by Alex Owens
Without looking at Cass, I shouted, “Go!” and launched the fireball in my right hand at the target. Switching to my left hand, I threw that fireball as well, while conjuring a replacement for the empty hand at the same time.
Throw, refill, throw, refill, and throw. And again.
I did this multiple times in the span of seconds. As I hit my magical limit I launched the last fireball. Cassidy clicked the stopwatch just as it exploded against the target in a flare of white-hot sparks.
“Good! You managed to hit the target dead on, all thirteen times in under eleven seconds. That’s your personal best—both in speed and number of balls.” Cass, ever the cheerleader, jumped up and down as she spoke.
“Yay, me,” I said dryly. “Are we done?”
I was tired. Not physically, but magically, I guess. Or maybe mentally.
Cass nodded and went to pull down the target so that it could be tucked away in the garage for another day. I probably should have helped her with the heavy lifting, but training me to get magical-battle-ready was her deal. I didn’t really see the point in training myself to throw little hand-grenades of light at a target. I mean, really... I had fangs and knew how to use them. What good would flinging pretty firecrackers do?
The training exercise had been good for one thing though; it had quieted my brain for a few fleeting minutes. I’d stopped harping on my earlier failure to protect Quinn and the magical miss-fire at the library. Done with training, the self-flagellating thoughts returned full force.
Cass noticed the scowl on my face as it returned, but she said nothing. A good friend knows when to push and when to wait, and Cass was adept at knowing which of those I needed at any given moment.
Lesson over, we opted to devote the afternoon to doing more research on Venna and spent the next few hours in my office, a pile of books scattered around us haphazardly.
“Quinn around?” Cass spoke abruptly, after we’d been absorbed in the research for about an hour.
I shook my head without looking up from the journal. “No, she’s with her dad for the next few days.”
“Okay, good. You’re overthinking things and I think that you need a break.” Cass said.
“My whole life is a break at this point,” I countered. “Ever since Bette bit my V and made me a V.”
She pouted. “No, I’m serious. Didn’t you say that Clive has been asking you to come up for a visit? You should go... in fact, I’m pretty sure there’s a big party brewing. Wouldn’t it be nice to hob-knob with a bunch of Vamps you’ve never met?”
“Uh, no. It wouldn’t” Like that was any way to entice me; she knew I loathed strange people in general. Yes, even as a big, bad vamp I still harbored a touch of social anxiety.
“Well, how about you go for the chance to hob Clive’s knob?” she snickered.
Ah, yes, Cass knew me very well after all.
“Well, now you’re talking. You should have led with that.” I grabbed my phone and tapped out a text message to Clive. “I’m sending him a text.”
The message read: Are you still UP for some company for a couple of days?
He sent me back a picture of his cock in response.
“Do you think this is a yes?” I flashed the screen-shot at Cass and she shrieked.
“Goddess bless, Claire.” She swatted in my general direction. “Do you want me to go blind?”
“Trust me, you won’t actually go blind. Sometimes I think I’m going to, but my vision always returns.” I joked and she launched a water bottle at me. I ducked it easily.
I responded to the dick pic text, letting Clive know I’d be at his front door late the next afternoon. He sent back a thumbs-up emoticon. He was such a goober sometimes.
“So gross,” she muttered to herself and went back to the pile of research materials in front of her.
Cass had agreed to dig up everything she could on the Medici’s and historical date from that time, if I agreed to be the one who dove back into Venna’s journal. Yay, me. Not.
I turned to where I’d left off in the journal, the entries becoming increasingly hard to understand. Not because I was losing my ability to read the Italian language though. So far, it seemed that I’d permanently acquired that particular skill.
The old man, well, it wasn’t clear if he’d ever speak again. I heard from his daughter earlier in the day, and she let me know that he was stable, if no better. The doctors diagnosed him as having a small stroke in the speech area of his brain. Testing however, had remained inconclusive. So the jury was out. It was either my fault or not, but I’d probably never know and that knowledge soured my mood every time I had to use my stolen gift.
I am alone once more. The pains came upon me in the middle of the night, so sharp and fierce that I feared death was only moments away. Hours later, my body emptied itself, bringing forth a tiny, cursed soul. Then, without warning, she was taken from me. I was instructed to take seven full days to make myself presentable, amenable, and assured I’d be moved back to my old room if I only I were to be a good little girl again. I have no choice but to obey, for now.
“My god, she had his baby.” I said aloud. “She was only thirteen, poor thing.”
When Cass didn’t respond I looked up to see that she had her headphones in. I decided to keep that knowledge to myself for now. Hell, I didn’t want to know, but it was too late to un-read it. There was no need in spoiling her mood too.
I have been returned to the light, following months of darkness. It has been seventeen days, yet my breast have to be bound daily to keep the swelling and discomfort at bay. M. Rue has offered to give me a tincture to ease the pain and dry my milk, but I have refused to accept it to date. I want to feel the pain and discomfort, the only physical reminder I have left of all that I’ve lost. I have to remember, to feel the stabbing pains with each move I make. It fans the flames of my desire for revenge, and for that I embrace it.
I shivered at that passage, both from the connection of two mothers through the ages, and also from the darkening of Venna’s outlook. It seemed such a terrible, wretched waste that one so young was forced to endure the unthinkable. I could hardly wrap my mind around the enormity of her suffering.
Drawn back to the journal against my better judgement; I just had to know what happened from there. In a way, I felt like I owed it to Venna to bear witness to her plight. I’d have to be her witness to history since there was nothing else I could do for her, some three hundred years after the fact.
M. Rue took me out to the gardens today. It was both pleasant and troublesome. The fresh air ruffling my hair, the sunshine on my skin—I welcomed the warmth and cleansing spirits wholeheartedly, even though within me I felt lacking. The lessons didn’t engage me the way they once had. Youthful curiosity has been replaced by vague indifference, I fear, and that makes it difficult to focus on the purpose I’ve set out for myself. Above all else, I must learn and grow, and to do that I must remember why...
Two months have passed, and with each sleepless night I grow fearful with anticipation. I hardly consider that A. is finished with me, after having served his purpose well enough. At any time, I expect to find him beside my bed in the small hours of the night, as my courses have resumed and I find myself once again ready to receive him. That was the only salvo to my long entombment underground... without a purpose, he stayed away.
This nightly torment of cowering in fear is almost more than I can bear. Waiting, startling myself awake with every slam of a door, every footfall within the halls. At times I think that I actually want A. to pay me a visit, with the hopes that it would mean months would pass without the constant possibility ever looming in the dark.
Finally. I am uncertain if I feel relieved or as a newly broken toy. I suppose it would be a bit of both, so fresh from the assault. He came very near daybreak, at a time when the servants were beginning to rise and bring life to the castle. Not wanting anyone to overhear his visit with me, he brought with him a small embroidered pillow, which he
placed over my face while forcing himself upon me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see. But I could feel everything. And I will remember how that felt and it will fortify my resolve all the more.
Today my lesson was in the darker elements of apothecary expertise. M. Rue showed me how to properly handle roots, seeds and flowers from noxious or poisonous plants. Of course, I wasn’t allowed to participate in this lesson; I could only observe, given my gravid state.
I am alone in the cellar room again, some six months gone. M. Rue was allowed to visit me, though she did not stay long and was decidedly quiet for a change. I suspect that she feared others were listening and she didn’t want to appear to be helping me with any matter that could jeopardize her position. We discussed the garden, the upcoming harvest and local news that filtered up to the castle on the backs of peddlers. It was all so trivial and polite, that being absurd under these such circumstance.
Two of thirteen. That is what A. had said when coming to take away my second angel, a girl with dark hair and rosy cheeks. I will never even know her given name, but in my own mind I will think of her as Rose. It occurred to me, rather oddly, that I needed to give my children names even if they will never be spoken but in my own nightly whispers, since it appears that A. has planned for me to bear him thirteen daughters and that is quite a lot of babes to remember. I decided to name the first one Angel.
Angel and Rose. My two curses to bear until the two becomes three, and three becomes four. And so on, and so on to infinitum.
I shivered involuntarily at Venna’s last passage. It was clear that her state of mind was devolving into something bordering on cracked. And no wonder... I couldn’t even begin to imagine what her life must have been like as a gestational slave to a mad man.
And what was with the thirteen daughters? It smacked of dark magic to me and it was little wonder that she had grown into a powerful witch from her years of systematic abuse. Give a woman enough motivation, and we can unleash hell on earth if pushed hard enough. Of that, I had no doubt.
“That bad, huh?” Cass said from the comfort of the loveseat in the corner of my office. I hadn’t even noticed that she’d moved over there or how much time had passed while reading the journal. The clock on my wall said I’d been at it for over three hours.
“You don’t know the half of it.” I said. “So far, I’ve learned that Venna birthed at least two daughters by her captor, but she alludes to the fact that he planned for her to give him thirteen children, and all of them were to be daughters. It’s so sad and gross and... well, depressing.”
“Thirteen daughters? Black magic, maybe?” Cass considered it for a moment. “Most likely. And to think, one of those daughters had children, who had children, who had children, until one day you were born.”
I know she meant it as a silver-lining sort of thing, but that disgusted me even more. Not only was I the eventual product of a victimized girl, but also of a degenerate madman with a penchant for the dark arts. No wonder I was so fucked up.
Slamming the journal shut, I stood up and stretched like a cat. “I’m at my limit. Besides, I’ve got to pack for my trip tomorrow. Are you going to keep at it?”
“Just a few more minutes,” she said, yawning.
I turned to leave the room and she stopped me.
“Hey, don’t forget... you’re flying, so leave the sex toys at home unless you want to be embarrassed by the TSA.” She flashed me a wicked grin.
I shook my head and tossed a fake fire-ball in her direction. “Bitch.”
Cass shrieked and dove to the floor like I was actually going to hit her with it. I waited by the door, wanting to see the look on her face when my fireball exploded into a shower of colored confetti. At the exact moment it exploded with a soft pffft, Cass raised her head.
I laughed, deep from my belly and left her there looking like she was covered in unicorn shit. She might not have been amused, but I certainly was. I laughed all the way to my bedroom.
Chapter Six
Even if I had been a snake, my jaw could not have opened any wider than it did when I pulled into Clive’s driveway. To even call the entry to the place a driveway was doing it a huge disservice. For starters, most people don’t have a guard house posted in front of twenty-foot electrified gate, nor do they have thirty-foot tall stone-and-mortar fencing surrounding the entire property.
I gave my name to a human guard at the gate, a militant young man with zero personality of his own, and he radioed up to the main house. Within seconds, the gates were opened and I was instructed to stay on the main road and it would lead me all the way up to the front door. He repeated it twice, “Stay on the main road. Do not turn at any point.”
I fought the urge to salute and give him a “Yes, Sir!” and instead I thanked him and pulled forward. The guard had not been embellishing. The property was huge—I could tell the immense wall ran around the perimeter, but I could not see the other side of it. It must have been sitting on quite a bit of land. Just how rich was Clive? It was a bit like finding out you’d been screwing Iron Man for months with absolutely no idea.
After what felt like eons, I spied the compound up ahead. Not a house, not a mansion, but rather what I’d imagine if the White house had a baby with Buckingham palace. The only estate I’d ever seen in the States that rivaled Clive’s place would have to be Biltmore castle in North Carolina.
I slowed the rental car as I approached, totally aware of the guards with sniper rifles posted on the roof. I was pretty sure that I also caught the gleam of a scope in the tree line as well. Holy artillery, Batman.
Two men that would have given Hagrid a run for his money loomed on either side of the front door. As I put my car in park, an attendant appear immediately. I opened my car door and he gave me a half smile and spoke in a clipped manner. Another person stood directly behind him, a pock-marked man.
“If you’ll just pop the trunk, I’ll have Jonas here take your bags to your room while I park your car in the main garage, Miss.” He wasted no time holding out his hand for my keys.
For lack of something to say, I pulled the trunk lever, grabbed my purse and handed over the keys. My bags and my car where whisked away simultaneously, and I was left standing in the dying sun. It stung a bit, but nothing I couldn’t handle.
I stepped up onto the shade of the porch and the two goons looked rather surprised.
“You’re Vampire?” one of them said.
“But the Sun...” the other chimed in.
I smiled sweetly and responded, “Yes, it is a lovely day, isn’t it?” before stepping to the door. No sense in handing out personal information freely. I didn’t know these people and they didn’t need to know me. Knowledge may be power, but withholding knowledge can be equally useful if done properly.
Stunned, neither of them made a move to let me in, so I huffed and made a disapproving face, before taking care of it myself. Upon opening the door and stepping inside, I was once again speechless. The entry hall was enormous, with a vaulted ceiling, a massive stone fireplace to one side, and several grouped seating areas, where I assumed visitors waited to be attended to.
I’d no sooner lowered my rump into an exquisite Queen Anne settee, when a voice spoke from right behind me. “Miss?” it said.
I must have jumped a foot. Clive needed to hang bells on his staff; they were too damn sneaky. Of course, that’s what you get when you’re surrounded by Vampires, I supposed.
Standing, I turned to see the vampire that belonged to the voice. Middle-aged by human standards, average height, average face. Nothing that would stand out in a crowd or be remembered easily.
“Claire,” I said, offering up my hand in greeting.
Recognition dawned on his face and he shook my hand quickly, almost as if he didn’t want to touch me any longer than necessary. I wondered if that was a vampire etiquette thing, or if it was specific to me. If it was me, then my reputation must have taken on a life of its own and proceeded me.
“Weston,�
�� he said, pulling back his hand.
I took a deep breath. Definitely vampire. It’s hard to explain, but vampires have a scent that has a distinct lack of fresh blood, human blood. Vampires mostly smell like nothing. Humans smell like dinner, fairies smell like moss, and witches—well, I don’t know what they smell like, it being sort of impossible to smell myself and I was the only witch I’d met so far.
“I take it you had a pleasant trip?” Weston asked, clearly uncomfortable making small talk. I kind of felt sorry for him.
“Yes, thank you.” I responded. “Is Clive...?”
He nodded, “Yes, he’s on his way to give you a tour of the house. It does take some time to get from one side to the other, so I’ve been instructed to keep you company until he arrives.”
“Well thank you, but that’s not necessary.” I wanted to say something smart-assy, like that I didn’t need a babysitter, but my mama taught me better.
He smiled, but didn’t respond. I tried to look at it from a security standpoint, since the placed practically oozed fortress despite its ostentatious style. I was a guest there, and only the head honcho knew me, so it made sense that they didn’t want me wandering around unattended. I had to play nice, I decided.
“So Weston, tell me about yourself?” I took a seat once again and motioned for him to join me.
He looked utterly terrified. Not in a “she’s going to eat me” sort of way. More like “social interaction makes me piss myself” way instead. Bless his little dead heart.
“It’s okay, I won’t bite.” I couldn’t help it, I flashed my fangs.
Yes, I can be a bit of a bitch sometimes. I got that from my mama as well.
He laughed heartily and flashed his own fangs back at me. So, that didn’t pan out as intended, but better actually. I’d inadvertently broken the ice.
After that, he told me the pertinent details. He’d been with Clive for over one-hundred and fifty years, serving as his secretary and third in command, at least until I’d killed Clive’s second in command, Bitch-Face, last year at my house.