Chapter 1: Something Wicked
So, like, no big deal. And this is just me throwing this out there. But I have no idea who I am or where I am or what the hell I'm doing. So there's that. Yay.
The room seems endless, in shades of black, gray, and metallic steel. Like a ceaseless monochrome library. Each aisle is labeled with a letter, each shelf filled with thin black books that look exactly alike. I've thought about touching them, but some base instinct warns me not to, like it would be the end of me. And, gee, wouldn't want that. I nearly snort into the suffocating silence, but swallow the sound. Another one of those oh-so-helpful instincts tells me to make as little noise as possible.
Sometimes, when the cloud cover over my mind lightens a little, I wonder when it will end, why I'm here, things like that. Things I should know, but for some reason don't. I learned not to linger on the thoughts though. I learned that the hard way. Linger too long, suffer the consequences, in the form splitting headaches, weak body, and severe shortness of breath. Just what everyone fucking needs. Hitting stores near you when you try to remember who you are! God, I'm hilarious.
Part of me wonders if maybe I'm dead. This could be the waiting place between life and the afterlife. Maybe I'm waiting for someone to collect me or judge my sins or whatever. That begs the question what asshole decided to take the day off and leave me here to my devices. They should be fired for incompetence, but I guess that's not up to me.
I could have been here for days, weeks, when I stumble across the desk, just past the W's section. It's empty. And a little part of me sighs in relief. Whatever lives here, works here, whatever it is, gives me the heebie jeebies. It doesn't help that I have the distinct feeling that someone is watching me. Maybe they've been watching me since the beginning. A chill rolls down my spine at the thought.
"You don't belong here, do you, girl?" a rich female voice, that is both cold and sweet echoes into the room, filling the deep stretching silence. Oh, I do not, I repeat, do not, like the sound of that.
My feet almost keep moving, so used to the mindless walking, but I force them to stop, and almost trip at the sudden halt. But I do stop, and steady myself. Taking a deep breath and telling myself 'Don't fucking cry. Don't fucking cry,' I wheel around to face her.
Rich satiny umber skin, crimson lips, passionless calculated ebony eyes, and shiny black curls that reach her chin. She's dressed in a fine suit. A large peculiar white ring sits on her finger and her arms rest boredly at her sides, almost like I'm a fly she's been forced to deal with. She scans me head to toe.
Okay, to be honest, I'm not all that impressive. Tall for a girl, long curly copper hair, pale creamy skin, olive green eyes, and delicate features. Again, no big deal here, but every molecule of my body is screaming for me to get the hell away. Out. Out. Out.
"How did you end up here, girl?" she asks. Her voice sounds like she couldn't care less, but there's something else. An undercurrent of … desperation maybe.
"Trust me, Lady, if I could tell you, I would," I say, cracking a smile, "Seeing as to how I have no recollection of how I ended up here, alas, I cannot."
"I find it difficult to believe you conveniently forgot how you ended up in my reading room," her drips skepticism. Which just makes me wanna roll my eyes and say, 'I get it. You don't believe me. Huzzah for you … bitch,' but I hold my tongue.
Instead, I say, "I barely have a concept of who I am, let alone how I got here."
"Do you?" she lunges forward, and before I realize, she has one arm wrapped around me, the other silky smooth palm is pressed against my forehead.
There are no words that exist to describe the agony that swept through me, paralyzing me in place with a blinding darkness. I'm dimly aware of someone screaming, a long shriek of sheer desperation, and it occurred to me it might be the both of us. An image, just one, flashes before my eyes. A pair of endless depthless blue eyes. And a voice that resonates with power and sounds all at once ancient and young, silky and haggard, strong and soft says just one word. Daughter. Something ancient, something powerful has it's beady little eye trained on us. Just as my spine feels like it's about to shatter, the power that seized us seems to leave as quickly as it hit. We clatter to the floor, heaving. On teetering legs, I push myself to stand. The woman does the same.
"What are you?" she asks, her voice an odd mix of unyielding rage and breathless awe.
"I'm-I'm just a girl," I stumble. The fog over my mind slips up, for just a second, but long enough for two words to slip through, "My name is Elvira Castle. I – I really don't know who I am or how I got here though."
"Well, Elvira Castle," she says, her voice a dark force of nature, reminiscent of a brewing typhoon, or a raging forest fire, "Since I can't touch you, let's just leave you to fate. But I will be watching you." She presses two fingers to my forehead.
I feel nothing, an odd sense of weightlessness, then I see dark trees and headstones. The sky above is pitch. I hold back a scream. I hate cemeteries. Terror grips me. Alone. In a cemetery. Alone! In a cemetary! I resist the urge to scream. Something about being around the dead unnerves me, more than unnerves me, sends me running in the opposite direction. And here I am, surrounded by them.
"Alright, Sammy," a gruff male voice with the slightest twang says, "Let's light 'er up. Goodbye Madame Landon."
I hear the scrape of a match being struck and not twenty feet from me a little light flares up. The match, a full book of matches really, falls into a hole and huge flames leap up. It illuminates the speaker, who's with another guy. I don't feel so good. My stomach rolls unpleasantly, and a headache stabs my head. I lean heavily against the nearest tree. Great, just what I need. The world spins and I slide just a little.
Two men fill in my swimming vision. I may be tall, but these two fuckers are downright massive. The taller of the two has long dark hair, deep coffee brown eyes, and a somber mouth. The shorter (and prettier one, in my opinion) has short blond hair, eyes so green they're like forests, and a full almost-feminine mouth. I stumble towards the shorter one as my vision dims. They glance at each other in tandem before looking back at me.
The world slides unpleasantly as I fall into the arms of the shorter guy. He grunts as he catches me. He smells like whisky, and gunpowder, and leather, and his own masculine musk. My stomach heaves and it takes everything in me not to spew chunks all over his navy jacket. It's not a bad smell, just a strong one, one I'm not used to.
"Help me," it slips from my mouth before I can stop it.
Then I slide into unconsciousness and hope I didn't stumble into some weird freaky sex cult. Although, with the way those guys looked, that may not be such a bad thing.
