The Cure for the Curse Page 16

  No! It's too fast. They're still in there!

  Flames burst through the blown-out window. Two loud bangs echoed across the desert.

  Warrenna tossed the umbrella aside and threw the blanket over Aunt Tammy's limp form. The world turned crimson.

  If my parents and Tommy are gone, then what's left to lose?

  She was down the hill and through the front door of the Mission in a heartbeat. She clicked her talons together as she ran, and the voice urged her on. We will have him!

  The door opened to reveal a man in a familiar white suit. He held a gun. Behind him she saw Thomas, slumped in a chair, with two black holes in his chest.

  "NO!” she shrieked, and lunged at the man.

  Blinding white light enveloped her.

  * * * *

  Every part of Thomas felt tired, from his neck and shoulders down through his legs and toes. Even his eyes felt tired. He was tempted to just drop off to sleep and let this ordeal play itself out without him, but he was afraid he would never wake.

  His sight chanced to fall on the tube extending from his side, still dark with traveling blood. He didn't follow the tube to its receptacle, though. He didn't want to get that weird heat in his jaw and wrists again.

  Thomas recalled Richard's words. "Something went to great care to make her bleed for a long time. Whatever did this to her wanted to watch her suffer."

  "How come you don't just kill me now?"

  "Because that would be too good for you."

  O'Neal's voice came from behind him now. Thomas heard pouring liquid and the clink of glass touching glass, but didn't look to see what his captor was doing.

  "You get to die slowly,” O'Neal continued. “And when I'm done with you, there won't be a drop left for the bastards to feed on. I'll leave you a dried-out husk. Like they left my poor Jimmy."

  Thomas sighed. “What if these vampires aren't anything like whoever killed your brother? I mean, that had to be fifteen, twenty years ago, right? For all you know, these vampires could have killed whoever killed Jimmy. They could be totally different."

  "No vampires are different."

  O'Neal grabbed the back of the chair and swung his face to within inches of Thomas's. His beady eyes were bright with anger. “They are all fiends. They'd like nothing better than to exterminate every one of us."

  O'Neal's cheeks quivered, and he turned away. “They just left him. They took advantage of Jimmy's kindness, used him up, and left him in the desert to be picked apart by buzzards. Well, now I get to do that to another one of theirs.” He glared at Thomas. “Now shut up or I'll gag you."

  Thomas chewed on his cheek. Reasoning with the man was obviously out of the question. Nope, it's up to the vampires, who may or may not have been using me. Fantastic.

  A shadow flickered across the rays of light pouring in from the holes in the ceiling. The rays soon disappeared, leaving the room utterly dark.

  He took a slow breath. What's happening now?

  Something crunched above him, like a wrecking ball crashing into a brick house. Sawdust shot up his nose and into his mouth.

  He blinked away some grit, and found a pair of red eyes floating to his left.

  A triangle of flame flew through the air from behind him, shattering with a tinkle of glass. Flames exploded around the floating eyes, illuminating the room. Thomas could make out a human shape spinning in a sickening dance of pain and heat. The shape dropped to the ground and rolled about in a ball of light, but the thrashes and slaps did nothing to keep the flames from devouring its flesh.

  A snarl turned Thomas's head. O'Neal was holding a wooden baseball bat, fending off another humanoid creature with jabs and prods. The beast's angry red eyes glowed in the orange firelight. Its shoulders were hunched like a lion about to pounce.

  The monster darted toward O'Neal in a blur of speed, knocking the bat away like it was a chopstick. Then it swung a handful of hooked claws at the hunter. O'Neal stumbled backward, but the vampire advanced, grasping his white lapels with both bony paws.

  But then the beast yelped and recoiled. It waved its hands about as though trying to shake something sticky off its fingers.

  "Holy garment,” Thomas mumbled, understanding.

  O'Neal quickly retrieved his baseball bat and confidently stepped forward to take a mighty swing at the monster's head.

  "This is for Jimmy!” he yelled, and he connected with a nauseating crunch.

  The beast staggered back, and O'Neal rammed the bat into its breastbone, which sent the thing crashing through the pew just in front of Thomas.

  That was when Thomas noticed the vampire's hair, which was long and reddish-brown, like Alexandria's. That meant the one rolling around in the corner was probably Richard.

  O'Neal doused Alexandria's gasping form with liquid from a plastic bottle that he quickly threw away. Then he held out a grill-lighter and clicked the trigger.

  Alexandria erupted in flame. She rolled about in a pitiful attempt to put out the fire, but it did her no good, just as Richard's frantic spins had done nothing but spread the fire around his body.

  Both vampires roared, filling the room with throaty cries of torture.

  The wails echoed again and again in Thomas's ears. His body glowed with warmth from deep inside his chest. Pain. Too much pain.

  O'Neal passed in front of Thomas, carrying his black briefcase. “Lots of ways to kill a vampire, m'boy, but I like fire the best. You see, it's the most painful over the longest period of time."

  He looked at his watch. “I'd love to stick around, but I think I'll go before the cavalry arrives. I hope you get to enjoy their deaths before you die."

  I must relieve their pain. They're suffering because of me. His eyes rolled back in his head.

  O'Neal jumped back. “Mother of God, you're glowing! I knew you were some kind of demon."

  Two deafening reports brought Thomas's sight back. O'Neal stood in front of the now-open door. Bright sunlight washed over the smoky room.

  The old man was holding a pistol, and the pistol was pointed at Thomas.

  "NO!” a familiar voice shrieked.

  Thomas bowed his head to find two black holes in the right side of his chest.

  Blinding white light enveloped his vision, except for his chest, where the holes had joined together and were slowly expanding in every direction.

  Chapter 17

  The hole pulsed with swirls of purple and black. Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky pictured the evil spirit as an invisible tick, sucking his life away from inside his thigh.

  The darkness held his eyes, and speckled his vision when he finally looked up at the fiery sunset. Orange light washed over the desert, and the air was still, like the mountain was waiting for him to do what he came to do.

  He threw the knife to the ground. “No."

  Turning on his heel, Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky strode down the dusty mountain. He knew now. There was another way to expel the evil spirit. He would keep it from ever entering him.

  He approached the woman with the long black braid. Tears ran down her thin cheeks.

  "Don't cry, Mother-to-Doves,” he said. “I'm not going to die."

  She gasped, but Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky didn't look back.

  He took another step, and sank into water up to his knees. He stood in a clear stream. The cool current stung his wound. White, leafless trees clawed at the noonday sky around him.

  Mother-to-Doves stood in front of him. Her dark eyes were serious. “You're going the wrong way."

  "No.” He moved her aside with a powerful arm. The clear water turned blood-red.

  "I'm not going to die."

  The water thickened with each step as he waded down the stream. When he could finally move no further, he saw that the red water had become yellow sand. He lifted his legs, climbing out onto the surface on his knees.

  Mother-to-Doves stood over him, offering her hand. “You cannot do this. You will be lost. We must return to the stream, and then to the peak of Zeraphet."

&n
bsp; He stood on his own. “I know where I am going. I have to make this right."

  After a few steps down the sandy hill, his vision blurred, and the tanned tents bearing the mark of the mid-flight arrow appeared before him. He saw no one as he passed in and out of the long scarlet shadows.

  The medicine man waited inside his tent. Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky pulled the red feather from his hair and held it out to the old man. “I am not going to die,” he said. “I am going back. I will fix this."

  Wisdom-of-Elk did not take the feather. He closed his eyes. “You are going the wrong way, warrior. You cannot change what has already come."

  Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky threw the feather to the ground, where it shattered to red dust. “It is already changed!"

  The flap of the tent opened onto the battlefield. Men were all around, firing bows, swinging hatchets, grappling, falling. White war-paint and blood blended into pink puddles along the rocky ground.

  An enemy warrior was upon Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky, swinging a knife at his face. But Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky did not retreat. Knowing the swing would suddenly dip to his leg, he reached out and caught his enemy's wrist.

  "I am not going to die!” Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky cried, and he wrenched his grip.

  His opponent's dark eyes never changed expression, but the knife dropped to the ground.

  "Thomas!"

  Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky blinked. That was Mother-to-Doves's voice. Why was she on the battlefield?

  Men froze in place; arrows hovered in mid-flight. The scene was still, save for a blood-red cloud bubbling in the pale sky.

  Mother-to-Doves stood beside him. “Thomas, please go back to the cliff. You'll be lost forever if you don't."

  There was something familiar about that strange name. Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky picked up the poisoned blade that had brought about the end of his life. “I am not supposed to die. I'm not ready."

  "You're right, Thomas. But you should be fighting for your life, not the warrior's. Let him return to the land."

  The red cloud rolled across the horizon, as though an arrow had pierced the sky and the blood of the heavens was spilling down to the earth. Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky could see the distant tree line fading to a crimson stain as the color advanced toward the battlefield.

  The name felt important. His lips formed the word: “Thomas."

  As he said the word, Mother-to-Dove's braid slowly retreated into her scalp. She bobbed her head, and her hair lightened from black to auburn. Her skin paled to white, and her dark eyes turned gray.

  "Warrenna?"

  Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky didn't know where the name came from. His eyes tingled and pleasant warmth grew in his chest. The girl nodded, and her eyes flashed a familiar red.

  After a second of confusion, Thomas understood. He was inside the warrior. He had forgotten who he was, and was trying to save the wrong life. Thomas couldn't remember why his life needed saving, but he knew he wasn't supposed to go the wrong way in the dream. Doing that brought the red cloud, and the red cloud ended everything it touched.

  Thomas quickly closed his eyes and pictured the sunset. When he opened them, he was again standing on the edge of the holy cliff. The red was nowhere to be seen.

  The dagger was at his chest again. But Thomas wondered what would happen to him once he shattered the ice in the warrior's heart. Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky would return to the land, but where would he go? How would he save his own life?

  He didn't know. But giving the warrior peace felt like the right thing to do.

  Eyes-of-Dawn-Sky plunged the knife into his heart, and Thomas's vision flooded with white.

  * * * *

  Am I dead?

  White was all around him, but Thomas could see his blurry hands waving as though he stood in a mist. His t-shirt looked like a bottle of black ink had been dumped down the right side of his chest.

  He thought he could hear the static of a badly tuned radio in the distance. As the noise grew steadily louder, Thomas realized that it was actually composed of thousands of voices, murmuring together. The sound was nonsense, the blended prattle of languages he couldn't understand.

  But then one voice emerged from the babble:

  "Hello, Thomas."

  A woman appeared before him. Her tall body consisted of a long black dress dotted with tiny crimson hourglasses. The dress didn't really end. It just faded downward until the mist overwhelmed it.

  A black hourglass hovered above her right hand. She waved her fingers, and the hourglass turned onto its side. The voices ceased their confusing racket.

  "You made it back,” the woman said. Her voice was deep and soothing, like a cellist's dirge. “That's impressive. This is a difficult place to navigate, for most people."

  Thomas remembered a voice calling his name, leading him back to the cliff. “I think I had some help."

  She nodded. Her white face was impossibly smooth, and Thomas thought he might be looking at caryatid statue from ancient Greece. The black lips moved, but the dark eyes revealed no emotion or intention.

  "My daughter,” the woman said. “She seems to care about you quite a lot."

  "Warrenna.” The name was on his lips without thought. “She found me."

  "You don't know how right you are. I didn't think she could do it, but she brought you to me. I'm glad she did. I've wanted to talk to you for some time."

  "Daughter...?” Thomas struggled, then understood. He wondered if he should fall to his knees, or look away from her eyes out of respect. But in the end he just stared. “You must be Zera, then."

  "Very perceptive, Thomas.You're a difficult man to track down. You traipse through the dreams of others without hesitation, as though it were the most natural thing in the world."

  Thomas squinted. The smell of ground black pepper flared in his nostrils, which just confused him more. “Aren't they my dreams?"

  Zera raised a black eyebrow. “I guess it would be difficult for you to tell. No, you're what I call a Traveler. You stay with one person's dream for a few nights, then you jump to another's.” Her dark eyes twinkled. “Sometimes these dreamers have been dead for centuries. Yet that doesn't stop you from haunting their dreamt-up scenes."

  Thomas gripped his forehead. Was this really Zera? And how could he spend time in a dead person's dream? “So I'm a Traveler,” he said, trying out the title. “Is Warrenna a Traveler, too?"

  A ripple moved through Zera's sable hair as she nodded. “Her abilities aren't nearly as refined as yours. You move about in this other realm as though you've been Traveling for a long, long time. But you and I both know there's more happening with you."

  Zera turned and took a few paces as she spoke. The hourglass hovered alongside her. “Not long ago I saw you killing spiders inside an Orphan's nightmare. You ended up curing a great deal of her curse, extending her life by several years. That's not something a Traveler or anyone else should be able to do. But you did. I've never seen anything like it."

  He stared into the bright white nothingness. “I don't know what to tell you. I thought maybe I was an angel."

  Zera chuckled, a stuttering violin. “No, Thomas. Angels can't travel between dreams. And angels certainly can't cure the curse. No, you must be something else."

  Thomas's knees turned to pudding. First she tells me I hang out in the dreams of dead people, then she tells me I can cure the curse, but I'm not an angel.

  He wrinkled his nose. And what was with that ground black pepper odor? It was making him nauseous, but the scent was familiar.

  "That odor,” Thomas mumbled. “That's you, isn't it?"

  Zera blinked. Her dress glowed deep crimson for a moment. “Me?"

  He was on to something. He could feel it. “The pepper. I smelled it after I blacked out, and when I freaked out on Mariah. That was you. You were there."

  Zera's jaw dropped. “Ah, well, I'm not going to lie to you, Thomas. I was trying to communicate with you while you were waking, but it didn't work, and you ended up losing a bit of your memory. And when you were with that other girl, I was t
rying to remind you of your link with my daughter. I'm afraid my reminder was a bit too strong. I didn't intend for you to react so powerfully."

  Thomas straightened. So Warrenna didn't enthrall me. It was just this lady messing with my head.

  The idea of catching a goddess off-guard emboldened him. “So, you can just dive into anybody's head and give them suggestions?"

  She smiled again. “No. Besides my Orphans, the only humans I can communicate with are Travelers. But I only have a scent when I'm dealing with creatures I am related to."

  His stomach fluttered. “Related to?"

  She nodded. “But I didn't create you like I did my daughter. Someone else did.” She tapped her perfect chin. “Funny, I thought all my brothers and sisters were gone. I wonder which one of them made you.” She shrugged. “The answers will come with time. I am glad you were made, though. You are going to help to me quite a bit. Assuming you live, of course."

  "Of course.” Thomas wondered how much of this confusing conversation he was going to remember if he survived the return trip. “Warrenna didn't enthrall me,” he whispered, hoping the idea would somehow stick

  Thinking about Warrenna reminded him of something. “As long as I'm here, can I ask you something else?"

  "I suppose that's fair, after all you've been through. You may ask."

  "Why did you make it so Warrenna would be born cursed? It seems kind of..."

  "Cruel?"

  Thomas nodded. “A little."

  Zera cocked her head. Pinpricks of light swirled in her dark eyes, fireflies darting in an onyx field. “It would take more time than we have here to explain. But just between you and me, I will say this. I made Warrenna the way she is because my people needed a leader."

  Thomas pursed his lips. “I see."

  She smiled. “I doubt it. But now it is time to go. I really do hope you survive the rest of your journey."

  "Thanks."

  "See you next time, Thomas."

  "Wait, next time? What does that mean?"

  The hourglass turned, and Zera's form faded away. The babbling voices returned, but quickly went silent.

  In a blink, the white around him turned orange. Roaring fire replaced the voices. A man in a white suit held a pistol in his hand. His beady blue eyes gleamed with hatred.