Wicked Hunt

Chapter Eleven, Part I

Victoria: Rosemary, Thyme, and Wolfenite 

She fought to see the face of the figure with the flowing dark hair. The sword in the woman's hand glinted in the moonlight even though its blade was black as pitch. There was no face to be seen as Victoria fought through the brambles and thorns of the forest, only a deep stretch of shadows where the hair parted. The only thing distinguishable was those piercing green eyes.

Victoria crept closer. Shadows fought and grabbed at her ankles, and just when she thought she'd be consumed by them, she broke free with a cry. The girl's back turned to her now, but Victoria persisted. Right before she could reach out and touch her, something gripped Victoria's shoulder hard, sending shards of needles across her collarbone.

"Get away!" she screeched, flailing wildly. The thing's grip only tightened and spun her round. She gasped, unable even to scream. The guard Michael smiled at her, his teeth all black and charred like rotting wood. His eyes had lost all their pigment and stared blankly with milky white pupils so similar to her mother's it made her skin crawl. Blood dribbled from the corners of his mouth; his neck twisted at an odd angle. Half of his hair was shorn clean off, revealing peeled back skin and exposed bone. She wanted to vomit or scream or run or anything, but she couldn't move. Her feet felt as if they held lead.

"Come to the woods," Michael hissed, his breath hitting her in waves of decay. His crooked fingers snatched her wrist and pulled hard. She fell...

And woke sweating and panting. The sun was still low in the sky behind her curtains. She had not yelped as she had done last time, so still held anonymity. She was grateful Gemma had not rushed in again. The castle was quiet, still caught in the throes of night.

Victoria flung her blankets off and caught her reflection in the window by her bed. The woman who looked back shocked her: wild hair standing out at odd angles, green eyes bloodshot and fearful, gown twisted. She watched her mouth frown. Her eyes narrowed in determination. She went to the table by her bed and rummaged through the drawer until she found a candle. She held it up, flicking the wick nervously. Then she hurried over to her door, opened it as quietly as she could, and poked her head out into the stale air of the hallway. The dim glow from one of the candelabras lit her face. She went to it, held the candle's wick up to the flame, and waited. Soon, a thin flame engulfed the wick. Victoria cupped her hand over it and darted back to her room, shutting the door behind her without taking a breath. She sat the candle upon the table.

Turning from the flickering flame, she started for the opposite wall. A large purple tapestry shaded the object she sought. Victoria took a deep breath before gripping the drapery and flinging it off on the floor dramatically. Her breath had picked up, and she struggled to focus her eyes on the thick, black coated mirror that now stood uncovered before her. Her own reflection gleamed back at her in its long oval shape. The other Victoria was frowning as she was now. Then, she saw the image's face twist up into a smile. Victoria closed her eyes hurriedly, willing the image away. It was not herself she wished to scry, but Michael. She had to find out where he was and what had become of him. Did he exist now, bloodied and half dead, as he had in her dream? Both subjects: Michael and the girl with the black sword had intermingled, overlapping into one dream. That meant something important. It had to.

She spun and went to the candle, glad the weak flame still persisted. She picked it up and turned back to the mirror, careful to keep her eyes from the glass. She nearly tripped over the tapestry lying crumpled on the floor. The flame wavered, and she bit her tongue. Blood pooled in her mouth. She swallowed it.

"Damn it," she hissed lowly, using her free hand to raise her skirts up. She tiptoed over the tapestry and went to the back of the mirror. Already she could feel the air shifting. Magic was afoot. If she wanted to get this done alone and without Gemma, she needed to hurry. Her mother would be able to sense the change the procedure brought. She sat the candle down behind the mirror. Then, she stepped back toward the front. Her brows furrowed, and she concentrated on her reflection. The mirrored Victoria frowned at first, mimicking her features, then she smiled broadly again. She tilted her head and raised her brows.