Days had passed since Bruce’s appearance, each day a nightmare. And Varik–
Jennifer couldn’t believe it, could not accept his true essence. Yet there was no denying what she’d seen. Those burning red eyes, the razor-sharp teeth–that should have proved it. And his strength, never tiring as he pummeled Bruce … Varik was a vampire. She recalled the times she’d asked him to go to the beach with her, or some other daytime activity. Each time he had an excuse. But she could never have imagined that he was one of the undead, not in a million years. Creatures like that belonged to myth and magic, to horror stories. Her heart sank; tears pooled in her eyes.
In the early hours of the morning, Jennifer tossed and turned in bed. All she could think about was Varik. She wondered about her future, a future without the man who meant the world to her. In her white cotton nightgown, she turned onto her side, reliving every moment of Varik’s fight with Bruce. Oh, God, if it really were only a nightmare … Varik is a vampire, she repeated again and again. He’d called several times since then, but she refused to answer the phone. He should know she wanted no part of him. How it hurt. And I could have loved him, she realized with an aching heart. Admit it, you do love him. She sighed, waiting for morning, thinking only of the man she adored.
A flash of bright red flitted in front of her, a woman materializing. Celestia! Her platinum blonde hair shone white in the early morning darkness, her eyes dark as ebony. A strong musk scent drifted around her like poison gas.
Jennifer pressed her hand to her chest, her heart thudding. “Wh-where did you come from?” The answer hit her like a blast of icy air. “You’re a vampire, too!”
Celestia beamed. “But of course!” she snickered. “You’re finally catching on!” She moved closer to the bed, her steps lithe and willowy. “And you’re coming with me.”
Jennifer jerked back, pressed against the headboard. “Like hell I am!” Despite her brave words, chills raced across her arms and down her back.
A smug look captured the vampiress’s face. “You have no say in the matter. And you are coming with me.” She grabbed her from the bed, her nails sharp as knives.
Jennifer squirmed, scratching and kicking. No use! The vampiress was far too strong, her arms like bands of steel. She pulled back. A surge of terror welled up inside her. “No, damn you, no!”
Holding tight, Celestia faced her and scolded, like she was a five-year old. “Quit fighting, for it will do you no good.”
“Let me go!” She tried to get away but couldn’t match Celestia’s strength. A cold lump of fear settled in her stomach. “Where are you taking me?”
Celestia smirked. “Not only where, but when, and you’ll find out soon enough.”
Suddenly, they were outside. For several moments, Celestia closed her eyes, as though in concentration.
Now’s your chance! Jennifer tried to wiggle loose, but Celestia pulled her back. Then they were zooming over the Atlantic Ocean, the water dark as midnight below them. Seconds passed, then land appeared, but like nothing Jennifer had ever seen. They zipped over forests and drab villages, ugly, primitive cottages, with sheep sleeping in the fields. The night air was cool, the stars fading from the sky.
In the gray half-light of early morning, they landed outside a large stone church. A church–why? A fear like nothing she’d ever known made the blood drain from her face. Her skin turned hot, then cold. She gulped over and over, afraid she’d faint.
First opening a creaking wooden door, the vampiress jerked her down slippery stone steps then shoved her inside an immense room. “Sorcière!” Celestia cried, then disappeared.
* * *
Dazed, scared out of her mind, Jennifer glimpsed the vast room. Screams rent the air, blood-curdling cries that echoed across the room and beat against her ear drums.
Oh, God, what’s this? What’s happening here? She raced to open the door, to escape, heartbeats banging against her ribs.
A man in a heavy dark robe grabbed for her and gripped her in his bony hands.
“Let me go! Let me go!” Jennifer wiggled and squirmed, breaking loose. She dashed for the door. Not fast enough!
“Sorcière!” The man grabbed her, his garlicky breath a blast in her face. He said something else, the words unintelligible.
Sorcière? Witch? What else did he say? Her high school French didn’t help. Where was she? Was this room a crypt?
Screams! Screams everywhere! Oh, God, get me out of here!
Torches along the wall cast a dim light across the room. She saw things more clearly now, then wished she hadn’t. Torture! Everyone in this big room–except the black robed men–were being tortured. Face twisted, an old man was hanging from an iron bar, his arms twisted behind him, his feet dangling inches from the floor. He screamed, a wail that went on and on, ‘til Jennifer thought she’d go out of her mind, just listening to him.
A memory surfaced, a woodcut pictured in one of her college history books. The Inquisition! But how could that be? What year was this? Dragged across the room and around a corner, she screamed and begged. “Let me go, damn it!” The robed man shoved her into a cell, then locked the door.
Oh, no, please don’t. The cell stank of dead animals and things she didn’t want to think about. Sticky dirt and crumbs layered the floor, and slimy mold coated the walls. Gagging, she pressed her finger to her nose. She shook the bars of the cell and yelled until she was hoarse. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She sank to the cold stone floor, her knees drawn up to her chest. Resting her head on her knees, she was afraid she was going to die. What would they do to her? How much torture could she take? She brushed her hand across her tear-stained face, fighting for courage, determined to take whatever they did to her. God, she prayed, please save me. All the while screams blasted her ear drums, terrible cries for mercy. Could she hold back her screams if they put her on the rack? Never!
Minutes and hours went by. Jennifer pressed her hands to her ears, hoping to shut out the screams. Her ears rang with the shrieks, men and women suffering the most horrible torments.
The cell door creaked open. She looked up expectantly, a hope of release surging inside her. But no, a dish of slop and a mug were set down beside her. Her stomach growled, but she refused to touch the slop. She’d starve to death first.
She laughed bitterly. All her life, things had come so easily for her. Not now. She wrung her hands together. What would she do now?
Time passed while painful thoughts drifted through her mind, of what was to come. What if she just confessed to sorcery? Would they release her then? She was afraid to find out.
The cell door opened again, and two black-robed men–friars?–stepped inside, then closed the door behind them. One friar was short and fat, the other tall and thin as a skeleton. Both men had shaven heads; countless wrinkles tracked their faces.
The tall man pulled at the hem of her nightgown, drawing it up. She jerked back, bumping against the wall. “You keep your dirty hands off of me!” He reached again, trying to tear it from her, all the while both men speaking French. New and unwashed, the nightgown would not tear. While the tall man clutched her, the other drew her gown up, revealing her nakedness. Although her cell lay in near darkness, a scant bit of light entered from the large room. Jennifer struggled and tossed her head from side to side, her cheeks burning with humiliation. The fat man ran his hands over her skin, feeling her from her neck to her feet. She gritted her teeth, her hands clenched. Exclaiming excitedly, the man touched a mole on her back. Both men grimaced with smug satisfaction, releasing her gown, where it fell back to her ankles. Muttering among themselves, the friars pointed to the bowl of slop and the mug, still untouched. The tall man grasped her while the second man forced her mouth open, his filthy fingers digging into her skin. She fought and bit his fingers but he held firm.
She jerked away, water splashing against her nightgown. “No,” she cried, “no, damn you!”
He grabbed her again. Held in a tight vise, she couldn’t fight anymore. With a look of single-minded purpose, the tall man poured the slop down her throat, a horrid tasting, salty liquid that made her gag. All the while, they spoke in archaic French, a language she couldn’t understand. Tears misted her eyes. Terror gripped her, a fear that things would only get worse. This was only the beginning.
The men left her then. Night came, her cell darkening. Quiet settled over the place. A rat scurried across the floor, then another. Shivering with fright, Jennifer drew back against the wall. She refused to lie down on the filthy floor. Her eyelids drooped as she succumbed to sleep. Finding herself slipping to the cold stone floor, she jerked awake. Throughout the night, she fought sleep. But when she awoke in the morning, she was lying on the floor. She sat up, shuddering and brushing her hands across her nightgown.
Screams again! A never-ending agony of cries, men and women enduring horrible torments. And soon it’ll be you. Jennifer pressed her hands to her ears, bracing herself for what would come. God, give me strength.
Minutes and hours dragged by. Terrible thoughts filled her mind. She saw herself on the rack, her body torn apart. She shook her head time and again, not wanting to think of what would happen next.
The cell door opened, and the same two men stepped inside. Jennifer drew back against the wall, bracing her hands on the floor. With words she couldn’t translate, they jerked her by the arms and pulled her to her feet. She fought them, too well aware her efforts wouldn’t help. She spat at the short man; he slapped her across the face, a blow that stung like a whip. Outside her cell, they forced her to walk, back and forth, again and again. Hours passed. Walk, walk, walk. How far had she walked, how many miles? Despite her good physical condition, there was a limit to how much she could take. She drooped, about to fall to the floor, and got a sharp kick in the shins. Damn it, she wanted to spit at the man, but she’d learned her lesson. She started to walk again, wondering how long she could last. When one man left her, another came to relieve him.
God, I can’t take it any longer. Hours later, she was dragged back to her cell.
What would happen next? How much more could she put up with? Left alone for hours at a time, she tried to gather strength for whatever came next. She had to prove she was strong, that she wouldn’t surrender to their torments. Stop complaining, she told herself. Just look at what others are going through, like the man hanging inches from the floor, a woman torn on the rack, the cries that never stopped.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger, her mouth parched with thirst. But she refused to touch the slop set before her, afraid of food poisoning.
Memories rushed through her mind, of her home in Miami, her mom and dad in Pittsburgh. And Varik, always Varik. She loved him with a love that was hopeless. There could never be anything between them, even if she got out of this hell hole. His last words haunted her, ‘Now you see me for what I am.’ Was he really a vampire, or had she only imagined those fiery eyes, his razor-sharp teeth? Uh, uh, that hadn’t been her imagination. Tears filled her eyes as she thought of what might have been, if he’d been mortal. But how could there be any future for them?
Leaning against the wall of her cell, she dozed. More images flitted through her mind, of her students and friends, all that meant so much to her but was gone from her life forever. She pressed her hands to her ears, trying to blot out the screams, desperate cries for deliverance.
Once more, her cell door opened. She tensed as a fresh wave of fear crept over her. A different man stepped inside, his bony hands like claws, his face set in cruel cunning. Beyond her cell, screams became louder, a never-ending racket of torment and agony. Trembling from deep inside overtook her, shaking so hard her teeth chattered. “Non! Non!” She dragged her feet, desperate to pull away.
Out in the vast room, the man pushed her down on a platform and gripped her tight. Holding a flaming torch, another man brushed lard across her feet. No, God, no! Please, no! He held the torch close to her feet. The torch moved closer, closer. She screamed, a blood-curdling cry, begging for release from the pain, oh, God, the pain!
“Sorcière!” one man said, holding the torch ever closer.
I can’t take it any longer. “Oui,” she cried. “Je suis une sorcière.” Yes, I’m a witch.
Grim-faced, the torch holder stepped aside, and the other man released her.
Unable to walk, she was dragged back to her cell and pushed inside. She crumpled to her knees, rocking back and forth, sobbing her heart out. Now she knew what would happen to her. There would be no rescue. She’d be burned at the stake.
Later that day, a cart came for her, accompanied by two of the friars from the crypt, who rode stocky horses. Where were they taking her? she worried as she closed her eyes against the bright sunlight. To an execution site? Oh, God, no, no! She trembled, every part of her body. The cart jostled along a stone street, passing wooden houses and shops of various kinds. A magnificent stone castle on a hill brooded over the village, its towers gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. The master or lord of the castle, whatever he was called, did he hear the screams of the sufferers, and did he care? No, how could he hear their cries? And why the hell would he care, a wealthy, important man like him?
They stopped at another stone structure, where the friars indicated for her to get down from the cart. Was this a municipal building? she wondered. And why had they stopped here? Her stomach clenched with fear, her legs shaking. Inside, they walked down a long hall, the friars’ sandals flapping on the stone floor. Her feet burning, they took her to an official who sat behind an ornate wooden desk. Forced to stand before the judge, she heard the friars talk in their language, pointing to her again and again. Another man sat at a sloping desk, writing their words down, the quill pen scratching across the parchment. Every now and then, he looked up to catch the words. A candle sat on his desk, emitting scant light in the room’s semi-darkness.
During the proceedings, the judge nodded and spoke to her, his look solemn. He raised his eyebrows, as if in question. “Je ne comprends,” she replied, knowing she was confusing French and Spanish. Her heart beat frantically, a hundred questions pounding through her head. Would her knees ever stop shaking? What did it all mean? Would they release her? She didn’t know! In the early evening darkness, as the sun sank low on the horizon and a cool wind swept across the street, the cart returned to take her back to her cell.
Sagging against her cell wall that night, she slept in fits and snatches. Her scorched feet throbbed unbearably. Visions of the fire that would burn her, incinerate her, devour her, was all she could think about, nothing else. She’d never see her parents again nor her students and friends, never again know the joys of life. And Varik? She’d give anything to see him again, just one more time. She prayed for the strength to bear what would happen. Yet she knew she’d scream, beg for release, for a rescue that would never come.
The following day, in the early morning hours, two men opened her cell door. They would let her go, after all! Home, home to all that meant so much to her! Elation swept over her, too soon dampened with the question: How would she get home? Oh, God, she had no way of returning! She was stuck here, in this place, in this century, for the rest of her life!
But no, they grabbed her and tied her hands behind her. One man jerked her nightgown up and tied pieces of wood to her legs. ’Faggots’, she recalled from a distant corner of her mind.
She was dragged outside, an agony for her burnt feet. She blinked her eyes in the bright sunlight, spots dancing in front of her eyes. A horse and cart were waiting to take her to the execution site. This can’t be, she told herself time and again. This isn’t happening. But it was. She shivered, her teeth chattering. She gulped over and over, wanting to vomit. Barely able to stand, she leaned against the side of the cart. As an old man drove the cart, it jolted forward on the stone road. She nearly lost her balance but caught herself in time. Frantically, she looked around, desperate for escape. If only she could throw herself over the side.... She wanted to scream, cry, beg for release. Please don’t let this happen.
A short ride along a rutted dirt road took her to an open space, about a half-mile away. Gazing ahead, she saw scads of people–hundreds!–waiting at the execution site. Their faces held expressions of gleeful expectation, she could tell, even from a distance. She held her head high, determined for now to maintain her dignity. The burning would come soon enough, when she would scream and cry to heaven. Excited murmurings rose all around her, the crowd impatient to see the spectacle.
An executioner came forward and jerked her from the cart. He pulled her along, next to a high wooden platform. Grim-faced, he tied her to a wooden stake, then reached aside for piles of straw to scatter around her. Stepping down, he lit the fire beneath her. Within minutes, smoke wafted upward, making her cough. Too soon, she felt the heat through the platform. She jiggled from one foot to another, the heat more than she could take. Scores of men, women, and children pointed at her and laughed. The smoke worsened, the heat an agonizing torture. Flames surrounded her; soon they would devour her, burn her to ashes. Oh, no, no, no! Please, no!
She screamed, a heartrending cry to heaven, begging God for deliverance.
But there was no escape.