

Dreams Both Real and Strange I

By

K.W. McCabe

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2011 K.W. McCabe and FantaFire Press

Published by FantaFire Press

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are product's of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any printed or electronic form without written permission from this author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights.

Other works by K. W. McCabe:

Dark and Light: A Small Collection of Poetry

Dreams Both Real and Strange I: An Anthology

Dreams Both Real and Strange II: An Anthology

Dreams Both Real and Strange I and II: The Combined Anthologies

Fantasies of the Waking Dreamer: A Small Collection of Poetry

 Choices: A Free Short Story

Angel of Death: A Short Story (Thomas Lord of Death)

*The Dragon's Call (Coming Soon)

DEDICATION

For Yve.

Dreams Both Real and Strange I

Book Description:

An anthology of short stories. A collection of tiny, flash fiction fantasy, horror, and dark tales of 1,000-8,000 words in length.

1

Choices (Part I)

The night seemed darker than normal as my footsteps echoed down the alley. Refuse snapped under my feet like shriveled twigs and dry old bones. I pulled down my hood as far as I was able. I needn't have worried though. The inhabitants of the passage, shriveled with hunger and poisonous pastimes, shrunk away from my dark form.

I ignored them. They meant nothing to me: Their souls were as wasted as their flesh. I continued on, my path echoing behind me with a sullen rhythm. Finally, I came to the door.

It wasn't much of a door; it had once been pure white. Dim now, it was gray with age, cracked and peeling where the elements had worn away its vibrancy. I stood for a moment, rigid and averse to the pressures building within me. My hand rose, as it always did, clenched and bone white at the knuckles and I knocked.

Everything fell silent. After a long wait, there was a muffled noise behind the door before it slowly cracked, a pale fearful face peaking nose and eyes through the opening.

"Can I help you? What do you want?"

It was her: Her soul shone bright and translucent through her fair skin. Strands of her dark red hair clung about her wary grey eyes making her faintly bruised face look even paler. I tensed. I couldn't help it. I never liked this part, but I had no choice. I hadn't had one for a very long time.

"I have a message." I held still. She would come willing or she would not.

"Go on." Her eyebrows creased. She glanced behind her for a moment, I couldn't see at what, then turned back, waiting.

"The dark master has called in the debt you owe him. You will come with me tonight."

She sucked in her breath, her eyes going bright with sudden panic and despair. "But I thought—"

I sighed heavily. It would be the unpleasant way then. "You thought he would call in your debt at a time you were ready to pay it." Her lips trembled as she closed her mouth, a muscle twitching slightly beneath her right eye. I waited one more moment before speaking the second time. "Will you come willing tonight or pay the forfeit?"

Her jaw tightened. It was the Choice. Always the Choice—and it had to be given.

"Who will the forfeit be?" She asked slowly.

I shook my head. They always wanted to know although they knew they wouldn't be told. She had known the conditions when she had accepted the return of her life for a period of time. "All I can say is that someone you know will take your place as forfeit."

She was silent except for the slight shuddering of her breath as she struggled to calm herself.

I spoke the words the last time. "Will you come willing or pay the forfeit?"

Three chances were all she would receive. Then I would choose for her. She shrunk in on herself, glancing back one more time at someone—I could not see who—before turning back. Her eyes were at once defiant, as well as dull and lifeless. I knew the choice she would make then.

"I will pay," she said.

I nodded once. "You cannot, once it has been done, rescind your decision. Do you wish to rescind it now?" I could not leave without giving her that fourth chance. I would pay for it later. I always did.

"No," she said, "I will pay the forfeit."

I nodded again, heaviness settling over me. "Very well," I said. I turned, seeing her flinch with my movement and began to walk away. A muffled groan and thud sounded behind her door. I heard her curse in exclamation, call out and then begin weeping inconsolably.

And I felt the pure brightness of her soul dim into grey and then a desolate black.

She should have come willing—everyone has their time. She would have escaped his grasp for all eternity if she had...Now she will be his forever.

To be continued...

2

Rebirthed

The dreams always start simple at first: the cradling and rocking of warmth, the glow and pulse of liquid and its life giving heat.

I float and dream.

I dream of ages long past, of lives lived and of deaths suffered.

While I dream, I begin to feel the flow change. The slow steady pulse of heat, rhythm, and movement begins to flex and push. Then I'm moving, upward or downward I cannot tell which. I shift, testing.

The heat grows warmer with each deepening, quickening thrum. As it grows, I start to stir and waken. Behind my fluttering lids, I see the warm glow of the liquid orange and reds that are pushing me faster and faster towards my birth.

Finally, I open my eyes. The heat intensifies one hundredfold—and I glory in it. It is rushing now. No longer thrumming, it is gushing and pushing me to my destiny: towards whatever waits.

As it speeds faster and faster, I lift my head, stretching my neck and reaching...

With a burst of light and liquid orange heat, I am reborn into fire and agony and a glorious beauty...and back into shining life into the world above. Spreading my wings, at last, after one thousand years of death and dreams...Rebirthed now, alight and afire in the skies once again.

The Phoenix.

3

The Lake

There was a lake by my mother's house. It was only a short walk away—about fifteen minutes if you walked fast. It was pretty during the day, but during the night a dark mist would hover over it. We would laugh and call it "Shadow Lake," although that wasn't its name.

My friends and I would play there as children until one summer one of them had fallen in and drowned. For a long time after, no one walked there. Signs were put up, barring it off, and walls were placed as barrier against anyone attempting to swim its waters.

I moved eventually. Went away to college, and came back successful or, at least, not a failure. I took to walking around the lake again, sitting above the stone edge of the wall which still stood, barring swimmers. The signs which once stood around it were gone, victims of bored children, rowdy and hyper with mischief.

I went there one day, enjoying the sun and fell asleep. It happened often enough that I usually brought some food to snack on before I left.

Today was different, somehow.

I went, taking my bag lunch and resting myself in the grass. I threw breadcrumbs to the few scraggly looking ducks wading in the water. Leaning back on my elbows, I let the sun warm my face. I fell asleep as I usually did, arms pillowing my brow.

I startled awake—to this day I'm not certain what woke me. There was barely any light to see by. Only the beams of the waning moon provided any illumination at all. I gathered up my things by touch, my heart pounding in my chest. I had never told anyone, but I had a terrible fear of the dark.

Feeling my way carefully, I edged along the bank, trying to find the path upward which would lead me away from the cold, misted waters behind me. I heard a rustle and turned, my heart pounding so hard I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. When I looked, I saw nothing.

I turned back again, my hands trembling, and stumbled a little on the ground. There was another noise. This time when I turned, I saw what it was.

The surface of the water was churning, mist leeching into the disturbance, and bubbles frothing upward. I could barely feel myself swallow as I stared. Up from the churning waters came the eerie sound of whistles, like the wind through trees on a moonless night. My hands went clammy and I stumbled backwards, but not quickly enough. A figure lifted from the parted ripples of the lake and stepped towards me, balanced on the waters as though walking on solid ground.

I reached behind me, my breath coming in shallow gasps and fell back hard on the ground. The figure continued to walk forward, until it overtook me as I scrambled backwards. Icy wet mist flowed over my skin and into my mouth and nostrils as I sucked in my breath, gasping. I had the sense of sadness, and hunger, and a terrible want before I was overcome. Then a voice whispered from inside me as though speaking right into my ear.

"Do not be afraid," it said.

I blacked out.

When I awoke, it was morning and I was in my bed. I had no idea how I'd gotten there or what happened, but I ached in every part of my body. I got out of bed and took a shower, scrubbing myself until my skin was raw, wishing I could remember what occurred the night before. I'd had a dream...but no, it was too strange to be believed.

I went about my day, but many times my coworkers would give me looks. I never knew what the looks meant, but I was having a hard time concentrating. I would find myself nodding off at my desk at work. I would wake some thirty minutes later having done nothing productive...and, once again, aching in parts which should not be hurting. Not like that—not at work.

As soon as I went home, I showered again, feeling more and more afraid. Why was I feeling like this all the time? Was I sick? I went to bed hoping rest would help ease whatever was going on with me.

When I woke the next morning, it was worse. My head was killing me, I hurt all over, and my body was sweaty as though I had run a thousand miles. Something was wrong. This time I was certain, but I couldn't understand what. I forced myself to think hard—this all started the day I had gone to the lake.

I had been certain I'd dreamed what happened there—but maybe it hadn't been a dream at all. I gritted my teeth and went about my day. As soon as I left from work, I headed towards the lake. The sun was barely a sliver in the sky, and the mist would cover the lake soon.

By the time I walked to its edge, the sky was dark. The mist covered the lake, floating and moving as though it were a live thing. As soon as I came to the edge, the waters began churning as they had that night days before.

My heart started pounding, but I stood rigid, waiting. The figure rose out of the waters and came towards me. This time it stopped in front of me and I gasped. It was a beautiful woman. I looked into her eyes and felt her touch my skin with icy fingers.

"I have waited for you a long time, Thomas," she said.

I stared at her and swallowed. "How do you know my name?"

She laughed, and her laugh was the sound of soft whistling on a dark night. "I know your name because you are mine. Don't you remember? We came here once."

As she finished speaking, I did. "Mara," I whispered and she smiled. I could see her face now, the child she had been in the face of the woman she might have become.

Her voice was gentle as she spoke. "It's time to pay now, Thomas."

I nodded my head dumbly. It had been my fault she'd drowned all those years ago. It hadn't been malicious, but I had tripped her in the water, and in my fear had not told anyone she wasn't coming up for air.

She wrapped her cold, wet arms around my neck and kissed me, drawing me backwards. She was all around me and through me and her taste was like moonlit waters on a misty night.

And I went with her, down into the mist, where I could be with her forever.

4

Mourning

I held on a long time. There wasn't much more to be done: I had called them all and they had come. They trickled in one by one, to settle around me, their faces caricatures of grief. I knew better though. I had not risen to where I was because of a lack of ability to read people.

It didn't matter at this point. Oh, it hurt—no mistaking that—it did hurt. That it should, surprised me. I had never cared before. I had been too busy, too rushed, and too full of the knowledge of my own power to pay attention to what is now my greatest regret.

Bitter and ironic that.

Not even my wife would mourn me. Not truly. Oh, she was here, looking beautiful and grief-ridden just as she should. Sitting there surrounded by my children and looking as though she could be one of them. But, once again, I knew. There was a gleam in her eye. I don't blame her though. I knew well enough what I wanted when I got her—and what she wanted when she caught me.

Still... it hurts. And it's funny, now that I am in a place money cannot buy me out of, just how bitter the realization is.

I wish I had done differently. I wish I had loved more. I wish I had placed more value on my children's lives. They are sitting there, watching me...waiting, just waiting for me to die.

The worst part of it all is that there is no rage. No anger that they do not regret my coming demise. How can there be? I know exactly how they feel. I felt it for my own father. And I had promised myself I would not be like him.

It is bitter to realize that the greatest promise I ever made to myself was broken over the lesser wishes for wealth.

And now, it is too late: I am fading...and I know there is no light at the end of the tunnel for me.

5

Wraith (Part I)

Anne's heart beat in her ears as she stumbled across the dips and rises of the grassy hill. Her fingers searched and scrabbled through weeds and dirt, and her nails chipped against the hard edges of rock. She cast her gaze around. Dusk was the worst time of day to lose anything of value. She couldn't leave without finding it though. Matthew, Sam's son, had given her the bracelet the day before, and the gems in it were real topaz and hematite.

Her stomach sank as she glared at the grass once more: The sky was getting too dark—she wouldn't find it tonight. Worse, the sheep had scattered with her frantic movements through their midst. She straightened, sucking in a breath as she looked around. The herd had scattered far and wide across the hillside. There would never be enough time to gather them all and herd them home before full dark.

Her chest constricted. It wasn't fair. They'd finally been able to settle down in one place for longer than a year before it started all over again. It had caught up to them though. No one in the village stayed out after dark anymore. Already, she could hear the strange, wailing cries echoing from far off.

She stood, undecided, hands clenched into fists against the goose bumps which broke out up and down her arms. Nothing was safe outside after dark, not even livestock, and their herd was small enough as it was. Starting over repeatedly was hard and scraping together enough to afford the tiny herd had taken the better part of a year. With just her and her mom, every sheep was necessary for survival.

She bit her lip, cursing herself. She hadn't wanted to take Matthew's gift at first. She'd been saving up to purchase the bracelet herself. He was a very nice boy, but there was something about him that made her uneasy—she just couldn't quite decide what it was.

So she'd scrimped and held back pennies from the sale of sheep's wool in the market. Guilt had plagued her at the thought of holding back those few pennies. Her mother needed them to buy the herbs she used for potions she sold in the village. The guilt had not been strong enough to stop Anne, but saving up enough had taken so long. By the time Matthew opened his hand and showed her the topaz bracelet, shining with newness, every longing she'd ever had to own something pretty rose up to choke her. She hadn't been able to push it away.  
So she'd taken it with a twinge of guilt at the brightening in his eyes, and placed it around her wrist. She'd loved the feel of it and flaunted it to the other girls in the village, the same girls who'd taunted her for her worn skirts and faded ribbons. It had felt so good to have something new and precious. She hadn't shown it to her mother in fear she would be made to give it back.

She'd worn it while herding the sheep, toying with it and twisting it around her wrist. Then, she'd fallen asleep, lulled by the warmth of the sun shining down and her fantasies of grandeur. When she woke, startled by the noise of the disturbed herd, she found it gone.

She cursed again. That was bad enough, now the sheep were at risk as well. It was possible some of the sheep would make it through the night, but not all of them—maybe not even most of them. Her mother was going to kill her. She stood a moment longer, aching with indecision, before another cry wafted in the air. She stiffened. She couldn't stay out any longer: The sounds were moving closer.

She grabbed her skirts with one hand and held the other in front of her to balance herself and guard against the shadows of large boulders and bushes. The sound grew louder and her heart pounded as she picked up her pace. When one of the sheep bleated in alarm off to her right, she picked up her skirts in both hands and broke out into a full run. There was a flurry of alarm behind her, the sound of sheep scattering. She pushed herself to run faster.

Dodging around shadows, she sprinted down the hillside, gathering speed. She didn't see the rock until too late. Her foot caught and the ground came up at her fast. She lifted her hands in a warding gesture, breaking her fall. Sharp pain scraped up her palms and wrists as she skidded and came to a stop, her skirts tangled around her. Stunned, she sucked in a breath. Sheep were bleating behind her amidst noises so awful she didn't want to consider what caused them. With difficulty, she pushed herself to her feet, biting her lip against a sudden pain in her ankle. The death of the poor animal behind her had granted her a few moments of reprieve.

Hobbling, she began moving again and the noises faded away as she gained some distance. After a few moments, she crested a small rise. From just a little ways off, the brightened windows of her mother's cottage beckoned her cheerfully. She let out a breath of relief.

The snap of a twig behind her broke the stillness.

She stiffened. Turning, she faced the creature, wincing at the pain stabbing its way up her leg. Shaggy black hair obscured glowing red eyes and the skin of his face was bone white, whiter than the teeth he bared in a rictus-like grin.  
"So, the little witch's daughter has gotten caught out at night," he said. His voice was a dry rasp that felt like spiders crawling their way up her spine.

She hunched her shoulders, and took a limping step back. "What do you want?" Her voice quavered. She took another blind, hobbling step backward, hoping he wouldn't notice she was edging closer to the cottage. The chuckle that wafted through the air sent the hairs of her neck standing on edge.

"What do I want?" He moved a step closer and she halted. She let out a shivering sigh of breath as she froze, terrified he would chase her if she moved again. Swallowing against the sudden dryness of her throat, she let her gaze slide to her left, gauging how far it would be to run the rest of the way to her cottage. There was a sound, a rustle of movement, and she snapped her gaze back to him. He was much closer than before and she tensed, her whole body quivering with the need to run.

"Hmm, what do I want?" he asked again, a sarcastic tone winding its way through the words in a way she couldn't understand. He was just too close. She sucked in another breath as she moved backwards another step, reaching behind her blindly as she almost stumbled with the pain in her ankle.

"I want what I once had, little one." He took another step closer and her heart began pounding harder. She stumbled backward again, falling as her ankle twisted underneath her. He advanced on her with a slow, steady gait. All she could do was look up, mute, into his glittering red gaze.

"I want what I once had, witch's daughter. You are the key to getting it."

The scream left her lips too late as he swept her into his icy hold. By the time the front door of the cottage opened and her mother called out her name in panic, they were gone.

She struggled against him, fighting to pull away, her scream strangled into silence by her need to get away now. He tightened his grip, his icy fingers pressing into the folds of her cloak.

It was hard. Much harder than he'd expected it would be: the smell of life beating at the dip in her neck and the hard pounding of her heart beating in fright. An acid ache began to burn from his clenched stomach to the back of his throat and he grimaced. He would have to put her down soon. He pushed faster and faster, the wind whipping by in whistles as he sped between trees, seeking the deeper forests.

She shifted against him, her struggles weakened by shock, and his skin went clammy with the rising burn of hunger. He had to get as far from the witch as possible. He had to put her down now. His grip tightened. She went slack in his arms and his throat constricted, but there was no way for him to stop and see if she still lived.

Stopping would be the death of them both.

The burn grew with each minute until it became a red wash of pain consuming him, and still he pushed on. He lost all sense of time as he sped faster; faster than he'd ever pushed himself in the entirety of his half-life. The entire world became filled with the need to consume and the equally conflicting need to preserve his existence.

He sped on through most of the night. The burn became so great, that at last he had almost resolved to consume her and die when the shadowed stone walls of the monastery came into sight.

Tension eased from his shoulders so suddenly he almost dropped her. He stopped abruptly, swaying with exhaustion and the terrible hunger. He almost laid her down right there, on the shadowed grass, desperate to get away from her before he gave in to the desire which would kill them both. He gritted his teeth and walked, slow and deliberate, through the trees and up to the shadowed, vine-infested entrance. The front gate was ajar as it always was: No one came here since the monks had fled. He carried her inside the gates, passing the homely courtyard, and through the opened doors of the monastery itself.

The holy ground of the monastery burned the soles of his feet as it always did, but he continued on, grim. The holiness of the place instantly banished the curse of his hunger; he could bear the pain of burned soles to be rid of the curse which plagued him. The tension eased from his shoulders, the reprieve from pain lightening her weight in his arms. He glanced down at her and was relieved to see she was still breathing. It wouldn't do to have the only means to ending the curse die before she had ever proved her usefulness.

He passed through the large hall, stepping around fallen chairs and broken furniture, carrying her to the back rooms where monks had once done their penance. He came to the first door: He had prepared it once he found the witch. He kicked open the door and carried her inside, laying her limp body on the blanket covered cot against the side wall.

He watched her for a moment. Her hair was the color of chocolate and glossy against her pale face. Her eyelids looked bruised with the shadow of fear and exhaustion, and her lips were pressed together tightly even in sleep. He pressed his own lips together in a sudden anger he couldn't explain.

He turned abruptly and left the cell, locking it behind him with a key the last inhabitants had left behind in fear and haste. He left her there, striding away to find something to ease the hunger which began to burn through even the dubious protection the monastery provided. He could deny it there, for a time, but even that was temporary; he could not deny it forever. But at least he would not die this night.

He exited the monastery and began to hunt.

Anne woke, throwing out her arms and thrashing with such terror she fell off the cot, cracking her elbow against the stone floor. She sucked in a breath as the pain blossomed and spread up her arm, and stilled. The pain seared through the fog of shock and sleep and she lay stunned, sucking in air, desperately trying to calm herself.

The pain receded slowly; once it was gone, she pushed herself up, weakly leaning her back against the cot and looking at her surroundings. The room was small, square in shape, and the walls were cold gray stone. There was one barred window high up on the wall; she had never been tall, but even if she had been, she would not have been able to reach it. A bucket for waste sat in the corner and a small cot with blankets stood at her back and that was all.

She began to feel her chest tightening again and steeled herself against the panic. She was alive, there might be some way to escape. She felt the first stirrings of curiosity. Why was she alive? It was strange that, after each village they had left, fleeing the creature which stalked them, she should so obviously be not dead.

It was what she had feared. It was what her mother had feared.

Each time they left a place, it was at the news of some girl's disappearance in life, and reappearance as a corpse. And each time, her mother's face when she had heard the news held a terrible weight of guilt and grief...and a terrible satisfaction. She wondered what look her mother's face would hold now the worst had finally happened.

She heard the sound of rattling keys and startled. Her heart raced as she snapped her head to stare at the heavy wooden door barring her only escape from the icy stone room. It creaked open slowly, whining on its rusted hinges. Her skin prickled, goose bumps rising up and down her skin. She pressed herself back against the cot, bringing her arms around herself, and stared up at the figure that entered the room.

"You are awake, I see." His voice was as she remembered it, the strange mix between a rasp and a whisper.

She swallowed hard and spoke. "Yes."

He tilted his head, unkempt hair obscuring his glittering red eyes. "What is your name?" She stared at him, unable to understand his words. Her name? Why did he want her name?

He spoke again, impatience tinting his voice. "If I'm to call you anything, it must be something other than 'girl.' What is your name?"

"Anne," she said, her voice hoarse.

He nodded. "You may call me, Wraith."

She stared at him for a moment. Why was he giving his name? Wasn't he going to kill her?

"What do you want?" She almost didn't recognize her voice when she spoke; it was high and shaky with fear.

He raised dark eyebrows, mocking her. "What do I want? I told you already. I want what I once had."

She shook her head, not understanding and not caring what he meant. "I don't have what you want," she said, fighting the panic which threatened to seep into her voice. "Whatever it is you're looking for, I don't have it in my possession."

He smiled at her bitterly. She shuddered; corpse white and inset with eyes which glowed red, it was not a smile that belonged on his face. It was not the face of a human, not the face of a live person at all.

"Oh, but you do. The witch promised us an end to this half-life if we could but master ourselves. She swore we could break the curse with a girl willing to grant us what we had not seen fit to grant the first."

She didn't understand. Her mother had cursed him?

He was speaking, his red gaze going flat and distant. "Seven times we tried. Once a year for the last seven years, we followed the witch's footsteps and tried to break the curse," he stopped, his raspy voice trailing off as a strange emotion crossed his visage.

It shocked her; she would never have expected to see grief on his face.

He continued after a moment, with obvious difficulty. "Each year, for the last seven years, we would try to break the curse. And each year, for the last seven years, one of us would lose control of the hunger. The girl would die. The one who fed from her would die." Anne felt a jolt of terror and understanding wash through her at his words. The girls that appeared dead, without apparent injury, drained of life without a bruise to show the cause. The look of guilt on her mother's face and their constant moves from village to village, attempting to stay ahead of the deaths that trailed in their wake: the reason for the constant poverty and fear she had lived in for almost the entirety of her life.

"There were eight of us in the beginning. My two brothers, Liam and Doan, and the rest were our sworn men at arms. Seven times we tried. Seven times we failed. I am the last one left and it is bitter that my men...and my brothers...should have suffered and died for the deed I committed." His voice trailed off as he bowed his head, staring at the floor in grief.

She dug her fingers into her arms, angry at the pity which rose up in her to mix with the lessening emotions of fear. Seven girls had died because of this monster and some deed he had done. Something terrible enough that her mother had seen fit to curse him to this existence.

"Why me?" she asked, but she thought she knew. How better to exact revenge on the witch than to have her own curse rebound upon her child?

He lifted his gaze to look at her, his eyes flat with an emotion she could not discern. "Why you." He said it as though musing, considering his response. He shifted forward, going to one knee in front of her and she coiled back, fighting the spike of fear that lanced through her at his nearness. There was anger there in his look...and shame, and a desperation which needed no interpretation.

"I chose you, Anne, because the hunger is getting worse—and I cannot believe the witch would suffer you to die."

There was no comfort in the warmth of the cottage. The shadows thrown by the blazing fire leaped out in accusation against her. Her daughter was gone. Lena swept her gaze over the cottage, her mouth dry as she catalogued everything she would need to take with her when she left. Tracking him would be hard. Earth magic was not her gift, not since the day she had spun the death curse that would change the course of their lives.

Dampness touched her palms and dried on the bundles of clothed goods as she picked them up. Her stomach ached with terror and fear. What could be happening to Anne right now? Had he given in to the hunger? He was the last, she knew, of the men who had borne the brunt of her terrible anger. He was the last—and the hunger would be at its worst.

She had not made the curse an easy thing to break.

She glanced one more time around the cottage, nodding a silent farewell. She would not return here, whether she found Anne in time or not. She turned and left, shutting the door quietly behind her. All she could do was search for Anne before he gave in to the hunger.

All she could do was hope he still desired life.

The hunger returned with a slow burn in the pit of his stomach. He left her shivering and silent in her cell as soon as he felt the ache. The monastery would lessen the effects of the curse if he did not push its limits. It was a terrible thing that his one hope for breaking the curse was also his greatest temptation and greatest peril.

His steps were muffled as he walked the width of the monastery: at the west end was the kitchen. The floor had been swept clean when he first made his residence in the place. Now, it was slightly dusty with misuse and a family of mice had made their nest in a potato sack in one corner.

The pantry had been filled with meats and breads and pies when he had first come. They had molded with time and he had been forced to remove them. He couldn't stand the stench of rot, half-dead though he was. All that was left now were some large sacks of rice, a couple bags of stubbly potatoes, a bowl of dried apples, and a small bag of sun-dried raisins.

He stared down at the fare. He had once sat down to night-long feasts. Now, an entire banquet-hall of food would not have satisfied the hunger which plagued him. He lifted one hand, ignoring the tightness in his chest, and picked up the bag of raisins and the bowl of apples. They were not a feast, hardly even a decent meal, at that, but they would be enough to feed her for a time.

He turned, food in his hands, and left the kitchen.

She was asleep when he opened her cell, balancing the food in one hand and unlocking the door with the other. It was the first moments before dawn and her fright had left her weak and exhausted from the night's terrors. There was not much time left to hunt; he would have to go down to the cellar soon. The aching burn of the monastery's stone floors against the bottom of his feet was nothing compared to the golden glare of the sun.

He walked towards her slowly, clenching his teeth against the burn that rose at the smell of her. He stopped a little ways from her and it intensified. Pain and fire seeped through him until he didn't trust himself to move any closer. He set the bag of raisins on the floor alongside the bag of apples and turned, meaning to leave before the hunger could betray him.

"Why are you doing this? Why don't you kill me?" Her voice was rough, but clear.

He stopped, rigid. "I told you already," he said, his voice strained. He heard movement and turned slowly.

She pushed herself up to sit on the cot with her back against the wall, arms wrapped tight around her chest, and shook her head. "No," she said, "you haven't. You told me the girls your men fed on died. You said my mother cursed you to this existence. You haven't told me why you didn't just kill me."

He stared at her. She was right. But she did not know the whole story. Anyone who did not might ask why he did not take his revenge. If the deed he'd done had been any less malevolent than it was, he might have considered himself justified.

He did not. He might have once. He did not now. Nearly a decade had passed since the act which had changed his life—all of their lives—forever. And he was not the same man he had once been. "I was not in possession of a conscience the year the curse came upon me. I was wealthy and young, and I was the son of a lord with power. I see now that he was pitiless in his rule, although at the time, I admired him. He was my father; I did not realize I could have worshipped him less. He died and the lands, wealth, and care of my younger brothers were left into my hands. And I became, to the people who lived under my rule, the image of my father.

"I went out after that and took, from the villages, a young woman. She was about the same age you seem—and I kept her. I did not know and did not care that she had a sister who would miss her. She got with child and died in the birthing, and the babe along with her," he paused, forcefully ignoring the hunger which leaped up as Anne sucked in her breath, and waited for her interruption.

When there was none, he continued. "Her sister appeared, the very moment she breathed her last, surrounded by power, and magic, and light. She cursed me and all who had been with me the day I took the girl, to the existence of wraiths. The curse—the hunger—snapped around me, my brothers, and my men.

"The last thing we heard before the bright shine of the sun caused us to flee were her words, 'You will live under the bondage of your hunger until you are able to master it—and until a girl shows to you what you did not show to this one, my sister.'" He lifted his head to look her in the eye. "So you see, I had done ill enough to your mother, witch though she was. I had done ill enough to afflict us all."

She stared at him, silent.

He stood for a moment, wanting to hear her incrimination, her judgment, her disgust—but the hunger turned into an agonizing pain. He turned abruptly and left the cell, locking its door behind him. There would be no time to hunt. He could feel the air, it had warmed with the risen sun. He strode quickly to a place where he would be safe from the light, the burn, and the pain.

Anne sat trembling, eyes fixed on the door as he left. Her trembling eased as moments passed and it seemed he would not return. It was replaced by a slow tightening of her chest. There were so many things her mother hadn't told her, so many things Anne hadn't known or understood.

The silence was absolute and after awhile she lowered her gaze from the door to the food placed on the ground a little ways in front of her. She moved wearily, easing off the cot and hunching down to gather it up. Holding it to her chest, she climbed back onto the cot and began to eat.

The apples were dry and wrinkled, but the raisins tasted as they should. The tightness in her chest began to intensify and she fought against thoughts of her mother. Would there be a fire in the hearth right now? Would a pot of soup or stew be bubbling above its fiery heat?

She leaned her head back against the wall, staring upward, the tightness in her chest suddenly accompanied by the ache of unshed tears behind her eyes. She wouldn't be here if she hadn't been so taken with the stupid topaz bracelet. The herd was either dead or scattered and it was her fault... and her mother... She swallowed. Where was her mother now? Was she looking for her? Searching?

She felt sick all of a sudden and pushed the food aside. Her mother was probably out there looking for her and that, too, was her fault. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head in her arms. Her mother had not told her all the things she had heard from Wraith this night...and he had brought back memories of that year. Strangely enough, while she remembered many things about that time, her mother's sister was not one of them. She couldn't remember her mother's sister at all. That year had been the worst in her life: Her father dead in a hunting accident, and then her mother turning dark and moody and strange. Then, all of a sudden, they were leaving with no explanation as to why.

Much later, she understood the deaths in every village they settled in were connected with their subsequent departure. Some time after that she realized they were being followed by whatever caused those deaths. The very worst part, if he'd spoken the truth, was that he—the creature who'd been their nightmare for the last seven years—was her mother's own creation. Her mother was just as responsible as he for the deaths of all those girls.

Hugging her knees, she lifted her head and stared up at the window. Golden rays of light were falling through. Out there, somewhere, her mother was looking for her.

Lena bent down and sought his trail, brushing the fingers of her hands against grass, dirt, and stone. The beating of her heart picked up, a constant warning against the dwindling of time. If he had managed, somehow, not to consume Anne the night just past, she would be safe for the day until darkness fell. But each subsequent night would be worse.

Lena found the faint pulse of her magic, twisted and darkened by the black magic she'd used all those years ago. Keeping hold of her magic was difficult; once a thing of light, love, and peace—it had rejected her after the casting of the curse. She held only the barest of abilities now unless she chose to sink all the way into darkness to acquire power. She shuddered, her skin prickling against the thought. The dark, once used, tempted the caster forever.

Wearily, she straightened and glanced toward the low hills where remnants of their herd still wandered. The dark edge of the forest lay just beyond the slopes. She pressed her lips together, her stomach sinking with fear. He would have taken Anne as far away from sunlight as he could.

Lena shrugged her small pack up her shoulder and began following the faint line of her tainted magic towards the hills and into the forest.

Time was running out for them all.

To be continued...

Dreams BOth Real and Strange II

7

Choices (Part II)

The return to Death's presence was punctuated, as it always was, with the clench of my stomach and the sheen of cold sweat slicking my forehead underneath the hood. I could not avoid what could come next. I had earned it, and more, with my actions. I knew and it did not matter. Were I to be placed in the same situation again—and there was no doubt I would be—I would change nothing. I would do it again if the chance presented itself.

Despicable as my duties were, I retained what little honor was left to me and clung to it fiercely. It was the only thing which reminded me of who I had once been.  
Moving through shadow and darkness, my footsteps became insubstantial as I shifted from this world to the next. When I appeared, at last, in front of the guardians of the dark gate, I was weary with effort.

My weariness could have been worse: I could have been carrying a soul bright with purity and translucent with death. Those nights were always dire. He could not hold those souls. He would take his fury at the failure out on my own flesh. Nevertheless, those times were preferable to the empty-handed defeat I suffered this night.

Those nights, at least, were a victory against him which could be savored.  
This night there would be no relishing of his failure to soften the punishment. He had won this round. There was a soul, darkened with the corruption of the Choice, awaiting the day and hour of Death's final call.

Bowing to the guardians at the gate, I waited, shoulders slumped, for them to let me pass. Finally, the two shadows, bulky and red-eyed, moved apart. Moving between them, I passed through the gate.

Stepping onto the floors of his domain the first time had been a shock. Cold marble shot through with glints of gray had been the opposite of what anyone would have expected. I certainly never expected Death's home would mimic one of the more luxurious castles in the earthly realm.

Striding quickly, I moved down the hallway. The stone walls were covered with burgundy and black tapestries and lit on either side by flickering torches. My footsteps became firmer with each step, ringing hollow as I moved closer and closer to his presence.

I swallowed against the constriction in my throat. It didn't help. He must be very angry to force my flesh into substantiality this soon. When I reached the end of the hall two large black doors, twice my height, blocked my entrance. The symbol etched upon them moved and changed. I had never been able to determine its actual shape. I laid my hand against it, tensing as its magic swept through me, and the doors opened.

"Come in, Thomas."

I shuddered as his sibilant words slicked over my skin, defiling me. I faltered, but delaying would do me no good. It only amused him, and his amusement was almost worse than his anger.

I entered, my footsteps consumed by the abyss of darkness swallowing the room. I strode quickly—he was never patient—and went to one knee, bowing my head to the formless shadow on the black, skull laden throne.

"So," he rasped, "you disobeyed me."

I gritted my teeth and said nothing. Begging would do no good. Explaining would earn me worse punishment. Silence was my only recourse. I felt his rustle of movement and my heart began to thud.

"You disobeyed me and still you lost this round. When will you learn you had your chance, Thomas? You cannot defeat Death."

I lifted my head, my heart pounding louder in my ears as I spoke. It was always thus between us, but I could not help it. The man I had once been would have despised who I was now. "I defied you, Lord Death, because I could not let someone suffer the Choice without fair warning. I would have wanted someone to warn me in their place."

He laughed, and his laugh sounded like the scraping of branches against tombstones. "Thomas, I picked you. You never would have received that chance from me."

I bowed my head in bitter self-loathing. He had not given me the chance, no, but I had known the conditions. Everyone did who made the Choice.

When he moved again, I did not flinch. I deserved the pain that lanced through my flesh. I welcomed the fire which boiled through my nerves. I deserved it and more: For my Choice, Ceria, my wife, died—forfeit for my selfishness. I had not thought someone I cared so deeply about would be sacrificed in my place.

She died.

And I am here: The servant of Lord Death and all he signifies. If only I could remake the Choice I made that night.

I cannot.

The Choice, once made, stands forever.

I was weary and bruised when he bade me return to my quarters. I had an assignment: Another soul on the edge of death to be given the Choice. I rested, as much as a soul who will never find peace is able, and then I went out.

Slipping through the shadows, I followed the tug of the dying soul. After a few hours, I arrived at a cottage. Golden light fell through the lace curtains; I could see the silhouettes of a small group of people inside. Fear and denial shuddered through me and I stopped. The cottage was my old home: The home I had lived in before I made the Choice.

Who could be in this home dying...waiting for my appearance? The answer rose unbidden, unwanted: Felicity, my daughter.

Edging forward, I faded into invisibility. Humans never took my appearance well. Especially not near a loved one's death bed. I passed through the closed wooden door, its panels an icy brush through me. The room was hushed, the worried murmur of voices fell into the backdrop as I walked forward.

I passed the group, dread growing in me with every step. The moment I stepped through her doorway, anguish cut me like a knife. There she laid, pale from loss of blood. A babe wailed in the arms of a nursemaid at the edge of her bed. A young man knelt at her side, clutching her limp hand in his own. I wanted to curse, but did not. Death had played a foul joke. I could see her soul, translucent, beginning to separate from her corporeal flesh. When she stood at last, wavering and bright, looking with surprise at her shining form, I spoke.

"Felicity."

She looked up, wonder and awe lighting her eyes. Dread sunk my stomach. Death must be laughing right now.

"Papa?" she asked. "Papa, is that you?"

"Yes...and no."

Hurt and confusion touched her face. I swallowed against the burn behind my eyes. There would be only one chance to do this right. I had only one chance to warn my daughter without breaking the rules of the Choice. I hoped she chose the best course. I glanced at the wailing babe in the nursemaid's arms. The young man knelt at the side of her bed calling her name. I knew what Choice she would make.

"You have come to a pass, Felicity. You have a Choice: You can choose to pass on to the next life. Or you can choose to stay in this one."

Dawning horror touched her face as she stared around her...and saw, at last, her supine body. "Papa? I'm dead?" Panic and fear transformed her features as she finally noticed the sobbing form of her young man.

I sucked in a breath against the pain which lanced through me. It had ever been thus, I had always hurt for her sorrows. But she was no longer a child. If she had been, I would not have been sent. Children were never subjected to the Choice.

"Yes," I said heavily. "You are dead and you must make a Choice." She wasn't listening. She touched her young man's hair, calling his name urgently. He lifted his head for a moment...and then dropped his face into his hands, sobbing quietly.

"He cannot hear you, Felicity," I said. It was hard. It was so hard to watch her die and be complicit in her making the worst Choice of her life. I would try, the best I could, to steer her away from Death's eternal grip. But what could I do against a mother's love? What could I say against a wife's passion? I did not know. But I would have to find something. This first time she would be given the Choice to stay or not. The second chance to choose would come later. And that second Choice would end in either eternal bondage to Death—or freedom from him forever.

She had begun weeping, desperately trying to take the babe from the nursemaid's arms.

It was too much.

"Felicity." My voice cracked like a whip.

She lifted her head, dazed, and focused on me. As she met my gaze her eyes cleared a little. It was the tone I had always used when lecturing her as a child.

"You have come to a pass, Felicity, and you must make a Choice. You have the Choice to stay, here, with the ones you love." She opened her mouth to speak, eyes lighting with relief, but I pushed on, grim. "Or, you have the Choice to continue the way all spirits must go in their time."

"Papa, I choose to stay," she said, rushing the words out.

I pressed my lips together. Here was where the conditions must be spoken. "If you choose to go now," I said, "you will continue on in freedom eternal." I paused. I'd pushed the rules of the Choice hard to imply as much as I had. I took a breath and continued, "If, however, you choose to stay know this: You will only stay for a time."

She was listening closely and I felt a spark of pride. It was too much, I knew, to hope she would leave her young man and babe behind. But at least she would know the conditions and ponder them well. My voice hardened as I continued. I hoped she listened well enough to understand all. "And once that time is done, you will have the Choice, once again, to stay for a short time. But it will come at a price you will regret." There. I had stretched the rules to the very limit. I would pay for that last bit of warning, but I did not care. I could not. She was my child.

"What price, papa?" she asked.

I felt pride once again. No other victim of the Choice had ever questioned the conditions. Not even I. "Someone you know will enter Death's embrace in your place," I answered.

She sucked in a breath. I watched as her gaze slid to her young man's sobbing form...and then her young babe.

"It is not so much to be able to stay for a short time now...and then go when Death calls the next time..." she said to herself, murmuring.

My heart sank. This was the first trap. All victims of the Choice thought the very same before being caught in the trap entirely. I stayed silent. There was nothing more I could say without stepping outside the rules of the Choice completely. She must make the Choice on her own.

Finally, she set her shoulders, lifting her brown eyes to mine. My heart ached with love and pain. She would not choose the best course, I knew, but I could not fault her for it. What person willingly leaves behind love? What parent cheerfully leaves their child?

"I will stay, papa," she said.

I nodded, heavy. "Then rise, Felicity, for a short time. I will see you once more after this."

I had turned to leave when she called out, "Papa! Are you dead? How are you here, like this?" she said, her voice wavering with confusion.

I turned slightly, looking back. She was fading, slowly being pulled back into the body lying so still on the bed.

"I am Death's servant, Felicity," I said.

I turned again and moved towards the door, but her cry stopped me short once more. "But how? We thought you died...you and mama. How are you Death's servant?"

Hearing her confusion and pain hurt. That I was the cause of it was worse. I could not help the gruffness which came into my voice as I spoke. I hoped she did not feel it was towards her. "I am Death's servant, Felicity, because I made the wrong Choice." I turned, then, and left, ignoring her fading calls as I slipped into the shadows of the night.

My thoughts were a mix of worry and guilt. I knew why I had been assigned to this particular death. It was my punishment. Death was adept at finding ways to administer his particular form of justice. That Felicity was subjected to the Choice was my fault. Not all souls were given the Choice...only the purest ones. And even then, many souls continued on never having met Death's servant. They never experienced the exquisite torture of choosing between staying with their loved ones or moving on to eternity.

It was my fault she had come to this pass. My fault she had taken the first step towards an eternity of bondage to Death. I could not allow it. I had to find some way to stop it. But how? The game had already begun. She had already chosen to stay. The only way she could change anything would be to choose to leave the next time I asked for her Choice. And I knew, with an ache of pain deep in my soul, what Choice she would make.

If only there was no Choice. If only there weren't this never-ending game of the corruption of souls. If only there weren't Death. But that was impossible. How could one defeat Death? As the saying went: All roads end in Death...

Except one.

Where, exactly, was it souls went when they passed on? I knew only the purest of souls went there...wherever it was. Ceria had gone there, I was certain... The only way to know where those souls went would be to find a soul—and follow it.

My chest constricted at the thought. I had never, in all my years of bondage, sought souls against Death's bidding. It would put the soul I followed in peril of the Choice... It would put me in peril of the punishment he would administer...

It might be the key to saving Felicity.

I swallowed, hard. I had to take the chance. Gathering myself up, I listened for the tug which told me a soul, somewhere, was dying, and I followed. The soul I found was a disappointment. Darkened by years of evil deeds, it was not a soul that would escape bondage to Death. I left, desperate to find the soul I needed to further my plan.

It took three additional tries that night to find a soul which was pure enough. I nearly gave up, my fear of Death's discovery causing my heart to pound at the thought.

When at last I found the soul, I was weary and discouraged. Certain I would hear Death's demand that I return to his domain, I almost missed the tug. When I noticed, I immediately moved in the direction of its call and came to a small farm. There was a house squatting in the center of the fields. Its door was ajar and I entered in...and

stopped.

On the floor, flanked by a weeping man and woman, was a small boy. His belly was opened with a large gash and blood pooled in the area around him. Grief touched me at the sight; there was no greater pain than that of losing a child. If there had been some way I could have comforted the couple, I would have. There wasn't: Already the boy's pure soul was rising away from his corpse.

I gave one last glance to the mourning couple and turned away. The boy was leaving—his face alight with wonder and his gaze turned above. I felt a moment's relief that he would not be in danger of the Choice. No face which held that much joy and peace should ever have to experience the trap.

He slipped, then, into the shadows. Surprised, I followed him and began a journey which would change the course of everything I knew.

I journeyed to the very edge of the Light.

The boy's soul grew more and more translucent as I followed. The shadows thinned until following was difficult. When I stopped at last, the boy's soul was far ahead of me, blending into the brightness around him. My shoulders slumped as I let out a sob of breath. I had failed. I had been a fool to think I would discover help from the place I had rejected by my Choice. I turned, meaning to head back, when a voice sounded all around me.

Who is this that touches the realm where Death may not enter?

I froze. What could I say? What words could I use to convince? I needed help so badly...

"I am Thomas," I said, my voice a dry whisper of hope and dread.

Why do you seek this realm when you have already made your Choice?

It was the question I had feared and hoped for, the opening to my plea. "I seek help for my daughter." I cleared my throat nervously. "Death has set a trap for her. She has not yet made the final Choice."

Death sets traps for many...and yet you come not for all those souls he imperils?

I flushed in embarrassment and shame. Once again, selfishness was my downfall. "No." I bowed my head. I could only hope Felicity would not suffer for my flaws. "Death sets traps for many...but it was not fear for those souls that brought me to your borders." There was a silence for a long while. Despair set in me, I was certain my request would be denied by the time the voice spoke.

Your plea has been heard, Thomas.

Looking up, I held my breath; hope made my heart beat hard in my chest.

This is the answer: for your selfishness and your Choice—your request would have been denied.

My heart fell. I felt dizzy with despair, but the voice had not stopped speaking. But for all the souls who have been trapped by Death, and to save the souls who have not yet made the Choice, you will receive aid.

What did this mean? I was afraid to hope too soon...

The Choice cannot be undone. The souls who have chosen, have chosen for all eternity. But for those who have not made the final Choice...yes, even your child, there is still time.

You must challenge Death, Thomas.

I let out my breath in a shaky whoosh of air. This was what I had hoped for. I had known it was too late for me, but at least my child would be safe. But how did one challenge Death? That dilemma was the whole reason I had traveled here to begin with. "How do I challenge Death?" I called out. Keeping the frustration from my voice was hard, but I managed, barely.

You must find out why Death picked you, Thomas. And then you must give him this.

Into my hands floated a perfect sphere of light. I stared at it in wonder. What could it possibly be?

"What is this? How do I use it? What is it for?" I knew I was babbling, but I couldn't help it. To be given this...bauble...and not told anything else was too frustrating.

When you give this to Death, tell him it is the answer to what he has asked from us for millennia.

I clenched my fingers around the sphere, then immediately released. It would be disastrous if I destroyed the only hope to defeating Death. "But what is it?" I asked, plaintive.

Peace.

I waited for more, but nothing else came. After awhile, it was obvious nothing else would. I had received from this place all the help that was likely to be given. I turned wearily and headed back the way I had come. Somehow, I must find a way to save Felicity.

Somehow, I must defeat Death.

The change from light into darkness was gradual. Traveling through the shadows grew easier with each moment. Yet an ache lingered; a wistfulness for the beauty of a light which would never be my home. Pushing it away, I continued on. Death must be livid. There had been no way of telling just how long I had been gone.

I shifted and shifted again, moving as swiftly as possible. The sphere glowed bright in my hands and I tucked it beneath my cloak. It dimmed once it was covered which relieved me. I was not ready to challenge Death yet. I wasn't even certain if it was possible. The only clue I had were the ones given to me: Challenge Death, find out why he picked you. At the moment, hiding the sphere was the best option. I still needed to discover exactly what it meant to challenge Death.

My heart was thudding in my chest by the time I arrived in his domain. He was very angry with my disappearance; his call had become a sharp and painful tug. I stopped at the dark gate before the guards, waiting their approval to pass. It was a terrifying experience. I could not know until too late if they could sense the gift I carried. They didn't, and once they signaled me through I hurried on, heading immediately to my quarters.

To delay answering his call so long might have been foolish—but to arrive in his presence carrying the sphere would have been more so. I had no doubts he would sense it. It was made for him.

I hid the sphere quickly and left to meet what punishment I would receive. There was no doubt in my mind it would be terrible. Not only had I pushed the rules of the Choice with Felicity, I had delayed my return. The only consolation I had was that, finally, there was some way to end his reign of terror. I paused before the large doors which barred the way to his throne. The symbol shuddered and writhed as though laughing at my plight. I pressed my hands to it, stiffening against the sharp sweep of magic. The doors opened.

"You have been long in coming, Thomas." There was laughter in his voice. I shuddered and did not speak.

"You have been long in coming...and you have disobeyed me yet again." His voice was a dry rasp.

I couldn't move my feet forward.

"You will have to help me understand your doings tonight." He paused again. When he spoke at last, his command overrode all my best instincts to flee in the opposite direction. "Come."

The doors shut behind me like the final closing of a coffin's lid as I entered in.

By the time I left the throne room, a cold, hard knot had grown in my chest. I'd had enough. This last time had been the worst. When he had finally finished, he ordered me to return to Felicity and give her the Choice. I could only stare at him. Never before had he demanded the second phase of the Choice so soon.

He had laughed to see the look of disbelief and despair on my face. "Thomas, I call in my debts when I please. We shall see if the apple does not fall far from the tree hmm?"

Despair had fallen on me like a blanket. I'd believed I would have a little more time to discover how to defeat him. It was too late. Time had run out.

I had to confront him now or Felicity would pay the price.

Limping into my quarters, I retrieved the sphere. It had muted to a soft, pulsing gold. I looked at it in frustration and despair. How was I supposed to use it?

Wrapping it in the folds of my cloak, I took a breath and went to confront Death. Once I reached the doors to the throne room, I touched the symbol and waited for the doors to open. They opened silently, a brush of dank air wafting from the room within.

"Thomas, have you returned for further...discourse?"

I gritted my teeth and moved forward, ignoring the leap in my heart when the doors clicked shut behind me. For too long I had been subject to his corruption, playing the marionette to his twisted games with souls. Forgetting who I had been, I had nearly forgotten what it meant to have honor, real honor.

And suddenly, it all became clear. I nearly laughed at my foolishness in not understanding it before. My journey to the Light had not been without clues. They had given me everything I needed to defeat Death. It was so obvious now. The answer was so very simple that I didn't understand how I could have missed it all this time. To challenge Death, I must do the opposite of what my Choice had first been. I must put aside all selfish concerns and do what would bring me no gain.

"Death," I said, my voice ringing with a strength I had not felt for a long time. "For too long you have played this foul game with souls. Too many have been lost to your bondage, and for what purpose? So many have been wasted for nothing." Standing before his shadow, for the first time since I'd made the Choice, I felt like myself. They had told me to challenge Death. Likely, I would only receive punishment for my efforts, but I could not regret it. No more would I facilitate the corruption of innocent souls. If I had to suffer for the rest of eternity—so be it. I was done.

His dark chuckle echoed through the room, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. "So. You have finally come to this pass. I have waited a long time for you, Thomas." His tone was...pleased. Why was he pleased?

"Waited for me?" I couldn't stop the confusion which leached into my voice.

"Yes, Thomas," he said. "Haven't I told you before that I chose you myself?"

He had. And they had told me to find out why that was so. An uncomfortable feeling came over me. Perhaps the answer to that question was one I did not want to know. I forced the question past my lips. "Why did you choose me?" I asked. I could almost feel his smile. It crawled down my spine like a nest of newborn spiders.

"For millennia I have searched for someone with enough compassion to hate the game of souls. For thousands of years I have waited for someone with enough honor to defy me...no matter the personal cost."

I stared at him. "Why?" The question left my lips unbidden. The suspicion I would not like the answer had become a dreadful certainty.

"Did you think, Thomas, that I did not know you sought aid?"

I clenched my fingers around the sphere hidden in the depths of my cloak. He knew.

"I went to them myself, many lifetimes ago, and asked them for surcease of this realm. They told me I could not leave my post. The world would be overrun without Death. They said that at all times there must be a Lord Death."

I sucked in my breath as he continued, "And so, I searched. But the souls that came naturally to my realm were too corrupt. They had the tendency to reap lives indiscriminately.

"That is when I created the Choice. It was the only way to find a soul pure enough to hate the game itself—yet weak enough to fall into my trap."

There was a ringing in my ears. I almost couldn't hear him when he spoke again. "Even then those souls were too weak to defy the corruption I encouraged. They forgot themselves over time and became as bad as the souls who had been destined for my realm to begin with...until I found you." His gaze rested on me and I shuddered. It was a foul joke. It had to be.

"So I am..." I could not finish.

"Yes," he said gently. He shifted, raising one dark hand, palm up. "They must have given you something for me, Thomas." I walked towards him, dazed, and pulled the sphere from beneath my cloak. It blazed bright in the room, throwing light and shadows across the ceiling. He took it from me, his red gaze squinting as he peered into the purity of its light.

"But why?" I asked, my voice sounding lost even to my own ears.

He looked up then and smiled, and his smile was full of...joy. "Because sometimes, Thomas, even Death wishes to rest in peace." At his words, the globe brightened until it lit the room like a tiny sun. The light blinded me and I covered my eyes with my arm as his voice whispered through the room. "Your honor will serve you well, Thomas, Lord of Death. Perhaps one day you will understand my desire for peace. Perhaps one day you will use the Choice." His voice disappeared with the fading light. When I lowered my arm, the globe sat on the throne pulsing lightly. He was gone.

"Never," I whispered my last words to the dark lord I had served. I would never be like him. Never again would I subject pure souls to the horror of the Choice.

Picking up the globe, I turned to leave when a glint caught my eye. I leaned forward, looking closer. His scythe, the symbol of his office, rested against the side of the throne. I hesitated and then reached to lay a finger against its blade. A sharp, icy pain ran up my finger and filled me until I was certain it had been cut off. When the pain ebbed away, the scythe was gripped in my fist and a pool of darkness surrounded my feet.

I cursed.

Somewhere, he must be laughing.

Shaking my head in resignation, I exited the throne room and headed towards the dark gate. The guardians there took a look at me, startled, and bowed low as I passed. I wrapped my cloak tighter, pulled down my hood, and shifted through the shadows.

Traveling now seemed like second nature. I merely thought, and there, in front of me, was my old cottage. I hesitated—would Felicity be afraid when she saw me? Perhaps it would be best if I left...but I didn't want her to worry about the Choice any longer than necessary. I took a breath, walked up to the door, and knocked.

I stepped back into the shadows and waited. Felicity might recognize me, but her young man would see only Death.

The door opened after a moment, Felicity's pale face peeking through the opening. "Yes?"

I stepped forward, pulling back my hood, and she gasped.

She glanced over her shoulder, then came outside, quickly shutting the door behind her. "Papa? Is that you?" She lifted a hand to my face.

I leaned away from her touch. I could not bear for her to feel the iciness of my skin. "Yes...and no," I said.

She dropped her hand, hurt crossing her face once again. She was silent for a moment and then asked, "Have you come for me, Papa?"

Pride, pain, and love lanced through me. "No."

She looked up and I saw relief in her eyes. "Then why..." she stopped. I knew she did not want to ask why I was there.

"I came to let you know you need not ever fear the Choice again. Have a long life with your babe and your young man, Felicity. And when you call for me—when you are ready to go—I will come."

She sighed and smiled up at me. I couldn't help myself. I laid one icy palm against her cheek.

"I love you, Papa," she said. She didn't even flinch at my touch.

I swallowed, dropped my hand, and turned away, whispering as I went, "I love you too, Felicity." I shifted once again, entering the dark of my realm.

I would be there the day she called to usher her myself to the very edge of the Light. She was the last vestiges of who I was. The living reminder of whom I had once been...but for now, I had duties to attend to.

Even if it was possible for me to abdicate, I would not. I was the only one he had trusted to protect the living against the predations of the corrupted dead. This was who I was now—and would be for a very long time.

If someone had asked me for my name just one night past, I would have told them:

I am Thomas.

Do not ask me now what my name might be—I have none. I have taken on the mantle of the night.

I am Lord Death.

8

Siren

It was hard to breathe facing the cold wind. It blew like a live thing, yanking and tugging her dark hair, tangling its curls into knots.

"Kara! Step away from there right now!"

She scowled. Of all the ways her mother could have chosen to get her attention, she had chosen the worst. She ducked her head and stepped away from the railing, feeling the smirks of at least fifty other passengers amused by her disgrace.

She wove her way through the crowds to her mother's side, ignoring their smiles. She pressed her lips together under her mother's scrutinizing gaze and endured the impatient tugging as her mother checked the damage of Kara's hair. It was her mother's desire that Kara find a suitor on this short trip. It was Kara's desire to thwart this if at all possible.

One day, she thought, I will reach my majority. One day I will be free. The wind followed her playfully, brushing the bare skin of her arms and raising goose bumps along her flesh. She sighed and hugged herself. Two years until she was eighteen. It might as well be an eternity. She followed her mother into their tiny cabin. Her mother always insisted that ladies retired early for the night.

Kara woke.

The sound of the wind...and something else called her from her dreams. She lay there a moment, sleep receding like lapping waters on a sandy beach.

It's not a dream, she thought, but what is it? After a moment, she pushed herself up, shoving tendrils of curls away from her face impatiently.

She stilled. The sound was still there, insistent. She stepped out of the bed, forgetting her slippers. Had she heard it before? It sounded so familiar. She crept, stepping quietly, not wanting to make a sound louder than the song winding its way to her ears.

She opened the door to the cabin and shut it behind her gently, hesitating. The song was louder now. She could almost make out words. She followed its soft lament until she stood at the same railing where she'd stood the day before.

And there, lifted on the waves, was a man.

He sang to her of beauty, and riches, coaxing her to come to him. She tilted her head and listened, but she did not care for those. He sang to her, then, of life and death, but those things, too, were not her desire.

The night had almost gone when he sang, finally, about joy, peace, and freedom in his kingdom beneath the waves. It was the last which caught her heart, pulling her to his whim.

He reached out his hand, glistening and mossy beneath the waning moonlight, and she met it with her own.

To join him in freedom beneath the shifting waves.

9 Muse

(Or Conversations with My Muse)

"Why do you do this to me? Isn't it enough that you always leave and never tell me when you're coming back?" Burying my head in my hands, I rubbed my face in frustration. I felt her light touch and looked up, meeting the reflection of my own bloodshot eyes in the mirror.

"We've been together a long time, Sage." Her voice was dulcet, stirring the ache I always felt in her presence. "You know how it is."

I stood, abrupt and angry. "Yes, I know. We've gone through this time and again." I turned, lifting my hands, pleading. "Can't it be different for once? Can't you stop this disappearance act?"

I could feel her smile to the soles of my feet. It made me want things, fantasies I could only dream about.

"Well, we'll see." She touched me again. This time, ache turned into need. "Now, what do you want most? What do you see when I'm with you?"

I sucked in air unwilling. She could, and did, inspire me. It was always this ebb and flow between us: Despair and joy, famine and seduction, hatred and love...and I couldn't live without her in my life.

She smiled again at my unwilling breath. She knew me better than anyone else. She knew me better than I knew myself.

"Come, Sage, write for me."

I did.

10

MOURNING: A SON'S GOODBYE

He held on far longer than I expected he would, far longer than my siblings wanted. I couldn't tell you what I wanted... Perhaps I wanted what I had never had. I still remember, vivid and painful, the many times I tried to be important enough for him. Important enough that he would look at me—just once—and decide he wanted to see one of my football games more than he wanted the year end's bonus.

It never happened.

I graduated at the top of my class, went on to Harvard and graduated there with the same. And it still never happened. I made a promise to myself, before I left home, that I would not be like him. I have tried, to the best of my ability, to uphold that vow.

And now, sitting here my wife, Sharon, sitting warm against me...I am glad I did. I can see in his eyes the man I might have become: An old, lonely man, unsure of his children's love. Unsure his death will bring any regret in the family who should have mourned him the most.

Sharon nudges me and I look down into her eyes. She looks up at me with warmth and a love which soothes, easing the rough edges of uncertainty and loss.

I hear a sigh, a gasp. I look. I see his chest rise and fall one last time. I bow my head against the regret—the wish things could have been other than they were.

Go into that night, old man.

Rest in Peace.

11

Escape

The can bounced down the street, rattling its way to freedom. Aisha watched it go. Even cans had a way to escape. She trudged away from the curb in front of her school. There was no point in waiting; she'd just missed the bus.

"Hey, girl! You got a man?"

She glanced over her shoulder: dreadlocks and sagging jeans. She was so tired of raggedy looking d-boys trying to get her ass. "Yes. I got a man. And I'm faithful, so don't even ask!" she called. It was a lie—she didn't have a man. It was the only way to refuse them without pissing them off. She waved them off, ignoring their hooting calls as she walked away.

She walked for a long while, shoulders hunched, scanning around occasionally. She hated anyone walking behind her. Getting to the park took about fifteen minutes. She stopped at its green edge. It was the only green area for miles. Behind her lay concrete. Trash was spread up and down each block like defiled confetti. The park, though, was a haven. It was fresh and clean, mostly. At least it was in the areas where the hobos didn't sleep.

She hesitated. People had disappeared from there lately. No one important. Not important enough to make the news anyway, but well-known in the hood. Her mother, after hearing the news from their neighbor, had muttered about rapes, shootings, and the government not giving a damn about anyone dying in the hood.

Was it true? She didn't know. It must be true though, because nothing was getting better. She shuddered, crossing her arms over her chest. Lately, things had only gotten worse. Her best friend, Tiana, was dead. She'd been shot while walking home.

She sucked in a breath; her chest felt too tight. It was time for a change, but she didn't know how to make it happen. There was no change in the hood. She and Tiana had planned to go to college together. They'd been like sisters. Now, Tiana was gone. And Aisha couldn't remember why she wanted to go anymore.

She let out her breath and took a step. The grass bent under her weight and suddenly she felt lighter. She took another step, and another. When trees surrounded her, blocking her view of the street, she stopped.

"Hello, little one."

She turned around, facing the person behind her. Slanted eyes obscured by long silver hair met hers.

She swallowed. "Hi."

He smiled, his teeth perfect pearls of white. "You're all alone here. And you've called me."

"Called you?" She didn't understand.

"Yes." His voice was amused, indulgent. "I can only come when a mortal calls."

She nodded. It made sense. Everything else seemed so far away.

"Will you come?" He bent towards her, holding out his hand. She stared up at him. Somewhere, in the park, she could hear the sound of gunshots: Someone else was dying.

She glanced at his hand, it was pale white. She looked at his face, his slanted eyes...the pointed tips of his long ears through the silver strands of his hair.

"Yes."

His hand, when he closed it on hers, was soft. "I will tell you what I tell all mortals who choose my realm. You will stay as long as you please. And when you do not, you may return."

She barely felt herself shaking her head. She thought of the can rolling its way to freedom past the refuse on the cluttered street. And decided, as the view of the park disappeared and the sound of someone's dying screams faded into her past.

She would escape.

12

Wraith (Part II)

Lena lost the faint feel of her magic too many times to count. Each time, it felt like dying a little: The sun was edging downward in the sky and time was not on her side. She stopped, weariness and fear mixing together into a churning tension. She looked around. The edge of the forest lay so far behind, she could no longer see the low slopes and hills edging their home.

She trudged backwards, questing for some hint of the trail she'd been certain was there. Her heart beat heavy with each passing minute as she searched, her stomach sinking as those minutes stretched, eating away time.

She pressed her lips together, grim. Fear was not a strange emotion to her. She had lived in fear nearly all her life. She'd lived with it throughout her childhood, not understanding, at first, the looks her parents gave her when she would make the crops grow. Hadn't it been a good thing she was doing? Making it easier for all of them to survive? Her little sister, Ava, had laughed and clapped her hands to see the shafts of golden wheat swaying in the fields.

Not her parents. Eventually, they sent her away, apprenticing her to a wood-witch in a village far from their own. She'd been all of twelve years of age. But before she left, she laid a charm on her little sister. If death ever threatened her, Lena would know and come.

She'd been powerful even then.

Her heart leaped in her chest as she finally felt the faint thread of magic, wavering and dark. She looked up at the darkening sky. She would have to stop soon and make what camp she could. There were creatures in the forest only fire would discourage.

She pressed her lips together grimly and pushed on. There was only another hour of sunlight left.

Only another hour before her daughter could lose her life.

Shudders racked Wraith's body as he pushed himself up against a corner in the cellar. Pain seared his feet and back as he pressed against the monastery walls, but the hunger didn't abate. It was a dark, growing cavern in the pit of his stomach. Not even the holiness of the place lessened the pain. He shouldn't have stayed so long to speak to the girl, Anne. He could nearly smell her through the walls. He should have hunted when he had the chance. He wasn't sure he would be able to resist the hunger for much longer. The sun was setting, the earth cooler, the air more dank—he could feel it. Soon, the cellar would not hold him.

It was almost dark.

Anne woke suddenly, jerking her head up from her arms where she dozed, lulled by the slight warmth of the sun falling through the high window. The air blew cool; the sun had almost finished setting. Goosebumps rose along her arms at a dusky breeze which wafted through the room.

She shivered, holding still, straining to hear... What had woken her? Was Wraith coming back? Would this be the night she died? Her breathing was too loud to hear anything else. She pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and rocking back and forth, trying to stop the shakes shuddering through her body.

She squeezed her eyes tight, then forced them back open. She would not face him with her eyes closed. She sucked in a breath and looked up at the window; she could just barely see the sky. The last sliver of sunset had disappeared and the dark blue of the sky was deepening into black. Wraith would come soon.

A stab of resentment ran through her. Why hadn't her mother ever told her about Wraith? Anne had been dragged through village after village, never understanding what was truly going on. They had lived in constant poverty, only taking with them what they could carry, never staying in a place long enough to save what they needed to survive.

How many times had she been teased by village girl after village girl for the dresses which were too worn, too short, and too dingy? How many times had she wished they could just stop and live somewhere long enough to call the place home? And whenever she had asked her mother why...Lena pressed her lips together, grim, and said nothing. And now Anne knew why.

The anger grew until it was a slow burn in her chest and she clenched her hands against it. It might have been her mother's fault they had run from village to village, but there was no one to blame but herself for being where she was now.

She swallowed and closed her eyes. How many times had she stolen and kept back from her mother, intent on buying some small bauble for herself? How many times had she done this, knowing those pennies would have been better used the next time they needed to flee? Too many times.

She sat shivering, arms clenched around herself for a long while, her chest heavy with guilt. Tears gathered pressure behind her eyes and she rubbed them hard, missing the sound of keys clicking in the lock.

The door whined open, slow and loud, and her head snapped up. The hallway beyond the door was—all she could see was a large shadow. She froze, her heart pounding with fear. "Wraith?" she whispered.

The shadow moved forward, silent.

"Wraith?" Her voice cracked. She pushed herself sideways on the cot, backing away as he moved into the room.

The shadow stopped all of a sudden and lifted its head.

Her heart stopped. She opened her mouth to scream, as he sprang on her, smothering her into silence. She struggled against him as he pressed his face to hers. She felt herself begin to go faint as he inhaled, sucking air from her lungs. She almost went limp until she felt it: Threads of herself leaving in wisps as he inhaled again, sucking in her soul. She struggled again, beating her hands against him, whimpering as she felt herself grow weaker. Her vision went gray and then black, one thought brushing by as she felt him try to breath in the threads of her spirit. I will never get to tell her good-bye. Never be able to tell her I'm sorry I wasn't a better daughter...

All of a sudden she felt herself thrown, flying across the room to smash against the opposite wall. Pain slammed through her and she could not breathe for a minute. When she finally lifted her head, the room was empty, and the door closed.

She was alone.

Wraith threw himself down the length of the corridor, the pain from the pit of his stomach obliterating the pain he should have felt stumbling into walls. The cold night air hit his skin as he staggered through the monastery doors. He barely felt it. The hunger blotted out everything but this: the scent, sudden and sharp, of prey nearby.

He froze, catching its scent. In the dark of the woods, not far from the rusted gates ahead, something living wandered. He moved, quick and soundless, seeking the death of the creature which would save Anne this night, the death that would save them both.

It was a buck; he sprang on its back and broke its neck, inhaling the sustenance of its life from its dying breath. He'd once believed such creatures were soulless. He knew better now.

Heaviness sank over him and he pulled away. The dull eyes of the buck stared blankly at the moonless sky. Lifting a hand, he brushed its smooth pelt. A terrible ache of loss settled on him, an unexpected side-effect of the witch's curse. It was ironic that only by forcing them to embrace death, had the witch been able to teach them remorse for loss of life.

After a moment he stood, glancing at the lifeless creature on the forest floor. No one came near the monastery anymore, but if they had they would have seen a buck dead without injury or mark.

The hunger, appeased, relinquished its hold and the frigid night air bit his flesh. He pulled in air, breathing without pain for the first time since before... Anne.

He had attacked Anne.

Fear stabbed him. What had happened? Had he wounded her? He remembered the haze of pain and hunger, the pristine taste of her soul... and a sensation of terror. Held in the grip of the curse, somehow, his terror had saved them both.

He moved through the forest, stomach clenched. He had thrown her, she must be injured. Heaven forbid she be...No. Too much blood already covered his hands.

He pushed himself faster, a dark blur lost among the shadows of night.

Anne pressed a palm to the stone floor and pain stabbed through her ribs. She sucked in her breath as dizziness swept over her. Nausea rose up her throat and she stilled, fighting back the acrid taste on the back of her tongue. Something wasn't right. Something was broken.

She didn't know how long she lay there—it felt like a long time. The chill from the floor seeped through her clothes and she began to shiver. After awhile, the shivers grew into shudders that sent stabs of pain lancing through her ribs. She swallowed, breathing against the feeling of grating knives. Everything went hazy and surreal.

A long while later came the distant sound of a door being opened. The world tilted. Pain blossomed like red fire through her chest.

From a distance she heard a raspy voice whisper, "I am sorry. Forgive me, Anne."

Her vision went dark.

Lena tripped over the gnarled roots of a large oak and fell, dropping her pack. She lay for a moment in terror and despair. There was no way she could continue. It was full dark.

She pushed herself up, sweeping her gaze around the dark of the woods. She should have stopped and made camp earlier, but fear for Anne—her child—had pushed her beyond wisdom.

Something snapped. She froze, narrowing her gaze.

There...in the dark, something was moving.

She let out a shaky breath and swept her hands around, searching for her bag. Something else moved through the foliage, glints of light reflecting off pairs of moving eyes. She scrabbled for her bag, heart pounding. The shadows moved closer, padding towards her. She swallowed against the dryness of her throat and reached... The cloth of her pack brushed her fingers. Sucking in her breath, she yanked it into her arms, fumbling it open and pulling out a charm. The shadows picked up their pace, bounding towards her, but she was sure now. She spoke, her voice ringing out in the night.

Enemy of life and breath,

All of you who would give this death,

Take note, take heed, I bid you flee,

That death be not given in turn to thee.

The shadows stilled.

Light and magic flashed through the forest. An answering joy and despair rose within her like a song. Her last charm—the charm she would have used against Wraith to save her daughter—lay lifeless in her hands.

When the bright, pure feel of magic faded from the night, she was alone in the woods.

Everything hurt. Anne moaned and something shifted around her.

"Anne?" Wraith's voice rasped, stirring her hair.

She froze. He was holding her.

"Anne, I had to check you. I was concerned you were injured. I believe your ribs are broken." She felt him try to stand. His arms tightened around her and she cried out.

He stopped, seeming uncertain. "Anne, I cannot hold you like this for long. I fed, but the hunger will return. You must not be in my arms when it does."

She breathed, forcing herself to ignore the pain. "Alright," she wheezed.

He moved again, slower this time. She gritted her teeth and pressed her face against the rough folds of his cloak as pain ran through her chest. She felt him kneel to lower her to her cot. He jostled her slightly and she lifted a hand to grip his cloak, breathing against the pain. When it subsided, she let her hand fall. He stood, turning away from her, and moved towards the door.

Curiosity pricked her sudden and sharp. "Wraith?"

He paused, back towards her, his pale hand holding the door. "Yes?"

She swallowed. "Why did you stop?" He turned, then, and she met his red gaze; it did not terrify her the way it once had.

"I was afraid," he said.

She stared at him, trying to understand, barely seeing his form in the dark of the room. "Afraid of what?" she asked finally.

"I do not know," he said. "I only know a terror came over me, but it was not fear for my own life. I was simply...afraid."

She didn't know what to say. She should have felt fear, but all she felt was exhaustion. "I see," she said, weary. "Will terror save me from you again?"

She felt him stiffen; his fear ran like ice down her spine as though it were her own.

"I do not know," he said at last. He turned, then, and left, neglecting to shut the door completely behind him. She stared at the crack of the open door, her pain falling to the backdrop of her thoughts. Somehow, something had changed.

Wraith did not want her to die.

Nothing was as Wraith had planned. Perhaps he had not planned well enough. He strode to the kitchen, tense and rigid, looking for food. There was nothing Anne could eat. Even if there had been, nothing he could give her would heal the damage he had done.

He stopped and leaned a fist against the stone wall. The wall seared his hand and wrist, burning away the tension. He dropped his face to one hand. She needed food, warmth, and healing. Would her mother arrive in time to save Anne at all? He didn't know. But perhaps... He cursed. The buck he had killed was still lying on the forest floor.

He turned and left, heading for the monastery doors. Outside, the chill night cooled his skin; the moon was lower in the sky. He found the corpse of the deer, and leaned on one knee to inspect its body. He didn't notice her presence behind him until she coughed, weak with exhaustion.

He spun around. Anne was leaning against the trunk of a tree, grasping it to keep from falling. He stared at her. She looked at the deer before raising her eyes to his.

"Are you afraid?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered.

He pulled back, hurt. But how could he expect anything else? He almost didn't hear her next words.

"But I'm used to fear," she said. "I've lived with it all my life."

He bowed his head. "I know it cannot mean much, Anne, but I regret everything that has come to pass."

She shook her head, biting her lip against the pain. "No, we all have a part in this. We have all done something to bring us here, to this place." There was a sudden silence. He raised his head as she crumpled to the forest floor.

"Anne." He went to her side and cupped her face, his chest tight. Lifting her gently, he walked slowly back to the monastery. She was very pale by the time he entered her room and knelt to lay her on the cot. He stayed there, looking at her face, until the hunger began to burn low in his stomach. He stood abruptly and left the cell, shutting the door carefully behind him.

Outside, the buck still lay stiff on the ground. He retrieved the buck, carrying it to the kitchen. He searched until he found a knife, using it to prepare a small portion for cooking. Finding a pot and a large flask of water took a while longer. He started a fire in the hearth and put the meat and water in the pot to boil. As soon as it started to cook, he left. The night was passing quickly; he would not pass the day in the cellar without hunting again.

Two rabbits had ill-luck that night. He consumed the soul of one and knocked the other out for later. The live rabbit he took down to the cellar, leaving it there in a box for his return. The other he skinned and threw into the pot with the deer meat. An hour later, the broth bubbled, hot. He found a wooden bowl and spoon, filled it with the steaming liquid, and took it to her cell.

She was still sleeping when he entered. She was pale, her breathing ragged in her chest. Tension filled him when he saw this. He carried the bowl to her side, laying it on the floor by the head of her cot. When she woke, it would be there for her to eat.

She'd shifted in her sleep and hair had fallen across her face. He smoothed it back, clearing it from between her parted lips. She didn't wake so he stayed awhile longer, watching her labored breath. After a moment, the burn of hunger rose again and he stood, glancing up to the window high on her cell wall. The sky was starting to lighten. The sun would rise soon.

He turned and left, shutting the cell door behind him. The pot was bubbling merrily when he entered the kitchen. He kicked out the fire, spreading ashes over the hot coals. The room had warmed with the heat of the pot—and the heat of the rising sun. He turned, then, and headed towards the cellar.

It was dawn of the second day.

Lena picked up her pack wearily and scuffed out the small fire made of twigs and grass. The night she'd passed had been desperate. She would not make the same mistake again.

Her daughter's life depended on it.

Finding the thread of her magic again took hours. She hadn't slept at all and exhaustion made it harder to search. Every minute wasted felt like a slow count down to death. Anne was injured—Lena could feel it. She did not know what the injuries were. She no longer had enough power for that, but she knew the injuries must be serious.

And her daughter's injuries were Lena's fault. She'd been the one to cast the curse which sent their lives careening out of control. But what else could she have done? Her little sister was dead. Dead because of the greed and cruelty of a lord with too much power.

She felt the dim wavering strand of her magic in the dirt and caught it with relief. She had to find Anne soon; her daughter needed tending.

Lena moved quickly through the forest. If she could just find Anne alive and well, it would be enough. She refused to curse Wraith again and sink deeper into the Dark. She knew why he'd stolen her daughter. He thought he could force her to change him back. He didn't know almost all her powers had left the day she'd cursed him and his men. She didn't even know how she would convince him to give up Anne. With the last charm gone, and Lena's powers nearly non-existent, all she had were some weak healing potions, but she had to keep going.

She couldn't leave her child to die.

The rabbit had woken out of its stupor and escaped the box, forcing Wraith to hunt it. The scratch and scurry of its paws across the floor as it ran in terror was the only sound in the dark of the cellar. The sound of its fright measured an off-key beat in time with the rising pound of his heart. The smell of the animal was sharp with fear.

He held still, gauging its direction before pouncing. He caught it and broke its neck, breathing in its soul as he ended its terror forever. A pang of sorrow, acrid with despair, lanced through him so sharp he could not breathe until it ebbed. And the hunger was not appeased. The pain of it felt as though he hadn't consumed the rabbit at all.

If he could have prayed without scalding his own throat on the words, he would have. Anne was getting worse and so was the hunger. If her mother didn't come soon, it would not end well for any of them.

"Please, hurry. Please."

Anne floated in and out of consciousness, the pain bringing her out of sleep in waves. After a long while, the sun's light shone red through her eyelids. The pain knifed hot through her chest and she woke, struggling to breathe against it. Sucking in air was agony.

After a moment, dark spots danced across her vision, blurring and carrying her away into a fathomless black.

Lena felt it: Anne was fading. Time was running out. Lena broke into a run. Clutching her pack against her chest, she leapt, clearing tree roots and dodging brambles in her path.

The wavering feel of her tainted magic pointed a straight trail now. She ran, sure, down its path. She would do anything to save her daughter. If she could take back the years, roll back the hands of time, she would do it. Her daughter's life was not worth the revenge she had taken.

If her daughter's life was the price for his punishment, she would not pay.

She had already paid enough.

Prayers fell from her lips. Prayers she had not dared to speak since the day she'd eschewed the Light in favor of dark hatred.

Show me, Light of Creation,

How to make what's wrong into right.

Help me, in magic, in nature,

Bring health, beauty, magic, and Light.

There was no answer. She had not expected there would be. She ran as the light began to wane, the sun splashing its oranges and pinks across a bloody sky. The faint shadow of the crescent moon was beginning to war with the last sliver of the sinking sun. Despair ran through her, sharp and bitter. Anne would not survive another night.

She ran on, her chest aching as she pulled in air. Her legs went numb and she stumbled, the pack falling from her arms as she fell. She laid there, tears running down her face. After a moment, she looked up and sucked in a breath. Before her, the trees thinned into a walled clearing in which a monastery sat. The wavering taint of her magic led straight to it. She let out a sob of breath. Anne. Grabbing her pack, Lena pushed herself up, ignoring the twinge of pain from her scraped knees. She stumbled towards the monastery, barely feeling the scratches and aches throughout her body.

She was almost there.

The last sliver of sun slid below the horizon. Anne drifted in and out of consciousness. From far off she could hear the noise of a cell door opening. A waft of cold air blew through the room. Something pulled her, lifting her and setting her chest afire. The pain cleared the stupor a little; she opened her eyes to meet the glazed red gaze above her own. "Wraith," she whispered.

She felt his terror, it stabbed like ice. She sucked in a painful breath as his grip tightened around her and he loosened immediately. There was a noise; she winced as he turned to face it, holding her in his arms.

"No!" Her mother stood at the door, holding it open with one out-flung arm. The pale light of the moon shone down from the barred window above, illuminating the terror in her face. "Put her down." Her tone was menacing. Anne had never heard her speak so before.

"Mama," Anne whispered.

"Anne," Lena said, nearly sobbing.

"Mama, you must not kill him," she whispered. She felt Wraith stiffen in surprise as she continued, "He's suffered enough for what he did. None of us are innocent—we have all done something to come to this place...

"The girls, mama."

Her mother stiffened. "Girls?"

"Yes," Anne sighed, closing her eyes. Breathing was getting harder. "The girls who died these past years...you cannot deny some of the blame." There was such silence that Anne struggled to open her eyes again, they were feeling heavy. When she opened them a little, she saw her mother, standing, frozen and white with shock. Wraith was frozen as well, whether in hope or something else, she could not tell.

"I told myself it was not my fault all those years. With each death, one of his died—"

"No, mama, there is no justification." Anne sucked in air; her chest felt like an ever tightening vice. "Their blood covers your hands too."

Lena bowed her head. "Anne, what would you have me do? I cannot bring back those girls."

She shook her head, wincing at the pain which lanced through her chest. "None of us are here without cause, Mama: my selfishness, Wraith's cruelty...and your desire for revenge."

Her mother laughed, despairing and bitter. "Yes, child, once again—what would you have me do?"

"Heal him like you promised, mama," Anne whispered. She felt Wraith give a breath of surprise at the same moment her mother hissed in shock.

"Heal him?" Her mother's voice held a humor and despair she could not understand.

The ceiling started to blur. Anne pushed the words past thick lips. "There were two parts to the curse...he has learned to control his hunger."

"The second part has not been fulfilled," her mother answered, her voice harsh.

"Mama, didn't you realize? The second part, only you could ever have fulfilled..." she sighed, struggling to stay conscious as black dots appeared in her vision.

"Me?" Her mother's voice was thick with surprise. Anne barely heard it.

"You told him the curse would be broken when a female showed to him what he had not shown your sister: Mercy...wasn't it, mama?" she whispered. "That was the riddle."

Her mother sucked in air, seeming shocked.

Anne continued, fighting to get the words past the black expanse which would carry her away. "Only you could ever have shown Wraith mercy, mama. Only you could break the spell."

"But, Anne, I have no magic!" Her mother's voice cracked on a desolate sob and Wraith inhaled a despairing breath.

"You do, mama, you only turned away from it..." She felt herself sliding away. A black wave was lifting, carrying her towards eternity. She heard, distantly, a voice filled with pain, regret...and joy.

Show me, Light of Creation,

How to make what's wrong into right.

Help me, in magic, in nature,

Bring health, beauty, magic, and Light.

Light bathed the room in an intense shining heat, and obliterated the black expanse, rushing, singing, carrying her into its brightness.

Heal what's broken and make it whole

Heal all darkness and restore the soul

Light was lifting her, cradling her. She opened her eyes and was blinded by it. Radiance shone all around and through her.

Give life, give health, give living breath

Transform all who are touched by death

Make everyone whole, full well, and free

Let all who are here be touched by beauty

A joy she never knew existed welled up in her. This was Light. She wished it could last forever. It could not. After awhile, the Light faded from the room. When it cleared, she was standing, fully healed, wrapped in her mother's arms. "Thank you, mama," she whispered, tears falling down her face.

"You were right, Anne." Her mother's eyes were full of tears, but there was peace there.

It gladdened Anne—she had not seen her mother at peace since she was a child. She turned in her mother's arms. Wraith was staring in wonder at his hands, he looked up and her heart sped up. His eyes were blue.

"Anne..." he said.

She glanced at her mother and then walked towards him and stopped, looking up into his face.

"I cannot thank you enough," he said finally; his eyes were bright, a lock of dark hair fell in them.

She lifted a hand, pushing it away from his face. "There is nothing to thank me for, Wraith," she smiled.

He laughed. "Perhaps...now...you could call me by my real name."

"Oh? What is it?" she asked.

"Tristen."

13

Extra Short story: Fairy Foibles

"Really, you would think royals would have more sense!" Flyrta huffed and smoothed down her skirts. They weren't wrinkled. She did it because she thought it made her seem more human.

"Well, Flyrta, what do you expect? Especially after the whole lineage fiasco." Myrta shook her head. "You would think they would keep a better eye on the priests who kept straight the royal lineage. The last time Father Pieter got drunk, he almost married Prince Albert to his half-sister Roberta!"

Flyrta fluttered around, agitated, as Dyna trailed after her, patting her ineffectually. "Yes, yes, I know! But really, Myrta, who would have thought they would let Father Pieter insult Gryndela?" Flyrta dipped in the air, her wings buzzing like a drunken bee. "And only the day before Rosalee's christening!"

"It's not a day anymore. She'll be here today I bet you," muttered Dyna. Myrta glared at Dyna as Flyrta dropped to the ground with a plop, overcome with nerves. Trumpets sounded, blaring the beginning of the christening. Myrta zipped to Flyrta, fanning and begging her to get up. Dyna flew to the peep-hole in the wall. The room was full. That idiot Priest who had insulted Gryndela was about to start the christening.

"You guys! We must go now if we're to help those nitwits against that damn witch!" Dyna hissed. Myrta glanced up, then tugged Flyrta hard. Flyrta bumbled into the air, moaning about the horrors of royal idiots and their inbreeding.

The three fairies left the room, flying down the hall towards the chapel. They entered just in time. Dyna watched the crowds and spotted Gryndela in the darkest corner. Instead of following the other two she hid behind a pillar. She watched as Flyrta and Myrta flew ahead, positioning themselves by the King and Queen who held the Princess.

"Will all who would give gifts to the Princess come forward?" The Priest's biretta wobbled on his head, nearly toppling. Dyna held her breath. Would Gryndela act now? Myrta pushed Flyrta forward and she wobbled in the air above the Princess in the Queen's arms. "I give thee the gift of unfading beauty! You'll be blonde, blue-eyed, and skinny! That is the gift I give thee, Princess Rosalee!"

Dyna clapped her hand to her forehead. She couldn't believe the uselessness of it! And Flyrta was always complaining about royal idiots...

Myrta flew forward next, looking much more composed. Dyna began to have hope a decent gift would be given.

"I give thee the gift of song, Princess Rosalee. Your voice will entrance all."

Dyna was going to kill them both if the child made it out of the ceremony alive. Gryndela slid out of the shadows, moving towards the Princess at the front.

"You're not supposed to be here!" The priest's adam's apple bobbed in indignation.

Gryndela ignored him, bending over the babe in the Queen's arms. "The gift I give to this child is sweetness. She will live an utterly, sweetly, saccharine existence." The King and Queen had gone pale at her appearance, but relaxed at her words too soon. Gryndela was not done. "She will be nauseatingly sweet until the age of fifteen. Then she will prick her finger on a spindle and die." And with that dire announcement, she disappeared. The entire room fell silent in horror.

Dyna took a breath and flew forward. "She will not die. She will sleep until a prince wakes her with a kiss. And she'll live a normal life before then—goodness knows that utter sweetness is a curse in itself."

"Why didn't you fix the curse completely, Dyna? What are we going to do with a baby?" Flyrta fluttered around in distress. Just the thought of raising a human child sent her into the vapors.

"It was the best I could do on short notice! And how the hell was I supposed to know they were going to give us the child?" Dyna crossed her arms and glared. "And don't talk to me about my gift! Blonde hair and blue eyes—really? Was that the best you could do?"

Flyrta bobbed in the air, trembling with anger.

Myrta stepped in before it could get serious. "Now, now, you two—we have more important things to think of. Like where we're going to hide this child from Gryndela."

They all looked down at the baby below them in the cradle. Little Princess Rosalee was gurgling and laughing at them. Her gurgles were almost musical.

Dyna snorted. "Good luck hiding that extremely beautiful, blonde-haired, blue-eyed, miraculously melodious child. I mean, really. Couldn't you have given her useful gifts?!"

Myrta bristled. "I'll have you know—"

Flyrta interrupted. "I know the perfect place to hide her!" They both looked at her, doubtful. She crossed her arms, offended by their attitude. "I do! And don't give me those looks. All you two have done since they gave us the babe is grumble!" She hovered in the air, shoulders stiff, nose turned away in her version of temper.

Myrta and Dyna looked at each other and rolled their eyes.

"Fine, Flyrta, tell us your idea." Myrta flew to her and patted her shoulder. Dyna wouldn't do it—she was too irritated. Really, who gave their child to fairies?

Mollified, Flyrta bobbed excitedly. "We'll pretend to be serfs!"

"Serfs?!" Myrta and Dyna echoed, horrified.

"Yes! Think about it—what royal would ever hide their child among peasants?"

Myrta and Dyna looked at each other, non-plussed.

"You know," Dyna said reluctantly, "I think she might be right."

Myrta looked at Dyna in dismay. "But...we'll have to be...poor."

"It will be so exciting!" Flyrta clapped and wobbled in the air. "We've never tried being poor before! It will be an adventure!"

Dyna looked at Myrta and shrugged. "All right, grab the babe and let's go."

"I can't believe we listened to you!" Dyna huffed as she hacked at a potato that wouldn't come out of the dirt.

Flyrta was holding the baby as she bounced on her toes. Sometimes she forgot she'd given up her wings. "Well, how was I supposed to know it was this hard?" Flyrta's chin wobbled and Myrta grabbed the baby from her arms. "All the songs and tales make it seem so romantic..."

Dyna snorted and rubbed an arm across her nose, smudging dirt on her face. "Ha! I should have known you'd come up with an idiot idea based on romance. Really! Who listens to those damn tales anyway?"

Myrta bounced the baby who, for a mercy, was sleeping. When she was awake she drew attention from every peasant in the vicinity. Sometimes Myrta wondered if Dyna had altered the sweetness curse at all.

"You guys, can you keep it down?" Myrta swept a peering looked around the fields. Luckily, none of the peasants were near enough to hear them. "You know she has been looking for the babe. The last thing we want is for her to hear something on the wind!"

Flyrta clapped a smudged hand over her mouth. Dyna went back to hoeing potatoes, grumbling and cussing under her breath.

"We've got to do something! She can't just run amok!" Flyrta wrung her hands as she paced through the tiny hut.

"Well, thanks to your 'unfading beauty' spell, Rosalee is the hottest thing since spiced bread." Myrta crossed her arms and glared at Flyrta.

Dyna snorted. How easy it was for Myrta to forget her own useless spell. But Dyna had to agree. Rosalee was hot. "Hotter than a bitch in heat," she muttered.

Flyrta and Myrta glared at her.

"And just what idea do you have that is actually helpful?" Myrta asked icily.

Dyna crossed her arms. "She's almost fifteen. And with the way she's been rolling in the hay—it might almost be a mercy for her to prick her finger."

Flyrta and Myrta gaped at her in dismay.

"You can't possibly be suggesting that we...help her go to sleep?" Myrta asked and Flyrta moaned, wringing her hands harder.

Dyna shrugged. "Do you want to tell the King and Queen the reason why their sweet, innocent little Princess isn't so sweet and innocent anymore?"

Flyrta glared at her. "That was your fault! You got rid of Gryndela's sweetness spell in the first place!" Dyna glared back, opening her mouth to retort, but Myrta interrupted.

"I think Dyna's right," Myrta announced. "We can't allow her to run amok like this—and we can't reveal ourselves by using our power. She should be safe enough sleeping until the Prince comes."

"And after that the Prince can have our little nymphomaniac—and good riddance," Dyna said, satisfied.

The three fairies looked at each other.

"Well, as long as she's okay," Flyrta said slowly. She had stopped wringing her hands.

Dyna and Myrta gave each other a long look.

"She'll be fine, Flyrta. And to think—wouldn't you love planning her wedding?" Dyna asked slyly.

That did it.

"Alright. Let's do this quick—weddings are so much fun!"

"Oh, why did we listen to you?" Flyrta wobbled in the air above Princess Rosalee's bed. The Princess had returned to her royal family right before her fifteenth birthday. She'd fallen asleep after a spindle had "mysteriously" appeared in her bed chamber.

"Oh, don't you dare put it all on me!" Dyna bristled. "You wanted to plan her wedding!"

"But she's been asleep for one hundred years!" Flyrta wailed.

"Now, now, you two—I think I see someone coming!" Myrta waved them over to the window.

There, on the road towards the castle, was a lone rider.

"He'll never make it past Gryndela's traps," Dyna snorted. "Look at him!" They looked. The rider was obviously a prince—no other person would have ridden such a ridiculously white horse. He was knobbed-kneed and thin, holding his sword awkwardly, and his shield was crooked.

"Well, he'll have to do," Myrta sighed. "I refuse to wait another second for a prince to wake the Princess. We'll just have to make him beat Gryndela's traps."

Dyna groaned and Flyrta clapped her hands in excitement. "Won't this be fun? And the Princess will finally get to fall in love with her Prince!"

"I knew we shouldn't have listened to you!" Dyna looked in disgust at the wedding proceedings in disarray below.

"Well, how was I supposed to know the Princess would take an instant dislike to her Prince?" Myrta protested, fanning Flyrta. Flyrta had burst into tears at the ruination of her precious wedding.

"You should have known, nympho that she is, she wouldn't have been satisfied with that skinny little knob of a Prince!" Dyna flared.

"Well, I wouldn't have thought she'd boink the priest in the rectory before the ceremony!" Myrta exclaimed.

"That damn Father Pieter and his drink!" wailed Flyrta.

"Gryndela must be laughing right now," Dyna muttered.

"Well, we've done our job, at least. She's alive and well, if not chaste, and pretty and musical to boot!" Myrta tried to sound enthusiastic. Flyrta and Dyna glared at her. Her shoulders slumped. "How about we go now? I think I want to retire from the helping humans business..."

"Now, that is the best suggestion I've ever heard," Dyna declared. "And if I hear another so-called great idea out of anyone, so help me—I'll turn them human!"

Flyrta burst into tears again as they left. "Not that! That's almost as bad as being a peasant!"

14

the Dragon's call

Part I

Prologue

The Recollections of Todd Burns – Anno Draconis 03-20-0018

The last day humans ruled the earth was normal enough, at first, with terrorists blasting any location harboring sentient life. But the normalcy ended when Colonel Rakabmu Fiagadd bombed a rival terrorist camp in Assam in the North-Eastern region of the Himalayan Mountains.

If the idiot were alive today, I'd gladly beat the stupidity out of him. As it so happened, the Himalayas housed something beyond all comprehension – a dragon. That a terrifying monster out of legend had just appeared did not stop Colonel Fiagadd and his military from blasting the creature during its flight. There's a reason all the well-known fairy tales warned about angry, fire-breathing dragons. If only the tales had mentioned that bombs had nothing on a reptile huge enough to swallow a car for dinner. The warning might have made a difference to Fiagadd and his men. Probably not though; idiots will be idiots and he and all his men are now very dead.

During its enraged flight, the dragon sang its Call. Survivors who heard the Call described it as the loveliest, eeriest thing they'd ever heard in their lives. The Call lulled humans, and anything else other than dragons, into a trance. Many unfortunate victims of the trance that day became dragon snacks.

The day the dragon took to the skies was later known as the day the calendars moved to Anno Draconis: Year of the Dragon. The very day I was born, 03-20-0000, the dragon's Call woke all of dragonkind slumbering underground on the entire planet.

As I said, it was a very large dragon.

Chapter 1

Anno Draconis 1-14-0051

Cecily strode away from Cathedral High school, her foot sending a crumbled chunk of aged concrete flying down the road. She paused, glancing up at the blue sky. The sun shone searing hot. It wasn't dark yet, which meant she still had time to beat the dragon-imposed curfew home. She resumed walking, ignoring the beat of her heart as it sped up.

Curfew. Mom.

"Cecily! Hey!"

She jerked, coming out of her thoughts, and turned.

Tara ran toward her from the chipped, sagging front steps of the school. Her arms were wrapped tight around her school books and her black tee clung damply to her skin. Her skimpy gray shorts probably helped her stay cooler, although they barely adhered to the rules on length for the school uniform.

Cecily frowned at Tara's tight fitting clothes, then noted the heat waves above the cracked asphalt. The day was too hot to point out broken uniform rules. "Hey, Tara, what's up?" She lifted her hands to catch the stack of creased, dog-eared books Tara dumped in her arms.

Tara bent over, breathing hard, then straightened. "Can you help me with math, Cecily? I'll flunk the exam if you don't."

She shot Tara a doubtful glance. "You just want to come over because Daniel's home."

Tara's face looked flushed as she took her books back from Cecily. "Well, yes, but I do need help. And not only that, I have news." She sounded smug.

Cecily rolled her eyes as they headed toward her home. Tara always had news.

"What?"

"Not until you say you'll help me."

"I always do."

"Oh, good. I thought you might not be in the mood after what happened with Brian–" She broke off when Cecily winced. "Oh, man, I'm sorry. I should've known it would still be too soon." She juggled her books to give Cecily an awkward side hug.

"It's okay." Cecily stared at the broken concrete on the ground as they continued walking toward her house. "I was going to tell you. I just didn't realize the news had gotten around so fast. I'd hoped for a couple more days before anyone asked me about it. So much for wishful thinking."

"You want to tell me now?"

Cecily avoided her gaze. She should have realized the news would get around fast. Every girl in school wanted Brian. She sighed. "I guess. We broke up two days ago. Our breakup sucked. Brian and Daniel were friendly at first. At least until Lymans' University scouting agents started showing up on the soccer field during practice. Daniel's a good soccer player, much better than Brian. The competition got intense between them and," she shrugged, "Brian acted like a jerk and fouled him."

Tara sucked in air. "So that's why your twin's gone from school."

Cecily nodded. "If his leg is permanently damaged, it could affect his chances for a scholarship. I was so mad, I confronted Brian."

"What did he say?"

Tears burned her eyes and Cecily blinked to hold them back. "That our relationship was too complicated and we should just be friends."

"Ouch." Tara winced and shook her head. "Brian's an idiot, you're gorgeous."

Cecily gave a weak smile. "Thanks, Tara. Brian was a jerk. I'm just glad I found out now before it was too late."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. It's harder to get rid of them, the longer they're around." Tara agreed, her brown eyes dark and somber.

Cecily fell silent for a moment, then sighed. There was no point in talking about Brian. "So, are you going to tell me the big news now?"

Tara gave a little bounce. "Yeah, I forgot. So, what's going on is two new students are joining track and field."

She squinted at Tara. "That's the big news? You made me get all excited about that?"

Tara wrinkled her nose. "No, that's not the exciting part. The exciting part is who the new members are."

"Well, who are they?" Cecily glanced down the road to see how far they were from her house. On either side of the street sat cream-colored, cookie-cutter wooden cottages with green front yards and neatly tended bushes and trees. Tara's home sat immediately across the road. A little further ahead lay Cecily's bright yellow cottage, the shutters thrown open and the front yard overrun with a motley spray of color and plant-life.

"It's not official, but I heard," Tara paused, her eyes twinkling, "they're geckos." The term they used for dragonkind was the only way they had of rebelling, whispering epithets where they wouldn't be heard.

She stared at Tara. "You're kidding me. Dragons? Why would dragons go to school? It doesn't make sense! They rule everything. And how'd you find this out anyway?"

"Ms. Lee sent the announcement over the whole school during third period break." Tara gave her a curious glance. "How'd you miss that?"

Cecily stiffened. She'd been in the bathroom crying during the third period. "Oh, you know. Just busy I guess."

Tara cocked an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Anyways, dragons control everything. They do whatever they want. Who knows why they're coming to school?"

"It's just crazy," Cecily muttered. "Do you know when the geckos will join our class?" Calling reptiles larger than her house something diminutive was satisfying.

Tara shrugged. "Monday or Tuesday . . ." She trailed off as they walked up to Cecily's front yard.

Daniel was lounging in a white Adirondack chair in the shaded area of the front porch, his injured knee propped up by faded blue flowery seat cushions. His dark ashy hair blew into his hazel eyes as he threw them a cheeky grin. "Hey, Cecily and Tara."

Tara flipped her long curls over her shoulder. "Hey!"

Cecily pretended to gag. "Hey, Daniel. I'll leave you two here to kick it. If you need me, Tara, I'll be inside."

Tara giggled at something Daniel said, and Cecily rolled her eyes, walked up the stairs, and went inside.

Chapter 2

The Recollections of Todd Burns – Anno Draconis 3-20-0020

The dragons' arrival was a terrible and fascinating time. It felt much like opening a favorite book and discovering favorite bad-ass characters were actually real – and coming for you. To many, the dragons' arrival was a nightmare born into reality. To me, their presence gave man the chance to prove he could rise to the challenge.

I'm not too proud to admit I was wrong, horribly wrong.

Humans fought. Our fear of dragonkind created a unity which was almost beautiful. After years of fighting amongst ourselves, at last we banded together against our common enemy. Maybe it wasn't surprising, considering our predilection for war. Perhaps it was inevitable.

So we fought – and we died. Dragonkind was too alien, too terrifying, and too impossible to accept. We would have fought and died to the last man, but they didn't allow it. They came among us in human form. And I, even I, fell under their spell.

Dragons were beautiful and terrifying in any guise, but the appearance they took to end the war was the most terrible of all. The only safety from that form? Never let their gaze touch one at all.

So, I give warning. Beware, those who have not seen them in that guise yet. They are only recognizable by these two things: Their exceedingly perfect beauty – and their eyes.

Anno Draconis 1-17-0051

It was torture. It was ridiculous. Cecily should have known Brian would be too much of a cretin to wait a few more days. They'd broken up for less than a week, damn it, and he'd picked her of all people! Jessica McEvans, the one person Cecily had hated since the first grade.

He'd done it on purpose.

Tara nudged her. "Cecily, if you don't stop staring at her, she's going to notice!"

Cecily and Tara were the only two sitting at the food-stained, slightly rusted cafeteria table. If others had been sitting with them, it would have been humiliating. Cecily dragged her eyes away from the two people who'd just made her Most-Wished-To-Be-Eaten-By-A-Dragon list. She hunched her shoulders, ignoring Tara's sigh of relief as she focused on her food. Eating the school's tasteless food was hard enough. Usually she forced herself anyway. But pretending she didn't care about Brian stressed her out, draining her determination. She pushed her food away. "Thanks, Tara. It's been hard."

Tara nodded, her eyes dark with sympathy. "Yeah, I see what you mean about him being a jerk. I mean, seriously. Jessica?"

"Thanks, Tara, I needed that."

"Yeah, I know." Tara grinned. "Now, let's bounce out of here and head to class."

Cecily calmed as they walked away from Brian and Jessica. Sad as it was, she was even more relieved when she and Tara headed to the locker room for their next class. Phys-ed was the only class Cecily had that Brian and Jessica didn't attend. Tension eased from her shoulders and she exhaled. Finally, she could breathe.

She and Tara changed into their t-shirts and gym sweats, then exited the locker room's back door onto the cool grass of the field. The large brown-haired coach, Mr. Ferguson, was talking in his deep gravelly voice to a student, so Cecily still had a few minutes to warm up. She focused on stretching as she sat on the grass, bending all the way over until her breath blew warm against her legs.

She'd started her toe touches when she felt Tara nudge her hard. She frowned and looked up. Everyone was frozen, focused on two figures in gym clothes walking toward them on the field. Coach Ferguson stood so still, for a moment Cecily thought he wasn't breathing. His dark brown eyes were wide, and his face white. Beside her, even Tara who was always fidgety and distracted, was silent.

What was going on? One of the two guys walking forward was the cutest guy Cecily had ever seen: black hair, tall, at least 6'1" . . . even Brian didn't compare. But what was the big deal?

She frowned and focused on his face – and saw his eyes. They were green, but not a normal green. His eyes shone emerald green and at the center, instead of pupils, were black slits.

She swallowed. Dragon.

The black-haired male swept his green gaze over the group before walking up to the coach and motioning his companion over. His friend, blonde-haired with sapphire, black-slit eyes, stepped up beside him.

Tara poked her. "There they are!"

Cecily threw her an exasperated look. It was impossible for Tara to be quiet for long. Even the possibility of being eaten by a dragon wouldn't change that.

"I see them," she hissed, and turned forward as Coach Ferguson cleared his throat.

"Class, I want to make an announcement. Derek and Tariq are the two new students joining the class."

The black-haired male called Derek nodded. His glance fell on Cecily and she froze. The feeling was the most uncomfortable experience she'd ever had, almost like drowning. Distantly, she remembered her father's grim voice. Never look into their eyes, Cecily. Never do it. Not unless you want to fall under their spell.

It was so much worse than that. His gaze made her freeze, made her almost wish he would do something.

When his eyes drifted away from hers, she exhaled and slumped, her heart rate slowing. Tara touched her arm, and Cecily shook her head. "I'm fine."

After that, she kept her eyes focused on her feet. Coach Ferguson welcomed them, sounding as though he wished they'd find some other class to terrorize. She heard him tell them to join the group.

Oh, no. Hopefully they wouldn't sit next to her and Tara.

"Can we join you?" Derek's green gaze pinned her to the ground.

Cecily closed her eyes. The amount of bad luck she'd had this week was insane. And that was being kind. Being forced to mingle with two dragons was the type of situation which suggested disintegrating karma of epic proportions. She looked up and opened her mouth to speak. When nothing came out, she settled for a begrudging nod.

"Awesome, thanks." He nodded to Tara as he and his friend settled in the grass and began their stretches.

After a few minutes, Coach Ferguson, still ashen, ordered them to the track.

By the time they finished their laps, Cecily's shoulders felt stiff. She'd stared straight ahead as they jogged, avoiding any head movement which would cause her eyes to meet theirs. Even Tara was subdued. They stopped as soon as Coach Ferguson called time.

Derek spoke. "Well, it was nice meeting you. In case you didn't catch our names, I'm Derek, and this is Tariq." Derek motioned toward his blond companion, who gave them a disinterested nod. Derek continued, "We'll be here for the rest of the school year, so I figured we should get to know everyone. Don't you think?"

Cecily flushed. "Yeah, sorry. My name is Cecily and this is Tara."

Tara nodded mutely, her eyes wide as she stared at the two males.

"Nice to meet you." Derek cocked his head. "Hopefully, next time will be less awkward, right?"

Cecily blinked. There was no safe way to respond. No one was rude to a dragon. Ever. Even if they hadn't "officially" eaten anyone since the end of the dragon wars.

"Um, yeah, nice meeting you. Got to go to my next class, bye." She grabbed Tara's arm and turned to leave.

Once they'd walked far enough away, Tara finally spoke. "They didn't seem so bad."

Cecily stared at her. "Are you kidding me? You were about to crap your pants! You didn't say one word the whole time!"

Tara waved her words away. "I was just focusing that's all." She tilted her chin. "It's not like they tried to do anything."

"You mean anything as in going dragon and eating the entire class for lunch?" Cecily said, wincing as she thought of her father.

"Basically."

Cecily made a face and Tara giggled as they headed toward the locker room to clean up.

The Recollections of Todd Burns - Anno Draconis 3-20-0021

Dragonkind proved their superiority in every way. Our famous beauties—actresses, actors, and models—were nothing compared to their ugliest human form. In sophistication and intelligence, they outclassed; in riches, they excelled. In art, they made us weep with the beauty of their creations. The most painful to us was their reaction to our medical science. They laughed. Then they showed us things we'd believed existed only in fairytales under the guise of magic. They had thousands upon thousands of years in which to perfect their knowledge – and it was vast.

However, they suffered from one obvious flaw. They were jaded, and bored. Sleeping for millennia was just a nap for them. Waking up to a changed world provided something different to investigate.

We know next to nothing of dragonkind's communal society other than the perfect front they present. But encounters with young dragons show this: They are different from their immortal elders. They have awe, wonder, and an insatiable curiosity. They are also prone to defy the rules, thoughts, and deeds of their seniors.

They are, in fact, much like our own human children.

Anno Draconis 1-17-0051

What had drawn Derek to that human girl, Cecily? Why did it feel like he knew her? It didn't make sense. He'd never seen her before. And why did it feel as though he'd been waiting for her to appear?

Derek barely noticed the students stumbling out of his path, and soon the hallways cleared, becoming easier to walk. The students dissappeared inside the rooms lined up and down on either side of the hall. He and Tariq were very late for their next class. Navigating Cathedral High's worn hallways was as difficult as dealing with his brother, Sahak.

Derek and Tariq finally entered the classroom, opening the door and badly startling a small, black-haired woman standing at the front. She stared at them, her golden skin going pale, then pressed a trembling hand to her chest and cleared her throat. "I'm Mrs. Fong. Would you two be the ones scheduled to join the class?"

All the humans seemed so anxious around him and Tariq. What was it humans did when they attempted to soothe someone? Ah, yes. Baring teeth. Humans called it "smiling."

Derek bared his teeth. "Yes, just tell me where we should sit."

Mrs. Fong's eyes shot to his teeth and she paled even further. She pointed a shaking finger at two desks in the rear of the room.

Fire of heavens, even smiling scared humans. Derek shrugged and motioned Tariq to follow him to the seats in the back. After running around the hallways for who knew how long, sitting in the drab, orange and gray, plastic and metal chairs would be a relief. Derek took one next to a pimply faced kid with drab hair, and bared his teeth, trying to be friendly. The teen promptly dropped all his pencils and stammered apologies while scrambling to pick them up.

He sighed. He'd have to figure out why baring his teeth wasn't putting humans at ease like it should. He turned his attention back to Tariq who was twisting in his seat and grimacing.

"Derek, are you quite certain we can't take the option Macsen offered us? At least the chairs at the corporate office are cushioned."

Derek leaned back and stretched his legs, brushing the feet of the student in front of him who jumped, yelping. Why were all these humans so tense? He adjusted his position, then answered, "Of course I'm certain. We already tried the position, and you remember how it turned out."

"It wouldn't have turned out that way if you hadn't messed with the imports data sheet and screwed with Sahak's hoard. If you weren't from Queen Saranyu's favorite clutch we both would have been fried."

Derek shrugged. "You know I've been trying forever to get them to let me fulfill the requirements the way I wanted to. I was sick of the corporate office. Every young draakon from every clutch first hatched before the awakening goes to that damn office. And the elder dragons always teach the same thing. Humans are easily led. Humans are impressionable. Humans are so stupid they tried to destroy the very planet they call home . . . ."

Tariq gave him a puzzled look. "Well, they did."

"Maybe so, but I would rather find out first hand than listening to lectures while directing the human masses. And you have to admit the classes here are more interesting than running figures and data sheets all day."

"Not by much," Tariq muttered, crossing his arms.

"And I'll still be able to fulfill my requirements before the deadline to present myself."

"Whatever, I just don't understand why we have to be in a high school to do it," Tariq scowled.

Derek frowned. Attending the high school was nearly as good as living with humans in their natural habitat. All the humans at Severio Corp. were highly trained, carefully vetted, strictly controlled. Tariq knew that, so why was he being difficult? "You don't have to stay. You've already completed the last of yours."

"You know why I'm here. I don't have the choices you have."

Derek pursed his lips. He didn't want to bare his teeth in the manner of dragonkind. It might scare the humans. He shrugged instead. "Well, if you're going to tag along, keep your groaning to yourself. I intend to learn while I'm here, even if you don't."

The last bell rang and Derek and Tariq exited the room, Ms. Fong's silent stare brushing their backs as they left. They had talked the entire class time and she'd not told them to be silent even once.

Cecily waited impatiently with Tara for Daniel on the discolored front steps of the school. Cecily frowned as she surveyed the school grounds. They were almost empty. Curfew meant no hanging out at all except for scheduled events. Daniel was back in school, but walked with a limp, so he took longer to join them.

"Thank God classes are over." Cecily fanned herself. "It always feels like the more you stare at the clock, the slower it goes."

"Yeah, today was insane," Tara agreed.

"I just wish . . ." Cecily stopped as Brian and Jessica exited the rust-stained front doors and halted in front of them.

"Hi, Cecily." Jessica tossed gold hair out of her blue eyes and smirked, ignoring Tara. Brian stood with his hands in stuffed in his pockets, his brown eyes glinting.

She willed herself calm. "Hello, Jessica." She ignored Brian and glanced back to see her twin brother limp to her side.

Daniel scowled. "Brian, you jackass, what are you doing here?" His dark eyes flashed. "You already had your chance with my sister."

"Daniel, it's cool," Cecily said.

"No, it's not."

Brian stiffened, his hands tightening into fists. "What are you going to do about it? I already kicked your ass on the field."

"I was following the rules on the field. But now," Daniel gave an exaggerated look around the school grounds, "we aren't on the field."

Cecily shook her head franticly. Everyone knew Brian was a hothead. Daniel couldn't afford to get in a fight with an injured knee. "Daniel, it's okay. Your knee–"

"My knee is screwed for this entire season because of this weak ass player who–"

Brian charged, knocking Daniel to the ground with a painful thud, twisting Daniel's injured knee awkwardly as they fell.

"Brian stop! You'll hurt him!" Cecily yelled, diving toward Brian, trying to drag him off of Daniel.

Jessica jumped toward Cecily, hauling her away from Brian. "You heifer! Get off him!" She pulled back her fist to swing, but Tara grabbed two handfuls of Jessica's long blonde hair and yanked hard.

Cecily straightened, but before she could decide whether or not to lay into Jessica, Derek walked up.

"Do you guys need help?" He sounded amused. Tariq stood beside him, his mouth twisted in disgust.

Tara, Jessica, and Cecily froze.

Jessica recovered first, yanking her hair out of Tara's fist. "Well—"

Cecily shot her a murderous look before turning back to Derek. "That's my brother Daniel, and the idiot he's fighting is Brian."

They all looked at the two boys who were rolling around on the ground still trying to kill each other.

Derek looked back up at Cecily. "Do you want me to help your brother?"

She nodded reluctantly. She didn't want his help, but Daniel's knee had already been hurt badly enough.

Derek walked over and grabbed Brian upright by his arm, dragging him away. Brian cursed, turned, and froze when he saw who it was.

Derek looked him in the eye, his voice menacing. "I think you need to go."

Brian nodded, his face white, and walked away. Surprised, Jessica called his name then scurried after him.

Daniel pushed himself off the ground, favoring his re-injured knee and grimacing with pain as Tara came to his side.

Cecily turned to Derek hesitantly. "Thanks for helping."

He shrugged. "It's cool, I'm glad I could help." He glanced at Daniel who limped awkwardly. "I think I'll make sure you guys get to where you're going. He doesn't look like he could defend himself if the other kid came back."

Cecily blinked. "It's okay, you don't have to. We can get home on our own." She didn't want more of his help. Nothing good would happen if Dad saw her with dragons.

"No, I insist," Derek said. "I wouldn't want anything else to happen."

Cecily glanced at him, avoiding his direct gaze. "Thanks."

"No problem." Derek shot a look at his friend standing off to the side who still looked disgusted. "You coming, Tariq?"

Tariq rolled his eyes. "I'm coming."

Cecily paused, glancing over to make sure Daniel was okay. He had an arm around Tara's shoulder while she whispered in his ear. Seeing them together was weird. She felt like a third wheel. She turned her eyes toward the ground and focused on walking.

They were all quiet until Derek spoke. "So what was that all about?"

Cecily startled and looked up at him. "What? Oh, the fight?"

He nodded. "Is that normal behavior?"

She shook her head. "No, but Brian's been hating on my brother since the university scouts started soliciting him. Daniel's already been accepted into Lymans for June." She bit her lip. "If he graduates from there, he'll receive full dispensation to travel to any enclave in the western hemisphere. He'll have the chance to be vetted for liaison positions in any dragon-run corporation, but if his leg is damaged permanently it could ruin everything."

Derek nodded, appearing thoughtful. "Well, as I said, I'm glad I was there to help."

Cecily shot him a furtive look. "Yeah . . . thanks. I really do appreciate your help." She shook her head. "If you hadn't shown up, he might've been hurt even worse."

"Any time you need help, just ask." Derek stopped.

She looked around, surprised. They'd arrived at her house and Tara was helping Daniel hobble up the stairs to the front porch. Cecily frowned at Daniel's heavy limp and turned back to Derek. "Thanks again."

He tilted his head at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "It's nothing. Maybe now you'll say 'hi' when I talk to you in class."

She nodded and gave a half-hearted wave goodbye, then turned toward the house. Crap. Daniel and Tara had already disappeared inside. Tara would've already told Dad all about the fight and the dragons.

Cecily plodded up the stairs. She knew who waited for her behind the screen door. She reached the front porch and looked up at her dad. He stood in the doorway, his low cut black hair peppered with gray, and a frown creasing the golden brown skin between his gray eyes. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at them and he already knew.

"Get inside." He sounded old and tired.

She winced. "Dad, they–"

"Tara already told me, Cecily. Get inside. Now."

She bowed her head, her stomach sinking with guilt, and went.

(Keep an eye out for The Dragon's Call – Coming Soon!)

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

K.W. McCabe is a Californian transplant to Minnesota. She lives there with her family where she tries very hard to stay warm in all the snow. She has loved fairy tales, Sci-fi, and fantasy all her life, and has been writing stories and poems of that nature since she could first spell. She has worked, in the past, as a library assistant, a baby sitter, a counseling hotline intern, and as a case manager. She maintains that art and writing can only be done when inspired, and inspiration comes from a sufficient amount of laziness. Currently, she is working on Dragon Kin.

Contact her at:

http://kwmccabe.blogspot.com

https://twitter.com/#!/kw_mccabe

http://www.facebook.com/#!/kywmccabe

