Murder

by Sandra R Neeley

  The teapot, warming on the stove, began to whistle, and Gaston turned to the sink, rinsed his hands, and poured the hot water into the cup Phrygia had already set out on the counter beside the stove. He peeked in the cup and reached toward the wooden box Murder kept his sarsaparilla root in, broke off another piece and crushed it in his fingers before dropping it into the cup and swirling it for a moment before blowing on the hot, steeping liquid, and then carefully holding it out to Phrygia. “Be careful, ‘cher. It’s hot, now.”

  Phrygia took the tea cup from him, nodding. “Thank you,” she answered. “I could have done that. You didn’t have to make my tea.”

  Gaston smiled sadly. “I didn’t even tink about it. Jist seemed natural.” Then he looked her in the eye, his gaze very intense. “It was mah honor tah make your tea, and tah bring you ‘dis food. I mean ‘dat. If it’s all I ever get tah do. It’s been mah honor tah do it.”

  “Thank you, Gaston,” Phrygia said, not able to maintain his gaze. She glanced down into her cup, while he took up cleaning the shrimp again.

  “So, your wife is a very lucky woman to have you to take care of her, I’d bet,” Phrygia said.

  Gaston shook his head. “I don’t have no wife. She died havin’ mah boy. It’s jist been me and him for a long time now.”

  “Really?” Phrygia said, a little too happily. “I mean, really?” she asked, more subdued, a look of concern forced into her eyes.

  Gaston tried to hide his smile. He’d heard her happiness at her finding out he wasn’t married. And he’d seen her try to cover it. But it didn’t fix the problem that existed between them.

  “You’re Murder’s mate, yeah?” he asked.

  Phrygia didn't answer right away. “I guess,” she finally said.

  “’You guess?’ that don’t sound like a ladeh in love.”

  Phrygia sighed, holding her cup close and sipping slowly of the hot, sweet liquid. “I thought we were. And he did, too, I think. Even said I was his. But, then when it came down to it, it’s almost as though we just don’t feel it anymore.”

  “Meybe it’s jist ‘da jitters. I’m sure it’ll be okeh. Murder is a good male,” Gaston said.

  “He is. And he saved me. He came back to Hell for me. Refused to leave without me, and I’ll stand beside him always. It’s just… it’s different now. It feels different.”

  “Differen’ how?” Gaston asked.

  Phrygia shook her head slightly. “I’m not sure. I just don’t feel a pull toward him anymore. Not like I used to.” She looked up and met his eyes suddenly. “Not like I do with certain others.”

  “Others?” he asked. “Or jist one other?” he teased, his lopsided smile making his dimple crease his face deeply. His sun weathered skin was a deep golden brown, and his face had wrinkles on it from squinting into the sun all day. His bright blue eyes sparkled when he looked at her, and his teeth were bright white and perfect. Gaston’s lips were pouty and a pale pink color, almost too pretty to be a man’s mouth.

  Phrygia smiled at him, a bit of sadness still tingeing it. “Just one other. But…” She didn’t finish.

  Gaston swallowed his words. He wanted to press the issue. Scream to the rooftop that she was his! Demand that she leave Murder’s home immediately and come with him to his home. Be his wife, his mate as she was born to be, and a mother to his son. But he couldn’t do that. He was honorable. And he couldn’t do that to a male he called friend, no matter what his heart screamed.

  In the awkward silence, Phrygia decided to reroute the conversation. “So, are you a gargoyle like Murder?” she asked.

  “Me?” he asked, chuckling. “No, not me. I’m not near big enough to be a gargoyle. ‘Doh I am fierce enough.” He regarded her for a moment, finishing up the shrimp. “You said Murder saved you from Hell, does ‘dat mean you a demon, like Aubreigne, meybe. Jist a touch ‘o demon?” he teased. He knew full well she was human. He was a shifter, he could scent it.

  “Me? Oh, no. I’m not a demon. I was just trapped there by Lore’s brother a very, very long time ago.” She shrugged her shoulders and met his gaze again. “I’m just human.”

  “Nuttin’ wrong wit’ bein’ human, ‘cher.”

  “Are you human?” Phrygia asked.

  “No. I’m not.”

  “What are you?” she finally asked, point blank.

  Gaston cocked his head to the side. “If I tell ya, ya promise not to be afrehd ‘o me?”

  “Are you going to hurt me?” she asked, startled by his question.

  “No! Never! I’ll never hurt ya, Phrygia. Never,” he promised emphatically.

  Slowly she nodded. “I promise not to be afraid of you.”

  Gaston looked at her for a moment, considering if he wanted to tell her or not. Some humans feared his kind even if they tried to give the humans a wide berth. It was just their nature. “Remembah, ya promised. I’m still me, all the time. I’m never not in control of me. Okeh?”

  “Okay,” Phrygia responded.

  “I’m a gator shifter.”

  “No, really, what are you?” she asked, not believing him.

  He smiled. “I’m a alligator shifter, Phrygia. I can shift into a gator at will. So can mah boy. But neider one ‘o us would ever hurt ya. Ya believe me?” he asked, watching her closely.

  Phrygia sat, watching him dry his hands from having cleaned them after he finished with the shrimp. His hands were sitting on the counter top while he talked to her, holding the towel he’d dried them on. She leaned over and placed one of her hands on his. “I believe you. I have no doubt that you’d never hurt me, Gaston.”

  Gaston turned his hand over beneath hers and held her hand gently in his own. He looked up and got lost in her gaze. The beautiful deep brown of her eyes drew him in. He felt his heart, his soul reaching out toward hers. Then suddenly he jerked himself back. “I have tah go, Phrygia. I have tah,” he repeated.

  He grabbed up the heads from the shrimp he’d cleaned for her and shoved them back into the cloth sack he’d brought them in, all the while giving her instructions. “If yah melt some butter, and tchrow ‘dem shrimp in ‘dere, ‘den add some wild onion and some lemon if Murder has some, ya’ll have a fine dinner for you and Murder. ‘Dem oysters, jist have Murder start a fire outside and toss ‘em shell and all into ‘da fire. Few minutes later, you scoop ‘em out and open ‘em up, ‘dey’ll have a smokeh flavor. Jist open ‘em up and suck ‘em down. ‘Da fish, ya’ll can make ‘em any way ya like. Put what ya don’t cook right away into ‘dat icebox. It’ll keep for a day or two,” he said, indicating the box shaped item sitting on the floor off to the side of the kitchen. “Not everybodeh has one, but Murder does. It comes in handeh,” Gaston said, smiling nervously at Phrygia. “I’ll go to town and bring ya’ll some more ice for it, tomorruh,” he offered, making a point to stay a few feet away from her and not look directly into her eyes.

  “Did I do something to offend you?” she asked, following him to the front door as he hurriedly made his way out of Murder’s house after gathering his things.

  “No, Phrygia, not at all. If anyting, I enjoyed your companeh too much. I have tah go before I do you, Murder, and myself a great disservice. I’m only so good of a male, Phrygia, and when it comes tah you, I find I ain’t ‘dat good. I’m far too willing tah do whatever I have to tah get one of your smiles. I just have tah go,” he rushed out, before hurrying through the door.

  Phrygia stepped through the door and onto the front porch to speak to him, but he was already gone. She looked left and right, but didn’t see him. She walked outside in the front yard and finally caught sight of him, hurrying around the side of the house. He disappeared into the trees and didn’t even look back. Phrygia stood there, watching after him for a few moments, just staring at the last place she’d seen him, before turning back to Murder’s house and locking herself inside again.

  She walked over to the kitchen where he’d left the shrimp he’d cleaned. She picked up the fish he’d brought wrapped i
n butcher paper and placed it aside until Murder got back. Then she dug around until she found his skillet, and went through Murder’s kitchen until she found the things she thought she’d need, and started to cook the shrimp exactly as Gaston had told her.

  Her heart hurt. She lifted a hand and rubbed at the spot just over her heart, and her eyes went to the front door. “What are we going to do?” she whispered to the empty room. Gaston made her feel at home. He made her feel safe. He made her want to be with him forever. And she’d already promised Murder she was his.

  Chapter 13

  “Explain to me how you ended up running with the devil,” Lore asked, a sarcastic grin on his face. “And even more, why you never told me of it. I should have enjoyed those stories I think.”

  “There is not that much to tell,” Enthrall said, accepting a cup of coffee from Aubreigne, and a slice of fresh raisin bread. “It was shortly after I’d killed my creators. I was drawn to the churches in Paris, though I knew I could never return there. I often went to the bell towers, and the choir lofts and listened to the words of the priests. It was a memory from my childhood, and brought me a certain amount of peace as I wandered, trying to determine what exactly I was, and what was left for me. One night I left one of the churches in a rage. I went straight to the brothel, drinking myself into a stupor before allowing two women to lure me to their bed. Shortly after another male entered the room, with his own set of females. He saw me there and laughed. ‘Did the church not fill your need this day?’ he asked.

  I ignored him, but when I left some hours later, he’d already gone. As I wandered aimlessly, he was suddenly there. ‘Why do you keep company with prostitutes at night, and the holy during the day?’ he asked me.

  I answered him truthfully. ‘Because both bring me a sense of normalcy.’ He nodded and fell into step beside me. We became acquaintances, and then friends. He was as lost as I. We shared stories and tales of exploits until finally we knew each other, better than most. He told me he’d been much revered by his people, then fell from grace long before I’d ever been born. Dissatisfied, and covetous of those who had access to the things he didn’t, he began to secretly live a life his people knew nothing about. He began to have relations with the women who lived near the monastery he was a part of. He began to have relations with the men when he became bored with the women. He drank, he smoked, he broke just about every sacred rule there was, and yet, found no satisfaction, no matter the vice. He’d seen me in the churches, hiding away as though I were a criminal of some sort, and recognized the lost soul in me, as similar to the one in him.

  Then for a time I didn’t see him. I assumed he just moved on. But, when I did see him again, he was much changed. He’d continued on with his vices, falling further and further into the chasm, unable to control his voracious appetite for more — always more, of whatever it was he was sampling.”

  “How was he changed?” Aubreigne asked, spellbound by Enthrall’s story.

  “He was always a perfect image of a male. Almost as though he were a statue come to life, so perfect were his features, his physique. But when I saw him again, while his face was still perfect in appearance, his eyes were now cold and dead. His mouth was twisted into a sneer. And his feet, his feet were no longer feet, they were cloven. Hooves, just like those of the devil.”

  “Why?” Murder asked.

  “I assume it was because he had outlived his chance to redeem his actions here, and was once again returning to the form he took in Hell.”

  “Why seek you out? What did he want?” Lore asked.

  “He offered me a world of my own. I could make it what I would. Lord of my own domain.”

  “He wanted you to take his place?!” Lore exclaimed.

  “He did. And then I realized what he was — who he was, and I cast him away from me, whispering long ago memorized prayers in Latin. He laughed at my attempt to cast him away. He said, ‘You can’t wish me away with your tiny whisperings to a god who forsook you long before I met you, vampire. It’s a simple yes or no. Do you wish to be Lord over your own domain. Simply say the word, and it’s yours.’

  I refused. I told him to leave me, I wanted nothing more from him, not then, not ever. And he left me, walking away in the night. But before he did he stood before me, holding his hands out to his sides. ‘Look on me, vampire. Remember me as the man that you have known. At least give me that much, that I might have a part of me remain here, where my chances at happiness were dashed to pieces before I even realized what they were.’

  I told him that I would. And I have remembered him. From time to time, I’d awaken with his image in my mind. Wondering for days if it was a dream or if he’d really visited me. Then recently he began to get more insistent. I cannot sleep. He haunts my dreams, demanding that I give him a chance to live again. He begs that I, as protector of Whispers, give him sanctuary. That I give him one last chance. A favor to a friend met so long ago in another life, in another place.”

  “But he tried to trick you into taking his place in Hell!” Murder rushed out.

  Enthrall nodded. “He did. But if you were trapped down there, wouldn’t you try any way you could to have another take your place that you may be released?”

  “You make excuses for him,” Lore said.

  “No,” Aubreigne said, looking at Enthrall as she answered Lore. “Enthrall is simply saying what we all already know. Just because you sometimes do bad things, doesn’t make you inherently bad. It’s the reason he was able to get through my safeguards. He’s not evil. He’s done this to himself with desiring more than he should have. And now he wants out. He wants another chance.”

  “He does. But he’s had other chances. He confided as much. And each were fruitless because of his gluttony. His inability to stop himself from falling deeper and deeper into whichever vice he sought as salve for his hurts.”

  “Will he hurt me?” Aubreigne asked.

  “I don’t know, Aubreigne. I’d think not, since he’s hoping to not have to return to Hell. But as much as I don’t believe him inherently evil, I do know what he is capable of. I couldn’t trust him. Not with you, not with anyone. That’s why I refused to grant him sanctuary.”

  “And that’s why he threw himself through the mists to follow us,” Murder said.

  “I believe so,” Enthrall answered.

  Hours later, after an exhaustive search of all the areas surrounding Aubreigne’s home, Enthrall and Lore finally left, returning to their own respective homes. Only Murder, still trying to convince Aubreigne to come home with him, remained.

  “I’ll be fine, Murder. I don’t believe he wants to hurt me, he had the opportunity to do so last night and didn’t. He simply drew a picture to let me know he was here, then left before I awakened.”

  “I can’t leave you and Deaumanique here, Aubreigne,” Murder insisted.

  “You can, and you will. He didn't hurt me. He didn’t even approach Deaumanique. He just moved me to the sofa and watched while I slept.”

  “How will I know if you need me? You cannot call to me, I am mated!” Murder said, his voice rising with his concern.

  Aubreigne huffed a feminine, frustrated breath. “Go outside. Let me try. Perhaps you will still hear me.”

  Murder stomped outside with his eyes narrowed, not expecting her to slam her door and lock it after him. “Aubreigne! Open this door!” he ordered, pushing against the door.

  “Go away, Murder,” her voice answered.

  Murder rested his forehead against the heavy wooden door. “At least try to call to me,” he asked more calmly.

  Aubreigne closed her eyes and sent out her thoughts, her voice in her head, telling Murder she was fine.

  Outside Murder smiled. “I got it. I can still hear you, my friend.”

  Aubreigne’s brow wrinkled in confusion, but still she answered in a way that would assure him, so he’d go away and allow her some time to think about her situation and how she felt it would be best handled. ‘Then you know I wi
ll call to you if needed. Go home to your mate,’ she sent back to him in her thoughts so that he’d be assured she could still reach him that way.

  “Alright,” Murder answered aloud.

  <<<<<<<>>>>>>>

  Murder arrived home to an amazing smell wafting from his house. He opened the door and his nostrils flared, following the scent from his small foyer to his kitchen. “Phrygia?” he called.

  “I’m in here,” she answered. “I hope you don’t mind, I started dinner. I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I cooked the shrimp and some of the fish.”

  “It smells good,” he answered. “I was hungry, but after smelling your cooking, now I’m starving,” he said, leaning over to peek around her shoulder into the skillet she tended. “Where did you get the shrimp and the fish?” he asked.

  “Gaston. He brought them by. And some oysters, too. But I didn’t know what to do with those. He said to start a fire and toss them in the flames for a few minutes. I thought I’d leave those for you. I put the rest of the fish and the oysters in that box there, the one that’s cold…” she explained, pointing at the icebox.

  “It’s an icebox. It helps food last longer. I’ll ask Enthrall to go to town and bring back another block of ice for it,” Murder said distractedly, considering what Phrygia had told him.

  “I’ve never seen such a thing. It’s amazing,” Phrygia said, opening the door and peeking inside it again at the melting block of ice tucked away inside. “But you won’t need to ask Enthrall for more ice. Gaston said he’d bring some for me — us, I mean.”

  Murder thought about it. Only very rarely had Gaston brought him seafood, and it was when he was making the rounds, offering it to anyone who might wish to purchase it. It had never been a gift. “What else did Gaston say?”

  “Nothing, really. Just that you are a good male and deserve to be happy, so he was happy for us,” she said, serving both the fish and shrimp she’d cooked in bowls and placing a crusty piece of bread alongside it. “I remembered how to make bread, I think, though it’s been a long time since I did so. Hope you don’t mind.”