Bloodspell

by Amalie Howard

  "I called them the Stepfords. Robotic cheer dolls," Victoria said dryly.

  A guffaw from Charla. "I'm coining that one! Hilarious!"

  "So why did you leave?" Angie's insistence irked Victoria.

  "I got sick and missed a bunch of classes, and I ... wanted to go somewhere else."

  Angie blinked. "Just like that?"

  "No, not 'just like that.' What is your problem?" Victoria snapped. Angie's black eyes remained speculative, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. Charla shot Angie a surprised look.

  "Jeez, Ange. Chill. Who cares? It's no wonder she had to transfer. I'd probably get expelled in a second if I went there." Charla winked in the rear view mirror. "But enough crazy talk, let's get some tunes going to kick off the weekend, shall we?"

  As the sounds of funk-inspired hip-hop filled the car, Victoria leaned back, watching the dark green scenery go by letting its beauty diffuse her irritation. Here and there, some leaves had already begun to redden, hinting that fall was just around the corner. New England's stunning autumn landscapes were unsurpassed. She sighed, enjoying the breeze blowing through her hair.

  A silver car heading in the opposite direction caught her eye. The car was fantastic, sleek and foreign, and looked totally out of place in Canville. As it passed by, almost in slow motion, she could see the familiar, striking face through the windshield.

  Christian Devereux ...

  His eyes caught and held hers, and for a moment, they were both frozen, time and space passing around them. She tore her eyes away from his as they drove past, resisting the urge to turn around in her seat and stare. One look, and it felt as if she were dissipating, like fragments of paper on water.

  "Is Christian Devereux hot or what?" Charla said, breaking her trance. "And that car! What I wouldn't give to get a ride in that!" She laughed. Angie rolled her eyes.

  "Does he go to Windsor?" Victoria blurted out. "I mean I saw him at Admission's."

  "Harland. But he's involved with a class at Windsor," Charla said. "Seriously, I couldn't stand to take AP Epistemology. I would be like freaking out the whole time."

  "AP what?" Victoria said.

  "Epistemology," Charla said with a grin. "Mouthful, right?"

  "That's a class?"

  Angie surprised Victoria by commenting in a dry voice. "It's an elective class, part of a new program—the study of knowledge and truth and what people believe in, things like that. It's a new major at Harland, one of the first in the state I think, and they want to gauge high school student interest. Everyone freaks out when he comes to class. It's totally ridiculous." Quietly under her breath, she added, "as if they even know what he is." Victoria heard her and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

  "What do you mean? What is he?"

  Angie was quiet for a minute, and Victoria thought she was going to ignore her as usual but Angie surprised her by turning around. "You know, he's some kind of foreign prodigy slumming, but you'd think he was a celebrity the way everyone gets." Her tone was as disgusted as if she had something awful in her mouth. Victoria wasn't sure if that was because she was addressing her or because she was talking about Christian Devereux.

  "Well, I don't care!" Charla said. "Slumming prodigy or not, I would do anything to get in that car. I would look so hot in there!" For some reason, Charla's words infuriated Victoria but she stifled the blistering response that rose in her chest and plastered a smile on her face instead. Charla grinned in the rearview mirror. "Here we are!"

  The lake was encircled by thick green woodland. They parked and walked down a wooded trail to the water's edge where a long, gray pier jutted out. The water was crystal clear and the sun hung low on the horizon, casting a golden tinge across it. There were throngs of people milling about, many of whom she didn't know, but Victoria didn't mind as the coolness of the water on her toes and the smell of the clean, warm air were more than enough to make her forget about everything else.

  A floating dock out in the middle of the lake looked inviting and Victoria thought she would swim to it. She stripped off her jeans and was just tugging on her T-shirt when she heard her name.

  "Tori," a high-pitched voice shrieked. Victoria turned to see Charla dragging along a cocky-looking young man. "This is Gabriel. Everyone calls him Gabe. Gabe, meet Tori. She's with us."

  At first glance, Victoria could see why Charla was head over heels for Gabriel. He was good-looking with black curling hair and dark, flashing eyes. His skin was tanned and his body athletically muscular. He looked like a gypsy. Victoria could see the strong resemblance to Angie, and the only real difference between them was her perpetually sulky mouth and his smiling one. He stuck out his hand and took Tori's in a warm grasp.

  "Nice to meet you, Gabriel. So you're Angie's brother?"

  "Funny, how can you tell?" he said. He smiled conspiratorially and a slight overbite kept his face from being too perfect. "So how do you like Windsor so far?"

  "I actually really like it, thanks." His eyes were intense.

  The way he looked at her as if he were really interested in hearing what she had to say was refreshing. After all, she had only met Charla, who didn't really care what anyone else had to say as she could more than capably say it for them; Angie, who never had anything to say; and Christian, who infuriated her to the point that she couldn't say anything at all.

  "Do you swim?" he asked, nodding toward the floating dock.

  Victoria's smile was genuine as she moved toward the end of the pier. "Race you!" She pulled off her T-shirt in mid-run and dove neatly into the crisp, clear water. The coolness enveloped her skin and she remained under for several strokes, enjoying the feel of the cold water before cutting the surface. She extended her arms in a competent free-style and sliced through the water. She was an excellent swimmer and knew she could give Gabriel a run for his money. As she pulled herself up, a hand reached down to help pull her out the rest of the way, followed by a laughing, dripping Gabriel.

  "How did you ...?" she said. "You must be part fish!"

  "Too slow!" he said, laughing as she struggled to catch her breath. "Okay, I confess, I'm captain of the Windsor Swim Team."

  Victoria's laughter echoed across the water. It was wonderful to feel so at ease and relaxed with someone she had just met. She lay back.

  "So where are you from? You didn't get that skin color from living in Maine, right?" Gabriel asked.

  "Not so much." She grinned. "I get my permanent tan from my mother's side of the family, Persian ancestry I think. I lived in New York for most of my childhood and then I moved to Millinocket with my aunt when I was nine."

  "Well, I'm glad you did," he said. Victoria blushed.

  "It's so beautiful here," she said looking around, awed by the natural beauty of the lake with its thick wooded shores and pristine waters. "I mean New York is great but there's just nothing like this anywhere else, you know? This is perfection."

  "Spent my whole life in the city, but since I've been here for three years, I can't imagine being anywhere else. I know exactly what you mean when you say that it's perfection."

  They lay in companionable silence, watching the sun slide slowly behind the horizon. The air was still warm, and it was starting to get quiet as the voices on the far shore faded. Victoria never felt more at peace than at that moment. She turned on her side toward Gabriel, and realized that he was looking at her intently.

  "What?" she asked, "do I have something on my face?"

  "No." Gabriel smiled. "I was wondering about something." He hesitated for a second. "I was wondering how someone like you ends up hanging out with Charla, the chatterbox, and my social leper of a sister. I mean, how does that happen? Was there a sign that said 'sign up here to commit social suicide' when you enrolled? Did they pay you?" He kept a straight face but Victoria was laughing by the time he got to the end.

  "Charla's, well, Charla. I like listening to her talk, because I don't have to," Victoria said. "And you
r sister is not a social leper." She hesitated. "I like Angie."

  Gabriel burst out laughing. "You know, if you hadn't choked on the 'like' part of that, I could have actually fallen for it!" He grinned at her chagrin. "Don't worry, she can be a little ... abrasive. Let's just say that we don't get along that well even though we are related." Gabriel got to his feet, and pulled Victoria up beside him. "Okay, if I give you a five stroke head-start, you think you can put up a better show than you did last time getting out here?"

  "You're on!" Victoria swam for all she was worth toward the shore. She almost swallowed a mouthful of water when she saw Gabriel's lithe form coming up beside her. He was a powerful swimmer and something about the way he moved in the water seemed effortless. Breathless, they waded up the pebbly shore toward Charla and Angie who were sitting on a picnic table with two other friends.

  "I think we can call that one a tie!" she said.

  He gave her an incredulous look. "Maybe I'll give you that one, new girl, as a gesture of goodwill, but that was no tie." He grinned mischievously as he threw one arm across her shoulders. "We'll have to have a rematch one of these days."

  Victoria noticed Charla's eyes narrow, and brushed Gabriel's arm off hurriedly by pretending to grab a towel. He didn't pay any attention and sauntered over to Angie, ruffling her hair. Her face, if possible, got even tighter and angrier, and she flinched from his touch as if he had slapped her. Victoria frowned, puzzled at her reaction. Gabriel said something to her, laughed his deep laugh and walked away. Angie's face looked like she was going to explode, throw up, or do both.

  "Later, Charls! See you around, Tori," Gabriel said over his shoulder. He ignored his sister, which Victoria thought was odd, but understandable given the dynamic she had just witnessed between them.

  They headed out soon after and the drive back was even more magnificent. The sky was a riot of color—red, gold and orange streaking across a deepening blue canvas. Victoria couldn't get over the purity of the landscape. Its beauty was everywhere she looked, in the trees, in the sky, in the lake, in the air. Even the houses were perfectly picturesque in the scenic setting. Victoria sighed. This was what she loved best about Maine; it was as if she were living in a Monet landscape where everything was vibrantly alive. She drank it all in, and it wasn't long before they got back to the campus parking lot where she'd left her car.

  "See you on Monday then, Tori, if you're not at Marlow's tomorrow," Charla said. "Have fun on your date."

  "It's not a date," Victoria said, but they had already driven off.

  Reluctantly, she headed back to her apartment. The minute she walked in, like a siren, the music box on her dresser drew her attention. She'd had some time to decompress on the drive home, and looking at it no longer made her feel like burying it at the bottom of the lake.

  Though she'd pushed the journal from her mind, some part of her subconscious had still processed its essential meaning—one, the Duchess of Warrick was her great, great, great, great grandmother; two, Victoria had inherited her blood from a line that stretched back at least three hundred years; and three, she was a witch, a very powerful witch.

  She was less edgy for some reason, probably because she was worn out after her swim. Maybe she should go for a run—it was still early enough. Or read the rest of the journal, her sneaky inner voice whispered. The sudden rush of blood in her ears made her hesitate.

  "Oh, get over it," she told herself, and walked over to the box, opening it. Beethoven switched on as she turned to the last page that she had read.

  The next entry was dated October 31, 1616, ten years after the last. The tone was dispassionate and cold just like its prior entries. The strokes of ink were hard and bitter.

  London, England. My abilities are endless. As I learned with Elizabeth, when my Change happened during my seventeenth year, my new blood foreshadowed death. I did not write about it in my last message to you, but all the servants at her birth … and death, died from poisoning of the blood. Such poetic irony. Still, I have discovered something about myself. I can change it. I can control it. You would not believe the things I can do!

  Victoria shuddered but forced herself to keep reading and finish the passage. Every fiber of her being wanted to toss the journal as far away from her as possible, away from the grotesquely cold sense of delight that emerged from its pages, but a quietly insistent part of her needed to know who she was. What she was. She continued to read.

  Lancaster was the first. I tried to reach him when he took Marcus away. And I found him. My mind found his so easily, almost like he had called me to him. I could still feel his love for me as he pleaded for me to leave our son with him. “You are lost, Brigid,” he said, “do not lose us too.” My heart cleaved in two as I heard those words. But still I felt the war within myself, my heart and my blood dueling. Lancaster could feel our love losing. Blood always won. “Then you will need to take me,” he said, “for I will never let him go.” My eyes burned black as my blood boiled in fury, and in my anger, I crushed the life from his body with a single word! The blood’s cursed magic rejoiced and I felt the castle walls shudder as a part of me died with him. Lancaster was right. I am lost! I murdered him. But still, that was not the end of it, I could not help myself, I searched for Marcus too. And for my life, I could not, still cannot, see him. I am amazed he can block himself so easily from me. My son, after all.

  Victoria continued to read, the next entry again a year later in 1617.

  London, England. I have found Marcus. But perhaps as Lancaster intended, he is in the safest place he can be in King James’ court. I don’t believe Lancaster ever betrayed me to King James, but I can hear their frightened thoughts easily. My stillborn Elizabeth and now Lancaster’s death were pieces of a simple puzzle, and James is ruthless in his pursuit against witchcraft. Confessed or proven, the penalty under his rule is death. I can sense he knows the truth of what I am.

  There were only a few entries left in the thin journal, the next written almost nine years later, in March of 1626. The script was hurried, obviously written in great haste. But as with all of Brigid's entries, Victoria knew she wrote only because it had meant something to her or had some significance in her life. Victoria quickly calculated her ancestor's age. Brigid would have been thirty-seven years old.

  Newcastle, England. My power is boundless now, taking its price in blood, running in my veins unbidden and overflowing. All manner of night creatures serve my desires, even the dark fey who serve none. I am the queen of darkness, the harbinger of death.

  The Witch Clans seek an alliance, for they fear me. The Warlocks compete for my favor for they desire dominion above all else. As a high witch, if I choose to take a consort, he will rule at my side. But I have no interest in ruling the Clans or the Warlocks, nor do I wish to control the Wolf-beasts, the Fey or the Undead or any matter of dark creature. I have made that abundantly clear. The only thing my blood knows is death, and I crave it like the Undead crave the essence of human life. I am a slave to it, forever serving, forever bound.

  Valerius, a Vampire Ancient, sought an audience today. The threat of war is looming and they question my intent. The answer is simple—do not rise against me to take what isn’t yours to take. The look of pity in his eyes as I struggled with the demands of the blood almost made me kill him. The Reii, the Ancient Undead, are powerful … he would be so delicious. And the blood was so thirsty, so demanding, clamoring for him. But for some reason, I resisted. Perhaps it was because I saw a little of my own Lancaster in him. Perhaps it was that very look of pity that saved him, that sorrowful understanding in those penetrating eyes.

  Somehow he knew. I banished my desire, even though to flaunt the forbidden would have been so entertaining—a witch queen and a vampire consort. It would unmake laws, defy legions, unhinge everything. But there is no time. The attack is imminent. I let him go. Four others died in his stead, no sacrifice was too great, and the blood was so hungry … always wanting more.

  As sure as I
can foresee tomorrow’s events, it will be a bloodbath. The Clans will attack, and united with the Warlocks, they will be strong, but still no match. The payment in blood will be consummate and my power will revel in the inevitable sacrifice. My eyes bleed black from the blood that oppresses me—its possession of me is nearly complete.

  Victoria's throat was dry. The journal felt heavy in her hands, like a stone pulling her down into uncharted, treacherous waters. She could feel the blood churning within her, recognizing itself in the journal, and she couldn't suppress the surge of fear that made the tendons in her neck ache—the fear that inside, maybe she was just like Brigid.

  Blood always won.

  VICTORIA DRESSED SLOWLY. She had just been for a five-mile run on the ring road around the town. The exercise had been exactly what she'd needed after finishing the journal the night before. She hadn't slept a wink. It had been overwhelming—the casual mention of witches and fey and vampires, not to mention so much death and bloodshed. She'd felt even more like Alice thrust down an ever-deepening rabbit hole. The magnitude of her birthright and the shadowy path of her future hung like twin nooses around her neck.

  Who was she, really?

  She shook her head and tried to pull herself together for her date with Christian. Apart from seeing him for those brief seconds driving past each other yesterday en route to the lake, she hadn't seen him all week. She should have felt relieved but instead, she'd felt strangely depressed. The ringing of the telephone made her jump.

  "Hello?"

  "Tori, it's Christian," he said without preamble. "I realize I didn't mention where we were going." His velvety voice was husky, and Victoria's throat tightened in automatic response. "I was wondering about that," she said.

  "The Portland Museum of Art has an exhibit that I've been looking forward to seeing, and I was thinking we could get dinner afterward, if you'd like?"