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Tor and Nosmas had to physically restrain Patrick to prevent him attacking the woman who was still sitting in the middle of the road. She had not reacted when Patrick had lunged towards her.
“I take it you are not pleased to see me,” she said calmly.
“Who are you?” Tor asked, raising his voice so he could be heard over Patrick’s growling.
“That is the bitch that cursed me,” Patrick spat.
“Alright. I understand your animosity, but causing her physical harm will not do you any good.”
“It will make me feel better,” Patrick muttered.
Tor ignored him. “She is here for a reason. If Nosmas and I release you, do you promise to behave yourself until you have heard her out?”
Patrick did not reply, so Tor waited. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Eventually, when it was obvious that he had no real option, Patrick unwillingly nodded his head. Tor and Nosmas relaxed their holds on him and he stood upright, straightening the creases out of his shirt sleeves.
“It is nice to see that you are still alive,” he said nastily. “I hope it has been as fun for you as it has for me.”
The witch did not rise to the bait. “I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, your Highness,” she said, addressing Tor. “I have been following your adventures for quite a long time. I am Zenda.” She turned towards Patrick once more. “Are you not going to formally introduce all of your friends?”
Patrick sneered at her in response, so Tor took it upon himself to do as she asked. “I am Prince Tor of Remeny, the large man there is the wizard Nosmas. Standing next to him is his ward, Quartilla.” Quartilla, unsure of the protocol regarding witches, especially those prone to cursing people, curtsied. “The slim young lady is Ria and Sam is the one who is with child.”
While he had been speaking, Tor had heard movement coming from the wagon. “Perfect timing,” he said as Hawk landed beside him. “The final member of our group is Hawk.”
“The vampire,” Zenda acknowledged. “As I said, I have been following you for a long while so I know quite a lot about you all. It is nice to finally put names to faces.”
Suddenly Sam cried out and placed a protective arm around her swollen belly. Hawk rushed to her side. “What is wrong?” he asked in concern.
“Sharp pains,” she gasped. When she looked up at Hawk, her face was filled with terror. “I think something is wrong with the baby.”
Nosmas moved menacingly towards Zenda. “Is this your doing?”
“Of course not,” she said indignantly. “May I take a look at her?” She could see that Sam was in real pain and hoped she would be able to help.
Sam nodded her approval, so Nosmas stepped aside and allowed her to approach. She spoke quietly with Sam, who responded to her questions by either nodding or shaking her head. The witch gently felt her abdomen, then had her sit on the ground in order to take the weight off her legs. “I am no healer,” she announced, “but I fear that if she does not get help soon she will lose her child. Do any of you have training?”
“No,” Tor confirmed. “Ellen always took care of our needs in that department.” Mentioning her name still hurt. “Until she died.”
“The other vampire,” Zenda said, demonstrating that she really had been following them. “Then you have a problem. This woman needs professional attention and she needs it now.”
“Mama Rose will know what to do,” Hawk suggested.
Tor shook his head. “Her cottage is too far away. There is no way we can get her there in time.”
“Yes there is,” Ria told him. Before anyone could ask what she was thinking she shouted out as loud as she could, “Salabine.”
Everyone except Sam looked up in the sky expectantly, forgetting how long it had taken the dragon to arrive the last time they had called her. This time they did not have long to wait. A few minutes later, the sound of beating wings could be heard in the sky above as the orange dragon flew over their heads and gracefully landed on the road in front of them.
“What have you done to little one?” she asked as her eyes fell upon Sam, who was now lying down with Hawk holding her hand. Ria explained the situation and begged Salabine to transport Sam to Mama Rose. The dragon was more than happy to help, but would need an extremely accurate description if she was to avoid flying the entire way.
Hawk reluctantly left Sam’s side and moved closer to Salabine. He described every minute detail of Mama Rose’s cottage. Though he had only ever seen it in the dark, he had spent a great deal of time there and was able to talk about the overall size of the house, the small stream that ran through the bottom of her garden and the shape of the main door into the residence. He portrayed the cottage so accurately that all of those listening to his words conjured up identical mental images of the building and its surroundings. However, this was not enough for Salabine. She could imagine what it looked like, but could not go there on her imagination alone; she had to have seen it for herself.
Tor tried a different approach. He knew that the dragon must have flown over the Great Highway a number of times so he described one of its bridges, the one closest to Mama Rose’s cottage. Ria and Nosmas both recognised the place he was talking about and added a few extra details.
“I know where that is,” the dragon finally said. She turned to Hawk. “If I get you there, can you guide me to our final destination?”
“Definitely,” the vampire confirmed.
“Then climb aboard,” she instructed.
Hawk bent down to whisper in Sam’s ear. “Keep as still as you can. I am going to pick you up and Salabine is going to take us to see Mama Rose. She will save your baby, I promise.” He knew he could not guarantee that Mama Rose would be able to help, but that was the last thing Sam needed to hear. She had to believe that everything was going to be alright even if nobody else did. He slid his arms gently under her body and lifted her up, cradling her like a child. He flew up into the air and settled on the dragon’s back, making sure he disturbed Sam as little as possible. As soon as he was comfortable and he was certain that Sam was secure, he let Salabine know that they were ready and, in the blink of an eye, the three of them disappeared.
“Will she be alright?” Quartilla asked.
“I do not know,” Nosmas told her truthfully. “It does not look good.”
“Until she met Dean once more, that baby was her only reason for living,” Ria reminded them all. “I hate to think what will happen to her if she miscarries.”
“If anyone can save the child, it is Mama Rose,” Zenda said with confidence. “I have worked with her a few times. She truly is the best at what she does.”
“But sometimes even the best is not enough,” Tor said ominously.
Sam’s plight had wiped the reason for their delay from everyone’s minds. Everyone except Patrick.
“Why have you been following me?” he asked Zenda, making the question sound like an accusation.
“To keep an eye on you of course. When I made you immortal, I added a clause to the spell which would enable me to lift it should you show that you have learnt your lesson and changed your ways. Unfortunately it had the unexpected side-effect of extending my life as well.”
“Learnt my lesson,” Patrick said in disgust. “You have watched me lose everyone I have ever loved until I could no longer bear to allow myself to care about anyone and you have the audacity to talk about learning my lesson.”
“I have lost loved ones too,” she spat back angrily.
“Then why did you not remove the damn curse?”
“Because you never proved yourself. You continued to use women; seduce them then discard them when you had had your fun.”
“Calm down,” Tor suggested, stepping between the two before their argument became physical. “We have all heard Patrick’s side of the story, many times. Why not join us for a meal and tell us your version of events.”
“If you think I am going to be able to eat while sitting near that woman, you have another think coming,” Patrick said and walked away into the night.
“Should I go after him?” Nosmas asked.
Tor shook his head. “He will come back. He will never admit it, but he is as eager to know why Zenda is here as the rest of us are.”
Tor set about unpacking Seth’s cooking implements from where they had been stowed in the back of the wagon, while everyone else went in search of firewood and anything edible that would go well with the salted pork he had purchased from a farmer the previous day.
While they ate, Zenda told them about how she and Patrick had met. Initially she had rejected his advances, but he had been persistent and eventually she had agreed to go to dinner with him. She knew all about his reputation and had no intention of taking it any further, but he had made no move on her, behaving like a perfect gentleman the entire evening. When he had asked if he could see her again, she found it impossible to say no. Weeks went by and she found herself falling in love with him. She believed he felt the same way and that his Casanova days were at an end. How wrong she was. When he eventually suggested that she spend the night with him, rejecting him was not an option. The following morning she asked when she could see him again and he became evasive. That evening, she spotted him flirting with another woman. When she confronted him, he said that their relationship was great for a while, but it had run its course.
“It was all about getting me into his bed,” she said sadly. “Because I initially turned him down, he saw me as a challenge. As soon as he got what he wanted, he moved on.”
“I can understand you cursing him,” Ria said sympathetically. “But do you not think making him suffer for the rest of eternity was going a little too far?”
“At the time it seemed appropriate. I went to the house he was staying at and managed to convince the butler that he was expecting me. I walked into his bedroom without knocking, dragged the young floozy he was about to climb on top of out of the bed by her hair, threw her out of the room and slammed the door behind her. While he was sitting up in the bed, trying to cover up his nakedness with a sheet, I placed my curse on him. You would not believe how satisfying it was telling him what I had done.”
“What happened next?” Quartilla asked when Zenda paused to eat another piece of pork.
Zenda swallowed and drank some wine before continuing. “He did not believe me, so I picked up his sword, stabbed him through the heart, then left. When he returned to life he came to see me.”
“How angry was he?”
“Angry? He was not angry. He came to thank me. For the next few years he concentrated on seducing married women. I lost count of the number of betrayed husbands that killed him. It was not until he noticed that all of his family and friends were aging, yet he was not, that reality dawned on him. He tracked me down and begged me to remove the curse. I informed him that it could only be removed when he found his one true love and dedicated himself to her and her alone. Do you know what he did?”
Everyone shook their heads, entranced by the story. “He laughed at me, telling me that would never happen. I told him that I hoped he would enjoy the rest of his life, as it was going to last a long long time, then I made myself vanish. I have been shadowing him ever since, praying for the day he found the woman he wished to spend eternity with.”
“So why have you approached him now?” Ria asked the question that was on the tip of everyone’s tongue.
“I think he has grown up. He has finally admitted to himself that he is in love with a woman and I truly believe that he will stay faithful to her.”
“You are talking about Ellen,” Tor observed. “But she is dead. That puts a hole in your little theory.”
“Why should being dead matter? I am a witch after all.”
“What do you mean?” Patrick demanded, walking into the clearing from where he had been sitting, just out of sight, listening to the entire conversation.
Zenda held up the chain around her neck, revealing a small vial attached to it. “I collected some of her ashes. With these, I can bring her back.”
“Do it,” Patrick ordered.
“Wait a moment,” Tor interrupted. “Do not be too hasty. There may be more to this, some sort of price you have to pay.”
“There is always a price, but I do not care what it is. I would give anything to have Ellen back.”
Tor turned towards Zenda. “Well?”
“Patrick,” she said, standing to face him. “I believe you are a changed man, so I will give you two options. I can either relieve you of your curse, allowing you to die in any manner you see fit, or I can restore Ellen to you. The choice is yours.”
Patrick did not need time to think it over. “I choose Ellen. I would willingly spend all eternity mourning her death, as eventually I will have to, if it meant I could see her once more, hold her in my arms and tell her I love her.”
“Are you sure about this?” Ria asked compassionately. “We all witnessed what her death did to you. Are you prepared to go through that again?”
“It will be different this time. Last time I was mourning lost chances as well her death. This time I will have enough happy memories of our life together to help me cope.” He smiled wryly. “Assuming she will have me, of course.”
“There is more you need to know.” Zenda’s voice rang out through the clearing in which they were resting. “Restoring life to a few ashes is not an easy spell. It will require great concentration and the help of all those present.”
“I am willing,” Tor said. He had no idea what help Zenda would need, he just knew that, whatever it was, he was prepared to do it.
“You can count me in,” Nosmas confirmed, “but not Quartilla. You will need to do this without her.”
Patrick and Quartilla both started to protest, but Zenda raised a placating hand to silence them both. “What I require Quartilla to do is not dangerous. She will not be at risk of harm in any way.”
Quartilla looked towards Nosmas, who reluctantly nodded his approval for her to take part. “Thank you,” Patrick said quietly.
Zenda’s expression turned serious. “A word of warning Patrick. In order for this spell to work, you must feel everything Ellen felt when she died. The touch of sunlight on her skin must have been agony. Are you willing to go through that for her?”
“Yes,” came the instant reply.
“Wait a moment,” Ria said as a thought occurred to her. “Will Ellen be exactly the same as she was before she died? Will she be a vampire I mean?”
Zenda frowned. “To be perfectly honest, I do not know. Does it really matter?”
“Not to me,” Patrick informed her.
“How long will the spell take?” Tor asked. “Will it be completed before daybreak?”
The witch smiled, understanding his concern. “I need a little while to prepare, but the spell itself will take only a few minutes. We have plenty of time.” She looked around her, regarding each person in turn for a few seconds before moving on to the next. “Are we all in agreement?” Everyone nodded. “Then I need one of you find the largest cooking pot you have and fill it with water. And I do mean fill. The more liquid there is, the quicker the spell will work. The rest of you I need to go into the nearby woods and try to find me some specific plants. I have dried ones in my bag if none can be found, but it is always better to work with fresh ingredients.” She reeled off her requirements, describing in detail what each leaf looked like. Two were assigned to each person and they began their search.
Nosmas carried a pot to the nearby stream, filled it to overflowing, and returned it to the fire. It was starting to bubble by the time Patrick, who was the only one to fail to find one of his assigned plants, returned and Zenda had already chopped the green, brown and purple leaves returned by the others.
“It does not matter,” the witch said when Patrick apologised for his failure. “I would have been very surprised if any had been growing in this area. It is usually only found on the top of mountains.” She retrieved her supply of dry leaves from her bag and, once she was satisfied that everything was cut up small enough, she dropped the entire mixture into the pot and ordered Nosmas to stir it.
“Now I need to add some blood.” She looked meaningfully at Patrick, who rolled up his shirt sleeve, handed her his sword and held his arm over the pot. Quartilla looked away as the blade sliced into his flesh and blood flowed down to the mixture. For what felt like an eternity, Patrick watched the red liquid leave his arm, until he felt his legs going weak. Just before he collapsed, Zenda spoke a few words while waving her hand over his arm and the cut sealed, stopping the flow.
Unable to stand any longer, Patrick sat on the ground beside the fire. “You may want to lay down for this,” the witch suggested.
“I will be fine,” he said, not wishing to appear weak.
“Suit yourself,” she replied, removing the vial from its chain and sprinkling its contents on the ground between him and the fire. “Quartilla, while I speak the spell, I will need you to continually pour the contents of the pot onto the ashes. Do you have a ladle or a large spoon? Good. Keep going until the pot is completely empty.” She moved away from the fire and sat on the ground, signalling to Ria, Nosmas and Tor that they should do the same. Positioned in a circle, they all held hands.
“I need your strength,” she informed them. “It will flow around the circle and into me. But do not worry, I will not take too much.”
“The last time we did this, one of us almost died,” Ria said in a frightened voice, thinking back to the time when Mama Rose had cast the spell that had brought Sam to them. Dal had stopped breathing and Sam had revived her.
Zenda smiled. “That will not happen this time, I promise you. Now close your eyes.” Nodding to Quartilla that she should start distributing the horrible smelling liquid, she began to speak. The spell consisted of no more than a dozen words, in a strange language, but she kept repeating them over and over again.
Quartilla and Patrick were the only ones able to witness the effect the combination of the spell and the potion was having on the ashes. First they merely spread out as they became damp. Then they began to bubble, growing in size as they slowly formed the shape of a human body. As Zelda’s voice grew in volume, the body became three dimensional, enlarging in all directions. Hair began to grow and human features became discernable.
“Ellen,” Patrick whispered in amazement, staring at the face of the woman he loved. Then the pain began. At first it felt like sunburn; every part of his skin felt red and raw, but when he looked down at his hands, he could see no change in colour. He pulled up his trouser leg and inspected his calf. His lower leg looked normal, but was painful to the touch. Then the heat intensified until his entire body was on fire; invisible flames burning under his clothes without damaging them.
He had died many times. Some had been quick and completely pain free, others had been slow and agonising, but nothing could compare to what he was now experiencing. He opened his mouth and screamed. Tears ran down Quartilla’s face as she watched him writhing on the ground and she longed to cover her ears to block out the noises he was making, but she did not stop pouring the liquid onto Ellen’s naked body. When the pot was finally empty, she dropped the label on the ground and ran into the trees to be sick.
Zenda stopped speaking and Patrick’s pain subsided. Panting heavily, he pulled himself back into a sitting position and looked at the body beside him. Ellen’s chest was rising and falling as she breathed; the sight almost making him cry with relief. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked at him.
“Hello Patrick,” she said in a dry voice, coming from a throat that badly needed lubrication. “What happened?”