Catee's Grace

by Keith Holmes

  As Tara grew dreamy-eyed Claudia looked to Joli. “Make sure that Tara has anything she desires,” she said. “Drown the poor thing in opulence.”

  Tara smiled wide, a thrill in her belly. “Thank you but, you’ve already given me so much, I could never repay you.”

  She didn’t see the distress on Joli’s face. Instead she locked eyes on Claudia who stood, and made her way to the edge of the tub. “You’ll never have to repay me,” Claudia said, trickling hot water as she dried herself. “I will see you at dinner.”

  With that the Great Mother donned an expensive robe and headed out of the room. As soon as she was gone Tara wheeled around to Joli'.

  “I did okay huh?” Tara smiled.

  Joli’ looked to her for a moment, letting her eyes flow over the woman before floating over to her. “You did fine,” she lied.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Jahleel was no stranger to slaughterhouses. They were a regular part of his rounds in Paris. Young blood-feeders would often heed the call of all that gore - not realizing that dead animal blood could never sate them. He paused just inside a plastic-lined door and leaned in for a look.

  His gifted eyes scanned the area. It was busy, filled with workers herding animals into pens. It stank of manure and the floor was soaked with water and urine. Jahlee stalked slowly through the slaughterhouse, scanning for signs of disturbance as he did. Busy workers clad in white overcoats barely noticed him as they herded animals into pens. But when the knight reached the Killing Floor, he found a congregation of workers gathered near the door. They were whispering to each other, wondering what to do.

  “Where?” Jahleel asked in a poor German.

  Ten hands pointed the way. He paused to push one hand into the partially unzipped duffle bag at his side and began stalking once more.

  His senses were live-wired as he crept along the floor, plodding through puddles of watered down blood. Just as he rounded the loading table where animal carcasses were sent into the de-pelter, he heard a rustling. His steps slowed. Beneath a blood-soaked, stainless steel table he found Ethan.

  The young father clutched at his stomach, his face coated in blood as he lay, curled in a ball upon the floor. He'd heard the knight coming, 'felt' his presence. "What’s happening to me?” he begged.

  Jahleel didn’t answer. His teeth gritted tight in anger as he looked down upon Ethan. He was supposed to kill him. He had been trained that it was better to kill the damned straight away, not wait for them to turn. Instinctively Jahleel unleashed his sword; with a flick of his arm he discarded the duffle bag to the ground. Ethan’s brow furrowed but he didn't move. Jahleel lifted the sword high in the air, like a baseball bat swing and cinched his grip. This was supposed to be the death stroke. He'd never stayed his hand before. But then, he'd never known an enemy such as this. This time it wasn’t some faceless demon before him; it was Ethan, the father of the Argent Child, the man that Jahleel and Salim had failed to protect.

  Frustrated, he reached down toward the young father. Ethan shrunk away from him. The knight claimed his collar and with one arm, hoisted him to his feet. Ethan swayed, his legs weak and he fell back against the de-pelter chute to keep from collapsing. Jahleel slowly reached up and took hold of the filthy bandage on Ethan's head and ripped it away. Ethan just stared at him.

  The knight studied the wound on Ethan's head, leaning closer. Then suddenly he shoved him away and lifted his blade again.

  “When did this happen? The train?” Jahleel demanded.

  “What…?” Ethan rasped.

  “You’re marked!” Jahleel growled.

  “I’m what?” Ethan questioned. As he shook his head, trying to understand, Jahleel’s eyes darted to the reflective, steel table at his side. Quickly he ran his arm over its surface, clearing the blood and water from it. And then he took Ethan by the head and pushed his face toward it. Ethan looked at his vague, twisted reflection for a moment and then he saw it. In the center of the healing gash in his forehead there was a serpent’s tongue shape. He placed his elbows atop the table to steady himself as Jahleel retreated a few steps.

  “I don’t know…,” Ethan began, still quite confused. “I…”A memory burst into his mind. The creature in Catee’s room, what did it say. “I DON’T KNOW!” Ethan insisted, turning toward Jahleel. “in Chicago… one of those things… it said… something.” Ill as he was, he’d barely the strength to stand let alone recall. Finally it came to him. “Something... Trybth.”

  “Ngliech d' trybthe.” Jahleel said, his tongue barely able to place the proper inflection on the infernal phrase. “Master’s tribute.” His eyes were distant, as though he were trying to remove himself from the situation enough to do as his training demanded. “You’re going to become one of them.” Ethan shook his head in denial but he knew that Jahleel was right. He could feel himself turning. “I am truly sorry Ethan. I swear to you, I will save them or die trying.” Jahleel said, cinching his grip on his blade.

  Utterly defeated, Ethan lost his feet and crashed to the floor. His body shook for a moment as he began to cry. And then he balled a fist and punched the cold, wet concrete. Slowly he lifted his angry gaze to the knight.

  “You gonna kill me Jahleel?” Ethan asked, part of him wishing that the knight would. “Because if you are, I wish you’d wait until I got to hug my little girl one last time.”

  Suddenly epiphany lit Jahleel’s eyes. He knew that if Ethan had been marked in Chicago, the transformation would have happened already. He’d seen it with his own eyes. Catee was the answer. Somehow the Argent Child had kept him from his fate. And if she was powerful enough to do that, perhaps she was powerful enough to stop it altogether.

  The knight glanced over his shoulder to the congregation of workers by the entrance. One of them was on a telephone, no doubt contacting authorities. Against his training and his better judgment, following hope, he let his sword slump to the floor. “We have to go,” Jahleel instructed, reaching out to offer Ethan his hand.

  With a nod the young father rose to his feet.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  "That means I'm in right? She said to give me whatever I wanted... like she did for you, right?" Tara beamed.

  Joli' grinned at her, no longer leashing the lust she held for the young mother. She didn't answer immediately, choosing instead to grab a stone pitcher behind her and submerge it.

  "Right?" Tara insisted.

  "Possibly," Joli' answered, avoiding the truth.

  "But she said....," Tara questioned.

  "Think more on what she said about Catee and what she would teach her. Not could, would."

  Tara's grin grew to a smile as she watched Joli' fill the pitcher. The young mother put a hand atop her belly. "I'm so relieved!" she celebrated. “Is there a spa around here? Let's go spend some money!” she laughed.

  "You're in a spa, my pretty." Joli' said, moving so that she was behind Tara. "Lean back against me," she whispered.

  Tara was reluctant at first, but she was just so happy. Slowly she inclined her body back into Joli's silken skin as she gently emptied the pitcher over the young mother's head, careful to keep the water from her face.

  Joli' gathered another of those bottles and opened it, filling her palms and began streaking it through Tara's hair. The scent was impeccable and like nothing Tara had ever smelled.

  “Mm, that’s nice,” she purred, both to the aroma and the feeling of Joli’s gentle hands at her scalp. "So what happens now?" Tara asked, feeling Joli's legs wrap around her. She let her hands float to avoid letting them rest atop the Priestess' knees.

  "I'm going to wash your hair," Joli' teased, massaging gently.

  "Not that. I mean... for us. For me and Catee," she said.

  Joli' filled the pitcher again and guided Tara to lean into her. "You'll attend our initiation ceremony. Then Claudia will arrange a schedule to work with Catee."

  "A ceremony?" Tara gulped, the shampoo washing away from her long blonde hair. She could fe
el Joli's chin nodding into her shoulder.

  "Just you. Catee is too small to understand just yet."

  "Why?" Tara asked.

  "You'll see," she promised. "I bought you another dress. It's in your closet upstairs. I'd like for you to wear it to the ceremony tonight."

  "You shouldn't have done that," Tara smiled.

  The Priestess hand found a sponge and she whetted it, then filled it with the contents of another of those vessels. Tenderly she began washing over Tara's neck and shoulders, her lips close enough to the young mother's ears that they'd flit against it as she spoke. "Yes, I should have. Claudia said so," Joli' teased.

  Tara fidgeted, and then she craned her neck to look to the Priestess. But before she could speak she'd taste Joli's lips upon her own. She didn't kiss back, her eyes wide with discomfort. She could feel Joli's body wriggling beneath hers.

  Joli' broke the kiss and smiled, then she moved from behind Tara and glided into her lap. She lifted a hand to gently trace the young mother's cheek with her fingers. "Relax," she insisted.

  Tara nodded softly. "I suppose I owe you this," she said. "For everything you've done for us."

  A storm darkened Joli's eyes and she shook her head. "I did what I did because I care about you Tara, because I saw myself reflected in you," she lied. "Yes, I am attracted to you physically. But you don't owe me anything." Disappointed, Joli' began to head for the side of the tub.

  Tara averted her eyes, shamed. No, financially she could never repay Joli' for all that she'd done for her. But there was one thing the Priestess wanted, one thing she could give her. Quickly she reached out and clasped Joli's wrist.

  "Hey," Tara grinned. "C'mere," she said seductively, tugging her shoulders back and narrowing her eyes.

  Joli' grinned at the young mother, looking her over. And then she moved back into the water and into Tara's beckoning arms. Tenderly the two shared a kiss, first of awkward introduction. It relaxed into a virgin's exploration. But as one touch lead to another, it fell into the abyss of a lover's longing and desire.

  Tara lay on her back atop the harem pillows, her eyes gazing at the ceiling. Joli' lazed by her side, spooned next to her body, her head resting atop Tara's arm. Worry had clutched her mind, concern for Catee and the guilt of being untrue to Ethan. She'd waited patiently for a time, hoping that Joli' might have something to attend to but as the minutes passed, Tara's worries only grew until finally, she excused herself. "I really should go check on Catee."

  Joli's eyes popped open. "Sasha will take good care of her," she reassured.

  "I believe you. It's.... it's a mom-thing," she answered, continuing to stand.

  Joli' propped her head on her elbow as she watched the young mother, and shook her head. "Did you at least enjoy yourself?"

  Tara found her clothes when she heard the question. Her back to the Priestess, she thought for a moment. Yes. She did enjoy the sex. She didn't enjoy everything it did to her inside. "The sex was amazing," she said, glancing back to Joli'.

  The Priestess smiled and watched Tara dress for a moment and then rose and sauntered to her. “Are you okay?”

  "To be honest, I'm a little freaked out right now," Tara explained.

  Joli' took her by the shoulders and gazed into her eyes then she nodded, taking a step back to let the young mother finish dressing. She watched Tara's rush, so great that she didn't take time to put on her shoes.

  "I'm sorry. That was my first time...," Tara explained.

  Joli' shook her head and smiled, pressing her hand to the young mother's cheek. "You did great," she joked.

  Tara's face went red as she grinned and headed for the door. But the moment it closed behind her, Joli's smile fell.

  “You think you're freaked out now...," the Priestess said, turning to find her clothes.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  After much deliberation, Sasha and Catee had agreed upon a game of ‘Chutes and Ladders’. The two were piled in the floor atop large pillows as they played.

  "Is her your mommy?" Catee asked unexpectedly.

  Sasha grinned and tried to figure out where the question came from. "Who?"

  "Dat lady who got Mommy," she replied.

  "Joli'? No, my mother is downstairs. Her name is Linnea. I'll introduce you to her later," she explained.

  "Okay," Catee said, rolling the dice and moving her piece.

  "Where your daddy?" she asked.

  Sasha's nose upturned. "I don't know. He works all the time."

  "Him builds houses?" Catee inquired.

  "No Catee," Sasha said, not enjoying talking about a man she hated, "he's in banking."

  "Him builds banks?"

  Sasha sighed. "No Catee. I don't really like talking about my father," she explained. She took her turn and hit a 'chute', sending her piece back to the beginning. "Ah, no!" she giggled.

  Catee patted the young sorceress on the shoulder consolingly. "I'm sorry you had to go down."

  “It’s okay,” Sasha said with a smile. “It’s just a game.”

  Catee grew distant for a moment as she recalled playing the game with Ethan. He almost always wound up ‘in the chute’, though she didn’t know he did it on purpose. “My daddy has to slide down a lot,” she said, grinning. “I miss him. I’ll be happy when him gets here.”

  Sasha’s brow drew in as Catee quickly covered her mouth.

  “Oops,” she said, rising to her knees.

  “Who told you that your father was coming here?” Sasha demanded.

  “I not know,” Catee shrugged.

  “You don’t know who told you?” Sasha questioned, halting the game for the moment as she tried to dig deeper.

  Catee lifted her game piece before Sasha’s eyes. “Dis one is blue,” she said, hoping to change the subject.

  Sasha sat up and put her hands on Catee’s shoulders. “Who told you that your daddy is coming here?” she asked again, her eyes serious and searching.

  “It’s a secret,” Catee relented. “My mommy said not to tell.”

  Sasha’s jaw squared as the door to the suite opened and Tara made her way into the room. Finding Sasha and Catee on the floor, she made her way to them.

  “You two having fun?” she asked, kneeling before her daughter.

  Sasha sat up straight and leaned back a bit, as though Tara’s proximity offended her.

  “We’re playing Chutes and Ladders,” Catee explained, standing to give her mother a hug.

  As Catee dangled from her neck she turned to look to Sasha. “She and her dad play that all the time,” Tara explained, causing a fake smile to part Sasha’s lips.

  “Yes, she’s done nothing but talk about him,” Sasha said, as she stood. “I’d better go get ready for dinner.”

  The quickness of Sasha’s tone caused Tara to cast a wary eye at her. "What did she say about him?" Tara asked nervously.

  "That he builds things," she replied. "That he was coming here." Sasha's statement sounded more like an accusation and she searched the young mother for any sign of deceit.

  "Oh," Tara chuckled, "we told her that he'd be coming soon."

  "That's all?"

  Tara nodded. "Well, she had a dream about it but..."

  "Did you tell the Great Mo... Claudia? Or Joli' about her dream?" she asked, concern in her voice.

  "It was just a dream," Tara shrugged, shaking her head.

  "You should have told someone sooner. I'll go tell them now," Sasha hurried.

  Tara's brow drew down. She'd never known Catee to be psychic. "Okay," Tara nodded.

  "Thanks for...," she began as the door closed.

  "Hers gotta hurry," Catee said. "Late for daycare."

  Tara laughed and lowered to the floor, her daughter in her lap.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Ethan and Jahleel trudged through an open field toward the back roads surrounding the factory. The falling of the sun had brought with it a bitter wind, driving a drizzling snow that stung their cheeks.

  Ethan’s
strength waned with each step. Jahleel knew it was because he had yet to taste human blood though he never spoke it aloud. Instead he tucked himself beneath Ethan’s shoulder. With a cough, Ethan stopped their forward motion as his feet fumbled beneath him and he crashed to all fours.

  Jahleel’s heart jumped as he watched Ethan belch up the sheep’s blood he’d consumed. Had Ethan the stomach to eat from one of the living sheep, the essence may have been enough to sate him; at least for a while. But ‘dead blood’ was more a bane to the blood-feeders than it was a boon.

  The natural hatred of predator for prey brought the young knight's teeth together in a snarl. He'd questioned himself since they left the factory, clinging to the hope that the Argent Child could somehow fix this. He tested the father, speaking in a tongue he knew would offend, had the evil taken hold.

  “Thairda Adha'el," he said.

  Ethan lifted hollow, sick eyes to him, his chin soaked in fresh, spit-bubbled gore that ran atop the flecks of dried blood beneath it. His lip raised in a sneer.

  “Fight it Ethan! Fight it or by GOD I’ll send you to Judgment right now!” Jahleel ripped his sword from his pack once more and let it hang ominously at his side.

  Ethan’s head dropped again. A growl rumbled through the young father, twisted pain and sorrow. The undulating mews had Jahleel on the balls of his feet as Ethan slapped one palm to the ground, then the other and raked soil and snow into his fists. Then suddenly he thrust his head back and lifted his body so that he was sitting on his legs. Lifting his face to the sky he cried out.

  “Help me! Please help me! Please let me save my family!” His voice was trembling with anger as he spoke to God himself, pleading, demanding that He offer Ethan one reprieve.

  Jahleel leapt back as Ethan finished his prayer and threw his fists full of dirt into the wind. His grip on the hilt of the sword loosened and he raised his own face to the sky. Softly he finished Ethan’s prayer.