This is a sequel to "A Rose Among Thorns".

Enjoy!

Erik

Chapter 1

The Dream

I was death made flesh.

And blood.

And bone.

And as the Devil's messenger, as the Grim Reaper's heir, I took immense pleasure in ripping the souls from the flesh, blood, and bone of others. It was my greatest delight. My one true calling. More than magic. More than music. Nothing else mattered but the sensation of feeling another's heart still beneath my hand.

The rolling of eyes, whitening of lips, dropping of bodies. The final screams. That was magic. That was music.

My latest victim was a girl of eighteen. No, nineteen. Beautiful. Slim and evenly-proportioned. A heart-shaped face. Thick locks of curling brown hair, and eyes the color of a clear winter's sky. She looked like life.

She smelled like roses.

The girl entered the enormous room of mirrors, in which I'd designed and constructed a glass chamber. I could see in, but the victims could see only their own reflections. She held her head high, absolutely unafraid, even as she was clad in revealing clothing fit for a concubine. Even as she had her hands shackled behind her back.

I smiled, anticipation simmering in my veins. Such courage in her poise - I couldn't wait to burn it away into nothing. Burn her away to ashes.

I opened the door to the chamber, allowing the guards to place her inside. Beside me, the Shah of Persia watched. So did the Grand Vizier, the Daroga. All those guards. Here to watch her suffer and die.

She was wordless as I closed the door to the chamber, as she stared at the metal tree. As she felt the thing heat up, gradually making the space unbearably hot.

I watched as she wobbled and fell to her knees, panting under the oppressive temperature. Yelping horribly as her bare legs hit the burning floor, as her skin turned red. As the chamber cooked her alive.

The Shah laughed with glee at the sight, and I too smiled with pleasure.

But then the girl's eyes found mine.

And my smile was wiped away.

Something-

Something was not right. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

I felt my insides clench, I felt my heart hammer. This was...this was...

Christine.

Her name was Christine.

I loved her. She loved me.

And I had built the thing that was killing her.

I. Was. Killing. Her.

My former sick joy disappeared, replaced with absolute horror. The Shah disappeared. All the rest - Grand Vizier, Daroga, guards - they all evaporated as well. The room turned hazy, until it was only me watching Christine. Watching the life leave her eyes.

I screamed.

"Erik."

I gasped, opening my eyes. Darkness surrounded me, but I wasn't in the Mirror Hall. I was in the bedroom I shared with her. Christine. My Christine.

And we weren't in Persia. We were in France. Paris. Safe.

That didn't stop the nausea that roiled in my stomach at what I'd just dreamed.

Every night. Night after night. I dreamed that I took pleasure in those horrible deaths. I dreamed that I killed my love.

She was leaning over me. "Was it...another...?" Her worried eyes searched mine.

I nodded soundlessly.

And then the nausea was too much.

I rolled off the bed, went to the floor, and found the chamber pot under the mattress.

I emptied my insides.

Back in Tehran, there had been rumors that the Angel of Death needed no food, no sleep - that he was like a vampire. He found rest and nourishment from the blood of his victims.

I wished this was true.

For though I had at last found peace, peace had not found me.

No, the demons I'd thought I'd escaped had followed right behind, silent as all of the graves I'd sent my victims to.

I vomited again, wishing that Christine's hands on my back were soothing.

They only made me feel guilt.

Only made me feel sicker.

I closed my eyes and waited for this storm to pass. Prayed to a silent God that morning would arrive soon.

Wished that I could forget everything, but knowing that those memories would never go away.

They were here to stay.