Page 71 of Eldritch
“It is a vision of the gods, which may, or may not, come to pass.”
“And how am I seeing this vision, exactly?”
“I am a conduit for the gods’ eyes. And your mind is a host, of sorts.” Hands behind his back, Alastor stepped around the children, none of whom Zevander recognized.
One of the boys spat on the girl, and she spat back. When the expelled saliva landed on the boy’s arm, he let out a growl.
“He’ll die of plague!” One of the other children pointed a finger at her oozing saliva. “She’s cursed him!”
“Who is she?” Zevander asked, curious to know the point of the vision.
“She is no one. But imagine sheweresomeone. Someone you cared about deeply.”
Lips pressed together, he scowled back at the girl. “But she isn’t. And I am in no mood to play games.”
One of the boys in the circle stepped forward and gave a hard shove at the girl’s chest, knocking her backward to the ground.
A raven swooped down at him, and the boy screamed, swatting at the bird, before it flew off into a nearby tree, where two other ravens sat staring down at the children. Their eyes glowed in the surrounding dark canopy.
“Cursed birds!” he called out to them, and he swung his gaze back to the girl who hadn’t yet gotten up from the ground. “Cursed girl. They’re drawn to evil.”
“Leave her alone!” A young blond charged toward them, one perhaps slightly older in age, and the other children scattered, laughing.
The girl on the ground sat staring off, trembling and pulling at the neck of her dress, as if she couldn’t breathe.
Watching her had Zevander’s own heart beating faster. He knew that feeling, that invisible attacker that strangled breath and sent a cold grip around the lungs.
The blonde knelt before her and gently ran her fingers down the girl’s face. “Look at me, Sister,” she said, and though mere inches away from her, she could’ve been miles, given the glassy look in the suffering girl’s eyes.
Zevander dug his nails into the palms of his closed fist.
The blonde gripped the back of her neck. “Breathe.”
As if that gesture alone had grounded her, the other girl’s unfocused gaze sharpened, and she nodded, her face twisted in panic.
“You’re safe. Just breathe.” Pulling her in, the blonde held her tightly, still gripping the back of her neck, until the girl’s trembling finally stopped.
Watching her slip into a chest storm, as his mother had referred to them, roused the clenching of his own lungs, and he glared back at the two of them—nothing more than chimera—for having the power to affect him that way.
Zevander turned away, disinterested in the silly vision. What did he care about some ridiculous scenario involving a girl to whom he had no connection?
“You feel nothing for her. No sorrow. No anger? No kinship to her pain?”
“Why would I? She is no one, as you said.”
“Fair enough. But I also asked you to imagine she was.”
Lips twisted into a snarl, Zevander turned back around. “Do you not know what has been done to me? Why I’m here? Enough of the games! Leave me!”
“You are only here by my invitation. You do not possess the magical skill for Caligorya. Now, if you wish to survive the next century, day, hour…I suggest a bit of grace. Unless you’d prefer to return.”
The sound of his own outcry over General Loyce’s laughter sent a tremor of panic rippling through him, and he slapped his hands over his ears, screwing his eyes closed.
“No! Stop!” The sounds faded again, and Zevander lowered his hands from his ears, taking long, shaky exhales. At first, he didn’t speak, his mind caught up in the flickering images he’d seen in those few seconds. Horrible images of hands on his body and blood smeared across his skin. How desperately he’d clung to anger and pain to distract himself from it. “They killed my father.”
“I know. You are enraged. I can feel that in you.”
“I should be relieved. He’s the reason I’m here. The reason I’m cursed.”
