Daughters of Creation

Chapter Thirteen: Quatervois (Part Three)

  Rosalyn slumped forward, dizzied. The author's warning sounded eerily familiar to what the shadow's had whispered. She gripped the table, knuckles turning bloodless as she fought to control her emotions. She felt Emerson tense beside her and Rosalyn knew Emerson had held the same thoughts as her. They had walked inside the murderer's mind, the very being that could be the harbinger of destruction to the Veil if his goal was to destroy the Veil. And she was connected to that very being.

She glanced up. Emrie Michele was staring at her. Rosalyn knew she knew as well. Rosalyn paled further. Red eyes. Dark as night. Beware the Son of Destruction, the author's words rang loudly in her ears, droning inside her head. She shook her head. It meant nothing. They did not even know if Abaddon's son lived or not, she could not be sure of her worries.

Oh, Mother Goddess. Even if she could not be sure of her worries, Rosalyn still knew she had done something inside the murderer's mind—had done something that should've never been awoken. Rosalyn was unable to look at anyone, much less Emerson or Emrie Michele. It was possible she had just doomed them all, or at least herself. Breathe, Rosalyn. You said it, and it wasn't even Abaddon's son's name, I simply said the Son of Destruction—No! It came back to her in a whirl. She had said Casimir, had repeated what the shadows had said. But it meant nothing, right? Abaddon's son could be dead for all they know, killed by his father or dealt death by someone else's hands. They'd only walked through a murderer's mind, not the mind of Abaddon's son. If anything happened at least he's only connection to me through the mark. The others will be safe. Some color returned to her cheeks as she tried to calm herself and see reason. Yes, she would have to believe the others were safe, otherwise she would lose what little sanity remained.

Amusement. Cold, dark amusement slithered through Rosalyn. He was amused? She couldn't help but frown ... They had learned there was a fracture in the Veil's design, no matter how impossible that fracture seemed since the eight divine who sacrificed themselves were dead and their blood couldn't be used ... Unless! Rosalyn nearly gasped out loud. The murderer's amusement rose as she came to the realization. The eight divines' blood could be used. The Eight had descendants. The Eight's blood continued on. The man from Emrie Michele's vision had everything he needed. For all they knew this man could be trying to follow in the footsteps of Abaddon's son, trying to be the Son of Destruction and carry out the evilness of the past.

The pieces began to click: the murderer, the possible Casimir wannabe, was hunting down the Eights' descendents and using their blood to destroy the Veil and was going to accomplish his goal on All Hallows Eve when the Veil was at its thinnest. Rosalyn grounded her teeth together as her mind raced. They had to stop him. But how? a voice whispered, her own. You don't even know who the Eight are, how could you possibly find their descendants?

You know, his voice sounded in her head, there's something about you I can't quite place my finger on  just yet ... In all honesty I was content to have any one of you touch that book's page, but I think having you, my little flower, touch that page has turned out to be more rewarding than I had originally thought. The magic inside of you—yes, quite reminiscent of something long forgotten—can be found in another just like you from the same blood. I think my father would be most pleased to know which of the witches I managed to snag. Oh yes, he cackled.

Disgust traveled through her. The murderer was speaking in her mind, his voice sounding as if he was right behind her, leaning over her shoulder. Get out of my head! How are you even doing this? I severed the connection you had toward me. She was sure she knew the answer, but she needed to hear it—even if she heard it from him—out loud.

Air brushed by her neck, feeling as if fingers ghosted along the loose curls close to the base of her neck. Rosalyn shivered, she didn't want to turn. She had to. The others were unaware of the turmoil wrecking havoc inside of her nor were they aware of man from Emrie Michele's visions Moving her head, turning to look over her shoulder, a covered figure stared back at her, the weight of his eyes cruel in their assessment of her. Bile rose in the back of her throat. How could he be standing right there? Right behind her, form solid as if he was physically there. The taste of bile strengthened.