I am so weak. I cannot eat. My body is feverish. Even as I write these words, my hands shake with cold. The servants come in and out of my room, whispering. I keep my wound wrapped because I know they are all watching with their fearful condemning eyes! Mother, I cannot bear it. This blood is a curse! My Lord Lancaster has sent Marcus to the King’s court for the celebration of his son Henry’s birthday. He refuses to leave my side. O Mother! Help me. My blood is burning.
Victoria noticed that the last words were faint almost as if Brigid had had little remaining strength to pen her thoughts to paper. She could hardly forget the fiery feeling of her blood in her own veins, the same that Brigid had brutally endured, also alone. The next entry was just a year later, written on the anniversary of Brigid's birthday.
Lancaster, England. How things have changed since my last birthday. As you may well discern, I am in perfect health. We are expecting our second beloved child and I am seven months into the pregnancy. I already know that it is a daughter. My Lord Lancaster showers me with his affection. How is it possible to love someone so entirely? He is kind and wonderful. He is my life. Forgive me Mother, but I have told him about my strange new gifts. My Lord Lancaster’s love for me remains undiminished and true.
My talents are astonishing. I have many premonitions and visions of the future. Sickness avoids me, and it seems I have developed a Healer’s touch. I can also read my beloved’s thoughts. I can sense that he is worried about King James. The witch-hunts have grown more vicious in the past few years. He fears for our safety, particularly mine, given my abilities. If King James were to find out, we would surely be condemned.
The next entry came just a month later, on September 14, 1606.
My daughter is dead.
The single abrupt sentence floored Victoria, and she gasped as if the pain were her own. The writing continued a day later, pressed into the paper with angry black strokes. The pages rustled, heavy with tears and stained with splotches of dark ink. Victoria felt her heart wrench in empathy as she continued to read.
I am dead. Elizabeth Marie Warrick Kensington is dead. She came into the world a warrior goddess, bathed in blood, so much black blood, it was terrifying. My cursed blood killed her! The servants crossed themselves every time they entered the birthing chamber. She was so perfect, an angel. I have never known such joy watching her tiny, peaceful face, so divinely beautiful even in death. I curse the God that ripped her from my womb! I curse myself!
The dark splotches of ink shimmered and Victoria realized that they weren't ink at all. They were blood—deep, dark red drops imprinted on the pages forever. The journal trembled in her shaking hands. The amulet pulsed hot on her chest, as if it were reliving memories that scorched it. Victoria's eyes raced over the remaining lines of the passage.
The screams that shake the castle nightly come from my own heart. Lancaster has taken Marcus away as he fears for his safety. So he should. I can feel his fear as he looks at me drowning in my hate. I am lost to him, he cannot save me where I have gone. My devil’s blood guides me now. I confess I can do things, demonic things. I sliced my wrist and I swear it healed before my eyes! Over and over I did it, until the black blood barely wept anymore. I bend the servants to my will, taking grotesque pleasure in hurting them. The blood’s magic takes control and I willingly go where it leads me, where I am free of consequence. Lancaster was right to take Marcus away. I am unworthy. I am evil.
The amulet was growing so unbearably hot that Victoria dropped the journal and frantically unfastened its clasp, hurling it into the box. The diamond pulsed blood red. She backed away slowly from the music box. Leto opened a sleepy eye and looked at her.
"Leto!" she cried. "The amulet is cursed! I have the same poisoned blood that she did. I am cursed too. I never should have worn it! Why did I listen to you?"
Calm down, Victoria. He began to purr and within a few minutes, Victoria felt less agitated from his calming energy. She sat back down on the bed, staring helplessly at him, her throat tight.
"I can't wear it," she said. "I just can't."
It is your birthright. You are a Warrick witch and the amulet is yours. You are who you are.
Victoria shook her head fervently. "I don't want it. I don't want any of that! I just want to be normal, and have a normal life. And not hurt people!" On the last word, Victoria's voice broke. "I can't be a witch. I wouldn't know what to do, or be ... or how ... I don't want to become ... her."
Then don't, Leto answered simply. Curious, he asked, did you read the whole journal?
"How could I?" Victoria said. "I can't bear to read anymore."
Perhaps you will feel differently if you do.
VICTORIA WELCOMED THE many distractions of the next week, if anything to avoid thinking about the journal. She had banished it all deep into the recesses of her brain. She worked to fill her days and nights, and kept herself so busy that she wouldn't have time to stop and think about anything, especially about who or what she was. She'd done it for the entire summer, and she could do it again. In time, she was determined to forget it completely.