Page 138 of The Prince's Curse

“I wove the threads, dyed each one, tied them together,” Alice said in a sing-song voice.

“But did you want to? I think Armina made you do it,” Scarlett said.

The woman’s head cocked. “When the needle is threaded, the thread has no choice but to go where it is pulled,” she said. “Even when it does not belong, when it disrupts the pattern, when it fouls everything!” Her eyes, too large under thin brows, fell on Scarlett. Tears welled in the corners of those glowing blue orbs. “And now I must pull again. Beautiful red thread. Not time to cut it, but I must. Very soon.”

She gestured broadly, and a dozen images flashed around the cavern. Lightning strikes in the distance, a MARTA train running off its rails, a snake sinking its teeth into Scarlett’s throat.

“You did this?”

“I pull and it passes into the Weave,” Alice said, shaking her head rapidly. “It should not be this way! She knows this.”

“You don’t have to pull or cut anything,” Scarlett said. “Things are different. Are you trapped here?”

“I am…” Alice’s head tilted again, and she began to speak in a language Scarlett could not comprehend. The sound of it scorched her mind, left her covering her ears as strange visions plagued her.

“Please stop,” she pleaded. “I don’t understand.”

Alice’s hand closed around her wrist, pulling her close. Slowly, she turned, gesturing broadly at the walls of the chamber. In turn, half a dozen women died in a bloody dance, all of them echoes of Brigitte Haas.

“This was not meant to be, should not be,” she wailed. Her cries were deafening, rattling down to Scarlett’s bones.

“Then don’t make it happen!” Scarlett said, breaking away from her.

Alice gaped at her. As Scarlett stared, the spirit’s form shifted, broadening slightly. Her hair brightened to fiery red, her eyes changing to a glowing green instead of that eerie blue. “I have no choice,” Alice said, in a voice that was an eerie echo of Scarlett’s.

“You do have a choice. I know what you are, and I know you serve fate. Fate is more powerful than Armina Voss. You are more powerful than she is,” Scarlett said. “And she hid something from you when she bound you.”

Her head tilted again. “She hides?”

Scarlett patted her heart. “I have a soulmate. Can you see it? There’s someone who loves me very much. And I…I love him.”

As the spirit contemplated, Scarlett rolled the word around in her mouth. She did love him.

Alice pressed her hand to Scarlett’s chest, then shoved her hand in. Scarlett yelped instinctively, but there was only a cold sensation, no pain. And when the spirit withdrew her hand, she held a massive warhammer with red stones on its haft. The waif-thin woman should have fallen over from the weight, but she held it like it was no more than a feather.

“You love him?” Alice said, propping the polished wooden handle against the ground.

“I do,” Scarlett said, marveling at the massive weapon.

“Why do you love him?”

“I think fate brought us together, but I choose him. I see how brave and loyal he is. He’s honest about his failings, and he always tries to do the right thing. He cares about the people who serve him, even though he’s their leader. Even if it makes someone angry, he won’t make a promise he can’t keep. He always forgives, and he never gives up,” she said proudly. “I love him, and I’m proud of him. And he’s a good man who doesn’t deserve to suffer any longer. I want to be with him. It might be hard, but I want to try.”

The spirit smiled at her, baring a mouth full of disconcertingly sharp teeth. She reached out and cupped Scarlett’s face with an ice-cold hand, tilting her face back and forth. Scarlett fought the urge to pull away. “You love him,” she said.

Uh-oh.

With a banshee wail, Alice hurled the hammer toward Scarlett. She screamed in surprise and ducked, but it passed harmlessly over her head and smashed into the wall behind her, crumbling the stone.

The ground rattled beneath them, and angry voices arose. Alice shook violently, but threw out her hand to grab the hammer again as it flew back to her. The room tilted, and Scarlett scrambled atop a sliding piece of rubble. “Alice?”

“No more,” Alice whispered.

Across the room, the image of Brigitte had changed. It was Scarlett, complete with the borrowed black jacket, lying on a stretch of asphalt. Blood spread around her, and her head turned as bright light filled her vision.

“No!” Scarlett shouted.

Alice bolted across the room and smashed the rock with the hammer, letting it fall to pieces. Another image sprang up across the room, and she saw herself in Julian’s arms, a long black dress swirling around her legs. They danced, arms draped around each other. Then a masked man drove a blade into her back, and she slumped against him.

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