by K Kelly
“What!”
“Keep yer knickers on! What do you want, Eruaphadion?”
No one knows about the chosen one, so I have to be tactful. “If someone has angel poisoning… a human… how would you fix it?”
“Let them die.”
Felton is fae, and faes have no love for the humans who have poisoned their homes and almost driven out the magic from this realm. Most of them live in England where magic has flourished. In New York City, there are only pockets that still exist, and soon they will all have to leave here, or they’ll die. They have created another realm to survive, but it’s linked to this city, and soon, it too, shall perish and die.
“I can’t, this one is…” I sigh and decide to go with a partial truth. “My friend.”
“You have a human friend?”
“Yes. She’s my best friend.”
“Best friend? You even sound like one of them. You’ve been here too long. You need—”
“Felton, please. I’ll owe you.”
Felton chuckles. “Ohhh, I like the sound of that. You need to cover her with mint and honey, then pour milk over her… in that order.”
“Thank you, Felton.”
“She must be a special human. What’s an angel doing with her—”
I hang up on him for I know I’ve already said too much. If the head of my troupe finds out about this, I’ll be in so much more trouble than I already am. Running into Angelica’s kitchen, I find milk, honey, but no mint. I have no choice but to take her with me. I can’t leave the apartment for if I do, I won’t be able to get back in. I head back into the bathroom and shake her roughly.
“Wake up, Ange!”
“Chrisss?”
“Yes, Ange. We’re going on a road trip.”
“Cool, let me grab my b-bag.”
I bend down and pick her up. For me, she weighs no more than a feather. I walk back into the kitchen and lay her on the table, emptying out her handbag. I put the milk and honey into it. The honey is sticky, so I know she’ll yell at me later as this is her favorite handbag, one of the few gifts she’s received from Drew, and he got it for free from Hermes. If Ange had any idea how much it was worth, she would have sold it. She just thought it was pretty and a knock-off.
I place the bag over my shoulder, pick Ange up, and head for the door, all the while chanting, cover, cover, cover.
It’s a risk that some of the races will see me, but I have to take the chance. I can’t let her die. For me, it’s quicker to run down the stairs than wait for the elevator. When I hit the street, I do a quick surveillance and can only see humans. None of them will notice me. I keep chanting, go into the grocery store on the corner, and take all of their mint—dried, powdered, fresh, and some in a tube. Then, I steal two cartons of milk and another container of honey. I stuff the lot into her handbag and keep moving. The only place I can think of to take her that might be secluded is Central Park. There are places within it where very few humans go. The other races are more likely to be there, but I have to take the chance.
A swooshing sound goes past me, and I look up to see the archangel, Tristan, flying by, looking for something. No doubt it’s Angelica.
So, he’s the bastard who poisoned her.
Bloody angels!
They think they’re the chosen race.
I scoff and chant louder, the angel will not find us. He’s only looking for Ange, and my scent and spell should confuse him. When I get to the gates of Central Park, Tristan is standing there scanning the crowd. If I get too close to him, he will sense her. He’ll know she’s there.
“Chrisss, I don’t f-feel good.”
“Ange, I need you to be quiet. Can you do that?”
She nods, but I know the closer we get to Tristan, the more dangerous this will become.
Ange will want him to find her, and if he does, she may give herself over to the choir. I can’t allow that even if it means she dies.
Tristan walks toward me as if sensing us, but something catches his eye, and he takes two steps to the left. I use this distraction to run as fast as I can into the park. I glance over my shoulder, and he’s turned around, but he’s not following us. Tristan is concentrating hard, trying to see through my spell. A group of humans move and block his line of sight.
I use this to increase my speed and take her further into the park.
Angelica
My back is sore. I groan and lift my arm, everything feels weird. I touch my face and drag a hand down it. My face feels sticky and something else? I open my eyes and look at my hand, it’s shiny and covered in leaves? Slowly, I sit up. I’m naked, lying on the ground, covered in something tacky. Soaking wet. And mint? I can smell mint.
“What the hell?”
“You’re awake!”
I look over at Chris who’s sitting on a log, looking at me anxiously.
“What the fuck, Chris?”
“How do you feel?”
“Why am I naked?” I ask, covering my bits as best I can.
“I didn’t want to get anything on your robe. You’re all sticky.”
I look at him with distaste and arch an eyebrow. “Chris?”
“Right, right, you probably don’t remember anything.” Chris stands and holds my robe out to me.
“Are we’re in a park? Am I naked… in a park?” I shriek at him.
Chris smirks, and when I stare daggers at him, he covers his mouth with his hand.
“There is much I need to tell you. But how about we get you home and cleaned up first?”
“Did I drink too much for my birthday? Is that why I’m here? And turn around.”
Chris immediately spins to face the other direction, and I try very hard to get to my feet. My legs, they don’t want to work properly, and getting my robe on over this sticky mess isn’t easy.
When I’ve got myself sufficiently covered, I walk in front of Chris. “Where are we?”
“Central Park.”
I nod at him and raise my eyebrows. “Friends don’t let friends get so wasted they end up naked in Central Park. It’s like a law or something.”
Chris laughs, and I pin him with a look, and he quickly stops. “Sorry. You weren’t in your right frame of mind. How do you feel now?”
“Sticky.” I look down at my bare feet. “And minty.” I look back up at him.
“Let’s get you home. There’s a lot, my friend, that we need to discuss.”
“I don’t have a headache. Did someone slip me something?”
Chris barks out a laugh. “Almost, but not quite.”
I narrow my eyes at him, but he begins to walk away from me with my bag over his shoulder.
“Slow down. I don’t have shoes on. And how are we going to get home? No cabbie is going to pick me up looking like this.”
Chris stops and looks at me. “My place is closer. We could go there, and I promise to explain everything once you’re cleaned up.”
“You’re lucky I love you and that you’re my best friend.” I’m tiptoeing toward him, being careful not to step on anything sharp. “Where did I leave my shoes?” I ask, arms extended.
Chris stops and takes his sneakers off. “Here, put these on.”
“And what if you step on something sharp? Hmmm? Then what?”
“Trust me when I tell you… I’ll be fine.” He’s smiling at me as though I’m an indulgent child, but I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. So I slip his shoes on that are two sizes too big, do them up, and start walking.
Chris falls in beside me and guides me out of the park.
Janardan
My feet touch solid ground, so I open my eyes and find four witches standing in front of me. I click my tongue and look at my fingernails as though they are the most boring creatures on the planet.
“Are you done?” I ask
“Janardan, we apologize. It wasn’t our intent to insult or harm you, merely to read you,” states one of them.
She’s pretty, dark hair up in a tight b
un. And she has one of those figures where she’s small up top but rounded quite nicely at the bottom. I’m guessing she’s in her mid-twenties, but you can never be too careful with witches. They can fool most.
“So, I can go?”
She nods. “Except it’s daylight.”
I step toward her, and the other three witches move back and begin to chant.
“I’ve been here for over a day. Why?” I ask as I tower over her.
Sweat beads on the top of her lip, so I know she’s scared, but she doesn’t move backward. Instead, she looks up at me.
“My name is Evie. I’m the head of the coven. We asked Baracus to bring you to us as you’ve ignored all of our hails.”
My fangs extend, and she gasps. “Ahh, yes, Baracus. Where is he?” I ask, looking around.
“He had no idea what we were going to do to you, and we’ve taken the day from him. So, you see, Baracus doesn’t know what he’s done.”
“But I know.” I smile, raise my hand to touch her face only to feel a barrier separating us. I run my hand down it, and it tingles to the touch but won’t let me anywhere near the witch.
Exasperated, I step back and charge the barrier only to be thrown across the room. The other three witches chant louder, and I snarl in anger at them.
“Please, Janardan! The chosen one is here.”
“Here? As in, here… in this room?” I ask, scanning the faces of the witches opposite me.
One is older with long gray hair, the one next to her has red ringlets, and the other’s hair is a mixture of colors, but all are too old to be this so-called chosen one.
“Are you the chosen one?”
Evie laughs and shakes her head. “No. She’s not here. She’s—”
“Wait, wait, let me guess. She’s among us, somewhere out in the world.” I wave my hands in the air and turn my back to her. “The last time one of your coven sent for me over this bullshit, I ended her. Shall I do the same to you?”
The ring on my finger burns white-hot, and nausea overcomes me, forcing me to my knees.
I feel a hand on my shoulder and look up at Evie. “This time, I swear to you, it’s not a trick. She could free you from your torment,” says Evie, staring at my ring.
Unable to stand or move, I retract my fangs and concentrate on breathing. Something else we vampires do very well is locking in on our prey’s scent, and I’m doing that now as I inhale the aromas from the four women in the room.
“The ring will stop if you stop planning to kill us,” says one of the other witches.
“It’s not that easy,” I grind out as another wave hits me.
The oldest gray witch kneels in front of me and touches my face. “Make it that easy, Liberator. If you continue to try to fight it, it will kill you, and we need you.”
Her touch lessens the pain. I exhale, concentrating on my breathing and not the fact I want to bleed all of them. Gradually, the nausea and burning cease. The old one is still in front of me and smiles warmly at me.
“Hello, Jan, it’s been a long time.”
I scent her again and rock back onto my feet. “Abigail? When did you get old?”
Abigail laughs, and through the wrinkles and gray hair, I see the young woman I once knew. “I’m at my end. The chosen one has stolen much of my magic from me.”
“No!”
“It’s all right, Jan. I welcome the end, if it will bring the races together. Too long have we warred and deceived and tried to rule each other. Too long have the humans suffered. When she comes into her full power and chooses her mate, I will become dust.”
“I’ll kill her mate then,” I state simply.
Abigail stands, shaking her head. “I hope not for the signs point to you.”
Abigail holds out her hands to me, and I stand. Laughter escapes me as I do a pirouette in front of her.
“Me? No, no, no. It can’t be me. I’ve never taken a fully-fledged mate, and I have no intention of doing it now. Chosen one or not, it can’t be me.”
“Come, Jan, let’s discuss this in a more comfortable setting. These old bones need to relax.”
I look into her eyes, and I can see she’s tired. When Abigail takes a step, pain flashes across her features. Holding up my wrist, I drag a fang across it and hold it out to her as my blood stains their floor.
“No, Jan, the temptation is too much. I will not.”
“This is madness. Take my blood, Abigail. It will not stop you from aging but will prevent the pain. Of course, for you, I’d make an exception and turn you. You only need to ask.” In my very long life, I have only turned three people, and all of them are long dead.
Abigail smiles and keeps walking. “Come on, Jan. I need to sit.”
“Will you consider it?” I ask.
Abigail purses her lips and nods. “If it will make you come with me. Yes, I’ll consider it.”
Abigail sits in a big overstuffed red velvet chair while I sit opposite her on a tan leather couch. The other three witches are in the room, standing well away from me.
“Wine?” asks Abigail.
“Yes.” I look at the others. Abigail is clearly the most powerful one here, but she’s not in charge of the coven. It doesn’t make sense. “Why are you not the high priestess?”
“I’m dying.”
“So? That one doesn’t have half the magic you have. It should be you.”
“Abigail stepped down five years ago when her magic began to fade. It’s how we knew the chosen one was near,” says Evie as she pours everyone a glass of wine.
To show respect, she serves me first, then Abigail. Abigail looks at her with much love in her eyes and smiles when she’s handed the wine.
“Let me put a drop of my blood into the glass.”
Abigail looks up at Evie, who frowns and looks back at me. “Only a drop. There’s nothing worse than a witch with the crave.”
I pierce the end of my finger with my fang and squeeze until a blood drop forms. Evie holds the glass out, and I let it fall into the wine. Because I am so old, my blood is more potent and can cure most illnesses, but it can’t stop the aging process. If you have enough of it, it can slow it down. Most witches don’t need it as they keep their youth with their spells and potions. To see Abigail old and frail saddens me. We were lovers once, and good friends, but that was a long time ago.
“Abigail has had my blood before. She never suffered the crave.”
Evie’s eyes widen, and she looks at Abigail. “Is that true?”
Abigail waves a hand in the air and takes a sip of wine. “It was before you were born. Sit, Evie, Jan will not hurt you.” Abigail looks up at the other two. “Gloria, Patricia, sit. It will make all of us more comfortable.”
Evie sits next to me, and I study her profile and mannerisms. It’s something vampires do to better know their prey.
“This one is related to you, isn’t she?” I ask.
Abigail nods. “My granddaughter. And you’re right, she’s not half the witch I am, but when the chosen one comes into her power, what’s left of my magic will go to Evie, and she will be a force to be reckoned with.”
“Why do you think I’m this chosen one’s mate?” I take a sip of my wine, smiling to myself.
Abigail looks to Evie, who shifts on the couch, so she’s facing me.
“Your aura. It’s said that the chosen one will be bathed in cardinal. We’ve seen red auras before but none the color of yours,” states Evie.
“This proves nothing.” I sigh and stare at Abigail. “All this proves is I have a red aura.”
“Cardinal red,” replies Abigail.
“Fine, cardinal red. I’m a vampire, we’re immortal, which could mean she’s not even been born yet. You witches with your spells, you don’t know everything.”
“You aren’t immortal, merely hard to kill. Abigail isn’t the only one who’s been affected. It all started when the chosen one turned twenty, and the heads of all the races felt it. Some of their life force was siphoned o
ff and this continued until she came of age at twenty-five. For Abigail, it was her magic. The others all had similar things happen.”
“Levi would have told me.”
Abigail scoffs. “No, he wouldn’t. Leviathan takes power from the clutch, but you’ve never sworn fealty to him. You, alone, could rule all vampires, but you turned your back on them after the first war.” I go to speak, but Abigail holds up a hand. “Yes, yes, I know you fought in all the wars. You’re the oldest and should be their sire. We believe, because of this, you are the chosen one’s mate.”
I cast a look at the other witches, and they are all nodding.
“Fine, let’s say I am. Let’s pretend the chosen one is among us. How do we find her?”
Evie answers, “She’ll find you within the next month.”
“So, you drag me here only to tell me that she’s going to find me, anyway? I haven’t fed. I’m hungry, and I’ve had just about enough bullshit for one day.” I stand.
Abigail does so too and without pain.
I watch as she stretches and flexes, enjoying a body with no restrictions.
“Thank you, Jan.”
I can’t help myself, and I smile at her. “Do you want me to leave you some of my blood?”
Abigail’s eyes flick to Evie, so I turn and look at her as she says, “No.”
“If this prophecy is true, then your grandmother only has a month left, and one drop of my blood will not induce the crave.”
The crave is something all the races have in common. It means different things to all of us. For vampires, if we crave your blood, you’re as good as dead and drained. For witches, it’s vampire blood which acts as an opiate on them if they have too much.
“I do feel so much better, Evie.”
“Janardan, there is more we need to discuss. Although the chosen one will find you, if she couples with another of the races first, they will take her power. Only her true mate will let her blossom into—”
“Into what, Evie?” I ask impatiently.
“We don’t know. We hope that as a true partnership, yours and hers, will combine to end the wars. Let humans know we’re here without scaring them. End—”
“Peace on earth and goodwill to all men? Please! Fairy tales and myth.” I walk over to the decanter holding the red wine, prick my finger, and let two drops of blood fall into it.