Phillip backed into the corner. The triangle of life? He remembered hearing such a thing somewhere… Was this an earthquake?
“Find me!” The woman’s voice echoed in the room. This was no earthquake. This was the very opposite of Nature!
“Enough!” Phillip closed his eyes and covered his ears. Helpless, he got on his knees. “Who are you?!”
An unnatural stillness took over the room with a deafening silence. Phillip’s eyes filled with dread as they stared into the mirror. There she was, the penetrating gaze of her kohl-rimmed eyes pierced him through. Her full red lips parted slowly.
“Alisa…”
“I tell you, getting rid of a body used to be a lot easier back in my day—bloody hell, Phillip!” Ivan said. “What are you doing curled up on the floor?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Phillip said, covering his head with both hands. “Is it over?”
Ivan swept the room with a quick glance. “Is what over?”
Phillip looked around him. There were no shards of glass scattered on the floor, the portraits hung on the walls… just as if nothing had ever happened.
Had he imagined it all?
Phillip got on his feet. He reached for his gym bag, zipped it up, and slid the strap over his shoulder. “I’m getting out of here.”
“Phillip! Wait up!” Ivan went after his fledgling. Whatever happened inside that room had been enough to shatter his nerves. “Calm yourself. Come on, let’s go home.”
They were silent most of the way. Ivan sped through the 101, thinking of the best approach to make Phillip understand he was not the victim of a ghost’s prank. How could he break it to him gently?
“Phillip,” he began. “You’re not being haunted.”
“I know what I saw.” Phillip clenched his jaw.
The Golden Gate bridge drew on the horizon. Villa Belle Vedere was but a few miles ahead.
“You’re being summoned.” Ivan entered another gear.
“Summoned?” His fledgling frowned.
“It used to be known as a Call of Blood,” Ivan said.
“A Call of Blood? What do you mean?”
“What I mean is… whoever has been contacting you is very much alive.” He paused. “Vampires resort to this kind of communication from time to time.”
“Ivan, what the hell?” turning over in his seat. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”
Ivan raised his brow. “Well, I would have… had you not lost it back there.”
“The woman… She told me her name,” Phillip mused, surely pondering the million ways in which he had behaved like a complete fool.
“Very well. Let’s get it all out there and then put a lid on it.” Ivan laughed. “What is the name of this unfortunate soul?”
“She called herself… Alisa.”
Ivan hit the brakes. The tires screeched as he pulled over to the emergency lane near the Vista Point.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Phillip asked.
The name took him back three hundred years in an unexpected whirlwind of memories and blow after blow of emotions. Pain struck him first but soon followed absolute fury. Ivan’s accursed blood boiled in his veins.
Impossible.
“Are you sure, Phillip? Is that the name she gave you?” Impossible to appease his racing heart, the tightness of his chest, the hurried sense of hopelessly falling into a bottomless pit—a catastrophic chain of reactions unleashed inside him because of that wretched name.
“I am,” Phillip said. “Her voice was as clear as yours is right now.”
Ivan bit his lower lip. A battle brewed in the depths of his soul between the utter disdain towards the name’s owner and the compelling need to unveil the truth.
“What does she want?” Ivan mused, but Phillip paid no attention to his words. He was too lost in his own deliberations.
“Telepathic communication… This woman must be terribly powerful to achieve that.” Phillip pursed his lips. “Was it her absolute intention to break into my thoughts, or perhaps it was I who tapped into hers unknowingly?”
Ivan stepped out of the car. He paced around the Ferrari like a wild mastiff. “I can’t believe this is happening… not after all this time.” He turned to Phillip. “Well, where is she?”
“Huh?” Stepping out of the car, Phillip looked at Ivan with a vacant stare. Absolutely infuriating.
“Where is she, Phillip?” Ivan roared.
His fledgling slammed the door shut. “Dammit, Ivan! I don’t know!”
“You don’t know? All these years… Have I taught you nothing? Trace her thoughts—see where they lead you!”
Running his fingers through his hair, Phillip smirked. “Don’t you think I’ve tried that? It doesn’t work, Ivan. Somehow, she’s out of my reach. It’s like she’s blocked or something—wait. Why do you suddenly care so much?”
“I don’t.” Ivan leaned against the bumper. “Alisa… It’s been almost a century since I last spoke her name,” he said in a softer tone. “She’s reached out to you because our blood bond prevents her from communicating with me.”
Phillip’s eyes widened. “Do you mean—?”
“Yes,” heaving a heavy sigh. “I gave her the Gift of Darkness. She’s the first vampire I ever made.”
Phillip remained silent for a while. God knows what thoughts crossed his preternatural mind…
“We must find her,” he finally said.
“Must we?” Ivan scowled.
“What on earth do you mean by that?” Phillip’s righteousness came shining through. “She needs us, Ivan.” He paused. “You would leave your blood to their own devices?”
“You don’t understand... It’s too complicated.”
“Allow me to make it simpler,” his fledgling replied. “Should I be concerned of this too? Am I to expect no help from you whatsoever if the time came?”
“Enough… You’ve made your point,” Ivan muttered. But why should he do anything to help her? Couldn’t she manage perfectly well without him? She had done so for the last three hundred years.
“I wish there was something I could do to help her,” Phillip mused.
“Saint Phillip…” Ivan got in the car. “Don’t worry. I know someone who can.”
Cassandra
Light rain poured. Cassandra stepped off the cable car, careful not to slip on her way down Hyde Street. The darkened streets shimmered as they captured the bright amber gleam of the bistro in the corner.
Carrying the last moving box, she strolled down the tree-lined avenue. The weather took her back home, back to the summer evenings she used to spend at Deveraux Manor with Granny.
“Le temps passe…” Time flies, she mused. Although Annette had reached eighty-six years of age, nothing could have prepared Cassandra for her sudden loss. Deep down in her heart, she had hoped Granny would stay with her forever.
She had flown to Paris for the funeral. It was as she stood before Granny’s casket that something had clicked in her brain and she decided she could no longer share a roof with her father and his much younger bombshell of a bride. As it happened, Uncle John had been standing beside her as the coffin rolled down into the cemetery’s entrails.
Should you ever need anything, he had said. We’re family, Cassandra. Remember that.
Cassandra had followed Dad to America after the divorce, but she never imagined there would be a third person in the picture. By leaving Paris, she had broken Mom’s heart—she couldn’t go back to her now.
Things were not going well between Dad and her. A little over a year after her parents’ divorce, Dad had announced his engagement to this woman—this Mona Mai—who as a cunning siren had emerged from the ocean during one of Dad’s surfing lessons down at Pacifica.
John, she had whispered as the funeral service ended. Can I stay at your place?
My place? Uncle John had looked surprised. Deveraux Hall is your home as well. You can move in the second you land in San Francisco, Cassie. He winked and handed her t
he keys. I’m off to Egypt tomorrow.
Uncle John’s line of work made him travel most of the year. Imparting Archaeology seminars around the world was his guilty pleasure and Cassie’s good fortune, for this gave her freedom and independence beyond her dreams.
She dangled the keys between her fingers as she hummed the nursery song Granny sung to her as a child, Au Clair de la Lune.
Cassandra stopped before the iron gate. The Queen-Anne-styled home had belonged to her family for over two centuries. The history contained within its walls was all but tangible. A deep sense of pride filled her heart as she stared at the majestic facade, but the day had been long, and exhausted as she was, she could only think of walking through those doors and plummeting on the first sofa that met her eye.
Standing in the middle of the foyer, she sighed.
Such a dreadful day… I need wine. A nice Bordeaux will make it all—
“Meow.”
“Merde!” She dropped the box and keys. Her shaking hands landed on her chest, trying to soothe her racing heart… That voice—she knew it all too well. “Dammit, Lockhart!”
The fiend raised his brow. “Hello, Deveraux,” he said. “Nice to see you too.”
There he was, sitting on the living room’s sofa with a detestable air of command. She hated him for trespassing like this—like he owned the place. She couldn’t handle his random appearances.
Who does he think he is, barging in like this?
“It’s been less than a week since I moved here. How did you—?” Wait. There was another one with him. “I see you brought a friend…” Cassie mused. She picked up the keys from the floor and dropped them on the credenza at the entrance.
“How rude of me, allow me to introduce you: Cassandra Deveraux, this is Phillip Blackwell. Phillip, this is the witch I told you about.”
Phillip hinted at Lockhart an intimate mischievous smile. At least someone was having fun in this awkward situation… Vampires, they’re all the same!
“What do you want, Lockhart?” With arms folded over her chest, she leaned against the living room’s doorway.
“I need the necklace back. I assume you keep Annette’s number?”
Cassie frowned. What the hell was he talking about? “What necklace?” she asked.
Lockhart’s shock was transparent.
“The necklace, kid. I need it.” The vampire gasped. He paced in the room, his translucent green eyes searching every wall with no success. And his hand, pale and long-fingered, smoothed over the pianoforte’s cover as he scrutinized the many portraits above it. At last, his finger landed on one of the oldest frames.
“This necklace,” he said on the verge of exasperation.
Against every thread of common sense telling her to stay away from the blood drinker’s reach, Cassie moved closer.
The vampire had chosen a picture of her great grandmother Katherine, everyone in the family called her Grandmama. The scenery looked like it belonged in a vintage photographic studio, when in reality, it was Deveraux Manor’s main entrance.
In the portrait, Grandmama Katherine’s dark hair was styled in a sleek dutch bob, she wore a lavish beaded gown with ancient Egyptian motifs, and standing next to her in a flawless tux was the very devil in question—the vampire Ivan Lockhart.
Grandmama dating a blood drinker… What were you thinking, Katherine? Whatever she thought, the gleam in her eyes revealed nothing but joy. A hand clasped around Lockhart’s arm and the other one subtly showed the pearl necklace she wore. The choker had a brooch in the center… an emerald, maybe?
“It’s a sapphire,” Lockhart said, snatching the portrait from her hands. “Embedded in diamonds.” He paused. “Will you please call Annette? She’ll know what to do.”
Her heart sunk in darkness as the thought sprung back in her mind: I cannot reach Granny anymore… because she’s dead.
Lockhart’s eyes flew open. Stupefied, he plummeted on the sofa.“Oh, ma cher Annette… Not now,” he mused.
The vampire had read her mind. He’d gone through her thoughts as easily as turning the pages of a magazine… It mattered little. Her worries aimed elsewhere.
Nobody in the family had ever mentioned this necklace to her. Why had she been kept in the dark? Did the family conceal from her other matters as well?
Lockhart’s friend rose from the sofa. He almost seemed mortal in his dark blue jeans and brown leather jacket. But his casual look was deceiving. The jeans were Armani, and the bomber flight jacket was Hugo Boss. He fitted the clothes well. What with his height and body build, the man looked ready for a runway walk—bon sang. He was heading her way.
“I think we’ve started this all wrong,” Phillip said in a velvety voice. There was something pleasant about the shape of his mouth, a hint of a dimple appeared when he curved the corner of his lips.
The vampire offered her his hand. “Won’t you sit with us, Cassandra?” Something similar to innocence gleamed in his blue eyes. He was so charming… Yes, he was charming, but he was also a blood drinker. It was hard to imagine that this beautiful man was a ruthless killer, but that’s what he was.
Cassandra took Phillip’s hand and sat on the white Chesterfield sofa. A thousand thoughts raced in her mind, but not a word crossed her lips. Taciturn Cassie, that’s me.
“It’s understandable. There are two vampires in your home.” The voice was Phillip’s. She heard it clearly, but his lips had not moved.
“How about some wine?” Phillip said. “I’m sure you keep a bottle of Bordeaux around here.” He gave her a knowing look.
“The liquor cabinet’s right there,” she said, pointing at the antique piece of furniture.
Phillip poured her a glass, and she took it off his hands the second he offered it. She needed a drink… Was she considered unworthy of knowing her family’s secrets? Was it because of what her mother did?
“Santé…” Cassie raised the glass and took a swig.
“This was a complete waste of time,” Lockhart mused, getting on his feet.
“We don’t know that,” Phillip said with a soothing voice.
“Don’t you see, Phillip? With Annette gone, my chances of finding the necklace are practically nil. And then there’s her,” addressing Cassandra with a quick hand gesture. “She has no clue whatsoever... She doesn’t even know what the necklace is!”
“Neither do I,” he was quick to answer.
“And why should you know? But her—she’s a Deveraux, isn’t she?”
“Will you stop talking as if I weren’t here?!” The words burst from her in a sudden rage. “What the hell’s going on? What is this necklace, and why should I know a thing about it?”
“All right, let’s all calm down…” Phillip stood between them, the referee of a match from hell. “Listen, first of all, you have to tell us everything you know.”
“Exactly!” Lockhart rushed to say. “You must know something, Cassandra.”
“Not her…” Phillip paused. “You, Ivan.”
“Me?” Lockhart scowled.
Phillip bit his lower lip, narrowing his eyes while he studied Lockhart’s reaction, as if pondering his following words. He turned and walked over towards Cassandra… Phillip Blackwell was the most distracting creature—vampire, killer… whatevs.
The blood drinker sat next to her. There was another sofa right in front of Cassie, why did he choose to wreck her nerves like that? Go away, you handsome vampire.
Phillip sighed. “Listen Ivan, it all comes to this: Whatever information she may know can only be triggered by what you know.” He shrugged. “You must tell us everything about this necklace.”
The tables had turned. It was now Cassandra who wanted information. She needed to know everything about her family’s secret.
Heaving a heavy sigh, Lockhart sat on the piano’s bench. He buried his face in his hands. It was the first time she had ever seen him this upset, even worried. Cassandra had always envied Lockhart’s relaxed attitude towards life—guess bei
ng carefree is easy when your life is spared from an expiration date.
“It’s the only way,” Phillip pressed.
Ivan held the portrait once more. He turned into a marble statue as his vampire eyes studied his beloved Katherine’s face.
Ivan
“Stay still.”
The burst of light hurt my eyes. It was called a flashbulb, photographers used it these days to provide enough illumination for the picture to develop. The result was a clear black-and-white image, completely different from the 1800s’ daguerreotypes.
Times are changing fast. The world has shifted in the last century, and yet I stay the same.
“I shouldn’t have done this, Katherine,” I said. “It doesn't seem safe.”
“Think no more of it, Ivan. You have survived the photograph, mon chéri.” She clasped my hand between hers and its warmth calmed my agitation.
It was New Year's Eve in Paris. I had wanted to resist the glamor and romantic appeal cast over me by the city of Lights, but then, I met Katherine. I fell in love. She unknowingly held me in her thrall.
With her, I spent the most wonderful years of my vampiric life.
It was Katherine's idea—the soiree. I had never taken part of a gathering of this nature, a farewell gala for the dying year. I carried hundreds of dead years under my belt at this point, another one meant very little to me, but for mortals each year was precious.
Farewell, 1921. Welcome, 1922.
Deveraux Manor became the scenery for this grand event. Having a picture taken at the guest's arrival was mandatory—and quite fashionable.
Katherine wrapped her bare shoulders with her chinchilla shawl. She stepped outside to the terrace. It snowed, but she didn't seem to mind and I cared nothing for the weather, being the preternatural devil that I am.
She drank from her champagne saucer and half smiled. “It's wonderful, isn't it?”
“What is?”
“Life... This moment.” She left the glass on the balustrade and buried her face in my chest. I held her in my arms, loving to shield her frail body under my embrace.
Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren Page 3