Blood Roses

by J A Cummings

  Julia peered at her as if she were a curious new puzzle. “You surprise me, my dear,” the elder vampire told her. “But I will keep my own counsel.”

  Rowena looked at Lucius, who was looking at his shoes, and at the victorious Julia. It seemed to her that all of the fight had been beaten out of him.

  “Of course,” the witch allowed. “I don’t want to interfere.”

  “Then don’t.” Julia turned her disapproving glare onto her Creation. “Lucius, we will be leaving now.”

  “Yes, Mistress.”

  That superior, irritable gaze swung back to Rowena. “Good evening, witch. Gladiator, come.”

  Julia swept down the steps, her golden sandals crunching on the gravel at the base. Lucius turned to follow her, but he cast one last look over his shoulder at Rowena.

  The hopelessness and longing in those eyes would haunt her for the rest of the night.

  Chapter Five

  Rowena returned to the ball, and she danced the night away in the arms of many different gallant men. One, a mummy from the Old Kingdom of Egypt, spoke in poetry and tried to tell her that she was his dead love reborn, even though they both knew it wasn’t true. He pressed her to accept a scrap of papyrus with his hotel room number on it, but she put it into her purse and forgot about it. He seemed to have forgotten, too, because she heard him trying the same line on a Naiad with much better success a few hours later.

  Her last partner of the evening was Igbe, a fellow witch who had been born in Nigeria. He was a devotee of the ancient loa, and they spent a lot of time sitting and discussing their respective magics and faiths. She found him fascinating, and he gave her his address and phone number for when they returned to the human world.

  Julia and Lucius never returned to the ball. She had been disappointed in the way that Lucius, who had initially seemed to strong, reduced to nothing in the face of his mistress’s anger. If Julia was his Maker, that would be a partial explanation. Rowena knew that vampires always exerted a certain level of control over their Creations, part of the unholy alchemy of changing a human being into a creature of the night. Most vampires released their Creations, allowing them autonomy and full existences. Others did not, and she supposed that Julia was one of these.

  It was just a damned shame.

  The ball ended at an hour before sunrise, giving the resort’s heliophobic guests the chance to get to their respective hotel rooms or bungalows. There were so many people trying to get indoors before the sun rose that transports were at a premium, but that didn’t bother Rowena. She decided to walk back, just to make the night last a little longer.

  She strolled down the wooded lane that led to her bungalow and heard a strange choking sound behind one of the trees. Concerned, Rowena went to investigate. She found Julia with an incubus in her arms, her fangs buried deep into the demon’s neck. It became clear that the sound she had thought was distress was anything but, and she left the couple to their privacy. It seemed unfair to her that Julia would carry on with another man that way, but she wouldn’t even allow Lucius a simple garden stroll.

  Rowena sighed and reminded herself that Lucius and Julia had their own relationship, and it wasn’t her right to judge. Their lives, their problems.

  She crested the hill where her bungalow stood and stopped to admire the oncoming dawn. She wondered if Julia knew that sunrise was coming so soon. The vampire was ancient, and she hadn’t gotten that way by being careless. At her advanced age, a few rays of sunlight wouldn’t really harm her, anyway. It was only when the sun was golden that she’d have to worry.

  Chester the chupacabra came scampering up the hill from the water, his bent hands filled with fish. He stopped when he saw her, surprised.

  “Oh! Hello!”

  “Hello,” she greeted. “Successful hunt?”

  “Oh, yes.” He held one of the wriggling creatures out to her. “Would you like one?”

  She was about to say no, but then thought that Grendel might enjoy the snack. “Thank you.”

  Chester helped her put the fish into her bag, then nodded to her. “Well, good night, Miss Rowena.”

  “Good night, Chester.”

  He went to one of the other bungalows on the hill, one far to the left of her own. The bungalow to the right had a horse in a paddock beside it, and she wondered if her other neighbor might be Heinrich. She resolved to find out in the morning.

  The sky above the watery horizon was turning from gray to pink, and she decided that she would watch the sunrise before she went back to go to bed. She hoped the fish wouldn’t die and make her purse stink. To forestall such a thing, she cast a spell that filled the purse and then put it and its contents into a pocket dimension where time did not exist. Satisfied that the fish would be kept fresh for her familiar, she continued down the hill toward the beach.

  A trio of benches sat facing the shore, one for each of the three bungalows on the hill. The shadows were still long over Chester’s bench, concealing it from sight, but the remaining benches were beginning to glow with the sun’s dawning rays.

  She sat on the bench beneath her rented house and looked out to sea. Far in the distance, she could she the leading edge of the storm that formed the barrier between the resort and the rest of the world. Although the clouds were black and lightning flashed in their depths, they were far enough away that dawn was still able to come to the island. It was magical, probably literally, and watching the advent of the day filled her with a sense of peace.

  Rowena sat for several minutes, enjoying the sunrise, until the smell of something burning intruded into her serenity. She turned toward the scent, which was coming from the bench below Chester’s bungalow. She was shocked when she saw Lucius, seated on the bench with his big hands grasping the seat, slowly beginning to smolder. She knew him by the green frock coat he wore, the one that was slowly catching fire.

  “What are you doing?” she cried out, leaping to her feet. She rushed over to him.

  It was far enough into the dawn that even a very old vampire like him had to fear the sun, and smoke was rising from him in a great gray cloud. His face was beginning to blacken.

  “Leave me,” he gasped. Another patch of embers broke into livid red life on his cheek, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

  Rowena grabbed him and pulled him from the bench. She cast Bending, which allowed her to move through physical space, until she was at her door with the burning vampire in her arms. She flung open the door and pushed him inside.

  Lucius landed on the floor with a whimper, then lost consciousness as the daylight stole his life away. Reduced to a helpless corpse, caught in the curse of the unliving, he was literally dead weight.

  “What is this?” her grimalkin demanded, waking from a sound sleep.

  She didn’t have time to answer. Rowena ran to the bed and grabbed the bedspread. She wrapped Lucius in the fabric and patted out the flames.

  “Pull the curtains,” she ordered.

  Grendel jumped up and ran to the windows, grabbing the chintz window treatments in his mouth and pulling them closed. Rowena tucked the bedspread around Lucius’s body until no part of him was exposed, then she ran to get a bucket of water from the pump. She poured the water over the bedspread, extinguishing the last of the fire that had started to consume the vampire.

  “What. The. Hell.” Grendel looked at her in disgust.

  Rowena reached into the pocket dimension and retrieved the fish. “Here,” she said, offering it to him. It flopped in her hand. “Eat this and never mind.”

  “Never mind? You bring home vampire flambe and I’m not supposed to mind?” Grendel sniffed. “That’s a powerful stench.”

  “It’s not that bad,” she disagreed.

  Rowena wrestled Lucius’s body toward the bed. With a sigh of disgust, Grendel shifted into human form and helped her until they had deposited the undead Roman onto the mattress. He shifted back to cat form so he could eat his fish, and Rowena sat by Lucius’s side, concerned.

 
“Are you the reason he stayed out too late?” Grendel asked.

  “No, Del. He did this to himself.”

  The grimalkin rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. A suicidal vampire. That’s what this trip was lacking.”

  Rowena took off her mask and lay down beside the vampire, whose body was going stiff and cold in the grip of daylight. She put her arm around Lucius and held him tight, wondering what had inspired him to take such a drastic step and worried that he might not heal. She remembered how cold his lips had been when he’d kissed her hand. He hadn’t had blood from a live source in a long time.

  Grendel closed the door and flipped the latch, locking them in and keeping the rest of the world at bay. He lay down with his back against the door to keep watch. Rowena smiled at him, then fell asleep, still in her ballgown.

  Chapter Six

  When Rowena awoke, it was late in the afternoon. The sun was on the other side of the cabin, and it was safe to uncover her vampire visitor to see the damage he had sustained.

  Grendel was pacing when she stirred. “He’s burned badly, and you’re without your grimoire,” he told her. “How do you propose to heal him? From memory?”

  Rowena nodded. “I remember a few things. I didn’t need the grimoire for all of my potions.”

  “Not for the common ones, no,” he allowed, “but for vampire healing? You barely ever used that one. How could you hope to remember it?”

  She sat up slowly and stretched. “Help me out of this dress, please,” she asked. “The corset stays are starting to hurt.”

  “That’s because you’re out of practice,” Grendel told her. “Remember in the old days when you’d wear those things practically 24/7?”

  “Beastly memories,” she sighed. “Beastly undergarment.”

  “Then why wear it?”

  “It’s the style.”

  “Style is for chumps and chimps,” the grimalkin sniffed.

  Rowena got off the bed and turned her back. Grendel stood on his hind legs to untie the laces with his teeth and give them a good tug. The constricting ties loosened, and Rowena was able to shrug out of the dress. The corset fastened in the front with hooks and eyes, so she was able to free herself from her sartorial prison on her own. As soon as it was gone, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  “I’m going to take a shower, then I’m going to check on our friend here.”

  Grendel grumbled, “He’s not my friend.”

  She took as little time as possible in the shower. When she emerged, she found soft towels and a set of comfortable clothes in her exact size waiting for her. She dried off and dressed, then emerged from the bathroom with questions.

  Her grimalkin knew what she was going to ask, and before she could say a word, he advised, “The clothing stores on this island deliver. You’ve got a full wardrobe again.”

  Rowena went to her familiar and hugged his soft grey neck. He purred. “Thank you, Del,” she said, kissing him on the forehead.

  “You’re welcome. I needed to do something while you were at the party, after all. The stores here stay open around the clock, since half the guests are nocturnal. It made things very convenient.”

  “You think of everything,” she complimented.

  “Somebody needs to.”

  He gave the table a meaningful look, and she saw a stack of books there. They were books on herbalism, and one was an ancient grimoire she thought she’d never see again. She gasped and grabbed it into an embrace.

  “Del! How…?”

  “What’s the point of being a magical creature if I can’t do a little magic from time to time?” he said. His tail swung slowly, a sign that he was happy. “I could recreate one thing from the house. I chose that.”

  Again, Rowena hugged him and kissed him between his glowing eyes. “I don’t deserve you.”

  “No, you don’t,” he agreed. “But that’s beside the point.”

  The grimalkin licked her cheek, and she smiled. She sat down and flipped through the pages until she found the right potion recipe. The ink on the page was indelible because of the magic that had been used when it was scribed, and it looked as if it had been written down last week instead of all the way back in 1422. She read through the list and compared it with the herbs hanging in the rafters of the cottage.

  “I’ve got everything I need here except for the empowering ingredients: dragon’s tooth and blood roses. I wonder if those grow on the island?”

  “If not, there’s probably an herbalist you can consult,” Grendel suggested.

  “I hope so.”

  Rowena went to the bed and gently pulled the bedspread away from Lucius’s face. The mask was still in place, brittle and scorched, and she pulled it from his skin to reveal injuries beneath. If he was human, the burns would be second- and third-degree, and she was concerned that despite his immortal healing ability, the wounds still appeared to be quite bad. He needed intercession, and she needed to find the missing herbs.

  “Stay with him,” she told Grendel, “and call me if he wakes.”

  The grimalkin pouted. “He’s boring. Can’t I come with you?”

  Rowena looked at him. He hadn’t had much of a vacation yet, and his home had been destroyed, too. She felt a pang of guilt. “Of course you can.”

  He squinted one eye. “Will I have to wear a harness or reduce myself?”

  “No. Not here.”

  She opened the door and led the way out into the afternoon, careful to keep any sunlight from falling on the vampire in the bed. Grendel strode out into the daylight, delighted, the tip of his tail rapidly curling back and forth. Rowena chuckled when she saw that outward sign of his happiness.

  “I’m sorry I was keeping you cooped up,” she apologized. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “Well, if we were still in Kansas, it would be wise, because some trigger-happy ammosexual would take a pot shot at me.” Grendel put on a hillbilly accent and mocked, “By golly, I shot me a panther!”

  Rowena giggled. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  They strolled together toward the road. The horse at the house next door whinnied to them shrilly, and Rowena turned to see it staring at them, its ears pricked up in eagerness. The door to the little house opened, and Heinrich emerged, wearing a less grand version of the uniform he had worn last night. He raised a hand to her in greeting.

  “Miss Rowena! What a delight to see you again!”

  “Hello, Heinrich.” She gestured to her feline companion. “This is Grendel, my familiar.”

  “Ah! And this is Wotan,” he said, putting a hand on the horse’s withers. It ducked its head once to nod hello. “Where are you going this fine afternoon?”

  She smiled. “I thought I’d check to see if there are herbalists around.”

  “There are indeed. If you go toward the center of the island, almost to the border of the desert area, you’ll find the druids’ grove. There are three herbalism shops near there, as well as a fine meadery.”

  Rowena was intrigued. “Can you drink mead?”

  Heinrich chuckled. “Lacking a head, I therefore lack a mouth, but with a long enough straw and some creativity, I can pour it down.” He put a saddle blanket onto Wotan’s back, black wool blending into the black horse’s coat. “I prefer ale, of course, but mead… it will do.”

  “Thank you for the information.”

  “I’m going riding in that direction, if you’d like to ride with me.”

  She glanced at Grendel, who put his ear back. “No, thank you. There wouldn’t be room for all three of us to comfortably sit on Wotan’s back.”

  Heinrich laughed. “My dear, of course there would be. I’m a ghost, after all. I don’t take up much room. And Wotan is also a spirit...whatever we wish to do, we can do.”

  He put the saddle onto his horse’s back, and the animal changed size, growing much larger until there would indeed be room for Rowena, Grendel and Heinrich to all sit comfortably together.

  Grendel sighed. “Fine.”

&n
bsp; The Headless Horseman bent to give Rowena a hand up to the saddle. He reached for Grendel, but the grimalkin leaped lightly into his witch’s lap. Heinrich took the reins and swung into the saddle behind her.

  “Very well, fraulein,” he said, his arms around Rowena. “Let’s go into town.”

  The ride was pleasant, and they chatted as they went, sharing stories about the places they’d been and the things they’d seen in their long existences. Heinrich took them to the very center of the island, where a brass statue stood to commemorate the first druids to come to the island back in 1503. There were three druids depicted, two males and a female, and it seemed to Rowena that the female looked an awful lot like Honey.

  Heinrich pointed to a wooden notice board. “While you’re here, you can check that board for any announcements. Sometimes parties spring up at one or another villa around the island, or there are beach parties, or sometimes trivia contests in the bars. This is where you’ll find the hours and notices and such.”

  “Good to know.” She lid down from the saddle and landed on her feet. Grendel jumped down and landed beside her. “Thank you for bringing us here, Heinrich and Wotan.”

  “It was our pleasure,” he assured her.

  The incubus that Rowena had seen with Julia the night before stepped up to the notice board with a sign and a staple gun. He attached a paper bearing a photograph that could only have been Lucius, as well as the words MISSING and WANTED.

  “Strange,” Heinrich said. “I’ve never seen a missing person posting before.”

  The incubus looked over his shoulder at them. “He’s a runaway,” he said simply as he turned to continue posting the fliers. “His mistress wants him back.”

  Grendel growled softly in the back of his throat. “I don’t like the sound of that,” he told his witch.

  “I don’t, either.”