The Lebrus Stone (10 page)

We held hands as we walked the rest of the way home. In the driveway, Isobel paused and groped the collars of her shirt. Her eyes widened at the sight of an old station wagon that looked like it had never endured a car wash.

"Oh, no! It can't be," Isobel said.

"Who does it belong to?"

"To someone I hope it isn't," she answered, hurrying up the steps to the house. She entered the drawing room, and I was on her tail, wanting to see who had her so fraught with panic.

A woman sat at the table. Her curly black hair with fuzzed up ends was streaked a honey gold blonde. Her eyebrows had been penciled in and were uneven arches above a pair of heavy lashes. Her skin was spotless and ivory like Isobel's. Her thin lips were tinted red.

Gal was standing by the window, sipping on a glass of wine, while Cray was seated opposite the woman, slouched and refusing to make eye contact with her. His arms were folded and he had an unimpressed expression crinkling his forehead. He also seemed to be refusing to look at five cards that were face down in front of him.

The woman had been turning one as we entered.

"Hmm…you are trapped," she said, hovering a long, maroon painted fingernail above it. "Caught between your heart and head."

"That will be enough," Isobel said.

"Issy," the woman cooed. Her eyes flashed green then brown as she lowered her gaze and stood. Cray pushed back his chair and walked over to Isobel to whisper something. Isobel nodded in what seemed like agreement. When Cray looked at me, it seemed through me, passed my physical form and onto another layer unknown.

He left and I listened to his footsteps along the hallway and down the gravel driveway beside his car, until the sound of his engine faded into the distance. I couldn't help but miss his presence.

"Let's get a look at you." The woman held Isobel's shoulders and turned her to stare resolutely into her eyes. They were level in height, with similar pointed features. Except Isobel's skin was much younger. It also wasn't blotchy and pink. I had yet to be acknowledged.

"My, you are exquisite," the woman said. They hugged, but it wasn't returned by Isobel with as much affection.

"Why are you here, Marselle?" Isobel asked, so hard faced she looked unrecognizable.

"To see my big, brave sister. Why else?" she guffawed. "Gal, bring me another glass of that fine wine."

"Are you here for yet another loan?" Isobel asked who I realized must be her sister, Marsi.

Isobel took the glass of wine from Gal and drank all of it herself.

"You do amuse me, Issy. Now tell me. Who is this blustery young woman?" she glared at me.

Gal scowled in a way that was close to a grunting growl. Frothing at the mouth was the only likely follow up to the obvious display of hatred.

After a deep breath, Isobel said, "This is Crystal. Sophia's daughter. I shall be taking care of her during her visit." The daggers thrown in Marsi's direction were threatening, but she didn't care to notice. Instead she took my hand and stroked the palm.

"Hmmm, a creative hand," she said, her finger tracing invisible lines. "A very, very powerful hand indeed."

Gal snorted into his glass. Isobel poured herself another drink full to the brim.

Marsi brought my hand closer to her face with a smile. "You will gain the one you desire." She peered at me questionably "You do want him, don't you?"

I snatched back my hand to rub at the forming pins and needles.

"Or is there someone else of more interest?" she asked.

Gal watched from the other side of the room, now too engrossed in hearing my answer.

I flashed Marsi a bemused look. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh but you soon will."

She placed her arm around me and a heavy scent of peppermint and jasmine hit my nose. It was pleasant but overpowering. After pushing me into a chair, she sat opposite me at the table. Isobel kept her back to us, perhaps drinking herself into a stupor.

Gal suddenly slammed down his glass and stomped out of the room. Something had bothered him. Then again, everything had that effect.

And considering Marsi was the younger sister, she looked older than Isobel. Her carnivorous grin turned into a frown just as I thought it. I wondered if she could hear what I was thinking. Could witches do that? I had to watch my brain activity.

The card facing up on the table was of two lovers dripping with blood. A sword ran through their chests. The word "Sire" was printed in gold capital letters along the bottom.

What type of tarot deck was this?

Marsi looked at me and flipped the card on the right. A pile of skulls and bones lay mounted beneath a crown. The word "Death" was prominent as the message.

"A debt for a deed. Good or bad"' she said, drawing a circle around the crown with her fingernail. "You could gain a prized possession." She almost hissed.

She had a voice that couldn't be trusted. I had sensed it the moment I saw her with Cray, the way watched him with a calamity and dispensable joy. She was a trouble maker.

"You're quite the resolve," Marsi purred, leaning back.  "And you, dear Issy, are a match made in heaven."

I wasn't sure what she meant. It seemed Isobel did.

"Enough of your games, Marselle; what do you want?" Isobel turned to look at her with a face drained to an almost green.

"I missed you and the children. Is that a crime nowadays?"

"How long do you wish to stay?' Isobel did little to hide her disdain.

"Just a few days then I'll be out of your way."

Marsi looked at me in puzzlement. "How long is your visit?"

"Just for the summer," I said, trying to avoid her predatory stare.

"Then I've arrived in time to bid you farewell." She made it sound like for good.

"I hear you're from Utah," she added.

"Yes."

"Which part?"

"Cedar City."

"Ah, I lived there once."

"You did?"

"Mmm, dreadful place."

The conversation cut dead and Isobel resurfaced from her glumness. "I need to change and wash for dinner. Sydney will show you to your room." She swept out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Marsi staring at me like a wild cat about to pounce and rip me to shreds. Her nails tapped on the table to a soundless beat, perhaps waiting to savagely peel at my armor, a shield of protection, prepared for such an unjust attack.

Yet it never came.

Our inner thoughts stayed bottled up and kept for future reference.

~ * ~

I slipped out of the house to avoid dinner. I couldn't face it. Not with Marsi now a newer addition to the bizarreness.

Did the rest of the Lockes know about what Isobel was choosing to stand by with conviction? Did they pity my stranger than strange predicament?

I didn't want them to. If there was some mystery to solve, I could do it in my own time. Either that or I could forget about it and hope it was just an old spun tale.

The second option suited me just fine right now. I wanted to salvage my trip. I needed to, even for a short while.

I deserved a holiday.

I was sitting in the study with my back to the sunlight streaming in through the open window. I was dreaming. I knew because I felt above myself, floating somewhere between two worlds: the past, the present, as myself and someone else: Arrious.

It felt as though I was carrying out her day as she would have, but somewhere new, somewhere welcoming, even if she was afraid of the invitation.

I perspired so much, sweat trickled down to my ringlets and the crease of my open petticoat. Patting myself dry at the top of my heaving breasts with a laced handkerchief, I read the scriptures of a book entitled
The Stone
, sensing I wasn't alone.

"Will you never ask?" a voice asked, a voice that had become imprinted to my memory.

"Ask you what?" I replied, keeping my gaze on the book.

"Where I have been all day."

"It is no concern of mine." I turned another page, careful not to tear the delicate pages detaching from the bind.

Large, booted feet stepped toward me, distressing the wood floor. "Could you be so kind as to look at me when I'm speaking to you?"

I moved my carefully erect posture to face the towering shadow. My eyes met those that had haunted me even in my sleep.

It was Cray stood before me, tall and abrasive, his lucid brown eyes mirroring my reflection, caught between what seemed like a virtual fire and wind.

"I have been to the parish," he began, his voice calming some type of inner battle. "To pray, spare you my sins."

He bowed, clasping the tip of a sword by his thigh. His leather attire crunched noisily between my escaping silent gasps for breath. He had lowered himself as in worship, when in all truth, I knew in this dream, I was a peasant who was unworthy of his approval or attention.

"Then you have spared me the trouble," I replied, keeping my true feelings aside.

"And do you spare me your heart?" he asked, holding out his hand for me. Mine shook from the mere thought of physical contact.

Still, I obliged and placed my hand in his. The touch both soothed and ached my guilty conscience. He kissed my fingers, sending a tingle of warmth after the initial iciness of his breath.

"You must come with me," he said.

"Where to?" I asked, aware of my still trembling hand and the ice forming around my fingernails.

"Anywhere you wish, far from here." He kissed my hand and held it to his face; held it as if it was dearer to him than his life.

"I must stay. Face your mother," I proclaimed with a sudden authority.

"My mother will never understand."

He rose swiftly, bringing me to my feet to press me to the matching pound of his heart. The coolness of his breath froze my lips until they stang.

"Please," I begged. "We mustn't."

"You shall not come to any harm." He moaned against my neck, knotting his fingers in the loose curls of my hair. He kissed me. Hard.

It broke my defenses, splitting my thoughts into two halves: my will to stop what we were doing and my will to carry on and face the consequences.

Easing me against a bookshelf, he rained kisses down to my waist. His mouth moved savagely to my neck with a sharp graze of teeth.

"Crystal." He sighed. "Crystal, be mine. I shall save you, even from myself."

I opened my eyes. The Cray I knew was holding me, dressed as himself. I was myself, too, wearing my own clothes, confused and…aroused. But I was afraid of it. We hardly knew each other.

I tried to struggle free. Cray was strong. I couldn't escape. Yet a weaker part of me still wanted to fall into his arms.

He let go and pushed me onto the desk. Ornaments and framed photographs fell to the floor. Some were of children or black fetus's melting. Others were of mothers clasping beating hearts. My face was in one of the photographs, partially shadowed by slivering creatures roaming in and out of my mouth.

I screamed as Cray crouched over me, brushing back my hair and kissing my face. "Quiet now. It will be fine." He hushed me. "I have you now." He smothered me with more kisses. For a moment, his voice was making me want to give in and kiss him back, but the sudden murderous look in his eyes made me pull back. "No! Let go! Please!" Tears burned at my eyes.

He closed his eyes and bit into my shoulder. I screamed, sharp shuddering screams that popped and muted all sound from my ears.

When I opened my eyes, Cray had disappeared. I was lying on a couch in a room I didn't recognize with somebody cloaked in red stood over me, holding a mass of black beads which held a swinging silver cross. I didn't know what to make of the new scene confronting me. I still felt outside of myself, watching, hoping Cray wouldn't re-appear, especially not the Cray he had become.

I realized my hands were tied behind my back and my feet were bound. A new wave of panic gripped me, and I tried to scream, but couldn't. The room spun. I kept slipping in and out of consciousness.

The person cloaked in red chose that moment to sing with a coarse male voice as I almost vomited. Thunder clapped and rain attacked the windows like steel pellets. The room became misty and dark, with just tall candles glowing on russet tapestry and ivory walls. Everything that was once white was now an omnipresent purple. Everything that was weightless and atmospheric was now abnormal and overcast with leering shadows.

The man in the red cloak seemed to be the only person in the room. His hood slipped back a little, and I saw puffy cheeks and a pink-dotted nose. He kept repeating the same hymn, calling for something to enter me and heal my grudging soul.  Except it didn't sound like he was asking for anything cleansing. Deep down from some kind of inner awareness, I knew he was chanting, reciting what wasn't biblical at all.

He held me down and I squirmed and tried to scream again. It was useless. Someone appeared beside him, robed in red, too, concealed with their hood.

The man began to pour lukewarm liquid on my face. I kept my mouth closed. I didn't want it entering me. I could tell by its horrid stench I shouldn't even inhale it. Yet somehow it managed to find its way into me, seep into a part open without my knowledge: the diamond-shaped birthmark between my breasts. It felt sucked inwards, slicing me down the middle.

A scream finally tore from my lungs. The man just sang louder.

Others dressed in the same red cloaks gathered as the rope around my arms and legs disappeared. The pulverizing pain in my chest quickly vanished, and the roof fragmented into dust, allowing me to float upwards as my arms dissolved into wings in the starry night sky.

Lightning jolted through me and stopped my heart, yet somehow I kept breathing, hovering in an ashen sky, my hair billowing with streaks of yellow and violet.

It was peaceful in the sky, until a female voice shrieked and my wings were stripped away and torn as if made from lint.

As I fell through smoke, something like burning liniment oils dripped onto my skin. I melted, bleeding all the way down to my bone white feet.

When I landed, it was in a churning black sea, women and children reached out for me, whining, calling my name as they ripped out chunks of what was left of my flesh with sharp, jagged teeth.

I felt a tugging on my arms.

"Stop," demanded a voice. "Quit struggling."

"No," I screamed. "No, please. Leave me alone. Don't eat me!"

I was held down harder, fingers dug into the tops of my arms.

"Please don't. Don't hurt me!!"

The grip tightened around my arms.

"Help me! Somebody help!"

My hands clawed at what was attacking me.

"Oh, my!" a voice shrilled.

Another scream erupted from me. I opened my eyes just as a white light beamed on my face. I was still clawing at someone.

"What on earth is going on?" yelled a voice that sounded like Isobel.

A face came into focus: male and with deep brown, frowning eyes.

Cray.

He was shirtless. I instantly became alert and nervous, trying to tear my gaze away from his to take in the rest of my surroundings.

I was back in my room at the manor.

Cray let go, and I curled into a ball; shocked, afraid, and most of all, embarrassed.

I couldn't stop panting if I tried.

"Cray, your eye." Isobel gasped.

"Let's take a look at you," Syd offered.

Syd. For some reason, I breathed easier knowing she was there.

I peered between my fingers and saw Cray shrug away from Syd before storming out of the room. Isobel looked to the doorway and then at me, unsure whom to tend to first. Understandably, she chose Cray.

Syd hurried to my bed, re-tying her housecoat. "I'm here now, Crystal. No need to worry."

Grabbing my hand, she rubbed away the cold that had seeped into my bones.

~ * ~

In my dream, Cray had been different: apologetic and sincere, dressed in clothes fit for a Duke or Earl, a member of an upper class rich society like Asholme, someone who probably rode on horseback and served to protect their heir and legacy.

I on the other hand, had been meek and with little substantial clothing, no matter how much I tried to appear as noble.

Was he supposed to be Asholme? Was I really partly Arrious?

I had felt somehow equal to the Cray in the dream. Maybe even the better half of the Cray who had bowed to greet me, taken my hand like a queen before butterfly kissing my face and neck. I had felt the chill of his roaming hands as my thighs clenched around his waist, wanting more of him, even though I knew it was wrong.

My eyes rolled back and I shivered from the return of desires that weren't tucked away so deep. Turning onto to my side, I bunched up the sheets, wanting to squeeze out the thoughts.

But another memory hit me: the force, the change in Cray's expression, the way he devoured my weakness with each eager kiss.

I had feared Cray. I hadn't trusted his instincts or his limits, the way he snarled and snapped like a crazy animal. I recalled the electric charge from his teeth sinking into my flesh, how I couldn't see anything at that moment, but his eyes; red eyes above my head, breaking into flecks of gold dust and sweeping through the dark.

Gathering up the sheets higher, I made another attempt to stop the images of the cloaked people circling my mind along with the look on Cray's face. I didn't want to relive the image of crying women and children relying on me to save them, the way they  were trying to…eat me.

But the images wouldn't stop resurfacing.

I threw back the sheets and sat up, frustrated and scared. That was when I noticed flecks of blood on my night shirt and remembered Cray yelling at me to stay still, my nails slashing him across the face.

It must have been his blood on my shirt. I must have hurt him
. But where?
His eye?
He was holding it when he left the room. It was all coming back to me.

I needed to apologize and explain. But what could I say? Could I tell him what I'd dreamed? Would he believe me? Would he care?

I had to remember we were kind of second cousins. It wasn't supposed to be on my to-do list to develop an unwise crush. I came here to learn more about my parents, experience something new, exciting, maybe even inspiring.

Yet too many thoughts
circled in my head.

I probably shouldn't have come here,
was the common one. I shouldn't have listened to my inner voice telling me it was the right thing to do. My actions now seemed to be the complete opposite.

I grabbed my cell phone to dial the number to the bookstore. Jared would know what to say. He would know how to calm me.

"Hello," I yelled when someone answered.

"H…a…"

"Jared, is that you?"

"Ye…how…eee…well…you are."

"Jared, I can't hear you. It must be a bad connection."

"What…se…en do then…es, da…p."

I walked around the room to help get a better connection. "I don't understand." I was about to hang up.

"Hello," came a voice.

"Jared?"

"Crys! How's it going?" My heart dropped to my feet. It was just T.J., sounding amused about something.

I bit my lip, refusing to get agitated. Besides, our last conversation hadn't been the best. If I was to make up for the way I treated him, I had to hide how I was really feeling and act happy. "Hey, T, I just wanted to see how you were getting on without me."

I groaned internally. He would only have said 'I told you so' if I mentioned the dream and how it was making me feel.

I ran back to bed, just in case the ghost of Arrious chose to make a sudden appearance. "Is Jared okay?" I asked.

Was he still annoyed with me?

We had hugged at the airport, but it wasn't the same as usual. He had been tense, unresponsive. My call to him yesterday had been just as awkward.

"Uh…ye-ah."