by Lisa Sanchez
I heard my grandmother’s voice cry out in desperation. “Arabella, no!”
Tears flooded my eyes as I ran to the door, gripping the brass handle and yanking it open with as much force as my sixty-pound body would allow. My mother needed me, and I was going to help her. Running down the long hallway, I stopped short at the top of the staircase looking down into the large living room below. Time as I knew it seemed to slow down immeasurably as I took in the horrific scene. The events following seemed to play out in slow motion, much like you see in movies.
“Mommy!” I screamed and began my descent down the stairs, determined to save her from the man who held her captive.
The intruder who grasped my mother appeared to be kissing her on the neck, while for some odd reason she made no attempt to struggle. His long, white hair draped across my mother’s chest, making it hard for me to see his face. A cold chill shot up my spine making the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Paralyzing fear stole my breath away. Why was my mother letting the strange man kiss her like that? Who was he? Lucian?
My great-grandmother stood in the far corner of the room with a large book in her hand, chanting strange words over and over. Her left hand extended up, fingers straining toward the ceiling. Looking up, I saw another man with long black hair, struggling to get down from where my great-grandmother had pinned him with her magic.
Upon seeing me, she dropped her book and shouted, “Ainsley! No!” My grandmother’s frightened cry pierced my ears, and the slow motion loop I seemed to be stuck in ceased, and several things seemed to happen all at once.
The man who’d been kissing my mother’s neck turned to look at me, causing me to stop dead in my tracks, having only made it halfway down the stairs. His mouth and chin were covered in blood, and his eyes…his eyes held a mix of rage and a maniacal sense of satisfaction.
Upon seeing me, the bloodied man let loose his grip on my mother, letting her fall to the floor with a resounding thud. Looking at her, I saw a large portion of the flesh on her neck was missing. Blood pooled around her on the floor as it seeped from the gaping wound. She lay motionless, and I found myself screaming, though it felt as though no sound escaped my lips.
Just as the evil man sneered and took a step toward the stairs, I heard Great-Grandma’s voice shout a spell. “Temarius meus lacuna. Absum quod existo tutus!”
I blinked and was no longer standing in my grandmother’s home.
With hot tears still streaming down my cheeks, I found myself standing in the center of a strange room. Dimly lit, the only light came from the moon that shone through the nearby window. Taking in my surroundings, I saw I stood in what looked to be a small bedroom. A twin-sized bed covered in fluffy pink bedding lined the far wall. A worn, cream-colored easy chair sat opposite the small nightstand that flanked the bed. Turning to scan the rest of the room, I found it full of playthings. Dolls, both large and small, filled several wicker baskets, and a large tub of Barbie dolls lay at the foot of the bed. It was obvious this room belonged to a girl.
“Grandma?” I called out, desperately trying to catch my breath in between sobs. I didn’t know where I was, and I needed to get back to my mother. Who was that man that hurt her? Could it have been Lucian? I hadn’t done any magic, so how could he have found us?
“Grandma?” I called out again, hesitantly taking a step toward the door. Where was I?
A man’s voice, deep and comforting, filled the room. “Sshhh, little one. You are safe here.”
I turned and saw a tall man standing near the window, the light from the moon shining on his beautiful face. Where did he come from? He hadn’t been there a minute ago.
“Who are you?” I said. I had no idea who this stranger was, yet I was oddly unafraid. Whoever this man was, wherever this place was that my grandmother sent me, it was safe. I felt it in my bones.
Looking up at his warm brown eyes and tanned skin that reminded me of my mother’s favorite coffee drink, I watched as he took a step forward and lifted his hand. He looked down on me with a warm smile. “Forget,” he whispered, and then there was nothing.
“No!”
I woke from the dream gasping for air. Launching myself upright, I frantically reached over to my nightstand where my journal rested, fumbling in the dark for the pen that I knew lay next to it.
“Damn stupid eyes. Why won’t they work right?” I grumbled, frustrated at the inability of my eyes to adapt to the absence of light. Willing the lights on with my magic, my hand finally found the wayward pen, and I quickly opened my journal to record what little I could remember from my dream.
It was the same vision I’d been having since the night Lucian murdered my mother. Once just an intermittent nightmare, the dream had tormented me nightly for the past three months. The events of that fateful evening had been burned into my psyche, allowing me to recall in my dreams every detail about what happened. Every detail, that is, except for the face of the mysterious man from the room. A pair of warm, brown eyes were all I could remember — and they haunted me with their promise of safety.
Closing my eyes, I did my best to drown any and all outside thoughts from my mind and focused all of my energy on recalling the details of my dream. That face. If I could just remember what he looked like.
“Ugh,” I growled, glancing down at my journal. Nothing. I remembered nothing save what I’d already recorded over and over the past few months. I rifled through the worn pages that I kept to journal my dreams; each entry was near identical to the last. Aside from the horrible picture of my mother lying dead on the floor and my memory of the strange room I’d been sent to, I remembered nothing else that happened that fateful night. The man from the room remained unrecognizable and completely out of reach.
With a labored moan, I chucked my journal onto my nightstand and peeled myself out of bed, painfully aware of the fact that it was only a few minutes after seven in the morning. As it was Christmas break and class was out, I really didn’t have to be up so early. Coffee. Coffee was definitely a priority — and maybe chocolate. Yeah, a chocolate filled croissant sounded good. My stomach gurgled in agreement, begging to be fed.
As thoughts of caffeine and sugary pastries filled my mind, I ambled over to the shallow recess in the wall disguised as a closet. I was no clothes whore. That lofty title went to both of my roommates. But still, a bigger storage space would have been welcome.
A long mirror hung on the back of the door, given to me by Jessica. Apparently, inspecting yourself from every angle before you leave the sanctity of your room was the only way to go. Yeah, okay. I so didn’t understand, and when I’d asked her what it was that I needed to check, she’d looked at me like I had three heads instead of one.
“Duh…to make sure your butt looks okay, and to avoid any displays of gratuitous back fat or muffin tops. Geez,” she’d said with an exasperated sigh and turned to check out her own butt in the mirror.
Muffin tops? I hadn’t had the heart to tell her I had zero clue what a muffin top was, and kept my trap shut. As far as her derriere went, it didn’t matter how many times I told her that her butt looked fine — she never believed me and continued inspecting herself at length.
I looked at myself in the mirror and frowned. Smashed and rumpled from sleep, my hair looked like a rat’s nest, my long wispy bangs hanging in my eyes, which were puffy and full of sleep. Train wreck!
The black tank I slept in rode up high my stomach, showing a good amount of my blinding white flesh. Yeah, I might live in sunny California, but I didn’t do the tanning thing. My flesh didn’t bronze up like most people’s. Nope. I went from white to lobster red in five minutes flat.
As I glanced at my belly button, a fleeting thought raced through my mind of what it would look like with a piercing. The thought left as quickly as it came. Pasty and pale wasn’t attractive, and besides, who would ever see it? My eyes trailed down further, taking in
my favorite pajama bottoms, a pair of black shorts with tiny purple skulls all over them.
Hmmm…I thought, narrowing my eyes. Turning slightly, I looked over my shoulder at my butt. How do you know if your butt’s too big? “God.” I shook my head and grimaced. “I can’t believe I just did that. I’ve been around Jessica too long.”
Looking at myself in the mirror it was hard to remember the girl I once was. For as long as I could remember I’d been sporting dark, mahogany locks, and, as I grew older, an unusual sense of style. True, Lucian definitely wasn’t looking for someone with my physical attributes, but would he recognize the real me after all this time? Would I?
A nagging sensation tickled the back of my mind, refusing to go away. I glanced over my shoulder, my stomach in knots. Why, I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like there was anyone in the room with me. Jessica was at her parents’ house and Taylor was probably still lying comatose in her bed. I knew I was alone, yet the fear remained. I was about to break the rules set down years ago by my grandmother. Never reveal yourself. Never break cover. Your safety depends on your ability to remain hidden. What I was about to do was clearly illicit, yet I couldn’t find it in me to stop myself. I was alone, dammit. Who would ever know?
Focusing on my reflection in the mirror, with a sweeping motion I raised my arms up and over my head, ridding myself of the glamour spell I’d worn for so long. The person staring back at me in the mirror was a complete and total stranger.
My flaming red locks cascaded down past my shoulders in perfect ringlets. Reaching up, I gingerly tugged on one of the stands, pulling it straight and watching in wonder as the curl bounced back into place. The contrast between what my hair really looked like as opposed to the “scene” hairstyle I usually sported was staggering, though not unpleasant.
This new hair, or should I say, my “real” hair, was more like that of my friends, and a twinge of envy crept over me. Though I was comfortable in my skin, or at least though I tried to convince myself I was comfortable, there was a part of me that really wanted to be just like my roommates. They’d never had to put up with even a fraction of the bullshit I did with regard to my appearance. What would my life have been like had I been given the chance to just be me? I’d never know, thanks to Lucian. Bastard!
My face, every bit as pale as it was moments ago, was the same, yet altogether different if that made any kind of sense. The set of eyes looking back at me from the mirror were the same tired eyes that stared back at me daily, except they were now a brilliant shade of blue as opposed the hazel color I’d grown used to. Free of the thick makeup I usually wore, my skin was fair, almost luminescent, and altogether lovely.
A strange feeling swept over me. A hunger. I longed to shed my disguise — to be who I really was. I ached for freedom — freedom from the dark threat that constantly loomed over me. And deep down, I craved a connection. I desired the same thing every twenty-one year old woman did. I wanted to be seen. Really seen. I wanted to be desired, to be cared for and loved for who I was. What I wanted…was to be normal. How that would ever be a possibility for me, I didn’t know. True, my friends knew about my magical abilities, but they didn’t know I was hiding. And what they didn’t know just might save them one day.
I gave a deep sigh and frowned. “Life sucks.”
The sound of Taylor emerging from her room tore me from my thoughts, and I glanced in fear toward the door, my nerves easing when I saw it remained locked. I was safe, and the truth about my identity would stay safely hidden, even from those I cared for.
With a stab of regret, I focused on my reflection in the mirror, once again sweeping my hands up and over my head, placing the glamour charm back on myself, retreating again into the safety of my alter ego.
Chapter 3
“I can’t believe you are eating that,” Jessica said, eyeballing my chocolate croissant with a mixture of what looked to be both longing and contempt.
“Well, I can’t believe you’re eating that,” I quickly retaliated, grimacing at the small brown lump in her hand disguised as a bran muffin. “Blech…how can you stomach that garbage? It looks like it’s hard as a rock, and I’m sure it tastes much the same.” You’d never catch me eating that whole grain health crap. If it looked bad, it probably tasted bad, and life was too short as far as I was concerned to not enjoy the little things in life. Give me food that tasted good, calories and fat grams be damned.
“Whole grains are good for the digestive system.” She shrugged and took a bite of the object in question.
“Suffering from irregularity, are we?” I couldn’t hold back the snicker begging to escape, and laughed out loud. She’d walked right into that one.
Jessica scowled. “Whatever, snag. It’s low in calories, and I’m watching what I eat. Not all of us can throw down chocolate filled pastries, or lattes made with whole milk, and still look great. Some of us have to practice restraint.”
“You can have whatever you want,” I scoffed, thinking she was utterly ridiculous. Jessica was a walking toothpick and could easily afford some extra padding. “Here,” I mumbled with a mouthful of pastry, and held up my Venti Caramel Machiatto with extra caramel toward her. “This shit’s good. Try some.” I’d been craving the sugary drink ever since I woke, and was beyond happy when she’d agreed to meet me at the local coffee house. The craptastic week I’d had, coupled with last night’s frustrating nightmare, had left me in desperate need of normalcy. Caffeine and conversation was just what the doctor ordered.
She held her hands up, warding off my sugary drink. “God, no! Dairy is the devil. If I so much as sniff the contents of that cup, my ass will expand.”
I rolled my eyes and made a face. Jessica could talk for hours about the perils of fanny inflating foods and how they should be avoided at all costs. I didn’t care if it made my ass expand — I planned on enjoying every last bit of my croissant.
Sitting back in her chair with a frustrated sigh, Jessica grabbed hold of her unsweetened iced tea and proceeded to fiddle with the straw idly. “So what exactly happened at the club last Friday? I tried asking Taylor all week, but she was still so freaked out, I don’t think she was making much sense. She said the hot bartender you talked to in the club fell from the sky and cleaned house.” She took a sip of her tea and set it back on the table, waiting for my reply. Impatient, she gave me a look that said get on with it already. “Well?”
I chewed on the inside of my lip, restless under the weight of her stare. I’d yet to come to terms with everything that had happened, and wasn’t entirely comfortable talking about it. “Taylor had it right.” I watched Jessica’s eyes grow wide with shock.
“What? How is that possible? You were sitting at the bar, talking to him. How did you not sense him?” Jessica’s surprise at my inability to put a finger on the handsome bartender’s undead nature, matched the shock I’d felt when I learned the truth. The revulsion I still felt.
Slumping back into the chair, I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before I answered her. “He’s old. That’s the only explanation I can come up with as far as why I didn’t sense his true nature. The older the vamp or demon is, the stronger they are, and more able to hide their identity.” Disgusted with myself for being weak and failing to recognize the bartender for the creep he was, I fiddled with my now empty coffee cup, turning it between my thumb and first finger.
“Oh, God,” she said, her face scrunching up, her skin paling. “That’s creepy.”
I nodded, eyebrow raised. “Yeah, tell me about it. Whoever this guy is, he’s powerful too. He broke through my magical barrier like it was made of toilet paper.” That right there told me he was someone to worry about. I was no slouch in the magic department.
Jessica leaned forward and shouted across the small table. “Vampires can wield magic?”
“Dammit, Jess. Sshhh.” I glanced around the room, then pressed my finger to my lips, signaling her
to zip it. Gen pop didn’t know about the darker beings roaming the planet, and I wasn’t in the mood to explain. “Do you think you can keep it down, please?”
Ronald, the lanky barista who manned the espresso machine, eyed us with morbid curiosity. How much had he heard? Skittish and afraid of his own shadow, Ronald had always been uncomfortable around me, a fact I liked to take advantage of every now and then. Though I never used my abilities to harm innocents, I was known to have a bit of fun with it every now and then. Especially with people who were foolish enough to make assumptions without getting to know me first. Stupid, judgmental bastards!
I eyed Ron with a maniacal glare and let out a low hiss. With a wicked grin, I swiped my finger across my neck giving him the universal signal that he was done for.
His large, buggy eyes threatened to pop out of their sockets and ping-pong across the room. The poor schlepp stood frozen with fear behind the espresso machine, one hand holding a container of milk haphazardly under the steamer, not paying attention to what he was doing.
Unable to control myself when it came to needling Ronald, I decided to have a bit more fun. With a flick of my finger, I used my magic to cause the milk to explode up and out of the small silver receptacle, covering him in a shower of hot, sticky mess. I hissed once more for good measure, sending him squealing into the back room and out of sight.
I turned back to face Jessica, unable to contain my smug grin. Wienie boy was fun to mess with.
She, in turn, shook her head and cast me a reproving frown. “Having fun torturing the help? You know, it’s bad ju-ju to mess with people in the food industry. You could end up with all kinds of nasty funk in your beverage. I’d quit it with the torture if I were you.”
I scrunched up my nose, my imagination running wild. She’d made a good point. “Oh, sick.”