The Eye of the Wolf (46 page)

          “My older
brother, Jonathan, wanted to be king. He honestly did, but he wouldn’t have
been a good king. He was too simple minded, too kind-hearted for that kind of
responsibility. I do truly miss him, even after I pushed him from the boat in
that storm.” Her voice was almost wistful and her eyes had a glaze over them as
Mikayla glanced up from her digging. It was that glaze that hardened Mikayla’s
resolve to find some way out of this, some method of survival. She continued to
work, listening to Victoria’s words, trying to understand the madness, seeking
an answer. “William has no desire whatsoever to be king. He is certainly
intelligent enough and is quite the Prince Charming, which is an important
trait, but he has no wish to be king.”

          Victoria paused.
She never moved, but Mikayla could tell her breathing was shallower and her
eyes darted from side to side. “Isn’t that right, brother dear?”

          Mikayla’s heart
leapt as Will stepped from behind a pillar. He limped slightly and his eyes
squinted against the light, but he stared down his sister, hatred burning in
his eyes as he moved closer. “If you wanted to be Queen so bad, Vicky, all you
had to do was tell me. I would have gladly abdicated the throne after Johnny’s
death.”

 Victoria smiled and moved around the hole in
the floor until Mikayla was between herself and her brother.  “Sure you
would have. I believe that like I believe the two of you will see the sun rise
tomorrow!” Victoria lifted an eye brow. “Keep moving closer and I kill her.” To
emphasize her point, she placed the barrel of the gun against the back of
Mikayla’s head.

          Will shook his
head and gripped the edge of the nearest pew. He took another step closer. He
said nothing but kept his eyes on those of his sister, frightened by the
coldness that was there instead of the warm spirit he had known his entire
life.

          Victoria cocked
the gun. “I’m warning you, William, keep moving and your little honey whose bed
you’ve been warming for the last two months is going to become a permanent
resident of this chapel.”

          Will swallowed
and stopped in his tracks. His heart raced in his chest while his head ached
where he had been knocked unconscious. He was sure that his leg was broken, but
yet he stood still and waited, counting the seconds, searching for some way to
rescue Mikayla, whose eyes were wide, waiting for him to do just that. He held
up his hands in surrender and stood still, waiting.

          Victoria smiled.
“Excellent. I always knew my brother was intelligent, regardless of his
ambitions.” She nudged Mikayla. “Now, get back to work.” She shifted her eyes
to Will’s. “You make any movements, and she dies. You and I both know I never
miss.”

          Mikayla swallowed
the sob that longed to rip itself from her lungs and sank the shovel back into
the dirt, digging again with a fervor she had not had before.

          Victoria settled
herself on the edge of the grave, watching both Mikayla and Will. She was
confident that her plan would now go as it was supposed to, and when it was
complete, she would kill both her brother and his mistress. She would bury them
in the grave and seal the tomb. No one would ever be the wiser. Should someone
question the disappearance of both, she would make up an excuse that Will had
finally run away for good with the American at his side. No one would ever know
the truth, no one except the Queen of Amor, of course.

          Her smile grew
larger as Mikayla’s shovel struck the wood of the coffin of Queen Elena. She
watched carefully as Mikayla climbed from the hole and struck down with the
pick-axe, breaking apart the rotted wood. Finally! It would be hers, and no one
would ever question her legitimate claim to the throne of Amor.

          Mikayla wrenched
at the wood, pulling it up and gagging as the stench of the decomposed
materials filled the air. She breathed shallowly, wishing for a handkerchief to
cover her mouth, but knowing better than to ask for it. She struggled with the
wood, pulling and yanking as microscopic slivers broke off in her hands.

          “Why don’t you
let me help her, Victoria?” Will’s voice bounced from the walls of the
cathedral drawing Victoria’s attention from the human form that was appearing
as Mikayla worked diligently. Will took a step closer. “I’m a lot stronger than
she is. It won’t take as long, if I help.”

          Victoria laughed,
a deep, long laugh that denied the cold air that surrounded her. “You honestly
believe I would allow you to help her?” She straightened out the gun. “You stay
there, William, and maybe you’ll get to give her that diamond necklace you
ordered from the mainland last week.”

          Mikayla glanced
up as Will sank slowly to the seat of the pew. His eyes remained on Mikayla,
apologies and promises filling them just as tears filled her own. She yanked
harder at the boards and threw pieces of wood out of the hole. Queen Elena’s
body was a shadow in the darkness, the once crimson velvet of her ceremonial
gown now black from time and decay. Her white hair hung in long strands from
her face, bound with a red ribbon that now was in tatters. Her hands were
crossed across her stomach, a crucifix wound through the bones of her fingers.
The diamonds and gold of the crucifix glimmered in the dim light.

          Victoria laughed,
sending shivers down Mikayla’s spine. Her eyes were wide and anticipation
turned her ugly as the greed filled her. She gestured to the long-dead queen.
“Well, Mikayla, you know where the stone is hidden. Get it!”

          Mikayla closed
her eyes briefly, then leaned into the grave. She carefully pulled the hands
apart, praying for the soul of the queen who had been brought to her final rest
in the floor of this cathedral. Her fingers worked among the stiff hands,
pulling apart the fingers, unwinding the rosary. At first, she believed that
she had been wrong until her fingers brushed against the coldness of the stone,
shoved into the bell-shaped sleeves of the queen’s ceremonial gown. Slowly, she
pulled the stone from its resting place, where it had remained hidden from the
prying eyes of the world for eight hundred years.

          Mikayla realized
as she closed her hand over the stone that had it been another situation, she
would have felt triumphant. Instead, she merely felt a cold dread. She knew
Victoria had no other use for her now. Her life was over just as she had begun
to really live.

          She kept her hand
wrapped around the stone as she pulled herself from the hole. She kept her eyes
locked on Will’s as he stood from the pew in the cathedral. She felt as if she
were detached from her body. She was watching herself from high above in the
chapel, watching every move without the sound. She ignored Victoria’s demands
that she hand over the stone as she stood and began walking down the steps of
the altar. The world was silent around her, all voices and noises faded into
the background, as she crossed the marble floor, torn dress dragging along the
ground.

Will watched her but dared not move. His eyes never
left her face, the terror-driven eyes, the torn, dirty dress that dragged along
the ground as she crossed to him. Her movements slow and measured, not harried.
Her hair stuck out at strange places, and dirt smudged her face. She moved with
purpose, a purpose that shown through the terror and gave him hope.

Mikayla’s arm raised, the yellow sapphire glinted
in the light as it slid into the air from her fingertips, shooting sunlight
throughout the cathedral as light hit its facets.

It was the sudden burst of fiery pain and the force
that drove her forward that brought Mikayla from her dreamlike state, yanking
her back into her body and the reality that surrounded her. She cried out and
fell to the marble floor; the warm-stickiness of her own blood tangy in her
nostrils. The world grayed and then disappeared into blackness.

The sapphire skittered across the marble floor as
Will fell to the floor beside Mikayla. He yanked the vest of his tuxedo off and
pressed it into the wound in her shoulder, stanching the flow but panicking
when blood seeped from beneath her. Whimpering, he carefully rolled her over
and pressed a shirt sleeve he ripped from himself into the gaping, ugly wound.
It was only then that he felt the cold metal pressing into the back of his
head.

“You can tend to her, if you like, or you can live,
but I promise you, only one of you gets to walk out of this church.”

Will raised his head and turned slightly until he
was looking down the barrel of the gun, his sister’s jeweled fingers resting
lightly on the trigger. The faint smell of ozone filled his nostrils. The heat
from the barrel wrapped around his head, making him dizzy. He stood until he
was eye to eye with his sister, hands raised, palms out. He said nothing,
merely kept his eyes locked with his sister’s, realizing for the first time how
different they were.

“So, you’re the Wolf, aren’t you?” Will’s voice was
level and he held his ground.

Victoria smirked. “Well done, brother. How long
have you known?”

Will kept his eyes locked on hers as his mind
worked, looking for a way out. “Since Grandfather’s death. I found the
syringe.” When Victoria’s face remained impassive, he smiled, a smile that
struck fear into her heart because it was so like her own, cold. “It had a
smudge of coral nail-polish on it. I remembered that you had painted your nails
that morning.” He paused and then leaned in until his chest was pressed against
the gun. “Coral, if memory serves.”

Victoria smirked. “Well done, brother. Perhaps I
should have enlisted your help instead of those two idiots, Dejeune and
Kankaredes.”

Will raised his eye brows and returned her smirk
with one of his own. “Perhaps, except, you know I would never have allowed you
to go through with it.” He whispered. “I would have killed you, Victoria, and
you know it.”

Victoria stiffly swallowed, but never let her gaze
waver. “So, dear brother, are you telling me I’m going to have to kill you now
instead of convincing you that just disappearing to England where you are so at
home is the best course of action?”

Will winked. He straightened and blew the clutch of
hair that insisted on falling in his face away. He smiled, one that threatened
even as it charmed.

Victoria took a step backwards. Her confidence was
slipping even as she tried to regain it and regain control of the situation.
“Apparently, I killed you too quickly before. Apparently, I shouldn’t have just
shoved you down the stairs but actually put a bullet in you.”

Will nodded. “Probably.” He took a step towards
Victoria as she backed away. Her feet slid along the floor, searching the jewel
that had slid away in the fray. “You could just give me the gun, Vicky, and
we’ll pretend this never happened.”

Victoria laughed. Her face twisted, unnatural, a
distorted version of her brother. “I don’t think so, William.” The sound of the
sapphire sliding along the marble floor drew her attention just briefly away
from Will. Her quick glance down showed her that the stone was within reach,
gleaming in the darkness like the eye of a wolf hunting.

That brief moment was all Will needed. He reached
out and grabbed her wrist, yanking her arm upwards, even as she battled him
with her nails, scratching and hitting. Her fist struck bruises not yet begun
to heal as he struggled to get the gun from her hand. He cried out in pain as
she struck out with a knee, forcing him to his knees.

The gun fell to the floor, sliding into the
darkness of the aisles. Victoria scooped up the sapphire and kicked Will again
as he tried to regain his feet. He sprawled at her feet, barely conscious from
her kick to his head. He moaned and tried to roll away from her, but she
followed, laughing as if possessed by the devil. The Eye of the Wolf winking in
the darkness from her cultured hand.

Victoria knelt down over Will. She set the sapphire
on the floor next to his head and looked at him as he struggled to maintain
consciousness. “Well, Will, I guess the best sibling won.” She wrapped her
delicate hands around his neck. “Since you’ve deprived me of my weapon, I will
just have to strangle you. It shouldn’t be too difficult. I’ve done it before.”

Victoria pressed her thumbs into his neck, her
smile growing larger with each gasp that escaped his lips. He struggled, but
weakness from his injuries overtook him as blackness began to settle in.
Laughter now bubbled from her lips as his half-closed eyes rolled back in his
head.

Mikayla’s fingers closed over the cold metal of the
butt of the gun. Her head swam as she opened her eyes to the faint light of the
cathedral. Slowly, the sound of maniacal laughter filled her head, drawing her
towards the sound and away from the world where she floated. Pain filled her as
consciousness came back, and she sat up. Her fingers gripped the gun in a
death-grip knowing that this was her last chance.

Mikayla crawled to her feet, holding her dress away
from her feet as she moved up the aisle. Victoria’s blonde hair was a beacon as
it shone in the darkness. Her ice blue gown covered in dirt, blood, and torn.
Her hands were wrapped around Will’s neck and she laughed like a wild-woman.

Victoria’s head jerked up as the click of the
hammer of the pistol echoed through the still air of the cathedral. Slowly, she
slid her hands from Will’s neck and turned around.

“Get up, Victoria.” Mikayla’s voice was calm, soft,
in control. Blood had soaked into her dress and was smeared across her creamy skin,
but her eyes were clear and her voice even.

Victoria gripped the Eye of the Wolf and stood. She
kept her eyes on Mikayla but made no movements. Her own eyes were wild, crazed
as the greed ate at her soul, leaving her the victim of her own plans.