Destined to Live (The Death Eater Series Book 2) Read online

  “Good Morning, Ms. Schwartz.” The brunette beamed as she stood from her chair and straightened her very businesslike pin-striped dress. “If you will follow me, please.”

  Vega nodded, suspicion cocked like a loaded gun after dealing with the unpleasant secretary in the lobby. Without comment, she followed the woman to the right, and they paused at an opaque glass door with gold lettering that read, ‘Linnah Drehmel, Attorney At Law.’

  With a quick wrap of her knuckles on the glass as they entered, Miss-I-work-for-a-big-shot-lawyer, opened the door. “Ms. Drehmel, Ms. Schwartz is here to see you.”

  A cold feminine voice answered, “Thank you, Mandy. Please, show her in.”

  The door opened wider and Vega could see the lawyer, standing behind her desk, no fake smile to be had. Her severely blonde hair was pulled back into a neat pony tail at the base of her neck and her large, dark eyes glistened behind horned-rim glasses. There was something about the woman that Vega instantly liked and trusted—a rarity indeed.

  “Vega, may I call you Vega?” the woman began.

  Vega merely nodded as she cautiously approached, taking one of the large high-back chairs as the lawyer gestured.

  “Very good, and you can call me Linnah.” The woman slid into her own seat and waved her hand. “I’m not all fussy about titles and non-sense. I’m glad you could make it down. We’ve been trying to reach you since your aunt passed away earlier this week. My sincere condolences.”

  “Excuse, me, but there’s been some kind of mistake. The woman who passed away,” Vega paused, taking a deep breath, “was my mother, not my aunt.”

  For a moment, the lawyer looked deeply perplexed, lines of concentration forming between her brows. As she skimmed the file on her desk, she tapped her foot, impatient with the idea of not being fully prepared.

  “You are Ms. Vega Lee Schwartz, correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Your mother’s maiden name was Andrea L. Staum and your father, Wayne M. Carrey, correct?” she spoke the words with self-assurance. “Both killed in a car accident when you were two and leaving you in the sole custody of your father’s sister, Diana Kay Schwarz, until her death this week?”

  “N-no, ma’am,” Vega stuttered. Though something in the words felt right, she couldn’t lie. “Those names mean nothing to me, other than Diana, and that was my mother.”

  “Vega. Oh, I’m so sorry. I hate for you to find out this way.” The woman slid the birth certificate from the file and handed it to Vega. The names were there, the date was correct, and even the correct hospital was listed. Next, she handed over the will, decreeing Vega should be adopted by her aunt should both parents pass away, and then the final blow was delivered. A newspaper article with a grainy black and white photo of the twisted metal that had remained of the car they had been driving.

  ****

  I had a mother and father who loved me, a nice house in the suburbs, a life.

  The box lay open on the stained wood of the coffee table, the contents of a secret life staring up at her. Pictures of her as a baby showed her beautiful raven-haired mother and fair-haired father holding her in their arms. Smiles and happiness seemed abundant in every old snapshot.

  They loved me, they wanted, me, and they died. All these years, I never knew.

  She couldn’t bring herself to touch the papers, photographs, keepsakes, and jewelry. Her hands felt dirty with the blood of her victims. Diana’s face drifted through Vega’s mind.

  Strange to think of that woman as my aunt, not my mother at all.

  Somehow, knowing the truth lifted some of her guilt.

  Not my mother lying dead on the carpet. Not my mother’s boyfriend laying dead at my feet. Relatives, yes, but not my mother. My mother had loved me. My mother had not deserved to die.

  To learn that her entire life had been a horrible nightmare from which she couldn’t wake came as no surprise. She’d always suspected that the reality she bore was full of falseness and lies. However, she had never expected that she’d guessed it right. She hadn’t been Diana’s daughter, but there was no fairytale home to go back to. Money, yes, there was plenty of that. Her parents had left her a substantial sum, one her aunt was unable to touch once she’d blown the allowances given to her for Vega’s care as a child.

  There were papers that explained the trust fund and all that it entailed, but Vega could only think of the past. Of the long, cold nights spent with her belly aching from hunger.

  Drugs. That’s what those allowances went to. Meth and the VW. At least the bitch bought the car, and now, it’s mine.

  Staring intently at the beautiful faces of her real parents on their wedding day, she felt the tears sting her eyes.

  I lost them both in the same breath that I discovered them. Cruel and twisted fate.

  Hours passed, day turned to night. She didn’t move. Sitting silently, staring into the remnants of a forgotten past, Vega desired nothing. Her thoughts were jagged and sharp, a box full of broken glass inside her skull. Each new wonderful revelation brought about another horror. Each problem that had been solved by her large inheritance and discovery of her true heritage was only countered by guilt and fear.

  Finally, she sat forward, her tongue snaking across her dried lips. Nothing left to do, but go through their belongings. She couldn’t put off facing her past anymore than she could have put off facing her future. There were things she had to know—things that the simple and seemingly innocent box held.

  Piece by piece, she pulled out and studied the accumulation of her parents’ short lives. Stacks of photos from their time as high-school sweethearts until the time of their deaths, a pile of love letters tied together with a ribbon, marriage, birth, and death certificates, her adoption records, trinkets, and tidbits. All of it seemingly mundane, but every tiny scrap of paper meaning the world to her.

  Holding the birth certificate in her hand, she read the dates again and again. After the fifth time, the horror of what she saw sat in. Her birthday was the next day. She’d spent nineteen years watching the world fall apart around her, kept in the dark, and wishing for something altogether different. How quickly it had all changed. She had wanted a family, and now all she had was death.

  At last, she came to the bottom. There, in a black ring box, were her parent’s wedding rings. Carefully examining the smaller of the two, she felt as if the connection to her past was finally complete. The simple band of silver with tiny rose buds engraved around it glinted in the light, despite the slight hint of tarnish on its surface. At first, Vega almost closed the box and put it away, she didn’t care for roses. However, she decided without deciding at all, to slip the ring onto her finger, a reminder that she had been loved after all.

  ****

  The ring. Zane fought to conceal his excitement. The ring had found its way to her, and that was the final piece to the puzzle.

  He’d found it a lifetime ago, while wandering the streets of the city where she’d died. Like a beacon, the simple band had called out to him. He knew she hated roses, but only he knew the reason why. Her ever changing persona did not remember that she’d been buried the first time in a garden of roses, laid to rest in a mausoleum surrounded by a thousand different blooms in the summer. The sweetness of their smell in the unwavering heat had become a stench poisoning the air.

  To him, the simple rosebuds etched into the silver had symbolized everything she was—an undying blossom caught in a circle of eternity and bound to repeat her tragic destiny. When he’d touched his fingers to its cool surface, he had felt something shift, the monster inside of him was silenced, its pleas to taste the dying breath of every living thing faded.

  In the place of the death eater’s constant demands, had come another voice, one he’d not heard in so long he’d nearly forgotten the sound.

  “Zane, my son, this is the only gift I can give you. It will be your penance and your reward. When next your beloved falters, and you meet again, place this ring onto her hand. Whe
n the time of death nears her next life and breathes its coldness into her lungs, you must place it over her heart. Once it is in position, you must speak the vow, ‘Eternity bound and eternity release. A soul for a soul in the eyes of the Almighty’. The power of the ring will draw the curse outward, but it will not be without a price. Though it will undo what Vega has done to save you from death, it will solidify the demon inside you. What once was a parasite will become a part of the man.”

  Zane had understood that the old village priest was not some vision produced by Eurynome, but had been a saintly interjection to stop the curse. How the old man had come to learn of their demise, and had somehow breached the void decades later, he’d never know. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was that she had the ring. As he’d promised, it had found a way back to her on the ebb and flow of fate’s tide.

  She saw herself running, the mob following close behind. Her bare feet smacked against the mud and bled from the sharp stones as she fled toward the forest. Panic filled her as the strange voices called out in a language she did not know, but could clearly understand.

  “Witch!” the voices echoed through the night, so much like the eerie light of the torches. “Get her!” they demanded of one and another, egging the mob onward. “Burn the witch!” even the women she had once been friends with cried.

  She stumbled and fell, briars tearing at the tender flesh of her face and tangling in her long red hair. Rough hands mauled her, tearing her dampened dress and bruising her arms. Hauled upright, she cried and pleaded her innocence. No mortal could make the hogs speak or cause her neighbors to dance in their sleep. The crowd only jeered and threw stones that cut her face and arms as she was held immobile. Only when he approached did the madness end.

  Coming out of the fold of crazed and dirty faces, his black habit and wide brimmed hat seemed of the devil instead of God. His billowing white hair ran long down his back, collecting the rays of the full moon in its luminance. Though his face was covered by a black cloth to prevent the spread of disease, she knew it was him. The man from the bad dream, though he did not wear the mask of the plague doctor, there was no doubt.

  “Vega Elleroy, you are hereby charged with the act of witchcraft.”

  Vega couldn’t protest. She couldn’t try any longer to save herself. She knew that the woman she had become in the dream was innocent, but a deep melancholy silenced her voice. Even in this, the people found proof of their claims. Whispering as she passed, they declared that the devil was giving her the strength to hold her tongue in the face of her own damnation.

  The men dragged her to a dirty cell beneath the church, a place that no accused person had ever left alive, unless it was to be dragged to the gallows. It was there that her silence was broken as they stripped away her clothes to check for the mark of Satan, shaved off her curling auburn locks, put hot irons to her feet until the skin melted and burned crisp, stretched her body on the wheel, and beat her unmercifully. She screamed in agony, a sound like a wild beast, and the Inquisitor laughed as he read the words of the bible over her broken body.

  At last, after days and nights of such tortures, Vega’s dream self broke. She confessed to the dozens of false charges brought against her. On the next dawn, she was led to the pyre with the heavy candle of penance clutched in her broken hands as she shuffled up the long dirt path on damaged feet. Opening her green eyes wide, she forced herself not to cry. She would not give the blood hungry crowds what they wanted. They could watch her flesh and blood sizzle, but they would never see her tears.

  After a long and agonizing journey, she reached the platform, where the Inquisitor waited. Once more, his face was hidden behind a black cloth—his protection against her evil. However, his eyes shined like two sapphires swirling with hate and disgust as they peered out at her.

  The guard moved to take the candle, emptying her twisted hands of its weight, and Vega sighed in relief as they dropped to her sides. Unable to look upon the tall tier of wood on which she would burn, she cast her eyes downward as the local priest began to bellow about godliness and sin. The sparkle of the red gem, set into the master of the guard’s sword caught her attention, and she knew what she must do.

  Spinning with a speed she had not thought herself capable of, she grabbed the sword from its scabbard and brandished it with wild abandon. “I curse you,” she screamed. “I curse this town and these people. By my blood, innocent blood, I curse you all to hell.”

  The crowd gasped, most stepping backward in a wave of fear, others daring to step closer. However, they did not matter. For Vega’s intended victim was not among them. In one mighty thrust, the razor sharp blade pierced her flesh in a mortal wound. They would not have the satisfaction of stealing her life, she would take it first.

  As the pain clouded her vision, she fell forward, driving the sword deeper until it pierced her through and through. Lying on the rough wooden diesis, her eyes wandered upward to settle on the Inquisitor as he watched her die.

  ****

  Vega awakened, screaming as her hands clutched at her chest, attempting to stop the blood that she thought must surely be pouring from where the sword had pierced her. In blurry astonishment, she realized it had all been a dream. The crazed mob, the agonizing pain, and the Inquisitor had all seemed so real. She had expected to find herself dying, and instead, she was safe in her own bed.

  Rubbing the fresh tears from her eyes, she whispered, “Zane.”

  She waited, the need to feel his comforting embrace bearing down on her heart like a thousand pounds. Yet, he didn’t come. Long breathless moments stretched out into an endless hour as she cried for the parents she had never known, the life she could have had, and the love she would never know. Still, the good dream would not come, and Zane did not answer her call.

  Two restless to remain in the bed, Vega slipped out from underneath her shabby comforter. She stood, intending to return to the kitchen to watch yet another sunrise. The wave of heat and nausea hit her in and unexpected jolt. Her vision darkened around the edges as she slipped back down and cradled her head in her hands.

  ****

  The dorm room was dark and quiet; the rustling of her skirts the only sound. The other girls could be heard in the large, common room below, but Vega sat alone. She knew she was dreaming, but the separation of her true self from her dream self was a hairline fracture in the scheme of things.

  Tears flowed freely from her eyes as she looked out over the courtyard. Candlelit lanterns hung from trees and banisters, casting a faint and flickering glow on the flagstone paths and verandas. Young couples mingled and danced, the tinkling of glasses and laughter rising above the sweet orchestra playing waltz after waltz.

  Her eyes sought out a young man, tall and well muscled, his attitude jaunty. At the sight of him, her soul whispered, ‘mine,’ but her mind hissed, ‘hers’. On his arm, a petite brunette preened, the perfect accessory to the air of assurance he exuded. Even from her lofty position three stories above, Vega could see the love between the two, and it crushed her heart.

  The onslaught of emotion addled her brain. Thoughts became broken, dark, and undecipherable as they jostled together with images. The boy, Anderson, had kissed Vega softly. He’d made her think, intentionally or not, that he loved her. She’d given herself to him freely, and a baby had been conceived of the union. Watching Anderson dance with Rebecca, Vega rested her hand on the small bump hidden beneath her corset and gown, and the word betrayal screamed in the darkest recesses of her mind.

  Suddenly, she was afraid. Fear seized her like a fist around her throat, choking her with sobs and pain. Her crazed thoughts swirled out of control, and before the real Vega understood what was to happen, her dream self slipped her slipper clad feet out of the window. Though her nails dug into the stone sill, she scooted to the very edge.

  No escape. Shame. A daughter or a son. A death. No use going on.

  “Anderson!” His name bounced off the brick wall surrounding the courtyard, fa
lling back to Vega’s ears.

  With a final cry, she pushed herself outward, and as she plummeted, the world slowed. For an instant, everything seemed clear, and she saw them seeing her. In the sea of upturned faces, confusion and horror ran amok. In the background, at the edge of the shadows, one man smiled—his long coattails and white hair fluttering in a nonexistent breeze.

  ****

  Vega’s eyes flew open and she screamed, covering her face with her arms as she landed on the worn carpet at the side of her bed. Air rushed from her lungs as she coughed and sputtered, the rough texture soaking up her tears. On shaking limbs, she slowly pushed herself upward until she rested on hands and knees. Panting to catch her breath, she tried to make sense of what had happened.

  “I must have fallen back to sleep.” Shaking her head at the odd dreams that plagued her, she rose from the floor and brushed her dark hair from her face. The desire to sleep had left her, fleeing into the remnants of the nightmares, and her mind wandered into dark things of the real-world kind.

  With no tears left to cry, Vega collected a pencil and a pad of paper from her vanity. In an attempt to drive her misery and guilt away, she set out to make a list of the things she needed to do. With the inheritance money, she could go anywhere, do anything. However, she had no friends, having learned early on how cruel others could be when they learned your family was like hers had been. She had no family, they were all gone.

  Dead. They are all dead, she thought as she took her place at the kitchen counter.

  The dark inner voice in her head was quick to remind her, You killed them!

  Revisiting the image of her mother — no, aunt’s — face as the life drained from her already too vacant eyes, Vega shivered. The house seemed colder without Diane and Bill. As if the faint spark of their reckless and drug addled lives had kept the chill away.