Stray Witch

by Eva Alton

  “Still, would it be so hard to let me know?”

  He exhaled loudly, like I was the most exasperating creature on the planet. “Very well. It’s a set of rules devised to keep our clan safe. I’m not sure about who made them up, but I suppose it must have been Elizabeth, or someone before her. Their main purpose is to keep us invisible to human eyes.” Clarence cleared his throat and started to recite, exaggerating his accent to make the words sound more solemn:

  “Thou shalt not spread the curse,

  Thou shalt not speak our name,

  Thou shalt not kill gratuitously,

  Thou shalt not stand before a looking glass,

  And thou shalt not engage with outsiders.”

  “Wow,” I said, “that does sound... serious.”

  “It is most serious indeed. Summarizing, they come to mean that we are not allowed to make new vampires to avoid overpopulation, nor can we tell others what we are or engage with them apart from feeding and erasing their memories after the deed. I suspect the mirror thing is one of Elizabeth’s pet peeves. Unless outside, of course. I must choose restaurants carefully to avoid confused stares. Not that I frequent them too often on my own.”

  I looked around, checking whether there were any mirrors in The Midnight Owl―of course, there were none.

  “What happens if someone breaks the rules?” I asked, pushing my half-empty plate away. Clarence waited for Fiadh to take away the dishes and bring my dessert before he answered.

  “Banishment, of course,” he said, holding my gaze as he dipped his own spoon into my raspberry and vanilla ice cream and licked it. “Which is akin to death for a vampire in modern times―all the advances in science and technology are working against us. Nowadays there are cameras, computer files, face recognition devices... and probably many things I don’t even know about, even as an outside scout. It’s becoming harder and harder to find sustenance without becoming a target ourselves. It used to be so much easier in the past.”

  “You sound like you miss those days,” I said pensively, stirring the red and white scoops of ice-cream until they turned into a pink mass with red streaks. The spirals in the ice cream reminded me of distant galaxies, and I smiled. But it was too cold and acid for my taste, so I took a sip of warm, comforting wine instead.

  Clarence peeked at me from the other side of the table, his hand still holding the spoon, which had started to drip and stain the tablecloth with crimson blotches. He set it aside and his eyes traveled to the half-empty bottle of wine, possibly assessing whether I had had enough alcohol to stomach his answer.

  “It was definitely easier to take what we needed in the olden times. And more people used to believe in the occult. Some offered themselves willingly, which was quite convenient for us. Actually, nowadays some still do when we reveal ourselves. You would be surprised.” He watched me through half-closed eyes, but there was no malice in his glance, just watchfulness.

  I frowned. “You might have bitten me already and I wouldn’t even know.”

  He grimaced ruefully, allowing his fangs to show slightly. They were just a bit longer than they should have been. His hands reached toward mine over the table, but I hid them swiftly under the tablecloth.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you, Alba, and you know it.”

  “How can I know for sure? You must tell the same to all of them.”

  “First of all, I rarely discuss my secrets with my food―the fact that I’m telling you all this should be proof enough. We are allies, and we are supposed to work together. And second, because―as you already know―witch’s blood is the vampire equivalent of cod liver oil. Possibly healthy, but utterly distressing.”

  “How far back can you make them forget?” The ice-cream had become a disgusting broth by then, so I turned back to the wine.

  Clarence shook his head. “Just recent events. I can’t make you forget the traumas of your childhood or anything like that. I might be able to earn a good living in the human world if I could do that, don’t you think?”

  “Definitely,” I agreed, drawing circles over the rim of my glass and pondering about the many things I wished I could forget forever. I had started to feel dizzy, but it was a pleasant, soft warmth, which made it easier to ask blunt questions without blushing. “I have so many questions. I’d need years to cover them all.”

  “Ask away,” he said patiently, going back to his drawing.

  “How do you kill a vampire?”

  “Alba! Isn’t that question a bit discourteous?”

  I shrank in my seat with a shy smile. “Sorry. You know, that’s always the first thing people want to know. Silver? Stakes through the heart? Sunlight? Garlic? What else?”

  “No, I’m not answering that. It’s rude.” He crossed his arms. “Although stakes and sunlight are positively wicked. Silver, well, you don’t want it through your heart. And garlic is just annoying. Next question?”

  “Okay. Francesca said you are my guardian. What does that mean exactly?”

  “Just like she said―I’m supposed to guide you and clarify any doubts you may have. Et voilà, here I am: all yours and doing my job like the good vampire that I am. I always loved working the graveyard shift, anyway. You get to meet the loveliest creatures after midnight.”

  “Hmm,” I grunted, lost in my thoughts. “I know I asked before. But the more time I spend with you, the less inclined I am to believe your previous answer. Please be sincere this time: is seducing me included in your list of duties or not?”

  He laughed openly and covered his forehead with his hand as he shook his head.

  “Even if it was, how exactly would I achieve that without your cooperation?”

  “I don’t know. You are so nice to me. I’m not used to people being... nice.”

  There were just a few inches of wine left, and we both looked at it as soon the words left my lips. Clarence arched an eyebrow and seized the bottle, putting it beside him and out of my reach.

  “That’s an unfortunate occurrence, and hopefully, you will be able to get used to it after a while.” I wasn’t entirely sure whether he was talking about my wine overconsumption or the lack of kindness in my life. “Mr. Andersson didn’t deserve you.”

  “Are you being kind in order to get me into your bed?” I said, the wine talking instead of me, and I immediately regretted it. My unexpected bluntness made him nearly choke, and the smile I got in return was so wide that the floor rocked under my feet.

  “You mean, into my coffin?” he said, quickly regaining control of the situation.

  I wrinkled my nose and gaped at him. I hadn’t been in any of the vampires’ bedrooms, after all. Who knew what they may be keeping in there?

  “Please don't tell me the rumors are true,” I pleaded. My voice was slightly drawly against my will.

  Clarence’s eyes were blazing, and I worried someone in the neighboring tables would notice. His irises were an extraordinary shade of brown, with irregular speckles in a deeper red hue, which sometimes came alive and turned into polished cherry amber. I looked away, for fear of melting under his gaze.

  “I just wanted to see your reaction,” his voice was naughty and amused. “I don't really sleep much, to tell the truth. We don't get tired like humans do. We sleep to recover from injuries or to survive long periods without food, but otherwise, we don’t have to. If I lay in bed, it’s mostly to read, or think... or, well, do other things. But otherwise, I have avoided coffins since my family locked me into a leaden one, and I spent a decade trapped inside, starving in the darkness. It's quite fortunate that Elizabeth got me out of there before I dismantled it myself, because I was about to go mad.” He lifted his eyes and stared into mine. “Hell knows I tried, but the box was sturdy, and well, had I managed on my own, I would have massacred half of the city, starting with the poor grave-diggers. Maybe I even did, who knows? That probably didn’t do much for the poor reputation we blood-suckers already have.”

  I gawked at him, waiting for the humorous punch line
at the end of his story.

  But there was none.

  “Elizabeth chained me in a cell for months, maybe years, until I calmed down. Dire times, if you ask me―the kind I’d rather forget.” He wiped his hands, removing some imaginary dirt from them. “And now you know why I’m not a fan of coffins. But I think Alonso has one, if you are interested.”

  “This is also a joke, isn’t it?” I asked.

  He avoided my eyes and refused to answer.

  “Ten years?” I gasped, unable to imagine that kind of torture. Ten years locked in a dark box under the ground, with no way to get out, and not even the ability to die and put an end to the suffering. I almost wanted to cry for the creature he had been back then, betrayed and tortured by his own people. “Your own family did that to you? What kind of monsters would do that to their own flesh and blood?”

  “It’s hard to establish who the monster in that story was,” he said with hooded eyes.

  “Whatever you did, I doubt you deserved that.”

  “For all I know, I might have deserved it,” he sighed. “But let’s not spoil this wonderful evening with depressing stories. Tell me about yourself. So you went to college, and they taught you to lay cables?”

  I smiled weakly, memories of better days suddenly flooding my mind. “Not exactly. I studied to become a civil engineer. It was more about building roads and bridges. My favorite part was structural calculus. Math. Formulae. The magic of entering numbers into a computer and seeing them become a bridge hovering across a river. I actually graduated with the best grades of my whole promotion. I was good, and I enjoyed it very much.”

  “Sounds remarkable,” he nodded with genuine admiration, mouthing the words “check please” at the crabby waitress. “And a bit magical, too. I like bridges.”

  “It would be much better if I had actually kept a job in my field. I hardly finished my two-year internship before I became a stay-at-home mom. Not that I regret it, but...”

  But it hadn’t been entirely my choice. Mark had been ecstatic at the prospect of removing all male friends and coworkers from my vicinity.

  “You did what was best for your daughters, even if it wasn’t the best for you.” Clarence volunteered. “That was a brave thing to do.”

  Looking back, it didn’t seem like a brave choice at all. It had had more to do with passivity and with keeping the peace at home. But what had started like love and protectiveness from Mark had soon turned into unhealthy jealousy, and then into chronic anger: hatred, even. His irritability had grown worse over the years, to the point that he had started to shout at me and the girls for minute things, and during the last months, he had even hit us a couple of times when he lost his temper. With time, especially after losing my parents, I had become numb, and too scared to move forward.

  “If you say so,” I said as I stood up from the chair. The ground seemed a bit unsteady, but I stomped my foot firmly until it stopped feeling like a seesaw. Clarence’s smile built up slowly as he watched me, but he was too polite to make any comments on my drowsiness.

  As we got out of the restaurant, we were welcomed by a wave of jasmine-perfumed air, mixed with the scent of freshly watered lawns, and I pledged silently to enjoy the rest of the evening and leave the past and its inhabitants behind until sunrise. The wine had made me tipsy, and I tripped over an invisible obstacle. Clarence caught me promptly, right before I fell flat on my face, and I tittered as I grasped him, clumsily climbing back to a relatively straight posture.

  “Thank you,” I said, using his hand like a railing and leaning against his body, which felt like a very convenient and sturdy brick wall.

  “At your service,” he said sympathetically, steering me back toward Saint Anne.

  We sneaked into the park, giggling like two teenagers, and I made fun of his eyes, which glimmered softly in the darkness like someone had put tiny LED lights inside them.

  “But Clarence!” I laughed, using a purposely high-pitched voice. “What bright eyes you have!”

  “The better to see you with, my dear,” he quickly replied, sounding just like the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.

  As we reached the gates of the cemetery, I felt like I was floating more than walking. I steadied myself against the tree, the same one through which Miss Jilly had disappeared earlier that evening. Clarence was still holding my hand, and he waited for me to resume walking.

  “You know,” I confided in a low, secretive tone, feeling unusually assertive. I pulled at his hand so I could speak in his ear. “I’ve never kissed a vampire. Or anyone apart from Mark, for that matter.”

  His eyes opened wide, but he remained silent for a couple of seconds, then he exhaled and answered in a scolding voice, “That’s quite fortunate.” He was so near I could hear his extremely slow breathing, and somehow his nose got lost behind my ear. “Because vampires tend to lose control when you kiss them too eagerly, and they may end up biting you by mistake.”

  “Ah, but they told me I’m immune to that, you know,” I said, my thoughts blurred by the wine and the scent of wood and blood which emanated from him. “I smell like cod liver oil and slugs and snails and puppy-dogs' tails.”

  “I thought girls were made of sugar and spice,” Clarence chuckled softly. “Anyhow, I wouldn’t risk it if I were you,” he whispered, putting a strand of hair behind my ear and leaning backwards to have a better view of my face. “You are still warm, and charming, and funny. It might not end well.”

  My arms found the back of his neck and my eyes drooped, as I swung softly from one side to the other. The tree bark caressed the back of my light dress, and I imagined it was his nails instead. The park around me started to dissolve into an indistinguishable mass of green and grey.

  “I’m willing to take a chance,” I muttered.

  The tip of his nose traced the curve of my neck, and I felt two sharp points brushing against my skin. I shivered. Finally, he stepped back and let his lips land prudently on my forehead, hard and cold like a sobering icicle.

  “Another time, my dear Isolde. Not tonight,” he said, shaking his head with sadness. “I don’t want you to blame it on the wine tomorrow morning.”

  As the coolness of his chaste kiss extended from my forehead to the rest of my body, it awoke me from my fleeting illusion. The cloud I had been standing on started to fade, giving way to the embarrassing, uneasy certainty of my real life.

  We entered The Cloister through the hidden door in the angel mausoleum, and I tried to address the stairs with the grace of a serious, able adult. I was too drunk, and I failed miserably. Finally, Clarence walked me silently to the door of my room.

  Francesca had been waiting for my arrival with a book, sitting on an armchair and watching the sleeping children. When she left the room, she didn’t even glance at me, but the look she flung at Clarence didn’t escape my scrutiny, despite my highly drowsy state.

  Clarence and I remained alone for a minute, but he rushed to the exit as soon as he made sure there were enough candles burning to keep me from crashing against a piece of furniture.

  “Good night, my Isolde,” he said, pressing his icy thumb into the palm of my hand and leaving it there two seconds more than necessary. After that, he closed the door, leaving me alone with my daughters and my drunk mortification.

  Chapter 20

  Alba

  “Is that... a spell?” I whispered, leaning with curiosity toward the library table, where Jean-Pierre had set a selection of tools and ingredients and was pouring a crystalline mint-colored liquid into two thick-bottomed glasses.

  The former Benedictine monk winked at me and set a silver spoon over each of the tumblers. He had called me to the library right after breakfast, with a suspicious twinkle in his blue eyes and the promise of showing me an interesting thing or two.

  Jean-Pierre produced a couple of sugar cubes from a drawer and placed them on the spoons. With a skill which revealed many years of practice, he poured the beverage over the sugar, letting it melt and
drip slowly into the glasses, then set the sugar on fire with the help of a brass candlestick as he muttered an incantation in Latin. A soft flame shone in the brown and tan space of the library, filling the room with a bluish glow and the sweet scent of caramel.

  “A spell,” he repeated with a naughty smile. “Yes―The Invocation of Artemisia. The doorway to mystic trance.”

  “Wasn’t she the Greek Goddess of the Moon?” I said, hovering my hands over the dying flame with reverence. We were supposed to discuss the spell transcription from the Alcazar grimoire, but I hadn’t expected him to dive straight into a practical witchcraft lecture.

  “No, not that one. Artemisia Absinthium.” He laughed openly and downed the glass of green liquid in one noisy gulp. “Poe’s favorite Goddess, did you know?”

  “Poe? I thought he was an atheist,” I said. I was starting to feel confused.

  “Absinthe, ma belle. La Fée Verte. Everyone believed in The Green Fairy back then. She’s a bringer of visions. No laughing matter, whatever you may have heard,” he said, narrowing his eyes when a smile started to form on my lips after his revelation. “Faerie magic, of the most powerful kind, mixed with liquor, herbs and invocations. Drink and learn what secrets she can unveil for you.”

  Jean-Pierre licked his lips with a grunt of satisfaction and handed me the remaining glass. I smelled it cautiously, taking in the strong alcoholic scent. It made my stomach churn, still unwell from the wine of the night before, and I commanded my breakfast to stay where it was. Vague memories of demented artists who had gone insane with the aid of absinthe consumption came to mind, and I decided I wasn’t ready to join their ranks just yet.

  “Hmm,” I grunted, handing him back the glass. “No, thanks. I’m not into shamanic trances.”