“This isn’t happening,” he mused.
“I’m sorry, Phillip…” Her lips trembled as she spoke. “I ate him.”
“You ate him?” Outrage poured in his voice.
Stepping around the pool of blood, Phillip moved towards Marianne, careful not to stain his shoes. He stared at Edgar’s body. Pride and horror entwined and confused him beyond his senses.
“Are you out of your mind?” Phillip said, facing her. “Ivan’s going to be absolutely furious… We can’t have that.”
“You cannot tell him.” Marianne took her bloody hands to her mouth.
Desperate, he turned to the ceiling, wishing this was all a bad dream. “How can you ask that of me?” He’d already turned against him once and felt miserable about it.
“Don’t! Please, Phillip!”
“There’s no other way… Marianne, he was our lawyer!” His arms flung in the air. He gave one more look to his fallen friend. There was no coming back from where his soul now dwelled.
“His lawyer?!” Her eyes widened. “Shit!” Marianne paced around the kitchen, leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind her.
“Nuh-uh,” Phillip said, pulling a kitchen towel off the counter. “Please wipe your hands and feet.”
“Sheesh!” She snatched the cleaning cloth. “You know, for a vampire, you’re awfully disgusted by the sight of blood…” Marianne muttered with watering eyes. She snuck in the corner, turning her back to him.
“You know how much Ivan hates me,” Marianne mused. “Shit! I messed up real bad.” Her shoulders jittered. Was she crying?
My sweet angel, you have every reason to fear him.
Marianne was no harmless creature. She had just killed the man lying before him, and she had done it in one heartless vicious attack. But still, she was no match against the wrath of his maker.
“Explain this to me, will you?” Phillip stood behind her.
Marianne turned. Her bloodshot eyes fixed on him. “What is there to explain?” she whispered. “He walked in and I killed him.”
The coldness of her answer made him shudder. Phillip loomed over Edgar’s body.
“He shouldn’t have died…” he mused. He should have spent a quiet evening chatting with Phillip over a glass of Rémy Martin’s Louis XIII. He should have gone back home in his new Mercedes and have dinner with his family.
“It’s what we do,” she added in the same monotone voice.
“Dammit!” he roared. “You can't just bump off people like that, Marianne!”
“Why is this any different from your own killings?” She snapped. “Don’t you dare judge me!”
Phillip hated to admit it, but she was right.
You're the worst Immortal Father ever.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, clearing a tear off her cheek with his fingers. “Listen, here’s what we’re going to do: You go upstairs and take a long warm bath, and I…” One more look at the corpse. “I’ll deal with him.”
Ivan & Mona
“If I am to give you this, Alisa,” I whispered, “you must understand what it means. Your days under the sun will be over. No food or wine will give your palate satisfaction. The blood...” A knot built inside my throat. “The blood of your prey will be your sole source of nourishment. You will hunt and you will kill, for this is our only means of survival.”
For years, I had dreamed of her forbidden blood streaming into my mouth in wave after wave of unparalleled euphoria. A decade of contained desires which I had fought off my mind with each passing night. If I was going to do this, I might as well enjoy it…
“I don't suppose you do…”
Ivan blinked. His mind had gone elsewhere—to London, a long time ago. “I’m sorry. I didn't catch that,” he said, scratching his right ear.
“Tea,” she said. “I just offered you tea. I don't think you would, but—”
He shook his head. “Still, a nice gesture. Thanks.”
Ivan rose from the chair and picked up the kettle. “Allow me. I know a couple of things about making tea.” Sneering, he removed the tea bags that Cassie had dropped in the water. “Proper tea, that is,” he said, tossing them into the trash bin.
Cassandra scowled. There was no point going against his wishes. She sat on the chair.
“Have you thought about it—where it could be?” He changed the kettle's water and let it boil on the stove.
“The necklace, right? Yeah, you’re wasting your time on me, Ivan…” Her folded arms slipped on the table, and losing all poise, her chin landed on her hands. “Look, the family didn’t consider me worthy of this knowledge. Let’s face it, I’m an outcast in the Deveraux’s book, just like my mother.”
Ivan pulled a chair and sat wearing a frown. Why would she choose to wallow in misery instead of actually doing something to claim back her place in the Deveraux family?
With his fingertips, he pushed the empty cup of tea before her and then leaned back in his seat.
“Well, I'll tell you one thing.” He could hold his tongue no longer. “If everyone in the Deveraux family wanted me to step off, I wouldn't do it.”
“You don’t get it. It was never my decision. My mother made the choice for me when she ran away.” She stared into the mug as if her life depended on it. “Besides, I’m not half the witch Annette was, or Grandmama Katherine, for that matter—”
“Nonsense!” Ivan slammed his hands on the table. “The same blood runs through your veins. You are a Deveraux!”
Cassandra’s countenance turned pale as a moonbeam. Ivan’s tiny outburst must have frightened her. Sometimes he forgot a vampire’s temper was a dreary sight.
“I only mean to help,” he mused. “Perhaps I might try tracing Annette’s belongings?” As he poured the boiling water in her cup the gesture took him back three hundred years.
Tea in Paris… Tea was Alisa’s favorite drink.
“Perhaps a trip to Paris is required?” he added. “I could take care of it.”
“No need,” she replied pouring a splash of milk in her cup. “I have her book.”
“Her book?” perplexed, with a gaping mouth. “What book? I know nothing of a book.” There was a book?
“When I returned from Paris, after the funeral…” Her gaze drifted. “A package was waiting for me here, in Deveraux Hall. It came with a letter.” Cassie took a sip of her smoking tea. As she placed it on the table once more, the cup's eerie fumes drew the hollow face of a specter in midair.
“Oh?”
Cassie reached for one of the pantry’s drawers and pulled out a piece of paper. She drew a faint smile. “Wanna read it?”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
The letter was written in French with flawless penmanship. Ivan began to read:
My little Cassie,
I know my time has come. I have only a short time left before I meet my Creator. Not a day passes that I do not miss you since you left for America.
Nothing would comfort my old heart in this late hour other than to see your face one last time, but I fear it is too late.
I leave my most precious possessions to you, my dear little one. There is no better refuge for them than your hands. This is my inheritance, and it belongs to you.
God Almighty keep you.
With all your grandmother's love,
Annette.
“No better refuge for her belongings other than your hands…” Ivan mused. Dear Annette… As a child, she was self-possessed, kept her poise at all times—an uncommon trait in the Deveraux female line. “I assume one of those belongings is the book you mentioned?”
Cassie nodded. “And that clock over there.” With her gaze, she pointed at the Mora clock across the living room. Ivan hadn’t noticed it before, but he recognized it.
He hated that clock. The carved wooden case and its colorful painted flowers all but made him sick to his stomach. And the worst part of it was that accursed engraving on the front panel—K.D. & E.L.
“Juin, 1925…”
he whispered. The year I lost my sweet Katherine.
“That’s right,” Cassie said. “It commemorates Grandmama’s wedding to Edmund Lancas—” She took her fingers to her lips.
“Lancaster, yes…” Ivan added. The name stung his wretched soul, but why linger upon such sordid memories?
“I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “So, she sent you this family heirloom—the clock—and a book. What about the book? Is it a grimoire?”
“A grimoire?” She raised her brow.
“You know… A book of spells,” he added. Then the most unexpected thing occurred. She laughed. The young witch dared to laugh.
“Do I amuse you?” Ivan clenched his jaw. He did not care to be ridiculed.
“No, no!” Another chuckle. “I’m sorry but—it was your phrasing… A book of spells,” she said in a ghostly tone. “As far as I know, there are no grimoires in this family.”
“Then perhaps I should remind you that as far as you knew, no necklace existed either.”
“Well played.” Cassie pressed her lips. “It's her diary. Almost eight-hundred pages of it.”
Eight-hundred pages sounded far from being a journal. “I would very much like to see it.”
“Before we continue, there's something I must know.”
“Go ahead.”
“Why is this necklace so important to you?”
For the first time in this conversation, Ivan remained silent. Should he confide his reasons to a Deveraux?
9:45 PM. Great timing.
Mona turned off her iPod. Catching her breath, she stretched her legs on the park’s bench. One of her shoelaces was untied.
“Do you mind?” The voice came from an older woman, mid-forties. She stood beside her with a sour expression. What did she want?
“Excuse me?” Mona said, gazing at the woman by the corner of her eye.
“The bench?” Sarcasm seeped through her every word. “I’d like to sit down if you don’t mind.” The woman folded her arms over her large bosom. Pressing her thin and dried lips, she shook her head.
Something inside her clicked. Heat flushed through her body and burned Mona’s cheeks—and not because of her evening jog.
“But of course, dear.” Uttering a mirthless laugh, she tied her shoelace and then moved aside. “Why don’t you sit now?”
Pleased with herself, the woman sat on the bench.
Mona walked away.
A soft breeze rushed through the tree leaves.
“Beware of the birds…” Mona whispered in Chinese.
The gusts of wind grew stronger, building a sudden whirlwind upon the trees. From one of the branches, a large crow flew. The bird landed on the bench, next to the woman. The crow’s innocent brown eyes fixed on hers as it tilted its head and gave a loud caw.
“Go away!” the woman hissed, batting her hand in the air at the creature. “Shoo!”
Another caw came, and with it, the grating song of coos and rattles of other crows stirred in the trees.
Dried leaves flew from the ground with the breeze and encircled the woman. Dozens of crows emerged from the trees and flew above her head, swooping one at a time, pecking her head, neck, hands…
A horrid shriek echoed in the park. The woman struggled, shielding herself with her arms. Blood and fleshy wounds smeared her shocked face. Screams and caws entwined in a tragic melody.
Mona smirked as she jogged back home.
“I need it—” Ivan uttered, uncertain of his following words. “I need it to find someone.”
Cassandra widened her almond-shaped eyes, her interest pending from his words.
“Her name is Alisa,” he added, finalizing the subject.
In the hall, the Mora clock chimed the hour like an ominous gong.
“Who is she? How can the necklace help you find her?” Cassandra asked with a frown. She’d much rather stick with her inquiry than finishing her tea, that much was true.
“You sure are full of questions this evening…” he mused.
Cassie pressed her lips. “Look. We’ve got a good thing going on here, Lockhart. I enjoy getting to know this side of you—the honest side.” A smile sealed her confession.
“Honesty is so overrated,” he replied under his breath. Then, taken one deep breath, he continued. “If you must know, Alisa was my first fledgling. It’s been centuries since I last saw her.” He paused. “As for the necklace, it’s more than a piece of jewelry, Cassandra. It’s a casing. What I want—what I need lies inside its sapphire brooch.”
Disregarding the smoking cup of tea, Cassie leaned forward, all but emulating Rodin’s The Thinker.
“For you to understand this, I must go back to the time of my awakening into Darkness.” He rose from his seat. Holding the back of the chair he leaned his weight forward. “It happened in Venice, the year was 1671.”
“1671!” Cassie gasped, a typical response whenever he revealed his immortal age.
Moving on.
“The night my maker left me to discover my new life as a vampire, he made sure I would be well provided. A room full of riches and land titles were mine to claim as inheritance.
“Among those treasures was a small silver flask. That tiny flask was worth more than the sum of my legacy, he said. I didn’t understand it right then, but I soon discovered the magnificence of the gift he entrusted in my hands.”
Cassie leaned her chin against her cupped hand. “What was inside the flask?”
“Blood,” he said in a casual tone.
Cassandra flinched. “Blood?” she repeated. “Are you telling me that after three hundred years, you expect to find the flask’s contents intact?”
He nodded.
“But, that’s impossible, Ivan. Blood cannot last that long. Surely it’s gone by now, turned into dust… and your one chance to find her, lost with it forever.”
Ivan raised his eyebrows. “Your words give me nothing but hope, Deveraux,” he mocked. “Yes, that might be the case if it were common human blood. But you see, it’s not.”
Her eyes flew open. “It’s vampire blood!”
“And not any ordinary vampire's blood. It belongs to the first bloodline of vampires that ever existed in the world. The Source of us all, if you will.”
“The Source?”
“That's what my maker called it,” he chanted. “Only the Source can break the psychic barrier between me and Alisa, our blood bond is too strong.”
“Is she in danger?”
“She must be. Otherwise, she never would have reached out to me,” he mused.
“Can’t Phillip track her location with his vampire superpowers?”
Ivan shook his head. “Phillip’s superpowers—as you call them—are limited. Her presence is veiled from him. I suspect witchcraft is involved.”
“That’s why you wanted to speak to Granny,” she whispered, finally seeing the full picture. “But why would anyone want to capture her?”
What do I know? he wanted to say, but refrained. “When you’ve lived a long life, enemies tend to pile upon the ages.”
Cassie sat with her back straight, for once. “Then it’s decided. I will help you in anyway I can.”
Wonderful news. Her willingness simplified everything—he would have hated having to resort to other methods of persuasion.
“Annette’s journal seems like a good place to start,” he suggested.
“Of course… I don’t have it with me, but I know where it is.”
“And where would that be?” Ivan felt compelled to ask.
“Where I hid it.” Cassie pushed away the cold cup of tea and stood. “Leave the digging to me, Lockhart. This is witches’ territory.”
Deveraux, what are you up to?
Cassandra & Mona
Her pink Converse shoelaces flung loose as she jumped on the bike.
Cassie's long locks of dark hair swayed in the evening wind, wild and damp. Tiny water drops landed on her face while she pedaled
down Larkin Street.
The vampire Ivan Lockhart had fulfilled his part of the bargain. He’d remained loyal to the Deveraux witches in their ancestral alliance. Much as a Dark Guardian Angel, he had taken Cassandra under his wing—despite her reluctance. There was no denying Lockhart's dependable nature. He had rescued Cassie from danger more than once in her adolescence, and perhaps twice in her childhood...
“You really shouldn't play in this garden.” His silhouette moved amidst the jungle of bromeliads and orchids. “It is forsaken for a reason.”
The memory came pristine and without warning as she stopped at the red light.
Wild foliage growing savagely amidst old marble statues, orchids and bromeliads shining in colorful bloom, the majestic pond in the jungle's clearing... And the angel carved in stone in human size, a sentinel to Deveraux Manor's best kept secret.
She was five years old the day she met Lockhart. He must have been over two-hundred years old but bore the face of someone no more than twenty-three.
“There are things beyond what your mortal eyes can now see,” he whispered. Holding her hand, he led her away from the stone-rimmed pond. Then, kneeling before her, he added, “Trust no one, little one. Not even me.” He winked. Together they took the footpath that would lead them back to Granny, back to Deveraux Manor...
A roaring klaxon snapped her out of the trance. The green light had been on for a while, she barely had time to cross the street.
A few blocks away lay the place she had avoided at all costs. But fate has a funny way of dealing its cards, and now she had no choice but to return home and face her demons.
“Just a quick stop,” she mused. “It's easy, really. In and out!”
Her heart pounded hard as she moved through the neighborhood towards her old house in Russian Hill.
Mona took another lap around the park to witness the fruits of her curse upon the wretched woman. She had treated Mona with such disrespect... She deserved no less.
As she reached the park’s corner, she slowed the pace of her jog. Red lights flashed before her eyes. Mona stopped to catch a glimpse of the scene beyond the horde of curious bystanders. Paramedics pushed a gurney into the ambulance and closed its doors.
Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren Page 9
