I lift my eyes to gaze at her in confusion only to discover she is unmoving. Clutching a berry, her fingers hover right before her open lips.
This is wrong.
This is not part of my memory.
This never happened.
“Where are you, Erzsébet?” Ágota demands. “Tell me!”
My sister’s voice does not come from the still form of Ágota, but from beyond our sanctuary. I gaz
e out at the world, transfixed by the rain caught in place, transforming it into a curtain of diamonds. Beyond the frozen rainfall stands Ágota. Not the seventeen-year-old facing an uncertain future, but Ágota as I saw her before Vlad took her from me. Clad all in black, her long hair hangs to her waist in wild disarray. Vivid green eyes stare at me intently.
“Erzsébet, tell me where you are!” she demands again.
“Ágota?” I whisper. “How?”
I am no longer huddled beneath the outcropping, but standing before her in my ragged gold and red dress. I press my hands to the terrible wound beneath my breasts and feel blood seeping through my fingers.
Without moving her feet, my sister moves toward me, gliding like a swan across dark waters. “Erzsébet, tell me where you are!”
“I do not know!” I reply, stunned by this strange turn of events.
“What do you mean? Why are you wounded? What has he done?”
“How are you here after what Vlad did to you?”
Ágota’s lips tilt into her familiar smirk. “I have my secrets, now tell me yours. Where are you?”
She punctuates each word with twitching fingers in front of my face.
“I truthfully have no idea where he has me entombed!”
“Entombed!” She growls out the word.
“As punishment,” I answer, still astonished at this odd turn of events.
The shadow of a winged creature obliterates the sunlight, turning day into dusk.
Ágota recoils and raises her hands above her head. “Damn him and his magic!”
I crane my head and behold the physical manifestation of the ward Vlad cast to hide the mausoleum from the world. The black dragon, made of shadows and fire, surges over Ágota and sweeps her into darkness.
Pain surges through my body. I am drawn out of the depths of my memory and open my eyes to the dank gloom of the mausoleum. I fear that Vlad will be there, sulking in the dark, but I am alone. In the aftermath of my vision, I am distraught and desperate to be free of my captivity.
Shivering in my rain-soaked gown, I listen as the thunder rumbles overhead. I grip the iron stake, the cold wet metal unrelenting in its torment. I scream with frustration and agony. I cannot wrench my body free of its captivity. I am too weak and Vlad’s spells are too strong.
Defeated, I fall back on the bier.
The appearance of an older, more powerful Ágota in my memory is mystifying and disquieting. If I did not know her fate, I would believe she had truly appeared to me. Perhaps it is my own desperate need to escape that is driving me toward madness. It is impossible that my sister is searching for me after Vlad’s heinous betrayal.
Weeping, I lie on my bier and await the next torment Vlad will visit upon me.
Chapter 6
Time stagnates in the darkness. Hunger is a constant. Loneliness is my only companion. Slumber has become my only refuge, but it is not particularly kind to me either. My dreams are always nightmares.
When I awaken, I find no relief for I am still here in this foul mausoleum.