“I can't switch it off,” I panted, feeling like a trapped animal, about to be fed to the lions.
“Calm down, Luce,” Samson said, a little too in control for my liking. This was not a situation that engendered control. “You need to be separated from me until whatever has switched the spell on has passed. I'll move seats, so you can be alone.”
He stood up stiffly and went to walk away, before I could stop myself, my hand was resting on his arm, my body against the length of his. He growled at my proximity and then when he turned to face me, swallowed noticeably.
“Sit down and buckle yourself in,” he instructed through gritted teeth.
My inner monologue was screaming inside my head. I wanted to scream alongside it. "Help me," I pleaded to my vampire.
He nodded and turned back towards me, grasping my hands before they acted of their own accord. Gently he guided me back into my seat, a small muscle on the side of his jaw flickering with the effort it took not to respond to my body. Maybe I was letting off pheromones, similar to what I suspected the fairy prince let off when around me. Maybe that was part of his influence, part of the spell, or whatever it was, he had left in his wake. Samson loomed over me, with both hands holding my arms to the armrests of my chair, his face level with mine, his brown eyes flashing bronze and copper, ochre and mahogany.
“Lower your shields,” he demanded, voice tight.
I pouted and leaned forward brushing my lips across his. Fuck!
“God damn it, Lucinda, let me in,” he said, pulling away from my touch.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. I felt his fingers on my jaw, stilling my movement. He was trying to help me. I wanted him to help, even if my body just wanted him. With what felt like a monumental amount of willpower, I managed to lower my shields, all the while using my inner monologue to guide me, to focus me on my mental walls of protection and not on the call of my body and the Fey spell. Somehow I still managed to maintain some semblance of control and not obliterate the shields completely.
“That's it," he whispered, relieved. "Now look at me.” I fell into the beauty of those deep brown and copper eyes, letting the world sweep away, just focusing on the touch of his fingers on my jaw, his warm breath washing across my fevered skin, his familiar and safe face before me.
“Sleep.” His words sounded thick and multi-layered, power tingled in the air and triggered an automatic response in my mind, one I couldn't fight, wouldn't fight and suddenly sleeping sounded like a mighty fine idea. I drifted off to dreamland, Samson's touch disappearing, my hands falling to my lap and his soft words in my ear whispering, “My apologies, mistress, sweet dreams.”
I woke as the plane touched down at Birmingham Airport. My head felt fuzzy, my lips parched and my throat dry and then the images of what I had almost done came crashing in and I groaned. A water bottle was thrust in my hand. I took a grateful swig, but refused to open my eyes. I could feel the blush racing up my neck and over my cheeks. Bloody hell. Samson. My vampire, my responsibility, my line and I had almost taken advantage of him, right here on a plane full of passengers. And he would have let me.
I groaned again at that thought. He'd probably let me do anything to him and welcome it with open arms. I could hear movement around us, bodies shifting, overhead luggage compartments snapping open, then finally Samson's voice.
“We need to disembark now, mistress.”
I took a deep breath in and opened my eyes, prepared for some uncontrollable blast of heat and lust to wash over me at the look of him. He was standing in the aisle, looking at me with concern creasing his brow, but he was just Samson. No longer the body I needed to possess with my desire. Just my Samson. I let the breath of air out and relaxed my shoulders. I noticed, he relaxed his stance too.
“Thank you,” I said, knowing damn well that my thanks was for more than just telling me we needed to disembark. He knew too and just smiled and nodded, reaching out a hand, hesitantly, to help me stand.
“We might laugh about this all one day,” I said to him, as I took his offered hand and stood gingerly to my feet.
“No doubt we'll refer to it as, we will always have Air Emirates,” he said. A play on: we will always have Paris from the Casablanca movie, I supposed. His smile was teasing, a little more of the Samson I knew coming back.
I offered a small smile in return, I was still feeling extremely embarrassed about the whole episode, despite my attempts to lighten the mood.
“You have nothing to feel awkward about, mistress, you have been bespelled,” he said softly behind me, as we waited to exit the plane.
“You don't think it's over, it could happen again?” I asked, but didn't bother to look at him over my shoulder, it was easier to talk about this and not look into his handsome face.
“Most likely. Fey magic is the most enduring of all. It will not be a one-time-use-only kind of thing.”
“Great,” I muttered.
“We could contact Michel.” He sounded very uncertain of how that would be received. I couldn't blame him, what was he thinking?
“Are you mad?” I did turn to look at him then. “Why would I want Michel to know about this?” I could just imagine what Michel's response would be. Uncontrolled vampyre fury and some form of punishment befitting the crime.
“I only suggest it, so that should the spell be activated again, you would have someone nearby of your choosing, to... ah... fulfil your needs.”
Oh, I got it, he thought next time I wouldn't be able to stop myself, an extremely unwanted thought, and Michel would be someone I would be OK with having uncontrolled, animalistic, carnal sex with. Not in this lifetime. Well at least, not in this new lifetime.
“No,” I said, returning my gaze to the passenger before me waiting to get off the plane. “There has to be another way to counter it. To control the impulse should it arise again.”
We started walking forward and Samson didn't say anything until we were on the bridge from the plane to the terminal and walking side by side.
"You allowed me to influence you once, we can only hope that I can do that again, should the need arise."
I was all for that idea. The more we didn't actively think about the spell, the better. And if it did come and bite us on the arse, we could just do the glazing thing all over again. God, I hoped that would work, because it had been a close thing. So close, in fact, that I felt my stomach lurch in fear all over again at the thought.
I pushed thoughts of the Fey spell and Lutin aside. Thoughts of the fact that Samson had appeared very interested in the offer, before he had realised I was not myself, aside. Thoughts of Michel and controlling men in my life, aside. I pushed everything I could aside and concentrated on the evening ahead.
Samson hired a car and we were soon on our way to Tewkesbury. Even though it was night time, I managed to take in the country roads around us. The rolling countryside, stone walled paddocks, quaint thatched roofed houses. It hadn't taken us long to get out of the city and make our way down the M5 directly to Tewkesbury. Once we branched off onto A38 the sights of rural England invaded my mind. It was a welcome relief from all of the distractions of the past 24 hours. I loved the scenery and only wished I could see it all in the light of day.
"So, how did you know this relation of mine?" I asked as we neared our final destination.
"He was a friend," Samson replied, keeping his eyes on the road ahead. "I met him in Gloucester, there is a strong vampire holding there. He was Gloucester's Nosferatin."
"So, why is he buried in Tewkesbury?"
"His extended family was from there. Close enough to Gloucester to keep in touch with him every few years, but far enough away from the vampires to keep from harm." He chanced a glance at me briefly then. "This is your ancestral home, Luce. This is where the Baxter line of Nosferatins come from."
I glanced around at the old streets we were now travelling down slowly. The buildings looked ancient. White washed walls with black wooden cross beams, Tudor style, I th
ink they call it. Their upper stories hanging out over the footpaths, looking a little unstable and crooked in the light of the moon, the roads narrow and in parts still cobbled. It was delightful. There was a river running along beside us. I watched as the lights from nearby windows reflected back into the slow moving waters beneath.
"It's the River Avon," Samson said, noticing where my gaze had taken me. "The River Severn also meets here. This is a Saxon village, been here since the 7th Century. Your ancestors have no doubt been here since then too."
Wow, I couldn't fathom that sort of time-frame. But the Iunctio had been in Lutetia, or the Île de la Cité, in Paris since about 52AD. So the idea that my family line could be traced back to 7th Century Tewkesbury was not much of a leap, was it?
Samson pulled the car up next to the most gorgeous, enormous church-like building. But this was bigger than any church I had ever seen.
"The Tewkesbury Abbey," Samson offered, turning the car ignition off. We both sat silently, staring up at the stone structure before us. It dwarfed our little car. I could spot wear and tear, slight crumbling on the corners, discolouration across its broad shape. Even in the dark this was all evident, but the dark made the Abbey seem magical. Strategically placed lighting enhancing its façade. Lights lit up the enormous arched stained glass window at one end, and again the squared central structure sticking out of the the gabled roof. There appeared to be so many coloured windows around the entire building, lights glinting off the blues and greens and reds. It was impressive. But I was guessing we hadn't come here for the Abbey itself.
I opened my door and climbed out of the car, immediately sensing some kind of pull. I couldn't place it, but it was familiar. I could only guess some part of me, something within my blood, recognised where I was.
I swallowed roughly, thinking this was perhaps the most important thing I had ever done. Important to who I was, anyway.
"Come on," Samson said, taking my hand in his and leading the way around the back of the Abbey to what had to be a very old cemetery. The gravestones were pitted and some even leaning at an angle, but the area around them all was well maintained.
Samson knew exactly where he was heading, had he visited this grave before? Not much longer and we were standing in front of a nondescript ancient looking headstone. The writing was covered in a thin film of lichen. The edges of the tombstone was pitted and worn. It was impossible to tell what it said. I felt a little deflated at that.
"I'm sorry," he said simply. "I hadn't realised it would be so hard to read." He shrugged. "It's been over a hundred years since I last came to pay my respects."
I sighed, it would have been nice to read my ancestor's inscription, to know what his family had chosen to engrave here after his death.
Samson glanced around at the dark night sky. The fact that the moon had decided to hide behind a large cloud didn't help our vision in the slightest.
"Maybe your Light would help?" he offered. It was worth a go, although I was sure all the illumination would provide was a better look at the fungus on the headstone. I gathered a small smattering of Light inside - there was no point making a spectacle of ourselves - and then let it shine out in a concentrated beam from the tips of my fingers towards the inscription on the tombstone. The instant my Light was released that pull I had felt earlier practically screamed to me, humming throughout my body.
I gasped, so did Samson I think, but his was not because of some Nosferatin type pull. His was because the headstone's inscription was now suddenly clear. So clear in fact, that it looked like it had its own Light illuminating the words from within. They were beautiful, there was no other way to describe them. They called to me and shone like a thousand stars.
I took a breath in and read the words aloud. "Here lies the body of a warrior, a guardian of people and places." I knelt down, releasing Samson's hand to get a better view. He had gone very silent. "Born of the Light, a foil to the Dark." I swallowed and cleared my throat before going on. "His Light will shine forth in those who follow." My voice had been quiet, the sounds now of my breathing the only thing I could hear. I was thinking Samson had stopped breathing altogether. "Rest in peace, Tom," I said as tears trickled down my face.
Then after several moments of quiet contemplation, I felt something else. "I feel something here. A pull... or something." I turned away from the headstone, feeling that pull getting stronger by the minute. I started walking, barely aware that Samson was beside me. The pull, like my evil-lurks-in-my-city-pull, led my way. My Light still shining before me like a torch, or more accurately, a homing beacon.
Eventually I came to a stop, standing a bare foot away from the corner of the Abbey, invisible from the path and roadway where the car was parked. I looked down and there it was. A brick, set in the corner of the building, looking exactly the same as all the other bricks that made up this structure. Aside from one thing. An emblem inset in bronze. The image of an Egyptian woman, a water pot on her head. Stars in the sky behind her, but inexplicably, the Sun with its dazzling rays of light, shining down from amongst them. I guess Nut, being the Goddess of Light, took Light from wherever it happened to reside. Stars, the Sun. It was all Light.
I traced my fingers over the emblem, feeling closer to my goddess than I had done in months and then - I'm not sure why, but it felt right - I pushed against the emblem and the cornerstone moved. Samson stiffened as I continued to push the stone further and then a void appeared as the brick disappeared into the wall. Hidden in the small gap left by the brick I had moved, was an object with a faint glow. Pulsing in time to my Light. I reached inside before I could think better of it and removed the article, then after ascertaining there was nothing else hidden within, returned the brick to its original position with a gentle shove of my hand. And as my Light diminished of its own accord, the emblem simply disappeared.
I looked down at what was in my hand. A velvet wrapped parcel. With my breath in my mouth, I gently unwrapped it. Had my ancestor placed it there? Had his extended family, when they buried him in this ancient cemetery? Why was I the first to find it, why had no other Nosferatin come across this treasure? I could only think, I was the first of the Baxters to return to this land, after they left for the New Land and their role there. Or maybe, it presented itself again and again to a Baxter who needed it. I didn't know, but my heart was racing and my palms were sweaty and I couldn't think straight to help myself.
Inside, shining in the low light of the moon, were two of the most beautiful silver stakes I had ever seen. I turned one over in my hand, mesmerised by the intricate designs along the length of it. My Egyptian stakes were beautiful in their own simplistic and practical way. The silver alone making them seem alive. But these here, were magnificent. Nut in all her stunning, brightly lit glory, decorated the shaft. The one I fingered, balanced perfectly in my hand. It felt like a part of my soul.
These stakes were meant to be mine. I knew this, as though Thomas Baxter had handed them to me himself.
Reverently I placed them both inside my jacket. I was armed, balanced and centred.
I turned to Samson, tears streaming down my cheeks.
"Thank you. Thank you for bringing me here. Thank you, so much."
He smiled warmly. "I had no idea this awaited you, I just wanted you to have something to help you remember who you are."
It had done that, in more ways than he could ever know. My hands ran over the reassuring feel of the stakes in my jacket and then I stood slowly, stretching my leg muscles out.
We both turned back in silence to the car and then I felt it. A pull. Another pull. This one very familiar and very unwanted. It was also, not from here.
"We have to go London," I said, almost on automatic.
"London, Luce? Is that wise?"
I shook my head. It didn't matter if it was wise, the pull, my powers, Nut - I don't know what - was making it very obvious that London called.
"London," I said with conviction.
"London," Samson repl
ied, not quite so determined as me.
I slept for the trip, all of the excitement and worry and fear and emotion catching up with me. I didn't remember the journey. I missed the scenery. I simply woke on a couch in an unfamiliar room, covered with a thick quilted blanket. The room was dim, just a small side table light on and the furnishings modern, but comfortable. Light wood everywhere, on the door frame, around the windows, on the floor under the cream on cream rug. Everything was tastefully decorated in creams with the odd splash of colour here and there; reds, yellows, greens, an unusual combination which somehow worked. The artwork was modern, abstract but not overly done. It complemented the odd splash of colour haphazardly thrown about the room.
There was an enormous flat screen plasma TV, high end stereo equipment and large speakers in each corner. A tablet computer sat on the low coffee table in front of an armchair, it was switched on, I couldn't tell what website it was on. A fire glowed in the corner, gas by the looks of it, but still very realistic.
The door to the room opened slowly and Samson walked in with a tray of coffee and various cakes and biscuits. I smiled at his choice of food for me. Was I really that predictable? Is this what all the vampires thought I ate and only this?
He smiled back. “Hello, sleepy head.”
I cringed at his nick-name for me, but conceded he was probably right.
“Hi,” I managed, sitting up and forcing myself not to respond to the moniker. It would only encourage him more.
“So, is this your home?” I asked, taking the cup of steaming coffee he handed me. I hadn't realised he had a home in London, but then, he had only been in New Zealand for a few weeks. And as he had just come from London to Auckland, it did kind of make sense that he wouldn't have sold any property yet.
“Yes. Do you like it?” I had the feeling he wanted my approval.
“Very much. It's light and modern, but also comfortable.” His smile broadened.
“Mi casa es su casa.” He sat down in the armchair and watched me drink my coffee.
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