill.

  The line goes dead.

  If I have to guess, Professor Marcus is now dead.

  Blood rising. What is it? Should I dare to research it, or will I also end up dead? How can I not do anything and everything to bring my love back to me?

  First, though, my love needs to be moved to her final resting place. Once there, maybe then I can discover what blood rising is.

  I hug Romelia one more time before easing myself down from the branch. With great care and tenderness, I cradle her in my arms once more and make my way to Crystal Creek Cascades. Despite holding her, I’m able to take the route along the stones to the cave easily. So many hours of practice, so many laughs here, so many kisses and precious, precious memories.

  With a smile, I enter the cave, and I feel as if the weight that has clung to me and dragged me down since I learned about my love’s death is slowly lifting.

  But the moment I kneel to lay Romelia in her final resting place, I realize I’m not alone. The cave isn’t empty.

  From the shadows, a form emerges, and I stare up into the face of Romelia’s hateful father, who has been lying in wait for me.

  Chapter 23

  Romelia

  Time is so very strange in Hell. I don't know how long I've been here, if it's been minutes, hours, days, years, but I'm growing stronger, faster.

  My uncle has very much become the father I never had. He’s attentive, kind, and he doesn’t mock me for loving a werewolf. If anything, he asks about Julian and seems to genuinely care.

  “Why doesn’t it bother you that your niece loves a werewolf?” I ask him.

  “Why should it?”

  “Because vampires… werewolves…”

  “So they killed each other in the beginning and ever since.” Uncle Argon shrugs. “Humans kill each other, but they still fall in love. You know who else kills vampires? Vampires but sometimes they fall in love too. Werewolves tend to fall in love with werewolves, but they have challenges that can cause one to supplant the alpha. Talk about the ultimate betrayal! Death is a part of life.”

  “How are you related to my father?” I wonder aloud.

  “I wasn’t always like this,” Uncle Argon says.

  “I know. You told me that you started the bubonic plague that decimated Europe in the Middle Ages.”

  “Yes, the Black Death. Did I tell you how that came to be?”

  “No, just that you started it.”

  "Not intentional, but good inte
ntions paving the road here." He chuckles and shakes his head. "No, no good intentions. My lover at the time cheated on me, so I turned her into a rat, but that wasn't good enough, so I also created a new disease and infected the rat with it. I didn't realize that because she was a human-rat and not a rat-rat that it would make the leap to humans. In my defense, only a third of the continent's population died. Not even half! It could have been much, much worse."

  “You just upped and created a new disease?”

  “Well, not entirely. I tweaked a disease nature created. Made it a bit… worse. I really thought I loved her, and I reacted so horribly to her hurting me, so it must have been love, right?”

  “No,” I say blankly.

  He eyes me curiously.

  “Love isn’t jealous.”

  “You mean to say that if your werewolf—”

  “I trust him. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, not intentionally.”

  “Ah, but unintentionally?”

  “I still wouldn’t react as you had. I would find it in me to forgive him.”

  “Even if he cheated on you?”

  I hesitate and think and reflect on that. Would his cheating hurt me terribly? Yes, of course, but I don’t think anything could ever get me to stop loving him, not even if he were to leave me and move on.

  “I will always love him.”

  “How are you related to your father?” my uncle parrots back my question to me.

  I grin. “What’s the lesson?”