The Fear of Loss

Erin had barely slept an hour when Mireille’s knuckles rapped sharp against her door. The sound dragged her from a dream of fire and ash. Her limbs felt carved of lead, her eyes burned, but she rose without protest. The night waited.

Together they slipped into the woods, silence pressed tight between them. Erin lit a torch only once the homestead lay far behind, its flame a fragile bloom against the vast dark.

“Stay sharp,” Mireille muttered, her gaze flicking from shadow to shadow. “The parasites will—” She broke off, lips tightening. The sickness bloomed in Erin’s chest, rancid heat burning beneath her ribs.

“Good evening, little witch,” Remy’s voice drawled, smooth as spilled wine, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once. “And you’ve brought a companion.”

Erin spun, her senses slipping; then he was simply there — behind her, hand cold and possessive on her shoulder.

Mireille’s response was instant. Roots tore up from the soil and twisted into spears, leveled at Remy’s heart.

“Back away from her,” she snarled.

Remy did not move. “Be at ease, island witch. I came for the talisman, not for blood.”

“Dropping your guard at a vampire’s word is an invitation to die,” Mireille hissed. The roots tightened, wood groaning under her wrath.

The air strained, hot with the promise of violence. Erin felt it would snap. “Stop!” she cried, voice breaking. “Neither of you will yield, then let us speak of the talisman.”

She turned to Remy, forcing her hand to steady. With one palm she touched the emerald bound to his brow; with the other, she raised the sapphire.

The difference struck her like breath and suffocation. The emerald thrummed warm and wild, alive as a field of sunflowers, vibrant and whole. The sapphire, though flawless to the eye, was hollow, inert. A false life.

Her mouth opened to speak — but Mireille’s shriek cut the air. The roots dropped lifeless. A new chaos rose: branches swung like scythes, fire leapt wild and unbidden. Erin staggered back, torch guttering.

Remy cursed under his breath, dragging her behind a bush. “This is a pity,” he hissed. “I told him not to follow.”

Erin’s blood ran cold. Out of the smoke, Rodrigo emerged — twenty feet away, grin flashing like a blade. He pressed forward, weaving between flame and branch, eager and reckless.

“Rodrigo, stop!” Remy shouted. “She wasn’t going to harm me!”

Erin seized his sleeve, yanking him back as a root scythed low. The spear of wood missed his knee by a breath.

“Forgive her!” she shouted toward him. “It was instinct!”

But the fight had already closed its jaws.

Mireille’s magic caught Rodrigo mid-stride. Two roots coiled, iron-strong, and pierced his thigh and ribs, pinning him to the ground. He writhed, his defiance spilling into the night like a storm, but no words passed his lips.

“Spanish vampire,” Mireille said, her tone cold as iron, “what are your last words before I return you to ash?”

Rodrigo’s eyes blazed, but he kept his silence.

“Please!” Remy cried, voice raw. “Spare him.”

Mireille only laughed; low, sharp, unrelenting. Fire roared to her hand, weaving into a burning spear. With a single strike she drove it through his chest. His scream tore the forest wide, then dwindled as flesh unraveled to cinders.

In moments, only a drift of ash remained, and the ruby talisman that had crowned his brow, gleaming blood-red against the earth.

The rot in the air lifted, a sudden slackening of weight. The night creatures stirred, their cries strange and bright, as if rejoicing.

Remy stood stricken, eyes wide, his lips parted. Erin saw a bright bead trace his cheek: tears, scorching on his pale skin.

“Look, parasite,” Mireille spat, voice coiled in venom, “your contract is fulfilled. There lies an enchanted stone.”

“No,” Erin said, shaking her head. “The bargain was for the sapphire. I will fulfill it, though it cost Rodrigo his life.”

Both turned toward her, startled. Mireille with fury, Remy with something unreadable.

“I understand your hatred,” Erin went on, trembling, “but if they were all monsters, Remy would have killed me already. He owes me nothing. He came to save his companion.”

Remy’s gaze flicked to hers, wet with something like shame.

Mireille’s jaw tightened. “Then take the talisman,” she said, her voice like steel. “Bring it to me with the sapphire. We will see if you can make them one.”

Erin bent to the earth, fingers brushing ash, and lifted the ruby stone. Its weight was terrible in her palm.

As she straightened, Remy caught her arm. His grip was cold and unyielding.

“If your friend betrays me,” he whispered, his eyes dark, “your life will be forfeit.”

Erin stood between them, the stones burning in her palms, and knew she had bound herself to a fate she could never escape.

Mireille plucked the gems from her hands, weighing them as though she might divine their secrets by touch alone. The silence stretched until it choked.

At last she spoke, her voice low, measured. “One day, vampire. That is all I need to make this stone breathe again.” She pressed the emerald back into his palm. “Now release her.”

Remy’s grip loosened. Erin staggered free, her arm tingling where his hand had held her.

“Thank you, island witch,” Remy murmured, his tone brittle, grief leaking through the cracks. “I will return at dusk. And… forgive me, Erin. I did not mean to be so rough.”

For the first time their eyes locked, unguarded. His were red-rimmed, still wet with sorrow.

“I know what it is to claw for survival,” she whispered, her throat tight. “I am sorry for Rodrigo.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came. His face collapsed into silence, and in the next heartbeat he was gone, fleeing back into the shadows. The air lightened as the last of the rot receded, leaving Erin and Mireille alone in the hush of the forest.