by Martha Woods
“You’ve been around my people your entire life, Darien. You just didn’t realize it till now. Your parents dealt with antiques and always sent token our way anytime they found them. They knew of this world and so should you,” I say sternly. I feel Darien is over reacting, but I can neither blame him or try to change his mind. Before he can speak I raise my hand to silence him. “We can talk more about this in the morning. For now, please get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll take you around the Kingdom so you can become more familiarized by your new surroundings.”
The three of them leave without saying another word. As I stare into the fire in the fireplace, anger boils within me as I throw my plate against the wall. I see the blue flames rising from my skin as I remind myself to calm down. I take a few deep breaths before leaving the room and returning to my chambers. I quickly undress and pull on a simple black nightgown before climbing into bed where I disappear under a thick layer of furs.
I can’t help but sob as I think of the way Darien looked at me once he realized he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. A part of me felt betrayed compared to the way he had kissed me and held me in his arms just a few nights ago. Eventually, I coax myself into calming my breathing and stilling my shaking body. Now that I have returned to the Kingdom, I need to start acting like the warrior I was raised to be. I remember my mother’s council. I need to forget my emotions and focus on the most logic path to follow. If I am ever going to have a chance of being with Darien, I need to help my people find a way to destroy the gates and banish the supernatural realm, and our powers, forever.
Bonus Book 4
Mysteries of a Vampire
Martha Woods
© 2016 Martha Woods
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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For permissions contact: [email protected]
Chapter 1
Sara Bishop was standing over a pot of boiling broth, stirring it while the aroma wafted through the house. That morning, before she went to school, she filled the pot with chicken bones, carrots, onions and celery, along with a healthy helping of garlic and peppercorns. Then Sara covered it and set it on low. When she got home from school, she would smell it all the way up the street.
She used a mesh strainer to separate the liquid from the rest of the ingredients and poured it back into the pot. She planned on making chicken and dumplings. It was comfort food at its best because it reminded her of when she was a kid, and her mother used to make them during the winter.
Her mother just got a job at the hospital, working as an RN where they forced her to work long hours, often early in the morning too late at night and sometimes she worked two shifts to cover for some of the other workers. When that happened, Sara never got to see her at all. She usually found herself sitting in the silent house, waiting for her mother to get off work.
The silence got so bad that nothing seemed to be able to penetrate it. She tried keeping the TV on, staring at the box mindlessly but her eyes kept drifting towards the dining room clock. Music didn’t help much either. Nothing seemed to fill the void, so she did little things that she knew would make her mother’s life easier.
She swept and vacuumed, scrubbed the kitchen and cleaned out the refrigerator, anything to help her pass the time. Cooking was the one thing that made the wait easier. Sara's Mother loved it. There would be home cooked meals sitting on the table every single night. Sara would make the table a place for them to gather, setting it with flowers, candles, and little decorations to make it inviting.
She was an artist, not in the general sense. She was terrible at painting and drawing, but cooking gave her a way to channel her energies into something(omit). She imbued everything with herbs and spices that enhanced the ambiance of the evening.
Some days were coriander and thyme. Other were oregano and basil. It all depended on upon the atmosphere that night. Some dishes were comfortable like soup; others were fiery like curry. She kept all of her recipes in a faux parchment book she bought online, sitting on a shelf above the stone.
Sara reached up to grab it, trying to avoid knocking over the spice containers. When her fingers finally rubbed against the rough surface of the cover, she stood up on her tiptoes and grabbed onto it. She was too short to pull it out in one swipe so she had to stand as tall as she could and edge it across the bottom of the cupboard.
It was leaning over the brink of the shelf when it came crashing down and fell right at the edge of the hot burner. Sara snatched the book up before it could catch fire and rushed it to the kitchen table.
As soon as she sat down, her phone started ringing. She pulled it out of her pocket and answered. “Hey, mom.”
“Hey, sweetie.” She sounded rushed. “How’s it going?”
“I'm making dumplings,” she announced proudly.
“I hope you make a bunch.”
“I will.”
“Hey, listen. I’m going to head home pretty soon.”
“It’s only 6.” She never got out early.
“I know. I got somebody else to cover the rest of my shift.”
“Really?” She nearly jumped with excitement.
“Yup.”
“I’ll get everything ready. I’ll see you soon.”
“Alright. Love you.”
“You too.”
Dinner had to be perfect so she took her time, pouring her energy into getting it done. Sara sautéed chicken and mixed up the dumpling mix, carefully plopping the little balls of dough into the broth and timing them just right so they didn’t get too hard. Everything was almost finished when she heard the door open, and her mother walked in.
“Hey.” She was sweaty with her bright red hair tied up in a messy bun. “Oh, my God, Sara. That looks amazing.” She walked up and gave her daughter a hug. Sara had placed the biscuits in a basket and on the table, along with a vase of carefully arranged orchids and surrounded by a row of candles.
“Thank you.”
Bridgett sat down to catch her breath. “So how was school?”
Sara sat across from her. “Tiring. I had a calculus exam today.”
“You aced it, though. I know you did.”
“I did, but it wasn’t easy.”
“You’re doing fine.”
“I hope so. You want some soup,” Sara started to sit up.
“Let me just go and get dressed first. I need a shower.”
Suddenly Sara heard her mum scream. She hopped over the glass she had dropped and rushed to get up to her mother's room as fast as she could.
When she reached the bedroom door, it was locked so Sara backed up and threw her shoulder into it. “Mom!” The door flew open so hard she hit the ground.
Sara didn’t see it until she looked up and its white-hot eyes met hers. It wasn’t human. It was moving underneath the pale skin of a man. The second Sara saw it, it was gone, through the open window.
Chapter 2
“Mom!” Sara pulled out her phone and ran into the bathroom. Her mother’s pale body had blocked off the drain, sending a mixture of blood and water trickling over the edge of the tub. Sara didn’t want to move or even think. To do so would be to acknowledge that she was alive, the world was real and that her mother was actually dead. Sara couldn’t open her eyes because every time she did Sara saw her mother eyes. They were so green, they popped, sneaking out from behind the shower curtain.
Sara stood up, her back turned to the bathtub, drenched in bloody water, trying to decide what to do. They were going to have to be reunited. “
I’m coming.” There was blood pouring from her mangled neck. Sara kissed her on the forehead and walked out into her room to where her closet was.
She chose her favorite black cocktail dress. She was supposed to wear it for her graduation party. She looked in the mirror. Her face might have been stained with tears and covered in blood, but it didn't match her short black hair. It still curved in around the chin, enhancing her porcelain doll features.
She topped her outfit off with a pair of black stilettos. Then she walked back into her bathroom and pulled out a bottle of OxyContin and poured a handful into her hand.
Once she made the decision to do it, Sara felt relieved. There was no reason to grieve any longer, no need to cry. She was going to be with her mother. Even if there were no afterlife, then at least she would be free. If you don’t exist, you can’t feel pain, or grieve or cry. She wouldn’t feel empty. She wouldn’t feel anything. She would be gone, and she wouldn’t have to live without her mother. This was her only option.
She walked out to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Her tears were dry. She almost felt like smiling. It would be easier this way. She wouldn’t have to sit and wait for her mother to come home. There would be no separation, no earthly obligations. The dead don’t need nurses. They don’t have hospitals either. Sara would be joined with her mother in death.
She looked down at the bottle of OxyContin. She’d heard that opiate overdose was a sweet death, painless and easy.
Sara walked into her mother’s bathroom. Where she laid down next to her and ran her finger along her mother’s jawline. This was the woman that had held her when she was a child, smiling down, dancing her fingers over Sara's cheeks to make her laugh. Bridgett fed her, clothed her and brought her life. Now she had her throat ripped out, and her body was so pale it was blue.
They were meant to be together. Every moment they were apart was torture. This was the right thing to do. Sara popped the pills in her mouth and swallowed them. Then she walked back to the bed and laid her head on the pillow giving off the scent of her mother’s perfume.
Chapter 3
Sara fell through the clouds, slipping down the ladder of consciousness. The sound of the shower passed away, along with the water trickling over the tub. She was falling faster, barely aware of her existence, so much so that she didn’t feel the needle piercing into her arm. She thrashed around and tried to sit up nearly slamming into the head of a cop looking down at her.
“Sara, I need you to calm down and tell me what happened here.” Somebody with rubber gloves lifted her eyelids and shone a light in her eyes.
Calm? With her mother lying dead a few feet away and every sound threatening to drill into her ears. She was in some of the worst pain of her life. “What did you do to me?” She tried to get up but a medic resembling a quarterback stepped into her line of sight and held her down.
“What do you mean what did I do?” The cop stood back, laughing. “What did you do?”
“What did you inject me with?” The medic was still holding her down.
“Narcan,” he responded. “You took a bottle of OxyContin.
“Why were you trying to kill yourself?” A female officer came in, her tight blond bun and straight lips left a sour taste in Sara’s mouth.
“I can’t I-I’m fucking dying here--torn apart.”
The male cop turned to the female who nodded her head. Then he reached down and pulled her off the ground so the medic could lift her up onto a gurney. Sara felt like she was being tossed around in a bottle full of glass.
A cop came up behind her and grabbed her arms, chaining them to the top of the gurney.
“The fuck!”
The female cop sat down on the bed, a cocky grin creeping up over her thin lips. “What happened here, Sara?”
“Fuck you!” She spat.
“You want to be like that?
“My life has turned into a living hell,” muttered Sara.
“How so?” She was going to push for answers, but Sara wasn’t going to give her any. Instead, Sara stayed as quiet as she possibly could and stared up at the ceiling, trying to bear the pain. “You know what I think happened here, Sara? I believe that you ripped your mother’s throat out and tried to kill yourself.”
Sara bit down on her lower lip as hard as she could to keep her mouth quiet and distract herself from the pain.
“Why’d you kill her Sara?”
The taste of salt crept its way out of Sara’s lower lip.
“We know you did it.” The man’s voice came from behind her.
“There're bite wounds on the body,” the woman added.
“I didn’t kill my mother!” She thrashed her head around.
“Ri-I-I-I-I-ght,” the woman laughed. “Now you want to tell us what actually happened?”
Her body was screaming like it was being stretched apart. “That thing!”
“A thing?” the man laughed.
“It came in from the window,” she groaned.
“Alright. Let’s go.” The medic came behind her and started wheeling her out of the house.
She couldn’t see anything except the midnight black sky and the medic’s face staring down at her. “I didn’t do it.” She managed to make her voice calm.
“It won’t matter,” he whispered to her.
Sara thought she would go to heaven. Instead she felt she was in hell, being tortured by her own body.
“Sara Bishop.” The female’s cold voice came from behind her when they stopped at the back of the ambulance. “You are under arrest for the murder of Bridgett Bishop. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney, and to have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you at government expense.” The woman’s face came into view.
The pain was too much to bear. It was writhing through her, turning her insides apart. “Why not jail?” She could barely speak.
“You’re going to undergo a psych eval to see if you’re fit to stand trial first.”
Chapter 4
The entire time she was laying, chained to a gurney in the ambulance, Sara kept her eyes shut and bit down on her tongue while the antidote twisted through her. She didn’t notice when they stopped, it was only when the air changed from cold to freezing and the sharp fluorescent lights started digging underneath her eyelids.
The male voices were telling her to stand and the cold scraping of the cuffs painfully rubbed against her wrists as they grabbed her off the gurney. When she got to her feet, her knees gave out, and they had to keep hold of her as they pulled her through a succession of rooms.
First, there was a bathroom where she caught a glimpse of her face. Half of her body had been caked in blackened dried blood that had congealed inside her hair, standing it up on one end. They took her to another room where they forced her to take her clothes off and hosed her down. The water felt like it was tearing her skin off and she was starting to feel her stomach churn.
A cold-eyed blond nurse ushered her into a small square room with a bed and metal toilet after forcing her to change into a pair of thin blue scrubs. “The pills are going to come up, and you’re going to need this.” She handed Sara a paper cup filled with pills. “There’s muscle relaxers in here as well as tranquilizers.
“I’m going to die.” She sat down on the bed with her arms wrapped around her chests. “It’s too much.”
“Well, you’re not going to feel right for a while. It could take a few months to get your head right, but the pain resides after a day or two.”
The woman knelt down to face her.
“What?”
She met Sara’s eyes. “You’re fucked. You’re going to go to prison, and they’re never going to let you out. You might as well accept that now; otherwise, it’s going to get a lot worse.” She stood up.
“I’d never kill her,” shouted Sara.
“You do
n’t know yourself as well as you think you do.” She handed Sara a cup of water. “Drink the whole thing and take the pills or we’re going to tie you down and give you a shot.”
Sara did just that and laid down on the hard bed. It was a metal frame with a high school gym mat for a mattress, it felt so terrible that when she laid down on it, her back screamed and her entrails threatened to split open her stomach.
The pills slowly crept their way in, infusing her blood and easing the tension. The cramping pain never stopped, though. It stuck with her like her grief, which exploded when what was left of the OxyContin came up. She couldn’t sleep. She knew what would happen if she did. Her mind would torment her with images of her mother and the terrible injustice she was facing.
What did the woman mean when she said that she didn’t know herself as well as she thought? Was there some madness creeping up inside her? Did she hallucinate the monster flying out the window? Maybe she entered a psychiatric state and killed her mother. It made sense. Monsters like that didn’t exist.
It was impossible.
As the hours crept by and Sara sat on the edge of the bed, the guilt started creeping in. She couldn’t trust her own mind, not when she saw things like that creature, staring at her like a snake ready to open its jaws and devour her. Something had made her tear her mother’s throat out.
The police would know. They’d detect pieces of tissue inside her mouth. They’d probably find saliva rimming the wound, and there would, of course, be dental records that could match her teeth to the shape of the bite.
Why did she do that? Was she losing her mind? She had to be. There were times when she’d do nothing but pace around looking for things to clean around the house, desperate to pass the time till her mother got home. Perhaps her mother’s schedule had built up subconscious resentment that caused her to explode. Maybe the nurse was right. She didn’t know herself like she thought she did.