To Bewitch a Devil

189 Please come back to me

Anna struggled to sit up, and Zavian moved to help her. She accepted the gesture, and stood by Neera’s side, one hand holding the bed frame for support. She looked up and down the length of Neera’s body, the light already dissipating into nothingness, and she touched a hand to her head.

“We still have to go on,” she told the King.

“Why isn’t she awake?”

Anna held Neera’s wrist, searching for a pulse. “Give it till the full moon is over before we draw any conclusion.”

“I don’t understand. Why isn’t she getting up?”

“We don’t know yet, your Majesty.”

“Then make her wake up,” Zavian ordered.

“Your Majesty,” Anna’s knees buckled, and two witches were by her sides, holding her up. “Please, we have done our part. Even we witches have limits, and we also have hope at the end of rituals.”

“She’s going to need to be replenished,” the dark-skinned witch walked up to Anna, taking her ghostly white body in her arms. “Your Majesty, our duty here is complete. Please let us go take care of her.”

.....

The fog of grief around Zavian’s eyes cleared, and he saw the gravity of Anna’s situation. He stepped aside, and the witches made their way past him. The witch holding Anna handed her to another one and stood before the King as they all trooped out.

“I am really sorry for what happened to her,” the witch said, although her voice didn’t carry the sympathy of her words. “But there are usually harmful effects for these kinds of spells. A trade for a soul might require that of another soul, so,” she looked at Neera. “As I said, all we can do is hope. We have done our part, and we hope both Anna and your lady come out of this alive.”

Zavian nodded. “Okay, you may leave.”

The witch turned to leave, her black gown floating behind her like a shadow.

Zavian walked around the bed, stopping at Neera’s side. She looked even worse from the day before. Death had worked its cold hands quickly on her. He drew a chair and sat next to her, and held one of her stiff hands in his.

“Neera, please come back to me,” he begged. “Please. Give me another chance with you, please. Remember that lifetime we talked about? About our kids? Our happiness? Don’t you still want that?”

But there was not a single flicker of movement from her.

Zavian pressed her hand to his forehead. “Please, I am begging you, please. I really love you, Neera. I was always just scared to say it. I was afraid of loss, but I should have let you know. So please wake up, so I can tell it to you every waking morning.”

He stared at her still body. The moon shone through the window, its soft light streaks reminding him that there was still time before it retired for dawn, and so he waited, begging.

But when the moon called it a night, and the sun took over its duties, Neera was yet to open her eyes.

….

Freya took in a deep breath, pulling the air all the way down to her stomach, held it in for a few seconds, and on release, she imagined the knots in there leaving her body.

Her mother had a way of making her feel uncomfortable, her words always twisted and it messed with Freya’s head, a green snake in the green grass waiting to attack.

Once upon a time, which seemed like nightmares ago, they had all lived within the castle walls; Aloysius, Lydia, Zavian, Uriel, and she. Although they were far from the definition of a blood-related close knitted family, drained of every iota of love, the familiarity of Lydia’s presence took her to a time when their family rivalry was bloodthirsty murder.

And still is.

Freya packed her hair into a tight bun, the long straight hair narrowed to her tailbone. She stopped herself, realizing she was stalling away time. And what for? Oh yes, Zavian was the one who always handled their mother’s once-in-a-century visits.

Now, he was still in the chambers with his dead lover, so it was her turn to deal with Lydia.

She left her chambers and took the stairs down to the drawing room. Inside, Lydia was seated, legs crossed, head slightly tilted back, a cup of tea in her hand. She looked like she was caught posing for a picture.

She looked at Freya, and a smile stretched on those thin lips. Freya noted the centuries hadn’t waned on her at all, and Freya was sure there was some potion she was drinking, most likely the blood of young human maidens.

“Lydia”, Freya said as a way of greeting, crossing her arms over her midriff and widening her stance.

“I was expecting a warmer welcome.” Lydia looked inside her teacup and set it down on the table next to the teakettle. “Something more like, Welcome home mother. I haven’t seen you in centuries.”

“This isn’t your home.”

A flash of a glint in Lydia’s eyes. “For now.” She looked Freya up and down. “You look good, but Zavian’s softness seems to be rubbing off on you. Pitiful.”

“What do you know about the disappearing people?” Freya drove to the point.

“What disappearing people?”

“Don’t play games with me, Lydia.”

“Then you might want to elaborate.”

“If there is anyone that knows more about it, it is you,” Freya walked to her and stopped a few inches before her. “Do you have contact with Aloysius?”

“You mean your father?”

Freya’s fists tightened. “Do not call that monster my father.”

“And yet that monster’s blood runs through you.” she scoffed;

“What does he want?”

Lydia sighed and took the kettle, taking all the time in the world to pour herself some more tea. Freya bristled, and a mental image appeared of her hands coming around Lydia’s neck to choke the answer out of her. But she contained herself. She would not give her that satisfaction in her desperation for an answer.