Blood From a Stone Page 5

  He tried to push away the mild guilt he felt, but he knew too that she was just another sweet virgin who’d lost her innocence and now needed someone to pin it upon. It wasn’t going to be him. Better to have her go now and be done with it.

  She left without another word, concealing the strand of long, light brown hair that she’d taken from him as she pulled away.

  That night, as her daughter Dania watched, the dark haired priestess of the pagan ways chanted by the firelight as a pot of herbs containing a single human hair sparked over and over with each refrain of the incantation:

  By these words you shall feel her pain,

  By these words you shall know her sorrow

  For as you wake upon the morrow

  Thy heart will slow and Thy blood congeal

  Made of stone, you shall not feel,

  Fifty cycles of twelve moons shall ye be held Awaken ! two fortnights then back to the spell

  Death not comes, sleep ye’ll not know

  For the selfish deeds ye have sown

  Every debauchery you shall partake

  But love is the one thirst you shall not slake

  But safe from harm

  In stone’s strong arm

  Through the blood of thy will

  The clock shall stand still

  A prison …no walls, no locks…no key

  From which only thy jailer can set thee free

  But now man and stone are one and the same And made of stone They shall remain…

  And even before the sun rose the very next day his fate was sealed as he felt a gnawing pain all over his body that began to chill his blood. Before long, he began to feel sluggishness and cold sweats.

  He had visions over and over of the woman chanting by the fire and somehow knew that he’d been cursed. Some primal sense drove him to run. He headed to the village to seek Dania and ask her forgiveness, but all he was greeted with was her mother standing there looking at him with disdain.

  “You know what you have done. You have ruined my daughter and you have taken her gift from her with your heartless debauchery. And now, you shall pay foolish man. How you shall pay, though not by my hand. The spell only brings about the fate of what lies in the heart of whom it is cast upon. All that befalls you, is what lies within you.”

  “What have you done to me?” Samson demanded. “You shall find out when your blood turns to ice and your body turns to stone to match that which beats within your broad chest,” she said. “Though you are as fair of form as one of God’s angels, still, you are as ugly on the inside as the gargoyles that watch over the graveyard. And that is what you shall become on the outside as well. Fifty cycles of the Mother Goddess Arianrhod shall pass before you wake.”

  “Who are you?“ he said, staring at her with both fear and loathing.

  “I am one of the Chosen. We are the protectors of Eire, and her daughters. You shall learn your place…and you shall harm no more.”

  He started forward to grab her neck and choke the life from her, but with a single movement of her hand she shooed him away, dropped him to the ground where he lay powerless for some minutes before finding the strength to stand and try to make it home.

  “Please I beg of you…remove this from me! I am not as you think inside my heart and soul. I am sorry for what I did to Dania and if I could I would take it back” he pleaded.

  She stared at him intently. “I cannot. Fate is a path of our own choosing and whatever fate befalls us does not relieve us of the burden we must carry…it only changes which burden we must carry. You have chosen yours.” She shook her head before turning on her heel to walk away.

  There had to be some way to stop this. Surely his father’s wealth and power could buy his reprieve? But then, how would he even tell his family what was happening? He would think of something…if he could just make it home.

  He began the long walk, wishing to God or Heaven or even the devil himself that he’d had the sense to ride into the village on a horse, but it was too late for that now. He felt like he could barely move and a primitive instinct forced him instead to head for the graveyard. He didn’t want to go but some kind of invisible magic or so it seemed, forced him to plod, step by painful step to his destination. The destination that he dreaded and that he knew was going be the end of him…at least for fifty cycles.

  Just before midnight he felt the final stage of the change taking place. At that point he could not find the mental strength to try to fight back as his eyes stopped working and his mind slowed to nothing but a distant echo and he could no longer move.

  Later that night, Dania wept as she stood in front of the gargoyle. His features no longer resembled the handsome young man she had loved and her heart ached at what had come to pass. She knew there was nothing she could do, as her mother’s spell was bound to him and she had given up her own powers by sharing her body with him.

  She kneeled beside him touching his gnarled features as her tears fell on the top of his head.

  “My love, I am sorry for what destiny has befallen you. Destiny is but a path…and we choose which way we walk. You chose your path by your actions. I can only pray that the angels of your God will watch over you and by their hand shall you somehow find peace.”

  She turned and walked away from the stone form knowing his fate was sealed and she would never see him again.

  And the next day and for many days, weeks and months after, his family searched in vain for him, wondering what had happened to their son who’d simply disappeared and dropped from the face of the earth. No one ever knew what became of the wealthy land baron’s son and they held on to their grief for years to come.

  And of course, the caretakers of the graveyard had found a new gargoyle lying at the base of one of the buildings, and wondered where it had come from. Perhaps a sculptor commissioned by the Church had left it when no one was about?

  Shrugging, the monks hoisted it up with strong ropes and attached it to the side of the building where it would do its job and stand guard, keeping away evil from those who’d crossed over into the peaceful sleep of death in this holy place.

  And that is exactly where Samson had Awakened fifty years later to begin his centuries long journey of being gargoyle and man as one…a journey which had kept him in middle Europe for a couple hundred years, then he had secured his passage to America and he’d spent decades here perched on a few different buildings and mausoleums. Always trying to find the cure, always trying to understand how this had happened, and always trying to undo the coldness in his soul that had led to this…and ultimately after failing at everything else, trying to commit suicide several times in one Awakening and then another.

  But it was to no avail. So, eventually, he’d given up on that goal, and instead dedicated his precious time as a man to finding ways to make each Awakening easier to take and as enjoyable as possible.

  Along the way he’d learned quite a few lessons, always hoping and even praying that somehow, some way, maybe one of them was the key, just like in a fairytale, that would break the curse…or spell…whatever it was, and set him free.

  “Safe from harm in stone’s strong arm, through blood of thy will, the clock shall stand still...”

  The words strangely rang through his head over and over in vivid detail and he marveled at how he could remember all of them, like some haunting song.

  The witch had made very certain that he was locked in this power through her blood of will as a high priestess, and that time stood still and there was no escape. Ever. And so for the past several Awakenings he’d devoted his precious reprieves to enjoying himself without consequence since his seeming repenting his mistakes and even trying to fall in love did no good whatsoever.

  And now, here he was, on this cold and wintry night. Five hundred years later, ten Awakenings the wiser, sitting in a cab with a girl named Willow Dalton as she slept peacefully unaware that such things as magic really existed. Or that a man made of stone and something more, who’d actually experi
enced many things in history books sat next to her, holding her hand, as they drove onward through the blinding snow toward her home at 1201 Winston Terrace.

  C HAPTER FIVE

  The storm worsened and a few minutes later they turned onto Winston Terrace and into the driveway of Willow’s well-kept little house.

  Samson gently squeezed her hand to wake her. “Hey….we’re here.” Willow’s eyes popped open.

  “Oh. Wow. I guess I nodded off. I’m sorry. I didn‘t mean to be so rude.” She smiled sheepishly.

  “Hey don’t sweat it,” Samson reassured her. “I’ve had my share of naps on the way home.”

  Though he was hard pressed to remember what that even felt like anymore since it had been five centuries ago.

  “That’ll be 16 bucks,” the cabbie said in his ough

  New York accent.

  Samson reached forward and handed him a $20 bill. “Keep the change.”

  Willow looked surprised and immediately tried to stop him. “You really don’t have to do that! I mean it’s so sweet of you to offer, but you don’t have to.”

  Samson pushed her hand away. “I know I don’t. But I want to.” He nodded to the cabbie who was looking a bit worried as the snow began to come down in a solid sheet.

  “Mistah, we’re gonna haveta hit the road here pretty fast…this stuff is comin’ down so hard that I don’t know if we can make it unless a snowplow and salt truck comes along that we can follow behind! I don’t even know if that’d help. It’s already almost a foot deep an’ I’m gonna to be lucky to make it anywheres. Do you live far?”

  Samson had to think fast on how to answer that one, but before he could reply the cabbie spoke again.

  “On second thought, I got a buddy of mine who lives a coupla blocks down and one right turn. I can stay there and he’d probably let you bunk in too. It just ain’t safe drivin’ in this stuff.” He raised his eyebrows and motioned outside.

  Samson looked outside and nodded in agreement. The thought of spending the night on a warm couch watching television at the cabbie’s friend’s place was definitely a better option than walking back to the graveyard in the blinding snow. He started to accept the cabbie’s proposal, asking if his friend would mind the dog, but Willow interrupted them.

  “Samson, listen, I know this might come off wrong, or maybe too forward? How do I say this without sounding like….hell…I don‘t even know what!” She laughed nervously. “Anyway….you can stay here with me and Sasha tonight if you’d like. You can sleep on my couch. And yes, the dog can stay too. We certainly can’t put him back out in the cold.”

  Her hand stroked his soft brownish fur to calm the nervousness she was sure was evident in her voice. Sasha’s brows went up and her eyes widened but Willow just gave her the, I know what I’m doing so don’t argue! look.

  She felt safe with Samson. He’d risked himself for her and he took in this poor homeless dog on a cold night even though it had attacked them. He somehow knew that it just needed some love and a warm place to sleep. There must be something decent inside of him for him to have done that.

  Hmmm. What to do? He wondered to himself…there would of course be no sleeping for him but that was irrelevant right now. The main question was should he do the gentlemanly thing and insist on going with the cabbie or should he take her up on her offer?

  Willow spoke up again this time with more urgency.

  “I insist. Really. It’s okay.” She looked at the cabbie and winked as she added, “And if anything happens to us, you are a witness!” She grabbed Samson’s hand and started to pull him out of the cab before he could protest. He looked at the cabbie and shrugged.

  The cabbie chuckled good-naturedly and shook his head. “Lucky bastard,” he whispered under his breath as he backed up out of the driveway and pulled slowly away.

  Sasha and their new furry charge followed them to the door and a second later they were inside the welcome warmth of Willow’s house.

  Willow flicked on the lights and took off her coat, offering to take Samson’s as he brushed by. Sasha looked at her and shook her head when she held out her other hand and said, “No thanks…I’m keeping it! I‘m freezing.” She smiled and headed toward the kitchen. “Please play arsonist and get us a nice fire going?”

  Willow nodded.

  Samson removed his coat and handed it to her waiting hands as he looked around the cozy little house. It was not overly large and was nicely decorated with an overstuffed couch and two chaise chairs with ottomans in front of a huge entertainment center and large screen tv. The fireplace was on one wall and two or three bookshelves filled with various books, knick- knacks and other items. There was a small dining area with an oak table and chairs that was right next to a kitchen that had an open wall with a counter and stools.

  Willow hung the coats in the closet and headed across the living room to the fireplace where she grabbed some kindling, a few newspapers and couple of small well-seasoned logs out of a large basket. Within a minute or two she had started the fire like a pro and it was crackling warmly in no time.

  She turned around to him, smiling and shrugged.

  “Well that should help. I guess I’d better sober up, although that freezing cold pretty much did the trick! I’m sorry I fell asleep on the ride. Anyway…do you want something warm to drink? Or are you hungry? I’m always starving after being out.”

  “Anything you two want. I’m pretty much at your mercy,” he laughed.

  She smiled, “Yeah. I guess you are. C’mon, let’s go see what Sasha is having.”

  She pulled off her boots and tossed them next to the couch, and padded to the kitchen in her socks to find Sasha heating up water for hot chocolate and stacking bread, cheese and deli meat on the counter. Samson couldn’t help admiring the way her jeans fit the curve of her body and how her long honey-colored hair hung in graceful spirals down her back as she walked away from him.

  “I’m having a sandwich. You want some?” Sasha said, smiling as she held up two slices of bread.

  The dog had already bounded into the kitchen and was sitting next to the counter, his tail wagging furiously. She looked down at him, noting his protruding ribs. Samson had assured her earlier that he had fed the poor thing, but who knows when his last good meal was before that.

  Willow grabbed a piece of ham and handed it to the hungry dog as she turned to Sasha. “Light on the mayo and I’ll make the chocolate.” She pulled three mugs out of the cabinet above the microwave.

  “So Samson, where to you live? I know that seems really weird. Here you are staying in my house for the night and I don’t even know where you live, but well… where do you live?” She laughed.

  Her easy demeanor was disarming and made him feel more comfortable than he should, under the circumstances. Without missing a beat, he knew what to say.

  “You know that old graveyard near Main on Lakeview? I live right by there.” It was as close to the truth as it gets.

  “Well, it’s a good thing the cabbie didn’t try to drive

  you all the way over there. How long have you been in town?” She poured boiling water into the cups and added hot chocolate mix and some milk before putting them on a tray and heading toward the living room, motioning him to follow.

  Sasha trailed closely behind with the sandwiches, handing two of them to the dog before she plopped down on the couch and flipped the television on to an old movie on the Classics Channel. The dog seemingly inhaled the sandwiches without chewing them and then plunked down on the floor next to her chair.

  “I haven’t lived here very long,” Samson replied carefully. “I’m on the road a lot. I’ve been to Europe…all over it as a matter of fact.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Wow. I’m jealous. I’m 27 and I’ve never been out of the US. How old are you?”

  Samson smiled and refrained from saying, “Oh, only about five hundred and one years older than you” and instead settled for a simple, “I’m 28.”

  Sasha look
ed up from her movie and chimed in, “I’d love to be able to go over there someday and visit….see the castles and the historic sites.” Then as the scene on the screen changed, without warning she added, “Damn. Check out this pirate guy! He’s actually pretty hot! Makes me wish I lived in the fifties or sixties. Hey, I’d suffer the poodle skirts and beehives for him. But to hell with the pointed bras.” She took a huge bite of her sandwich and laughed out loud.

  Samson smiled to himself. Those were such simpler times, pointed bras and all, from what he’d seen of it and he wished he himself could have actually lived more in that era too. But like the majority of so many other decades, he’d been a cold block of stone for all but a short month of it.

  “So, Willow, tell me more about what you do.” He took a sip of the chocolate and savored a huge bite of the sandwich. It was like an explosion of sensation on his tongue and he had to struggle to keep his attention on her words.

  “Well, I told you, I’m a pediatric nurse at St. Luke’s. And of course you can imagine it’s stressful sometimes, to say the least. ” She sighed. “But you know someone has to face these kind of things. And the rewards can also be the most gratifying in the world. Knowing you helped a child recover and gave them their whole life to look forward to. But the illness and life or death situations…that’s the hard part to take.”

  He nodded. “It would tear me up inside to do that day in and day out.”

  “Oh, it does tear me up, but I know they need me so I’m there no matter what.” She took the last sip of her chocolate and finished up her sandwich.

  “Sometimes, I have situations where I wish I could just wave a magic wand or pray or have some kind of angel come down from Heaven and just take all their pain away and heal them.”

  Samson could relate all too well to that. There had been more times than he could count that he’d wished for some heavenly intervention that could take away his own unending misery.

  He looked over to the couch where Sasha was sprawled and saw her eyes closed, mug dangling and sandwich half eaten still sitting on the plate as her 50’s movie idol hero went swinging across the screen, pirate shirt flapping in the breeze.