Prince, Prelude-Legend

by Claudy Conn

  He knew that at this moment he was on Maxine’s mind. Even more, he could hear her calling his name. She was calling to him, testing an ability she had newly begun to form. He could hear her voice everywhere he went, and it was filled with mixed emotions and maximum confusion. If he did not know his sister better, he might think her tone tinged with terror…

  He could hear her, but he wasn’t able to respond in like fashion. He didn’t have that ability. He would never have the ability she possessed.

  He studied her miniature. Beside his sister’s picture was one of Julian. He and Julian had been close friends, had been so from almost the moment they met. Yet, this confusion he sensed from his sister all centered on Julian. He was sure of it, and yet, why?

  What danger could there be from a friend, from Maxie’s beau? He was going to be her husband, her protector. None of this made sense.

  She couldn’t be in danger from Julian. That was absurd!

  Maxie was getting close to some answers. Perhaps if he could piece the puzzle of their visions together, they could come up with an understandable whole? Perhaps that would solve the problem. If only he could answer her call!

  Maxie was on the verge. He absolutely knew this. He felt her at the attic in their home. He sensed her close to something important. He also knew that something was watching his sister. Odd that. Not someone, but something. How could that be?

  He was constantly receiving images, sometimes enhanced with explicit form and color, infused with unintelligible sounds, and sometimes horribly grotesque!

  He knew Maxie was in immediate, mortal danger. He knew this and was helpless. Where would the danger come from? Every single day he sent off another letter to her. It was such a feeble act considering the situation at hand, and yet it was all he could do…unless …? Yes, unless he could break through his haze and reach her, answer her call. How? How? How?

  Perhaps if he formed a picture in his mind of their landscape at Reigate now while he was awake? If he combined it with an image of Maxie …?

  Flashes of reality hit him straight on. Grassy hills of childhood, flashes of faces he was sure he had never seen before in his adult life. Childhood memories? And then all at once the color of cornsilk hair flowing in the breeze. A beautiful, unfamiliar face, amber brown eyes. She was no more than a girl, but she was becoming—suddenly the amber brown eyes turned red! Blood-red eyes filled with sparks of hatred…and then she was gone. Who was she? What did it mean? What had that to do with his sister and the cursed gifts they both shared?

  “Daniel…?”

  His wife sat up on their bed. She was heavy with child, and the thought that soon his child would enter the world made him smile in spite of his worries. He walked over to her. “I am here, love. Never far from you.”

  He had to clear his mind for the moment, for the sake of his bride. He would try again later.

  ~ Eight ~

  DELIA REIGATE FISTED small hands to her delicate lips. She was still quite a lovely woman at fifty-five, but at the moment her features were drawn in consternation. She moved in agitated spurts across the Oriental rug of her bright morning room as her thoughts bumped and tripped into one another.

  The question that repeated itself in her brain and could not be adequately answered was “What to do?” She even whispered it to herself. “What shall I do? What is to be done?”

  Every inch of her body was tense with concentration. The wrong decision could do so much damage. Timing, timing was everything. However, time seemed against all her better judgment. Time was something they were running out of now. The air she breathed vibrated with evil. Genuine evil. Of this, she was certain. But what was the source? What was actually causing this?

  Nothing of this nature had ever befallen them. She had always been able to sense, feel instinctively if one of her beloveds, even a close friend, might be in trouble. There was that time they had been strolling in town…

  She had known that the farmer’s cart would break free. She had known it would come flying round the corner and jump the curbing. She and Maxie had been safely out of its path, but Daniel would have been right in its way. She had called out to him in time, but there had been no need. He had already known. He had already started out of the flying cart’s direction even though it wasn’t yet in sight.

  It came all at once with a force all its own, its wheels spinning off, ricocheting against a cob horse pulling another wagon. The poor animal jumped aside in fright. Had Daniel not already moved he would have been gravely injured if not killed.

  That was when she knew for certain. That was when the squire took Daniel to the attic.

  She had always believed that day would arrive. She had dreaded its coming.

  She had prayed her beloved children would be spared the curse she had suffered all her life. Her husband called it a gift. When Daniel’s gift saved him that day, she too thought perhaps she was wrong and that it was more gift than curse.

  Thus, Daniel had been taken into their fold. What she had not understood at the time was that Maxie’s powers were so much greater than theirs or Daniels’s were…

  And then it seemed to develop beyond any of their powers, taking on a life of its own.

  The squire insisted that Maxie be taken to the attic, but Delia had refused to allow this. She wanted Maxie free to lead a normal life, to ignore the powers she possessed.

  She should have realized the day of the ‘cart’ incident what Maxine was, what she would become in spite of her need to shield her daughter. Daniel had told her later that day what really happened. He said that it had been Maxie who had called to him in his mind and told him to run long before he knew something was about to happen. It had been Maxie. It was always Maxie.

  Yet, Maxie had never spoken of it to her mother. She had sent a message to Daniel’s mind without uttering a word.

  Delia chided herself now. She should have acknowledged then what Maxie’s abilities were, what they meant, what they would lead to…

  She only knew one thing: she wanted to protect Maxie. She had suppressed the evidence of Maxie’s gifts over the years. Foolishly she had ignored what Maxie could do with her mind, with her heart. She had hoped it wouldn’t matter, that all things would work out in the end, that prophecy was but a fairytale …

  Maxie was such a wise little creature, and Delia had depended on Maxie’s good sense to keep her abilities in check. Perhaps it had been wrong not to tell Maxie about her wonderful heritage?

  Oh, but Delia had so wanted to spare Maxie the pain that comes of too much knowledge. Theirs was a secret, deeply buried and solemnly guarded. However, now something outside their immediate sphere threatened to overturn their world.

  Now nightmares haunted her nights and her days. Nightmares of black clouds, fires, and things her father had told her about. Only he had spoken in reverence about such things. What she saw, what she felt, was ‘evil’, and its breath was far too close to her family. Worse than that, Maxie seemed to be at the center of it all, tied down by chains, tied down by hatred. What did it mean?

  She could see her daughter crying out in the dark, in the middle of a hazy mist, and there was blood…everywhere, oh faith, everywhere there was blood!

  * * *

  Lamia licked her lips. The taste of blood was still there though the blood itself was gone.

  It had been hours since she had taken her pleasure with Shamon’s young flower girl…

  She stretched, looking like a lithe cat as she moved. Shamon was displeased, and Lamia sighed over this.

  She was genuinely attached to her Shamon. She did not want him unhappy in his life with her. This last bit of business had been unfortunate. The timing had been wrong. She had not been able to think or to control the wild rage that had worked itself into a frenzy within her body. She had taken her temper out on the little piece of fluff that Shamon had been dallying with in the park. She had been cruel by Shamon’s standards. Standards? She had long ago forsaken any. She did only what pleased her, whe
n it pleased her. She had made Shamon drive her back to the spot at the edge of Park Drive where the girl was still attempting to sell the last of her flowers. She bought every last one and told the girl to get inside her carriage. The girl was pleased to jump up and close the door behind her. She settled in across from Lamia, remarking on the plushy leather upholstery of the seats.

  Lamia spoke to her softly, and before very long the girl only heard Lamia’s voice, only saw Lamia, could only obey Lamia…

  Well, now she would have to make it up to Shamon. After all, she did always allow him his little diversions, didn’t she? Yes, and rarely had she ever taken one of these diversions for herself. He was far too softhearted, but never mind—he would get over it.

  Shamon was completely hers. In the end, he belonged to her. He would never, could never betray her. He was locked into her mind and body. He would never be able to refuse her anything…nor would he wish to do so. Still, she knew he was not happy about what had taken place last evening.

  The wonder was that she cared about his feelings! She had somehow become attached to Shamon, far more than she had ever been attached to anyone ever before in all her many, many years. She could see he was hurting over her use of the flower girl. She could see he felt guilty because she had used someone he had drawn attention to. Perhaps he had wanted the girl for himself…for a time …?

  She could understand that; greed was a thing common to all, greed and selfishness. Lamia shrugged it off. Too late now. It wasn’t her fault…not her fault.

  None of this was her fault…from the beginning she had been a victim…a victim of even her father’s experiments…her father whom she had adored. She quickly set this thought aside.

  It was Julian who had made her life unbearable as of late. He had made her lose control. This was his fault…and theirs, all those years ago…their fault she had this hunger.

  The hunger had filled her mind last night; it had built up her frenzy into burning desire. She felt she was starving, starving. She had called to Shamon but saw at once in his mind the picture of the girl. A nothing of a girl! A sure jealously formed in the pit of her stomach. Then she read, saw the fear in Shamon’s mind. Fear for the girl? She understood at once that Shamon wanted to protect the girl from her. From her, his beloved mistress whom he served? How could he? How could he take anyone’s interests above her own? It was too much to bear in that moment.

  Did Shamon not know she was in need of comfort, of pleasures? Why would he put any mere mortal above her?

  Lamia had been incensed, reckless, and had become barbaric. She paced and glanced in the mirror, and she saw her eyes were still tinged with red. She had been out of control last night, and the night for them—Shamon, the girl, and herself—was written.

  The girl had been confiscated in the flash of a moment…

  Lamia sighed now as she remembered her animalistic behavior. That had been too bad. However, that was Shamon’s fault. They brought the girl to the London town house Lamia had owned for a century. They brought her to the special room. It was a room that was kept for rituals…

  There was no need to tie the girl down; she was drowning in Lamia’s spell.

  Candles lit the darkly furnished room. The light from the candles flickered on the blessed stones, stones that were never meant to be used the way Lamia used them.

  Lamia needed the girl in every conceivable way, visually first of all. She made Shamon undress the girl. While Shamon undressed her, Lamia instructed him to lick the chit’s nipples, to fondle her breasts. Then she’d shoved him away and made Shamon give the girl a special brew she quickly prepared. She watched rapturously as the girl writhed with sudden desire.

  She watched hungrily as Shamon rubbed his hardened manhood along the girl’s belly and then along the girl’s thighs. Lamia touched and fondled the girl’s large breasts while she instructed Shamon to take his pleasure with the girl. She watched him work the female and smiled to herself. In the end, desire and need won out. He enjoyed himself. He could not stop himself from being stirred. He could not stop himself from relieving his heat with the girl in spite of all his ‘concerns’. No doubt, this caused his guilt today.

  Then while he lay beside the creature, spent and almost sleepy, Lamia mounted her and bent to her neck. Playfulness was gone. In its place was need, great need. Blood…oh, the blood… She used as always her special tool; however, she had lost control of herself, of her style, a style developed over the years.

  In a short space of time, it was over and the poor girl was horribly mutilated—horribly dead.

  Now, thinking about it, she sighed for Shamon. This was what Shamon was finding hard to deal with today. He liked being with the girl. He liked having her. Perhaps he would not even have minded Lamia taking her life if she had not…tortured the chit?

  He was such a sensitive boy. He would probably go about the house brooding for days.

  Chaos! Everything seemed out of order. She couldn’t think. She needed Shamon to steady her, to keep her cool. Damn, it wasn’t as if she wanted the hunger to control her. Sometimes it just did. She had lost herself to its baseness.

  When she had awakened, Shamon was at the window quietly crying…

  Lamia had been moved to impatience, and yet she felt a moment’s distress, a sudden need to make it up to him. No time, a voice in her brain screamed. Get rid of the body.

  “Shamon, you must get rid of her body…” she had cooed.

  Shamon had done his mistress’s bidding; he had no choice. There could be no burial for what was left of the flower girl, no nameless grave. Burning was the only safe solution for such times. No evidence. No questions.

  Shamon did what he had to do.

  “Shamon,” she whispered softly. “Shamon? Come to me, darling. Forgive me, Shamon…” She allowed him much, she thought to herself. She had never asked any other for forgiveness. Yes, Shamon was certainly special to her. He was her dear pet, and she wanted him with her always, but he wouldn’t live forever…she could only keep him alive longer than most.

  He could not resist her for long. They were, after all, tied by much. In fact, some moments later he appeared at her open door, before she had to call again. She was in the hot tub of suds he had prepared for her earlier.

  She smiled sweetly at him. “Darling Shamon, so nice to be alone with my Shamon…come…”

  He went to her slowly. She handed him the perfumed sponge, and he managed a half smile. By the time he dipped it into the warm water and touched it to her breasts he was grinning at the sound of her deep-throated groan, and the flower girl for the moment was forgotten.

  In the end, Shamon was hers…and happy that it was so.

  * * *

  Maxie was deep in thought. Their library was full with Irish folklore about the Fae. She had loved reading about them. The folklore told of their aloofness towards man and also mentioned that they could be prankish and pernicious. They traveled using a method they called shifting. They could change shape. They used Glamour to disguise their alien eyes in order to mingle with humans undetected. Maxie knew all these things, and even so her instincts told her she could trust the prince.

  Then all thought of him vanished. Daniel, a voice in her head told her. A letter from Daniel.

  She rushed down the stairs to smile at Kettles, knowing he was about to present her with the silver salver. She had been waiting for this letter, had known it was on its way.

  Kettles’ aged face was as usual unreadable, but his eyes twinkled. “This has just come for you, Miss…by special post.”

  Maxie thanked the elderly retainer and hurried outdoors with her treasure. She wanted complete privacy with her brother. She couldn’t have any interruptions. Her fingers trembled as she tore open the wax-sealed envelope. She calmed herself as she sat on the cold stone bench facing the rose garden.

  It was as though he were there, standing before her. She could see him—really see him in his gray tailed coat with his tie as usual just a bit askew. He st
ood by the bay with the home he had built in Sag Harbor at his back. She could see the ocean sweeping into the sound, into his protected bay. She could hear his voice clearly as the words on the page came to life,

  “Maxie-girl, you don’t know what we are. I will come to the point quickly without the pretty paint. I repeat so that you understand how important this is: you don’t know who we are. I made a promise to our mother. My promise cannot be broken, but you must insist that she tell you the truth. Make her tell you the truth. If our parents don’t tell you…then go and find it out for yourself. In the end, yours is the greatest power, and you need it now. They chose to hide what we are from you, and neither of us got the training we were meant to have, and now you will need it. Your power is your birthright. Forgive me—I kept you in the dark, but that was not my choice.”

  Maxie reached for him, but though she could see him, hear him, she could not yet touch him. The words kept coming…they were spoken words now, spoken in his voice, and the page before her vanished.

  “Maxie, we—our parents, all of us—are in immediate danger from something I cannot name. I feel it, have nightmares about it, and yet do not see it clearly. You do as well, that I know. I don’t know what it all means. It is a threat hanging in the air from ‘something’, not someone, and that is the puzzle. I can’t put a face to this threat, yet it is there. What I do know is the threat is nearest to you!

  “How can I live with myself? I know you should have been prepared for this moment in time. The threat has to do with you…with us…with Julian. I see a Fae, and, Max, he will try and help. Let him. If only you had been allowed to expand on your gifts, on your awareness. In the end, it is your awareness that might shield you.

  “Know this: yours is the greatest power in our family. That is right, in our family! I cannot say more on that. You must hurry, learn the full extent of your heritage, your gifts, and give it life. You can. I know you can. If not, then come to me here—stay with me, let me shield you. If we are together, we will make it different. Perhaps our combined efforts will enable us to ward off this evil, and it is evil. That I know. I can’t ask Lisa to travel now, and I can’t leave her to have our baby alone. Bring Mama and Papa, bring Julian, and be wed here in this wild, beautiful country. Please, Maxie, come to me. Bring Julian and come to me.