"My blood is blessed by God. So you can trust me."
A bit dubiously, Kate hesitated before throwing caution to the wind and following her instincts. She handed the empty cup back to Bianca and sat back, waiting for that kick to hit her. The only thing that happened was a rush of contented relaxation. She looked expectantly at the witch.
"Are you comfortable?"
Kate smiled funnily as a warm fuzziness stole over her. “Oh, yes,” she breathed, closing her eyes for what she thought was a brief moment.
"Sleep tight, young one,” Bianca whispered and covered her with a blanket. She then left the vampress to her dream-walk.
* * * *
The plain, wooden cross filled all of her vision, but it gradually became smaller to the point where Kate could see that it hung on a wall. Her gaze then shifted to the figure kneeling at the altar. At first, she didn't recognize him, but when he stood up, her heart suddenly ached at the sight of him.
Vincent's raven black hair was in a ponytail, which had been quite the men's fashion in his time. His face was dark with stubble, and there was great torment in his eyes. He looked right through her, and she immediately realized she was visiting the past. Nothing she could say or do would affect anything. She was a merely a spectator, and she wondered what the past had to do with the future.
He reached down and picked something up off the floor. It took her a second to realize that the wet, glistening object was a spinal cord. She gagged in disgust and followed him across the chapel to an old, stone sarcophagus.
Kneeling, he pushed the spinal cord through the stone base as if it were merely water. Kate's mouth dropped open in awe as he removed his now-empty hand, leaving the coffin intact. She knew in that instant that this was how she had escaped her own coffin, by making herself incorporeal.
She closed her eyes, and upon opening them, she left the memory of her dream and looked around the empty chapel. The first thing she noticed was that the wooden cross above the altar was gone. It hadn't made it to the twentieth century, but the stone sarcophagus had.
She knelt beside it as Vincent had done so long ago. She took a deep breath, forcing herself into calmness. Then, she pictured the base as nothing but water, and her hand slipped through with ease. She smiled briefly before her fingers touched the still-wet spine. Instinctively, she yanked her hand back but then forced herself to grab it.
The sudden sound of voices made her freeze. She wondered who on earth was touring the Rock of Cashel at midnight. Her panic made her lose concentration, and her hand became stuck in stone.
"Oh, no,” she groaned, trying to tug it free. Her panic threatened to engulf her as flashlights swung about the doorway of Cormac's Chapel. She quickly drew the dark about her as one would a blanket. The light danced over her but could not penetrate her shield, and so the Irish teenagers saw nothing.
Thankfully, the two settled into a pew in the front. Kate smiled nostalgically at the boy's declaration of love. Then she blushed at the sound of kissing and blocked it out. Within seconds, she had her hand free, Beaux's spinal cord stuffed in a bag, and was off to her next destination.
* * * *
Standing alone in the old Irish church, Kate studied the wall of monuments to those long dead and those only just recently passed. In particular, a casket-shaped plaque held her attention. It was not that it commemorated the lives of Sir Thomas Taylour and his wife, Lady Ann, but that she searched for the fang imbedded deep within it.
Her fingers sank into the black marble as easily as dipping one's hand in a jug of car oil, only cleaner. Seconds later, she came in contact with the pointed end of the fang and quickly withdrew it. Then, in order not to lose it, she effectively buried it in her arm before making her retreat.
* * * *
How fitting. Kate swallowed over the lump in her throat. Her heart ached deeply as she stood at the entrance to the Costello Memorial Chapel. In 1877, Edward Costello had built his deceased wife a beautiful little chapel as a last resting place for her and himself.
Kate could still feel the lingering sense of love as she passed through the door. To her left lay Mary Josephine and to her right was her husband. Both were covered with a specially made thick glass.
She briefly recalled the moment in time when she and Vincent had heard the touching news and was surprised that he had remembered the chapel. Although it was Beaux's remains he brought here, she recalled Vincent's whispers during her dream-walk.
"I know not if ye hear me, my love, but I bury this here as a tribute to ye. Strange tribute, to be sure, but know that I have avenged ye.” He closed his eyes, said a brief prayer, and buried the head.
Kate shook her head clear of the memory and knelt at the head of Mary Josephine's coffin. She plunged her hand into the earth. Half her shoulder was immersed before she grabbed a handful of soft hair. She pulled it free and quickly stuffed it in the bag. She had no desire to study the face. Resisting the urge to smash the remaining fang, she left the chapel before she desecrated it with vomit.
* * * *
The young vampress crossed her arms and silently studied the huge mountain before her. On the other side lay the town of Westport in the County Mayo of Ireland. The mountain had a long history of Christian as well as pagan rituals and thus was considered a holy place.
No doubt Vincent had thought it the perfect place to hide Beaux's body. Kate had found the hidden entrance.
She took a deep breath, shaking her hands to loosen herself up. She had no desire to get stuck in the side of the mountain as her hand had gotten stuck in the sarcophagus. Within seconds, her suddenly incorporeal body slipped through the earth, and she found herself in a tall hollow cave.
Ignoring the damp, cold air, she immediately approached the headless body in the center of the cave. Seeing the size of it, she was glad she had chosen to collect this piece of the grisly puzzle last.
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Twenty-nine
Kate couldn't help feeling despondent as disappointment washed over her. She kicked the body at her feet, as much out of annoyance as hatred. Amazingly, it had healed in less than a week. Even the old fashioned clothes were still intact. Yet putting the pieces of Beaux's body back together did not pull his spirit into it, and the peaceful countenance on his face only irked her more. She kicked it again before flopping on the sofa in dismay.
"Well,” she huffed. “What now?"
Bianca sat back on her heels with a look of bewilderment. “I'm clueless. I've used all the spells I know."
Kate glared at Pyre's still sleeping form. “My God, how long is he gonna be like that? I bet he knows a spell."
She jumped at an unexpected knock at the front door. Full of dread, she watched Bianca answer it. Her face twisted in confusion at the sight of her new housekeeper.
"Theresa?” She took a step toward the door but one deep inhale made her stop.
"Oh, Miss Kate, there you are,” sighed the young woman. “Mr. Vincent's been worried sick over you."
Kate swallowed over the hard lump of fear in her throat. “Don't invite her in."
Bianca nodded. “Don't worry. I smell it too."
"Tell your master,” Kate sneered, “That I'm not coming home. So he can quit worrying."
A figure stepped up behind the maid. “I thought you'd say as much. Since you won't let us in, I insist you come out here ... NOW, Katherine."
She smiled smugly, loving the fact that her body did not respond to his command. “Turns out, there's a spell for that. Go figure."
His face darkened, but he managed to keep hold of his rage. He looked at the inert body on the floor and gave his own smile of satisfaction. “That was a good try. It was a mistake, though. I felt the pull on my soul, and for kicks, I followed it. I'm glad I did, very glad."
Hiding the fact that she was unnerved, she placed her hand on her hip. “Gee, Beaux, you seem to have a knack for being on the wrong side of the door."
As if planned, Bianca slammed the
door in his face. “That felt good. Can I do it again?"
"As much as I'd like to see it again, I think not."
"Damn."
"I'm guessing Theresa pulled out the broom handle I stuck in his chest."
Kate sighed and glared at the body on the floor. She bit her lip to keep from screaming and then dropped to her knees. She raised her fist, intent on dusting Beaux.
A male voice rang through the room. “I wouldn't if I were you."
* * * *
Kate sat on the couch with her elbows on her knees, and her face in her hands. She struggled with wanting to throw in the towel and wanting to throw a screaming fit. She took a deep breath to clear her mind and looked into Pyre's brown eyes.
"I swear, if this is another trick, I'll dust you,” she growled between gritted teeth.
He continued to look calmly at her, obviously unruffled by her threat. “Le Controleur de Vampire is in the possession of the Catholic church."
She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “So I'm going on another road trip."
"No, I daresay the old priest would never let you in."
She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know all of this, anyway?"
He shrugged and examined his nails. “There was a time when I was almost under the damn thing's power. As that's another story, let's just say I placed it in the priest's protection."
"Why not simply destroy it?"
"Indestructible."
She sighed. “How are you going to get past Beaux?"
His face contorted into exasperation. “I'm centuries older than he. I think I can manage."
Then he simply vanished. Kate rolled her eyes. “Show off."
* * * *
"Happy birthday."
Kate held the small, triangular object between her fingers. “It's not my birthday."
"Well Merry Christmas then."
"It's months until Christmas."
Pyre glared down at her. “Women,” he muttered and put a room's distance between them.
She rubbed the tiny jewel in the center of the triangle. “How does it work?"
"Place a drop of the vampire's blood on the ruby. It will absorb it."
She turned it over and examined the short metal prongs. “What are these for?"
"Those will hook into your skin and keep Le Controleur from falling off."
She grimaced at the thought of pain. “How am I to get Beaux's blood?"
Pyre shrugged. “As I see it, I got the controller. It's your job to get his blood."
Kate bit her lip, deep in thought. “That means going back to him. He'll punish me for escaping."
"Any master would,” the ancient vampire stated.
She held up the triangle. “How do I hide this?"
"You don't. You wear it. He won't be able to remove it, and it'll be there when you need it."
"What if he asks me about it?"
Bianca spoke up. “Just tell him that I cursed you with it. When you leave here, we'll stage a dramatic fight."
Kate traced the crosses carved on the object. “He's afraid of Christ."
Without another word, she reached into her blouse and placed it over her left breast. The cold metal drew a gasp from her, but when the steel tips curled into her flesh, she screamed.
She fell to her knees clutching her chest as a blood-red haze filled her vision. Sound became distorted as well, and she was vaguely aware of Bianca and Pyre holding her by her arms. The next thing she knew, she was shoved out the front door and thrown at Beaux's feet.
"You're no longer welcome here, traitor,” Bianca spat and slammed the door shut.
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Thirty
Bianca doesn't understand. Pyre's thoughts ground around his head. It isn't just the vampire in me that loves chaos. It's been in my blood since birth. Father had been, after all, a god of chaos.
Pyre knew that Seth had raped his mother. He had not been a child born of love. Hell, Seth had simply lusted after her. He hadn't even known his mother. Pyre knew his life would have been so different if his mother had lived. Or would it? Seth probably would have come for him whether he had been an infant, a child, or a grown man. Once Seth found out that he had a son, Pyre knew there would've been no holding him back.
Seth had been an attentive father. Pyre had never lacked for attention, but he had been more of a trainee than a son. Seth was training him in the art of war, evil war, against his own family. Pyre had not let Seth know that he was aware of the jealousy. Seth hated Osiris. It was obvious to everyone. Pyre's chaotic tutelage had begun at a very young age.
* * * *
Pyre closed the door to his mansion and listened as the sound echoed off the silence. Not even a roach scuttled across the clean floors. He hired a cleaning service to come in once a month, with specific orders that it be a different crew each time. Pyre didn't want the same crew because he knew the more they came, the nosier they got.
Pyre's mansion was set deep in the woods of Clinton, Louisiana. He had bought it and the hundred acres of land when Beaux first dragged him to Louisiana. What a fool he turned out to be, and Kate had still had the last laugh. Pyre smirked, knowing he would never let a female control his heart. Yet, a memory plagued him, and his smile faded. Thoughts of Ambrea, his first love, always tormented him.
Shaking himself, he walked toward the center of the house, stopping long enough to check out his reflection in the hall mirror. His dark black eyes gleamed with a three thousand year old pain. Ignoring the look on his own face, Pyre admired his new short hair. It would grow back fast, but he liked the feel of the woman's hands as she cut. They reminded him of Ambrea's small hands. So he didn't mind going back every week.
Without looking, Pyre reached down and petted the panther that had slipped up to sit beside him. The velvet fur felt sweet to the touch. He knelt down and scratched the huge cat behind her ears. Her purring sounded louder than a car engine. Her eyes closed, and she leaned her head into Pyre's fingers. The panther was in Heaven. Unfortunately, it ended all too soon.
Pyre stood, feeling the dawn reach for him. He went to a hidden door beneath the stairs and pushed it open. It was a small bathroom. Pyre pressed a button on the ceiling that could only be found by touch. The opposite wall opened, revealing the darkest room in the center of the mansion.
A huge bed surrounded by black curtains sat in the middle of the room. There were no lights. Pyre needed none, of course. Four panthers lounged around the room, and as their master entered, they sprang to their feet. Each received the same affection as had the first cat, but as Pyre climbed into his bed, the panthers knew to leave him alone until he woke. They each surrounded the bed, guarding as he slept.
* * * *
Ambrea's golden body lay in a crumpled heap on the jungle floor. Pyre stared down at her, shock all over his face. His left hand suddenly felt heavy, and his eyes focused on the shotgun in it. The gun didn't belong in the century Ambrea had lived in. Yet, Pyre had killed her with it. He still felt responsible for her death even though he had not killed her.
Pyre sat up in his bed, face flushed as he woke himself from the hateful dream. In it, he always killed her. Different scenarios. Different weapons. But he always became the murderer of his beloved Ambrea. Guilt does that to a person sometimes, even if they aren't guilty of the crime.
* * * *
Seth glared at the two lovers sitting innocently by the Nile River. They had no idea that he was spying on them. He imagined how they would react if he stepped from behind the tree.
First, they'd jump guiltily apart. Then, they'd stumble quickly to their feet as embarrassment swam across their faces. The girl would hide behind the boy, and the boy would most stubbornly let her with his chin held high like the little snot he truly was.
Sighing, Seth backed away, deciding easily how to deal with this little act of defiance from his son. The matter would be dealt with swiftly and discreetly.
* * * *
A week later, Pyr
e stood at the door of his heart's home. The evening shadows hid his figure from casual passers. He knocked quietly. Seconds dragged by without any footsteps rushing to answer his call. He knocked again, louder this time.
As more time slipped by, the hair on Pyre's neck rose and an uneasy feeling pressed upon him. Cautiously, he opened the door and entered Ambrea's home without permission. He felt like a thief.
The house was deathly still and cold against his flushed skin. He had run the entire way, and his sweat dried instantly in the coolness. At the end of the hall, Pyre stepped into the main room of the house. A cry escaped his lips as he saw the murdered bodies of his love's parents on the floor. He covered his face with his hands and stood immobile for a long time. Fear caused his heart to pound so hard that Pyre thought it would burst out of his chest.
Moments later, he dared to drop his hands. His youthful mouth dropped in astonishment. The room was completely empty: no furniture, no mutilated bodies, nothing. He ran through the rooms calling Ambrea's name. All were the same as the main room: empty.
Heart in his throat, Pyre approached Ambrea's room. She shared it with her little sister. The door swung silently open, revealing a scene that would remain burned in Pyre's mind for all of eternity.
His young love lay in her bed as if asleep. Her black eyelashes kissed her cheeks in silent farewell to the earth she left behind. Blood pooled around her body, and Pyre tried unsuccessfully not to look at her wounded throat.
He swung his eyes to the other bed where sweet little Anastia lay in the same state of death. A cry of grief echoed in the room, and Pyre fell to his knees, hiding his face once more in his hands as he cried.
"Ambrea,” he moaned. “Oh what has befallen you, my love?!"
Wearily, Pyre raised his tear-stained face to an empty room. Shocked, he stumbled to his feet, unable to comprehend that what he had just seen were visions of the past. He turned around slowly, looking at each empty corner of the room. He began to doubt his own sanity.
What had happened here? Where was Ambrea and her family? Were they really dead or had they left secretly in the night?
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