Blood Crusade

by Billita Jacobsen

  “Hello, my little one. We were just discussing the information you collected. Their plans are dire and insidious and must be stopped. Thank you for exposing them!” said The Master, also known as Kong Qiu, my friend and mentor. He was once known as Confucius, and served as the only werewolf in the alliance of knights.

  “Actually, it was Hypatia who exposed them; she gave her life to get us this information,” I said, spilling my gut, “Her husband, Harold, has been an ally and became a werewolf as a result of helping us. Alexander is a baby vampire rescued from Claudius.”

  Kong merely nodded, stroking his beard. He was not an imposing figure. He was tall and thin, and had been turned when he was nearly seventy years old in a battle with a werewolf who was decimating a village. His hair was a mixture of silver and grey with a receding hairline where he kept his back hair long and in a man bun. His waterfall mustache and long, well-kept beard made his high cheekbones a prominent feature. His brown eyes were still soft and kind and nonjudgmental even after thousands of years of witnessing human cruelty. He always wore either all white or all black. Today he wore a black turtleneck shirt that clung to his stray silver hairs, making it look as if he’d been petting a shedding cat.

  “I believe the solution is to kill them all,” I replied respectfully but forcibly, “Claudius and every one of his followers must die.”

  “You offer no resolution at all,” Lady Catherine said, peering down her nose at me and reminding me of the Southern saying ‘she would drown in a rainstorm’. Putting a hand to her white hair and brushing it back, she dismissed my suggestion by saying with a thin-lipped smile, “we simply can’t afford a vampire war.”

  How she was appointed to a coveted position at the round table was a mystery to me--she didn’t seem to possess the humble qualities held by most members. She always wore a tacky display of wealth-- a diamond-laden bow necklace choker that drew attention to her double chin, heavy diamond earrings, and a 60 carat emerald and diamond brooch.

  I believe she never got over the fact that she was once the Empress of Russia, known as Catherine the Great. It seemed funny to me that she’s remembered as Catherine, since her real name was Sophie Auguste. Lance would often bore me with tales of her reign until the monotony seemed endless, like driving on a long highway without exiting to see the sights. He would go on and on about how she modernized Russia and established a national school system that included higher education for females, but even the educator in me couldn’t stand her. The only part of her story that held interest for me was the detail that she’d been friends with Voltaire, the French philosopher, and he had turned her into a vampire.

  “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves,” Kong said gently and not surprisingly. He was an educator who taught his people to live with integrity. He was also a sage who fathered The Golden Rule and said, long before the birth of Jesus and his teaching of reciprocity, “What you do not wish for yourself, do not do to others.” It was the sage advice that made Confucius a revered figure throughout history and the code by which he lived.

  “Yes, I know, you often say that,” I replied with force. “Yet you also have said to repay injury with justice and to see what is right and not do it is want of courage!” I was getting pissed with my gentle friend. “Those assholes are about to commit mass murder on a scale never seen before. We have to do something before it’s too late!”

  “I agree with Nola. We need a preemptive strike,” said Lady Lozen, an Apache warrior who was on my short list of friends. Lozen had fought alongside her brother, Chief Victorio, who called her “a shield to her people.” She was an advisor to Geronimo, the great Apache leader. The word at Camelot was that Hypatia recognized her greatness and received permission to turn her, and save her life, when Lozen was dying from tuberculosis in prison in 1889, at the age of forty-nine. That made sense to me today, given what I now know about Hypatia and her kindness.

  Lozen had a youthful and unassuming appearance, unlike Lady Catherine. Her long black hair, parted in the middle, sported a simple calico bandana. Her turquoise cotton tunic was decorated with small stone and shell beads arranged in triangle designs. She wore no makeup and needed none; Lozen was a natural beauty with large, dramatic, brown eyes. “It’s time to take a stand,” she said, surveying the room.

  Lozen lived by the Camelot Code and never ran from a fight. She would often let me accompany her on a moonlit night of horseback riding, patrolling the vast grounds of Camelot. She sometimes shared her spirituality and belief in Usen, the Great Creator. It was said that this belief gave her supernatural powers to find the enemy. I had a feeling we would need this power in the battle to come.

  “Of course we have to stop this madness before their murder spree begins,” said Vivien Stevens, the token human at the round table, speaking on behalf of humanity. Her petite appearance often fooled those who meant her harm. She was short, barely above five feet tall with shorn blond hair, petite nose and energetic smile.

  She was a fierce warrior and had saved Percy’s life in battle, earning her the coveted seat at the table. She almost died in a battle between the knights and a band of human-killing vampires. She was so close to death that Percy offered to turn her but she refused. The vampires always admired someone willing to die rather than turn—those who showed extreme courage in the face of death. It would be a short-lived honor of course, she was human after all. The human chair of righteousness was the usual open seat at the table.

  So far, so good. The question of attacking Claudius and his minions seemed to be a yes and in the bag, until Joan opened her big mouth.

  “I have foreseen that we have time…time to decide our best course,” she said, rising from her seat and ready to give a speech that was sure to sway the knights—everyone loved Joan and valued her counsel. She had led many into combat when she fought to free France from England’s rule. My battle call was doomed.

  “We are the Guardians of humankind,” she went on, her sincere blue eyes scanning the room, “we cannot act out of haste or we may force the hateful plans of Claudius to be put in motion sooner. God has told me we must be careful and strategize the rightful course of action.”

  “Oh great, she’s having visions again,” I said, rolling my eyes. The disapproval from the roomful of knights was swift--they delivered instant karma with their eyes, causing my mouth to promptly shut.

  Visions caused Joan of Arc to be burned at the stake as a heretic by the corrupt religion she was constantly promoting. Shortly before he vanished off the face of the earth, Merlin had saved her using his extreme talent at magic, leading her killers to believe only ashes were left behind while she was whisked away. Even with her rescue she had still suffered life-damaging burns and Lady Makeda had made her a vampire, giving them an unshakeable, strong bond. Joan had died a nineteen-year-old teenager and she still acted like one, thinking her way was the only way.

  Joan kept her black hair short and in a bob, as she had worn it in 1431. While some considered it a stylish pageboy, it reminded me of Moe from the Three Stooges--as if she placed a bowl on her head and cut around it. She had her youth to give her beauty and did not display any conceit; she still wore men’s clothes to hide her shape.

  “You all know with certainty that I am not afraid to fight,” she continued, inspiring the knights to ignore what I said, “I was born to protect humankind as we all were—it is our destiny. We cannot leap into battle without being certain it’s the best way to save the populace. We must live by our beliefs and our code and use cunning to stop this apocalypse!”

  Nods of approval and yells of ‘yes!’ as if they were taking an official vote, filled the round table room. Even the Irish Pirate Queen, Mary O’Malley, chimed in on the peaceful course as a solution to plans that would wipe out human society. “Lady Joan is right, as usual. I stand with her,” she said, rising from her seat so quickly that her long, curly red hair tumbled from its clip and covered her green eyes and Revlon-inspired ruby red lips.<
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  Sir Hector Mora also rose to his feet, brandishing a steel saber and I wondered why in the hell he carried that into the meeting. His agreement was no surprise; he’d been romantically pursuing Joan since I knew him. They could be an attractive match—she a youthful-looking, no nonsense figure and he a dark and handsome, quick to smile vampire. However, Joan showed no interest in men, her God was everything to her.

  One by one they stood in agreement. Lady Makeda said, “Of course, I stand with Joan.” It came as no surprise to me that Percy would disagree with me, shooting a smirk in my direction as he stood. Lance’s son with his first wife, Sir Galahad, who had issues with his father, also stood in agreement. Lozen, Vivian, Sam, and Sir Kong, all stood in unity with Joan, foretelling my future of never being appointed to any Round Table vacancies.

  Lance put a hand on my shoulder, steering me out of the room, as if he knew what was about to happen. “I’m sorry Nola, why don’t you get some rest and we’ll talk later?”

  I was about to leave, knowing I would never be welcome at a Knights of the Roundtable meeting again, sure that they would be much firmer in ruling that no one enter their conferences, when Lady Catherine found the need to say, “This is the right course. History will judge us by what we have done today.”

  It welled up inside me, the words I shouldn’t utter but could not stop myself from blasting into the room. It happened in slow motion, as it often does, the words coming out of my mouth like unstoppable molasses, burning bridges that could never be rebuilt. “History?” I questioned. “You want to talk about history? Well, history says that you died fucking a horse!”

  The words were regretted as soon as they left my mouth yet I was sure to never apologize to someone I so despised. True, Catherine had been mistreated by history; the rumors about her were absurd. She simply looked at me and put her palm forward in a ‘there you go’ movement. A few of the knights gasped when I uttered the profane words. Lance steered me completely out the door, “Damn it, Nola!” he exclaimed with distaste, slamming the door behind me.

  Harold was waiting for me in the hallway. “I heard that, Nola. I must tell you that I am disappointed with your manner of speaking.”

  “So, I’m disappointing, what else is new?” It would be an awkward and uncomfortable stay at Lance’s mansion, to be sure. It didn’t matter; my course was clear. I would risk a death penalty from the knights if caught. I needed to go rogue and kill the Claudius clan myself.

  Chapter 17: Fabricating Memories

  Our life is a series in time spent making memories, good and bad. That applies to all of us, human or otherwise. I remember every good memory built with my daughter. The specks of color in her eyes, every uncontrollable fit of laughter, and every defiant moment from her are precious to me. It was hard to believe that she didn’t share the memories, that she didn’t, or couldn’t, remember me. I could only conclude that the horror of her mother’s removal from the human race blocked her recollections. That made me determined to build good times with her now, something special she could remember about her time shared with me.

  I usually never go where I’m not invited. Usually. However, it was necessary to impose on Heather and she was too accommodating to tell me no. She followed her phone instructions to the letter—bring a bathing suit for time by the pool until we went to the spa and don’t forget sunscreen. Perhaps I could influence her in the future to tell people “no” more often. For now, I was happy to put aside my differences with the knights and enjoy this day with my daughter.

  “I reserved a cabana at the Mandalay Bay Beach. We can order a few drinks and enjoy the Lazy River,” I said with excitement. The whole day was planned out, in my mind. We would have a lot of fun taking a tube around the Lazy River. A few drinks would loosen her up so we could talk while getting our mani and pedi. Maybe she’d let me treat her to a haircut and facial. We might even enjoy some shopping. I really should have known better-- things never turn out as planned.

  Paying Vegas prices for the cabana guaranteed we’d have lounge chairs even though it would have been cheaper to just get a hotel room which offered use of the pool. However, the cabana offered a safe and we could lock our purses inside. It also provided cover to change into our suits when we closed the tent flaps.

  Heather was one of those people for whom talking was exhausting. She didn’t like small talk but did her best to be polite. She smiled but just answered my pursuit of conversation with a curt “yes” or “no” and sometimes a simple nod.

  The only sparkle in her eyes and loose tongue resulted in my asking how she enjoyed Ireland. Clearly, a topic of conversation she loved and I soon found exhausting. “My stepmother, Rose, saved me from a dark time when my father died,” she confided, “Ireland is beautiful; I forgot my troubles there.”

  Every train of thought was soon revealed. “Rose was a great researcher and like a mother to me. She searched my lineage and created a family tree for me. I always thought I was Irish but her research proved my ancestors were originally from Scotland! She found out I’m a direct descendant of Robert the Second, the King of Scotland, on my father’s side!”

  “Are you shitting me? I never knew that!” I stupidly exploded.

  She glanced at me, a curious look on her face. “Oh, I mean,” I said, quickly trying to save myself, “Percy never told me you were descended from royalty.”

  “I never told him,” she said, shyly, “it seems presumptuous. I don’t know why I told you. Sorry.”

  “Please, don’t be sorry,” I said. “It’s an interesting story.” I was extraordinarily happy that she was sharing with me. She could surmise that and continued to go on and on about Rose. She had made Sean so happy! She was so generous with the money she’d inherited from her family! She took good care of Heather and loved her! Blah! Blah! Blah!

  I found myself the one who politely smiled, uttering, “Oh, how nice.” It was so hurtful to hear about the woman who had spent time nurturing Heather. It was my curse that I couldn’t have the life that was my fondest dream. Of course, I owed Rose a debt of gratitude—she’d raised Heather to be a fine young woman.

  Tears welled up in Heather’s eyes as she recounted the time Rose got sick and slowly died. Heather had felt helpless, she said, because there was nothing she could do to save her life—she could only comfort Rose through her last days. Heather had returned to the states after burying Rose. “I’m so sorry,” I muttered, although there really was an absence of sympathy in my soul due to the extreme jealousy I was feeling towards a dead woman.

  I ordered a few Pina Coladas from the cocktail waitress since Heather didn’t drink much and could think of nothing to order. I tipped the waitress and asked her to leave our drinks in the cabana. We were grabbing some inner tubes and hitting the lazy river to cool off. “Wear your sunglasses,” I ordered, like she was a child needing instruction.

  “You have to just jump in,” I coached her when we reached the water’s edge.

  The initial shock of the cold water on our hot skin left us both giddy. Heather was smiling, genuinely enjoying herself. We floated on, carried by the current, past the small waterfall and waves of people walking the perimeter. The lazy river was full of children and their parents. I realized, with a shock, that I brought Heather here, to an outdoor playground, to try and recreate an activity she would have enjoyed as a child.

  Heather manned her tube like she was waiting for a helicopter rescue from a sinking ship, by placing it over herself, splashing and propelling forward. I decided to butt sit on mine, allowing myself to go with the flow. We circled the property twice, in silence, carried along by the current until we found ourselves alongside a family of four, who were blocking the way.

  The parents were going backward so they could keep an eye on their children: a girl who appeared to be seven or eight years old and an older boy who seemed quite embarrassed to be floating in circles with his mother and father.

  The girl kept putting the “river” water in her mouth
and spouting it out, calling, “Look, I’m a dolphin!”

  The father told her several times to stop putting the water in her mouth. “It’s dirty and germy,” he complained.

  The girl was having none of it. She gathered a big mouthful and spit it out on her father’s face. His look of disgust amused her and she promptly did it again. Kids can be such little shits and so can the people who laugh at their antics.

  “Stacy, stop it now! People pee in that water, you know.”

  “Then Daddy, you have pee all over your face!” Stacy hooted.

  The son roared with laughter and Heather and I joined him; we simply couldn’t help it. When we reached the stairs closest to our cabana, we got out, still having fits of giggles. It was a perfect time to have a few drinks.

  “This is fun!” Heather laughed. It was a great day, about to get better, I imagined. We could have lunch first, and then spa time and shopping. Things were going so well I really should have sensed that they were about to take a bad turn.

  The voice that would ruin my life came from behind us. “Nola! Nola Marrs, wait, it’s me, Emily Ward!”

  Heather looked stunned. She knew the voice was calling her mother’s name but what that meant hadn’t registered yet. She stood still, waiting for her brain to connect and make sense of what was happening.

  I recognized the voice immediately. Emily was a music teacher at the school where I had taught third grade. She was always impeccably dressed, wearing skirts or dress pants with crisp blouses that never had a wrinkle, always adorned with a pretty scarf around her neck, her blond hair always in a tight bun. She tolerated no nonsense from the students and they gave her none.