Page 1 of Deck of Scarlets

Prologue

She kept the scarlet wool cape her mother made draped securely around her small frame. The fabric was soft under her touch, a reminder of home as she began to trek up the most prominent hill in the village. Her reddish curls hung loose around her shoulders, some strands catching in her open mouth from breathing heavily up the trail. Frigid nights were not letting up anytime soon; the farther she traveled, the colder it got.

She passed by crowded villages, where some sold an abundance of fresh fruits and vegetables. Her father had given her enough coins to purchase such fine eatery, and she ended up leaving with a small parcel of the crispest apples and a bundle of carrots. Thanking the little boy at the market stand, she continued on her way, apple in hand. Days passed, and the voyage to the convent was nearing its end. Finally, the tallest point of the building peeked over the hill, signaling the conclusion of a very long journey. She would be welcomed with open arms and start her new life there. A life that none of her sisters wanted, but she felt the calling deep within her soul. The Lord was ready for her to ascend to the holiest place, where prayer and blessings were abundant. All she wanted was to help and give to her village.

The trail began to broaden as she reached her destination. A two-story building of gray stone, built strategically, with wide wooden doors faced her. Lit sconces illuminated a small portion of the frosted ground. Bare trees and dead bushes graced the foundation with old acorns from the previous season, just like the dried leaves crunching under her shoes. Bricks on the church were worn from relentless years in the sunlight. Crusted sap coated parts of the stone steps as she ascended, the clicking of her shoes echoing in the silent night, marking her arrival.

She approached the wooden doors, her hand inches from the metal handle, when a male voice halted her in place.

“You made it.” The sound was smoother than honey dripping lazily from a honeycomb in the summer heat.

“I wasn’t expecting to be greeted at this hour,” she mused, her hand remaining still.

“Your arrival was expected. However, the timing is a bit late.”

She flexed her fingers, ready to retort a remark, when an enormous shadow cast over the door, claws as long as the dead branches swaying in the night joined the now distorted figure. That was when she screamed.

Chapter One

Iawoke in a cold sweat just as my alarm went off. The late afternoon sun had barely set over the city’s skyline, and my chest rose and fell in shallow breaths as I tried to regain any sense of awareness. Sweat stained my shirt and pillow, my hair plastered to my forehead. This was the second week in a row I’d had that dream. The same sequence of events right down to the precise detail of her clothing. A red-headed female wandering through crowded villages in the snow, always stopping in front of giant wooden doors, never quite making it inside because of him. He made his presence known every time. Unfortunately, when she’s about to turn around, I wake as if my mind has decided of its own accord not to reveal her or him. I couldn’t understand why it had been happening, but it never failed to return and haunt me, even when I napped.

However, this was the first time I saw the claws and heard her scream.

The shrill sound of her voice left my heart pounding, the vibrations of her vocal cords pulsating my eardrums as if the scream was loud and clear in my room.

Whatever or whoever made her scream left me shaken and unsure of my mental stability, but the most unsettling feeling was not knowing if she survived.

But it was a dream. None of it was real, right?

Right?

I rose from my bed with shaky hands and retrieved the small silver flask from my bedside table. The aroma of cinnamon whiskey rose from the opening as I took a couple long sips. A burning sensation coated my throat, suddenly easing my shaky hands and pounding heart. With a heavy sigh escaping my lips, the tension in my shoulders loosened.

The sudden urge to pee had me leaving the comfort of my bed to trek quietly down the carpeted hallway. My toes sank into the soft material as I reached the bathroom, quietly entering to relieve myself. Once I was done, I unintentionally found myself standing before my grams’ old room. Unwanted familiar smells of bleached sheets and sanitized medical equipment had me spiraling as my hand hovered above the doorknob.

I hadn’t entered the room since her death, and yet I couldn’t bring myself to even turn the knob. An internal battle since I let go of her weakened hand four months to the day, when my mother ushered me out. Her sunken eyes never left mine as the door closed behind me.

Her funeral was only four days later.

I shook the haunting memory and made my way back to my room, downing the rest of the warm liquor from my flask, letting it soak in and relieve me from the terrors of my soul-stirring thoughts. Every taciturn sip I took was one step closer to an early grave, yet the comfort of warmth it brought to ease the anxiety coursing through my veins was enough to continue.

Just enough to quiet the noise and let me breathe deeply for the first time in months.

Hiding it back in the drawer, I walked over to the long, ornate windows in my bedroom and peeked out from behind the white curtain. I was greeted by the New York City lights of the Upper East Side. I peered down to the busy streets and traffic lights, the crowds of people walking from one place to the next, unaware of me watching from above, or so I thought.

My eyes scanned the shops as per usual, mesmerized by customers coming and going, couples holding hands, people walking their dogs, even a small girl on her father’s shoulders in the summer heat. Everything was so mundane, and yet there was an odd factor that stood out from the rest.

I noticed a man tucked in the shadows of an alleyway in between the frozen yogurt shop and Katina’s Boutique. His attire was black as midnight, with jet-black, shoulder-length hair. How he was not sweating in the blistering heat, I couldn’t fathom, but he seemed so out of place in a city like this. He stood with just enough coverage that others were oblivious, and yet through the hustle and bustle of such a busy city, he noticed me. The way his eyes flashed left me a bit breathless, and I leaned closer, almost pressed against the glass, on the edge, waiting for him to move.

Was he waiting for someone? He leaned carelessly against the building, one foot crossed over the other, a perfect statue, as if someone carved him from marble.

Locked in an unbreakable stare, he unsheathed some type of dagger from his hip and placed the blade on his wicked lips.

A warning to keep quiet.

Then, with a wink, he faded backward into the alley, shadows swallowing him whole. I remained frozen, my hand clenching the windowsill, waiting for him to return, but he never reappeared.

Disappointed by his departure, I didn’t realize how hard my forehead was pressed against the glass until I stepped back, my skin sounding like Velcro pulling from the pane.

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