Voidhawk - the White Lady Page 12

  “Well I know I want to get out of here,” she muttered to herself. She stared at the only egress, the locked door, and tried to imagine a way to use magic to get out. “What would Xander do?” She mused aloud. The Voidhawk’s wizard probably had a half dozen spells at the ready to unlock the door, open a portal through it, or turn himself into a ghostly entity that could slip through the cracks underneath of it. He’d also spend half the day explaining how he’d come up with the spell and how it worked. Bekka sighed. Perhaps if she’d paid more attention to Xander’s ramblings she might have an idea how to get out of her own situation.

  She cast her senses at the door, using raw magical power to feel it and learn what she could. It was a simple practice and one often reserved for children who first felt the touch of magic. Bekka considered it fitting, she was barely more than a child when it came to her sorcery.

  As the hours stretched on she’d managed to shape her probes so that she could feel through the fibers of the wood and even to understand it wasn’t a traditional lock. The door was barred on the other side. She turned her thoughts to finding a way to move the bar. She was so deeply attuned to it that when it suddenly slid free she gasped.

  Had she caused it? She struggled to recapture her focus and replay the events in her mind. She’d been feeding power into it and feeling it as it was returned to her, then suddenly it shifted and—

  The door opened to reveal a blond haired woman wearing an elegant black dress. Just as impressive as the expensive robe was the pale skin of the striking woman that wore it. “I seldom get uninvited guests, I apologize if you were treated harshly.”

  Bekka realized that not only was she staring rudely, but her mouth was hanging open. “Are you the White Lady?” She managed.

  The woman smiled, revealing equally white teeth and startling red lips. “I am. Who might you be, young miss?”

  “Bekka,” she stammered. The woman was so beautiful and so polite, how could she possibly be responsible for terrorizing an entire region? Even worse, the claims of necromancy…

  “Tell me, Lady Bekka, what brings you to my doorstep?”

  “Just Bekka,” the sorceress stammered. She found herself staring at the White Lady’s dress. The black silks hugged her legs to her knees, then fell free just above her ankles to reveal black boots that Bekka expected would cost her a month’s wages on the Voidhawk. The plunging neckline revealed a healthy shadow of cleavage that was concealed behind a panel of pink ties that made up the corset of the dress. A black cape hung from her shoulders, but what completed the outfit was the elbow length black gloves.

  “Once again I show how rarely I get visitors! You’ve been through an ordeal. Please, allow me to show you to a guest room where you can refresh yourself and find suitable clothing.” She spun without waiting for a response, her long pony tail swinging out as he did so. Bekka scrambled to her feet and followed after, at a loss for words or even thoughts.

  The White Lady led her through the strange dwelling, taking her up a flight of stairs carved from the rock to a curving hallway with doors only on the left hand side. At the third doorway the White Lady stopped and opened the door. She stepped aside and gestured for Bekka to enter. Bekka did so, fighting back a gasp in the process.

  The room was every bit as decadent as the White Lady’s dress. “Refresh yourself, please. Anything within this room is at your disposal, including the wardrobe. Come, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

  Bekka turned to the large tub already filled with steaming water. She turned to look around, wondering where the nightmares were. The skeletons and the other dead things she expected a worshipper of the dead to have. But the White Lady wore a dress trimmed in pink!

  “Come, Miss Bekka, let me make up or my rudeness.”

  Bekka jerked as the hostess’ gloved hands raised hers gently but firmly and led her to the bath. The White Lady leaned back and appraised Bekka’s clothing, then shook her head. “These just won’t do for a pretty girl such as yourself. Get in the bath while I fetch something more fitting for a woman of your beauty.”

  Bekka stared at her as she turned away and glided over to the wardrobe. She shook her head, then blushed when the White Lady turned to look at her. She smiled coyly and gesture with a black gloved hand towards the tub. Bekka jerked into action, pulling off her shirt and pants so quickly she forgot to remove her boots first. She hopped once, nearly falling, before she managed to situate herself. Bekka stepped to the tub and wondered if her blush had made its way to her back yet.

  Bekka wasn’t sure how she’d missed it, but as soon as she settled into the soothing waters of the tub she could smell the scented oils. It calmed her and made her relax her defenses. She suspected a subtle magic was at work, but something that felt so good couldn’t be bad. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t in the realm of necromancy!

  The White Lady was back, sitting on a chair that Bekka had paid no attention to. The woman picked up a wash cloth and reached over, letting it rub over Bekka’s shoulder. Bekka was so calm the only reaction she gave was to glance at her hostess’ hand and wonder if the White Lady still wore her gloves. She didn’t, her hands were just as elegant and pale as the rest of her, which made for a powerful contrast with her black painted fingernails.

  “I can do that.” Bekka’s words lacked conviction.

  “Hush, it’s the least I can do.”

  Bekka’s eyes narrowed to slits as she allowed herself the decadent luxury of being waited on. The White Lady washed her thoroughly, showing neither shyness nor haste. She even scrubbed Bekka’s abused hair, working out he snarls and the damage done by her travels. When she finished the White Lady held a robe, plush and black with pink trim. Bekka smiled as she stood and let the White Lady drape it over her shoulders.

  “Come, let’s tend to your hair,” she told her.

  “You must have more important affairs,” Bekka protested, again without strength.

  “I can think of nothing more important than helping a young maiden in distress.”

  Bekka felt the grin not only on her face, but deep in her chest as well. She let herself be guided to a desk with brushes, combs, and other implements of beauty arranged on it. She stared in awe at the collection then sighed when the White Lady’s fingers gently raked through her hair. The brush followed and with it the last of Bekka’s defenses.

  The sorceress lost track of time as the White Lady brushed her hair dry. It wasn’t until the White Lady shifted that Bekka felt any sense of awareness penetrate the seductive haze. The White Lady’s breath caressed her ear and neck, quickening her pace and scattering her thoughts. Bekka felt the White Lady’s lips touch her neck and then euphoria undreamt of followed.

  Sometime later, it may have been days for all Bekka knew, she heard the White Lady speaking to her. She roused herself but still felt lethargic. Lethargic and wonderful. “Miss Bekka, come, I’ve been selfish and pushed you too hard. Your journeys have exhausted you. Come to bed my dear, we can talk when you’re rested.”

  Bekka mumbled something then felt herself lifted from the chair she was slumped in. The White Lady carried her to the massive bed and laid her on it. Somewhere along the way the robe she’d been wearing had disappeared. The White Lady pulled the covers over her then leaned in and pressed burning red lips against Bekka’s forehead.

  “Rest, my friend, I cherish the talks we will have.”

  Bekka’s eyes closed before the White Lady left her field of view.

  * * * *

  When Bekka woke she had no idea how much time had passed. She felt sluggish, especially when the urge to yawn and stretch overwhelmed her. With that finished she looked around the room again and smiled. Candles were lit, casting an almost romantic lighting about the room. Her half-elven heritage allowed her to see almost as though the sun was shining into the room. Half-elven or not, she appreciated the gesture.

  Bekka threw back her sheets only to be reminded she was nude. She felt the telling warmth in her cheeks of e
mbarrassment, though she wasn’t certain why. Sleeping nude had never bothered her before and the White Lady had shown no concern when she’d helped her. Bekka pushed it aside and rose up from the plush bed. She sat back down quickly as a wave of vertigo took her. She waited the nausea out and stood up again, though more carefully.

  Bekka’s eyes fell on the wardrobe. She started towards it when she glanced over and saw that the tub had been drained. The chair she’d occupied had a dress draped over the back of it, inviting her to examine it. A quick glance showed that her old clothes were gone, much as her pack had yet to make an appearance. She shrugged those away as inconsequential and moved to feel the expensive fabric of the dress.

  The silken fabric felt wonderful in her hands. She picked it up to study it, amazed at its beauty. Without further delay she slipped it over her head and pulled it in place. She panicked when she realized the twin panels in the front failed to meet until the top of the form hugging skirt. Her pulse slowed when she saw the matching corset that would hold the panels of the dress in place.

  Bekka wrestled the corset on and spent the next several minutes lacing and tying it – twice. She looked around for a mirror to judge her handiwork more accurately but found nothing suitable. She frowned, then made a few more adjustments before noticing the supple boots beside the chair. She slipped them on, purring at the perfect fit of the soft leather against her feet. Walking in them was awkward at first, but after a few steps she grew accustomed to the elevated heel. She turned to glance at the door, wondering if she should leave and seek out her mysterious hostess.

  Thinking of the White Lady reminded Bekka of the beautiful woman’s face and hands. She turned back to the vanity and sat down at it. The diagonal hem across the bottom of one of the panels of her skirt slid smoothly across her legs, making the act of sitting far less perilous than she’d presumed. Bekka turned to the gathered cosmetics and began to study and sample them.

  Sometime later Bekka looked at her fingers and grinned. Without a reflection she hadn’t dared tying to paint her lips or color the skin around her eyes. Still, the experiment in high fashion had left her feeling warm and floaty. She rose up again and felt a cramp in her stomach. Hunger had way of stealing life’s precious moments.

  She moved to the door and tested it. It wasn’t locked, though for the life of her she couldn’t imagine why it would be. The hallway outside was exactly as she remembered, lit by smokeless torches that seemed to burn endlessly. She turned to her left and walked, passing two more doors before the hallway ended in a staircase. The staircase, like the hallway before, continued in a gentle curve to the left.

  Bekka emerged onto a small landing at the top of the stairs. A stout wooden door lay ahead of her, complete with a knock fastened to the wood. She hesitated, wondering if she should announce her presence or if that might be crass. She reached for the latch and lifted it, then pushed gently while trying to peer in to see if she was violating the White Lady’s trust.

  Bekka saw her hostess look up at her from where she sat before a fireplace. She was smiling at her, stealing the color from Bekka’s cheeks. “You’re awake! Good, I was beginning to worry about you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bekka stammered. She fought the urge to flee and instead cast her eyes downward. “I must have been exhausted, you should have woke me—”

  “Nonsense,” she demurred. “You were run ragged and you certainly looked the part. It was selfish of me to expect so much of you. I seldom get visitors, let alone such lovely young maidens like yourself.”

  Bekka blushed again. It seemed she didn’t need the makeup, around this woman she had a constant redness in her cheeks. “Please, My Lady, I’m half-elven, I’m older than I look.”

  She rose up, moving so gracefully in an equally breathtaking black and pink gown that she seemed to float across the floor. She put a finger to Bekka’s lips to hush her, then guided the sorceress to an overstuffed chair near the fire. Bekka felt the heat from the hearth but it was nothing compared to the tingling in her lips where the White Lady’s fingers had touched her.

  “Enough formality, Miss Bekka,” the White Lady winked at her. “My name is Constance and it would please me more than you know if you’d use it.”

  Bekka couldn’t stop the smile from reaching her cheeks at the secret thrill it caused her to be gifted with her name. “It’s my pleasure, Constance,” Bekka said softly. She looked away quickly, frightened by the thrill that seeing the smile on the White Lady’s face caused her.

  Bekka remembered how she’d secretly been pulled to both Jenna and Willa, though neither had shown much interest in her. Willa had come around, but Bekka had been the aggressor. This, she now understood, was what it felt like to be pursued. To be desired. She felt a fresh smile make its way to her face, then hurried to cough and cover it with her hand.

  “Are you all right?” Constance asked. “Some wine or water, perhaps? You’ve slept a long time, you must be hungry.”

  Bekka nodded. “I am hungry. But I don’t want to impose…”

  Constance waved her hand. “No imposition at all. I told you, I crave interaction and you, my dear, look to have enough to keep me busy for decades!”

  Bekka laughed, surprising herself with how loud and abrupt the sound was. She covered her mouth with her hand, then saw the twinkle in Constance’s eyes. She lowered it and rubbed the smooth fabric of her skirt. Her hand slid onto skin, reminding her how it was cut to allow her legs freedom of movement. Constance’s eyes followed her hand like those of a predatory bird. It sent another tingle down Bekka’s spine.

  “This dress is amazing. Everything here is,” she added in a rush. “It must have cost a fortune!” Bekka’s hand found her mouth again. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, “That’s none of my concern. You’ve been more than kind to me.”

  “Bekka, let’s speak candidly. I own these lands and I protect the people upon them. Much as a baron or duke, they pay me for that protection and the right to live as they do. Those that can’t afford gold pay with what they can. I have no one to share it with, no family and no friends to speak of.”

  “So lonely,” Bekka whispered. She could understand. She had friends but she’d always felt alone in spite of that. It was her own fault and she knew it. A fear of being hurt had led to social awkwardness.

  “Yes,” Constance nodded, “perhaps you can understand why I hope you stay for a while.”

  It was Bekka’s turn to nod. She wanted that too, but she didn’t dare admit it. Not yet. It wasn’t just a fear of rejection or hurt, it was concern for Logan and Bailynn. Of Haley she’d given up. The huntress could rot for all she cared. But Logan and Bailynn were bound to come for the White Lady because of what those idiot villagers had told them. She almost laughed aloud at the memory. A woman as sophisticated and beautiful as Constance couldn’t possibly be responsible for such heinous crimes.

  Constance rose, her dress falling perfectly in place around her. She reached out and took Bekka’s hand. “Come, let’s get you something to eat.”

  * * * *

  Bekka woke and wondered if she’d only just closed her eyes. She was still so tired. Some days she felt rested, others she was wiped out. Aside from the irregular fatigue, Bekka couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever taken better care of herself. Daily baths, always with Constance assisting her, and a growing fondness that made her pine away when she wasn’t at the White Lady’s side.

  She’d lost track of the time that passed. Days, for certain, possibly a week or more. She rose and sat at her vanity, brushing out her hair before touching up her nails. She paused, admiring her handiwork, and then noticed her hands seemed almost sunken. The veins stuck out on them, though her skin was beginning to take on the pallor that the White Lady favored. Too much time stuck in the earthen house, she mused.

  Bekka moved on to painting her lips – she’d learned how to do it without the aid or a mirror with Constance’s help. That finished, she moved to the wardrobe to select today’s dr
ess. She’d come to revel in the luxury of having such fine things. She slid the dresses aside until she found one she’d yet to try on - a black revealing gown with pink highlights not so different from what Constance wore. She hoped the White Lady would be pleased rather than disturbed by the similarity.

  A gentle knock at the door snapped her head around to it. She hurried over to it and opened it up, then stepped aside as Constance hurried past her. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t wait.”

  “Couldn’t wait?” Bekka said, turning to look at her. The door swung shut behind her.

  “To see you,” She amended, turning to look at her. She took in Bekka’s clothing and a smile spread across her face. “You’re so beautiful, child. Radiant!”

  Bekka blushed. She thought she’d gotten over the red-cheeked reaction, but unexpected compliments still threatened her like a catapult shot to the helm.

  “I’m afraid our time is nearly over,” she said. Bekka felt her stomach twist into a knot. She struggled to breathe, confused and afraid. “I’ve enjoyed our time together, perhaps more than I’ve enjoyed any other time in my life.”

  Bekka opened her mouth but Constance stopped her with that same wonderful finger to her lips. She hadn’t realized she was close enough to Constance for her to touch her, but she was happy to be mistaken. Constance pulled her finger away, then stepped forward and embraced Bekka, drawing a surprised gasp from her. Constance’s lips pressed against hers, trapping her breath and drawing it from her. Bekka melted into her, the threat of abandonment replaced with a bliss so divine she hoped it would never end.

  It did end. Constance backed away, reaching up to touch her lips. Bekka’s hand mirrored hers, as though both were trying to recapture the moment. “I…I need to sit down,” Bekka whispered, moving over to the bed and sitting on it.

  Constance nodded, but remained standing. “I have a favor to ask of you. Not a favor, a request.”