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It isn’t infected, as far as I can tell, but the alcohol has left it feeling a little raw and a lot sensitive. Once I engage it, even with that first step, I feel the blood circulating a little faster, and the pain eases just a bit. I walk out the door, leaving it open behind me. I don’t want to deal with accidentally locking myself out.
My knee feels a tad better, but the rest of me? Well, that feels torn in two.
On the one hand, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to deal with Derith. I don’t want a gargoyle or a vampire or whatever the hell he is minding my every move while I try to take down the man who killed my family over a decade ago. I don’t want any of it. Much less do I want the cadre of annoying humans who all look at me as if I’m a statue who’s come to life to eat their families. It’s all too much, but yet another part of me, the one untouched by years of fighting monsters and getting stiffed on payments, the unjaded part, she’s a little grateful for the opportunity to rest.
I can’t remember the last time I slept underneath a roof.
I prefer to sleep under the stars when the weather is right, but the season has started expressing its yearly affinity for freezing rain, and I find myself rather glad to be indoors, cold as the doors themselves may be.
My life is a mess of blood and guts and carnage on most days.
And while it’s nice to have a roof over my head, I don’t feel comfortable. In fact, I feel like a caged animal. This place isn’t where someone like me belongs. I belong in the woods. Alone.
The looming image of Balor suddenly overtakes my mind and I’m flooded with anger again, because I feel like I’m wasting time. I don’t want to simply kill as many of Balor’s monsters as we can, with the hopes that doing so will lure him out. What if it doesn’t bring him out from the Shadow Dark? What if this is nothing more than a fool’s errand?
It’s true, I need to kill Balor, but do I need Derith to do it? My instincts scream ‘no’. Yet… is there a chance I need him? After all, who on this earth is going to know more about Balor than his own flesh and blood? No one. That’s who. Derith is my in—he’s a necessity, because he’s my secret weapon against Balor, and I can’t give that up simply because I prefer to work alone.
My family’s killer is finally within my grasp. I can feel him, see him, taste his blood as if I too was just another undead creature of the night. I see his icy blue eyes, and I feel their glacial pull, that otherworldly quality that invites you deeper until he’s right on top of you, and your veins are splayed wide open. Well, not this time. This time I’ll end it with a stake to his heart, or, worst case scenario, a sunlight explosion. I’d prefer the stake though. In the sunlight scenario, I don’t get to stab anything.
My knee is feeling a little better, at the very least, more limber, and I consider momentarily that I should go back to bed. It’s probably wise to get a little sleep before a solid day of hunting, but I catch a draft in the hallway, and, inexplicably, I feelpulled.
The wind grabs me around the waist and shoves me toward the east wing of the castle. Too tired to fight it, I allow the draft to guide me in the direction it pleases. Whether it’s the castle or the wind maneuvering me or some pull from inside my own head, I listen, and I end up standing at a narrow doorway at the end of a long, winding hall in the east wing of the castle.
I turn the rusted silver knob and enter the room.
It’s cluttered from wall to wall with armoires and cabinets and overturned pieces of furniture that are large—all made from dark wood.
“So,thisis where all the furniture went,” I mumble, kicking a large ball of lint with the tip of my toe. In the center of the room, there’s a table that’s covered in a white sheet. On top of the table is something else that’s also covered by a sheet. Curiosity has always been one of my downfalls so before I can stop myself, I’m walking over to the table and yanking up the sheet. I find a little gold jewelry box. It stands out against the rest of the dingy room, because it’s brighter, cleaner, and much, much shinier than anything else in the small space. I open the hatch, lift the lid, and I see it instantly.
A gem.
It’s like a visual assault, the thing is so striking on its bed of satin.
“The emerald…” I whisper, and I know at once that this is the gem the witch enchanted to bind the spell that brought Derith back to life. She only mentioned it once, and almost in an off-hand sort of manner, but I remember the mention of this gem as if it were the very life force of the story she told, and, in a way, I suppose itis. Only now, the emerald is trapped inside a silver locket chain which is trapped inside a jewelry box.
I have the inexplicable urge to steal it.
And before I can stop myself or even hesitate, I’m reaching for it. It’s almost as if my body is moving without me—drawn to the beauty of the faceted stone that sparkles up at me as if begging me to touch it. This is more than some latent instinct from my days of lawless thievery though. This pull—it’s something else entirely. I reach closer, and my fingertips brush the cool, smooth surface of the gem’s top.
In a single fluid motion, I snatch up the emerald, gripping it by its chain, and shove it into the neatly stitched pocket inside my pink nightgown.
***
I quicken my pace once I reach the door and make it back into the hallway. All of a sudden, an image of Suisse drops into my mind like a bomb. My mind catches it like dry skin on wool. The thought snags, and I can’t relinquish it. I simply have to indulge it. The thoughts of Suisse, this person whose reincarnation I supposedly am, flood my mind. The fact that I have any connection with a woman who shared a bed with Balor… sends a shiver of disgust up my spine.
And at the thought of Balor, I’m also filled with rage. My ire is so potent, I can taste iron, and I know it’s a manifestation of my thirst for his blood. Balor will die by my hand. That much is certain, but for some reason, thoughts of his dead wife are now edging him out of my mind. I think of her instead, the woman I saw in the vision the old witch showed me. We looked so much alike. It was like staring into a mirror.
I remember her golden hair, her ocean-blue eyes, her small frame, and the look of unbridled fear in her eyes. I imagine the fear that she felt when Balor took Derith from her is probably similar to the fear I felt when he took my family.
My thoughts then turn to Derith—my supposed comrade. I can’t help but wonder how I can trust one brother when the other is my lifelong mark? It seems impossible, but, then again, I’ve been known to do the impossible every now and again.
“Hello,” an ethereal voice says.
I stop where I’m standing, a few feet from my bedroom door. I don’t see anyone around me and yet I’m completely immobile—as if someone ordered my body to simply freeze in place. My hand is stuck in midair where I’d been reaching for the knob on the door. Slowly, I turn my head, surprised to find I can actually move it.
“It’s lovely to see you, Joanna,” the voice continues, and now I feel a cool pressure on my right shoulder. I look down, and at first, I see nothing, but staring longer, I find there’s the discernible outline of fingers pressing into my nightgown—fingers I can’t see. As I watch, though, the lines of the fingers, and the lower portion of a hand begin to delineate themselves. I turn around toward the hand, tracking it up the length of its nearly invisible arm. My eyes travel upwards until I meet my own eyes in my own face.
Yelping, I take a sudden step back and slam my back into the guest room door. I’m looking at me, but it’s not me—it’s a ghost. I stare, stupefied, but then I begin to notice subtle differences—this woman’s nose is thinner by a touch, and I think her eyes are a little smaller. Her face is a little rounder, as is the rest of her, from what I can see, anyway.
