Bitter Ashes (Bitter Ashes Book 1) Read online

  “And you're in need of a replacement?” I panted as I continued straining to stand.

  “Precisely,” he answered, seeming relieved that I understood. “Our clan cannot function properly without you.”

  If these crazy people wanted me to be their executioner, that meant that they were going to try keeping me with them. It also likely meant that they were going to expect me to kill people. I could never do that. Someone would have to come looking for me eventually. They had to.

  I mean, people don't just disappear without the police being notified. Of course, it might take a while for them to get notified. I had no parents to report me missing, and no spouse. I had a few friends, but the scenario of them not hearing from me for a few weeks wasn't unheard of. Events in my past had led me to a life of near-solitude, keeping people at a distance for fear that history would repeat itself. My history was dark and sad, and not worth repeating.

  Normal people would have at least had a boss to miss them when they didn't show up for work, but I did freelance writing for a living, so there were no coworkers or bosses to report me missing. I had a landlord . . . but seeing as it was only the 8th of October, he wouldn't be expecting a rent check for a while. He probably wouldn't sound any alarm bells until his pockets were feeling empty. Being alone was hard, but I'd never thought that being antisocial would come back to bite me in such a major way.

  Estus gave me several minutes to digest everything. I still didn't believe anything he'd said, though the fact that I was quite literally glued to my seat definitely gave me pause. Regardless, that moment definitely wasn't the time to argue. I was better off going along with whatever Estus said until they left me alone again.

  “I can see that you are having some trouble believing what I say,” he stated finally.

  “No,” I lied quickly. “I understand.”

  Some of the smile slipped from Estus' face. “I will not tolerate lies, now tell me what happened with Matthew,” he said abruptly, freezing me to the core.

  My breath caught in my throat. “How do you know about that?” I croaked.

  Estus eyed me steadily. “Just because we left you on your own, does not mean that we let you go. Not entirely. Now tell me.”

  “No,” I replied. “That's private.”

  I gripped the edges of my chair until my hands ached as I tried to push away the memories. That specific story was one I never planned on sharing with anybody.

  “It was not your fault,” he consoled. “It is your nature.”

  I was beginning to shake as I held back more tears, but the memories weren't held back as easily. We'd been in a car accident. Several cars had been involved. Others had died, but we weren't overly hurt. Matthew's wrist was clearly broken, but that seemed to be the extent of it. Good Samaritans had helped us out of our car to wait on the side of the road for the paramedics.

  We were sitting in the grass, and it was killing me to see Matthew gritting his teeth against the pain. I'd always been highly affected by the pain of others to an extent that made me avoid hospitals like the plague. If I saw an injury on someone else, my mind made me feel like I had it too. Even strong emotions affected me. At one point I'd gone to therapy for it, but nothing helped.

  The old memory played out in my head like a movie. I reached out and smoothed my hand across Matthew's face, hoping to soothe him just a bit, and in effect soothe myself. He looked at me, suddenly not just in pain, but frightened. His fear made my heart hammer in my throat, but I continued holding my hand to his face, not sure of what had changed.

  I felt a rush of energy as it left him, that spark of life. I watched as it left his eyes. I was so shocked as he slumped over that I didn't even scream. Later I would try telling myself that he'd damaged something internally in the accident, but I knew it was a lie. I’d stared at him as the paramedics arrived and rushed over to us, and knew for a fact that there was nothing they could do.

  I still rode next to his dead body in the ambulance as they did their best to resuscitate him. I was later told that they couldn't find the exact cause of death. They wrote it off as a small brain hemorrhage, but I knew otherwise. Some tiny voice screamed in my mind that it was me. I'd killed Matthew.

  “You are probably starving,” Estus said sympathetically as he watched the emotions play across my face. “Sophie will escort you to the kitchens. We will speak more when you are at full strength.”

  As if on cue, Sophie came back into the room. I looked to Estus frantically to see if I was allowed to stand, and he shooed me away. I took a deep breath and stood without any unseen force impeding me.

  I turned and numbly followed Sophie's slim form without another word to Estus. I felt shaky on my feet, but I kept walking. That's all we can ever really do.

  We went back through the throne room and down another narrow hallway. Sophie looked back several times, but didn't say anything.

  Eventually I stopped walking, feeling like I might throw up. “That man-” I began.

  “Estus,” she corrected as she stopped and turned to face me.

  “Did you tell him about me?” I asked. “Is he like, a mental patient?”

  Sophie's eyes widened in shock. “Do not ever let anyone hear you say such a thing,” she chided. “Estus is Doyen. All here obey him.”

  The urge to vomit increased. I felt like I was motion sick, but it was probably just another symptom of shock. “You're not really a social worker, are you?”

  Sophie shrugged. “I like to think I was pretty good at it.”

  I just stared at her, at a loss for words.

  “Chin up,” she said with a sudden smile.

  She turned and began walking forward again, and I quickly followed, resigning myself to whatever fate might befall me. The queasiness dissipated as we walked, only to be replaced by an icy, shaky feeling that wasn't much of an improvement.

  I attempted to distract myself by taking in my surroundings, and noticed with a start that I had not seen one single window in any of the thick, stone walls. The entire place was illuminated just like the bathroom, with no visible source of light. It didn't make any sense.

  I trotted to catch up to Sophie and walk beside her. “Where does the light come from?”

  Sophie gave me another sympathetic look, then explained, “The Salr provides its own light.”

  “The sah-what?” I asked, not knowing the term.

  “Salr, Sah-lur,” she sounded out for me. “It is where we live.”

  “I don't understand,” I replied. “How can a place provide its own light without any windows?”

  Sophie stopped walking again and put a hand on her hip. “Estus explained to you what we are, yes?”

  My pulse picked up again at the thought of Estus. “Kind of,” I answered. “But-”

  “You still don't believe him,” she finished for me. She suddenly gripped me by my shoulders and looked straight into my eyes. “Watch,” she instructed.

  Not sure what I was supposed see, I looked into her eyes. As I watched, her dark irises flashed to golden, with large flecks of green. Her pupils narrowed until they looked like cat eyes. I tried to jerk away, but her hands held me iron-tight. A moment later, her eyes returned to normal.

  “What the hell was that?” I whispered as I went still in her unyielding grip.

  Sophie abruptly let go of my shoulders and started walking again. “My brother and I are Bastet,” she explained, as if it made all the sense in the world.

  I knew that Bastet was the cat-headed Egyptian goddess of warfare, but I didn't think Sophie was claiming to be a goddess.

  “That man, Estus, said that you're Vaettir,” I said, feeling extremely silly for discussing it so seriously. “Like zombies,” I added.

  Sophie smirked at me as we walked. “We are Vaettir, but we are not zombies. Sometimes the Vaettir reanimate after death.”

  “Uhh,” I began, “you know that's basically the definition of zombies?”

  Sophie bit her lip in frustration. “Perhap
s, but we are not the zombies portrayed in all of those silly movies. We sometimes reanimate because a piece of our soul is left in our bodies. It gives the bodies life, but the person who inhabited that shell is gone.”

  I bit my lip in return and tried to not sound condescending as I said, “That's still pretty much the definition of zombies.”

  Sophie huffed in annoyance, but didn't try to convince me further. If zombies actually existed, that would be it for me. I would lose my mind and run screaming into the dark, never to return.

  We passed through a large dining area and into a kitchen the size of what a large restaurant would have. Monstrous pots brimming with boiling liquids sat on the industrial sized stove, filling the room with savory smells. Sophie retrieved a large bowl and began filling it with what looked like beef stew.

  “I don't eat meat,” I said quickly.

  She stopped ladling and dumped the stew back into the pot irritably. “Of course you don't,” she said with a touch of sarcasm. “Because a vegetarian executioner totally makes sense.”

  “I'm not an executioner,” I said nervously. “You've all made a mistake.”

  “Whatever you say,” she replied as she picked up a knife and began hacking away at a large loaf of bread that had been sitting out on the counter. “Cheese?” she asked.

  I nodded my head. “Yes, cheese is fine, just no meat.”

  “Not ever?” she asked as if she didn't quite believe me.

  I shook my head.

  Sophie snorted. “Well that's irritating.”

  She ventured to the far side of the kitchen, opened a large, walk-in refrigerator, and disappeared inside, eventually emerging with an armful of produce. She returned to the cooking area and placed a tomato, an avocado, some lettuce, and a package of alfalfa sprouts on a cutting board. She began chopping haphazardly while I looked at the rest of the kitchen.

  Large, gas station style coffee pots took up a counter to my left, and in front of me along the far wall was bar style seating, along with a few small tables and chairs set out of the way.

  Within a few minutes, I was seated at the shiny counter along the wall with a veggie and cheese sandwich placed in front of me. Sophie had left out mayo and mustard, but the sight of her wielding the large kitchen knife had prompted me to keep my mouth shut.

  My stomach was groaning painfully, arguing with my mind for not wanting to eat. When my stomach won out, I picked up the sandwich and prepared to take a bite.

  “How is our little executioner doing?” Someone whispered right beside my ear, though no one had been there a moment before.

  I jumped and dropped my sandwich back to its plate. It fell apart, looking pathetic and unappetizing. I turned to find Alaric staring at me from just a few inches away.

  My pulse quickened as he swept my hair away from my face to reveal my neck, turning my initial annoyance into anxiety. “You know, there's no meat on your sandwich?” he asked, looking at my neck instead of my face.

  I scooted my stool a few inches away from him. He didn't seem offended. In fact, he pulled another stool up close and sat with his knee touching mine. I was glad that he'd at least found a shirt somewhere as he leaned against me.

  Sophie cleared her throat behind us. She sat near the door, drinking a cup of coffee. I would have loved some coffee, but I didn't really want to ask her for anything else. I already had the feeling that she hadn't appreciated having to make a sandwich for me.

  Seeing my longing gaze, Alaric rose from his seat and walked past his sister to pour two more cups from the coffee maker's spout. He returned and placed one cup beside me, then sat in his original position.

  I sipped the coffee gratefully, feeling instantly more stable as the warm liquid poured down my throat, warming the icy pit that had formed in my insides. Alaric sipped on his own coffee as he watched me.

  I glanced at him, feeling increasingly awkward. “Do you have to do that?”

  “Do what?” he replied as he picked up a piece of my hair to play with.

  “Be creepy,” I answered, gathering up my sandwich once again.

  He laughed and dropped my hair, but didn't scoot away. He watched me take the first bite of my sandwich like he'd memorize every movement.

  “You know,” he said. “A lot of women don't like being watched while they eat.”

  I washed the first bite down with a sip of coffee. Without any condiments on the hard bread, the sandwich was a little dry. At least the coffee was good. Definitely not the cheap stuff.

  “I don't care if you watch me,” I replied. “Just don't touch me.”

  “Well you two are obviously getting along,” Sophie quipped, “so I'll just let Alaric show you back to your room.”

  I turned to protest, but before I could stop her she stood and left the kitchen. I had to quickly close my gaping jaw as I turned back to Alaric.

  “Eat your sandwich,” he said good-naturedly, obviously not upset with the arrangement. That made one of us.

  I took another bite of the dry sandwich and had even more trouble swallowing than before. It had seemed like a good idea to eat, but now each bite was beginning to feel like heavy lead in my stomach. I put the sandwich down on the plate, suddenly disgusted with it.

  “Black isn't your color,” Alaric commented. “I tried to pick your clothes, but I was over-ruled.”

  “Who picked them?” I asked, feeling uncomfortable that he cared what I wore.

  “Sophie,” he replied. “She chose them before you arrived. I take it you will be staying with us?”

  I pushed my sandwich plate away. Yeah, definitely done. “Like I have a choice,” I answered bitterly.

  Alaric laughed as he spun down off of his stool in one liquid motion. “I suppose not.”

  I suddenly felt the tears welling up again. I didn't know why they chose to hit just then, a delayed reaction I guess. I looked down at my uneaten sandwich and cried, because I didn't know what else to do.

  Chapter Three

  Alaric had waited while I cried. He didn't try to comfort me, and I was grateful. It would have been just a little too strange having one of my captors showing that type of compassion.

  My tears had left me numb and thoroughly without an appetite. I left the sandwich on the counter so Alaric could walk me back to my room. He reached my door first and held it open for me, the picture of a perfect gentleman. Yeah right. I turned and looked at him once I was inside, wondering if he was going to leave me alone in the room. He didn't.

  “I'm tired,” I said, hoping to appeal to his sense of mercy.

  “I know you've been through a lot-” he began.

  “That's a vast understatement,” I interrupted.

  “And I know you probably don't have warm, fuzzy feelings toward any of us right now,” he went on.

  “Keep going,” I sighed weakly, feeling unsteady on my feet. “You're on a roll.”

  Alaric laughed. “Your ability to be sarcastic under the direst of circumstances is quite impressive.”

  “Would you rather I screamed and begged for my life?” I questioned.

  “It might be interesting,” he replied. “Though your life is in no danger.”

  I left him and walked further into the room to sit on the foot of the ornate bed, smoothing the thick comforter with my hands. “You don't have to die in order to lose your life,” I said quietly.

  He raised an eyebrow as he approached me. “And your life was so great before?”

  I glared at him. “It was nothing special, but at least I had a choice in what I did.”

  “And you chose to shut yourself up in your little house,” he said softly. “No, I don't think we took you away from very much at all.”

  “How long were you people watching me?” I said hotly. “I'm beginning to think that this wasn't just some random kidnapping.”

  “You know this wasn't a random kidnapping, Madeline,” he replied. “Just as deep down, you know what you are.”

  “My name is Madeline Ville, and I
'm a human being,” I answered sarcastically.

  Alaric kneeled in front of me so that we'd be at eye level. It was an oddly intimate position, but he hadn't left me room to stand, so it was either scoot back onto the bed and give him room to follow, or stay where I was. I stayed.

  “Sophie told me what happened with your foster family,” Alaric said softly. “I helped cover the incident up. It must have been difficult for you to deal with at such a young age.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “That's not possible. That's-” I paused, not sure what to say.

  The last family I'd been placed with had been a couple in their late thirties, Ray and Nadine. They both suffered from alcohol issues, and used the foster system as an easy paycheck. It hadn't been terrible, not compared to some of the other places I'd been.

  I was seventeen at the time, and they let me do what I wanted as long as I didn't rat them out for not being real parents. I was content to stay there until I was eighteen and finished with high school.

  It was all fine, until one night they came home completely hammered. Nadine passed out, and Ray turned his attentions to me. I tried to fend him off, and things got violent. He ended up falling on the corner of the kitchen table, neck first. It sliced him open, then he hit the ground. There was a lot of blood and I panicked. I could admit to myself that I didn't care about his well being, but I knew if anything serious happened I'd be blamed for it. Plus, I could feel his neck wound on my own neck. It wasn't as bad as some of the other pain I'd felt, but it was still unpleasant. I'd put my hands on his neck and tried to stop the blood flow, then suddenly he was dead.

  I had thought his death was caused by blood-loss at the time, and had dismissed the strange rush of energy I felt when he passed as adrenaline. Then Matthew died, and I had to admit that neither death had been normal. They were both my fault.

  The night Ray died I'd called the police, and ended up in Sophie's office as the sun began to rise the next morning. I'd frantically pleaded with her to not let the cops take me, that it had all been an accident. She'd told me not to worry, that it was all taken care of. There would be no questions. I would simply wait for my eighteenth birthday in a facility, rather than with another foster family.