Was she dead?
Surely not. She would be at peace, wouldn't she? Not feeling as if her bones were being slowly crushed and her head about to explode.
If she were dead, then this whole afterlife thing was a big, fat rip-off.
No. She had to be dreaming, she at last reassured herself. That would certainly explain why the silver fog was beginning to part.
Curious despite the vague taste of fear in the air, she peered through the shimmering light. Moments later she could see a dark, stone chamber that was only dimly lit by a flickering torch. In the center of the stone floor lay a young woman in white robes. Abby frowned. The woman's paleface was remarkably familiar, although it was difficult to determine the exact features as the woman twisted and screamed in obvious agony.
About her prostrate form sat a circle of women in gray cloaks, holding hands and chanting in low voices. Abby could not make out the words, but it appeared as if they
were performing some sort of ritual. Perhaps an exorcism. Or an enchantment.
Slowly a gray-haired woman stood and held her hands toward the shadowed ceiling.
"Arise Phoenix and bring forth your power," she called in booming tones. "The sacrifice is offered, the covenant sealed. Bless our noble Chalice. Bless her with your glory. Offer to her the might of your sword to fight the evil that threatens. We call. Come forth."
Crimson flames swept through the chamber as the women continued to chant, hovering in the thick air before surrounding the screaming woman upon the floor. Then, just as abruptly as they had appeared, the flames melted into the woman's flesh.
Abruptly the gray-haired woman turned her head toward a darkened corner.
"The prophecy is fulfilled. Bring forth the beast."
Expecting some horrid, five-headed monster that would fit right into the bizarre nightmare, Abby caught her breath as a man attired in a ruffled white shirt and satin knee breeches was brought forward, a heavy metal collar and chain hung about his neck. His head was bowed, allowing his long raven hair to cover his face, but that didn't halt a shiver of premonition from inching down Abby's spine.
"Creature of evil, you have been chosen above all others," the woman intoned. "Wicked is your heart and yet blessed are you. We pledge you to the Chalice. In fire and blood we bind you. In the shadow of death we bind, you. Through eternity and beyond we bind you."
The torch suddenly flared, and with a terrifying growl, the man lifted his head.
No. It was not possible. Not even in the strange and ridiculous world of dreams. Especially not ones that felt so horrifyingly real.
Still, there was no mistaking his terrifying beauty. Or the smoldering silver eyes.
Dante.
She shuddered in horror. This was madness. Why would these women have him chained? Why would they call him a monster? A creature of evil?
Madness, indeed. A dream. Nothing more, she attempted to convince herself.
Then without warning, the unease tracing her spine turned to consuming terror. In pure fury, Dante tilted hack his head, the perfect alabaster features bathed in flickering light. The same flickering light that revealed his long, deadly fangs.
When Abby at last woke again, the silver fog, and the sharpest edges of her pain, had disappeared.
Still, with uncommon caution, she forced herself to remain perfectly motionless. After the day she had already endured, now didn't seem to be the best time to be charging and blundering about in her usual style. Instead she attempted to take stock of her surroundings.
She was lying upon a bed, she at last decided. Not her own bed, however. This one was hard and lumpy and possessed a funky scent she didn't even want to consider. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of passing traffic and, closer, the muffled sound of voices or perhaps a television.
Well, she wasn't in Selena's charred house. She was no longer in a damp dungeon with screaming women and demons. And she wasn't dead.
That was surely progress?
Screwing up her courage, Abby slowly lifted her head from the pillow and glanced about the shad-owed room. There wasn't much to see. The bed she was lying upon consumed most of the cramped space. About her were bare walls and the ugliest flowered curtains ever created. At the end of the bed was a broken dresser that held an ancient television, and in the corner was a shabby chair.
A chair that was currently occupied by a large, raven-haired man.
Or was he a man?
Her heart squeezed with a building dread as her gaze swept over the slumbering Dante. God. She would have to be demented to think what she was thinking.