Gates of Eden: Starter Library

by Theophilus Monroe

I could hear the wraith I’d burned with sunlight screeching in the distance. That’s right, I thought, tell the others. Let them fear me more than they already do. Hell, half of the vampires here I’d staked myself. It was no wonder they’d attack me.

  There was only one I was seeking, and it wasn’t going to be a pleasant reunion. It might even be the death of me. But I didn’t have a choice.

  2

  OCTOBER 31, 1891

  I clutched at my chest as I coughed. I spit the blood into the bowl beside my bed. The cough. Night sweats. A fever. The same symptoms my mother and sister displayed—the symptoms of consumption. They died shortly thereafter. Rest in a sanatorium—that was what the doctors had prescribed. Now my father wanted to send me there, too. I’d be damned before they locked me up. There’s only one way out of a sanatorium if you have consumption—in a casket. Sure, these places were supposed to give us the rest we needed to get well. Bullshit. I didn’t know a single person who’d gone there and walked out alive. I was only nineteen. To hell with the sanatorium. I was too young to die.

  It was the night of Samhain—the night of the dead, where the veil between worlds is the thinnest. If ever there was a time when the coven could help, it was now. Still shivering, I wrapped myself in a wool blanket, pushed open my bedroom window, and darted off into the woods. According to Moll—the witch who led our coven—any witch who contracted consumption should seek her out. Where the physicians’ power ended, she claimed hers began.

  I had to move quickly. If my father discovered I’d left, he’d go to any end to track me down. And if he’d known I was a witch… If he realized what my friends and I did out in the woods… I won’t say he’d have me burned, though had I been born at an earlier time, that’s exactly what would have happened. Still, as a pious man, devout and faithful to Puritan beliefs, he’d certainly have little tolerance for my practice of the Craft.

  The breeze coursed through the trees, casting moving shadows along the path. As the sun continued to set, the shadows disappeared—but I knew these trails well. I’d traveled them, by day or by night, many times before. Usually I’d hear singing or at least some conversation as I approached the wooded sanctuary.

  But as I entered the clearing only Moll stood there, her cauldron boiling as it sat suspended over a blazing fire. It was a unique cauldron—not that cauldrons are particularly popular items. This one, though, had a unique scratch spanning its circumference. I didn’t know how it got the scratch. It was probably just a simple accident.

  Still, it made her cauldron distinctly identifiable. There were witches’ cauldrons, generally, and then there was Moll’s cauldron. And using another witch’s cauldron is sort of like using someone else’s toothbrush or wearing their underwear. You just don’t do it. First, ew. But second, it’s one of those things that’s just personal, no matter how close you might be to someone.

  “I’ve been expecting you, Mercy,” Moll said, a gentle smile gracing her otherwise wrinkled and weathered face. Her hair long and white, she wore a long black robe. She held her wand in her hand, and with it cast a circle around the clearing.

  I coughed, spitting my blood on the ground.

  “Come, dear,” Moll said. “Perhaps we can soothe your pangs.”

  “I’m afraid, Moll,” I said. “These are the same symptoms my mother and my sister had… shortly before they died.”

  “Are you afraid to die?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Isn’t everybody?”

  “Then don’t,” Moll said.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t die, of course.”

  I squinted my eyes. If it were so easy as choosing not to die, no one ever would. “How is this possible?”

  A broad, close-mouthed grin split Moll’s face. “There may be a way, my dear. But it comes with a cost.”

  “What cost is too great for one’s life?”

  Moll continued walking around the circle, turning to the north, south, east, and west. Calling upon the elements of air, earth, water, and fire. “The costs, my dear, are many. But the greatest of these is your soul.”

  I tilted my head. “Not much of a cost, if that’s the worst of it. So far as I know, the soul’s purpose is to carry me into heaven if I die. But if I would never die…”

  “It is quite an acceptable cost, is it not?” Moll asked.

  I coughed again, pulling my blanket more tightly around my body. “What does it take, just a spell?”

  “The spell we’re casting, dear, is to sustain your life when the one who would give you the gift of life eternal visits you in the night.”

  “Is it… a demon?”

  “Oh heavens no,” Moll said. “Though some might mistake him for one. He looks as human as you are, apart from the red of his eyes and, of course, his teeth. After all, he was a human once. Many centuries ago.”

  “So he lives forever, too?”

  “He does, child,” Moll said. “And if he deems you desirable, he might grant you his gift.”

  I took a deep breath. Living forever? I couldn’t even get my mind around the idea. “So I won’t die, then?”

  “You will draw as close to death as any might. Were it not for this spell, the one we intend to perform tonight, you would not survive the transformation.”

  “The transformation?”

  “You do not imagine you could live forever without some manner of change, do you?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “But what is the… nature… of this transformation?”

  “What does it matter?” Moll asked. “Your life will endure. You will be beautiful. You will move as swiftly as an angel of the night.”

  “And this spell, the one we’re preparing?”

  “Quite painless, dear,” Moll said. “But if I prepare you for this gift, I trust I might continue to have your loyalty.”

  “Of course,” I said. “And the rest of the coven?”

  “Do not speak to them of this gift,” Moll said. “I’ve chosen you and you alone for this privilege.”

  “Why me?”

  “I must confess,” Moll said, “my reasons are somewhat selfish. In all my years I’ve seen few with such natural talent in our arts. I am unwilling to let you go as much as you are unwilling to die.” Moll pulled a small burlap sack from her robe and dumped its contents into the cauldron. “The only ingredient that remains, my dear, is your blood.”

  “I’m coughing up blood,” I said. “Will that work?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  I approached the cauldron, took a deep breath, and coughed hard, a heavy dose of blood filling my mouth. I spit it into the cauldron. The boil intensified, the cauldron’s contents turning from green to red.

  Moll dipped a ladle into the cauldron. “Drink it all, dear.”

  As she lifted the ladle to my lips, I sipped it—it was bitter, difficult to stomach. I winced as the potion scalded my tongue and the roof of my mouth.

  “Very good, dearest Mercy,” Moll said. “You must return home and take your rest. Within three months of tonight you will receive a visitor. Do not resist him.”

  “Three months?” I asked. “I don’t know if I’ll even live that long…”

  “The magic will sustain you for three moons. During that time, you will remain as you are—but you will not fall further ill. Your life will endure through your transformation.”

  “Thank you, Moll.”

  “Direct your gratitude to the goddess, my dear. And do not forget with whom this gift originated. Do not forget your promise of fidelity to our coven. I have great plans for you, still.”

  3

  JANUARY 17, 1892

  The sanatorium was a dreadful place. They’d sold it as a paradise, a place without stress. A place where I could heal. Well, that was bullshit. Sure, they tried to make things reasonably comfortable. The bed wasn’t bad, and all things considered, the food was edible. But the moaning, the sound of people hurling up their last meal, and the smell of urine made it almost unbearable.
Only my father and my brother Edwin were left—Dad thought this place was my best shot. Truth be told, Dad always favored Edwin. Let Mercy fend for herself in the sanatorium, so long as Edwin is safe. Dear, dear Edwin.

  I was on my third roommate since I’d arrived. All died of consumption. The fact that I hadn’t died yet gave these quacks the idea that their treatments were helping. Not like I could tell them that witchcraft had done it. Of course, I was already in a sanatorium. What was the difference if I got moved to the asylum? At least the people there would be entertaining.

  I’d read through my collection of Poe three times now. I practically had “The Tell-Tale Heart” committed to memory. My book was well-worn, which set it in stark contrast to the King James Bible my father had left at my bedside. I’d tried reading it a few times through the years.

  The story about the Witch of Endor intrigued me. I mean, think about it: King Saul summons the witch, and the dead prophet Samuel shows up and gives him advice. The Bible was supposed to make me righteous… but once I found that story, I couldn’t help but want to learn more. The Bible basically says that witches are real—and that they can speak to the dead. If the Bible is true, so is witchcraft. And if witches can speak to the dead—well, it’s no wonder a girl with a dead mom would want to dabble in the Craft. If Dad ever found out about it, I knew what I’d say—I’d tell him I learned it from the Bible.

  I slide aside my Poe collection and picked up my Bible. I’d marked the passage with a ribbon.

  And the woman said unto Saul, I saw gods ascending out of the earth…

  Who were these gods? My father chastised me when I asked the preacher about it. But why? Why should I be silenced for asking a question about a passage such as this? Gods, rising up from the earth… The preacher stumbled over his words, supposed they must’ve been demons. But it didn’t say demons—it said gods. The preacher’s second guess was just as unsatisfactory: false gods… but he couldn’t tell me why they should be deemed false, or why the Bible simply called them gods. Or why these gods were able to deliver one of the true God’s prophets to Samuel.

  It wasn’t until I found Moll—or I should say, until she found me—that I had a satisfactory answer. She claimed there were many gods and goddesses of the earth. And if I’d like to know them, to meet her and a few others in the woods. And there I felt something else… something new… something powerful. The spirits of the place. The deities of old coursing through the earth, in the trees, in the sun and the moon, and in the four elements.

  Then she said if I called on Cernunnos the Horned God and entreated him, that I might speak to my mother. That he might perhaps reveal to me a word or a message from my mom, from beyond the grave.

  So I did… Moll almost fell to the ground when the Horned God actually appeared, and with him my mother’s apparition. Never, Moll said, had he appeared to her with such definite presence, visible to the eye. But when I called him, he did. My mother didn’t speak to me, she simply looked at me kindly, and I knew she was at peace. It was that night, that Samhain, Halloween a year and three months before, when I joined the coven. And it was from that night henceforth that Moll declared me her daughter of the night, a witch of great potential. Thus, she promised me a gift: someone who would visit me within the next three moons and grant me immortality.

  But the three months, the three moons, had almost come and gone. And still, nothing. No visitors. Not even my father. And if he didn’t come, the spell that kept me alive, that held my consumption at bay, would end. And when it did…

  I shuddered to think of it. I didn’t want to die. And for nearly three months I’d held out hope that I wouldn’t. Moll had promised.

  I set my Bible down at my bedside. I tried to sleep, but the moaning and the screams of the other patients made it nearly impossible.

  I looked over at my roommate, shivering in her sheets. Shivering but sleeping… how did she do it? I pulled my blanket around my body. These gowns they gave us were hardly clothes at all; the bitter January air made the whole place something of an ice box. I slid my body off the edge of my bed, the chill of the cold wooden floor curling my toes as I stood.

  I shuffled toward my roommate, Alice. There wasn’t any point trying to get to know her. She’d be dead soon, anyway. Just like the others. Best not to make a friend out of her—easier that way. If I got to know her, I’d have to mourn her.

  As I approached Alice, it was almost like she sensed my presence. She jolted awake and shrieked, “What the hell?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Just trying to figure out how you manage to sleep though all this ruckus.”

  Alice rolled her eyes. She reached to her ears and pulled out two wads of cotton.

  I smirked. “I have to say, that’s pretty smart.”

  “Doesn’t work that well,” Alice said. “But it muffles the noise enough that I can sleep… a little…”

  She was a pretty girl—maybe sixteen. Too young. I felt bad for her. “Aren’t you afraid to die?” I asked.

  “What’s there to be afraid of?”

  “You know, death. It’s so… final.”

  “I have my faith,” Alice said. “Don’t you believe?”

  “I have my beliefs.”

  “Then why are you afraid?” Alice asked.

  I shrugged through my shivers. “I mean, you can have faith. That’s well and good. But how can you be certain of it—absolutely certain? Isn’t there any doubt at all?”

  “Everyone has doubts,” Alice said. “But why dwell on the part of you that doubts? If I’m going to die, I’d rather die believing.”

  “But what if your faith is wrong? What if your belief is misplaced?”

  Alice smiled. “Then at least I didn’t spend my last days in the world miserable and terrified.”

  I huffed. I had to admit, there was some wisdom in that. I had more than enough reason to believe there was something beyond… something more than this hell. I’d seen my mom’s ghost. But still, I was afraid. “Maybe that’s all I have left,” I said. “Maybe it’s my fear of dying that keeps me fighting, that keeps me alive.”

  “You think fear will keep you alive? How many people die with fear…”

  “Most people, I suppose.”

  Alice nodded. “I don’t need fear to fight for my life. Why do you?”

  I bit my lip. “I don’t know. I really don’t. But it’s there, my fear. I don’t know how I can just up and decide not to be afraid.”

  “Don’t pay attention to your fear,” Alice said. “That’s how it binds you, how it controls you.”

  “How’d you get such a strong faith? You can’t be older than sixteen.”

  “My daddy’s a preacher,” Alice said. “I guess I just grew up believing. And isn’t that when you need faith the most, when otherwise all you’d have is fear?”

  I nodded. “Thanks for the tip. Have any more of those cotton balls, by chance?”

  Alice smiled, reached into a little bag hanging from her bed, and handed me two of them.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Sleep well,” Alice said.

  “Yeah, you too.” I curled back up in my bed, shoved the cotton in my ears. It actually worked. I closed my eyes and fell asleep…

  Something cold touched my arm, and I startled awake. “What the hell.”

  A man stood there—a handsome man, a black man. His eyes were red, which was undoubtedly strange. “You must be Mercy?” the man asked, smiling wide.

  I gasped—his teeth, they weren’t natural. Were those… fangs? “Are you the one Moll sent?”

  The man nodded. “The name is Niccolo Freeman. You can just call me Nico.”

  “So how does this work?” I asked.

  The man grabbed my hand—I was still startled by how cold he was. In a room that was already freezing, his touch—anyone’s touch—should have been warm. “They will think you’ve died,” Nico said. “But you will live still.”

  I nodded. “And you’ll take me away from this place?
”

  “It is better if they think you’ve died than if they think you’ve absconded,” Nico said. “When you awaken, you’ll have a new strength to you. Do not be afraid. The grave will not be able to hold you.”

  “They’re going to bury me alive!” I exclaimed.

  “Shh,” Nico hushed me, lifting his finger to his cold purple lips. “We don’t want any extra attention if we’re going to do this.”

  “Alright,” I said. “You promise I’ll be okay?”

  “You’ll be fine, Mercy. But you’ll be different. You’ll be changed…”

  “But I’ll be alive, right? Alive and immortal?”

  Nico nodded.

  “Then that’s all I need to know. I’m ready.”

  “This will hurt, but for just a moment,” Nico said, gripping my fingers more tightly as he stroked my hair with his other hand. Grasping my hair, he exposed my neck and lowered his face toward mine.

  Then he bit me.

  I winced, trying to hold back my scream. And then… darkness.

  4

  I HEARD FOOTSTEPS. Where was I? Everything was dark. I tried to move, but it was like I didn’t have a body, wherever I was. I tried to speak. Nothing came out. It wasn’t cold, at least. But it wasn’t hot, either. It just was.

  Then I saw myself… an apparition of myself separating from me.

  Is that… my soul?

  I tried to scream, but nothing came out.

  I tried to run to it, to put it back inside me, but I couldn’t move.

  And then a man appeared. Dark-skinned, frail and emaciated. Like a skeleton covered by a thin layer of skin. He had a top hat on his head and a cane in his hand. “Speak,” the man declared.

  And now I could speak. “Where am I?”

  “In a pine box, of course.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  “I know what you meant, Mercy. This is neither here nor there. What you see is within you, and within me.”

  “Who are you?”

  The man gave a bow. “The name is Baron Samedi. I am the father of your kind.”