by Eva Alton
That raven again. Those fiery, clever eyes were hard to miss. It had to be the same one that often loitered around our magnolia tree.
I tried to scare it off, but it just sat in the middle of the sidewalk. It didn’t even bat an eyelid. Did ravens ever blink? And weren’t they supposed to be afraid of scarecrows?
Seeing that the creature didn’t intend to move, I decided to bypass it, shaking my head at its audacity.
I was about to keep walking towards the bus stop when I noticed that the bird was holding something shiny in its beak: it looked like a decently sized engagement ring.
My engagement ring!
“Wait!” I shouted, turning around towards the raven. But the bird took off and started to fly toward a nearby park.
“Hey, stop! Give that back!”
I ran after it, pushing away anyone who stood in my way and ignoring their surprised stares. The bird had stolen my engagement ring, which I had planned to pawn to get some backup money.
There was no way on earth I was allowing him to get away with that.
THE RAVEN FLEW ACROSS the street into a thicket of trees. I jumped over a tree stump just in time to avoid falling on my nose. The bird was faster than I, but just the thought of losing sight of that expensive ring was enough to make my legs gallop. I couldn’t afford to lose such a valuable jewel just because of a stupid animal who had a fancy for sparkly things.
“Stop!” I yelled, not that I expected the bird to understand me. But oddly enough, the raven turned its head around and waited for me. “You thief! Give that back right now!”
I lifted my fist in anger. Oh, come on. This was unbelievable. I was not in a position to lose even one penny.
Then, my feet sunk into the ground. I stepped on what I thought was just a bunch of dry branches, but the ground gave way, and an invisible hole sucked me into the earth.
I fell.
I screamed until my lungs emptied of air.
Then my body smashed into the hard, cold ground. The darkness of the hole swallowed me, ushering me into unconsciousness.
Chapter 3
Alba
When I came to, my head was pounding and my vision spun. I remembered falling, then blackness. Someone must have covered me with a soft velvet sheet, taken off my shoes and set them neatly by my side. But currently, there was no one in sight.
The walls of the hole―no, it was rather a cave―were made of reddish glass full of tiny bubbles that glittered faintly with a light of their own. The whole underground space I had plummeted into had an unnerving aura of mystery and wizardry. As my eyes grew acclimated to the dim light, I spied nerved, pointed vaults over my head and carved arcades which ran over the cherry crystal walls, reminding me vaguely of European religious architecture.
Fear started to flood me as I recalled the black raven, and how I had stepped into a shaft hidden among the foliage. I flexed my limbs tentatively, checking for injuries. My head hurt, but the rest was fine. I stood up and cautiously walked toward the walls of the cave, trying to find the opening I had fallen through. There was nothing there, just darkness.
Keeping still, I listened to my surroundings.
Dripping.
The very distant buzz of the traffic outside.
And... steps? Very light, graceful steps.
“Hello?” I whispered, not sure whether I’d prefer someone to answer... or rather not.
A bright orange glow was coming from the furthest end of the cave, which was very long and wide. It might have been a candle, or a small fire. I picked my way carefully in its direction, and my steps echoed in the empty space like they would in an ancient cathedral. The whole place smelled of mildew, damp soil and something else which felt familiar, but I couldn’t quite trace.
Steps.
Now I had no doubt: someone was approaching.
“Is anybody there?” I demanded in a quivering voice, as I rubbed my arms with my hands. It was chilly. I scanned the cave for an exit or at least a place to hide, but there was nothing. Just a corridor where the bright glow originated from. But the steps were coming from that direction, too.
Whoever it was, I had no other choice but face them.
I stood still, and a deep sense of panic flooded me. In an impulse, I grabbed one of my shoes and held it with the heel out. Not as good as a gun, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
“Emberbury’s red amber is captivating, isn’t it?” said a deep voice with a British accent. “And some say it has magical properties, too. Do you believe in that?”
Terror paralyzed me as the man stepped into view, filling the hallway. He was standing in front of me, dark and tall. I wanted to scream, but my throat just closed.
The first thought which struck me was how peculiar and dazzling he looked.
The second was the primal certainty that I would not survive this bewildering encounter.
THE MAN’S FEATURES were finely chiseled, but his face was oddly pale―paler than death, was my first thought. He wore a Victorian-looking, lacy white shirt and a silk vest, both perfectly tailored around his broad shoulders. A bronze candlestick shone in his hand, and I guessed he must be in his middle to late thirties, judging by the silvery strands in his raven black hair, which was slightly too long and cut in an old-fashioned style.
“What’s this place? Why am I here?” I asked in a shaky voice, stepping back toward the red glass wall, which was surprisingly warm to the touch. As dazzling as the stranger might look, his presence in the cave was terrifying. It might have been the way he kept looking at my neck, or the scent which had entered the cave at the same time as him: a familiar earthy aroma, which reminded me of autumn walks in the forest, and, and...
... and blood.
Running away was out of the question: there was no exit and nobody around to help me. I hid the shoe behind my back, caressing its sharp heel with my thumb.
Think, Alba, think. Should I scream? Or would that make him kill me faster?
“Excuse me. I should introduce myself.” He gave me a half bow. “My name is Clarence Auberon, and this is... my humble home.” He observed me with a crooked smile and a tilted head. “And you must be Mrs. Alba Lumin.”
“Andersson. Alba Andersson,” I corrected him, feeling automatically foolish. What kind of idiot—apart from me—would volunteer her surname to a potentially dangerous stranger? But he had called me by my grandma’s maiden name, and that had thrown me off balance.
“As you please,” he said, cryptically. “I’m sorry we had to meet in this distressing manner, but I assure you I tried to find a better way, to no avail.” He shook his head, and his voice softened. “Please don’t be afraid of me. I’m not here to harm you.”
I inhaled deeply, reluctant to believe his words, but somehow sensing the truth in them. No, he wasn't there to kill me. At least, not yet.
“The queen is waiting for you. If you follow me, I’ll lead you to our conference room so you can meet her,” he said.
The man extended his hand and waited for me to take it, but I stepped back and refused it. He nodded with silent understanding. For lack of a better plan, I started to walk beside him, holding on to my sharp-heeled shoes.
I wondered whether the raven I had been chasing could be associated with this man in some way. He didn’t seem surprised to find me in that cave, so he must have had something to do with it.
As we marched down a dark stone corridor, he maintained a healthy amount of space between us, like he was trying to prove his good intentions. The floor was full of invisible but quite sharp pebbles, which dug painfully into the soles of my bare feet. I winced.
“Maybe you’d rather put your shoes on?” the man commented, pointing at the one hidden behind my back. He glanced sympathetically at my ridiculous choice of weapon. “We have proper flooring in the main areas, but I had to bring you through the back entrance. I wouldn’t want your feet to end up covered in sores because of me.”
“I... I’m fine, thanks,” I said, staggering a
little and rubbing my sore head.
“I’m so sorry you fell the way you did,” he said, pointing at the bump on my head. “I wish I could have caught you in a timely manner, but I missed you for a second.”
He what?
Come to think of it, I vaguely remembered something―someone?―dampening the fall, someone who had disappeared afterwards and wasn’t there when I came to, but was kind enough to cover me with a sheet.
“I was chasing a black bird,” I said slowly, hoping he would explain to me what was going on. The uncertainty of where he was leading me to and what awaited me there was about to kill me.
“A raven.” He nodded, studying me with curiosity.
Clearly, he wasn’t going to say anything else about that matter. Knowing I had no way to escape, I gave in to my fate and followed the stranger. Maybe, at the end of the corridor, I would find a door and get a chance to escape that dark and mysterious place.
“I can smell your fear,” he said conversationally, “but I promise there’s nothing here for you to be afraid of.”
We walked for several more minutes along a dark, narrow passageway. The only illumination was the single candlestick in his hand. After a while, the rustic stone floor turned into hardwood flooring, and finally, a massive carved door appeared at the end of the hallway right in front of us. The man knocked, and the door opened on its own with a loud creak.
“Welcome to The Cloister,” he said, and held the door open for me with old-fashioned ease.
Chapter 4
Alba
The first thing that caught my attention as I stepped in was the majestic candle tree hanging from the ceiling, which was as high as the vaults of a middle-sized church. The spacious underground room we were standing in was proof of how deep those long tunnels must have brought us into the bowels of the earth. The walls were covered in sumptuous red and gold damask fabric; in the middle of the room there was a heavy oak table, surrounded by ten burgundy armchairs. Only five of them were occupied, and the attendants of the small meeting we had just interrupted were dressed like the colonial tour guides one could find when strolling around downtown Boston.
“I brought you Alba Andersson, from the Lumin witches,” the man said to the audience, clearing his throat to get their attention.
Everyone stood up and greeted us with a nod. There were two men and three women, ranging from twenty to maybe fifty years old, and all of them had perfectly smooth skin and luscious hair.
“It was about time,” one of the women said with an impatient sigh. She was a middle-aged, cinnamon-skinned lady, who wore her hair in an intricate updo with hundreds of tiny braids, which looked like a mixture between a French pastry and a snake nest.
My knees shook, threatening to bend under the stress. The place looked like a secret club for Victorian-loving eccentrics. All the women wore tightly fit dresses with corsets and petticoats, and the men sat in classy suits adorned with waterfall cravats. My plain skirt and blouse made me feel out of place―even more so because I was still barefoot.
“My name is Elizabeth Swamp,” the woman with the tiny braids stood up and introduced herself. “I’m the queen of the vampires of Emberbury, and I thank you for coming here today. I also apologize for the rough journey you had to endure. Please understand that we are creatures of the darkness, which makes it hard for us to establish contact with outsiders during daylight hours.”
I shuddered. What on earth was that woman talking about? The queen of the vampires? The way she spoke, it sounded like she believed every single word, and none of the other ones had even flinched at her explanation.
Seeing the fear and doubt in my eyes, Elizabeth glanced at the man who had brought me there. He was standing silently behind me, in an awkwardly protective stance.
“I suppose Clarence already explained everything to you,” she snapped.
I shook my head and swallowed, not willing to argue with the self-designated queen.
“Elizabeth, I’m so sorry,” the man said. “Our first meeting didn’t go exactly as planned. I should have told her, but everything was so rushed. Let’s just do it together, shall we?”
“Very well. Take a seat,” said the lady―Elizabeth, pointing at the chair to her left. “This one will be yours from now on.”
“I’m... I’m sorry,” I stuttered, squirming on the cold floor and reluctant to take the offered seat. My seat. “This must be a misunderstanding. I just... I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Elizabeth parted her lips in a joyless smile. As she bared her teeth, I noticed they were shiny and slightly irregular. Not only that: for a second, I thought her canine teeth had turned into fangs. Nevertheless, the next moment I looked they weren’t there anymore. Oh, the power of fear and suggestion. I needed to get out of there quickly, or I’d end up as insane as these people seemed to be.
“For crying out loud, Clarence, how could you bring me this witch without giving her basic notions of The Cloister first?” She turned to the man behind me, rolling her eyes with exasperation, and he just grinned in some sort of apology.
Still standing there, I rubbed my temples, trying to muster enough aplomb to form a coherent sentence. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Swamp,” I managed to say, swallowing slowly. “I can’t stay. I don’t even know why I’m here.”
“Do you believe in vampires, Mrs. Andersson?” the woman asked me, crossing her arms in defiance.
I stared at her, open-mouthed, not knowing what to answer. Of course, I didn’t. But seemingly, she did.
The fangs. This time, I was sure I had seen them. They elongated slowly, perfectly white and shiny, and she didn’t make any effort to hide them.
“Skeptics exhaust me.” She exhaled with irritation. “But there are ways to prove we are earnest.” A threatening gleam flooded her eyes, and I bit my lip with nervousness.
“Come on, please, Elizabeth,” Clarence said in a scolding tone from behind me, as he put an ice-cold hand on my shoulder. “You are scaring her!” When he looked down at me, his eyes were a rare maroon shade I had never seen before. “Mrs. Andersson, would you be so kind as to sit down and listen to what we have to tell you, please?”
Giving up, I obeyed silently and took the offered armchair. I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration, aware that there was no way for me to get out of that place if they didn’t want me to.
Then, the man looked at me with a mixture of compassion and playfulness and said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Andersson: we don’t bite.”
His comment was followed by a distressing roar of laughter, which spread among the rest of attendants like a fire.
“Silence!” Elizabeth ordered, knocking on the table and gesturing towards the others. Once they pulled themselves together, she threw a glance to Clarence, who had taken a seat right next to me.
“Very well, Clarence,” she said, “let’s open this session with a summary of how you found this stray―” She pointed at me, and I widened my eyes at the insulting term. “―And continue with a strategy to reach a mutually advantageous compromise.”
Chapter 5
Clarence
The stray witch was so terrified, I could taste her fear on my lips. I found myself feeling strangely rueful for her misery; maybe because the way I had brought her to The Cloister hadn’t been the most courteous. I would have much preferred presenting our arguments during a quiet, private conversation over a cup of tea―or whatever it was they were drinking in this century―instead of exposing her to Elizabeth’s impatience right from the start. But daylight had got in the way, as usual. Yet another reason why we needed a witch on our side.
“It has come to our attention that you are looking for work, Mrs. Andersson,” Elizabeth was saying. I had spent months researching the new candidate and provided Elizabeth with a comprehensive dossier. She was thumbing through it right now.
“I might be, yes,” the witch answered. She didn’t seem to know anything about her roots. Just like Julia. Such a pity, so much unused po
tential. But maybe we would be able to remedy that.
Elizabeth continued, “I hear you have children, Mrs. Andersson. One daughter, is that right?”
The witch frowned, a defensive scowl on her face. “I’d prefer to keep that private, thank you.”
“Mrs. Andersson has two daughters,” I offered, and she cringed, eyeing me with fury. Sorry, witch, I tried to tell her silently, this is our little sanctuary. I had to make sure you were who we thought you were before I brought you here.
“That can’t be right,” Elizabeth said in an alarmed tone. “Everyone knows true witches can only have one child. If it’s a boy, their bloodline ends; if it’s a girl, the magic is passed on.”
“And if they have two?” Lillian asked from the back with an amused yawn, throwing her red locks behind her shoulder. Oh, Lillian. She really lived under a rock, that one.
“A second daughter would die at birth, and so would the mother. So, if this woman were a witch, as Clarence claims, she should be dead by now,” Elizabeth stated dryly.
“Why do you keep calling me a witch?” Mrs. Andersson said in a weary voice, crossing her arms. “I’m not any such thing. I don’t know who told you that, but it’s wrong.”
“I did,” I said, “and it’s certainly true.”
“So, do you have one or two daughters, Mrs. Andersson?” Elizabeth asked, rolling her eyes.
“Well, if you really have to know, yes, your... spy is right, I have two daughters,” she glanced at me warily, and I smiled at the word spy. It was much more amusing than most things I had been called throughout the decades. “So, seemingly, this proves I’m not a witch.” She held her head with both hands. “I don’t even believe witches exist. This can’t be happening.”
“Did you check her background reports properly, Clarence?” Elizabeth asked, pointing an accusing finger toward me.
“Of course, I did,” I retorted. “There's no doubt, she is a witch’s great-granddaughter. It can't be any other way. Can’t you... smell it, anyway?”