Chapter 30

Forbidden Woods, England, 1512 ( Renaissance )

" I tell you, you're wasting your time with that one." A frustrated feminine voice grunted from just beyond the solid oak door, " I don't know why you don't just kill her and be done with it, for Zeus's sake. Waste of energy if you ask me."

Waste of energy indeed! Veronica struggled to remain absolutely motionless, to keep her breath steady and quiet. Though they had yet to mention names, the young sorcerer's apprentice knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this boorish new lady could only be talking about her. I'm the only woman in this castle. Well, second-to-only now that this loudmouthed harlot has arrived.

Four years had passed since that bloody summer day when barbarians had murdered her entire family. They didn't know it--or perhaps they did--but the lithe young housewife slash wiccan they had chased to the edge of the Forbidden Woods had not survived the night. Well, not in essence, anyway.

Veronica Stilling was dead.

The night they had murdered her family, the fiends had slain her as well. It had been nothing more than a shell that had encountered the wicked Lord in the woods that night; a hollowed-out, pale imitation of the real thing. Though her heart still beat and her lungs continued to draw breath, Veronica had been no more alive than her dead husband and children.

Lord Valerian had fixed that. Just as a phoenix dies and rises again from the ashes, so he had helped his vengeful new apprentice build a new life atop the charred cinders of the old. " No sense on dwelling on what might have been," Valerian had advised, " The time has come for you to take action and shape your own life rather than letting the inequitable hand of fate do it for you." In just a few days following her 'death', Veronica had been reborn.

Reborn, but born twisted.

On the surface it was still the same person. Still the same ditzy, often silly, mother and housewife that her husband and kids had cherished. Outwardly, she appeared not to have changed much at all. Four years and she still was unable to bake a cake that wasn't either too salty or in some way deficient. Speaking English continued to be a problem, and had since caused more awkward misunderstandings between her and English folk. Practicing magic was fun, and, thanks to Lord Valerian, no longer a taboo subject. Over the years her skills had increased substantially.

Yet something was different, something was new.

In spite of all these consistencies, this was not the same sweet little girl that had talked to the thrush years ago on the night her mother had died, nor the loving young mother who had begun each bedtime by wrapping Kit and his sisters up snuggly in warm blankets before laying next to them and telling fantastic fairy tales of beautiful princesses and brave knights. Ever since she had fallen in with Lord Valerian, things had changed.

Where once the wild animals had welcomed her arrival they now looked upon her with suspicion and distrust. Squirrels and chipmunks would scurry quickly up the trees at her approach. Foxes and fawns would stop their play and dart into hiding. Even the most loyal of her bird friends now refused to eat directly out of her hands, waiting instead for her to throw their feed onto the ground.

Veronica could not understand what had gotten into them. She tried repeatedly to win back their trust with gracious offerings of food and sweet song--all to no avail. Her once trusting animal friends had grown too wary. No amount of coaxing, it seemed, could win them back.

Perhaps they knew.

On the night of the killings, the seed of hatred had been sown into the remnants of Veronica's broken heart. Nourished by fear and Lord Valerian's encouragement, it had not taken long for this wicked seed to grow and spread like a stain throughout the wiccan's new existence. A wild new passion dominated her life, and that was the insatiable desire to someday murder the killers of her family--to wrong those who had wronged her. The lust for the kill seeped into her mind like poison; ran through her veins like an evil, black river.

If it took decades, she would have her revenge. The barbarians would not get away with what they had done. They were evil and they deserved to die the most painful, horrible death imaginable.

Lord Valerian agreed. From the day he had found her, the powerful lord had taken Veronica under his wing and into his home; which just happened to be a small stone fortress constructed right in the very center of the Forbidden Woods and obscured from even the eagle's awesome eye by the dense tops of the tallest trees. This was the ideal location for practicing black magic and the more arcane arts without having to worry about paranoid commonfolk putting you to death for 'witchcraft'.

Ok, what Veronica practiced technically was witchcraft, but it was for a noble cause, and that made it just. Like James had so often pointed out, people feared what they did not understand. And just what would the common person understand about losing his or her entire family? Over the span of twenty years, Veronica Wells-Stilling had endured more loss, more hardship and suffering, than most people did over a lifetime. If anyone deserved a break, it was her. If anyone had a good reason to turn to witchcraft, she did.

She was coming along quite nicely in it too.

Upon first arriving at the fortress, the freshly widowed wiccan had been able to perform only the most basic of magics, such as moving or levitating small objects, changing the color of her eyes, and generating a rain of colorful sparks from the tips of her fingers. While this was a good step ahead of most wiccans and far beyond anything her mother had been able to do, it was still small potatoes in comparison to a true witch or wizard.

Now Veronica could levitate and move bigger objects for longer periods of time. She could throw small charges of electricity and put on a stunning lightshow. Her enhanced intuition allowed her to accurately sense the emotions of others and even control the actions of the weaker-willed to a certain extent. Along with these bigger tricks came a nifty new ability: shapeshifting.

The smaller the animal, the easier it was to change into, and Lord Valerian had decided to teach her the trick one sunny day while she was out observing a field mouse timidly nibbling grass near an old log. There was no need for any physical contact with the mouse, he had told her, all she needed to do was form a mental picture of the animal in her head--focus on becoming the animal--and the magics would do the rest. Of course, shapeshifting to any form required either a great deal of power, or a great deal of concentration if the magician in question found his or herself somewhat lacking in the former.

Sad to say, Veronica's concentration still needed a little work. Instead of changing into an exact duplicate of the rodent she had been watching, the soon-to-be-a-powerful-sorceress's first attempt at shapeshifting had ended in disaster when she wound up mutating herself into a hideous mouse-human hybrid half her normal size with malformed paws, long, twitchy whiskers, big ears, and black, pupil-less eyes. Needless to say, that had not been a pretty picture. Thankfully it was a problem that was easily remedied, and once Veronica was fully human again Lord Valerian had had her practice the lesson over and over bit by bit until she got it right.

After that, bigger creatures were on the lesson plan. The aspiring sorceress could presently turn herself into an animal as large as a cat, and often did so just for the sake of a different point of view. It was no easy feat, true, but like all acquired skills in life each time she did it it got easier.

Practice made perfect.

The infamous dark lord was indeed as great as legends said, and through his strength and guidance Veronica was getting more and more powerful with each passing day.

If she had any regrets about this new lifestyle, it was that it was a rather lonely existence. Lord Valerian wasn't always the best of company, and he seldom allowed Veronica to leave the forest and socialize. Every now and then she would venture forth defiantly with the intent of visiting the village without his knowledge, but for some reason she always hesitated at the edge of the woods, never daring to take another step. Whether this was from fear of rousing her lord's wrath or the result of a special enchantment he had placed upon her she would never know, but the fact remained that she always turned back before her mentor came looking.

Life in the fortress was usually quiet and dull. Basically all she had to worry about were chores, running errands, cooking ( Lord Valerian seemed reluctant to touch most of it ), gathering special ingredients for potions and spells, and practicing magic lessons.

In the four years that they had lived there, the dark lord rarely had had company, and the few times he did it was usually a young woman he had captured and brought in against her will in order to sacrifice to some almighty god or whatever. Thus, when Veronica heard a woman's voice coming from within Lord Valerian's central chamber while on her way to clean up a mess she had made involving flour and cream in the kitchen, her first thought was that this was another unfortunate victim about to bite the dust. The woman hadn't sounded frightened, however, and Veronica's natural curiosity had kicked in and prompted her to listen in on the conversation from behind the door.

Now she was glad she had.

Of all things sacred, they were talking about her!

" Circe, please. Sit down. You should hear yourself rant. If I didn't know any better I'd think this young girl had struck a nerve with you." There was a pause as Lord Valerian stopped to sip something from a glass.

Though Circe didn't say anything, her heavy breathing and the way she kept pacing the hard stone floor like an angry bear made it all too obvious that she was not about to calm down any time this century.

Lord Valerian continued, " Veronica is a fine spellcaster and an apt pupil. You must admit that she is unusually talented for a wiccan. With my training, give it a century--two centuries at the most--before she has exceeded Astor's power." Another brief pause. Then a low, condescending chuckle rose up from the depths of his throat. " What's wrong, Circe? Are you afraid that Veronica may someday be more powerful than you? "

" Of course not! " Circe exploded, her voice so loud and forceful that it caused Veronica to jerk her head back in surprise, " No matter how much training she has, no matter how many eons you spend with her, that pitiful excuse for a witch will never, ever be in my league! I AM CIRCE THE ENCHANTRESS! Pray that you don't cross me, Lord Valerian, or I will show you what a true goddess can do! "

At this, Lord Valerian merely laughed. " Where are you going to find a true goddess at such a short moment's notice? "

" You would dare to mock me! " Circe's voice was a shrill, poisonous hiss.

" I hardly call it mocking." The dark lord replied in cool, casual tones. Truly Veronica thought, nothing ever daunted him, " Both you and I know that you are not a true goddess. Why indulge in silly fantasies? Now, if you don't mind, I really do have better things to be doing. "

Veronica chuckled silently to herself. That's showing her!

" You think me a waste of time! " Circe sounded furious.

" Not only a waste of time, but a waste of space. Things are not as they were hundreds of years ago. Troy has fallen, Odysseus is dead, and you're nothing but the forgotten shadow of an ancient culture. Most people don't even believe in you anymore. You seek to cling to a world that no longer exists. I pity you, Circe. Your place is with your kin: dead and buried in the past."

" And your place is rotting in the depths of Tartarus! " The enraged sorceress retaliated, " Wait and see, Valerian. Your time will come, and when it does I will see to it that Hades makes you fry! "

Wow, those two mix like oil and water, Veronica thought, leaning perhaps a bit too heavily into the door, That Circe sounds vicious. I hope I never have to...

Unfortunately for the young spellcaster, she had yet to master the finer points of eavesdropping: such as listening for danger and being ready to spring away at a moment's notice should the need arise. Thus when a less-than-cheerful Circe flung open the door with all the gentle tenderness of an ox, the solid wood object collided squarely with her face.

Thunk!

The surprised sorceress-in-training tumbled backwards with a squeal, eyes watering and hands clutching at her sore nose. Crazy red stars twirled like dervishes around her head as she squinted up through blurry eyes at the menacing new figure looming before her.

Uh-oh.

It was a woman.

Worse, it was Circe.

The first thing that struck Veronica was the other magic-doer's size, followed swiftly by her age. Circe was not small. In fact, she outsized Veronica by at least sixty pounds and five inches. As for age, she appeared to be in somewhere her early thirties, not that that was anything to go by. Thick folds of dark fabric varying of blue and green hues hung loosely about a full-figured body. Too loosely, in fact, and Veronica feared for a second that the mighty sorceress's roomy...dress...( if you could call it that ) would fall down all around her and make for an even more awkward confrontation. It was not an ill-placed fear--she couldn't possibly be wearing much under there, could she?

Just as quickly, Veronica's gaze was diverted to Circe's skin, which was the same rosy color of a baby's cheeks and just as tender. Flaming auburn hair ran wild down blush red-wine cheeks to spill over bare shoulders. Shimmering emerald eyes pierced Veronica's, and the sorceress's cherry-red lips twisted down into a disgusted frown.

" It's rude to eavesdrop."

That was all the warning Veronica got.

Circe's hand shot out. Instantly a sizzling whip of electric blue lightening leapt from her outstretched palm, snaking through the air and covering the short distance between the two ladies in a flash. Veronica cried out as the violent current of energy struck her chest and from there spider-webbed across the rest of her body, stinging every nerve it touched. She opened her mouth again to cry out for her mentor/protector, but all the air was sucked from her lungs and she collapsed to the floor in a pathetic heap, almost paralyzed.

That will teach her. A sly grin crossed Circe's face. Veronica was a thorn in her side, and one she hoped very soon to pluck. A shame she couldn't kill her right here, right now. How dare they presume this...this peon will someday out-power me? Absurd! This novice peasant couldn't magic her way out of a locked barn.

She felt her fingers twitch; realized she'd been clenching her jaw so hard it hurt. At her feet, the meaningless body of that accursed wiccan-girl twitched and spasmed with the excess energy of the blast. She wasn't dead. Not yet.

Such a pity.

A sudden rush of rage swelled within her being, and Circe lost control. Forgetting for the moment where she was, the wicked enchantress's hand glowed with magic as she fired up for her next shot...

" Circe, have you gone mad! " It was Circe's turn to be surprised. She dropped her hand quickly and was just in the process of spinning on her heel when a powerful blast caught her full in the back and sent her flying.

Behind her, the source of the blast, stood a very angry, very unamused Lord Valerian. He took one look at the dazed Veronica laying helplessly on the floor and scowled. Circe had always been rebellious, but this time she'd really overstepped her bounds.

" Veronica. Get up."

Like that thought hadn't occurred to me. Veronica's dazed mind struggled to come to grips, Circe gives me the shock of my life, and he's all 'get up, Veronica'. The least he could do is sound concerned.

The dark lord never seemed to put any emotions other than indifference and firm ironclad control into his voice. While these cold, powerful tones were great for invoking fear into young women and would-be trespassers, they left something to be desired on the social front. Then again, it wasn't like Lord Valerian did much entertaining between ritual sacrifices.

Which was for the best, she supposed.

Circe's power-strike had hurt like a thousand bees stinging every square inch of her flesh, but now she could feel the effects starting to wane off. Awkwardly, she climbed to her feet and cowered behind her master. So she wasn't winning any awards for courage, but at least it was safer on this side of the evil lord.

Lord Valerian followed her with his eyes and made a curt grunt of disgust. Cowardice was such an undesirable trait, especially in the woman he himself had seen fit to take under his wing.

" Hah, some witch you have there, Dark Lord." Circe sneered, taking a full two seconds to recover from her unexpected flight into the stone wall. Fierce green eyes locked upon cold blue ones, and she continued on in the same mocking tone, " Poor little Veronica. If she can't even stand up to one of my weakest attacks, how do you expect her to fare against..."

" Enough! " Lord Valerian barked, his black lips drawn back in a dangerous sneer " I am well aware of your concerns, Circe." he spat the name, " but need I remind you that your presence here is no longer acceptable? My patience wears thin."

Circe tilted her head playfully to one side, let Lord Valerian she how unshaken she was by his threats. It was, of course, the mother of all bluffs. In truth, she was a little unnerved, but better to die than allow him that satisfaction. Trying on a smug look, she cast her fiery auburn hair leisurely to one side for show.

Lord Valerian glared daggers at her.

Circe finally threw up her hands in surrender. " Alright! Alright! You win this round, O mighty Warlock Of The Wood. But I would not be you for all the world. Stuck with a whiny excuse of a witch...oh, she's got magic, I'll give her that. Possibly ambition as well. But do not allow yourself to be deceived--that little girl's as evil as I am sincere. Poor innocent little lamb. Already well on the way to the slaughter. But who's holding the ax? "

With that, the enchantress simply disappeared in a puff of red smoke, leaving sorcerer and apprentice alone in the hall to ponder her words.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

As the days went by, Lord Valerian found himself dwelling more and more on Circe's visit, and the words of wisdom she had last imparted before disappearing off to parts unknown. Much as he hated to admit it, the vile sorceress had a point. For all her power, adaptability, and potential, for all her ambition and willingness to learn, the vengeful Veronica Stilling still managed to cling to that one golden spark of goodness that had not yet been driven from her soul.

That would not do. That would not do at all.

The road ahead was going to be a tough one; tough enough without taking chances in the areas that counted most. There was just no getting around it. In order to get where he wanted to be, Lord Valerian was going to have to kill and conquer an awfully lot of people and nations.

With Veronica.

Sure, she was acting okay now, but he just couldn't risk what was soon to be his most powerful ally having an attack of conscience during a battle. While her thirst for revenge on the barbarians was string and unwaivering, Veronica's innate hatred towards all living things was not. True, the past four years had done much to harden her heart, and Veronica had proven time and time again that she was no saint. She had even, at his request, killed a brace of songbirds and carved their tiny hearts from their chests as ingredients for a spell.

That was definitely a step in the right direction, but it just wasn't enough. Something would have to be done, and soon. He needed a cruel, evil Veronica for his plans. Even an indifferent one would do. Fence-sitters--the term he had coined for beings such as Veronica who were neither evil or benign--could fall either way and were too unpredictable. Veronica was as much use to him as a loose cannon as she was dead.

A problem?

Definitely.

But how to fix it?

The solution was disturbingly simple: put Veronica through a test, one in which she would either pass...or die.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The day for the all-important 'final exam' arrived early one morning. Under the guise of a harmless raven, Lord Valerian flew into a nearby village just as the first warm rays of a golden sun began to peek over the horizon. In this form he flitted about from tree to tree, from rooftop to rooftop, until he found what he was looking for.

Then, during a precious moment of confusion, he swooped down as silently as the shadow of death; seizing his prize and disappearing with it, leaving the villagers none the wiser.

Funny how some people were so easily distracted from the things that should matter most.

Now he sat cross-legged in the middle of the big red pentagram he and Veronica had drawn onto the stone floor using the pure blood of a virgin woman. The rich red hues had since dulled with time, which only served as a reminder that he would soon have to find another virgin to bleed. An enjoyable task, but one that could wait until later. Casually, he waited.

In all the fortress, this was perhaps the most important room. Medium in size and circular in shape, it wasn't much to look at from the homeowner's standpoint, but it's meaning was very important. Veronica knew this too, and while he waited patiently on the floor the wicked lord entertained himself by guessing at how long it would take his apprentice to respond to the message he had left at her bedside.

A dark smile crossed his pale face.

It would not be long.

From atop the black marble pedestal in the very center of the room, the contents of the small straw basket moved.

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Veronica woke with a start, panting heavily. These nightmares were getting more and more vivid. Horrible images of terrifying hell beasts bathing in the blood of her slaughtered family while she lay wounded, helpless to do anything. Even though part of her knew she was dreaming, everything always became so muddled that before long she wasn't able to tell what was dream and what was reality. And that was truly horrifying.

Why couldn't the past stay in the past?

Kicking the blankets aside, it was then that Veronica discovered she'd been sweating. She wiped a hand to her forehead and it came away as wet as if she'd dipped it into a pond. Wow. That's getting pretty intense. Maybe I should tell Valerian about these nightmares. He may laugh his away, but mine are going to kill me someday. Either that or drive me completely insane. And...why don't I ever have any feet? Strange stuff.

She shivered, despite the lack of cold.

Dreams--and nightmares--had meanings. Every self-respecting wiccan knew that. Since early childhood her mother had always encouraged her to share the details of her nightly--or not so nightly, as the cases often were--trips through Dreamland. Dreams and nightmares used a lot of symbolism and often had deeper, hidden meanings pertaining to oneself and the emotions and/or trials in life they happened to facing at the time.

A rushing tsunami, for instance, may mean that the dreamer was feeling overwhelmed by the stresses happening in their waking life. A dream about being repeatedly bitten by mice or other small creatures could mean that the person was feeling weighed down by little annoyances. Flying dreams were always very spiritual and usually brought with them a rare element of pleasure and wonder.

Repeated nightmares where the same horrible things happened over and over again, however, were a different kettle of fish, and there was certainly nothing mystical or wonderful about them. Her mother had indicated that nightmares were the embodiment of a person's fears manifesting in the forms of frightening images and sensations, but they could also symbolize unresolved issues and feelings.

Which, Veronica supposed, made sense, but how was she going to resolves the greatest tragedies of her life? Killing the barbarians when she got around to it would feel good and satisfy her thirst for revenge, but Veronica was no fool. Their deaths--no matter how brutal--were not going to bring James or the children back, no matter how badly she wanted that to be true.

No.

Her family was gone, and for all his great power even Lord Valerian was unable to change that. The universe was a cruel monster with a black sense of humor. Nothing was made to last forever. Even the brightest stars in the sky were destined to someday lose their luster and fade into a silent oblivion. Life was a powerful, passionate force, but in the end it always lost out to the cold darkness of death lurking forever like a thief in the shadows.

Life.

Death.

Fire.

Ice.

Good.

Evil.

Seemed like for every force there was an equal and opposite force. Only in the case of life and death did one force so grossly out power the other. Much easier to die than to live. One needed to go no further than outside the door to see that in action.

Millions of organisms died each day from the most minute germs to the largest whales. Each time a mouse ate a seed, each time a hawk ate a mouse, she was catching a glimpse of the vicious cycle. Life was losing the war millions of battles at a time.

It was a morbid truth that Veronica forced herself to accept. All this striving to be the best she could be, for what? In the end did it really even matter?

Did anything matter?

If all was destined to die someday, what was the point? What was the point in caring? You couldn't change the laws of the universe even when they so clearly needed it.

You could complain. You could cry. You could raise hell and carry on.

For all the good it would do.

In the end it always boiled down to the cold, hard facts: the universe was nothing but a cruel joke, and any gods that existed didn't care about great injustices, or much of anything, really. Time was just going to plow on ahead as it pleased, and to Hell with everyone else. They could drop dead and freeze over solid for all it cared.

Such a stupid way the universe worked. It was as if it had all been thought out by a drunkard in the spur of a moment.

Completely asinine.

The list of adjectives went on and on.

Her mind flowing with these thoughts, Veronica mustered the energy to climb out of bed and change into a fresh outfit. That was when a yellowed piece of parchment on which a short message was scrawled in Lord Valerian's spidery cursive caught her eye. It was sitting out on the top of her dresser, and, okay, it looked innocent, but it was hard telling with Valerian. The guy had about as much innocence as, well, a serial killer, and he'd never been known for his never-ending patience.

The events of yesterday sped through the now worried wiccan's mind in a rush. It probably wasn't anything important. She'd probably just forgotten to do a chore, or to gather a certain spell ingredient for the ceremony next weekend.

With a shaky hand, she snatched the note, held it to the open window, and quickly read it:

Dearest Veronica--

Meet me in the ceremonial room as soon as you read this. I have a surprise for you.

Lord V

Veronica felt a lump rise in her throat. Setting the note down with a speed equaled by a ninety year old woman, she swallowed and let out a nervous, dry laugh.

" Heheh, I wonder what this 'surprise' is? " She asked her bed.

As usual, the piece of furniture offered no answer.

Veronica swallowed again and began pacing the length of her room nervously. It wasn't like the Prince of Darkness to leave notes. And his sense of humor was almost non-existent.

So what in the name of all the gods did he mean by 'I have a surprise for you'? That just screamed 'impending doom'.

Now her heart beat double-time.

Valerian had said he had a surprise...he hadn't said if she'd like the surprise.

" The ceremonial room...that's the room where he keeps all those sharp knives and..." Veronica winced, remembering the screams of the women he'd killed down there. He'd forced her to watch once. The terrified young maidens had been scared out of their minds. They had begged and pleaded with Valerian to spare them. When that had failed, and each girl had watched the other get cut open slowly with that terrible ceremonial dagger, the desperate survivors had turned to Veronica--their last hope. Not that it had done them any good.

Meet me in the ceremonial room as soon as you read this. The words flashed again through her mind. " I...I guess I had better not keep him waiting." Veronica drawled nervously, " I don't think he'd kill me. Least, I hope...oh god, I'd better get going! "

/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/

Walking to the ceremonial room felt like walking to the gallows. The whole time all the fearful sorceress-in-training could do was run the past few days' events over and over again through her mind, searching for the one move that may have sealed her fate. She couldn't think of anything significant.

Alright, so she'd forgotten to water the Lord's favorite black lilies a couple...dozen times...but was he really going to kill her over it? That seemed like such an extreme measure.

Maybe she was just getting too worked up. So Lord Valerian had never left a note on her dresser. The one time he did wouldn't mean the end of the world, would it?

No. Must be brave, must be strong. He'll be able to sense it if I'm not. He wouldn't like that. Then again, I wouldn't like to be killed, so who could blame me? A new thought entered her mind, Omigod, what am I going to do if he does try to kill me!

Die.

That was what.

A bit loopy she may be, but Veronica was not fool enough to think even for one second that she would be a match for her master. Even if she tried to escape, she would never make it far. Becalmbecalmbecalm...

The door to the ceremonial room had never loomed so ominous. Gently, her hand found the latch, and she glided in as silently as a ghost.

" Lord Valerian? "

It came out as a squeak, for in that very instant Veronica knew that the room was set up for another ritual sacrifice. Throngs of black candles circled the room, their lively flames playing over the four sets of empty chains hanging from the cold walls. Incense burned from all the usual places. Lord Valerian had been sitting in the central pentagram before she'd arrived; now he rose and smiled a smile that just about turned Veronica's blood to ice.

" There you are." He lifted his chin and cocked an eyebrow, probably deciding where to make the first incision..." Something wrong, Dear? You seem a little...tense."

No matter how she tried, Veronica could not hide the fact that she was staring and shaking like a leaf. Don'tshakedon'tshakedon'tshake...must...speak...is that a knife? Her eyes fastened themselves to the folds of Lord Valerian's black cloak where a weapon may be hidden.

" Nothing's...wrong." She laughed heartily for show, a laugh that, unbeknownst to her, caused Lord Valerian to wonder if maybe she'd tripped and hit her head too hard on the way over, " I can't wait to see your knife. I mean, surprise!" She added hastily, catching herself. Boiled-up bat wings soaked in squirrel vomit, he knows I'm onto him! There was just no word strong enough to accurately describe the overwhelming 'I'm doomed' sensation that little gem of knowledge made her feel.

Lord Valerian blinked. Had she always been this dingy? He was about to say more when a high-pitched giggle from the center of the room drew both their attentions to the faded straw basket.

" What's that? " It was a good question, but Veronica didn't wait for the answer. Instinctively, she dashed to the source. There, laying snuggly in the tiny straw basket atop the infamous black pedestal, and wrapped warmly in a white wool blanket, was just about the cutest little baby she had ever seen.

" It's a baby! " Veronica instantly reached down and patted the fine, silken blonde hair with one hand while caressing the infant's rosy cheeks with another, " Oh, it's so cuuuuuuuuuute! " She whirled on her mentor excitedly, all traces of fear erased from her now joyous face. " Is this your surprise? This little baby! "

Lord Valerian's reply was a slow nod. He wasn't used to women getting so happy and excited in his presence. As a result, for the briefest of moments, his usually condescending, evil smirk was replaced with a clueless expression.

Veronica giggle like a maniac and lifted the child out of it's basket, rocking it gently in her arms. She then turned to her dark lord, eyes sparkling with excitement. " This is great! We can be parents! "

Lord Valerian's jaw dropped a good two inches. He stood for a moment, gaping like a fish. Then he slapped a palm to his forehead and sighed. This was going to be harder than he'd thought.

" Is it a boy or a girl? " Veronica chattered energetically.

" I do not know..." The evil lord ground out, his soft voice barely above a whisper. Though he had lived for over five hundred years--and only looked twenty on top of it--Lord Valerian had never liked children. Especially infants.

Now he was faced with the not-so-thrilling task of converting a fairy godmother to a wicked stepmother.

" Now how could you not know that? " Veronica scolded playfully, absently wagging a finger at the very man who had terrified her only moments ago as if he were a clueless new father.

" Forgive me for not checking." Valerian drawled, rolling his eyes.

He didn't need to check, however, as the happy new mother was already doing it for him.

" Hey! It's a girl! What shall we call her? "

" Look Veronica..."

But the sorceress wasn't paying attention. " How about Iris, or Emily, or Athena, or maybe Selene..."

" VERONICA! " Lord Valerian snapped, tossing a lightening bolt across her nose for emphasis, " We are not naming the child. We are not keeping the child. Do you understand? "

Veronica's cheery expression vanished instantly. She jerked her head back as though she'd been slapped. " But...if we're not going to keep her, then..." her face paled at the dawning realization. Of course. She should have known. Valerian never took any outsiders in unless..." but you can't! She's just a baby! "

Sure enough, Valerian drew the dreaded ceremonial dagger from the dark folds of his cloak, confirming her worst fears. The formerly silver-edged tip of the weapon seemed to glow with a murderous red intensity. Veronica had never been so unhappy to see it. On impulse, she clutched the infant tightly to her chest, as if to shield it from harm. Of course, as far as shields went, against Valerian Veronica was the weak, rotted-through one that no knight would ever want to use, but no matter.

Valerian held the weapon out in front of him casually, playfully twisting the blade in different angles as if to admire the fine craftsmanship. He looked positively sinful. " Veronica, do you know how I attained the power I have today? Do you know what makes for greatness? "

" Which do you want me to answer first? " Veronica struggled to keep her tone calm and apathetic. In her arms, the baby giggled softly and stared up at it's new 'mother' through trusting blue eyes.

Valerian tilted his head to one side, pretending to be deep in thought. Choosing to ignore Veronica's question, he continued in that same matter-of-fact tone, " True magic is not easy to come by. It takes years and years of practice and dedication. You must live for it. You must breathe it. You must earn it. Ritual sacrifices are the reason black witches and sorcerers have great power and wiccans do not. Have you remembered nothing of what I taught you? Tell me the story of the beginning."

Veronica sighed heavily and set the child back in it's basket. She'd been through this before. Without taking her eyes off the baby girl, she allowed her voice to take a rigid, indifferent tone, " In the beginning, before time ever was, Chaos ruled all. There was no rhyme and reason. Nothing had form, and nightmares abound through the abyss, free to roam as they pleased. Then, a blinding light penetrated the void, and the nightmares were forced to the edges of the universe as time began; helplessly confined to a dimension of their own. The light blazed it's way through the cosmos, giving birth to countless souls while turning night to day, cold to hot, antimatter to matter. From each place it paused a star was born, and from each star planets. With heat came life, and from life sprang hope. Order began to reshape the universe, but Chaos was not so easily daunted. Through life it found a way to corrupt the hearts and poison the minds of the souls which had replaced it's own nightmares. From the blood of the most tainted sprang the gods of old, and Chaos began to reclaim that which had been stolen from it. " Here Veronica paused, and Valerian nodded.

" Well done. But there's something you're forgetting."

Veronica tried to look at him, but found her eyes instead wandering the floor. " What? "

Lord Valerian shook his head and shot his young apprentice a disdainful look. How could she have forgotten? They'd been over it so many times. " From where does our power originate, Veronica? "

" Chaos." Veronica replied without missing a beat, " All magic is rooted in Chaos. You told me that long ago. That is why it is so unpredictable, and why it can defy the laws of order."

" Precisely." Lord Valerian gestured widely to the multitude of flickering candles stationed all throughout the room. In less time than it took to blink the flames flared to life--leaping higher and higher until they were three...four...five times their normal height! The new raging fires changed from the usual reddish-orange-white to burn a deep, passionate purple. Now the entire room was cast in a deep, magical glow.

Veronica didn't like it. The Evil Lord's cruel smirk seemed even scarier in the dimmer light.

Having built upon his point, Valerian continued, " Order wants everything to have a rhyme and reason. Each in it's place. Boring. Monotonous. No surprises. Order is the dispassionate force that would have one be born as a specific creature and remain that way until death. A squirrel can never be a hawk. A rock can never be a squirrel. Time has to constant and unchangeable. Things like that." A flick of his wrist brought the flames back down to normal size and returned them to their proper color. " See what I just did? Order would never have allowed that. With Order, all changes have to serve a purpose, such as the way the caterpillar transforms into a butterfly and water evaporates from the sea. Do you understand? "

Veronica nodded lightly to show that she did. " Yes." Nothing new of course. She'd heard the spiel many times before. Her mentor was very vocal about his religion. In fact, it scared her just how obsessed he was with it.

The Dark Lord nodded again, taking the flat of the sharp dagger lightly across the smooth surface of his pale skin. He liked the coldness of the metal against his flesh; reveled drawing crimson streaks of blood from the soft bodies of the sacrifices. He was an artist, and the dagger was his pen. Such a wonderful way the blood flowed over silver...

He wondered how Veronica would react to her first real murder. Would she feel excited and powerful, as he had? Or would Little Miss I-Feed-The-Finches have a more...difficult...time adjusting to this new way of life? It didn't matter. In time she would come to enjoy it as much as him. Maybe even more.

" My magic stems from the Gods of Entropy: the beings born of Chaos who see fit to bestow their enchantment upon those who would serve their needs. These beings are not easy to please, and just as the storm ravaging the seas, their ways are mysterious and unpredictable. One thing that remains fairly constant is their tie to Chaos, and their drive to obliterate the enemies of Chaos. And what, pray tell, are the greatest enemies of Chaos? Oh, you should know this, Veronica. You should know this well."

Veronica felt her sprits sink. She knew where this was heading. " Order. Light. Serenity. Purity. Love. Innocence. Mercy. Justice."

" Very well done," Lord Valerian purred, a dark undercurrent seeping into his already cold, quiet voice, " As you know, Chaos grants power to those who help it extinguish these qualities wherever they may find them. Blood is life. This child..." he swept his hand into a gesture towards the baby wriggling anxiously in the basket, " is both innocent and pure. Therefore, there is no greater way to show your allegiance to the dark forces than to take it's life. Each time I kill the young maidens, I take care to do it properly and gain favor of the gods. They get the life and soul of my victims, and in exchange they grant me awesome powers; powers beyond any mortal's comprehension. Don't you understand? They crave blood, Veronica. Not puppies. Not sunshine. Not rainbows. Blood. Draining a victim in their honor upon their sacred mark is a sign of great respect, and the only sure way to get what you want. You do want to avenge your family, don't you? "

" More than anything." Veronica's voice was a stranger's. Never before had she sounded so cold and detached.

The cruel sorcerer ran the tip of his tongue over his black lips in a sadistic smirk. He had to admit he'd had his doubts at first, but now things were working out perfectly after all.

" You know what you must do." He walked over and handed the abominable dagger to his partner in crime, watched as she took it in her own steady hands and examined it.

Much as Veronica hated to admit it, it was a very fine piece of craftsmanship. The hilt was smooth and dark; said to have been carved from the bark of a black tree which had been used to hang hundreds of innocent lives, then anointed in their blood. Onto it's surface were etched dozens of tiny hypnotic symbols forever blazing a deep red, like embers from a fire. These were the chants and praises to the gods of chaos, war, darkness, and all things twisted and corrupt. The blade itself was about a foot long and pure silver. Even as such, it remained stained and tainted for all time with the blood of the innocent. The tip was always bloody, and no amount of scrubbing could ever wash it off.

It wasn't just a dagger. It was the vessel of all evil.

The first time she had seen it, it had filled her heart with a horrible dread; like being in the same room with a demonic being. How she had feared it!

Now she was here, holding it, and about to use it to commit the most unspeakable evil. Behind her, she could feel her lord's breath upon her neck; a ravenous snake thirsty for blood.

" Sacrifice the child." He prodded, " Stab it swiftly through the heart and twist the dagger until the light fades from it's eyes and the bassinet is crimson with blood. Then we will take it and bleed it onto the pentagram. I'll teach you the ancient chant to honor Chaos as we drizzle the body with our special brew and bind it's soul to darkness. Then, and only then will you be ready to graduate to the next level in sorcery." Then, as if reading her thoughts, he added, " It's just one child, Veronica. Surely it's life is worth granting you the power to avenge your own children. Why should it be allowed to live when they were not? "

Good question. Veronica tightened her grip on the dagger's handle and poised it in an arc inches over the infant's heart. One fast strike, and it would all over.

One quick movement.

One life lost.

The baby moved about inside it's comfy nest, pudgy pink fists swinging this way and that. Her glossy blonde hair seemed almost to shine in spite of the unsteady candlelight. Liquid pools of cerulean gazed innocently into Veronica's. The baby was curious, and perhaps a bit hungry. There was no way she could possibly understand the implications of the dagger hovering steadily over her heart. So helpless...

Veronica's eyes blazed deep violet with such a fierce intensity that her pupils were all but lost to the glow. There was no getting out of this. Blood would be spilled tonight. May I be forgiven for what I must do.

The blade came down.