Fire And she leapt into the fire below. I�ve been a witch my entire life. My mother was a witch and her mother before her and so on. The Masters witches they call us. We have a tendency of unintentionally making enemies wherever we went; it�s not our personalities, we just seem to attract trouble. My great great grandmother was a young woman before she discovered she was a witch. As the story goes, she was working in the wheat field when she came upon a dead stalk. It was quite unusual; one dead stalk in a field of healthy ones. When she reached out to touch it she felt something travel from her to the stalk, giving it new life. My great great grandmother could do anything she wanted � when it came to plants. When a brush fire consumed her entire crop and her along with it, she could do nothing to stop it. Each Masters witch has her own special power. My grandmother had a talent with animals and my mother was a weather worker. The day my mother died, a terrible flood storm swept through the village, killing many people; but it was too late to stop the fire. That�s another thing Masters Witches seem to have a tendency of: burning. Every single Masters witch has died at a young age by flame. My grandmother�s house was set on fire and my mother was burned at the stake. I was kept secret to the townsfolk, and therefore escaped almost entirely unscathed. I still blame myself for not being able to save her. They said I was unique. The one thing my ancestors died from is the one thing I can control. Fire. As I entered the town called Racheville, I knew I would remember it well. I knew this because of two things. Firstly, it was raining. Rain was rare in this area but it was also a natural dampener of my power, which is why I liked it. I could be almost normal in rain. The other reason I knew I was going to remember this day was that no one offered to help me. I walked into town carrying three bags and struggled all the way. In fact, no one seemed to notice I was there at all. With my flaming red hair and piercing green eyes, usually I received glances of amazement or a casual comment. Men would fall over themselves to help me with my bags; women have occasionally given me looks of disdain and jealousy, mostly because the men who were helping me were their husbands. No one did that here. I liked it. When I arrived at my new cottage, there was a small and rather plump woman waiting for me. Her eyes lit up underneath bushy grey eyebrows when she saw me, most of her hidden behind a large cloth-covered basket. �Mrs. Barrett?� I asked cautiously. I had learned in my travels to be suspicious of those who linger where they are not welcome. When the man in charge of the town told me it was customary for one of the townsfolk to give a newcomer a tour, I argued for an hour before relenting. �Yes, you must be Ena.� She said in a husky voice, mispronouncing my name. �Ay-na.� I corrected her. �What a lovely name.� She said, subtly looking me up and down. I nodded my thanks, looking over my new home. It was good for privacy; the leaves and vines growing all around made it look unwelcome to those who couldn�t appreciate the true beauty of nature. �Well, look at all those bags!� she exclaimed. �Do you need any help with them? We should get you settled in before I take you on the grand tour.� �Is the tour necessary? I can find my way around and I�m really rather tired from the journey.� I said, trying to argue one last time. But the elderly woman merely smiled as if she had heard it all before and was prepared to force me into town if she had to. �Now is not the time to be unsocial, my dear. The townsfolk are very excited to meet you and I�m sure you�ll find this a beautiful place to settle. You can even fix up your new home, make it nice and�clean.� She said, glancing disapprovingly at the cottage. �Well, I�d really prefer-� I started again, but she cut me off. �You can unpack later. I brought a fruit basket so you have something to eat before you get your bearings in town. But for now let�s get you acquainted with the good people of Racheville.� She gripped me surprisingly firmly by the arm and led me to the dirt road that curved into town. It was a fair walk; I only wanted visitors who truly wanted to visit, and it gave me time to think about how I was going to introduce myself when I got to town. Of course Mrs. Barrett was a chipper lady, going on and on about the different people in town and how when she first moved here she had a bumpy start but as soon as she learned the rules she fit in perfectly. I asked her what rules she referred to, but all she would reveal was a wink and mischievous smile. We reached town quickly. I was treated the same way as when I arrived until Mrs. Barrett let out an ear-splitting whistle to get everyone�s attention. They gathered as quickly as they felt they should, and we waited patiently for everyone to cluster. �This is Ena Masters.� She announced to the crowd. �She just moved here and she's living in the old Sager cottage down the road. You know the one with all the�foliage.� The people were just as interested with this new information as they were with me; they sighed and went back to their activities. �Don�t worry dear, they�ll come to love you just as they did me.� Mrs. Barrett patted me on the hand. �Now you�ll need to know where the stables are in case you need a ride and we�ll simply have to visit the bakery and the butcher�s-� �Mrs. Barrett, I appreciate the sentiment of the tour but can we possibly continue it at another time? I�m not feeling very well and I�d like to get settled in to my cottage as soon as possible. Perhaps we can pick up where we left off tomorrow?� I suggested as politely as I could. She frowned, but finally agreed and let me go. As I walked back to my new home, it began to rain. Chapter 2 I thought about the other homes I had in the past and the people I had made friends with. I thought about how those same people had pushed me onto the road, more than once with nothing but what I had on me. I had been forced to leave many of my things behind, but I never kept anything of importance; except the locket. My mother had given it to me the day before they set her aflame. She placed it around my neck just before she sent me away on a boat. I was so young yet it remained clear as yesterday in my mind. She kissed me on the forehead and wiped my tears from my cheeks and lashes. �Keep this locket around your neck.� She whispered in my ear. �Never take it off, and I will always find you.� She kissed me one last time and pushed the boat away, knowing that the current would lead me to the next town where I would be safe. That was the last time I saw my mother. I heard rumors of a great storm sweeping through the little town, but mysteriously sparing all the ones around it. Many people died, and those who didn�t spun the tale of the witch�s last curse. I learned the truth from the lies when I was older and from then on kept to myself. It wasn�t enough. The first chance I got I fled from my second home, to the next town. I spent three weeks there before the first incident happened. I didn�t have enough money then to pay for a room, so I managed by building shelter from nature. A local boy had been harassing me, trying to kiss me and grab my hand. When I had refused his advances, he took it upon himself to taunt me and throw rocks at me. He wouldn�t leave me alone until one day when he caught me alone near my camp. The boy pinned me against a tree and was once again trying to get me to kiss him. When I wouldn�t, he tried to force himself on me; and that�s when it happened. I put my hand on his face, trying to wriggle free, my skirt roughly hiked up. He struggled against me, trying to keep me pinned and undo his belt at the same time. I put my hand on his face to push him away and felt a surge of energy rise from deep in my stomach. It traveled through me, a wave of heat, and for a moment I thought he had succeeded in his task. He started screaming about his face and when I looked at him, the flesh on one side of his face had been seared through. He sprinted away from me screaming his entire way home. His parents took one look at him and rushed him to the medic as fast as they could. People who witnessed it said it smelled like charred meat and looked about the same. The doctor did what he could but everyone knew the boy would never be the same. He pointed a finger at me, screaming I was a devil-girl, a whore of Satan and the like. The townspeople figured I had tried to set him on fire so they threw me out on my backside. The last I heard of that boy he was a perfect son from then on, the sweetest little boy and a devout Christian. I guess he was afraid I would come back and finish the job if he wasn�t; but who knows where he got such an idea. I had been thrown out of my first town, but certainly not my last. The next two towns I left on my own, bored with the people and the scenery. The fourth town I arrived in was extremely small, which should have immediately set off warning bells in my head. I settled down with a new camp and kept to myself as I promised myself I would. It went well for a couple of months, few people even knowing I inhabited a small part of their woods. But trouble came, as it must. I was bathing in a stream, concentrating on using my gift to heat the water around me but not kill all the fish. I had almost succeeded when my concentration was broken by a twig snapping behind me. I quickly hunched down into the water and spun around, spying a young man darting into nearby bushes, no doubt spying. I finished bathing as discretely as I could and bravely stepped out the water and onto the bank. I heard a small gasp from the bushes and smiled a little. �You can come out now, I won�t hurt you.� I called out to him and reached for my clothes. He cautiously stepped out of the brush, a handsome and healthy young man about my age. His deep brown eyes stared into mine as I waited. He realized what I was waiting for and coughed loudly and gave a short bow. �I beg your pardon miss, but I was hunting and I thought I had set eyes on a nymph. I heard tales that if a nymph catches you watching her bathe there are terrible consequences, so I hid.� He watched my face, perplexed when I started to laugh. �Hunting? Come now, am I really supposed to believe that? More likely you and your friends were curious about the girl who lives in the woods and when you came to spy, you caught me bathing.� I saw a momentary flash of anger in his eyes at my accusation and the truth shone through. �Or perhaps you are telling the truth after all.� I amended, studying him. �I will decide your fate later. But for the current, would you like to join me? I am very skilled at catching fish and I fear some of it may go to waste.� He relaxed and nodded, sitting down next to me. His name was Ayden. He told me how he grew up in the town and about his family, his brother and sisters, all younger. He wanted to know about me, but I had learned to answer questions without really answering them and I put my skill into action. We talked until the sun slept and the moon awoke and then we lay in the supple grass and gazed at the heavens above us. We made a game of seeing who could name the most shapes, which I won of course. From then on he called me Cassie, short for Cassiopeia, his favorite cluster. I saw him every day and night for many a time after. He never knew of my secret craft and I was too afraid to tell him the truth on the chance he would shun me and bring about my end. If I had known how precious those days were, I would have revealed myself to him in every way possible. But I did not know and when the people of the town came for me, it was too late. They thought it strange that I lived in the woods by myself and they sought the cause of a sudden sickness that had stained the town. Without a logical explanation, they began pointing fingers until someone pointed one at me. They came at dawn with fire to burn me alive and rid themselves of my evil. But they did not understand the power I held. The man in charge took me by the wrist and attempted to light my skirt aflame, but the fabric would not catch. �More witchlike antics!� he began to shout and ripped the cloth violently from my body. He put my hair to the flame but it would not catch either. I did not struggle or cry out, for I knew there was no point. If they wanted to kill a witch, they would succeed. He hit me across the face hard, bellowing, �Surely if fire will not harm her, water will!� Men from the village came forward with rope to bind my hands and feet. My eyes went wide as Ayden joined them, an anger on his face I did not recognize. He avoided my gaze as he roughly tied his knots but when the last were done, he set his beautiful brown eyes upon mine. I saw into his heart and understood. Then I was in water, sinking quickly and gagging on the extra rope they had tied around my head and thrust in my mouth. I reached the bottom and stayed there, waiting for the justice that would surely come. When my breath ran out and my vision started to fade, I saw my mother sitting cross-legged beside me, smiling and stroking my hair as she did before I went to sleep. I heard the song she sang to me every night, in her soft and melodious voice that I lacked. I felt her arms around me, hugging me close as I drifted into darkness. Chapter 3 I woke to pounding on my chest and I convulsed, coughing up water onto the ground. I opened my eyes to the most beautiful sight on earth. Ayden stood over me, a concerned look in his eyes. I smiled at him weakly, and he sighed in relief. He picked me up, carrying me to a nearby cave and placed me carefully near a fire he had made. He brought me clothes, a pair of his pants and a shirt he had outgrown. He had shoes as well, but they were much too large. He promised he would find some in a smaller size when he went back to town. �Won�t they find us here?� I asked him when I could speak. He shook his head. �They�ve gone back to town to sleep and think nothing of the woman they killed. Or tried to kill. Don�t worry. Even if they do find us, I�d die before I let anything happen to you.� He put his arms around me, bringing me close. I put my head in his lap and stared into the fire, wishing with everything I had that I didn�t have this curse so I could be with him. But I knew the illness in town would not cease and they would believe I lived. They would scour the forest, find us and kill us. I refused to be the cause of Ayden�s death. I sat up and kissed him ever so gently on the lips. He kissed me back, a kiss filled with love and longing and desire. I gave myself to him; my body, my heart, my soul, and my love. I gazed into his eyes until he fell asleep and then I slipped away from him, leaving the safety and warmth of his touch behind. I paused at the exit to the cave and looked back. I wanted to run back to him, agree that everything would be right if we had each other. I wanted to lie in his arms every day and night and be with him until the end of our days. But I knew that if I did, I would be setting into motion his death along with mine. I left Ayden sleeping blissfully, praying that he would be spared the wrath of the townspeople and that he would find happiness with another. I set upon the road to a different region, carefully concealing my tracks so Ayden could not hunt me down. Sobs were torn from me with every step I took, with every breath my heart broke a little more. I kept hoping that he would understand and that he would live to an old age, even if it was without me. I walked the entire way to a new town, a new identity and with a new purpose. I would wait for many years to pass and then travel once again to that town. They would not remember the face of a dead woman, but he would know me regardless of the years added to my brow. I was determined to keep to myself until then, to stay out of trouble. It never goes as we plan. I was kicked out of many a town after that, but none so violently. I changed my name from time to time or cut my hair, but the results were always the same. People were suspicious of a young woman living by herself, and once they found I was with child they became worse. I reached Racheville during my second month, the people unaware of the child growing in my belly. If I had my privacy, that is how it would stay. Privacy is a funny thing. When you want it, you don�t get it and when human contact is your one desire, you find yourself wanting. I wanted to be left alone, to study and learn and harness my craft without bother, but of course I would not get it. The town did seem to warm to me; I began to receive visitors. Women would bring food and offer advice; men would come with offers to help me with any lifting or repairs on my new house, and to flirt. I was a good hostess as my mother taught me; I would put on tea and offer my visitors whatever I had baked that day. Despite my want to be alone, I was somewhat comforted by the kindness of these people. I listened to their tales of childhood, learned about their families. I suppose that�s how I became so close to them. They began to come for advice, and I offered herbs to help them sleep or rid them of a rash. I knew that it would bee my downfall; I was on unsteady ground and taking a large chance that they would turn on me. But I couldn�t sit alone in my cottage, feeling my child grow in my belly and not do anything to help the community she would be born into.
�Number 422, please step forward.� a nasal voice said through a loud speaker. A young and mousy girl with frizzy blonde hair stepped forward, obviously trembling. �Please, I don�t want to-� the girl started quietly. �Number 422 will be quiet and follow orders.� the voice commanded. The girl started crying softly, wringing her manicured hands together. A buzzer sounded, and the doors to the girl�s left slid open, revealing a young man her age. He was nude but for the chains around his ankles and wrists. �Please-� the girl begged again. �Number 573, please step forward.� the voice commanded. The boy stepped forward immediately, dull blue eyes blank, the overhead light reflected in his bald head. �Numbers 422 and 573 will relate to one another to the satisfaction of the Coalition.� The voice commanded, then was silent. The boy turned to the girl, who was still shaking, and said the words that would echo through her mind for years to come, �I will not hurt you.� Carwen woke in a sweat from her dream, shaking. She had the same dream every night. The blue streaks in her straight blonde hair shifted to purple as she climbed down from her bed barefoot, careful not to wake her roommate, Alexa, sleeping below her. �Car? What�s your malfunction?� Alexa asked sleepily. �No malfunction, Alexa. Resume nightly operations.� Carwen answered, and waited until Alexa�s breathing returned to its sleep-state. Barefoot, she crept out of their small room and into the cold hallway. It was kept cold so the inhabitant�s bodies would work harder to stay warm, therefore maximizing weight balance and muscle efficiency. The borders near the ceiling flashed blue the messages: �Caution is Key,� �Residency Numbers are for the safety and regulation of the populace,� and �No worries, All is Well.� �Resident 422, Carwen Masters, what mission brings you out of your sleep-state cycle and into the halls of Hatoris?� the Headmaster�s voice echoed from behind her. Slowly, Carwen turned to face the computer embedded in the wall. The face on the screen rotated slowly to reveal a 3D image of a middle-aged brunette with green eyes staring back at her. �Nothing, Headmaster. My cycle of sleep-state ended unexpectedly early. Causes are unknown.� Carwen answered. �Unknown causes? These repeated episodes are unusual, 422.� the headmaster raised her eyebrows. �Acknowledged, Headmaster. I will establish an appointment with the General Physician.� �One has already been established, 422. At 500 hours tomorrow you are expected.� Carwen bowed her head, the streaks in her hair turning crimson. �Much appreciated, Headmaster. Shall I attempt to resume my sleep-state cycle, or are the activities in Marshall still functional?� �Tone, 422. Respectable at all times. The activities in Marshall are still functional.� �Apologies, Headmaster. Permission to attend activities in Marshall?� Carwen asked politely. �Permission granted. Proceed, 422. Remember, Caution is Key.� the headmaster said, before the screen went blank. �Of course, headmaster.� Carwen murmured. �Caution is Key.� She hurried along the hall, and reached the end where a lift awaited her. A gentle push of the M button, and it jerked into motion, carrying her to her destination. She arrived in Marshall greeted by darkness. The marble floor lay cold beneath her bare feet, but the air was pleasantly warm. Finally, she reached Room 24, the Activities Room. �Resident 422, Carwen Masters, authorization code 4886.� she said into the speaker by the door. �Authorization confirmed. Welcome back, 422.� an automated voice responded. �Good to be back.� she said to no one, entering the Activities Room. A quick glance around told her that the usual inhabitants were present, as well as her favorite bartender. �Night, Jack. With natural refreshment coolers, please.� she swiped her identification card through the computer�s system. �Resident 422, drink order: Night with natural refreshment coolers. 4 credits. Organic Vitamin Booster?� it asked. �No. Order confirmed.� she responded. �Greetings, Resident 422, Carwen Masters.� One of the other inhabitants said, approaching her. �Greetings, Resident 646, Lara Jiab.� she responded automatically. She never really bonded with Resident 646, but was forced to speak with her on several occasions, so manners were integral. �What is your malfunction, Carwen? Sleep-state cycle interrupted again?� �No malfunction, Lara. My sleep-state cycle is functioning normally. And yours?� �Nothing serious, merely a side effect of the pregnancy medication.� �Pregnancy? I was unaware you had found an acceptable subject.� Carwen said, surprised. �Approximately thirteen moons ago.� Lara nodded. �It took some time - you need to choose the perfect subject of course - but I found one in the end.� �What are its characteristics?� Carwen asked. �Blonde hair, brown eyes, slightly muscular, but not overly so.� Lara blushed. �And the lower regions?� Carwen asked, raising her eyebrows at Lara�s inappropriate show of emotion. �Satisfactory. But you know what they say, �The solution is in the sauce.�� Lara said, giggling. �Perhaps you should see the Prenatal Physician. Your emotion emitter seems to have some flaws.� Carwen replied. �My regular emotion emitter has been replaced with one optimal for bairn incubation.� Lara frowned. Carwen sighed. �Apologies, 646. No offense was meant by the previous comment. Perhaps I do have a malfunction, after all.� �No worries, Carwen. And call me Lara. You know how I hate my Residency Number.� �Residency Numbers are for the safety and regulation of-� Carwen started automatically. �Of the populace.� Lara finished for her. �I am aware of the doctrine, Carwen.� �Of course.� Carwen said, taking a sip of her drink. She let the fruity concoction fizzle in her throat before she continued. �Do you wish for a female or male bairn?� �Female. I realize and understand the fundamental purposes of both male and female in society; but I have a wish for a female.� �Not unusual. Many prefer females to males, merely because of their higher purpose in society.� Carwen replied. Lara nodded. �I wish a higher designation for my bairn than being a simple sex object and storage facility.� Lara said. �Understandable.� Carwen said, without expressing her opinion. She had learned from years of taunting and many sessions with the General Psychologist that expressing an opinion radically different than that of the populace was considered dangerous and subversive. �Well, I should return to my sleep-state cycle.� Lara yawned. �May your sleep-state be deep and fulfilling.� Carwen said formally. �Yours as well.� Lara replied, and withdrew. Carwen watched her leave, noticing an apparent waddle in her steps, a clear sign of pregnancy. She thought of her failure at procreation, the subject who had distributed a contaminated product, and the many months with the General Psychologist. Subject 957, Evan Rambley. He had had short chestnut hair, a slightly skinny build, but his nether lower region was larger than average and his gene pool was clear of disease. This didn�t stop him from relating to one of the other subjects and contracting a rare form of an ancient disease. It was because the infection was so rare that the Doctors didn�t detect it in the regulation tests. A month into her pregnancy, Carwen started to vomit blood regularly and collapsed with large red welts covering the entirety of her body. A promising young Student had made a suggestion and the rest was a numbered case file among millions of others. The fetus had been aborted, the disease contained. The Psychologist kept reminding her, �Thank the Goddess you were saved, 422. Your skills are integral to the functioning of our society.� �Yes, Special Area Psychologist 486, I understand.� �And do you understand what was to happen, had you no longer been able to procreate?� �I would have been reassigned.� �That is correct, you would have been reassigned. Do you know what that would have entailed?� �My body would have been recycled, to be used as fertilizer for the community.� �That is correct. I have experienced it many times, 422. It is not a desirable experience.� �Of course, Special Area Psychologist.� �Refreshment replenishment?� a voice snapped Carwen back to the present. She stared at the computer�s speaker, contemplating another drink but decided to try her sleep cycle once again. �Negative, Jack. Order complete.� As she headed out into the hallway, she murmured, �I have an appointment tomorrow.� So here I was. Standing at the ugliest blue door I have ever seen. I loved the color blue, but this door made me want to renounce it as a color. The very first time I saw this door I was with Tommy. This was supposed to be �our door,� or so he explained to me. I wanted to tear it down that very second.
Ch. 1 Once upon a time�no wait, that�s hokey. Time is a bitch. There we go. Time is a bitch. You never have enough, and even when you do, you don�t want it. Time passes whether we want it to or not. It leaves us old, white hair falling out, skin and organs rotting away. The time we have we don�t appreciate. We can never appreciate time. It doesn�t let us. This story isn�t really about time. It�s about a girl. Like most stories, it has a beginning and an end, tragedy, hope, happiness, and a little more tragedy. But this isn�t your typical story. This is my story. And I�m different. I�ll begin with�well, the beginning. I was born in a small cabin in the mountains. I remember growing up with year-round winter, the trees beautifully bare, only the smallest number of animals venturing out to find food. I remember going to sleep straining to hear the sound of snowflakes hitting the ground, but never being able to. I remember hunting with my father, skinning the animals we killed so we could use their fur for warmth and their meat for food. I could track anything; my father said I had a gift for it. I remember the happiness I felt, living in a cozy cottage with my mother and father, unaware of the horrors that lay ahead. I don�t know what month it was that they came; we didn�t keep track of the months. I know it was a little before my twelfth birthday, when the snow was beginning to get heavier and we were storing food for the days when we would be unable to hunt. I was out hunting alone, for I was now old enough to go by myself. I was proud of my kills; I had enough for my family to survive a long time. Walking back to the cottage, I heard noises in the woods. I crouched down quickly, thinking it was another animal that I could kill and skin. Quietly I crept through the frozen bushes, careful not to scare the poor creature. I soon came into view of a group of men, sitting around a poorly made fire. They were eating a foreign smelling meat and talking loudly, clearly drunk. As I crept closer, I began to catch parts of their conversation. My eyes grew wide as I understood who and what they were talking about. The snow chose that moment to start falling. It came in heavy flakes, obscuring my vision and covering the ground. I became frantic, running blindly through it to reach my parents. I didn�t see the tree root sticking up out of the ground before my ankle caught and I tumbled headfirst into the snow. I ignored the pain shooting up and down my leg and ran on, determined to take care of it later, when I was warm and safe with my family. Finally out of sheer luck I reached our cabin. Or what our cabin used to be. The cozy little place I grew up in was now a charred shell of wood and rope. I could still see the door frame, and the chairs. I could still see the frame of my bed, pushed into the corner because I was afraid of monsters coming in through the window or the door. I wanted to be ready to fight them off. I wasn�t ready when the real monsters came. The men left footprints all around the cabin, their boots leaving a distinct impression in the snow. We all knew the pattern that I saw now; it was the mark of Amona, Queen of the Mountains. She had her mark engraved into each soldier�s boot so her enemies would know who had slain their men�or their families. Toward the back of the cabin, the back door lay butchered on its hinges in the snow. I followed the soldiers� footprints into the woods in hope that maybe my parents had escaped. I had explored every inch of those woods, hunting and tracking as my father had taught me. I used my gift now, tracking the soldiers� path, an easy game as they left branches broken and a visible trail in the snow. I quickly came upon a clearing, one where many animals were hunted and killed. The snow had covered everything, leaving only white shapes on the ground and burying the footsteps. I uncovered the shapes nearest to me, my heart stopping each time my hand uncovered something, and restarting when the object was a log or a rock. Just as my hope was rising that my parents had indeed escaped into the forest, my foot hit something hard sticking out of the snow. I squatted down to get a closer look and immediately recognized my father�s boot. A sob escaped me as I dug into the snow, ignoring the frostbite that threatened my hands, and the cold seeping into my clothes. They had cut his throat, the cold only giving him a few minutes before he choked on his own blood. Tears ran down my face, freezing on my cheeks, making them itch. When he was completely uncovered, I held his head in my lap willing him to wake up. I punched him, I shook him, but nothing worked. Finally I gave up and just cried. When I couldn�t cry anymore, I stood. I searched the rest of the clearing, and the clearings around it, but I didn�t find my mother. My hope rose again that perhaps she had escaped or been taken hostage. I vowed to get her back any way I could. Even if it meant killing Amona herself. Ch. 2 There are some things that harden the heart. Tragedies in our lives; mistakes that we learn from. Experiences that turn us from being weak to tougher than hide. Death is the worst thing that can happen to a heart, and the best thing to harden it. I buried my father underneath the ashes of our former home, promising to carve a headstone so he could rest in peace. On his gravesite I placed a charm bracelet I had made when I was younger. I gathered up what money and food I had, and as I walked away from the place where I grew up I wondered what I would do next. I didn�t have a plan, so I just kept walking. I walked all the way to the next town, a place called Bramber. Bramber was a town where the people were more interested in making money than helping each other. They were thieves, crooks, and all around bad people. No women dared to stay in town for too long, for they would find themselves raped and beaten by the local townsmen. It was the worst place I could go, but it was the only place I could go and it was the only place where I would learn anything. I walked into a tavern, the red-faced men looking me up and down as I sat down at an empty table. I ordered the house beer and looked around to see who the trouble makers were. I didn�t have to look far; an ambitious young man sat himself down in front of me. �You can stop looking, sweetheart, I�m right here.� He said, licking his lips and staring straight down at my breasts. I checked him out carefully. He had a sword on his back, and some sort of dagger tucked into his pants. By the way he was looking at me he had drunk enough alcohol to lose this memory by tomorrow. I leaned over and crossed my arms under my breasts to push them up. �Really?� I said. �Well that�s good because I was looking for a good time.� His eyes went wide as I spoke, clearly surprised. �Meet me upstairs?� I whispered to him, low enough so just he could hear. He nodded vigorously, and I got up. �Wait.� He said. �What�s your name?� I turned slowly, hesitating. �Andrea.� I said. My new name. I liked it. I turned back to the stairs, and walked the long flight up. I readied the room for my purposes, then removed my clothes and waited. He entered the room loudly, stumbling against the door frame and almost falling into the room. As he reached the bed and saw me, he fell forward, almost knocking me off. He scrambled over to me, his hands exploring my body roughly. I removed his clothing quickly, making sure I knew where I placed every article. I pinned him down, and slid onto him, making him groan. I ignored the sharp pain that ripped through me and the blood that ensued; I moved against him harder and faster until he climaxed. Within minutes he fell into a deep sleep, sure to awaken the next day with a sore body and an aching head. I listened to his breathing until I was sure he was asleep before I got up slowly and quietly. I located everything I needed with ease, strapping the sword and its sheath onto my back, pocketing the dagger, and swiping all the money he had, which was a pitiful amount. I would have to hunt for my own food, and hitch rides to where I wanted to go, but I was fine with that. I shut the door behind me quietly, readjusting my new gear and creeping back down the stairs. �Not staying the night, sweetheart?� a low voice came from behind me. I froze and turned around slowly, my hand going to the dagger. An old man was standing in the shadows of the now-closed tavern. �Hold up there, darling, I�m not looking for trouble now.� The man said. �Just wanted to know if you were going to pay for that room you just used.� I smiled at him, my mouth aching with its unfamiliarity. �The man I was just with will pay you when he awakens. I�m afraid I bedded him too well for him to pay now.� The old man laughed. �Did you now? Well then I�ll be sure to remind him of his amount due when he awakens.� I nodded, and carefully walked out the door. My feet sunk immediately into the snow, the cold seeping through. I would have to walk quickly if I was to avoid frostbite. I walked as fast as I could down the icy road, avoiding stares. I walked for another mile before a carriage came along. I stuck out my thumb, my hopes rising. �Need a ride?� called a voice from the carriage. �That would be great.� I said, waiting for it to pull up beside me. The door opened and a hand came out to help me in. I took it gingerly, my gut telling me something was wrong, but my feet screaming with cold. As I hoisted myself up and plopped down onto a comfortable cloth-covered seat, I took a look around the inside of the carriage. The walls were covered in a plush red cloth, the same as the seat I now sat on. Sitting next to me, a grin on his now clean face, was the young man from the tavern. He was dressed in the clothing to match his carriage; a crimson tunic and black britches, with a heavy looking cape around his shoulders. I gasped and quickly bowed my head. �My Lord.� My hand went to the curtain behind me, ready to sweep it aside if I needed to make a quick escape. �Be still woman, I will not harm you. You mistook me for a drunk and a rather forward young man, but only because I allowed you to. Had I known you were going to rob me as well, I would have had more coins with me, for your appearance says you are in great need. Now tell me, what is your real name?� �It is true I did not recognize you, Your Highness. But if you are to bring me to a palace that greets me with death then I would rather my name remain clandestine.� I replied, my head still bowed. He reached out slowly and placed a smooth hand under my chin, raising my head. I didn�t look him in the eye but instead stared past him at the wall. �I bring you not to your death, young mistress, but to an opportunity. You know my mother, the queen Amona?� he asked, eyes still on me. At her name my eyes flicked to his for a moment, and then quickly away. �Indeed sir, I should think there is not a man, woman or child who does not know the glorious name Amona.� I replied. �Glorious or not, she will not know of your presence, for you are to be my paramour. Do you know what that entitles?� he asked. �I will bring carnal pleasure to the prince when he asks it of me and remain within his chambers until he finds a bride. And then I shall be executed.� I answered carefully. I had heard of many young women being selected for this so called honor, and never hearing of them after. �Precisely.� he answered. �Do you accept the position? Or shall I release you back into the cold?� �I accept, on the condition that I am able to ask one question beforehand.� I replied slowly. He raised an eyebrow. �You may ask.� he said finally. �Why me?� I asked. �Surely there are many young women more capable than I of fulfilling this task.� �There are.� he said, and I could feel his eyes on me. �But never have I met a young woman so determined that she would give away her virginity to a stranger to achieve a goal. That intrigues me, as very few things do. Does that satisfy you?� I nodded, still avoiding his gaze but surprised that he had felt my virginity slip from me. We rode in silence, never stopping and eating occasionally. I ate finer than I ever had at home; sweetened meat and spiced mead, bread and beer and many other foods I could not name for I had never tasted them before. My duties as the Prince�s paramour began immediately, and we spent many a night in each others� arms, an awkward feat even in his large carriage. We did not speak for the entirety of the three day journey. We were close to the castle when the carriage came to a stop on the side of the road and I grew nervous. Frantic thoughts flashed through my mind. �They know what I have set out to do.� I thought. �They have been teasing me with such fineries as the food and the carriage; they mean to kill me before we ever reach the castle. I have failed.� The door to our carriage opened and cold air whisked in, whispering through my hair. �Andrea, you are to follow Clarence here to a back entrance to the castle.� the Prince said from behind me. �My maids and the other paramours will wash you and dress you and you will wait for me in my chambers. Do you understand?� �Yes.� I whispered, my voice hoarse from being unused. I stepped down onto the frozen ground, my feet crunching on frozen and unfamiliar grass. As we started walking the carriage rode away, leaving us alone. We walked nearly two miles before we were met by five women in heavy cloaks. They handed us similar cloaks as a disguise to sneak into the castle, still miles away. We changed quickly and trudged on, leaving our clothes hidden in the bushes. The castle was bigger than my father�s tales had me picture. High black spikes connected to form a gate around the part I could see, and it seemed to stretch on forever. The gray blocks of stone used to build it seemed to sparkle even in the fading daylight, making the palace glow as if by magic. Vines of lush green ivy grew up the shorter walls, creeping up from a small garden at each wall�s base. I caught a glimpse of the Prince�s carriage off of the main entrance before I was shoved through a small doorway and into a dark tunnel. I was shuffled down the tiny hallway and into a small, poorly lit room. In the middle of the room sat a round tub. Steam rose from the water within and several more women stood around it, clothed in the same robes as I was. One of the women stepped forward and shrugged off her cloak. She stood before me, her bare skin reflecting the torchlight in the room. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen; flawless chocolate skin accentuated with straight, waist length obsidian hair. Her body was perfect in every aspect; full breasts proportionate to her curvy waist and round thighs. She saw me staring and smiled. �My name is Bolanila. I am the head paramour to the Prince. You will be taking your training from me.� she said in a voice deep and rich. �Training?� I asked, wincing at the sound of my squeaky voice compared to hers. �Of course you will need training before you can be in the presence of the Prince again. We pride ourselves on being the very best paramours. You will be educated as well, for often times the Prince merely wants conversation and will not tolerate a dull girl. But for now we must get you cleaned and clothed, and then you should rest. From what I understand, it has been a long day for you.� I nodded and the other women came forward to undress me and place me in the quickly cooling water. It felt good on my exposed skin, and I relaxed and let the steam seep into my body. Hands scrubbed and massaged every inch of my body until I felt I glowed almost as much as Bolanila. I was then rubbed with a sweet smelling oil, the scent sending warmth to the lower parts of my body. When they were done I was wrapped in a fine, smooth cloth and carried into another room by Clarence. I had forgotten he had been in the washroom but his muscles through the cloth reminded me of his presence. He placed me gently onto a soft bed and left, only to be replaced by Bolanila. �Every night after this one will be spent sleeping in one room with the other paramours. We will eat together and learn together, unless the Prince wishes otherwise. Sleep now. Your training begins tomorrow.� She brushed a hair off of my face and just before I slipped into sleep I heard her whisper something that sounded like, �Good luck.� Ch. 2 I woke the next morning when the blankets that were keeping me warm were yanked from my body. I sat up quickly, painfully aware of my nudity and was looking into the eyes of a young girl, about eight or nine years of age. �My brother says you�re to rise and start your training today.� she said with a grin. �Your brother?� I asked groggily. �The Prince!� she giggled. I sat up straighter and pulled some of the blanket up to cover my chest. She giggled again and ran out of the room, passing Bolanila on her way out. �Are you feeling better?� Bolanila asked, crossing the room and sitting down on the edge of the bed. �Yes, Bonanila.� I answered formally. She smiled at me and said, �You may call me Nila. I am the Primary Paramour, but that does not mean we have to be so formal with each other, Andrea. Is there any name you would prefer I call you?� �Rea is fine.� I said. �Very well. Come join us for breakfast, and then we shall start.� �Are there any clothes that I should wear?� I asked, embarrassed by her nakedness as well as my own. �You will get used to being without them soon enough. We do not wear clothing to show our submissive status to those who do. The only occasion we would wear clothing is-� �When the Prince wishes otherwise.� I finished for her, and she frowned at my boldness. �You will need to learn to never interrupt someone of a higher status than you.� she said, rising to leave the room. �But yes,� she said, amusement in her voice, �when the Prince wishes otherwise.� I rose and followed her out of the room and down a hallway not unlike the secret passage I had traveled through into the castle. This one was much longer though and by the time we reached our destination my eyes had adjusted to the darkness; so much so that I was almost blinded by the new light. When my vision had cleared, I saw a room filled with naked woman like myself; except they were all stunning in their own unique ways. One woman had the smallest breasts I had ever seen, but her eyes were the color of honey and she had long flowing hair to match. Most of the women had long hair, but not all. One had the shortest flaming red hair I had ever seen, spiked around her face and offset by emerald eyes. They each sat comfortably on cushions, eating a breakfast of fruit, honeyed cakes, and a fatty smoked meat. No one spoke; as Nila explained to me later, we were only to speak during lessons and when talking to the Prince. Time between was meant for reflection and inner peace. There was an empty purple cushion in the far back corner and after a food-filled plate and a beer-filled copper cup were handed to me, I took my seat. The food had flavors I had never tasted before, very similar to the food in the carriage with the Prince. It has spices added that brought out the taste of the meat; even the honey seemed sweeter and the cakes more moist. When I had finished eating, Nila came to me and took my hand. She held it palm skyward and traced the lines that ran across it with her nails. Murmuring under her breath she stood and led me down the hall to yet another room. This, I assumed, was where I would learn my training. And so I did. I began each day by having early breakfast with the other paramours, after sleeping with them in a humongous bed. I learned their names, one by one, until I could close my eyes and list them off. There were fifteen women altogether; and the Prince would call upon each one in no particular pattern so they would not get bored or jealous. He favored no one except Nila; he called upon her each night for an update on the others if not for her company. After breakfast Nila would take me into the training room to begin my studies. I would spend several hours learning to read, then several more hours learning to write, and several hours after that learning to sew, knit, and crochet. Then I would join the others for lunch on our cushions. When I was done eating it was time to learn fighting. I was taught hand-to-hand combat, sword fighting, and fencing. I used my already honed hunting skills to master each lesson quickly, earning praise from Nila. Before dinner she taught me the sexual pleasures; areas on the body that were most pleasing on both a man and woman, and how certain tactics could heighten that pleasure to climax. After dinner was the resting time, when all the paramours would bathe and wait to see who was going to be called to the Prince�s chambers for the night. We continued this routine for several months before I was called before the Prince. I was nervous and excited and anxious all at once; ready to please him, to show off my new skills. I wanted to see the rest of the palace as well, for I did not forget why I had agreed to be the Prince�s paramour; to avenge my father�s death and find out where my mother was. I had just finished dinner when Nila came to me, a strange look on her face. �Andrea, the Prince would like to invite you to come to his chambers to stay the night in his company. Do you accept?� she asked me formally. �But I am not yet fully trained!� I cried. �Surely the Prince would like the company of one more experienced?� �If you are in your monthly bleeding cycle, you may politely request another night.� she said, glancing down at my lap. �I am not in my monthly bleeding cycle.� I sighed. �You are not with child?� she asked slowly. I shook my head. She sighed. �Then you must go. I do not understand this sudden change in request, but we must obey him.� She took my hand. �Now?� I asked, alarmed. �But I have yet to be clean from today�s exercises.� �He requested your immediate presence.� she said firmly and pulled me to my feet. We hurried down hallway after hallway, passing many closed doors and stairwells. Finally we reached what I thought to be the maids� quarters and quickly stepped inside. There was darkness for a moment and then a torch was lit, illuminating a narrow stairwell leading up into more darkness. Nila thrust the torch into my hand and leaned in close. �You will come up under the Prince�s bed and you are to remain there in silence until he asks for you. Do whatever he says without question. Do not look him straight in the eyes, and above all do not forget your training.� With that she spun on her heel and exited through the same door we had entered. I turned and gazed up at the stairwell, my mouth suddenly dry. The torch glowed softly and the warmth in my hand urged me onward. I climbed slowly, aware that the steps were small and the walls close. I climbed through the darkness, not knowing how high the stairs went until I bumped my head on solid wood. I cringed, hoping that I had not made too much noise and slowly pushed upward with one hand. The hinge on the door was well oiled and the door swung open quietly as I climbed through it. There was a bucket on the floor for which I assumed to put out my torch and not light the Prince�s bed aflame. I carefully closed the trap door and though I had room to sit upright, I lay flat, listening for sound in the room. I lay there for perhaps an hour before footsteps in the hallway caught my attention. They passed by the room, fading and I let out a breath I didn�t realize I had been holding. It was another hour before more footsteps approached the room and this time the door opened. The shoes were black and slightly heeled, with gold trimmed near the ankles. He walked quickly, closing the door tightly behind him and sighing. A jacket that matched his shoes was thrown to the floor, followed by the shoes and leggings. There was a rustle of new clothing just as a knock came at the door.
I walk the night�s dark streets confident; adrenaline-laced blood pumping through my veins. The skin-tight leather moves with my strides, showing well-toned muscles to those who care to look. The people I pass shiver inside their thick coats; partially from the winter air, and partially because of the feeling in their guts when they see me. People have two reactions to me; instant adoration or immediate fear. They know there is something unnaturally dangerous about a scantily clad woman roaming the streets of D.C. alone at night. Some breathe in the fear like a drug, getting high off of the unknown. I call them the Followers. The regular people � the ones who get up early and go off to a hard day�s work and come home to a happy home with a family � are the ones who stay away from me. I was a part of that once. My heels click on the pavement, giving my pace a beat. I can hear the electric guitar in my head and I smile. The moonlight reflects off of my teeth, making them seem whiter. My inner song plays on as I near my destination; a nightclub appropriately named Gush. As I near it, I see two blonds standing outside arguing with Bernie, the bouncer. Even in the cold they are wearing next to nothing. As I got closer I could hear the conversation. �I don�t understand why we can�t go in!� the taller blonde whined. �Yeah, it�s not like we�re underage. It�s a public bar!� the other one added. �Ladies, as I said before, this is not a bar nor is it public. There is an important meeting tonight that you are not invited to. I�m afraid I�m going to have to ask you to leave now.� Bernie said. Bernie was one of the best bouncers to be found, except for the fact that he was a normal. He knew all about what happened inside the club and didn�t care for the most part. We had dated for a while but I don�t stick with a man too long and he objected to some of my practices. Sometimes I get the impression he's still in love with me, but that doesn�t stop me from playing with him from time to time. �Oh, you�re not afraid. Not yet.� I said, stepping on the curb. He glanced up, surprised and grinned when he saw me standing there, completely forgetting about the two blonds. �Damnit, Court, you know I hate it when you do that.� He pulled me in close and wrapped his arms around me, engulfing me in a fabulously musky smell that used to drive me nuts. �Which is precisely why I do it.� I said, pulling away. �Have they started yet?� �Nope. I think they�re waiting for you.� He said, still grinning. �You look great.� �Thanks.� I smiled. �I know.� �Um, excuse me.� The taller blond said, her hands on her hips. �She doesn�t look like she�s going to a meeting.� �It�s a casual meeting.� I said, showing her my teeth. She didn�t get the hint and kept talking. �Then we�ll blend right in and when it�s over we can dance. We�re only in town for a couple of days and we were told this is the place to come to!� the shorter blond griped. �Who told you?� I asked sharply. This club was not supposed to be known to normals unless they were food, and I hadn�t sanctioned any party favors. �Simon.� The taller one said uncertainly, uncomfortable under my gaze. I sighed. Simon. Of course it was Simon. He was the only one who felt the need to argue with my every word and go against direct orders, thinking that being my younger brother gave him a free pass. One day it was going to get him killed. �Leave. Now.� I said forcefully. They went on their way, grumbling about a night wasted, not knowing I had probably just saved them a long and painful death. I turned to Bernie. �Is he in there?� �Are you going to hurt him?� he asked, avoiding my stare. �Not much.� I lied. �He needs to understand.� Bernie fidgeted. �He's in there.� He said finally, sighing. �Thanks Bernie.� I said, stroking the side of his face before entering into the darkness. As I walked down the cold corridor toward the golden warmth at the end, I thought about how I was going to take care of Simon. When we were kids I looked after him as a big sister should; keeping him out of trouble and beating up the kids who made trouble. When we were turned, he became reckless and defiant. He wouldn�t listen to me anymore and he got in a lot of trouble; so much so that every couple of months we had to move. People turning up dead, or mutilated; that became the norm of the cities where we would go until the police came to our door. We moved again and again until I started punishing him. When I was accidentally made queen of part of the city, I made sure he stayed where I could see him. But now he had crossed a line. He was bringing trouble not only to our door, but inviting it in to be dinner. It had to stop. �All rise before Queen Courtney!� A voice brought me back to the present. �For the last time Jeffrey, do not call me Queen Courtney. Call me Courtney or Court, please.� I said, taking a seat at the head of the very large vampire-filled table. The vampires of D.C. were not as informal as one would think, especially Jeffrey. He had been around longer than I had, but when he was told to serve a new queen, he made sure to do his job well. �Court.� He repeated crisply, scrunching his nose at the sound. �Thank you, Jeffrey. Now, what�s going on?� I asked. �Business has been going well.� Jeffrey answered. �Gush alone is making twice the income it did last year, and five times as much as the year before that. And the others are doing well also.� I nodded in approval, looking around at the vampires seated before me. Most were older than I was, more powerful. Some I had brought with me; street urchins, those who couldn�t take care of themselves. They were all respectable members of the community now, working citizens with paychecks. I wouldn�t allow them to work at my clubs; they lacked the control and the finesse to deal with clubbers. When I was first made queen (through no direct fault of my own), there were some who opposed such a young queen. Those who felt that way were killed immediately, by me, so I would have no backstabbing and/or plotting. My council was made of those who were devoted to me, and I made sure it stayed that way. �What about the latest news report?� I asked. �What progress has been made?� Recently there had been people turning up dead, drained of blood, their genitalia ripped from their bodies. Male or female; it didn�t matter, everyone was at risk. Usually we would let the humans spin their stories of serial killers and psychos, but these weren�t just people; they were vampires. Not only local vampires, but ones from far districts. This was the beginning of something very bad. �There was another body found. It�s�it�s one of ours.� Jeffrey said hesitantly. I sat up straight, alarm streaking through me. �Who?� I whispered. �Karen.� He said and I sagged with despair. �I know she was one of your personal ones, so I�ve set up a team to hunt down whatever this is and bring it to you. Alive.� He said, putting a hand on my shoulder. I smiled slightly. He knew me too well. My sadistic side would love to torture the thing that took sweet baby Karen from us. She was one of the youngest of us, only fifteen when she was turned. Even thought technically she was dead, she was full of life. She had the brightest green eyes I have ever seen, using them only to capture her prey�s attention instead of holding the boys enthralled.
Ch. 1 �I mean it makes no sense!� Tristan cried, popping a cracker topped with cheese into his mouth. �If a hot guy who can fly takes you to a magical land where you can fly too and there are mermaids and pirates and Indians and other hot guys, you don�t leave just because you have to grow up!� Tristan and Rose (or Ro as she liked to be called) often came to the park where they grew up together. Now that they were old enough to drive, they parked their cars and sat on top of Ro�s minivan surrounded by snacks. They had both graduated from high school only a few days earlier and they were spending the summer together as usual. �Preachin� to the choir over here,� Ro said, taking another gulp of her Mr. Pibb. �I�d so do Peter Pan. If he weren�t like ten years old.� She reached for the bag of chips that lay between them, her black painted nails reflecting the afternoon sun. She painted her nails black because her mother hated it, along with her blue and green dyed hair and habit of dressing in all black. �It�s so depressing,� her mother would say. �Why can�t you wear some happier colors, like this pastel blue summer dress I got you for Christmas?� Her mother refused to believe that Ro was Wiccan, along with the fact that Tristan was as gay as gay could get. �So, when are you and Tristan going to get together? You�ve been friends since you were little, you�re already so close!� Ro would just roll her eyes and put her headphones back on, or get back to her book. �But alas, we�re too old to be deliciously kidnapped by Peter Pan.� Tristan said, grinning as Ro laughed. �You would be kidnapped any day if it meant there would be hot guys involved.� �And pirates.� Tristan added. �Hot pirates?� Ro asked. �Is there any other kind?� �Well I�m sure Hook is supposed to be pretty ugly.� �Hook doesn�t count. He�s in a relationship with Smee.� Tristan grabbed a coke from the cooler. Ro laughed. �Oh really? Well you are the expert. So, sleepover at my house tonight? Or are you going over to the lovely Jason�s?� �Nah, he�s in California visiting some cousins or something. Movie fest?� �As always. Since we�re already on Peter Pan, shall we begin or end with Jeremy Sumpter?� Ro asked. �Hmm�let�s end with him. Robin Williams gets older every time I see him. Can we leave out the animated though? It gives me a headache with its crappiness.� Tristan said. �Ok, but two movies don�t really count as a fest. You got any more?� �We�ll figure something out.� Tristan said, winking. �Hey man, I am not making out with a gay guy. We�re just gonna have to find something else to do. I�m not that desperate nor am I suicidal. Jason would straight up kill me.� �Aw, I know you�re not desperate. You�ll find someone.� Tristan said, patting her on the shoulder. �Like it�s my purpose in life to find a man? Please.� Ro said as her phone rang. Sighing, she picked it up. �Hello? Yeah. Yeah I have it. The money too. I�m on my way. Ok bye.� She hung up. �That�s my bookie. He wants to know if I have the money I owe him and if I made some crystal meth for him and his dealer buddies.� She hopped off the roof, and turned to help him down. �Your mom wants you home for dinner with the milk and eggs she had you pick up and the change leftover from the twenty she gave you.� Tristan translated, reaching for the cooler. �And you said we need a code.� Ro smiled. �I�ll see you later tonight then? Same time?� �Yup. Love!� he called as she put the car in reverse. �Right back atcha babe.� She called out the window, as she drove away leaving him standing alone near his car. �Cameron Diaz or Christina Aguilera?� Tristan asked. �Totally Christina. She�s much wilder than Cameron, not to mention her voice is amazing.� Ro answered. �Matt Damon or Brad Pitt?� He thought about it for a moment, sighed and finally said, �Brad Pitt. He has a better facial structure. Jessica Alba or Jennifer Garner?� �Too easy. Have you seen Sin City? If Jessica can really dance like that�� she leaned back against her pillows and sighed. Tristan laughed. �So is that your happy thought? Jessica Alba?� he asked, reaching for the popcorn. �Shh! This is my favorite part!� Ro said, getting closer to the television screen. �This belongs to you and always will.� She said along with Rachel Hurd-Wood. �I wish a guy had that reaction when I kissed him.� �Well Matt kinda did.� Tristan said, taking a sip from his coke. �Yeah, but it�s not the same. I mean, I know not every guy can glow pink and soar into the air while the stars gather, but it would be nice if they could.� She answered, leaning her head on his shoulder. �I know babe, I know. Well keep that as your happy thought then.� �You know what? I will. My happy thought is a guy having the same reaction to me as Peter does to Wendy�s kiss. What about you?� �Jason. Of course.� He smiled. �Of course.� She laughed. That night Ro dreamed she was flying with Peter Pan, Tristan beside her, through the stars and straight on �til morning. �Wake up! Ro, come on wake up!� �What?� Ro said groggily. She sat up, eyes barely open, to see Tristan standing over her still in his pajamas. �Look at this.� He shoved something into her hands. She yawned, then brought it closer so her sleep-deprived eyes could see it better. It was a piece of paper, and it wasn�t until Ro put on her glasses did she see the words. Carefully written in small feminine letters were the words, �Want to go on an adventure?� There was nothing else, on the front or the back. �Trist, how long did it take you to come up with this?� Ro said, yawning again and handing it back to him. �I didn�t write it, it was on the windowsill when I woke up.� He said, excited. �Ok my version is less creepy, so let�s go with that.� She answered, laying back down and pulling the covers over her head. Tristan pulled them off again, causing her to wince. �It�s not a joke, Ro! This is serious!� he cried. �Alright alright, geez relax. So what, you think some pervert snuck in, left a note, didn�t even try to molest us and left?� Ro asked, sitting up again. �No, I think it was someone else.� Tristan said mysteriously. �Who?� �Peter Pan!� Ro rolled her eyes. �Peter Pan? Really? Trist, Peter Pan doesn�t exist! He was created by James Barrie and was skillfully played in movies. He�s a fantasy.� �I don�t think he is! I think he heard us talking last night and wants to take us to Neverland!� Tristan cried. �Ok, no more cheese spread and cream soda before bed. I�m going to take this note, throw it away, and we�re not going to worry about it anymore. Ok?� she said, grabbing it and crumpling it up. �I can�t believe you are so quick to disbelieve.� He sighed and sank to the floor. �Yeah well I have other problems than a teenage boy visiting me at night and leaving notes on my windowsill.� When I was young, my mother would tell me stories of a great huntress named Ariana. Ariana had seen her eighteenth summer before the men came for her. They were said to be under the instruction of the queen, but no one believed that because the Storms had been a favorite of the queen since Ariana was born. Verona, Ariana�s mother, had been traveling with her husband home when the labor pains started. There was a terrible storm brewing, and her husband ordered the driver to go faster to get her home out of danger and to the midwife they had planned to deliver the baby for them. But the carriage struck a rock in the road and crashed onto its side, sending everyone inside tumbling out onto the road. The driver was killed, Verona was knocked unconscious and her father was pinned under the carriage. He could do nothing but pray. His prayers were answered when another carriage came out of the rain and stopped alongside them. A woman dressed head to toe in the richest of purples stepped out; the queen. She took Verona by the hand and laid another on her stomach. After some time Ariana was born, tiny and miraculously alive. From that day on she was always welcomed in the queen�s court, even when no one else was allowed. Since the queen had delivered Ariana herself, Ariana was said to be special; gifted. Royalty had brought this child into the world, so great things would become of her. The day after Ariana was born, people from far and wide came to see the child whom royalty delivered. They marveled at the smoothness of her skin, the sparkle in her smile, the deep chestnut of her already growing hair, but most of all, the color of her eyes. One eye was a deep and glorious green, like the clearest of dark waters; the other, a majestic and lush purple. No one had ever seen such a purple eye, and the rumors that Ariana was meant to be royalty began. They began saying that she was not actually Verona�s daughter, but the daughter of the queen, who could not save Verona�s child and therefore replaced it with her own out of pity. The Storms decided to name the child Ariana, meaning �most pure,� for surely if the child was meant to be royalty she would be protected by God himself. And so she was. A strange illness struck the kingdom later that year, killing hundreds and leaving many others crippled. Ariana was not affected in the least, while her father lost the use of his leg and two fingers from his left hand. Then, years later, Ariana and some of the other children from the kingdom were out dancing in the woods when they were attacked by a bear. Ariana, fearless to the core, swatted the bear on the nose with a stick, yelled and danced around like a crazy person. The bear, confused by this behavior, decided to take the safe route and disappeared back into the forest. Ariana was always involved in accidents that would have killed her had there not been some moment of luck on her side. And so she grew up, escaping death around every corner and laughing in the face of danger. But living with some luck had its price. Every man Ariana had the slightest feelings for met with an ugly fate. The fisherman who gave Ariana a goldfish as a little girl developed a sudden allergy to fish and died two nights later. A teenage boy that gave Ariana her first kiss was accidentally beheaded with a stray laundry line. And eventually, Ariana�s father died from an infection to his long-healed wounds. She went through her life not even speaking to men, regarding them with such a rough demeanor that no man would dare approach her. She heard them from the moment she stepped foot on the path. Her ears naturally sharpened, she could hear their hearts beat faster as she approached. And somehow she already knew her mother was dead.
There are not many people who have not heard of Edgar Allan Poe. Known for such works as �The Raven,� �The Fall of the House of Usher� and �The Murders in the Rue Morgue,� he influenced writers across the world. French writers Charles Beaudelaire, Auguste Villiers de l�Isle-Adam, Emile Gaboriau, Jules Verne and Guy de Maupassant were impacted by Poe. He was very popular with the Symbolists, bringing to them a sense of companionship and relation. Russian writers such as Vladimir Nobokov have referenced Poe in their various works, sharing the theme of tragic romance. In Estonia, the neologistic movement introduced by Johannes Aavik was heavily influenced by Poe; the darkness of his writings gave the Estonian people a sense of adjustment and prepared them for the blows of the Second World War and its aftermath. In Germany and Austria, references to Poe can be clearly seen in works by authors such as Thomas Mann, Karl Hans Strobl, and Arno Schmidt. Belgian writers like Valere Gille, Emmanuel de Bom, Charles Van Lerberghe, and Michel de Ghelderode were inspired by Poe�s use of imagery and the development of his characters. Traces of Poe have been found in Italian works by Ippolito Nievo, Roberto Cagliero, Enrico Annibale Butti, and Antonio Fogazzaro. Despite his unpopularity in his own country, Poe was celebrated as a literary genius around the world. Foreign writers took his ideas, themes, technique and even his lifestyle and incorporated it into their own work. Americans in Edgar Allan Poe�s time knew him as a drunk and a harsh critic. His fellow writers hated him, and therefore hated any works he produced. The American people were averse to Poe�s most common theme: the macabre, making his works as well as himself even more disliked. They could not understand his ability to put together different parts of a story and create an atmosphere that evokes emotions in the reader. American writers like Emerson deemed him �the jingle man,� for his melodic poems. D.H. Lawrence called Poe a necrophiliac and drug addict, with his works revealing these qualities. Despite his unpopularity in America, around the world countries were rejoicing in the works of Edgar Allan Poe. In France he was known as Edgar Poe, the genius that the Americans did not appreciate. The French were amazed at the disrespect the Americans showed for Poe, and the Americans could not understand the French�s appreciation for a madman. Charles Baudelaire translated many of Poe�s texts into French and was said to be the instigator for Poe�s vast following. French Symbolist writers found a companion in Poe, relating to his early view of the connection between music and poetry. In August Villiers de l�Isle Adam�s �Vera,� the main character dies mysteriously yet seems to be ever present both physically and in the minds of those who loved her. The same is seen in Poe�s �Ligeia,� where the narrator�s beloved Ligeia dies and returns to the narrator after his second wife�s unexplained death, inhabiting her body. Guy de Maupassant�s �Apparition� echoes Poe�s �The Fall of the House of Usher,� with Maupassant�s main character remembering a visit to a decrepit castle and an encounter with his dead wife�s ghost. Poe sparked an interest in the detective genre with his �Murders in the Rue Morgue.� French writer Emile Gaboriau created a character named Monsieur Lecoq that closely resembles Poe�s detective Dupin. Many of Jules Verne�s works were developed from Poe�s. For example, Verne�s Le Sphinx des glaces [The Sphinx of the Icefields] was dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe as a sequel to Poe�s The Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. Among Verne, Gaboriau and Maupassant, writers across the world were inspired by Poe, many traveling to France to get encouragement from the master of prose. Russia�s taste for the macabre was satiated when they were introduced to Poe. Vladimir Nabokov, a well-known Russian writer, wrote a novel entitled Lolita in which there are clear parallels to Poe�s poem �Annabel Lee�: She was a child and I was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love-- I and my Annabel Lee-- With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. In Nabokov�s Lolita: �In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, a certain initial girlchild. In a princedom by the sea.� Poe was hence known in Russia as the literary genius from America. For them, he brought together imagination with a dark and twisted theme as well as creation and beauty. The Russians were not the only country that was enraptured by Poe. Estonian culture has shown that Poe�s imagination caught their attention more than any other American writer. His poems and short stories gave the Estonians a better perspective in dealing with the tragedies of cultural purification, random crime and corruption that occurred during the Second World War and the aftermath. The neologistic movement was introduced by Johannes Aavik who translated many of Poe�s works, beginning with �The Tell-Tale Heart.� He incorporated Poe�s words into the Estonian language by creating new ones to form a better image of Poe�s work. For example, Aavik replaced the word unenagu, meaning �what one sees in a dream� with ulm, meaning �dream.� More than a third of the words Aavik created to translate Poe�s mood are now used in Estonian speech. Tuglas was also highly influenced by Poe. In Tuglas� story �Popi and Huhuu,� a large emphasis is placed upon the element of horror and absurdity as well as the thought that dreaming is better than living. These recurring motifs were contrary to the usual Estonian optimism before the Second World War, but Poe was shown preference nevertheless. The Germans showed their preference for Poe by including him in a book containing works for the general German public. He was the only American writer to receive such an honor. German author Thomas Mann has shown parallels in his novel Buddenbrooks. Verfall einer Familie [Buddenbrooks: The Decline of a Family] to Poe�s �The Fall of the House of Usher,� repeating the themes of death and decay. The main character in Mann�s Buddenbrooks is very similar to Poe�s Roderick Usher. References to Poe�s works are also seen in Mann�s �Tristan,� �Tonio Kroger,� and Der Tod in Venedig [Death in Venice]. Karl Hans Strobl and Hanns Heinz Ewers initiated a Poe following in Austria and Germany by being the first ones to find the symbolism and creative elements in Poe�s prose. They incorporated Poe�s technique to add value to their own works. Arno Schmidt was one of the more extreme examples of the reach of Poe�s influence. Schmidt copied Poe�s theories involving allusion and providing the basics for the villainous character of a novel, as Schmidt applied to his novel Zettel Traum [Bottom�s Dream]. As he did in France, Poe brought about new literary ideas in Germany and Austria. Just as Poe�s character style was emulated in Germany and Austria, so it was in Belgium as well. Val�re Gille used Poe himself as the subject of a sonnet. Poets in Belgium were evaluated by how they compared to Poe. Emmanuel de Bom references Poe in his story �Blonde gedachten� [Blonde thoughts], where the main character rids himself of his emotions by reading Poe and therefore achieving artistic maturity. Belgian writer Charles Van Lerberghe infused Poe�s taste for the symbolic and mysterious with his own works. In his novel Bruges-la-Morte, Lerberghe applies the theme of the dead taking revenge on the living, taking his inspiration from Poe�s �Ligeia.� Lerberghe�s Le Rouet des Brumes [The spinning wheel of mists] shares the same theme and atmosphere as Poe�s �The Tell-Tale Heart.� Finally, Michel de Ghelderode wrote a poem entitled �La Mort regarde � la fen�tre� [Death looks in through the window], inspired by and showing many similarities to Poe�s �The Masque of the Red Death.� These writers portrayed Poe�s extensive influence by using different aspects of his writing style in their own works. Poe had more influence in Italy than any other American writer. Other American writers like Whitman and Melville made impressions, but Poe is the only one who is as famous and widely-read today as he was then. It is no wonder that Italian writers incorporated facets of Poe into their own literature. One such writer was Ippolito Nievo, who wrote a large novel titled Confessioni di un Italiano [Confessions of an Italian]. In Nievo alludes to an obsession with the abyss, clearly a Poe inspired theme, as well as life after death. Other writers have made references to Poe in their texts as well. Such writers include Roberto Cagliero himself revealed that his story �Re per ventiquattrore� [�King for twenty-four hours�] was derived directly from Poe�s Pym. Enrico Annibale Butti�s Il castello del sogno [The dream castle] almost reflected Poe�s �Usher,� the exception being the ending where Butti�s main character escapes the confines of the castle. In Malombra, by Antonia Fogazzarro, the main character murders another, believing the young man to be the reincarnate of a former lover. The similarities to Poe�s �Ligeia� are uncanny. [Ending sentence] Around the world, people know the name Edgar Allan Poe. Translators have made sure to spread his work far and wide, influencing writers in almost every country. In France, Auguste Villiers de l�Isle-Adam mirrored Poe�s �Ligeia.� In Russia, �Annabel Lee� inspired Vladimir Nobokov to write Lolita. In Estonia, Johannes Aavik started the neologistic movement, motivated by Poe�s intense word choice. In Germany, Thomas Mann created his own version of �The Fall of the House of Usher,� starring a different version of Roderick Usher. Belgian writer Charles Van Lerberghe took themes from Poe�s �Ligeia� and applied them his own work. Italian works were laced with references to Poe. Though in America he was criticized and ridiculed, around the world countries celebrated Poe as a literary genius.
There was a cup of semen on my desk. My brand new cherry wood desk had a cup of semen on its polished surface. I sat staring at it, wondering what the two women sitting in the cushy chairs before wanted me to do with it. �Ladies, I don�t understand.� I said, folding my hands in front of me. �We need you to bring them back to life.� the older blonde woman said, as if it were obvious. �Bring them�back to life?� I asked slowly, still staring at the cup. �They have low motility.� the younger blonde said. �No motility.� the older one added. �And you want me to bring them back to life because�� I prompted. �We want to be inseminated.� the older woman answered. �Inseminated.� I repeated. �Yes.� the older woman answered. �Why?� I asked. �Surely there are other samples to choose from that are�more lively.� �Not like these. These are special.� the younger blonde said, grinning. �What makes them so special?� I asked, already knowing the answer. �These belong to James York.� she answered, grinning wider. I sighed. Of course they did. I had had three cases this month wanting me to do the same thing, having samples from the same person. Well, almost a person. James York was the most popular vampire in Massachusetts, despite being the youngest.
Witch and triplets�.seventh daughter of a seventh daughter..powerful� witch hunters suspect her, capture her and send her children away but don�t know where� she escapes and tries to find her children�book 1 Gawain Aithne Brigit Drystan Nicholas Alana � new baby? Ch.1 I woke to the sun shining through my window, and the laughter of my children. My sheets were a tangled mass at the foot of my bed, and the covers had fallen to the floor during the night. Nightmares again. I had been having the same nightmare for the past three weeks, without change. I was in the garden when they came. A cloud passed over the sun, shrouding everything in gray, and a chill skittered down my spine. I spun in slow motion just in time to see my children vanish into darkness, my outstretched hand unable to reach them. I cried out their names, and woke up. I shook the memory of the dream from my head and got up to take a shower. I turned on the faucet to hot and let the warm spray hit my skin. I let the water wash away the nightmare and reached for the soap. �Gawain, Aithne.� I called to my children. The day was perfect, the sun shining, a slight breeze whisking along the scents of the herbs in the garden. I could feel the Goddess around me, protecting my children and I from harm. As I walked along the cobblestone path through our lavish garden, my children playing some childish little game off in the distance, I came upon another crystal. This one was orange, banded with lighter orange lines and giving off an almost ethereal glow. Another agate. This would be good for my protection spells. I thought. Too many good witches had disappeared lately, and although we were well known as devout Christians, it couldn�t hurt to have reassurance. I slipped it into my pouch and continued down the path. As my children sprinted to our quaint little cottage, a cloud passed over the sun, glazing everything in an ominous gray, and sending chills down my spine. When I realized the chills were the result of something else, my eyes widened. �Gawain, take your sister down to the basement.� I managed to whisper as I looked around in alarm for the intruders. �But Mom-� �Now Gawain!� I yelled and pushed them into the house, still searching frantically for danger. As the chills grew stronger and panic blasted through me, I closed my eyes, whispering, �They�re here.� When I opened them again, a man I knew well stood on the cobblestone path, looking at me with an emotion very similar to boredom. He was dressed as a priest would, the white collar reflecting what light there was and blinding me. �Mistress Bayden.� he said with authority. �Yes?� I asked, proud that my voice didn�t reveal my inner turmoil. �You are under arrest for the practice of witchcraft, as are your children. Do you have a plea?� �Surely there must be a mistake, for my children and I are faithful Christians and believe only in the Lord God. We do not worship any devil.� I said, looking him in the eye. �Arrest her.� he said in the same authoritative tone. Three men came out of the bushes, and grabbed me roughly by the arms, spilling the crystals onto the walk. I watched them fall and shatter into pieces and saw my hopes go with them. I did not say another word, for I knew these men would not listen to the pleas of a suspected witch, nor her children. I heard crashes within the house, and Aithne crying. I screamed for my children and struggled to run to them, but it was no use. I almost got free, but one of the men hit me over the head and I slumped into darkness. I awoke on a cold hard floor, my head aching and my limbs stiff. I groaned as I rolled over, stretching to feel where it hurt. It seemed to be only my head, and when I touched the bump on my scalp, I winced and what had happened came rushing back to me. I scrambled to my feet, throwing myself at the bars that outlined my cell. I screamed for my children, shouted for them, cried for them until I had no voice left, and slumped, silently sobbing, to the floor. Only the dripping of a distant leak kept me from slipping into fatigued darkness. I studied the cracks in the stone floor for what seemed like an eternity before I heard footsteps approach. I jumped to my feet, wanting to know where my children were and who dared accuse us of witchcraft. A man stepped through the door, his sharp blue eyes shining triumphantly beneath curly blond hair. It was a face I knew well, a face I couldn�t believe I was staring at now. This was a man who had been gentle, kind and loving. A man who had held me closely and had sworn to be mine always and forever. A man whose children I cried for. A man who was supposed to be dead. Ch 2. �Drystan.� I said, shocked. �You�re alive.� �And well.� he said, his familiar voice floating over me, but with an edge or hardness now. �You did this?� I asked, hearing my voice trembling. �Why?� �Because Witchcraft is the work of the devil. I am merely saving you from eternal damnation.� he said, a smirk touching his lips. �I know you don�t believe that. What about all the good we did with magic? The memories we shared? Does none of that matter?� �Come now, Brigit. Surely you know better than that.� he laughed as he walked slowly closer to my cell. �My name is Mistress Bayden, and you are nothing more than a traitor and a liar.� I said through clenched teeth. �Don�t you mean Widow Bayden? And I see that you kept your maiden name. That hurts, it really does. After all we shared together.� He stepped closer, reaching out to caress my cheek. �Surely you remember the nights we spent together under the stars?� I closed my eyes, chills running down my spine. �You said I was the only one you�d ever love, the one you�d love forever, until you died?� He whispered to me through the bars. �It was you who died.� I said forcefully, lashing out. A line of blood trickled from where my nails dug into his cheek. He put a hand to it and, seeing the blood, anger filled his eyes. �You�ll pay for that, witch.� he spat at me, stalking out. �Not as much as you will.� I murmured after him, slumping back to the floor and curling up. As I cried myself to sleep, my only thoughts were of my children. I awoke to a clatter of metal against rock. When I looked up, there stood the priest with a tray of food. The water bowl he had dropped lay on its side, its contents slowly bleeding out onto the floor. �You�re awake.� He said, gently sliding the tray of food through the tray slot. He set the water bowl upright, and pushed that through as well. As I lunged for the water, he sat back, watching me. �You know,� he said as I gulped down the water. �You could save yourself. If you only confessed to worshipping Satan, then you could live you life in peace, with your children, and in the grace of God.� I didn�t say anything, knowing he would twist my words to mean anything other than their actual meanings. Once I was finished with the water, I slumped back against the wall and stared at him. �Are you not going to touch your food?� he asked, a peculiar glint in his eye. I shook my head, knowing that the food was seasoned with something other than spices or salt. �Are you not going to talk to me then?� he asked, shifting uncomfortably. Once again I did not answer. �Well then I shall talk. Do you know what we found in that broken down shack you call a house? We found the markings of witchcraft in every corner. A cauldron, odd herbs, and gemstones that my informant tells me are used very often in the Dark Arts. That alone is enough for a death sentence. But I believe you know more than you�re letting on. I believe you know who every single witch is in this town. And I intend to find out. Until then, I�ll tell your children how you cry for them. They cry for you too, you know.� At the mention of my children, tears sprang to my eyes and I spoke. �Where are they?� it came out as a hoarse whisper. �They are being kept for questioning as well. You should be more worried about yourself, mistress. Your days here will not be easy ones. The sooner you give me what I want, the sooner you may leave. You may want to remember that.� He walked slowly to the door. Stopping at the door, he turned and said, �I look forward to our next talk, mistress. It should be most�interesting.� And with that he left, closing the door behind him and leaving me to my nightmares. Ch. 3 I rested down in the corner where the darkness pooled, closed my eyes and gently laid my head against the cool stone wall, my head throbbing. �It figures you would go to the darkest corner possible.� Drystan said. �You always were melodramatic.� �I think my situation merits a little drama.� I said, without opening my eyes. �How long did you know I was standing here?� he asked, disappointment leaking into his voice. �You never left, Drystan. And invisibility spells were never your strong suit.� I said. �Yes well, I bet I know something you don�t.� he said with an air of mischief. �And what�s that?� I asked, irritated. I opened my eyes, squinting against the light. He was standing inside of my chamber now, holding something wrapped in a blanket. I lunged at him, my rage blinding me, but something held me back. As I tugged against my mysterious captive, Drystan laughed. �You can�t go anywhere.� He said. �I may not be very good at invisibility spells, but as you may remember, my binding spells were unmatchable, even by you. And anyway, you have nowhere to go. But I do have a present for you.� �And what�s that?� I said venomously. He opened the blanket. At first I thought it was a baby, but then I saw the strawberry blond rope hair that I had stitched into the doll myself. �Aithne.� I whispered, a tear trickling down my cheek. �Yes. She cried when I took this from her, but then she was already crying. Your son tried to attack me like a dog. A pathetic attempt. But of course you�re family always was pathetic wasn�t it?� he smirked at me. I laughed, throwing him off. �You always were bad at insults, Drystan. It was what I loved most about you.� �Loved, past tense? You know you still love me.� He said, cutting off my laughter. �You can�t love a dead man. And you most certainly will be dead.� I said with fire in my eyes. His hand was a blur as he slapped me, hard. �That hurt, Drystan. So this is what you do now, beat women? The man I married couldn�t hurt a mosquito, much less anything else.� He kicked me in the stomach, making me gasp. I tasted blood in my mouth, but continued. �But then again, I guess �man� is too strong a word for you, isn�t it?� Anger radiating from him, he punched me as hard as possible, sending me careening into darkness. I woke on the floor of my cell with my hands unchained and fresh food placed before me. I was reaching for the water bowl when pain in my abdomen made me cry out and contract into a ball. A malicious laugh sounded from the doorway. �Maybe you should be more careful.� Drystan said, leaning against the doorframe. �Well, next time I�ll just have to leave you bound so you don�t hurt yourself.� �Go to hell, Drystan.� I said through gritted teeth. �I thought witches didn�t believe in hell.� He said with a smirk, walking over to press his face against the bars. �And speaking of witches, I looked into some history of the Bayden clan.� He flipped open a notebook and read, � �The Bayden clan is prophesied to produce the most powerful witch in history, a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter.� Now isn�t that interesting. Wasn�t your mother a seventh daughter? And you have six other sisters, correct?� �What�s your point?� I choked out, struggling to rise to my feet. �My point, darling, is that if you are this all powerful witch, why not use your powers to help you? Use them to find your children and go back to your peaceful little life in your peaceful little cottage.� �If I remember correctly, Drystan, you built that peaceful little cottage and loved that peaceful little life to which to you so derogatively referred.� I said, painfully crossing my arms and leaning against the wall. �And I don�t have any powers, you know that.� �We�ll see about that. You know, you look like you could use a shower. I�ll have Father Jeremiah set something up; he�s very fond of you, you know.� He strode out; leaving me reposed against the wall, fighting to catch my breath. I slid to the floor, tears trickling down my face as my thoughts went to my children. Gawain would most likely be shouting at the guards, demanding they set him free, and Aithne would be sitting quietly, thinking of a way out. I hoped they would be safe. That night it rained so hard I could feel the thunder match my sobs as I cried myself to sleep. Ch. 4 �Wake up, witch.� I awoke to a sharp prodding in my ribs, hitting bruises and making me cry out in pain. �I�m awake.� I mumbled, getting to my knees. Two soldiers were standing on the other side of the bars to my cell. One was holding the very stick with which I was recently poked. They unlocked the door and slid it aside, advancing on me. I closed my eyes and waited for them to grab me, but was surprised when I felt ropes being tied around my wrists. They pulled me up roughly and pushed me out of my cell. We went out the door and along the corridor, past other cells with many women in them. My bare feet slipped many times on the smooth stone floor, and I could hear gasps among the many whispers. �Brigit!� one called to me and I turned, seeing my neighbor Karen, in rags and much thinner than when I had last seen her. She had been a bright and cheerful witch, always willing to give tips on herbs and crystals, before she had gone missing three months prior to my own arrest. She had watched my children many a time when I had to attend to coven business out of town. Now the shine was gone from her once blond hair, the sparkle missing in her eyes. She looked beaten and hopeless, like someone who had been struck over and over without cause or explanation. I noted the scars on her arms and legs, old ones white and healed, and new ones still scabbed over. All of them were crosses, as if they had tried to burn Christianity into her. I could only nod to her as I passed and hope that the same fate would not befall me. As they led me down another corridor, we passed windows looking out onto a vast field. From the scent on the breeze, I could tell we were still in Ireland, but I could no longer identify whether or not we were still in Cavan. The guards shoved me further along until we came to a broad oak door with a polished oak knocker. One of the guards knocked loudly, and Father Jeremiah opened the door. �Ah, Brigit, welcome. It�s quite alright, gentlemen, I can handle her from here.� He ushered the soldiers out and turned to me. I glanced around the room to see if there was an escape route. There was a door directly across from me, but I didn�t know where it led and Father Jeremiah�s kindness had thrown me. The room was completely natural; everything was made of wood and there were plants everywhere. There was a stained glass window behind the mahogany desk with its mahogany chair. He positioned himself behind it, gesturing for me to take the seat in the chair across from him. �Brigit-� �Mistress Bayden.� I said, glaring at him. �Ah, yes. Forgive me. Mistress Bayden, we are very pleased to have you here.� �Where is here?� I asked, interrupting once again. �Ah, that is knowledge that must be kept clandestine.� He said, folding his hands. �You understand, of course.� �Where are my children?� I demanded, still glaring at him. �Your children are safe, as are you. Now why don�t we remove those ropes? They look very uncomfortable.� He moved around the desk and carefully untied the ropes holding my wrists together. Rubbing my wrists, I stood. �As am I?� I echoed. �I�m being held against my will in a strange place being accused of worshipping Satan. How safe does that make me?� �The showers are this way, if you want to get clean.� He continued, ignoring my comment. �We have soap and hot water.� He smiled at me, almost genuinely. But the smile did not reach his eyes; they held the same disinterest as they had when he arrested me. I did need a shower, however, so I let him lead me through the mystery door. The walls were cover from ceiling to floor in marble, the purest of white. It literally sparkled with different colors cast from the sunlight leaking in through the numerous stained glass windows. The place was deserted, and there was an uneasy quiet to it, as if the polished milky stone withheld dangerous secrets. I put a hand to the floor and closed my eyes, trying to feel those secrets. I squatted there for a minute, seeing and feeling nothing. Just before I gave up, I trickle of a memory leaked into my mind. It got stronger as I held onto it, showing me more. It was from the viewpoint of a young girl, stumbling in on something she shouldn�t have. I walked into the showers to restock to the towels when I heard a noise. There shouldn�t have been anyone there; it was after hours. It sounded like two people, though I didn�t recognize the voices. As I rounded the corner, I saw Father Jeremiah and a woman. He was pressed against her, hurting her, or so I thought. When I peered closer, I saw his hips pushing against her naked body, pants down around his ankles, and his hand on her breasts. She had her eyes closed, tears leaking from them and raking lines through her dirt-smudged face. She was whimpering softly; he was moaning. When it dawned on me what was happening, I gasped loudly, making him reel around and see me. His penis was swollen, standing erect from his hips. Dark curly hair surrounded it like a wreath, his thighs pale against it. The woman collapsed to the floor sobbing, and brought her knees up to her chest. She started rocking back and forth, hugging herself and crying. �What are you doing?� Father Jeremiah demanded, rage spilling into his eyes. It took me a moment to register what he was saying; I could not tear my eyes away from the woman. �I � I was restocking the towels.� I heard myself say. �You will forget you saw this and go about your chores.� He said lowly. I nodded and turned to run out. As I reached the door, something slammed into my head, knocking me to the floor. I heard the woman scream as I watched the blood pool around me before my vision clouded and finally went black. Ch. 5 Father Jeremiah yanked my hand off the floor as the last image faded from my mind. As I stood up, I could feel the tears wet on my face, and knew I looked horrified. �What did you see?� he demanded, looking at me intently. �I didn�t see anything, Father.� I said, struggling to keep my face straight. �Then why are you crying?� he asked, raising an eyebrow. �My children would love to play in here.� I said lamely. �They love smooth stone.� He was silent for a moment before saying, �Alright. You can take you shower in any of these vestibules. You understand I must keep an eye on you, so you don�t try to escape and hurt yourself or others.� He smiled, a smile overshadowed by a smirk. I chose the shower nearest an enormous stained glass window. The window was beautiful, a sunset floating behind an ancient ashen castle. An emerald island surrounded the castle, engulfed in azure water. There were creatures painted in the water; monsters that guarded the castle. And far off in the distance was another emerald piece of land; sanctuary. I tore my eyes from the window and stripped down, turning on the hot water. The soap smelled like fresh vanilla, its scent wafted into the air and coated everything. As I stepped under the warm water, I closed my eyes and thought of home, of my bathroom, where everything smelled the same; like me. I pictured the crude showerhead and the drain that led outside. As I lathered the soap and began washing myself, I pictured it as if I were there, at home, taking a shower before making my children breakfast and starting the day. A noise made me open my eyes, and I was startled to not see my home, but the colorless marble bathroom of the castle. The priest was watching me soap my body, his eyes definitely focused now. He had begun to rub his groin, moaning softly. As I rubbed the soap over my breasts, he unzipped his pants, revealing an enormous bulge in his underpants. He continued to rub, making the bulge tumefy and he moan louder. The cloth of his underwear was stretched tight, his penis begging to be freed. He slipped a hand inside and stroked himself more, his head bent back in pleasure. Finally he tore down his underpants, exposing his erect organ, bloated and pulsating. As he moved his hand up and down his shaft, his moans increased in volume. As I turned to wash my face, I heard him come up behind me quickly and pin me against the wall. Carefully, with himself pressed so hard against me I could feel his length jutting into my back, he reached around and turned off the water. I struggled against him but he pushed me farther into the wall, making me cry out in pain. As I fought him, he moved down and entered my rear from behind, tearing into me. I screamed in terror and pain, still trying to fight him as his penis ripped me apart inside. Tears streamed down my face as he pumped inside of me, grunting at each thrust. The coarse sound of his testicles against my backside scratched my ears, making me fight harder. He spun me around so hard I hit my head on the marble wall and saw stars. I would have fallen to the floor, but he caught me and held me up, pinning my arms to wall as he drove himself into me again. I didn�t fight him, knowing my time would come, the opportunity presenting itself the very moment he let go of one of my arms to fondle my breast. I slowly reached for the soap, lathering my hand. When the soap was thick and foamy on my fingers, I jammed my thumb into his eye. Roaring with pain, he fell back, clutching at his eye. I quickly grabbed my clothes and, cushioning my face with them, dove through the stained glass window. Ch. 6 The window from which I had jumped was not that far from the ground. But when I landed, my head smacked against the frozen earth causing me to see stars. I immediately pushed myself up and ran, thoroughly aware that I was naked, but knowing that I couldn�t waste time putting on my clothes. I only got a couple of steps before my legs buckled underneath me. Not trusting the food they put in front of me had finally cost me. I lay there on the cold ground waiting for the shouts of guards and pounding of footsteps, but none came. It was only when I began to close my eyes and sink into the fatal fatigue that I felt warm strong hands picking me up. I whimpered softly, but I could not fight back, and part of my mind would rather be in warmth in captivity than dying in the cold. Before I drifted off, I caught a glimpse of an azure ocean, and beyond it, an emerald sanctuary. I awoke fully clothed in a strange bed, in a strange room. I looked around for bars, panicked that I had been caught and was to be punished as soon as I was well. I relaxed slightly when I saw a roaring fire in a brick fireplace and stone walls. This was a place beneath the castle, for there were no windows and no marble. The priest would not have allowed such poor taste where it could be seen. As soon as I thought of him I shivered. Suddenly I was too hot, and threw off the covers. I was burning, like I was on fire, like my blood was lava and it was going to roast me from the inside out. I started screaming and clawing at my skin, trying to get it out, get the fire away from me. Someone rushed in and yelled for others to help. I screamed louder, raking my nails down my skin, spasms rocking my body, my back arching. I screamed until the pain made me pass out, made me sink into a peaceful quiet. We were running through a forest. The branches whipped against us as we ran, but we kept going. We could hear the men behind us, shouting to each other and crashing through the trees. He grabbed my hand, and we burst into a clearing. A clearing that ended with a waterfall, and nowhere to hide. As the men burst out of the trees behind us, he looked at me with those amethyst eyes, and we jumped into the foaming darkness below. Ch. 7 I awoke gasping for air and tried to sit up, but couldn�t. There were ropes binding me to the bed, and as I grunted and struggled, a man walked into the room. When he saw me, he shouted �Marianne! She�s awake!� He rushed to me, mumbling apologies and quickly untying the ropes. A woman rushed into the room carrying a water bowl and a sponge. I was burning up; the fire was too hot in the fireplace. I murmured, �Hot�� and tried to get up. Marianne pushed me gently back down whispering, �Shh, you need to rest, you have a fever.� She dipped the sponge into the water and placed it to my forehead. I instantly relaxed my head against the pillows, grateful for the cool water. I managed to whisper, �Thank you,� before drifting off to sleep. Over the next few days, at least I thought they were days; I drifted in and out of consciousness. I had the same dream over and over again until I cried for something new, anything. I was cold one minute and the next I was burning, and once I lost my voice, my screams were silent. If I ever believed in hell, this was it, until one day it stopped so abruptly I was shocked out of sleep. For a moment I thought I was back home, that it had all been a dream, and I was in bed, safe with my husband. I snuggled back into the man sleeping with me, breathing in deeply, relieved that it was just a nightmare. But my brain told me something was wrong. For this wasn�t my bed, or my house, and this certainly wasn�t my husband. This man had deep brown hair instead of the gold straw that Drystan proudly donned. I leapt out of the bed in panic and backed up quickly, knocking over a bedpan. The noise woke the sleeping man, who rose out of the bed quickly and walked toward me. I backed up as fast as I could, falling and scrambling to get away. When I reached the wall I pushed myself into it as fast as possible, willing him not to touch me. He called for someone, and a woman came in holding sheets. When she saw me cowering in the corner she dropped the sheets and quickly rushed toward me. She reached out to touch me, and a chill ran through me. I pushed her away, but not with my body. It was as if a pressure had been building up, and I had just now released it. She flew backward, hitting the far wall and slumping to the floor unconscious. The man walked toward me slowly, reaching out his hand. I cringed and pressed myself into the wall further, my eyes shut tight. I waited for him to hit me, or grab me, something. Yet all I felt was his breath on my face. Gradually I opened my eyes, only to see his directly in front. They were the most beautiful shade of purple I had ever seen. The man with the amethyst eyes. From that moment, I knew I could trust him. He held out his hand, and I took it. His hand was smooth and warm; the same hand that I had felt save me from the cold. He gently pulled me up, catching me as my knees buckled from beneath me. I gazed into his eyes, lost in a sea of lilac, plum, and lavender. I could feel his chest with my hands, his heartbeat quickening as we stood there for a moment just looking at each other. Then he led me back to the bed and we laid down, falling into darkness together. And for the first time in a long time, I finally felt safe. Ch 8. Over the next couple of days, I learned about the man with the amethyst eyes. His name was Nicholas, and he slept with me every night and was gone every morning when I woke up. He brought me food and water, which I ate almost immediately. I refused to talk to anyone else, and he only left my side so I could bathe. There were other women who came and went frequently. They were all slaves in the castle, Nicholas told me. They worked for the priest, who did not know I was there. It had snowed extremely hard the day I jumped out of the window, and the guards thought I had not lasted the chill. They would look for my body when the snow ceased to fall. We did not know what to do when that time came, but I was not too worried about it. I needed to get to my children, and I would leave when my strength had returned. Nicholas explained to me my powers, for now I knew I had them. They had never revealed themselves until I had truly needed them, until I felt the most in danger. I was supposed to be the most powerful witch the world had ever seen; a seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. As the days went on, Nicholas stayed with me more and more. He would eat his meals with me and spent almost the entire day in my company. I learned that he had been born in the castle, and had been a slave since that day. His mother had been a slave, his father a guard. Both were killed when the priest learned of their sins, and he was put to work as soon as he was able. He didn�t even know what his parents looked like, as I had not known my mother or father. As the months went by, Nicholas taught me how to fight many different ways and how to control my newfound power. Every day I put on more and more weight, and the color came back to my face as my strength returned. Then one day I decided that I was ready. I gathered my clothes and other things I needed into a leather sack, and went to leave. Nicholas stood in the doorway, the uttermost look of pain on his face. �You�re just going to leave.� He said, his voice empty. �I have to find my children.� I sighed, my eyes pleading with him to understand. �You feel it, don�t you?� he asked, walking to me. �Feel what?� I asked. �How I feel about you.� He took my hands in his and raised them to his chest, bringing me close. �How you feel about me.� I shook my head, not knowing what to say. He lifted my chin to look me in the eyes, his a pale shade of lilac. �I have to leave.� I said, tears filling my eyes. I pulled my hands from his and walked toward the door. �I can�t do this right now.� �Do what?� he cried, turning. �Admit that you love me? Why can�t you do that?� �Because I do!� I shouted, spinning around. �I do love you. But if I love you, it means-� �Means what? Why can�t you let yourself love me?� he asked, tears streaming down his face. I took his face in my hands, laying my forehead to his. �If I love you it means that I forgot about my children,� he opened his mouth to protest but I cut him off �even for a second. And that is one thing I could never forgive myself for.� He moved his head suddenly, his lips pressing to mine, warm and needy. A hunger flared within me, and suddenly I was drowning in him, drowning in his warmth. He tasted sweet, like honey, and I hungered for more. He pressed closer to me, his tongue exploring deep within my mouth. My hands stroked his neck as he slipped his hands under my shirt, feeling my skin with his soft hands. I pulled his shirt over his head as we moved toward the bed. My hands explored his muscles as he gently laid me down on the soft mattress. I lost myself in him that night; we lost ourselves in each other. Our souls entwined and knotted together to create a prismed mass we could call our own. And as we exploded into ecstasy, I knew that I could not now nor ever leave him behind. We pledged our souls and our bodies to each other forever. Ch. 9 I woke the next morning in his arms, warm and safe. I could tell by his breathing that he wasn�t asleep, so I raised my head to once again get lost in his eyes. �What are you doing?� I asked sleepily. �Nothing, just watching you sleep.� He said, smiling and gently kissing me on the forehead. I closed my eyes and snuggled closer to him, fitting my head perfectly into the crook of his neck. Just as I was drifting back to sleep, a door down the hall banged open. There were shouts and heavy footsteps, followed by more doors banging open. We jumped out of bed, Nicholas running to the door and peeking out. �It�s Father Jeremiah!� he said urgently, shutting the door quietly and hurrying back to me. �He�s searching for you.� �No, no!� I said pacing. �If I had left last night-� �He still would have come.� Nicholas said, looking me in the eyes and taking my hands in his. �What are we going to do?� I asked, my eyes filling with tears. �We can�t escape, and he�s getting closer! He�ll kill you, and I don�t even want to know what he�ll do to me.� I shivered. Then a thought flashed across my mind. �Hold on to me.� Without asking any questions, he pulled me tightly to his chest. I focused on clear water, and air, shutting my eyes and trying to feel nothing. I concentrated on not feeling my heart pounding against Nicholas�s and his arms tightening around me, as the noise down the hall got closer. And as the door to our room slammed open, rocking on its hinges, I held my breath and opened my eyes. Drystan sauntered into the room, his sharp blue eyes looking for anything that moved or looked unnatural. Father Jeremiah followed closely behind, waiting for Drystan to cess out any danger that may befall them. Father Jeremiah had an eye patch on, and I laughed inwardly. They walked carefully, tiptoeing as if the floor would give way beneath them, letting them plummet to the depths of hell. Drystan held out a hand and began pawing at the air as if trying to touch something he couldn�t see. �Are they here?� whispered Father Jeremiah. Drystan stood still for a moment, sweat appearing on his brow with the effort he was expelling. Finally, he let his hand fall to his side and sighed. �No.� he said, and stalked out of the room. Father Jeremiah lingered for a moment, but quickly followed Drystan. Nicholas started to release me, but I felt something wasn�t right, and clung to him tightly. Minutes passed, a half-hour perhaps. Just when I was about to relax my grip, the air near the door began to shimmer, and Drystan took shape. �I know you�re here, Brigit.� He called, a smirk playing across his face. �I will find you. Even if I have to tear this place to the ground, I will find you.� Anger poured through my veins like lava, heating my body. Nicholas felt it too, because his grip tightened even more around me, holding me in place lest I decide to take action and reveal us. As Drystan turned to walk out the door, I flicked my fingers; the slightest little motion. The door slammed shut, locking Drystan in the room with us. I wiggled away from Nicholas and released the invisibility spell, but only from me. Nicholas remained hidden, safe for now. �Hello, Drystan.� I said, as he whirled around to face me. �I knew it!� he gasped. �I knew you were in here! I could feel it.� �You never did trust your own power, Drystan. That�s why you were always so weak.� I said, letting my rage take over and speak for me. �Weak? That�s a laugh, coming from a witch who couldn�t even save her own children.� He spat at me. My eye twitched, sending him into wall and holding him there. �Where are they?� I asked, my voice dangerously low. He grinned at me, body pinned to the wall. �Where are they?� I roared, flinging out my hand. Deep red scratches appeared across Drystan�s shirt. He grimaced in pain, but didn�t say anything. �Where are they?� I yelled, slashing him once more. A ring of fire engulfed me, but I was not burned. Blood began to pool underneath him, but still he didn�t say a word. I cut him more and more, I hacked at him, but he wouldn�t say anything. Just as I was about to deal a fatal blow, Nicholas came up behind me. He winced as he entered the fiery circle that surrounded me, but did not stop. It was only when I felt his touch that the anger seeped out of me, replaced by deep sadness. I crumpled into his arms, sobbing. He held me while I cried, wanting more than anything to feel my children in my arms. When I was finished, I stood up slowly, leaning into him. I turned towards Drystan, who had fallen to the floor in a heap. He was no longer conscious, so I didn�t say anything. I was not a murderer, so I would not kill him. But I would leave him with a memory of me, and an everlasting fear. I place my hand upon his wounds, closing my eyes and picturing them healing, but not completely. He would always have these scars to remind him of me, and what he stole from me. When I took away my hand, a pentacle stood out on his chest; a sign of what he had believed in once, but denied for his own benefit. No magical or mundane means could get rid of the mark; he would have it until the day he died. I smiled with satisfaction and stood. Using this much magic had made me weak, and Nicholas had to carry me down to our awaiting boat. We sailed away that morning, and as I drifted into an exhausted sleep, I would have sworn I heard a man screaming and children crying. Ch. 10 I woke to the gentle rocking of the boat and bright sunshine pouring onto my face. I was in a wooden bed, the straw mattress scratchy and uncomfortable beneath me. As I rose, the room spun and I fell back down. �It must have been from using too much magic,� I thought. I grounded myself and slowly tried to rise again, this time without any problems. The room I was in was extremely small, with no real decorations except for a picture of a woman. I walked over the picture to get a closer look. She looked oddly like me. She had auburn hair, like mine, but her eyes were green, whereas mine were gray. Our noses were identical, and something about the way she was sitting was familiar to me. �That picture has been there ever since I got this boat.� A man said, stepping down the stairs. �An old man sold it to me just before he died. She was his true love, I think. I haven�t been able to get it down. It�s like its got magic holding it up.� �Maybe it does.� I said, smiling and turning toward him. We walked up the stairs and onto the deck, where Nicholas was waiting. �Hey, you�re awake.� He said smiling and drawing me into his arms. I giggled as we kissed, my arms wrapped around his neck, his caught in my hair. �How long have I been sleeping?� I asked, finally pulling back. �About a day.� He said, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. I turned to look out over the sea. �Where are we?� I asked, looking out at the calm ocean waves.
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