The Dracove (The Prophecy series) (3 page)

He sighed heavily. “My mind will never let me forget.”

He rolled over and buried his head under a pillow, desperately trying to push the image of holding her cold, dead body in his arms from his mind.

Forgive me for taking so long. I will honor you. I swear it
. His promise came in ancient words. He had no other choice if he wished to rid himself of the nightmare.

He had to find her killer.

Kylie bolted upright. She opened her mouth wide, yet hardly any sound escaped; just a faint whisper of a scream. Blood curdling in the dream, but it faded into a scratchy whisper when she woke . . . then, nothing.

She rubbed her eyes and focused on controlling her erratic breathing. She wondered what time it was and turned to the brightly glowing digital clock. The digits on the clock didn’t register through the thoughts of the nightmare clouding her mind. She didn’t usually remember her dreams, but this particular one she could never forget. He looked right at her again, but all she recalled vividly were his eyes. The woman had distinctive similarities to herself. When she was younger, she hadn’t thought much about it, but now it disturbed her greatly. Everything else was a blur. She’d always known she wasn’t the woman in the dream; she merely watched the terror unfold. But what frightened her was what happened every time after she had that very odd dream.

Someone close to her would die.

There was no one left, really. All her family had moved on.

The only difference about this dream was that the dark man jumped at her, saw her. He even spoke to her. He’d never done that before.

She eyed the clock again. It was 6:55 a.m., and she wondered why it was still dark. Perhaps some clouds rolled in. As usual, she awoke five minutes before her alarm sounded. She leaned over and turned it off before the radio had the chance to sound its alarm, sending the DJ’s morning comments through the air. She didn’t particularly care to hear them today. They were generally a sick and twisted lot.

Chills raced up her spine from the crisp October air, covering her with goose bumps. She pulled her tall, slender body out of bed. Walking toward the French doors, she yawned and stretched, reaching as high as she could. Her windows offered a picturesque view of the Estrella Mountains. The warmth of the rising sun’s rays breaking through the clouds basked upon her fair skin. She admired the serene view for a silent moment.

Her home sat atop a hill high above the majority of houses in the Ahwatukee Foothills behind South Mountain. The view was quite lovely and part of the reason she picked the lot. She’d only just moved in very recently—two weeks ago—after the final touches and walkthrough. She gazed out across the desert, admiring a falcon flying overhead and recalled the coyote song from the night before. To the east, she caught a glimpse of the red sun before it slipped behind the high clouds once more.

Today is going to be a strange day
.

After a quick shower, she dressed and headed down the hall, where a large white ball of fur named Tobak ran into the hallway. The five-year-old wolf ran into Kylie. She slid on the tile floor, unable to grasp anything with her large paws. Apparently, wolves couldn’t walk on ceramic tile.

“Still not used to these floors, are ya girl?” She patted Tobak’s head.” And what’s with you last night, making all that noise?”

Tobak barked, answering the question in her own way. Kylie was certain the wolf was smiling as she followed her into the kitchen.

As she prepared her breakfast, the phone rang twice, letting her know someone was at the front gate. Five minutes later there was a knock at the door. She expected a package from Ireland today, and when she opened the door, two men stood beside a large trunk. They looked up at her, one from his clipboard, and smiled.

“We have a delivery for Kylie O’Rourke.”

O’Rourke was a typical Celtic last name, a mix of Irish and Scottish, and spelled differently ages ago. Her family originated somewhere other than Ireland, although she wasn’t too clear on exactly where that was. The family name was rather common, though. No famous warriors or royalty that she knew of resided in the family tree. In fact, her family had pretty much kept to themselves over the centuries. Although, she heard her mother talking about a witch being in the family at one time, but she was very young when she heard that, so who knew if it was true or not. Moreover, who could she ask now?

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for this.” The trunk looked very old—much older than she’d expected. She signed for it, and the men left.

The trunk smelled like an old cellar. She opened the letter and read the inheritance papers the attorney told her about the week prior. She danced a rusted skeleton key she found in the envelope between her fingers. It wasn’t much of an inheritance, just an old trunk, but it wasn’t expected. She didn’t know anyone in her family was still alive. If she had, she would certainly have searched them out. She placed the key in the lock and turned it, half expecting the key to snap in half from the effort.

Vibrant colors met her eyes once the trunk opened. She sifted through its belongings with care, pulling a few items out here and there—clothes, a centuries-old Irish flag, and some other trinkets. When she came upon a small wooden box covered in intricate Celtic knot carvings, she gasped. Some of the carvings looked familiar, but the box was very old yet still in good condition. A sterling silver necklace sitting in plush burgundy velvet appeared when she opened it. She picked it up and held it high. The sunlight struck the silver, making it shimmer. Hanging from the chain was a round silver locket with a design on it; a triangle of swirls—identical to the birthmark under her left breast—with a garnet embedded in its center.

“Isn’t that strange?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the piece. It looked oddly like the one in her dream, but that couldn’t be.

After staring at it for what felt like an eternity, she placed the necklace on the coffee table and continued going through the trunk. She ran across some old papers, photos, and a few other odds and ends.

Her attention came back to the necklace. It didn’t look very old, but she knew it had to be, since the trunk had been sitting in someone’s cellar for God knew how long. She picked it up again and cradled it in the palm of her hand. She decided to take it with her to work and show it to Ana; she might be able to tell her more about the exquisite piece. It looked practically new to Kylie, but she was certain it was at least a hundred years old, considering some of the other items in the trunk, and the letter . . . and the dream.

She stared at it, studying every curve and singularity. The garnet set in it was such a deep, dark red—a blood red. She’d never seen anything like it. The way it was cut and the setting, its intricate details.

It mesmerized her.

“God, you’re beautiful,” she said.

Eventually noticing the time, she jumped up to get ready for work, placing the locket on the table again.

* * * * *

Kylie peeked through the shop window. Ana sat behind the counter, engrossed in a piece of jewelry, and twisting a lock of jet-black hair around the forefinger of her left hand. It was something she did often—twisted her hair.

Kylie burst through the door. “Hey!”

Ana jumped and placed her hand over her heart. “Jesus, Kylie. You scared me half to death.”

“So if I scare you half to death twice, what happens?”

Ana gave her the “that is so not funny” look and wrinkled her nose.

Kylie grinned. “I see you’re not in the mood for stupid jokes. Fine, wait ‘til you see what I’ve got.”

She reached around the back of her neck and took the necklace off, and it dangled from her fingertips. It swung back and forth in front of her friend.

Ana gasped. “Oh. My. God. Where did you get that?” She clambered to her feet.

“It’s part of that inheritance I received. Do you think you could tell me how old it is? Everything in that trunk is really old.”

“Do you know anything about it?”

“Just that it belonged to someone in my family back in Ireland. I wish I could find out where it originated.”

Ana frowned. “I thought you didn’t have any family.”

“Well, I’m the only one left now,” she said with a shrug. “And I still have you.”

Ana smiled and took the necklace from her. “That’s right, you do. And you always will.” She studied the piece carefully, leaned over to pick up her jeweler’s loop, and peered through it at the detail and the stone.

“This is beautiful. It may be two or three hundred years old, possibly older.”

“Really? Don’t fuck with me, girl.”

“No, really, look at the detail on it. These small scrapings and scratches in the design indicate it was made by hand. I’ve rarely seen a piece like this—obviously custom and certainly very old. I’ll have to run some tests on the metal to more accurately tell its age, if you’re okay with that.” She moved closer to Kylie. “You see this symbol on it? It’s some sort of magical symbol. I know I’ve seen it before, but I’m not exactly sure which one it is.”

“When you figure out what it means, let me know because it’s the same as my birthmark.”

“It is?” Her brow crinkled. “Oh my God, it is. I’ll check it out for you.” She looked up from the necklace again. “How long do I have?”

“Is a day or two enough?”

“Thank God for the Internet. Sure I can’t have it longer?” Kylie hesitated and Ana smiled. “Guess not. Are you going next door today, or was this a special visit for me?”

“Going next door, but you know I love you. What are you doing for lunch today?”

“Don’t know.” Ana looked at the stone more closely. “This has to be the most incredible garnet I’ve ever seen. Why? Are you gonna be down here for a while?”

“I’m going to paint today and I thought we could check out that new place down the street for lunch.”

“Sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll come back when I’m finished at the studio.”

“How ‘bout if I come over there when I get hungry? I know how you get when you start painting.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll talk to you at lunch.”

* * * * *

Kylie strolled through her studio and turned on the lights. The gallery occupied the front part of the building, where her paintings hung on light gray walls. She had a few others propped up on easels throughout the place. There were a few plants, one in each corner around the studio to give a little more life to the place, even though her paintings were quite lively.

She walked around one of the freestanding walls and adjusted the light so it would shine down on the painting below.

Heading to the back of the studio, she set up a large canvas and prepared the colors she thought she would need. Within moments, she threw a flurry of color on the palette. As always, she painted with an idea in mind, though she was never certain what would appear on the canvas before her. Sometimes that was how it worked.