Under the Blood Moon

by Tracie Provost

  “Good rest, Andre,” I sputtered as he left the room. I was completely bewildered. Andre was acting so strangely. One minute he was cold and domineering and the next, he was kind and caring. I would need to learn how to deal with this new, moody Andre. Until I learned to gauge his emotions, I would need to tread carefully.

  Chapter 8

  MY SECOND AND third attempts to create a soul jar were failures and I was beginning to worry. The first failure had been due to an interruption at a crucial point in the spell, but the second and third failures could not be so easily explained. I wasn’t at all sure what had gone wrong and so had no idea how to fix the problem. I was also up against a time deadline. Gabe would be here soon to take me to Gautier House so that I could prepare the ritual space.

  I stood up and walked away from the desk. I paced the room trying to figure out why the spell kept failing. Despite going through the ritual several times in my head, I could not isolate the problem. So I decided to start from scratch. I cleaned and purified the entire study. This took a chunk of time that I could ill afford, but when it was finished I was wholly centered. I also chose a new vessel to enchant. Rather than the pottery jar I had been using, I found a sturdy wooden box, small enough to fit into my palm. Originally it had been designed to hold magic jewelry, but once purified it was perfect for this new purpose.

  Almost from the beginning, I could feel a change in the spell. The magic that had been as elusive as smoke earlier, was much more tangible now. Because the spell was going so well, I had to purposely slow myself and not rush through. My magic wrapped like thick green ropes around the box, binding the spell into the brass fittings and even the wood itself.

  I sighed when the spell was finally finished and set. That was much harder than I had expected it to be, and I hoped it did not portend doom for the major ritual the next night. I quickly cleaned and purified my work area again and was ready to go when Gabe arrived to escort me to Gautier House.

  THE NIGHT OF the full moon arrived, and I awoke shortly after dark. This was quite unusual for me since I usually did not rise until at least an hour after full dark, but usually two. My late rising was not a problem in winter when the days were short, but in summer it cut my waking hours considerably. The ritual itself would not start until three a.m., but there was much to be done before then.

  I took a hot bath, making sure to use proper bath salts to purify myself. I soaked a long time, allowing the essential oils to seep into my skin. I concentrated on clearing my mind and finding peace in my soul. Finally, I emerged from the tub and gently toweled dry.

  I dressed in a calf-length white sun dress. I would don ritual robes later but for now I needed something easy to move in. I plaited my hair in a long braid that hung down my back. I needed to talk to Sophie about finding a hairdresser. I had never found its length to be a nuisance before, but for some reason it seemed far more trouble than it was worth. After dabbing on some light cosmetics, I was almost ready. Just shoes and jewelry were missing. I pulled a pair of white, low-heeled, sling-back pumps from the closet and slid them on. I retrieved my necklace from the jewelry tray and fastened it around my throat.

  Andre glanced up from his newspaper and seemed mildly surprised when I let myself onto the loggia. “You are up early,” he remarked.

  I smiled and helped myself to a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. “There is much to do before the ritual,” I said mildly. I took a sip of coffee and grimaced. Weak and tepid. Yuck. “I was wondering if you could drive me over to Gautier House after I gather the ritual supplies?”

  “Of course. Just let me know when you are ready,” Andre said, returning to his paper.

  Thus dismissed, I left the loggia to pack an overnight valise and my ritual materials.

  I HAD ARRANGED with the Grandmaster and his steward to perform the ritual in the attic of Gautier House. It was a large, windowless expanse, empty save the three substantial cages firmly anchored to the floor along the eastern wall. When I had originally been shown the space, I hesitated to ask about their purpose. At least until I had felt the magic—Aether magic—emanating from them. I wanted nothing in the room that might disrupt my own magic or concentration. Marc told me they were used to hold vampires being held until summary judgment by him or trial by the Undead Synod.

  “Since almost nothing can hold a determined vampire except staking and magic, I had Frederique enchant the prisons,” he said.

  “What about Aether that need to be held?” I asked.

  “Frederique told me that while the spells could be broken by an Aether from the outside, once in the cage, it would prevent them from drawing magic to them.”

  I nodded. Most Aether drew magic to them, manipulated it, and sent it out in the form of a spell. This would be a very effective method of rendering an Aether, or even a mage, powerless. Only thaumaturges would not suffer its effects since our magic came from within.

  With the Grandmaster’s permission, I had removed the enchantment on the cages the previous night. I would cast the spells again once I had completed the werewolf ritual. I cleaned and consecrated the entire area, then strengthened the wards already on the room. In a city as full of magic as New Orleans, you could not be too careful. While I did not anticipate an attack, I could not discount a random occurrence. The house was not on a ley line, which lessened the chance of a random spirit manifesting, but was on a crossroads, which held powerful magic in its own right. I placed candles and other ritual elements in out-of-the-way but easily accessible places around the room.

  Just before three a.m., I donned my long, white ritual robe. Nearly invisible white runes of protection were stitched along the collar, wrists, and hem of the garment. I was unsure how effective they would be against a werewolf, but it was better than nothing. While I was confident in my ability to defeat the werewolf spirit, I did have concerns. The moon would reach its fullest point at 4:22 a.m. That was when Chris’s transformation would begin. I needed to vanquish the spirit and tattoo Chris with the protection glyph before the sun rose at 6:06 a.m. I could push myself to stay awake a bit beyond that, but if I fell into my daytime sleep before the ritual was complete, Chris would become a werewolf and kill me where I lay. I did not expect a quick and easy battle. The longer it took, the less time I would have to inscribe the complicated symbol on Chris’s chest. I had entertained the idea of splitting the ritual into two parts—doing spirit battle and temporary glyph tonight and tomorrow inking a permanent symbol—but was unsure if it would work and in the end decided it was too much risk. I had spent much of my time practicing the ritual so that I could perform it as quickly as possible.

  A sharp rapping at the attic door interrupted my musings. I opened it to reveal Chris Gautier, barefoot and dressed in white linen shirt and trousers. He was flanked by his uncles, both in somber black suits. All wore the same grim expression on his face. So much for their confidence in my abilities.

  I gave a short bow of obeisance. “Grandmaster,” I said.

  “Madame Grammont.”

  “Monsieur Christopher, please come inside,” I said and moved so he could enter, but when the other two men tried to follow, I again blocked the entrance. “I am sorry but only Monsieur Chris may enter at this time. As I explained earlier, we must be alone during the ritual.”

  Gabe began to protest, and it seemed that he might force his way past me but Marc put a staying hand on his shoulder. “I gave Madame Grammont my word she would have privacy.”

  “But . . .”

  “No. There is nothing that she can do in there that is any worse than what would occur with the rising of the moon,” Marc said.

  Gabe grumbled but moved back.

  “Please, no matter what you hear, do not enter the room,” I said.

  “I understand,” Marc agreed.

  I looked expectantly at Gabe. After a minute, he too nodded. “I give my
word.”

  “We will see you both before sunrise,” I said and shut the door, locking it.

  I turned and saw Chris standing stock still in the center of the room regarding the empty cages.

  “Do not worry, those are not for you,” I reassured him.

  “Oh. I’ve never been up here before. Have they always been here?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. You will need to ask your uncle.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “Um, what do you need me to do?”

  I smiled, trying to put him at ease. “Why don’t you just sit on the floor where you are. I am going to enclose us in a series of protective circles before your change begins. Honestly, until then, there is not much for you to do.”

  “OK. Do you need silence or can I talk to you?” he asked as he eased himself to the floor.

  “We can talk, if you would like.” Drawing circles was something I could do in my sleep. The parts of the ritual that required silence would come later, but Chris would be unconscious at that point.

  “How did you learn magic? Or is that too personal a question?” Chris asked.

  I knelt, chalk in hand. “There is not a time I do not remember practicing magic. My mother was a healer and would take me with her when she called on the sick.”

  “So she used magic like you did to heal me?”

  “Not exactly. My mother was a Mambo, a voodoo priestess, and she used that power along with more conventional methods to heal. She was a mage, but she did not have the sort of healing magic I do. She could cure minor ailments, colds and the like, as well as fix cuts and scrapes, but I fear that your injuries far surpassed her abilities. She was a water elemental, so she could call rain when it was needed or stop it, if there was too much.”

  “Elemental?” Chris cocked his head quizzically.

  “Do you know anything about magic or mages?” I asked as I completed the outer circle and charged it with a drop of my blood.

  “I know the Aether practice magic, but I kinda haven’t paid as much attention as I should have when Uncle Marc talked about it,” Chris admitted sheepishly.

  “I did not always attend my lessons either,” I confessed.

  “If I promise to listen and pay attention, will you explain magic?” Chris asked.

  I chuckled. “I would be happy to. As you know, there are five elements: earth, fire, water, air, and spirit. Each corresponds with a compass point and a color.”

  “And each of the five vampire covens represents one of the elements as well,” Chris said.

  “I see you paid at least a bit of attention during your lessons. Yes, each coven is associated with an element. The Gnome with earth, Undine with water, Sylph with air, Salamand with fire, and Aether with spirit. But getting back to the subject of magic; each mage has the ability to control all the elements to some degree, but there is one element that they have an affinity for. Depending on the mage’s strength and age, they may have near mastery of it, at least for a short period,” I explained.

  “So what kind are you?” Chris asked.

  “I am a fire elemental,” I lied. In actuality I was a spirit elemental, but to admit that would be dangerous. Only three types of magic users were spirit elementals: necromancers, thaumaturges, and seers. All were rare and highly coveted by others. My own grandmother had her thaumaturgic magic forcefully stripped from her by a bokor, killing her in the process. My command of fire was better than my command of the other three elements so that was what I claimed to be.

  “Can you, like, fry people?” the young man asked eagerly.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, unused to the nomenclature.

  “You know, take a person’s hand and burn them from the inside out?”

  Continuing to draw, I contemplated the scenario. “I suppose theoretically I could. I have never tried.”

  “That would be a cool power to have,” Chris commented. “But how does fire relate to healing?”

  “No one is really sure. I may have an inborn talent that is unrelated or it could be the cleansing power of fire,” I lied again. My healing came from the spirit element but no one seemed to realize that. There were so few spirit elementals; no one seemed to know what we could do, except for the necromancers. Even they were shrouded in mystery and their ‘known’ abilities more speculation than fact.

  I had just finished drawing the second circle when Chris asked, “Is it normal to have more than one circle?”

  “No, concentric circles are only used for major magical rituals or bindings. They are safety measures in case one of the inner circles is breached inadvertently.”

  “How many circles are you doing?”

  “Five.”

  “So this is pretty major then,” Chris remarked.

  “Yes,” I said as I charged the second circle.

  “Is this gonna hurt?”

  “It will not be pleasant. For either of us. How much this will hurt will depend on how strong the werewolf spirit is. The stronger it is, the more pain you will experience.”

  “Oh. No one told me it was gonna hurt.”

  “You did not ask,” I gently reminded him. “Think of this as a trial run for when you are made into a vampire.”

  “You do manage to put a good spin on things, Mrs. Grammont. How did someone as nice as you get wrapped up with that slimebag, Andre?”

  My hand paused mid-stroke, and I looked hard at the boy, trying to decide if I was offended or not. The mere fact I had to think about it spoke volumes. I was sure that from Chris’s point of view, Andre was not a nice man.

  “Andre was very kind when I met him and we fell in love. I had no family left; they had all perished in the Revolution. When he offered immortality with him, I accepted,” I said, ignoring the insult to my sire.

  “I guess that was kinda rude to say, but you are just so different from any of them.”

  It was difficult to be angry with the boy. My coven did have a reputation for being cold and duplicitous. It was not an undeserved reputation. However, I could not help thinking that Chris needed to learn some tact and diplomacy if he was to function as Marc’s heir.

  I finished the third circle and charged it.

  “What’s it like coming out of torpor after so long?” Chris asked.

  “A bit difficult, honestly. So many things have changed. There were no cars, or phones, or electric lights. The United States was a young country and still small territorially. Louisiana was not yet part of it. This was Spanish territory. The vampire community was so small that we did not even have a Grandmaster. There is much for me to learn.”

  “Do you miss it? The way it used to be?”

  “In some ways yes and other ways no. Now is not better or worse, simply different. I have missed so much but there is no point in dwelling on that. It cannot be undone.” Finally the last circle was complete and charged. I sat down on the floor next to the boy. It would not be long before the change began in Chris.

  We moved away from personal topics and discussed books we had both read. He promised to give me a list of bestsellers to read. Some books he said I would enjoy, others were simply culturally relevant.

  Suddenly he said, “Mrs. Grammont, I don’t feel well.”

  I nodded and stood, moving away from him. “The change has begun.”

  I could feel the wolf spirit, dormant since Chris’s attack, start to manifest itself. I began to gather my power for the battle ahead.

  “Should I fight the change or allow it?” Chris asked.

  “Fight for as long as you can. Then I will take over.” With any luck, Chris would help tire the wolf, letting me reserve strength for the ritual to follow.

  I closed my eyes and dropped my shields. A shimmering door appeared in my mind’s eye and I opened it, stepping through to the spirit realm. Thi
s plane of existence looked much as my own did, except physical objects were more or less translucent and the spirits had physical forms. My concentric protection circles glowed green with magic. Chris lay writhing on the attic floor, his human spirit battling the wolf spirit. I was amazed to see the wolf was small, a mere cub. Small and young, however, did not mean weak. The cub was ferocious. Chris’s spirit was strong, but it would not be enough to overcome the werewolf without my intervention. I watched the two spirits fight until I sensed Chris tiring. I could still easily see both distinct spirits. If I allowed this to continue, the spirits would eventually become one.

  I took the small soul jar from my pocket. Soul jar was a misnomer. Made from yew, carefully carved runes adorned the six sides of the wooden box. Silver hinges and a lock fastened the lid. Clay and glass broke too easily. A sturdy wooden box was far more practical for storing a malevolent or malicious spirit. Placing the open soul jar on the floor, I stepped toward the battling spirits.

  I sent my power out, not in the delicate tendrils I had used to tease Beau Roulet’s hair, or the rope I sent to secure the soul jar, but in thick tentacles. Reaching into Chris’s body, my power wrapped around the werewolf spirit like a boa constrictor curling around its prey. The cub fought me, struggling hard against the encircling bands. It nearly wriggled free. While I was stronger, the wolf spirit had a fluidity that was difficult to hold on to. Eventually, I was confident of my grip and began to draw the spirit from Chris’s body. It did not come easily; the cub dug its claws and teeth into Chris’s physical being. When it could not find purchase there, it attempted to latch on to the boy’s spirit. I squeezed hard until the wolf let go, and I wrenched the foreign spirit from Chris Gautier’s body. I thrust the still struggling spirit into the box and slammed the lid. Taking a delicate silver key from my pocket, I locked the soul jar. It danced about on the floor for a few minutes as the werewolf tried in vain to escape its prison. Eventually it quieted. I raised my shields and opened my eyes, exiting the spirit plane. Chris lay sprawled in the middle of the room, the small wooden box next to him. I quickly set to the next phase of the ritual.