Indebted

by Amy A. Bartol

  The last time I was bitten, Russell had given me venison blood to drink to curb my bloodlust. The need to consume blood to stop the gnawing ache is overwhelming. If I can get something like venison blood and stash it somewhere that I can get to easily, I may have a chance of escaping before I become a true member of this family.

  Running the hairbrush through my hair, I pause as I look at the perfume bottles all lined up elegantly on the vanity. I put the brush down and pick up a glass bottle that is larger than the others. It has French writing on the front of the silver label.

  Unstopping it, I dump the contents of it down the drain of the sink, rinsing it out. It won’t hold more than a few ounces, but maybe if I fill up several of them with blood, I could put them in strategic places. Maybe if I can get to a couple of them after I have been bitten, I can survive the hallucinations long enough to get away from here. Wine bottles might be more useful. I can fill them with more blood, but the perfume bottle may mask the scent better. I don’t want any of the fellas finding bottles of blood lying around. It could tip them to my plans.

  My hand trembles as I think of the pain of being bitten. This plan is a huge risk, one I should think about more thoroughly. I had hoped that I could last the six months. Then, when Brennus lets me go back to Reed, as our contract stipulates, I could strategize with Reed and come up with a plan to get out of this contract before I have to go back to Brennus the six months after that. But, I know now that Brennus has absolutely no intention of ever letting me go back to Reed. He allowed for my stipulation to the contract to buy my compliance for a time. The statue in his office told me that Brennus won’t let me be with Reed. Not for one second. Never.

  If I ever want to see Reed again, it will be up to me to find a way to stay alive and break the contract. It will have to be before the six months are over, too. That is the deadline. Brennus will have to make a decision—figure out another way to keep me or turn me…or make me fall in love with him, as is his current plan.

  Good luck, pal, I think with derision.

  Time is also a factor for me for another reason. I already ache from not being with Reed. I feel like a huge piece of me is missing. In the night, lying alone in the dark, I have been making bargains with time. That is what I do; I try to go for a few minutes without thinking about Reed, because when I do, my heart feels constricted.

  It’s worse when I think about what he must think of me for what I have done. I shut him out. Knowing that he wouldn’t have let me go to the church that night, I didn’t give him the opportunity to stop me. I have made my bargain and left him behind. I hope that he knows that I will find a way to come back to him. I will, but will he let me come back to him after what I’ve done? I can’t think like that or it will bury me. I will have to get away and hope for the best because Reed is my home.

  Tying the silk belt on my robe tighter, I walk to the wardrobe in my room and find slinky, little undergarments to put on. It takes me a few minutes to figure out how to put on the lacy, black garter that holds up the matching stockings, but I am finally able to slide the last clasp into place. I locate a sleeveless little black dress that molds to my body and I put on a pair of very high, black heels that must have cost a small fortune, based on the label.

  I find a tailored, black trench coat and take it with me as I walk through my rooms to the sitting room. Popping my head into Brennus’ office, I find it empty. I walk to the hallway and find Declan and Faolan leaning against the wall, looking bored to tears. They both straighten when they see me; their eyes bulge as they look me up and down like they have never seen me before now.

  “Hi,” I smile at them both, “I’m looking for Brennus. He said he would show me around the house. Do you know where I can find him?” I ask as they continue to look at me with weird expressions—like they’re holding their breaths.

  Neither one of them answers me; they just keep staring at me until Faolan exhales. When he does that—click—his fangs thrust forward in his mouth.

  “Banjax,” he mutters in frustration before turning to Declan with an anxious look. “She doesn’t even have her wings out either, Deck. Dis is bad.”

  “’Tis,” Declan agrees. “Dis is a security nightmare. We’re dead,” Declan adds, pinching the bridge of his nose like he has a massive headache. “Have ye fed today?” he asks Faolan.

  Faolan gives him a sharp nod. “I did. ’Tis da first ting I do when I know I will be seeing her,” he says, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

  “We will have ta have a new feedin’ schedule. We may each have ta feed a few times a day now. Dat way, ’twill make it easier,” Declan says, like he is trying to work out a complex problem.

  “Trouble?” I ask them, searching their faces.

  “Dere is,” Declan says, eyeing me like I still have on his lucky shirt. “Ye are treachery in da flesh, ye hallion.”

  “ME? What did I do?” I ask incredulously. “I took a shower and I brushed my teeth,” I say, smelling myself for any hint of a foul odor.

  Declan sighs. “Maybe we can make her put some o’ dat peanut butter on, dat helped,” Declan says to Faolan.

  “Maybe, but we can still see her,” Faolan replies grimly.

  Putting my hands on my hips, I let my wings shoot out of my back in agitation, while I tap my foot, waiting for an explanation from them. Faolan looks at me again and there is longing in his eyes. He turns to Declan again with concern.

  Declan, scowls at me, saying, “Go and feed, Fay. Take Lachlan and Eion wi’ ye. We will wait here ‘til ye get back. Hurry.” When Faolan leaves, he asks, “Was dat absolutely necessary?”

  “What?” I ask in confusion.

  “Da wings. Ye tryin’ ta torture him?” he asks in a severe tone.

  “Of course not!” I retort, feeling embarrassed as a blush stains my cheeks. “Should I go and put some perfume on?” I ask, lowering my eyes. “I didn’t know that I still stink.”

  “Ye do na stink. Dat’s da problem. Ye smell like whah Paradise must smell like and ye look like da most exquisite sin. Da wolves downstairs will be howlin’ for ye and dey are jus stone statues. I have an idea whah da other fellas will do when dey see ye, but it isna good. Most of dem will try ta behave, because dey know dat if dey do na, Brennus will kill dem. But, some may na be able ta control demselves and will have ta be sent away, for now. Faolan is ancient. He has more control den most and ye saw whah jus happened—wi’out da wings. Wi’ da wings…” he trails off.

  “The fellas like my wings?” I ask.

  “We do,” he replies grudgingly, like telling me he likes anything about me goes against the grain. “All da lasses where we’re from have wings. Although, dey are more like yer Reaper wings, but da feathers are jus as seductive.”

  “Oh,” I say, feeling a twinge of guilt for something I have no control over. “What do you want me to do?” I ask.

  He exhales a long breath. “I’d say die, but I do na even know if dat will fix dis. Dey would probably have trouble stayin’ away from ye if ye were undead too. We jus have ta be extra vigilant, maybe add a few more seasoned fellas ta yer personal guard.”

  I wrinkle my nose, “Do you have to do that? Isn’t four plenty?” I ask.

  “It should be, but ye make me nervous,” he says. “I tink I like ye better in me lucky shirt.”

  I smile brightly at that. “I think I liked wearing your lucky shirt better.”

  “Hallion,” he mutters under his breath, while shakin’ his head.

  “Do you want to come in and sit down while we wait?” I ask Declan with a faux-casual shrug. He looks at me skeptically before stepping inside with me. I walk back into the sitting room and he waits until I sit in a carved chair before he seats himself stiffly on the chair farthest away from me.

  Feeling awkward and stiff myself, I wet my lips and then ask, “Have…have you been here long?” His eyebrow arches in question because he doesn’t know what I’m asking. I try again, “Have you been a Gancanagh for a lo
ng time?”

  Narrowing his eyes at me, he says, “I have.”

  Holding my jacket on my lap, I play with one of the buttons on it as I ask, “Do you like it?”

  “Whah?” he asks with suspicion.

  “Do you like it…being a Gancanagh?” I ask, wishing I hadn’t opened my mouth when I see the sneer on his face.

  “Whah kind of question is dat?” he asks, like I’m a complete idiot.

  “I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I…Molly said it rocks…I was just wondering what you thought about…you know…being a fella—undead…” I stammer, blushing more because I do sound like an uncouth idiot. “I just thought you would probably have a more enlightened perspective than Molly because you have been around forever—I mean, for a while—I’m sorry…forget I asked…” I say, falling into a painful silence.

  The clock on the mantle ticks loudly for a few moments and I almost jump when Declan says, “No one has ever asked me dat question.”

  “Really?” I mutter.

  “Na dat I can recall, no. I am as old as da mist and older by two and ye’re da first ta ask me dat,” he says, looking surprised.

  “Oh. I hope I didn’t offend you. I’m usually not as mean as I have been to you. You just seem to find me in my worst moments,” I say honestly. I had no idea that I have the ability to shock him, but apparently I can.

  “I keep trying ta figure ye out, lass,” Declan says, assessing me.

  “Oh?” I respond.

  “I keep wondering if ’tis courage or if ’tis naiveté dat leads ye ta do all the brave and foolish tings dat ye do,” he says with sincerity in his tone.

  “You will let me know?” I ask with a small smile. When he looks at me in question, I add, “You’ll let me know when you figure out if it’s courage or naiveté, won’t you?”

  He smiles then, the first real smile I have ever seen from him. “I will,” he agrees.

  I nod my head and we both fall silent again for a while. “I miss being alive,” he says abruptly, like he really didn’t know he was saying that out loud. When he sees the question on my face, he explains, “Ye asked me before if I like being undead.” I nod my head to him in understanding. “’Twas funny…watchin’ ye eat…I felt like I wanted ta join ye, even when it smelled vile.”

  “Well, I can’t blame you, peanut butter is really very good. It just looks disgusting,” I smile.

  “Being around ye, lass—ye make me remember whah it was like ta be alive. Ye make me remember me family—da one I had before I was turned,” he says, looking at me.

  “What were they like?” I ask, wondering about Faeries and their world.

  “Lively…” he says distantly. “Dey…dey laughed a lot.”

  “Yeah, my uncle was like that, too. We used to laugh all the time—mostly at things that weren’t that funny, but he had this laugh—this great laugh, that when you heard it, you just couldn’t stop from laughing, too.”

  Declan smiles at me again, showing all of his perfect teeth. He says, “Me uncle was like dat, too! I remember—he had a laugh like a goat and when he would get going, dere was ne’er a dry eye in da place ‘cuz ye’d laughed so hard ye had tears from it.”

  I grin as he laughs at his memory.

  “Ye ready to hit it, Deck, or are ye gonna be knittin’ her a sweater?” Eion asks, entering the room with Lachlan and Faolan in tow.

  “I was just warming up to asking Declan to show me how to throw fire bombs, Eion. Thanks for ruining my opening,” I say, rising from the chair.

  “Ye want ta learn how ta throw elf darts?” Declan asks in surprise, while following me to the door.

  “Is that what they’re called?” I counter, raising my eyebrow at him as we enter the hall and walk towards the stairs. “Like the ones you were hurling at me in China?”

  “’Tis. Scared, were ye?” he asks with a smile on his lips.

  “Not really. You missed by a mile. You were shanking them off to the right. You may have to work on your follow through,” I tease, and I am gratified to hear them all laugh at my insult.

  Eion interrupts then and asks, “Why would ye want ta learn how ta throw elf darts?”

  “You have to ask? I just got served by an Ifrit; I need a better arsenal,” I answer.

  “Ye have us ta protect ye now,” Eion replies as we turn the corner, heading down a wide hallway where other fellas stop in mid-sentence, stepping to the side to let us pass.

  Walking by them, I hear—click, click, click—as fangs engage in their mouths. My entourage and I keep walking like nothing happened, but Faolan and Lachlan glance at each other, doing that male telepathy thing.

  I struggle to remain outwardly calm. “I’m willing to learn, if you have something useful to teach me…and elf darts seem… useful,” I continue, passing more fellas as we near the hall.

  Click, click, click, click as we stride on.

  “Genevieve, do ye have any other clothes?” Faolan asks me as we near huge doors at the end of the wide hallway.

  “It’s all kind of like this. Why?” I ask as we stop at the closed doors.

  “Well, when ye walk, yer legs are so—da straps ta yer garters keep showing as yer dress inches up—’tis teasing da fellas is all—’tis so sexy,” Faolan stammers.

  I blush and Eion whispers to Lachlan, “I luv it when she does dat.”

  “Maybe that is something you should speak to Brennus about because I already told him I need different clothes and he ignored me,” I explain honestly. “Maybe you will get somewhere if you put it under the heading of ‘security risk.’”

  “She could wear a muumuu and ’twould make no difference,” Declan says, shaking his head at me again. “She was jus born da sweetest sin. Eion, tell him we’re here.”

  Eion slips in the door, letting it close so I can’t see around it. “What is this?” I ask Declan. “I thought we were meeting Brennus for a tour of the house.”

  “Ye are, but he wants ta formally introduce ye ta da family first,” Declan replies.

  “Are they all in there?” I ask, feeling my heartbeat kick up a notch.

  “Na even close ta all of us, but da ones dat matter are in dat room,” he replies in a gentle tone, probably hearing the beating of my heart.

  “A little warning would’ve been helpful,” I breathe, feeling my heart jump to my throat. “What am I supposed to do?”

  Declan shrugs. “Nuting. Dey jus want ta see ye. Tink of it as a photo op,” Declan replies.

  “He is ready for her,” Eion says, pulling the door wide.

  Declan leans near my ear and whispers, “Stiff upper lip, lass. Do na be afraid. No one will touch ye.”

  Straightening my posture, I whisper back, “I’m not afraid, Declan. I’ve had bus drivers that are scarier than you guys.”

  A deep rumble of laughter issues from Declan at my lie as I move forward into the room. Heavy tapestries line the walls of this medieval hall, depicting faeries in a hunt. I have no idea what they’re hunting in the embroidered scenes, since I’ve never seen reptilian-like, winged creatures like them, but they look vicious. Weapons of all kinds also line the walls and I find it less than comforting that I cannot name half of them.

  My eyes find Brennus almost immediately at the far end of the room. He is standing in front of an enormous mahogany table that stretches fifty meters or more, almost the entire length of the room. The other Gancanagh are in front of ornately carved chairs, which line every inch of the table on both sides. They are wearing expensive, tailored suits that fit each one of them impeccably. As I glance back to Brennus, I see that Finn is on his right and the chair on his left stands empty.

  My chair, I think, grimly.

  Keeping my shoulders back and my chin up, I stroll with my guards past the first few Gancanagh at this end of the table. Click, click, click, click, click—the sound of fangs engaging one-by-one resonates in the room as I walk down the line in front of them on my way to the head of the table. I plaster a small smile on
my face, trying to make it seem like their reaction to me is no more than I expected, and not in the least bit terrifying. Inside, I’m cringing and hoping that I make it to the end of the room.

  My wings flutter a little, causing rapid-fire click, click, click, click, click to unfold in an instant. Keeping my eyes on Brennus, his expression is growing darker and darker the closer I get him. By the time I reach the end of the table, his scowl is ferocious.

  Not knowing what to do as I near Brennus, I go directly to his side. He doesn’t say a word to me, but continues to stare at me. Longing is there, deep in his eyes, making me feel a disturbing pull towards him, in answer to his desire for me. Reaching my hand up slowly to his cheek, I trail my fingers down the planes of his face, like I have seen the Gancanagh do to their victims.

  I try to smile. “I think they like me, mo sclábhaí. Do you want me to tell them to shut their gobs for you?” I ask, quirking my brow to him.

  Some of the fury leaves his face at my teasing. His arm clasps me tight around my waist as he pulls me into him. Lowering his face to mine, he kisses me with no thought of the witnesses in the room—or maybe because of them. Cheers erupt around us while my hands are balled into fists against Brennus’ chest by the time he finishes kissing me.

  Turning to the crowd of Gancanagh, Brennus announces, “Dis is Genevieve, yer queen.”

  The crowd all shouts in unison, “AONTAIGH.”

  “What did they say,” I whisper to Brennus, not taking my eyes off the killers in front of me.

  “Dey said ‘Unite,’” he replies. “’Tis our motto.” More cheers echo in the hall, making everything feel off-kilter and surreal, like I’m slowly drowning. “Would ye like ta address dem?” Brennus asks me and I turn to him, feeling stricken.

  I glance from Brennus’ face to Finn’s on the other side of me. His brow wrinkles in concern. I narrow my eyes at him, and then ignore him to face the masses of pale faces ahead of me.

  “Sure, why not?” I shrug, clearing my throat. I clasp my hands behind my back so that no one can see them shaking. “Hi, I’m Genevieve. You will have to excuse me if I seemed a little apprehensive when I first came in here. The last time I was in the presence of a gathering of Gancanagh, I had to fight for my life, so shwoo, glad that’s not happening again.” I say, pretending to wipe the sweat from my forehead. “I just want to say that I’ve never been a queen before. I don’t think that I’ll be any good at it. But, I promise not to make any of you eat cake or pay taxes or anything like that. I’m hoping it’s more of a figurehead type of position because where I come from, we really don’t buy into the whole evil dictatorship thing you’ve got going on here. We leave that to North Korea. Anyway, thanks for your warm reception. Sláinte.”