Fateful Attractions

by Lucretia Stanhope

  “No. It will follow us? That’s not good.” The rise and fall of her chest grew rapid and shallow. “Maybe there’s another way. Let’s talk about this.”

  “It’s all we have. One exit, designed by Fannie. I will banish it as soon as we arrive home.” His hand rested on her shoulder and she felt a heat come off it. “Relax.”

  “You can’t take us home. I don’t want demons at home.”

  “Very well. I will jump us to a safe place then. You are stalling. We don’t have time Miss Gwen.”

  “You summon demons?”

  “Gwen.” He looked at her with impatience for the first time since she’d met him. “We can discuss what I am later, if we must. Shane, Dillon, Sebastian.”

  “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “Do not let go of me. I don’t care what you see or hear.” He licked his lips. “Close your eyes. Listen for my voice. I will pull you from the darkness when it is safe.”

  “Pull me?” She started to step back.

  His head tilted and his eyes opened as if to say, come here and stop behaving like a child. “No more questions. It’s going to be intense and frightening. Trust I will get you through this?”

  She nodded. There were no options but to trust him.

  “Come stand with me. Keep both hands on me.” He sighed and used a firmer tone. “You have one task. Do not let go.”

  Gwen stood beside him, tucked under his arm, with her arms laced around his waist, her hands clasped together. The soft chanting from beside her caused her to shiver. She had no idea what he was saying, but she knew what he was doing, and that added fear to every word he uttered. At the end of each statement, when he paused, she braced herself, squeezing her eyes shut tight. When he started chanting again, she relaxed, and repeated that until the smell of char filled her senses.

  She might have been able to resist the urge to look if the foul scent had been the only temptation, but when a growl like nothing she’d heard before issued from both in front and beside her, her eyes flew opened.

  In front of her was a black creature that reminded her of hulking werewolves from the movies, except it had pointed ears like an elf, and barbed horns that curled back above the ears. The fur shimmered as its breaths made its chest rise. Fangs hung over its lips, dripping with saliva. When the clawed hand reached for them, she shrieked. It was not a shadow. It was a very physical form that stepped closer, in spite of the words Yardley uttered.

  Yardley? Her hand held onto him, his fur pressed against her skin. Fur? Don’t look, Gwen, she coached herself.

  Words and growls issued beside her, and the beast in front of her knelt and howled. Its eyes glowed red and regardless of whatever it fought against, they stayed focused on Gwen. Even on the ground and struggling, it looked to her like it was trying to move forward, toward her. Again she reminded herself to trust Yardley. Whatever he was.

  After a few centering breaths she looked at the demon full on again. Parts of it started to get hazy. Yardley was having an effect, although she could feel it was taking him some effort. The warmth beside her grew hotter and the char scent she smelled from both him and the creature was thicker.

  The words he spoke were harsh and the howl from the demon when it was yanked from its physical form, shot across Gwen’s whole body. Sharp pain caused gray to flash over her vision and blood to trickle from her nose.

  When she felt movement, she tightened her grip on him. That was her one job and she wouldn’t let go. He said he would take her through the darkness. She wondered when she should open her eyes. If she saw something awful she might react, call up magic, or break his hold, none of which would be good.

  The smell that filled the air burned as she breathed it in, but she couldn’t slow her breathing. The fear of passing out entered her mind.

  A warmth tightened around her. Her fear started to ease. She relaxed into the gentle heat, letting him do what was needed without resistance. When the smell faded, it was replaced with a strong acidic smell. It wasn’t over. Heat bounced against her, pressing as it tried to break his warm barrier.

  She swallowed back the urge to cry out when something touched her with burning fingers. Trust Yardley, she repeated in her mind. Her words were replaced by the sounds of wailing. Not just a human wailing, it was a soul crying out. Her heart ached at the sound. When it amplified to sound like countless souls weeping in agony, she felt herself crying. It was a deep sobbing that loosened her grip.

  She shut out the sounds as much as was possible and held tighter. Her ability to keep her mind her own faltered. Laughter, sick laughter, and more wailing came again. The cacophony hurt and she had to fight the desire to pull her hands off Yardley and cover her ears.

  You will never be happy. The babies are evil. Monsters. Soulless. Your whole life will be filled with monsters. Kill yourself. Stay with us.

  Her fingers tightened their hold, she imagined she might be hurting him with the intensity of her grip. “Please, please, hurry.” Her voice was a whisper that echoed back in a growling taunt.

  Please, please, hurry. You’ll never be the same. It’s too late for you and your precious little ones.

  Things seemed to stop, a calm entered her mind.

  Her eyes refused to open, sending a new wave of panic across her thoughts. Had it worked? Was she dead? Trapped in a demon? Her hands tried to cling to him, but he was gone. When she felt grass under her, she remained as still as possible, waiting to hear his voice.

  He said his voice would pull her out.

  The silence enveloped her in a blanket of hopelessness.

  Chapter Twenty

  F annie pierced a thin, rounded knife into the raven that sat obediently still on the shelf beside her. It didn’t flap or protest against the assault. When she removed the blade, a drop of golden magic, part of its being, floated in the air. She uttered a few words, watched it with a smile, and then plucked it between her thumb and forefinger.

  On the rickety table just to the side of the shelf, she added it to a dry mixture in a small cast iron pot and stirred it with the tip of the knife. The mixture released one small puff of smoke that smelled like burning hair.

  Once satisfied, she took a few steps toward the center of the room, and circled the table where Dillon laid unmoving. The powder she tossed on the floor as she took slow, measured steps, smoked, and then vanished. In her hand she drew a symbol with the remaining mixture and then blew it in the air. The particles floated up, forming the same image as she had drawn. For a second the symbol flashed red on the ceiling and then vanished.

  “That will hold him, no matter his form?” Josephine looked toward her with doubt clear in her tone, and then glanced at the ceiling. She couldn’t see the image in any normal way, but her perception of magic made it appear as a humming vibration in the back of her mind.

  Fannie held out her arm, clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth, and watched as the raven moved its perch from the shelf to her wrist with a graceful flap of its wings.

  Her long nails petted the feathers. When she looked over to the old woman, disdain replaced the neutral look that had been on her face. “It will, thanks to my pet.”

  “Why haven’t you taken him sooner then?” The tone was indignant and punctuated with a snort. “He is indebted to you is he not?”

  Fannie laughed. “I don’t want Sebastian. He serves me better as a break in her humanity. If I didn’t need her purity tainted, I wouldn’t tolerate this prolonged ordeal. Fathers, you were promised the hearts of fathers. Not lovers.” She leaned over Dillon and ran a finger over the dark blond crescent his thick lashes formed. “Sweet eyes this one. I do hope you don’t waste any little part of them.”

  Josephine grunted. She knew the only reason Fannie helped her this time was because she was afraid of Gwen. All the omens and readings said Gwen killed her, killed them both. Typically, they conspired against the same family, her family, but separately. After their initial pact, seldom did they even cross paths, much less w
ork magic in the same spot. A common enemy did not make them friends. This was still the woman who bewitched her husband, and she knew Fannie still viewed her as the woman whose husband robbed her of a child or family.

  “You’ll need to sacrifice him.” Josephine knew that she personally couldn’t have any lasting effect on a familiar, though there was one thing that she wanted. “When you take him, can you capture his longevity?”

  “He’s eternal.” The spike of her high heels tapped on the wood floor and her eyes rolled.

  “Yes. I am aware of as much.”

  Fannie laughed. “No, even I can’t capture the longevity of such a creature. He is eternal, no matter what I do, he will survive. When I’ve had my fill of him, I will simply banish his form to suffer for eternity.” She continued to stroke the silky black feathers.

  Josephine looked at the raven, wondering which familiar Fannie was talking about. “That minor spell really going to hold him?” She walked over and looked down at Dillon, then to the floor and ceiling where the magical traps had already vanished.

  “Oh, yes, you are free to dissect Dillon and Shane in as much leisure as pleases. I will return for Sebastian.” She walked back to the shelves and grabbed a few more things. “I’ll add a little sticky to the trap. In case things get chaotic while I am away.”

  “Away?”

  “Yes, away.” Fannie sounded annoyed as she worked. “Sergei is following me in a loop. You want that to remain the case until sunup. Should he show up, Gwen will be the least of your worries, hag.”

  Lewis sat on the window ledge, watching the two of them with emotionless eyes.

  When Fannie finished making her mixture, she walked over to Dillon and started chanting. Her spell sent a hot, searing pain across his entire body. His eyes shot opened.

  She watched him as he looked around the room, observing as he started to remember things. “He’s such a fighter. Might have made a good lover for our little Gwen, had the vampire master not intervened.” She traced her fingers along his face. “And so handsome. She does draw in the lookers.” She rubbed his face with more firmness. “Wake up, handsome.”

  Dillon couldn’t turn his head to see who was standing beside him, but he could sense them there. What little bit he could see of the room was familiar. He’d looked it over before, more than once. It was small, cold, and lighted only by candles. He knew he was in the center of the room. To one side there were shelves and a table. The women were often there. The wall above his head had a small window with a dingy gray curtain. No light ever shined in, not that he could remember. On the other wall was some sort of a bed, a small bed like a cot and another small shelf. Below him was the place he studied most, the door. It’d been opened a time or two, it led outside.

  He’d lost track of days, and the amount of times he’d passed out from pain. As memories danced across the back of his mind just out of reach, he thought there might have been a man. A strong man. Someone who roughed him up a few times when he was first taken.

  His shoulders and hips ached from the pressure of the hard wooden table he laid on. The pain was most pronounced in his calves. The table was too short. More memories came. The old woman scattering things off the table, plates and pots, it was a dining table. There had been a man, he slung him over his shoulder and threw him down on the table. He’d said something, something about Gwen. It was hazy, the words were there but he couldn’t grasp them.

  Above him a head appeared. More memories started to fill in, distracting him from the man. It was the Cajun woman with the hateful eyes and soulful voice. She wasn’t there often, not as often as the older lady, the one who brought him there. She brought with her pain and seemed to enjoy it when he cried out. She also liked to pet and kiss him.

  Hate balled in his stomach, he hated her.

  She’d also talked about Gwen. The words were lost to him, but he knew that was where his hate came from.

  “Hello, sheriff. I need to add a little something for the dog.” Her accent was thick and he had to concentrate on what she was saying.

  The dog? She’d said that before. He wasn’t sure what significance it had. He did know that if he mentioned Gwen, the reaction from her was swift and painful.

  He remained silent and observed.

  The images of the bodies from the crime scenes with their hearts removed played hazily in his mind. He was next, so Gwen had said, and here he was with the monsters who killed the other men just to hurt Gwen. There was something missing to the story, but that wasn’t relevant to getting away. That was most urgent. He had to get to Gwen. The Cajun woman was going to kill her. He felt certain of that.

  The missing professor turned up dead pretty quick, so he figured his time was ticking to the final seconds. Best to let the woman work and leave, lesson learned. He looked away from her dark eyes to the bird that sat perched on her shoulder.

  The haze of whatever they’d done to him, kept him from remembering that the last time he saw the bird it had become a man. A man that had also done something. He tried to focus. Memories didn’t come. Not of the man. Feathers. There were feathers with the last body.

  Nothing made sense. The cop in him did the same thing he did every time he woke up. Looked at the room, and assessed the exit versus the people and his condition. He had no weapon, all but his boxers were gone.

  He tried to lift a little to see how weak he was, and found he couldn’t move. Was he restrained? He’d done this before. Pull it together, Dillon, he scolded himself. Gwen could be here. That thought woke him up.

  What if Gwen were laying in a similar situation and depending on him to come in with his guns blazing? He had no guns. That wouldn’t matter. If they’d hurt her, he’d kill them with his bare hands.

  The lady massaged his body with warm, slimy hands and muttered in a low voice, while the bird sat and stared at him. When she stopped, she leaned down and trailed her still slimy finger across his lips. “He’s a sweet one. Don’t you think, Lewis?” Her other hand reached up and stroked the bird. “Going to break that little witch in two to have all three suffer.”

  “You still see death in the cards?” The voice he knew belonged to the old woman came from out of his visual sight.

  “Cards can be wrong. Sebastian will come. With Sebastian out of the way, the future I saw will cease to be.” A bright smile flashed from Fannie.

  “Or be expedited. You saw fangs. She has many fanged mouths kissing her neck.”

  Sebastian? Fangs? Dillon knew that name. Snippets of the conversation on the fishing trip came. Sebastian was something to Gwen, and Shane thought he would fight to save her. The monsters were on Gwen’s side. Things started to fall back into place in his mind. They had powerful allies, like Sergei, if he could get away and bring them back.

  “Quiet yourself. I’ll have no more talk of cowering from a little girl.” Fannie spoke so low it almost sounded like a growl. “You handle the mortals; my workings will be more than enough for Sebastian.”

  “Kill her now, while you have her pinned away from her protectors.” Bottles clanged as Josephine made some more preparations. “To let her out again, just to see the babies grow is tempting death.”

  “No. The children are mine, due me. I’ve not questioned your handling of the lovers.”

  “The cards.” There was a pause. “Your visions show her with child when you die. The vampires have hastened your death.”

  “I make my own fate, witch. I’ll be back to put Sebastian down after I’ve checked on Miss Van Winkle.” She took a few steps and turned back before leaving. “Just do your part.”

  “She’ll get the better of you. I’ve seen my death as well. Her, Gwen, it’s here.”

  “Don’t argue with me. I’ll take back all the extra time I have granted you, and watch you turn to a pile of ash myself.”

  Dillon pieced together some more of what was going on from the tales Shane had already told him. The old lady was a relative to Gwen, the one that was going to add his heart t
o her growing collection, if he didn’t get his act together.

  When he sensed the Cajun leave, he tried to sit up. The sounds of movement made him try harder.

  His fingers moved. Now was the time, before the other woman came back.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead as he slid his arms and propped up on his elbows.

  His heart raced and his mouth went dry.

  “Easy, lover.” The old lady easily pushed him down with a finger. “Sebastian and Shane will be here soon. Thank you for your help.”

  Her hands were above him, her fingers waggling.

  He looked at the movement and saw a foggy cloud of moisture come from him. A dizziness washed over him and dryness made it impossible to swallow. He struggled for a breath and closed his eyes.

  She looked down and laughed at his weak struggles. Even as she drained him to dangerous levels of dehydration, he fought. So far he’d fought more than any of Gwen’s other loves. More than most of the men she’d taken, with a few exceptions. A smile crept on her face as she thought back to all of the men and hearts and years she’d taken. None made her smile as much as thinking about Fredrick. None made her angrier. She took that anger out on Dillon while she waited for Shane.

  “M iss Gwen?” Yardley’s hand patted her face gently. He felt the demon lingering, but needed to see she was alive and didn’t need any magical attention right away. If she remained under too long, there could be permanent effects.

  She focused on the sound of his words, waiting for them to make sense. He was calling to her, saying her name. Miss Gwen. It was Yardley. She opened her eyes.

  Yardley was sat beside her, looking down, his hands soothing as he ran them across her skin. Soothing until she realized he was checking her for damage. The sky above them was dark, but not pitch. Most of the night had passed. She started to sit up, but he pushed her back down.

  “Not yet. Don’t move.” He started to chant and she watched as a shadow floated in front of them.

  In the undulating mist there were red eyes glaring out. The more Yardley chanted, the more the eyes glowed. He stood beside her with both of his hands directed at the shadow, his tone was firm. A primal sound came from the shadow that was somewhere between a scream and a growl. She had heard that sound before. Images of the demon in its other form came to mind.