by Jasmine Walt
William puts her arm around Tess. “Come on, say something.”
“Say something?” she asks, pulling away. “What could I possibly say to this? It’s ridiculous! You can’t be buying into this, William, please! Just make them tell her how to go back!”
I shake my head, confused. Why is she so angry about this?
Eleanor’s expression goes stony, and she stares at Tess. “We are not liars. I’ll prove it. Cordovae, sing the song.”
My heart tightens. I can’t do that. That song was for Anna. Only for Anna.
Eleanor grabs my arm. “You will find no peace if you don’t.”
I feel the urge stirring in my stomach. Perhaps it is confidence lent to me from Eleanor. Strength. Like a fire in my pit.
The words leave my lips unsteady and unsure, though my heart knows this song inside and out. I mumble the tune.
Better days...ahead, my love...
better days, rest your head, my love.
Better days, when you awake,
we’re moving on, moving on, moving along,
and I’ll take you there
to better days.
For better days
With you.
Tess’ expression falls. She looks disgusted. Does she know the song? Could she remember, somehow? There’s only one way to know for sure if she’s Anna. I cross the room with such urgency that Tess meets my advance by stepping back.
“Sorry,” I whisper, freezing just inches away from her.
She swallows. “Yeah.”
“If you are my daughter,” I say carefully, “you have a birthmark on your left shoulder. It looks like this—”
I hold my hand out and pull off the fingerless glove that covers my wrist, showing her the pale brown patch of a misshapen heart on the skin above my thumb and forefinger. She stares at it, but says nothing.
“Do you?” I ask.
She gives a non-committal shrug. “Even if Anna did, would I?”
She is looking at me when she asks the question, but then turns her focus to Eleanor and Jessup, as though it is them she is really asking.
Jessup purses his lips. “This is new, even to us,” he says, “but in theory, it’s possible.”
“What does that mean,” Tess asks.
“It means,” Eleanor says, speaking softly, “that Anna’s birthmark could very well be your own, just as Abigail’s body carries the mark from Rose.”
Everyone in the room is staring at Tess. Nearly crowding her. She’s glaring at us, backing away, inching toward the door. William stands in her way.
“No,” I say. “Let her go.”
He steps aside, and she storms outside.
Jessup touches my arm. “Want us to talk to her?”
I shake my head. “I’ll talk to her. Alone.”
I stand on the other side of the door, trying to work up the courage to follow her out there. Would me being her mother be such a horrible thing? Does she really hate me that much?
I feel a room full of eyes on my back, and my breath is tight in my chest. Finally I reach for the doorknob, open the door, and step outside. Tess is sitting on the porch, hunched over something.
I sit carefully beside her. She won’t look at me, but now I can see what she is holding. Her music box. Slowly, she lifts the lid. Her hands are shaking. The tune begins. My lullaby to Anna. To her. A tear splashes to the small wooden box. I place my hand on her shoulder, but she twists away, and I drop my hand back to my side.
Her gaze slides to mine, her eyes puffy and red. She turns her back to me and slowly pulls her braid over one shoulder. Then she slips a piece of her dress down. And there it is. Right where I remember it. Right on the back of her left shoulder, nearly a carbon copy of my own.
My hand covers my mouth as my jaw drops open.
Tess tugs the shoulder of her dress back up, then glares up at me. “Happy?”
Tears sting my eyes. “Of course I am. I’m just...so glad you’re okay.”
“Of course I’m okay,” she says. “But I’m not Anna, okay?”
But she is Anna. In my heart, she always will be. At the same time, we are not who we once were. I can’t ask that of her. I don’t expect her to call me Mama. Not now, maybe not ever. Having her with me is enough.
“I...know that. I’m—I’m just sorry it turned out this way.” I try to summon some kind of motherly wisdom. Try to give her a piece of something I was never able to offer before. “I don’t deserve any credit for the woman you’ve become, but I’m glad you’re alive.”
It kills me not to just wrap her up in my arms and pull her against my chest and...be her mother. Like I was supposed to be. But I have to do what is best for her. Which means respecting that she is Tess now. In my heart, she is Anna, but in this life—in the only life she has ever known—she is Tess. I can’t take that away from her.
“Disappointed?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
I smile. “Not at all. Are you?”
She doesn’t answer, and my heart twists. I am the cause of all of her pain. I am the cause of her deep-seated feelings of abandonment. But I never wanted it that way. Never.
Tess finally shakes her head. “I’ve been...awful to you.”
I want to grab her and hug her, but instead I tentatively reach out and grasp her hand. “Not all the time,” I say lightly. “I suppose it’s what all good daughters do.”
This sparks a smirk from her, and if I’m not mistaken, a breath of a laugh, too. I’ve never seen her laugh before.
Will Tess be more forgiving of my failures now, or more critical? Or will she ignore our familial connection altogether?
I know this new information changes everything in my heart and in her mind, but it will never change our reality. She will always be Tess. To her, I will always be Cordovae. But she’s here. And I know it’s her. And if that’s all I get in this life, well, I’ll take it and breathe it in all the way down to my toes and shut my eyes and say Thank You to the powers that be for this small kindness.
Every time I had tried to return to Anna, I had, after all. I’d been with her all along. This stirs up new doubts and fears in my heart. Was I so broken that I hadn’t known? That I did not know my own daughter as she stood right by my side? Finally I have succeeded in returning to Anna, and yet, I still fear failure.
Perhaps some part of me had known. I’d felt drawn to William and Tess since I’d first met them: what if it was Tess that I felt the connection to? What if my connection with William was only secondary? Had my love for him sparked independently of the odd magnetic connection that has always tugged me closer to them?
More words choke in the back of my throat. I am seeing Tess for the first time. I should have seen it sooner. We have the same large, round, pear-green eyes. She’s outgrown those gray-blue eyes of infancy after all. And we have the same sleepy eyelids and long lashes. She’d been spared my sinful, fiery hair and my overly-fair skin, but she hasn’t escaped me completely.
I haven’t lost her, but still I might never truly have her back.
It hurts to call Tess by her preferred name—to know I will never get to speak Anna’s name aloud again, that the name will no longer have any purpose in my life outside of my mind. But I do it. For Tess. Hoping that, someday, this strange feeling leaves my stomach, that the moments with her will one day feel natural again and not strained.
Back in the house, Tess and I sit side by side, stealing glances at one another as the Chibold explain more. Such as that Tess and I are rather close in age. I am only a few years older than I had been prior to being moved here, but she is nearly two decades older than she had been at Anna’s birth—her birth.
It’s the merging of lives, the Chibold explain. Our lives are our own, but we share the memories of the ancestors we have become—of the spirits we share.
William hasn’t left where he stands in the corner of the room. He is silent, but his presence comforts me. He is not a river, not an ocean. He is not moving, not going anywher
e. He’s steady, he’s present, he’s the mountains, and he’s my shelter.
I have Anna, in a way, and I have William. So why does sadness still plague me? Am I wrong to grieve the loss of Anna as I knew her, of the dreams I had for her, for us? Dreams of Seaside and cookie-cutter cottages and a small girl running through the yard with ribbons of curly hair trailing behind her on the golden light of an early summer day? Should I not love my daughter for who she has become and not on who I had hoped she should be?
When the sun sets, William, Tess, and I return to the mountains. There was no ground beneath me the day I fell into this world, but now I am ready to plant my roots, to become a part of this new life. Right here in these mountains.
We stop at a plateau, staring out over a clearing below covered in fresh blooming flowers and scarred by the rushing water of a small river cutting across the heart of the land. The air is thin, fresh, and energizing. Even the family of otters below seem rejuvenated by the arrival of spring.
In the great distance—a distance not so hard to see with my Ankou abilities—Salem’s hangings continue. It seems the humans never needed the Maltorim to guide them toward destruction. They have their own morbid reality without any influence from the elemental races. Or, perhaps, the brainwashing of the Malleus Maleficarum has done its job too well.
There is little we can do to save them now—we were never designed to protect humans from themselves. Finally, the time has come to save ourselves. To reclaim who we are outside of the elemental world. In time, I will come to terms with being a Forever Girl. I will acclimate to my new life as an immortal, and I’ll build some semblance of a relationship with Tess.
And, one day, so I’m told, I will assist other Forever Girls in a final battle that will once and for all put an end to the treachery of the Maltorim.
For now, though, I have family.
Hundreds of fireflies have taken possession of the clearing, blinking lights of hope ahead of us, each flickering a promise, a dream, a spark of life.
I take Tess’ hand, and she gently wraps her fingers around mine. Moments later, William’s warm, rough hand comes palm to palm with my own. I lean my head into his bicep. My connection with them is stronger than ever. This is my world, and it’s worth saving after all. But this is just the beginning for us.
I take in a deep breath through my nose, allowing myself to fall completely into this new paradigm. Standing here, with William and Tess at my side, I’m weightless, and I finally understand how life is supposed to feel. How it feels to be safe, to be loved, to be...free.
THE END
Want more of Rebecca’s writing? Check out her latest series, Taken by the Beast, a sexy Beauty and the Beast spin off!
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About the Author
Rebecca Hamilton writes Paranormal Fantasy, Horror, and Literary Fiction. She lives in Florida with her husband and four kids, along with multiple writing personalities that range from morbid to literary. Having a child diagnosed with autism has inspired her to illuminate the world through the eyes of characters who see things differently. Rebecca Hamilton is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA. Visit her Amazon author page:
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They’re so Vein
Book 1, The Grateful Undead series
Susan Stec
They're so Vein Copyright © 2012 by Susan Stec
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Created with Vellum
About the Book
They're so Vein
Crazy happens to a family of seniors when one gets changed into a HOT vampire chick with a lust for sex and a thirst for blood?
Susan is 58-years-old and bored with life. Middle age is a daily drudge of sagging body parts and aches and pains. Her fervent prayer that she could somehow recapture her youth comes true one night during a chance encounter with a child-like vampire. As soon as the other women in her family see the transformation they waste no time in sticking their necks out, hoping Susan will share this new-found fountain of youth.
Suddenly, this newly born group of hot-bodied vamps find themselves thrust into a world controlled by an ancient order of vampires. A world with rules, all of which the ladies pretty much break within hours of becoming immortals. And the little matter of the accidental epidemic of vamped out wildlife isn't exactly endearing them to the powers that be, either.
They're So Vein is a hilarious and irreverent new twist on the paranormal/vampire romance genre.
1
"Tootles has a used condom in her mouth, Susan!" JoAnn screeched, her voice reverberating off the tile walls.
I rolled my eyes, let out an exasperated breath, and peeked under the stall wall.
JoAnn, her pants wrapped around her ankles, held Tootles by her rhinestone collar, tapping the toy poodle's snout. "Bad girl! Drop it! Drop it!"
Tootles growled and shook her head, her little pink toenail's frantically scraping the lavatory floor.
The dog disappeared with a yelp. The prophylactic hit the floor.
"Open your mouth. Open! Open!" JoAnn scolded. I heard a spraying sound and the smell of mint wafted in the air. Tootles sneezed.
JoAnn carefully placed her bling-baby in a canvas shopping bag on the floor between our stalls. "You stay right there, young lady!"
I yanked some toilet paper, sending the roll thwap-thwapping inside the enclosed metal box. "If you didn't have to pee every five miles, and then drag the damn dog in with you, she wouldn't be chewing on a jizz-receptacle. Christ, we're ten minutes from the house! Buy some Depends the next time you hit Wal-Mart!"
JoAnn started whistling the theme song to Mayberry RFD.
"Get your ass back here," a woman yelled. "I'm not going to have Dorius up my butt if he gets here and we're not outside waiting for him!"
JoAnn's tune cut to a squeal.
A pair of Spiderman tennis shoes ran past my stall.
I stood and jerked up my jeans, the elastic waist snapping at my midsection. Tootles watched me intently as she shivered.
"I don't give a rat's ass what Dorius says," a child answered. "You're not my mother, so back off."
Ohhh, this is good.
Gold stilettos stomped by my stall. "Damn it, I am not going to argue with you!"
I couldn't believe it when the door to the wheelchair stall next to me slammed shut. I gave the toilet paper apparatus a good shake. It didn't budge. This just might be doable.
My sister grumbled, "Some people are so rude, aren't they Toot-toots?"
"Do you have to pee?" the woman spat. "If you do, make it quick, you little shit!"
I was about to do something stupid. Something totally unacceptable. Don't judge me. I'm in dire need of a diversion, and this little domestic squabble was going to get a shit-load of views on my You Tube web
page.
I squatted and bounced a couple of times, my joints popping with the effort.
"I'll piss when I get good and ready to piss," the kid spat.
There was a bit of a scuffle. The wall rattled and the woman screeched, "Son-of-a-bitch, you friggin' bit me!"
A drop of blood hit her shoe. I got goose bumps. Christ, I can't believe I'm gonna do this.
"Damn right, and if you get any closer I'll fucking bite you again!" the kid yelled in a guttural voice.
"Oh, good lord!" JoAnn placed her hands over Tootles ears.
I ignored her. I was on a mission.
I grunted, struggling up to a standing position, and then flapped my hands, eyeing the toilet paper holder.
"You have a filthy mouth young man!" the woman spat. "I'm thinkin' a good washin' with a bar of soap might-"
"Yeah, just try it," the kid dared.
Tootles scrambled out of the bag and began to whimper. She hopped in front of JoAnn's feet, her little pink taffeta skirt bouncing as she tried to jump on my sister's lap. "Just a minute. Mommy's almost finished, precious."
I grabbed the coat hook on the wall adjoining the two stalls, pulled myself onto the toilet seat, and peeked over into the handicapped stall. The first thing I thought was that I'd give my eye teeth for her body; she could keep the hair.
The woman sported a Dolly Parton up-do over bright red lips. Daisy-dukes barely covered a firm butt and enhanced long shapely legs. A red spandex top encouraged a mountain of breasts where a trickle of blood disappeared.
I pulled my eyes from her chest and checked out the kid on the baby-changing table directly under me. He looked about five or six years old and wore Osh-B' Gosh coveralls, a royal blue SpongeBob t-shirt, and a bloody lipped smile.