Chapter Fifteen

When you open the door, everything falls into place —-

From In the Lake Region by Thomas Venclova

Translated from the Lithuanian by Ellen Hinsey

Death’s dark coach lay in wait beneath the barren branches of an old sapling tree at the end of my drive when Gimlit finally brought the Jeep to a halt. Tonight it seemed I couldn’t escape the reaper’s eerily chilled fingers, crossing my flesh like he was tapping upon the lid of my coffin.

“This is one Death Stalker who seeks his second death like no other creature I have ever met,” Gimlit muttered, uncurling his long limbs from the interior of the vehicle.

I paused on my side of the Jeep, pondering his words. Gimlit and Jade were already at the first step of the porch, but I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of foreboding doom that seemed to engulf me. It seemed more than just mere dèjá vu. More than the stalking horse of a wraith skipping across one’s grave.

“What is it, Rihker?” Jade asked, his eyes concerned.

I shook my head. “What? Oh, it’s…nothing. Never mind. Let’s see what the damn fool wants now.”

“And what did he want when he was here last?” Gimlit asked. He stood like a sentinel on the top stair of the front porch, his hand already at the hilt of his sword, the desire for Lucien’s death gleaming brightly in his turquoise eyes.

I waved them both back towards me with a nod, knowing that if Mercy and Lucien were both inside they would probably hear me. Vampire hearing was so much better than a mere human’s, even a half-breed, like myself. Prism’s, I wasn’t so sure of. The Changeling’s full powers were something that was unfamiliar to me. If we survived the next forty-eight hours, it was something I was going to have to remedy. Especially if this was something I was becoming.

“Lucien came seeking my help to take back something that Jirvel possesses that he says is his,” I whispered, knowing that it probably did no good. “And, that if I help him retrieve it, he would help me to save Kieran and the others.”

“And if you do not help him?” Gimlit asked, disdain, mistrust and a multitude of other darker thoughts I could not place rolling across the planes of his face before blankness returned.

“There will be no helping of Lucien,” a voice exclaimed from the darkness.

I knew that voice. I wanted to rip the voice box from the throat of its owner. Wanted to tear the heart out of her, rip her head off and watch her burn, never to hear her damned voice again.

“Not this night, or any other.” The arctic chill of that voice floated on the tendrils of the wind through the tree branches, seeped through exposed flesh and tore at your bones. Then there was the sardonic, hateful glaze of her laughter. It pierced your ears like train spikes jabbed through your brain, only you’re still awake, waiting for the remnants of gore and blood to seep from your remaining orifices. Knowing she’s there, like a greedy vulture, ready to scoop out the gruesome remains. I hated that voice, and the bitch who owned it. I wanted nothing more than to see her dead.

“For if Rihker does decide to try to help him… Well, if she does, then everybody dies.”

The night took on the silence of death while we stood waiting for the rush of our aggressors, the battle to commence. I could feel the pulse in my temple throbbing with rage and the blood rushing in my veins while my limbs grew taut, waiting for the onslaught. But nothing happened. Only the sound of the wind and trepidation rang in my ears.

“Come to think of it,” she finally stated, the hint of evil laughter dancing on my every nerve ending, “everybody is going to die anyway.”

Yeah, I guess the feelings of vengeance and death was mutual. I was already moving towards the woods, towards the sound of her voice; anger and bile rising at an alarming rate when I felt the first rush of Darkness engulf my body in a massive wave. Its weight staggered me. Death, madness and abomination the likes I’d only felt once before consumed me before the greasy film of destruction swallowed me up in a bubble of immovable and impenetrable corruption. I didn’t even have enough time to react.

I could only watch, horror-stricken, while two black stains appeared from the forest. They seemed to form out of the very night itself as they rushed Gimlit in a haze of iridescent murkiness. Blades like scimitars appeared from their shadowed appendages, swinging and hacking in a dance macabre. With unbridled skill they fought then managed, somewhat easily to overtake Gimlit in what appeared to be an effortless battle.

Jade had already begun his change at the sound of Jirvel’s voice, his Werewolf apparently scenting the urgency and need. But the change wouldn’t be enough. It appeared that Jirvel had brought her token pack with her, led by her favorite Alpha-Were, Blaen. The great fair wolf, Fionn-Seitheach, I believe is what Kieran had called him. Blaen, with his icy blue eyes and pale, tinsel-like hair, both of which I want to rip from his skull. Blaen, who had tortured Mercy and killed most of Kieran’s Kiss. Blaen, who deserved to die as well.

It was Blaen who led the charge against Jade. Helplessly trapped in my sphere of dark power, I watched the amazing speed and brilliance of Blaen change into a Were of staggering proportion. His fur was the color of newly fallen snow that glistened in the twilight and dusted the expanse of his well-muscled chest. When his muzzle formed from the sculpted jowls of his face, more of the downy whiteness appeared and his ears spiked from the top of his head; the whole of it haloed in an aura of white. It was then I understood his namesake. Blaen was the most stunning Werewolf I’d ever seen.

The first swipe of his claws across Jade’s silver-gray chest made me yearn to see his fair throat torn from his neck, covered in the blaze of his crimson death.

Jade growled and slashed back, began to leap towards him, ready to do battle, but four other Weres were instantly there to hold him back. Forcefully they grabbed his arms, quickly wrapping shackles and chains about his wrists, ankles and neck. And still Blaen kept at him, punching him in the face, slashing him across the torso, bleeding him until he hunched over in his captors’ hands, spent. All the while, dark laughter resonated from Blaen.

“Enough!” Jirvel bellowed, swaggering forward from the darkness. She was once again dressed in a white gown that flowed behind her on the ground. A short, white fur cape circled her shoulders and head. When she pushed back the cap of it, revealing the icy storm of her blazing white tresses, she reminded me of an angel stepping triumphantly from a dark forest. Only, I knew that this angel had long been condemned.

“Is the Chosen my judge and my jury then?” Jirvel asked, traipsing across the gravel of my drive. The gleam of victory danced in her eyes and tiptoed along the lines of her blood-red lips. It only served to destroy whatever hope at beauty she might have once possessed.

I’m quite certain that Jirvel’s dark heart had stolen any hope at grace and loveliness the moment her desire for more entered her chilled veins. She was the type of person that more would never be enough for. She would take from and destroy anyone who stepped in the way of her path to power. Even those she once professed to love.

“Set me free and I will gladly serve as your Executioner,” I advised, staring for the first time, directly into the utter paleness of her face, the oblique darkness of her eyes.

Crossly she glared back at me. “Tell me, Rihker, how is it that you are able to look directly into my eyes? You are able to see into the windows of my soul, yet you are unable to set yourself and your loved ones free?”

It was an interesting question. One I didn’t have the answer to. Seemed to be a damn trend for me lately. Best not to let the pasty bitch know.

“We’ve all our secrets. Don’t we, Jirvel? Care to tell me how you gained the power to hold me in this sphere? I’m quite certain this is not a power a Death Stalker could manage.”

“Do you not recognize it?” she questioned with a laugh. “Tell me, Half-breed, what does my soul speak when you view upon its Darkness”

My consternation was growing, as were my memories. There had only been one other time I had felt this great of Darkness. One other time I’d been held in a sphere. Death and Zombies. Death and the Shadow Lands. Dead Necromancers. The Shadow Land and Ogres. The Shadow Land and Shades. Shadow and Moons. Moons and Magic.

“Son of a bitch,” I whispered, finally coming full circle, all of it making sense.

“I believe,” Jirvel stated with dark laughter, “that would be daughter of a bastard.”

I knew what I had to do before the last word left her breath. I’d already ripped the door open to my Darkness and was stepping through the bubble, blades appearing in my hands at a subtle request.

“Shit!” Jirvel exclaimed her eyes growing round with worry for the first time since we’d met. “Master!” she hailed, and with a wave of her hand the night consumed her and her protectors, taking with them Gimlit and Jade into the darkness beyond.

“We ain’t done yet, you bitch!” I cursed into empty darkness. “Do you hear me? Death is coming for you, Jirvel! And my father too!”