A tormented scream pierced the night like a blade. The sky bled, and darkness fell instead of stars, erasing lights across the Magnificent North.
The story curse that touched most Northern tales and ballads watched. This tragedy would certainly be a tale one day—and, from the look of it, was already cursed.
The girl was dead. If her lifeless body had not confirmed it, then it would have been made clear by the horrible scream of the Fate who held her in his arms. The story curse was familiar with pain, but this was agony, the sort of raw grief that was only seen once in a century. The Fate was every tear that anyone had ever shed for lost love. He was pain given form.
“I’m so sorry, Jacks. I—” The vampire looked down at the girl he’d just killed; he scrubbed a hand over his jaw, and then he fled.
The Fate didn’t move. He didn’t let the girl go. He looked as if he never would. He continued holding her as if he could return her to life with the force of his will. His eyes were wet with blood. Red tears fell down his cheeks and onto hers. But the girl didn’t stir.
The other sleeping immortals were starting to wake, but the girl remained unmoving. Dead. And yet the Fate continued to hold her.
“Bring her back,” he said softly.
“I am sorry,” said the queen who’d just awoken. She was a petite thing. She’d tried to pull her son away from the girl, to stop his unnatural feeding, but her hands were not strong enough. The queen could not fight immortals physically, but she had an iron will forged of mettle and mistakes. “You know I cannot do that.”
The Fate finally looked up. “Bring her back,” he repeated. For he also possessed an indomitable will. “I know you can do it.”
The queen shook her head remorsefully. “My heart breaks for you—for this. But I will not do this. After bringing back Castor and seeing what he became, I vowed to never use that sort of magic again.”
“Evangeline would be different.” The Fate glowered at the queen.
“No,” she repeated. “You wouldn’t be saving this girl, you would be damning her. Just as we did to Castor. She wouldn’t want that life.”
“I don’t care what she wants!” roared the Fate. “I don’t want her dead. She saved you, you need to save her.”
The queen took a shaky breath.
If the story curse could have breathed, it would have held its breath. It hoped the queen would say yes. Yes to bringing her back, to turning her into another terrible immortal. Despite what this Fate believed, the girl would be horrible—the ones with endless life always were, eventually.
“I am saving her,” the queen said quietly. “It is kinder to let her die a human than to sacrifice her soul for immortality.”
At the word sacrifice, something sparked in the Fate’s cold eyes. He held the girl tighter, carrying her in his bloodstained arms as he stood and started down the ancient hall.
“What are you doing?” A crack of alarm showed in the queen’s implacable face.
“I’m going to fix this.” He continued marching forward, holding the girl close as he carried her back through the arch.
The angels who’d been guarding it now wept. They cried tears of stone as the Fate set the girl at their feet and began wrenching stone after stone from the arch.
“Jacks of the Hollow,” warned the queen. “Those arch stones can only be used one time to go back. They were not created for infinite trips to the past.”
“I know,” Jacks growled. “I’m going to go back and stop your son from killing her.”
The queen’s face fell. For a moment, she looked as old as the years she’d spent lying in a suspended state. “That is not a small mistake to fix. If you do this, Time will take something equally valuable from you.”
The Fate gave the queen a look more vicious than any curse. “There is nothing of equal value to me.”
