Book of Revenge

Knight Angels

Book of Revenge

: : :

Abra Ebner

: : :

Annabel Lee

1849 - Edgar A. Poe

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee;-

And this maiden she lived with no other thought

Than to love and be loved by me.

She was a child and I was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

But we loved with a love that was more than love-

I and my Annabel Lee-

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,

In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud by night

Chilling my Annabel Lee;

So that her high-born kinsman came

And bore her away from me,

To shut her up in a
sepulchre

In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,

Went envying her and me:-

Yes!
that
was the reason (as all men know,

In this kingdom by the sea)

That the wind came out of a cloud, chilling

And killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love

Of those who were older than we-

Of many far wiser than we-

And neither the angels in Heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee:-

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,

In her
sepulchre
there by the sea-

In her tomb by the side of the sea.

: : :

Prologue

1942:

“Max, I’d love a rose.”

Avery’s voice was distant. I turned to her, wondering what it was she’d said. “Hmm?”

She sighed, pressing her brows together with annoyance. “I said I’d like a
rose.”

I snapped out of my trance. The sensation of her arm hooked with mine flooded back to me, sending a tingle of warmth over my skin. The wind blew, tickling the white fur on her lapel. Her frosty blue eyes shimmered in the moonlight, so full of light and beauty. Taking in surroundings I had all but forgotten, I saw there was a street vendor beside us that I hadn’t noticed before. He was selling roses.

“See, aren’t they lovely?” Avery insisted.

I glanced at the blue roses, powdered with wintery frost. I felt a pang in my heart. I should want to buy one for her—I should want to shower her with gifts, with love, but something wasn’t right.

Avery jerked at my arm, forcing an answer from my lips. I looked at the vendor. “One, please.”

The vendor eyed me with a flash of pity. Avery swooned at my side, happy with the fact she’d coerced me into buying her a rose. Why hadn’t I thought to do so myself? Why hadn’t I seen the vendor earlier, thinking of nothing but the way Avery’s pouty smile would warm my heart with their purchase? But there was nothing. It hadn’t even occurred to me to look.

“Max, you’re such a wonderful fiancé,” she gushed.

Another gust whipped through the streets of Winter Wood, a town so seemingly human, yet locked within a purely magickal world. It was a place our kind came to mingle, to live, and to experience a sense of belonging. Here we could be free—here, we didn’t have to hide.

My eyes traced the distant walls of the town that protected us and kept us invisible. The human world outside these walls was tainted with war and destruction. Winter Wood was the only place to escape their horrors and to live as though all that was a simple, yet horrible dream.

“Here you are, Miss.” The vendor handed her the rose, swirling his fingers over the petals as the bud opened before her eyes. She gasped, a silly childish gasp that told me she’d seen this trick a hundred times, but she never tired of it.

It tired me.

How long would my life go on? Soon there would be nothing to surprise me, no wonders as there once were. I was only thirty-three, though I didn’t look a day past seventeen. How many more years would I live? One hundred? A thousand? The thought alone made my throat tighten. I coughed.

“You’re not catching a cold are you?” Avery squeezed my arm, the rose now tucked into her hair, perfectly placed in a way that complimented her eyes. We had walked on past the rose vendor, moving from street light to street light.

I looked at her sideways. “A cold? Really?”

She giggled, looking down at her feet in the snow. “Sometimes it’s just fun to ask, even if it’s never true. Human novelty, I suppose.”

I shook my head, still unable to enjoy her light-hearted chit chat. My attention continued to pull away from her, finding any means of escape. That’s when I saw the apothecary up ahead, the windows warm and inviting. “I may not have a cold, but do you mind if we stop in to visit the alchemist?”

I saw the joy on her face fade. She didn’t have any interest in alchemy; as an Element Pixie she had no need to. A pixie’s powers of alchemy came naturally. Potions were useless trinkets, nothing but clutter to their efficient ways of living. Their powers so far exceeded all others that most of us could not fathom their extent, and yet they did not abuse them; only the Shadow Pixies did.

“Fine,” she answered with a sigh and fluffed her long platinum hair, the ringlets spraying a glittery plume into the air behind her—she smelled like cinnamon.

We reached the shop a few paces later, ducking inside and escaping the cold. Avery released my arm, the warmth of her fading to a bitter tingle lingering on my skin. She floated directly to the shelf that contained the perfume, finding it the only thing of interest. She hummed to herself as she began to test each one, her melody as intoxicating as the fumes with which she surrounded herself with.

The alchemist came out from the back room, hearing the ding of the bell on his door. His eyes grew light with joy when he saw me. “Max! Good to see you! How are you doing?” He enveloped me in his arms, clearly not caring about personal space.

I patted him on the back. “Doing well, Patrick.”

Patrick pulled me away from him, seeing through my strained happiness. “Something about the way you say that makes me think differently.” His hands were firmly latched onto either shoulder, his clear, blue eyes seeing to the very soul of me. He was more of a father to me than my own, helping me acclimate to my new life in this world since my death many years ago. Even before that, he had been a teacher to me, though his magickal secrets had remained hidden because of the affair that my mother and he shared.

I tried to smile, but I was certain that smile gave everything away. Patrick nodded slowly, as though he knew just what I was thinking.

He glanced over my shoulder.
You’re engaged to the Crown’s daughter. How can you not be happy?
He asked with his thoughts.

I shrugged.

He gave me a pat on the arm.
I look forward to each day I draw closer to death, because each day is a step closer to your mother once again.
His words carried weight, and I instantly knew he was trying to tell me something.

After a moment I nodded, understanding what he was getting at—he referred to true love, not arranged as my real mother and father’s marriage had been, as my engagement to Avery felt.

Patrick broke his silent speech. “So, what brings you here? In need of a potion? A remedy perhaps?” He was trying to avoid raising Avery’s suspicions, asking me a practical, contrived question.

I looked over my shoulder, reassured to find that Avery was still content with the perfume and not at all sensing my apprehension. I turned back, leaning close to Patrick and whispering in his ear. “Actually, I’m in need of a
spell.”

Standing there, I tried not to act irresolute about us. Her eyes narrowed, contrasted only by her smile. From that simple gesture, I knew insecurities were indeed lying behind those eyes. I knew her well enough to see that inside her, but often her tough exterior was too thick. I was naïve to think she couldn’t sense the reluctance in my love for her. I couldn’t blame her, though. She’d already given me everything of her soul—her light. Changing my mind now meant destroying her and handing her to the shadows.

I forced a reassuring expression. “It’ll just be a moment.”

She grinned hopelessly. The guilt of it stung.

Patrick led me into his office in the back of the shop, shutting the door behind us. I settled into an oak chair that sat in front of his desk. He rounded in front of me, leaning two hands against the surface, staring down.

“Are you really looking for a spell?” He looked curious with one eye narrowed, suspicious because I had never asked for one before.

I nodded apprehensively. A spell was the only thing I could think of to fix this.

“What kind of spell are you looking for?” He took a seat and his chair groaned.

I leaned forward, folding my hands on the edge of his desk. “I’ve been thinking about the future, Patrick. I fear what will become of me if I marry Avery. Most of all, I fear that life has already grown old. I want to know if there will be more for me, or if my time here was ill decided.” I paused and diverted my gaze. “A part of me questions if I should have passed on when the chance was presented.” I was ashamed to admit it. “Is there a spell that can tell me whether I’ve made the right choice?”

Patrick sighed long and hard. “I have seen a growing darkness in you. I’ve seen it for the past few years now. I know you long for more from your life—for meaning.” He sat up, lifting his hand where a key hung from his wrist. He unlocked the drawer before him, contemplating what he was about to show me. Committing to his task, he reached inside. When he pulled his hand out, I saw that he’d retrieved a simple clump of fabric. He placed it on the desk between us. “I should have destroyed this long ago, but I knew that one day you would come asking me just such a question, because that’s what it told me.” He pressed the clump of fabric across the desk. “Inside this fabric is a Truth Stone. It cannot tell you the future in detail, but it will tell you the truth of your deepest desires, which in your case may
contain
the future. It’s different for everyone, so I can’t make any guarantees. Touch it, and I believe you will leave here a happier man.”

I gazed upon the fabric with apprehension, noting the delicate way in which he’d handled it, despite is obvious age. “Have you ever used it yourself?”

Patrick’s lip curled, his thoughts wandering to a place where he was happy. “A few times. Yes.” His cheeks deepened in color. “There comes a moment in every man’s life when the answers we seek are buried deep within, too deep to reach on our own.”

I hung on his words, wishing I could read his thoughts, but his mind had been washed by a potion that blocked it long ago. Only the thoughts he wanted me to hear came through—right now, he wanted to hide everything but his emotion.

“Don’t be afraid. The truth cannot hurt you,” he reassured.

I clenched my jaw and timidly reached forward, clasping my fingers around the cloth. There was an instant tingle emanating from the rough canvas fabric, warming my hand. I wanted to giggle. I wanted to be a child again. It was a feeling I’d almost forgotten—a feeling of life. I was surrounded by a sudden sense of confidence, of reality and truth. I unclothed the stone and saw nothing but a dull grey rock, a fraction of the brilliance I’d expected. I lifted one brow and looked at Patrick.

“I know it doesn’t look like much, but trust me.” He grinned.