The Impaled Bride Read online

  “I have arranged for some of my men to accompany you dressed as peasants. They will keep you safe until you reach your father’s land.”

  “We have come this far on our own. We will continue onward without assistance,” Ágota replies.

  “Archwitch, I acknowledge your great power, but there are fearsome creatures in this world. Not just fey, witches, vampires, and other mystical creatures. There are brutal men who would take advantage of you.”

  “I am very aware and will avoid such manner of men. I do not need your guards when I have my own magic and fortitude.”

  “And if I insist?”

  “They will not be able to follow where I travel,” Ágota replies.

  Wirich tucks his hands behind his back while slowly walking in a circle around Ágota. If he means to intimidate her, he will fail. Pressing her lips together, she twists her fingers in a familiar way and her feet leave the ground. Whipping about in the air, she faces the big man eye to eye.

  “I have fulfilled my obligations to you and The White Woman in the Wood. I will now take my leave with my sister.”

  Lifting his heavy eyebrows, Wirich takes two steps back from her. “More impressive than I dreamed.”

  “We are done here.”

  Ágota drops to her feet, takes my hand and pulls me along behind her toward the door on the far end of the room. Wirich does not call after us, but the sound of his heavy footfalls follow. Ágota weaves her way through the hallways to the lower castle ward. When we exit the castle, I crane my head to look at the towers looming over our head. Ágota draws me across the courtyard toward the heavy gate at a brisk pace.

  Several men in plain peasant clothing are gathered near the gate. I suspect they are supposed to be our chaperones. Ágota snarls at them as we approach. When they shirk away from us, I tilt my head to gaze up at my sister’s face. I am not surprised to see her eyes shimmering a radiant green. It is a show of power that is impressive and terrifying. Even I feel a little frightened of her.

  We are nearly to the gate when I hear my name called out. Whipping about, I am happy to see Albrecht rushing across the courtyard. In the early morning sunlight, Albrecht is even prettier than I remembered. My heart beats faster at the sight of him as he sprints toward me, his dark red tunic fluttering around his long legs. On his shoulder is an enormous raven that flutters its wings to maintain its balance as the boy runs.

  “Erzsébet! Wait!”

  “Ágota, it is Albrecht!” I exclaim. “He is coming to say goodbye!”

  I whip about to see my sister with one hand raised over her head. The enormous gate creaks open under her power. The castle sentries surge toward her and she thrusts out her palm toward them. They fall back as though they have struck a barrier, terror blooming in their eyes.

  “Let her pass!” Wirich calls out. “Do not interfere.”

  The gate finishes opening and Ágota reaches for me. I evade her, determined to say goodbye to Albrecht. The look of astonishment on her face gives me a pinch of guilt, but I dart away to meet Albrecht.

  Breathlessly, he arrives before me. The raven settles its wings and tilts its head to regard me thoughtfully. “Erzsébet, you are leaving so soon?”

  “Yes, Ágota wants to leave. She does not like it here.”

  Albrecht scowls at my sister. “Of course. I suspect she does not like much in this world. But you do like it here, do you not?”

  I lift my eyes over his dark head to gaze at the imposing castle. The very notion of living in such a grand place with Albrecht at my side is enthralling. The castle is not so frightening anymore despite Ágota’s misgivings. This is Albrecht’s home and he is fond of me. I do feel welcomed here.

  Grinning, I nod.

  Relief fills his eyes and he returns my smile. “Excellent. You will come back one day?”

  I enthusiastically exclaim, “Yes!”

  “I know you have magic to protect yourself since you are a witch, but I want to give you this to keep close to you. It is wise to always be armed in dangerous times, or so Dominique says.” Albrecht holds out a dagger in a fine leather sheath. “She gave it to me when I was your age. It is suitable for someone your size.”

  I take the gift with some trepidation. I do not have magic, but I cannot correct him. Ágota has her reasons for our deceit. The dagger is rather small when I slip it from the sheath. A rose is engraved on the very sharp blade. It is pretty despite its deadliness. I am uncertain I could wield such a weapon to protect myself, but I am grateful for his concern.

  The raven regards my actions with great interest but does not move from its perch on Albrecht’s shoulder. I become aware of the cawing of other ravens perched above my head on the wall. I wonder at the significance of the birds, for their image adorns the banners strung over the gate.

  “This is very nice. Are you certain you should give it to me?” I ask.

  “Very certain. This way you will remember me always until you return,” Albrecht says. “I will be older, handsome, and a warrior. You will be beautiful, wise, and an Archwitch. We will be very happy. I promise.”

  I giggle at his words. “It sounds very grand.” Growing sober at another thought, I say, “But it will be a very long time until I see you again.”

  “Perhaps, but we will spend much more time together once you return.” Albrecht leans over and kisses my cheek. His lips are soft and his breath warm. I blush and press my fingers to my cheek, imagining the imprint of his kiss lingering there.

  “Erjy, we need to leave at once,” Ágota orders.

  I reluctantly return to her side, casting longing looks over my shoulder at Albrecht. Wirich moves to stand behind his son, his hand on his free shoulder. The raven continues to observe me with one keen black eye. Impulsively, I wave to it and I am not so surprised when it lifts a wing in return.

  “Safe journey, Ágota, Archwitch of the Lost Witch World!” Wirich calls out. “Until we meet again.”

  Not answering, Ágota leads me through the gate and down the steep slope to the bigger gate in the outer wall. It rasps open as we approach, not at her bidding, but Wirich’s order.

  Soon we are on the road, marching toward the ley line that will carry us from Styria. Ágota mutters under her breath in Magyar, the magic in her hand burning ever hotter. I raise the dagger clutched in my hand and notice that roses are tooled into the soft leather sheath. Once my sister is calmer, I will ask her to help me fasten it to my waist. Casting one last glance toward the castle before it is hidden behind the woods, I smile with happiness at the knowledge that one day I will return.

  Darkness flows over my vision and is replaced by torchlight. Magdala’s needle flows in and out of the silk and satin of my dress.

  “What did she do with the rose when he gave it to her?” Magdala asks, and I grasp that no time has passed in the mausoleum while I was trapped in my past.

  I press my lips together at the memory and find it difficult to answer. At last, I say, “She plunged it into his heart.”

  And I weep.

  Chapter 10

  Despite my piteous, shuddering sobs, the gypsy remains at my side, mending my dress. My heightened vampire senses detect the mortal’s wildly beating heart and her shallow breathing, all signs of frightened prey. I taste fear in the air, yet the needle continues to stitch the hem of my dress. Magdala is a daring young woman, which is her undoing.

  The agony of the stake is more potent since I am starving. I endeavor to lift one hand to grip it in a futile attempt to rip it from my body, but my fingers merely quiver at my side. My vulnerability is yet another indignity. I am a fearsome creature by nature, yet Vlad has weakened me to the point where I am at the mercy of lesser creatures. Magdala could strike me down if she so desired and I would be unable to defend myself. Worse yet, I am a very old vampire, which only adds to my misery. I long for the bliss of sleep or madness to escape this hunger, yet my mind remains observant even as my body shrivels to a mere husk.

  Another escape from my t
orment makes itself known, but I do not welcome it. My eyelids quiver as I attempt to force them to stay open. I do not wish to revisit the events of long ago. The curse that is upon me is potent and persistent. The tendrils of its power wrap around my mind, subsuming me. I am too weak to resist. The haze of time has not stolen away this particular memory and I do not wish to live it again. I fight to remain in the mausoleum, but it is a futile struggle, for my eyes close only to reopen in another time.

  The world is a hazy blur of greens and blues. We travel with terrifying swiftness along the vein of magic threaded through a world ignorant of its existence. Hidden from the eyes of mortals, we travel faster than any horse could ever carry us. The hum of the ley line buzzes in my ears and the constant, unrelenting pull of its power makes me queasy. Ágota clutches me close as we fly and I cling to her with my arms and legs.

  We are in the Kingdom of Hungary at last, but we cannot allow ourselves to drop our guard for we have yet to reach the border of Transylvania. There are violent clashes occurring among the men who rule sections of the kingdom. Since we cannot always travel the ley lines, we have had to hide more than once from men in heavy armor while Ágota convalesced after expending too much magic.

  Furthermore, my sister’s negotiations with various supernatural creatures for passage through their territory often forced her into spectacular displays of magic in order to impress them. By the time we arrive in Transylvania, her reputation as a fearsome Archwitch will be firmly entrenched in the hidden world, but at a cost. The magic is consuming her. She is thinner in frame, so the bones in her hands are sharp beneath her skin. Perhaps this is why she looks older and feral. Her eyes appear larger in her slimmer face and her wide mouth more pronounced. Ágota has never been particularly pretty, but now I find her oddly bewitching in appearance. She will never be beautiful, but she is formidable.

  Sometimes, she even frightens me.

  The closer we draw to Balázs’s domain, the grimmer she becomes. When I’d learned that we did not share a father, my mother told me about her flight from Balázs’s land after his wife had attempted to kill my sister out of spite. I suspect she is afraid to face her father after so many years apart. She has never spoken of him fondly and a dangerous fire sparks in her eyes whenever he is mentioned. This history does not bode well for Ágota’s reunion with her father, but we have no other choice. With Lucifer searching for Ágota, we need the protection of the witches.

  When the ley line abruptly vanishes around us, Ágota screams as though wounded. My sister’s hold on me lessens as we reel about as if caught in a funnel. While plunging toward the ground, I bury my face in Ágota’s shoulder, my fingers digging into her arms. We smash through the trees, leaf-laden boughs scratching our limbs and slashing our clothing. Arms flailing, I attempt to stop my fall but bounce off branches before I can gain purchase.

  There is a bright burst of magic seconds before we crash into the ground. I fall into something soft and pliable and it saves me from a terrible death. I lift my head to discover we are caught in a lattice of golden magic. It shimmers beneath us, holding us safely aloft the hardened dark earth of a clearing in the woods. Ágota’s arms slacken about me as a low agonized groan slips from her sickly pale lips.

  “Ágota, what happened? Why did we fall?”

  Ágota’s eyelids quiver, her gaze unfocused.

  The magical net sputters beneath us before vanishing. We drop the last few feet to the ground and strike it with such force the breath is forced from my lungs. Gasping, I lie next to my sister, stunned by the fall. Although breathless, I am not terribly hurt.

  With some difficulty, I drag a deep breath into my lungs, relieving the unpleasant sensation of suffocating. My body aches when I push myself upright to study my surroundings. In our travels, we visited places of deep magic and this is yet another. Admittedly, all magic feels wild and dangerous, but the aura of our surroundings is foreboding. The woods are murky and disquietingly noiseless. The ground beneath me is barren and smells vaguely of smoke.

  I bend over my sister, grip her shoulders and shake her. Ágota’s eyelashes flutter, her eyes rolling back in their sockets.

  “Ágota! Ágota! Wake up!” I cry out.

  The battle to focus on me is evident on my sister’s face. The whites of her eyes roll down to reveal dulled irises. “... draining me,” she whispers.

  “What is draining you?”

  Her lips barely shift when she answers, “This... place...”

  The silence of the woods is most likely the harbinger of something evil lurking nearby. The air weighs heavily on my body as I force myself to my feet. The impression of my head being wrapped in thick fabric gives rise to strangling claustrophobia even though I am standing in an open space. I bend over my sister and shake her.

  “Please, Ágota! Wake up! I am afraid!”

  To my dismay, my sister does not respond to my plea. Her head lolls to one side and her body falls limp, her pose reminding me of my lost poppets. I grasp her hand and attempt to pull her upright, but she merely slumps over.

  Again and again, I attempt to rouse her, but she does not stir. The menace lingering in the air pricks along my spine. I cast worried glances into the gloomy woods encircling us. Though I do not wield magic like my sister, I sense an insidious entity of some kind watching from the shadows. Or, perhaps, it is the forest or the land itself.

  The air feels heavy, making very difficult to take full breaths. Terror engulfs me for I am alone in a foreign land and my only protector is unconscious. I lower my hand to the sheath hidden in the folds of my skirt. The small dagger Albrecht gave me is most likely useless against a supernatural beast.

  Kneeling beside Ágota, I struggle not to weep. I must somehow save her and myself before we are both lost to the evil that has felled her. I hook my hands under her arms and attempt to drag her, but she is far too heavy. I try to heave her over my back, but she’s too long and I am too small.

  In my failed effort, her bag falls from her shoulder. Bending over to claim it, I am surprised at its light weight. Opening the top, I peer into the dark interior. When I put my hand inside, my fingers graze over the bottom stitches. I know it is not empty. I saw my sister place berries inside earlier.

  To my surprise, my fingers promptly close around the fruit.

  Curious, I concentrate, picturing the skirt my mother made for me and soft fabric fills my hand. Understanding fills me as I excitedly summon several more objects from the depths of the bag.

  “Oh!”

  A mad thought occurs to me.

  Is it possible?

  What other choice is there?

  I have to save my sister.

  I eat a handful of berries before commencing my task. The sour yet sweet fruit revives me while I sort out my plans. Whatever has rendered my sister unconscious is still watching but is held at bay for some unknown reason. Is it because I am mortal? Perhaps it cannot hurt me for some arcane reason.

  “Ágota, you will not wake up, so I must do this.”

  I lay her flat and straight upon the ground, fold her arms over her breasts, and smooth her skirt over her legs. I open the drawstring as wide as possible and bend to my task. Sweat rolls along my neck and dampens my clothing. Carefully, I poise Ágota’s feet just inside the bag.

  “I am not sure if this is safe or not. I hope it is for there is no other choice,” I say aloud.

  I pull the magic relic over her ankles, tuck the skirt hem inside, and drag the bag over her legs. It is very disconcerting to see her disappear inch by inch while the opening grows larger to swallow her thighs and hips. I continue my task until all that remains outside the bag is her shoulders and head. The image at my feet is quite obscene and disturbing. It appears she has been cut asunder. I slip my hand through the opening of the bag to see if her heart still beats. I am heartened to feel it thudding against my palm, seeming a bit stronger than before.

  “I love you, Ágota,” I whisper, kissing her cheek.

 
I draw the bag over her head.

  Standing, I lift my precious package and find it no heavier than before. I will take care of her as she has taken care of me. I tuck my hand into the bag to run my fingers through Ágota’s hair lovingly.

  “I shall save you,” I vow.

  I pull the strings tight and knot them.

  Looping the bag over my shoulder, I apprehensively study my surroundings. Whatever attacked Ágota must be watching. Why has it not moved against me? Again, I wonder if my mortal nature is protecting me from a supernatural attack.

  Remembering my mother’s admonitions to always follow well-traveled paths and not wander from them, I seek out a passage through the shadowy forest. I walk about the edge of the large clearing, my nose wrinkling at the stench of burned wood. I am excited to come across a narrow pathway illuminated by sunlight. Lifting my gaze, I see that the trees do not grow over the path, allowing sunbeams to pierce the gloom. I take this as a sign that the path is safe from the evil that dwells here.

  “I will save you, Ágota,” I whisper.

  Determination fills my heart as I daringly walk along the narrow passage. Again, I am struck by the absolute absence of forest sounds. Even my footfalls are strangely muted. The tree trunks are encompassed in thick moss and gnarled roots border the path, but do not cross it. Thick shadows repel the daylight, confining my vision to only a few feet on either side of the footpath. Unnerved, I concentrate on the band of sunshine highlighting the trail.

  Though dread sits heavily in my chest, I walk onward. The bag bumps against my hip with every step, my fingertips grazing over the embroidery. It is so lightweight my mind begins to doubt that Ágota is truly inside. I remind myself of the great magic my mother and Ágota can wield. I must have faith that she is secure inside, protected from whatever dragged her out of the sky.

  The ominous atmosphere does not lessen as I continue on my trek. The soundless, darkened world feels eternal, and only my lighted pathway gives me any measure of hope. I walk for hours through what seems to be an unchanging landscape until at last I hear the rushing of water. It is the first sound I have heard other than my breathing since my ordeal began. Thirsty, tired, and encouraged, I sprint along the trail.