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… was hovering above the Persian carpet.
Draped in head-to-toe black robes, with a face that was completely covered, whoever it was didn’t have feet. At least not that Anne could see. Instead, it seemed to be floating on a bright white energy source that poured out from beneath the hem of those falls of midnight fabric.
Anne should have been terrified. But she was not.
Somehow, it was impossible to be afraid. As strange as the… whatever it was… was.
“Hello…” she whispered.
As if summoned, her feet moved of their own volition, carrying her across the foyer to the lovely flower-scented room, her involuntary promenade halting just inside the carved arches of the ladies’ parlor.
Greetings, a female voice said in her head.
“My name is Anne,” she mumbled for no good reason.
Yes, it is, the figure confirmed.
“What are you—”
No questions. I do not entertain inquiries of any sort.
“Sorry.” Anne cleared her throat. “Am I…”
Well, she didn’t know what to say if she couldn’t ask anything. So she just shut the hell up. Clearly, this was a dream—maybe the whole night was a dream? Either way, she knew deep down in her consciousness that the figure standing—hovering—before her was a foundational mystery, something god-like and powerful, something that defied explanation to such a degree there was no reason to try to put words to its definition or existence.
He has had a crisis of faith, the figure announced telepathically. In his heart and his soul. And he is important to me. He keeps them all together, you see; he is the glue that binds the fragments of what once was a whole.
“Darius,” Anne breathed.
You were not what I had in mind, hardly a solution I would ever have chosen, especially for him. But even I must at times accept the whims of Fate as determined by my father, the Creator. The figure came forward, wafting toward her. And as you shall affect the course of things, therefore I shall affect the course of you.
The sleeve of the robe lifted and a glowing hand emerged.
Anne jumped and looked down at herself. As a strange feeling curled in her abdomen, she covered her lower belly with her palms.
You already love him, the female voice intoned. Do not try to talk yourself out of it. And your body is ready for the future.
“What are you—”
No questions, child. I shall not remind you again.
There was a long moment of silence… and then Anne had a sudden conviction that she understood everything, a kind of universal awareness opening up in her mind and her heart. And yet she was totally confused.
Do not talk yourself out of it. You are upon your destiny, child, and you shall carry within your womb the future Queen.
“Oh, God,” Anne croaked.
The destiny of the species shall be borne from you, and then I shall welcome you unto the Fade. So shall my will proclaim, so shall it be.
Although the figure had arrived gradually, it departed in a snap, the presence vanishing before her very eyes.
As Anne blinked in bewilderment, a gonging started going off and she spun around. The grandfather clock against the wall was chiming the hour—and she couldn’t understand what it was reporting. Nine o’clock? But that wasn’t possible. She and the butler had started playing cards at just after seven p.m. and it had been around seven forty-five or eight when that other man had come and said Darius was injured.
After which, she had walked to the front of the house and watched the van leave, and then minutes later, she had discovered she wasn’t alone.
It was as if that… thing… had sucked time out of the world by its presence.
“I am losing my mind—”
A door opened in the back of the house, and she heard voices.
“Anne?” came the sweetest sound she had ever heard.
For a split second, the dreamscape and reality collided, and like her accident, things were injured—specifically her sense that there was any logic to any part of this. And then she didn’t care about what was reasonable or not.
“Darius!” she called out as she wheeled around and started to run to him.
* * *
It was not exactly the reunion Darius had wanted. As he and Vishous turned sideways so that they could shuffle through the back door of his house, he wished he were coming in under his own full steam, walking tall and straight.
As opposed to draped on his brother like Vishous was a crutch who lived and breathed. And smoked. And cursed.
“Darius!” came his name from somewhere up ahead.
“Anne, I’m—” His breath caught as all his third-degrees protested him raising his voice. A little more weakly, he finished, “In here.”
His woman’s footfalls were fast and slappy, racing to him from the front of the house—and then there she was, skidding to a halt as she saw him, her pale face terrified, her eyes going even wider.
