Enchanted Revenge Read online

  Suddenly I worried that the monsters that had done this weren’t gone. I held my breath. Listened harder.

  The thumping got louder. Footsteps.

  Like the footsteps of a person with a limp.

  I’d been in there, next to them, for a while now. Surely if someone else was there, I would’ve known by now.

  And then, I realized, even if they were here, I would welcome them. I would hurt them. I would have my revenge. It was a thought I never thought I would have. But I wanted revenge. I wanted to make them pay for what they did to the best people in the entire world. To make them hurt. To make them scream as I screamed.

  I scrambled over to my father to grab that sword, but it was too heavy for me to lift up, even with both hands. So I just dropped it. It landed back in his blood, with a wet thump, splashing his blood further across the floor.

  I stood, fisting my hands in front of me like a boxer. I had no training on how to fight, but I figured I could cause some kind of damage.

  The sound continued to come closer.

  The whole room started to heat, despite the broken windows and the frozen wind outside that was still blowing in. I filled with a raging fire that demanded to be released. I wanted to kill whoever walked into the room. I wanted to gouge his eyes out. I would scrape the skin from his face with my nails. I’d make him bleed as he did to my parents.

  I would do whatever I could…even if it wasn’t much.

  I’d never wanted to hurt anyone before despite being teased my whole life. I’d been sad before, and always ran away from confrontation. But not now. I wanted to fight. I wanted to make the person who could do something so disgusting and cruel, that monster, to hurt. I wanted to make him scream and cry.

  But what came around the corner was not a man at all. It was a head. My mother’s head.

  Her head!

  Her hair tangled atop her head as it rolled closer to me. Her nose crushed against the floor, before rising back up.

  Down.

  Up.

  I stepped back, away from it as it rolled over to my mother’s body. The temperature increased even more. I still had my sweater on, and my jacket, though my hat had fallen off beside my father. Sweat beaded on my forehead.

  Her head started reattaching to her body. I could see the veins reattaching from her neck to the base of her head. I could see the skin repairing itself, stitching together like a doctor would stitch a wound.

  The heat increased again.

  The blood around her went back into her body. The hole in her stomach began to close. The smaller holes around the large one were already gone. Healed.

  I watched my father next. His arm was straightened again. Normal. Fixed. The blood that had dripped down from his eyes and nose defied gravity and physics as it went back into his body.

  My mom’s broken arms and legs were beginning to straighten, to be the way they were supposed to be. As if walking in on my parents dismembered, broken, dead bodies wasn’t enough. I then had to watch them stitch back together.

  I stood there, nearly lifeless.

  Then their clothes changed.

  That mist that was present before came back. It swirled around the room, now visible to me in the waning sunlight. Like a million microscopic water droplets swirling around my parents bodies. It glowed and throbbed, as if it had a heartbeat.

  The heat increased even more than before. Now hotter than even the warmest day in the middle of the summer. As the mist circled them, their clothes continued to change. Shifting from her jeans and t-shirt, she now wore a plain white, cotton gown with a red sash around her waist.

  My breath whooshed out. I hadn’t even known I had been holding my breath until then.

  I looked over at my father, who was now dressed in white also. White pants, a loose white shirt and a lavender vest.

  I stepped back.

  At the same time, their arms folded above their chests, clasping together atop their stomachs. In my father’s hands was his sword, the one I was too weak to even lift completely off the ground. And my mother’s hands held a leather bound book.

  I stood there, gaping at them both with my mouth hanging open. What the hell was I supposed to do now? How could I call the cops now? How could I explain that they were dead, even though they didn’t look dead anymore.

  They didn’t look dead anymore…

  The thought kept reverberating through my mind, pinging off one side of my brain to the other.

  I ran to my dad, knelt next to him, and caressed his cheek. “Daddy?” I asked, naively hopeful.

  “What is going on here?” a man asked.

  I stilled. Only one person would be here now.

  I turned around, ready to kill the bastard standing behind me before I had even seen his face.

  Chapter Three

  Fae: A supernatural being. There are four breeds of Fae: Sprite, Nymph, Pixie and Sylph. All Fae age slower than human beings and are capable of living up to 1000 years of age. All Fae have magic, Water, Earth, Fire and Air, depending on their respective breed.

  I launched myself at him. His hands flew up in front of me, and I immediately stopped moving. It was like he had paralyzed me or something. I tried harder to move. I commanded my arms to lift, but they didn’t, they stayed suspended in the air. I tried to force my legs to move, but they too wouldn’t budge. I tried to do anything, to move anything, but I couldn’t move at all.

  But then I blinked. “What the hell are you doing to me?” I growled at him. My voice shocked me. I’d never heard myself sound so mean before.

  “Who are you?” he asked me instead.

  He reminded me of my father, which only made my chest hurt more and gave me more drive to push against the invisible barrier surrounding me. He was lean and short for a man, like my father. But still held himself with demanded authority. His dark jade eyes peered beneath his golden locks as if demanding answers.

  “I’ll ask you once more, who are you? You are not human, but I cannot sense you.”

  “Of course I’m human. What else would I be?” I demanded, more confused than before. I felt a panic attack coming. Maybe I was losing my mind.

  That’s when he looked past me. Shock flickered across his face, then sadness overshadowed the shock.

  “Oh my gosh,” he murmured as he rushed over to my parent’s side as if I was no longer a threat or concern to him.

  “Don’t you dare touch them,” I growled again. I hoped that in his momentary loss of focus I would be freed. I wiggled, trying to make my way out of the invisible confines he had me in, and pushed, ready to attack him and enact my vengeance. But I still couldn’t move at all.

  In a flash that felt like less than a second he had me pinned against the wall. He held my arms above my head, and held a knife at my throat.

  “What did you do to them?” he demanded.

  “What did I do?” I screeched. “They are my parents.”

  His brows scrunched together forming a wrinkle between his eyes. He looked me over. Looked at my hair, then my body, then my eyes again. His green gaze bore into my eyes, searching for an answer.

  “Your parents?” he asked. He sounded just as confused as I felt.

  I couldn’t speak anymore. Not because of anything he was doing, but because I couldn’t find the will to say anything anymore. Maybe it would be ok to die now. My parents were gone, what more did I have to live for? How could I ever continue on like nothing had happened? How could I ever continue on after a day like this, after losing my mind, after losing my heart?

  How could I ever open my eyes again only to see that image of them, forever ingrained in my mind?

  He let me go and stood back from me. My arms dropped to my side and I forced my legs to stay strong beneath the weight of my body, though they only wanted to collapse.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Forgive me.”

  I slapped him. It was a good, strong slap; one that would leave a red mark for a while on his cheek. My right hand tingled from t
he contact. But it felt good. I wasn’t sure why I’d done it. I wasn’t sure if it was because he asked forgiveness when I couldn’t give it. Or if it was because he had just held a blade to my throat. I didn’t know.

  He stepped back and looked at me in confusion, but then shook his head once and peered at the floor.

  He walked to my father and glanced at him briefly before kneeling next to him. It almost sounded like he was whispering, mumbling words meant only for my father’s ears, though he would never have the chance to hear them.

  He walked to my mother and did the same thing. He never touched them, just went to them and whispered.

  I just stood back watching him, not sure what else to do. What could I do anyway?

  He walked back to me and unsheathed a sword that hadn’t been visible before he touched it, and then he knelt in front of me. He held onto the hilt, placed the tip of the blade on the ground, and held the sword upright in front of him.

  “I will help you. I vow to you now that I will help you find the murderers,” he swore. I stood there, silently trying to figure out what the hell was going on and what to do next. Who the hell carries a sword anyways?

  He stayed in the same position for several minutes before I cleared my throat and said, “Okay?”

  His eyes met mine, but he didn’t stand.

  “I need to sense you,” he said. “I need to know who you are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He stood up then, put his sword away, and walked closer to me. He reached his hand out to me and waited. I had no idea what he wanted from me, so I didn’t do anything. I just stood there staring at him, and his hand like he was offering me a snake.

  “May I please have you hand?”

  I shrugged, what did I have to lose anyway? I placed my hand in his and watched as he closed his eyes.

  “Such magic. It must have been someone very powerful who cloaked you.” His voice had taken on a melodic quality, and his words came out in only whispers.

  I pulled my hand away from him and put it into my jacket pocket. Then shoved him away from me. He was already too close for comfort.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said as I walked back to my parents. I knelt down between them and just sat there on the floor.

  “You really don’t know, do you?” I didn’t feel like turning around to look at him for an answer, so I just shook my head. Obviously I didn’t know much of anything. I had no way to explain what the hell just happened. I started wondering if I imagined the whole bloody scene. But I knew it was a scene that would stay in my mind until the day I died.

  “You are Fae.” His words were serious, despite the idiocy of them. “To be more specific, you are a Sylph Fairy.” That got my attention. I whipped my head around and glared at him.

  “Fairies aren’t real. My parents are real. Their deaths are real. Me being an orphan, all alone, that’s real. But Fairies? Nope.”

  He smiled, just barely, and waited for me to finish. “None of this is real, actually. I did NOT just walk in on my dead parents. I did not see their broken bodies. I did not see my mother’s head sew itself back on to her body. I am not speaking to a stranger either. I must be dreaming, because none of this can be real.” And then, to my utter disgust and disappointment, my traitorous eyes released more tears.

  He walked up beside me, knelt, and placed a hand on my back. For some unknown reason I turned into him. He opened his arms for me, and I placed my head on his chest. The tears came more freely. I felt weak, and I could barely hold myself up anymore. I felt myself fall more onto him. But he caught me and supported my weight. And we sat there, next to my dead parents, and he let me cry on him.

  When I opened my eyes, I was dreaming again. I stood in my familiar field. In front of me was the huge, dark forest. It looked scarier today than it ever had before. I could feel evil lurking in the sinister shadows waiting for me. It was no longer a beautiful, welcoming place, but a place I felt I should avoid at all costs. A place people went to die.

  To my left, the waterfall and lakes were distorted. Polluted. Beneath those murky waters lurked an unspeakable wickedness. I could see it now, though I never had before.

  The desert was even more uninviting than it had ever been before. The Volcanoes were erupting, spewing gallons of blistering lava across the sandy floor. Lighting up the sky with deep oranges and burning reds.

  Ash landed on my face. For the first time in this dream, my eyes actually went skyward. Up in the distance there was a castle above the clouds. Even though it was thousands of feet above me, I could see it clearly. I could see the gray stones, and the turrets. I could see the tower with a flag blowing atop it. I could even see a drawbridge.

  But it was bleeding. The Castle vomited blood. It dripped down, creating puddles of scarlet liquid all around me. It dripped down my face, covering me in its threatening corruption.

  It was warm. Thick. Gooey.

  I threw my hands up, trying to block it, but there was too much. It soaked through my clothes, through my skin down to my bones. It flowed over my face. I inhaled it and choked.

  Gagging, I fell to my knees and grabbed my stomach, subconsciously trying to calm it. Suffocating.

  And then I woke up. I jolted upright. I was in my bed, in my bedroom, sweating like crazy. There wasn’t blood anywhere, though. The electricity was working again, and my windows were whole showing the moonless night sky.

  Had it all been a dream? My hopes had risen higher than ever before. I jumped out of bed and raced through my door.

  “Mom? Dad?”

  I ran to their bedroom first. When I flung their door open, they weren’t there. So I turned and ran downstairs. Everything was in its rightful place. The pictures weren’t broken, and neither were the windows. My heart soared higher with hope.

  The couch had been moved back, and the table was no longer broken. It must have been a dream.

  “How are you feeling?” the green-eyed stranger asked from behind me.

  I faced him, and when I looked into his eyes, I knew it was real. I knew everything had really happened. I didn’t have an explanation for any of it. But I knew, without a doubt, I was all alone in the world.

  I fell to my knees, my legs no longer containing the desire to hold me up. He came to me and wrapped and arm around me. But I pushed him away. I didn’t need him. I didn’t even know him.

  “Who are you? What are you even doing here?” I demanded.

  “I am a Sylph Realm Guard,” he said. And though he spoke English, I still didn’t understand him. He said it like it was the most important thing in the world, like it explained everything.

  “What does that even mean?”

  “As I said yesterday, there is much you need to learn. And I have vowed to help you. I don’t know why you are here, but I can help you get home.”

  “I am home. This is my home.” I motioned with my arms at the crime scene that I grew up in.

  He took a deep breath, as if trying to calm himself. “I will explain things to you, if you would like, but apparently you must learn to be open-minded. Can you do that? Can you listen to what I have to say without contradicting every single word?”

  Could I? I didn’t know.

  Did I even want to?

  Chapter Four

  Abscondita: A small bag capable of holding weights up to three tons and thousands of items without growing in size or weight.

  I sat at the table. The very table I had sat at mere hours before with my parents. The two people I loved most in this world, and yet two people I would never, ever see again.

  I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

  “Where are my parents?” I asked him once he sat down next to me. His eyes flicked up to me, confusion spread across his face.

  “You don’t remember?”

  I looked down at the bowl of cereal he had made for me, no longer wanting to look at him. “I remember that they died. But they aren’t in the living room anymore.” My fin
gers trailed along the gash in my left hand from that piece of glass. It was wider than I expected it to be. The blood is now almost black, scabbing over and ugly. I didn’t even wince as I touched it, though the pain was there. It was nothing compared to the gash in my heart, which was blacker and uglier even though it couldn’t be seen.

  “Oh. I have performed the Dansa de la Mort.” When I looked at him like he was speaking German, he elaborated for me. “It’s a ritual performed for all Fae once they pass on to the Outer Realm.”

  “What is the Outer Realm? And what did you do to the…” I struggled to get it out, “the bodies?”

  “The Outer Realm is the place for souls. It’s where your soul goes once it leaves your body. You may think of it as Heaven. That’s what mortals believe, anyway.”

  “What do you mean, ‘mortals’? Are you saying that you are immortal?”

  “No, Fae do die.” He cleared his throat. “We just live much longer than human beings. We call them mortals because they die so quickly. They age so fast. A normal Fae may live into her 800th year without any issues. Some live for over a few thousand years. So the human life-span is very short to us.”

  “Okay. So where are their bodies? You said you performed some ritual… what did you do?”

  “Yes. I performed the Dansa de la Mort. I suppose it would translate as the Dance of Death. It’s a ritual where we use magic to help guide the soul of the Fae to the Outer Realm. In reality, I suppose a soul would find its way to the Outer Realm on its own, but it is out of respect and honor that we perform the ritual, to make the transition that much easier for the fallen Fae. Afterward, the bodies are gone from this Realm.”

  “So you’re saying my parents were fairies?” I decided I would go along with this for the time being, to see what lunacy he could spew. It wasn’t so much that I believed him-because I didn’t, but I had no other explanation for anything that had happened.

  “Yes. Your parents were Fae. They were heavily cloaked. They must have been very powerful. I sensed Sylph magic around them, just as I do with you, though it is still cloaked.”