For Eternity

With a parchment envelope clenched in his beak, Dante flew into the house. He circled the room three times before perching on the arm of a chair.

 

“Good morning, my beauty,” Monique greeted the oversized raven. “What have you brought me?”

 

Dante cocked his head to the side, then dropped the envelope, which was closed with a sparkling silver seal. Centuries ago, Monique had rescued the raven from the claws of a particularly nasty troll. Devoted to her, the bird had stayed by her side ever since.

 

A natural witch, Monique’s ability was rarely surpassed. She was not only the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter but in three days, she would reach her seven hundredth birthday. Her ancestry coupled with her age made her one of the most formidable within the enchanted realm.

“The letter promises good things,” Dante replied, ruffling his feathers.

 

“Your insight is never wrong,” she said, as she smoothed the bird’s glossy feathers.

A dim light surrounded the letter and brightened when Monique reached for the envelope. Written with a heavy hand, her name was etched across the front. Dante’s assessment was correct. White magic radiated from the letter. As she broke the seal and opened her message, the raven hopped to her shoulder and read along with her. A birthday celebration and a special gift await you at the Nightingale’s Hideout.

 

An enchanted hotel, the Nightingale’s Hideout catered to the elite within the otherworldly kingdom. Monsters of all types, fairies, werewolves, goblins, vampires, trolls, dwarves, and witches, assembled at the Nightingale’s Hideout. The resort could fulfill every desire, and the waiting list for accommodations could be decades long. A personal invitation was a rarity, reserved only for the most distinguished.

 

The Hideout held special memories for Monique. That was where she had met Lucius. For close to a century, it had been their favorite retreat. After Lucius disappeared, Monique lost her desire to socialize. She hadn’t been to the Hideout for fifty years. About to send her regrets and refuse the invitation, she hesitated when Dante said, “It is time you ventured out again.”

 

Although the raven seldom offered advice, when he did, it was worth heeding. The bird continued, “You have grieved long enough.”

 

“Perhaps you’re right,” Monique replied. “It is time.” With a slow nod and flick of her fingers, she accepted the invitation, and Dante cawed his approval.

 

Two days later, she stood in front of the massive stone hotel. Magic seeped through its doors and fell around her like a misty rain. It was unlikely anything in the hotel could harm or cripple her, but she murmured a protective spell, “Arrow that carries devastation or trouble, turn back to the one who steered you toward me. Destroy the bow that released you and paralyze the hands that aimed you.”

 

Her right eye fluttered and glowed, its dark-chocolate color accented by the flawless, pale skin of her cheek beneath it. Long black hair brushed a thin, but noticeable scar that crossed the left side of her face from the edge of her sky-blue eye to the center of her square chin. The mark on her cheek was the only imperfection on her lean body and she displayed that physique shamelessly. The hem of her black silk dress stopped at mid-thigh and revealed the sculpted legs of an athlete. Woven from the web of a black widow spider, a loosely knit wrap caressed her bare shoulders and shimmered in the reflected moonlight. She entered the hotel.

 

“Good evening,” she said to the desk clerk in the lobby.

 

“Good evening,” he replied. “Welcome back.”

 

She flashed him a smile. Monique’s faded scar turned crimson. Her face tingled, and her ebony eye flashed, alerting her that goblins were close. Because of the magic shimmering around the front desk, she couldn’t pinpoint their location.

 

“Where are the goblins?” she asked.

 

“The goblin rooms are on the northeast corner of the hotel. They are as far from your accommodations as possible,” the clerk replied. “But I cannot guarantee that they will not wander.”

 

Monique didn’t like goblins. As an infant, she encountered one for the first time. The memory flashed through her mind.

 

Her mother was in the garden, tending the herbs and talking to the fairies while Monique slept. The horrific odor of decay awakened the baby witch. It was the warm breath of an ancient goblin bending across her crib. Drool drizzled from his mouth.

 

“My lovely little one,” he rasped, “you will taste as good as you look.”

 

His rough tongue darted out and scraped her chin. Monique shrieked, and the goblin paused. The sound of her terror coursed through his body like the pleasure of an erotic interlude.

 

The creature’s hesitation saved Monique’s life. When the baby screamed, her mother reacted with speed that rivaled that of a vampire. As the monster lowered his teeth to the tiny witch’s face, her mother dove at the goblin, driving him from the cradle. She separated his head from his torso, but not before the creature raked his teeth across Monique’s face.

 

She touched the scar on her cheek, a reminder of that attack, and thought, “I wonder if the hotel has a policy against killing other guests.”

 

In answer to her unspoken question, the clerk replied, “If a goblin ventures too close to you, the hotel is not responsible for the result.” He gave her a large golden key and said, “Please let me know if there’s anything the hotel can provide for your comfort.”

 

“Thank you,” Monique answered, then levitated the top floor. The door to her suite saw the key in her hand and opened, inviting her inside.

 

The mysticism within the building was evident, but when she closed the door, it quelled. Inside her suite, the sensation that had rippled across her cheek disappeared. She was safe from outside magic, psychic attack, and interception of her thoughts. Unless she allowed it, nobody could find her there. Except for her own home, a private suite in the Nightingale’s Hideout was the only location where she was protected from all dangers. It was that service that made the resort such a coveted getaway.

 

Monique called the hotel spa. “Please send a masseuse, a strong one.”

 

Few would have the strength to massage her steel-like muscles, but she didn’t doubt that the spa could provide someone who was able. Lucius had been an expert at massage. Memories of Lucius flooded her mind. A powerful werewolf, his supernatural ability had rivaled hers. For decades, he had been her companion, and she missed him. For the thousandth time, she recalled their last encounter.

 

Lucius stood beside her. The muscles of his abdomen rippled under the thick, black hair that covered his chest. As always, his dark eyes were wary. His fangs glistened in the candlelight. Monique and Lucius had been together for over nine decades. After one-hundred years, they would be joined forever, an inseparable pair.

 

“Tomorrow is the Feast of the Wolf,” he told her that night. “I must go alone, but will return in time to celebrate your birthday and the slaughtering of goblins.”

 

“I believe you enjoy watching them die as much as I relish making it happen.” She laughed as he gathered her into his arms and kissed her.

 

With one finger, he traced the scar on her face. “This makes you even more beautiful.”

 

That was the last time she saw him. After a year of calling for him, she gave up the hunt. With the mystical abilities available to her, if Monique couldn’t find Lucius, he had either lost his life or didn’t want to be found.

 

Seconds later, there was a knock on the door. “Spa service,” a deep voice called.

 

“One moment.” A snap of her arm whisked her out of her clothes and into an ankle-length robe that matched the pastel of her blue eye. She opened the door.

 

With a towel wrapped around his waist like an Irish kilt, the masseuse filled the doorway. His biceps bulged below broad shoulders that accented a long, thick neck. Monique knew a werewolf when she saw one, and just for a second, she imagined it was Lucius standing in front of her. She stepped back, waved him inside, and he strode into the room.

 

“I am Oleg,” he said as he set up a massage table.

 

Monique shrugged her silken robe to the floor before she slid face down onto the satin sheet that he draped across the table.

 

Strong fingers dug into her shoulders and palpated the muscles of her neck and back. She sighed in appreciation. The werewolf inched his hands along her body, over her buttocks and down each leg. The strength of Oleg’s hands reminded her of how long it had been since she’d experienced the intimate energy of a werewolf, her werewolf, Lucius.

 

After a relaxing massage and a hot, steamy shower, she dressed and prepared for her annual birthday hunt, a tradition that began on her thirteenth birthday. On that day, her scar began to throb, and she noticed an odor of decay. She looked out her window and saw a goblin slinking toward her home. Although alone, Monique was not frightened. She watched the creature as he meandered through the trees past the garden to the open window. He hopped inside the house. Room by room, the walls of the house moaned, warning the young witch of danger as the goblin made his way through the house.

 

Unable to become completely invisible, she could create a translucent effect that made her nearly so. With a dagger in her hand, Monique silently approached the goblin from behind. She summoned all the strength available to her, grabbed his ear with one hand, and with a mighty slash of the dagger, decapitated him.

 

When the goblin’s body fell to the floor, her grip on his ear remained strong. With disgust, she tossed his head through the open window. Although drained, the satisfaction of destroying the horrid creature was worth the exhaustion. From that day forward, Monique killed a goblin every year. It was a birthday tradition.

 

As she left her suite, the sting of her cheek told her it wouldn’t take long to find her prey. When a shadow sped across the hall and into a deserted lounge, Monique followed.

 

In the lounge, the scar across her face blazed. She confronted a long-fanged, drooling goblin who was about to bite off the head of a screaming white kitten. The goblin’s bloodshot eyes widened at the sight of Monique. He snarled, then dropped the kitten and faced her. Saliva dripped from his yellow teeth as he snapped at the air.

 

Howling, the goblin hurled himself upward toward Monique’s throat with all the force that the bulging muscles of his four-foot body contained. With a blink of her eye, Monique erected an invisible barrier between herself and the hideous creature. Instead of sinking his teeth into the witch’s neck, the goblin hit the wall and fell to the floor. Monique produced an iron sword and thrust it through his heart before she removed his head from his body. Her birthday ritual was complete.

 

She turned her back to the disgusting form that lay leaking green slime onto the cream-colored carpet. In the corner of the room, the goblin-slobbered kitten was huddled against the wall, wide-eyed and trembling. Monique stooped down and reached for him.

 

“Come here,” she whispered to the shivering kitten. Without hesitation, the little cat limped toward her.

 

When Monique scooped him into her hands, the tiny creature’s body rumbled, as he purred in gratitude. She carried him to her suite, bathed him with rose-scented soap and wrapped him in a towel before she called the front desk.

 

“I’m afraid I made a bit of a mess in the sitting room at the end of the hall,” she said.

It did not surprise her when the night manager said, “I have taken care of it. Happy birthday.”

 

Monique turned her attention to her new acquaintance, whose gaze was locked onto her face.

“You need a name, little guy,” she murmured to the kitten.

 

Telepathically, the kitten replied, “Cato.”

 

Surprised, yet delighted that he could communicate, Monique asked, “Where did you come from, Cato?”

 

The kitten blinked twice and then escaped from the towel to perch on her shoulder. As he rubbed his head against her neck, she sensed his soft voice murmur, Lucius.

 

Purring loudly, Cato snuggled closer, but Monique heard nothing else from his psyche. With Lucius in her thoughts, had she had imagined hearing his name?

 

Again, she addressed the kitten. “Did Lucius send you?”

 

“Lucius,” the kitten repeated.

 

A witch can turn off all emotions except true love. Trembling, she wondered, could Lucius be alive?

Cato hopped from her shoulder into her arms, then burrowed his head into the crook of her elbow.

 

“Monique,” his soft voice murmured.

 

“You are an adorable little guy,” she said. “How in the world did you manage to get inside this hotel?”

 

Cato snuggled against her chest.

 

“Did Lucius bring you? Can you find him?” she asked.

 

“Lucius,” the kitten responded.

 

Within seconds, there was a knock on her door. Still holding the kitten, she opened it and gasped when she saw the man who stood in the doorway. With wavy black hair and flashing green eyes, it was Lucius Bellamy.

 

“Lucius!” the kitten telegraphed and leaped onto his shoulder.

 

Monique stood frozen, uncertain whether to rush into his arms or send him away for leaving her. Half a century had passed, but her feelings for him were as strong as ever. She stepped away from the door and waved him inside.

 

Lucius spoke first. “I see Cato found you.”

 

He wanted to wrap his arms around Monique and hold her forever. Instead, he kept his distance. He lifted the kitten from his shoulder and stroked Cato’s soft fur before he set him on a chair and stepped toward her.

 

“When the little magician escaped from my room, I looked everywhere. I was afraid he had been destroyed,” Lucius said.

 

“He almost was destroyed. I rescued him from the jaws of a goblin,” she replied.

 

“Still killing goblins, are you?” Lucius caressed the scar on her face, then asked, “How do you feel about werewolves?”

 

“I am possessive,” she said, her voice breaking. “I thought you were dead.”

 

“In some ways, I was dead,” he answered.

 

Fighting tears and furious at herself for displaying the emotion, she said, “I searched for years. Where have you been?”

 

He inched closer to her. “An alpha wolf can choose a mate from any member of the pack. At the Feast of the Wolf, Allegra became the alpha.”

 

He recalled the feast.

 

“As your Alpha, I am ready to choose my mate. For his strength and power, his bravery and loyalty, I choose Lucius,” Allegra announced.

 

As the pack cheered her choice, Lucius went numb. It was unheard of that the alpha would choose a companion without the prior knowledge of the chosen one.

 

“Join me, Lucius,” Allegra said.

 

“Your invitation is an honor and more than I deserve,” Lucius replied. “But I am committed to another, and my loyalty lies with her.”

 

“Join me, Lucius,” she commanded.

 

When he stayed where he was, she leaped to his side and, before he could react, froze his powers and took control of him. She transported him to a secluded forest and with fire in her eyes, Allegra roared, “The spell is cast. You will live here and see only me until the day you pledge to me your life and your loyalty.”

 

Lucius continued, “For fifty years, she came to me daily and demanded my loyalty only to her. For fifty years, I answered that my heart was yours.”

 

Monique said, “Even an epic spell will dissolve after fifty years.”

 

Lucius nodded. “Days before the spell’s dissolution, she accepted that I would never devote my life to her. Rather than keep me hostage, she chose another companion and revoked the spell. With the spell lifted, my power was restored. I called to you but couldn’t penetrate your shields. The only way I had any chance to find you was through the Hideout. So, I asked the hotel to send the invitation.”

 

“Dante intercepted it,” Monique told him. “If he hadn’t encouraged me, I wouldn’t be here.”

 

“He is a wise, old bird,” Lucius said. “He will make an excellent teacher for a mischievous kitten.”

“Dante’s wisdom is recognized throughout the realm,” she agreed, wondering if the raven knew Lucius had arranged the Hideout’s invitation.

 

“Cato was to be the conduit that bridged your shield and allowed me to find you when you arrived at the hotel,” Lucius told her. “But yesterday, the little critter snuck out of my room. It is only by chance that I found you. I heard him calling my name.”

 

“He kept repeating it,” she said.

 

“Besides his own name, mine is one of the few words he knows,” Lucius chuckled. “He is just learning to speak. I was teaching him to say Lucius loves Monique.”

 

Monique sighed. “Come to me.”

 

He wrapped his arms around her. “I imagined this moment every day that I was locked away.”

 

“I missed you every day that you were gone,” she replied.

 

He gently traced the scar on her cheek before he kissed her. As Lucius lifted Monique and carried her to the bedroom, a window opened. Dante flew inside and perched on the edge of a chair. Cato curled up next to the raven and as he fell asleep, the kitten whispered, Lucius loves Monique.

Dante flapped his huge wings, then ruffled his feathers and said, for eternity.

 

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