by Jenny Frame
The way she was feeling, on the constant edge of hunger, was driving her insane. Victorija just wanted to get up and smash her head against the stone castle wall. But she resisted and finally found what she was looking for.
It was a parish record from l810, a marriage in Glasgow between Marie Anne Brassard and Thomas MacDougall.
“Fuck.” Victorija let her head fall to the desk in frustration. She had a hunch, followed it, and it had been right. The French Brassard family had married into the MacDougalls.
She sat up quickly and unlocked a drawer in her desk. Victorija pulled out an old leather diary, monogrammed Angele Brassard.
Victorija brought the diary to her lips and kissed the name on the cover. “My Angel. What do I do now?”
A feeling of panic surged through her body. It wasn’t something Victorija was used to feeling, nor the pain of first love and fear and grief and despair that came along with her memories of Angele Brassard.
Victorija had shut down her heart and kept these raw, desperate emotions locked up so tight in a dark corner of her soul. So locked up that she had almost forgotten they were there, but with this blood hunger and the feelings that her grandmother had released with her touch, those overwhelming emotions came bursting out.
How could she cope with these feelings? On top of that, how could she be bonded by blood to Angele’s descendent, the young woman who had destroyed the last part of light in her heart, and ushered in the darkness?
She was suddenly hit with an intense hunger pang, and she cried out.
* * *
Amelia awoke with a gasp and sat up quickly. She could remember voices in her dreams but not the muffled ones from the stone circle. Clear voices asking her to go somewhere, but where she wasn’t sure.
When she and Byron had made love last night, it was as if some switch had been clicked, opening up her mind to the voices.
She looked to the side and saw Byron sleeping soundly. It always made her happy to see that Byron was sleeping so deeply, so contentedly. Byron told her she’d never slept through the night when she was on her own. An hour or so was all that she could manage.
Amelia was proud and fulfilled that she could be that for Byron and give her the comfort that she deserved. Then she heard it. The voices from her dreams were ringing in her head.
Go to her. Go to her.
She looked at the bedside clock. It read five thirty a.m. Amelia scrubbed her face. Something had changed since last night. The muffled voices were loud, chattering, and clear.
Amelia sat up on the side of the bed. Now that she was fully awake, the voices were even clearer.
Go to her. Through the trees.
Before she could think about it too deeply, Amelia had pulled on her jeans and a jumper and was writing a note for Byron. Gone for a walk.
When she got outside, the voices got louder. Every step she took, they got louder still. She walked into the cover of the trees.
“You are such an idiot,” Amelia told herself.
This was the kind of situation in a horror film that had you screaming at a character’s stupidity. Yet here she was. She had been walking for about five minutes, the voices getting louder all the time, when she came out to a clearing.
There in the clearing was a perfect little cottage with smoke coming out of the chimney. Amelia got chills running down her spine. It felt like she was in some twisted fairy tale, and a wicked witch or a wolf would eat her all up. But she had to keep going now—whatever these voices were, they were willing her to this cottage, and she had to find out why. Even if Byron would kill her for it.
The door of the cottage was slightly ajar, and as she got closer, she could smell the breakfast cooking. In her horror movie Amelia would be shouting even louder at the screen, Get out of there! Turn back!
As she turned to walk away, she heard a voice from inside saying, “Running away, dear?”
Whoever lived in that cottage knew she was there. She would look stupid to walk away now.
Amelia turned and climbed the stairs at the front of the cottage and eased the door open. She found a kitchen table groaning with breakfast items, enough to feed an army, and there by a wood-burning stove was a grey-haired woman busy making more food.
The woman didn’t turn around but said, “Sit yourself down, Amelia. I’ll be right with you.”
She knew her name? This was getting creepier by the second. Amelia sat on the edge of the seat, ready to run out of there if need be. Finally, the elderly woman turned around and gave her a huge smile, followed by a head bow.
“Principessa, my name’s Sybil Westford. The Grand Duchess said you would be coming.”
“Lucia? My partner’s great-great-grandmother?” Amelia said.
“Yes.” Sybil carried over a plate and put it in front of her. “I hope you like scrambled eggs.”
“But she’s dead.”
Sybil smiled and poured out two cups of tea. “True, but you can still hear her if you’re open enough.” Sybil sat down next to her. “I think you know what I mean. Don’t you?”
Amelia hesitated. “I’ve been hearing voices since I was in a casting circle yesterday.”
“And what did they say?” Sybil asked.
“I couldn’t tell. They were all talking over each other and too far away. I couldn’t make out the words.”
“And now?”
“It’s all so clear. The voices wouldn’t stop telling me to come here. I couldn’t sleep.”
Sybil smiled. “Those are the voices of our ancestors, your ancestors. All the witches who came before give us our power.”
“So I am a witch? Really?” Amelia said.
When Sybil nodded, Amelia asked. “Did you know my mother and father?”
“I knew your mother. I was close to her.”
“Who was she? And what about my father?”
Just as Sybil took a breath to answer, Byron burst through the door in a flash. “Stay back from my wife—” Byron stopped dead. “Sybil, you’re still—”
Sybil laughed softly. “Alive?”
Byron caught her breath. “No, here.”
Amelia looked back and forth between the two of them. Byron had dressed really hastily, having pulled on the jeans and T-shirt that Amelia bought her. How did she know Sybil?
“You two know each other?”
Sybil nodded. “We’ve crossed paths over the years. We first met when I was a girl, and Byron came to us during the War, although she was much better dressed back then.”
Byron looked down at what she was wearing. “Please forgive me. I had to dress in haste. Amelia, why did you leave without me?”
“I didn’t think I’d be in danger. The voices wouldn’t stop talking, and I could hear them clearly after last night.”
Sybil smiled at her, clearly understanding what had happened between them. “The power of love and communing with your partner in the flesh can open up a blocked mind to the ancestors.”
Amelia felt heat radiating from her cheeks. Byron crouched down and took her hand.
“You shouldn’t have left without me.”
“It was something I felt I had to do on my own.”
“Your guards are staying in the village?” Sybil said.
“You heard?”
“One of our coven—Catherine, who runs the shop in the village—spotted you,” Sybil said.
Byron slipped into the seat beside Amelia. The panic she had felt when she had wakened to an empty bed was starting to subside.
Byron had met Sybil many years ago, during the War, when she was sent by the Secret Service to liaise with the coven here in the New Forest.
“Bhal is staying in the village, and Captain Villiers is staying in the cabin next door to us with a friend.”
“Captain Villiers? Is she still as serious as she always was?”
“She is mellowing slightly. We think love is working its magic on her,” Byron said.
“There’s no greater magic than love,” Sybil replied.
Amelia turned to Byron and said, “Why didn’t you say you knew Sybil? We could have come to her straight away.”
“I honestly didn’t know she’d still be living here. I’d heard the coven wasn’t as strong in numbers as it had once been.”
“Yes,” Sybil said, “we cunning folk were once the biggest and most powerful coven in Britain, but through one thing and another our numbers have dwindled.”
“You are their leader now?” Byron asked.
Sybil smiled. “Yes, hard to believe that little girl you met then would grow up to be the leader?”
“Please, tell me about my birth mum, my dad, who were they? Do I still have family?” Amelia was sounding frustrated.
Byron put her arm around her. “Give Sybil time.”
“More tea?” Sybil picked up the teapot.
“No, just tell me who I am.” Amelia smacked her hand down on the table.
Sybil sat down again. “I will answer your questions, but first I need you to visit your adoptive mother and father.”
“What? Why?”
“I need you to understand why things were done the way they were before I tell you everything,” Sybil said.
“Why can’t you witches stop talking in riddles and just speak the truth? The ones we met in London said I had to come here to find out the truth, these stupid voices in my head tell me to find you, and now you tell me to go back to my adoptive parents? When will it end? When will anyone give me a straight answer?”
“Amelia—” Byron said.
“No.” Amelia shrugged away from Byron, and a flash of light came from her hands and knocked a chair across the room.
“You are a powerful witch, Amelia. But you can’t control yourself or that power,” Sybil said.
Byron looked at Sybil. “Please, Sybil. If you could tell her more. She is distressed about this.”
“She?” Amelia said. “Who’s she? The cat’s mother? I have a name.”
Byron knew Amelia was simply frustrated. Amelia’s life had been turned upside down since the minute she’d met Byron, and every time Amelia thought she had a handle on this new world, this new existence, the rug was pulled from under her.
Byron took a breath and said. “Amelia is distressed. Could you please tell her some more?”
“I have my reasons. Go and see your parents, then come back to me. Now, let’s have some more tea.”
* * *
“I know you won’t like this, Alexis, but these are my orders. Bhal and my guards will go with us to Amelia’s parents’ home tomorrow. I want you to stay here and guard Katie.”
After leaving Sybil’s cottage, Byron and Amelia went to Katie and Alexis’s cabin and had dinner with them. Now Byron and Alexis were enjoying a glass of whisky and a cigar on the porch of the cabin.
“I think you’re right, Principe.”
“You do?” Byron was totally surprised—she’d expected a fight over this.
“Yes. Katie needs me. She wouldn’t be ready for travelling there and travelling back, and I can’t leave her here to fend for herself. Especially now. Did Bhal report the intelligence she was hearing?”
“Yes, many of the smaller European covens are joining the Dreds. Why on earth would they do that, after Victorija killed Lillian, the French coven high priestess? It makes no sense.”
“For whatever reason the paranormal map of Europe is changing after a long period of calm. The change has already reached our shores,” Alexis said. “We haven’t encountered forced transitions for many years, but there are more and more at the moment. Like Josie.”
Byron sighed. “Yes, that’s true. Forced transitions cause havoc and pain to the human community and compromise our relationships with the wider human population.”
“I can’t risk Katie being alone,” Alexis said.
Byron smiled. “Sounds as if your priorities are changing.”
“You are still my Principe,” Alexis said.
“I know that, but it’s all right that your priorities are changing, Alexis. It’s natural when you’re in love. You are in love, aren’t you?”
Alexis nodded and looked down at her boots.
Byron put her hand on the back of Alexis’s neck and squeezed it hard. Byron looked her in the eye and said with slight menace, “You know what Katie’s family means to me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then you be honest and don’t hurt her, or I’ll have your head.”
“Yes, Principe. Of course I’ll treat her with respect, but just because I have these feelings doesn’t mean I’ll act on them, even if Katie would want me to. She won’t want to know me after I tell her what I did, Byron.”
Byron scoffed. “Tell her. I think Katie will surprise you.”
* * *
“You’re feeling stronger?” Amelia asked Katie.
Katie was sitting on the couch with Amelia, talking after dinner. “Stronger with every day. Just being here, so close to nature, is helping,” Katie said.
“And Alexis? Is she helping?” Amelia asked.
“She’s falling over herself to help me. I don’t know why.”
“She cares, Katie.”
Katie touched her bandaged neck and remembered the care Alexis had shown her. “Yes, I think she does, but I don’t know if she’s capable of admitting it.”
Katie didn’t mention that Alexis sat on her bedroom floor, holding her hand all night. Neither of them had mentioned it since.
“She will, I’m certain. You’ve known her longer than me. Is this taking care of you normal to her?”
“No, but she seems to blame herself for Josie attacking me. God knows why.”
The door to the cabin opened and Byron and Alexis walked in.
Amelia whispered, “Just give her a chance, no matter what she tells you.”
That was a strange thing for Amelia to say. What did she mean?
Chapter Twelve
Katie gazed at Alexis as she filled up the dishwasher in the kitchen. It was such a novelty to see this stoic vampire suddenly doing domestic tasks.
She chuckled, and Alexis turned around. “Why are you laughing?”
“Finish up what you’re doing, and come and sit with me,” Katie said.
Alexis started the dishwasher, washed her hands, and came into the room holding two ice-cold bottles of water for them. She put both of the bottles down on the coffee table and went to stoke up the fire.
“It’s nice having a real fireplace. So calming,” Katie said.
“Real fires were all we had for most of my life, but they do give a nice atmosphere.” Alexis joined her on the couch. “So, why were you laughing?”
“I hadn’t ever seen you being domestic before. It was sweet,” Katie said.
“No one has ever accused me of being sweet.”
Katie laughed again. “It’s not a bad thing. Besides, don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. What did Byron want?”
“Amelia and Byron are going to visit Amelia’s family. It’s only a few villages away,” Alexis said.
Katie felt sadness envelop her. She didn’t want Alexis to go. “I see. When do you leave?”
Alexis raised a questioning eyebrow. “I’m not leaving. I need to be here to make sure you’re safe and to look after you.”
Katie was so surprised, but happy. She knew how important Byron’s life and security were to Alexis and was amazed that she was staying.
“Thank you,” was all she could think of to say.
The room was filled with silence for a minute or so, but Alexis didn’t seem uncomfortable. The quiet of the room was nice, especially with the crackle of the flames in the background.
“How are you feeling, Katie?” Alexis asked.
“Much better. You know that feeling I told you about? That I wasn’t quite here, like I was a step out of time and place?”
“Yes,” Alexis replied.
Katie had to be brave and honest. How could she expect it of Alexis when she wasn’t herself?
Alexis turned around on the couch so she was facing Katie. “Yes?”
“It’s hard to put into words. I was in limbo, floating between life and death, and you are grounding me in life, in hope.” Katie took Alexis’s hand. “You’ve been my anchor.”
Alexis turned away from her and rubbed her forehead with her finger. She looked stressed, uptight.
“I don’t deserve such praise, Katie,” Alexis said.
“You do, you saved my life.”
Alexis just shook her head. Katie didn’t think she would get Alexis to open up at the moment. She was beating herself up over something, but it would take time for her to feel safe enough to talk about it, Katie guessed.
Katie leaned back on the couch and said, “Tell me a story.”
“Tell you a story? About what?”
“Where you were born, your family, how you became Captain Villiers? How you became Duca? Anything.”
Alexis crossed and uncrossed her legs, ran her hand through her hair, and questioned whether she could tell her story. Katie must have sensed how uncomfortable she was, because she said, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“No, I’m just not used to talking about it. I haven’t…”
Alexis thought of Anna. She was the last person to hear her story, but she wanted Katie to know who she was.
“I was born in 1792,” Alexis said.
Katie’s face lit up with interest. “Wow, I can’t imagine what it’s like to live through all those years.”
“You just adapt. There isn’t much choice. My mother’s name was Jane Villiers. She used the title Mrs., but she was never married.”
“That was a big deal back then,” Katie said.
“Yes, she pretended to be a widow and got away with it until near the end of her life. I lived a comfortable life with my mother. We had a nice house, servants, everything paid for by Father.”
“You said your mother wasn’t married?” Katie said.
Alexis cleared her throat. “No, she wasn’t. She was the mistress, or kept woman, as some people might have said then, of the Duke of Branwick and Bowater.”
“You’re a duke’s daughter? That’s amazing. Was he a nice man?” Katie asked.
