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Vincent was wiping off his shirt and sneering at me. “Your ancestors were as weak as you.”
I tried to sit up to no avail, but I did find the courage to speak. “Better to be weak than a blood-crazed maniac.”
He raised a hand to me, and I dared him with my eyes to hit me. I was going to die anyway.
He didn’t hit me. Instead he scoffed at me and walked off. “Is the elixir ready?”
The great-grandfather checked the goblet that was no longer steaming. “It is,” he sighed in resignation.
I guessed he wasn’t all that excited about dying today. Neither was I. Mom, it’s time. He’s going to drink the wolfsbane elixir.
Sorrel, I’m here. Her voice shook.
Please stay with me until the end.
Always. She began to sing the lullaby she sang to me as a child. It was an old Gaelic song about faeries.
My mother’s voice lent me the courage I needed to watch the horror before my eyes. As if in slow motion, Vincent took my book in one hand and held it up as an offering to his grandfather. In the other, he took the goblet. “You know what you must do.”
The great-grandfather nodded.
“Goodbye, father,” the grandfather, restraining Portia, called.
“There is no time for sentimentality, father,” Vincent scolded.
The great-grandfather took the cup from Vincent and without hesitation downed its contents. The poison’s effect was almost immediate. He doubled over and screamed.
“Put your hand on the book and say the words,” Vincent demanded.
The great-grandfather crumpled and lay prostrate on the floor. Vincent placed the book on his chest, and somehow the great-grandfather managed to place his hand on the book. Through labored breathing he began to chant, “I give of my life freely. With this sacrifice of blood—”
My mother ceased singing. Sorrel, something is happening. I can barely breathe.
“Nooo!” I cried out.
“—I pay the price. The request written on my heart must be given.” My book began to smolder. “I give of my life freely. With this sacrifice of blood, I pay the price. The request written on my heart must be given.”
My mother’s screams got louder until it was the only thing I could hear. My eyes were glued to my dying book. The smolder turned to flames. Vincent jumped back and watched his grandfather be consumed by the fire. The great-grandfather’s chanting stopped, and his cries pierced the air. He was writhing in pain, rolling around on the floor, trying to put the fire out. It was no use, and neither was his family. They each looked on eagerly, as if cheering on the flames.
My mother went silent, and I knew she had died.
I thrashed, trying to get loose. I was going to make them pay for what they had done. Then it dawned on me—I hadn’t died. How was that possible? My book was nothing, not even ashes. Vincent barked out a victorious laugh. The great-grandfather stilled and took his last breath. Then all the attention turned toward me.
Vincent’s eyes went wide in rage. “You’re alive.”
I flashed him a defiant smile—it was the only weapon I had available to me, as lame as it was. “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“How is that possible?” the grandfather roared.
Portia broke free of her captor’s grip. With both her hands she grabbed fistfuls of her hair and started screaming, “I’m still bound. I can feel it.”
Vincent and the grandfather scrambled over to the charred body of their father and grandfather to make sure he was truly dead and that my book was gone. While they were distracted, Portia marched my way with a look of unadulterated hatred on her face. “You must die. You must die.” She charged.
In my feeble attempt to get away from the deranged woman, I fell backward off the crate and landed in a pile of trash. While spluttering and trying to wriggle free, I heard a door slide open and felt the rays of the sun hit me. For a tiny moment I felt hope, but that died when Portia landed on top of me, gripping her knife, ready to plunge it into me.
“Mother, don’t!” A voice that had once given me comfort boomed.
It was too late. It was all too late.Chapter Twenty-ThreeEric
Eric rushed across the room and watched in horror as his mother thrust her knife into Sorrel’s abdomen. Sorrel’s heart-wrenching scream stopped him in his tracks.
Hearing the scream, Vincent jumped up and ran toward the two women. “What have you done, Portia? We need her alive.”
Eric would be damned if he let his father get to Sorrel first. He lunged toward her just as Sorrel screamed, “You killed my mother!” Almost out of nowhere, a blinding light tore through the abandoned warehouse breaking windows and throwing Eric to the ground while glass rained down around him. For a moment he lay stunned, and not because the breath had been knocked out of him. He was in awe of the dazzling bright light that illuminated every inch of the dreary warehouse. How was that possible? There was no time to ponder. He had to get to Sorrel. Bravely, he stood, not knowing where his murderous family was. They were the least of his concern.
