Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren

by Silvana G Sánchez

  The grimoire’s cover opened to the first page. Inked in ancient calligraphy, several names emerged on the parchment. The changing letters spelled the name of every witch in the Deveraux family, from Mme. Camille’s to Katherine’s, and from Granny’s to hers.

  Cassandra Deveraux’s

  Book of Spells

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Ivan smirked, slipping his hands into his pants pockets. The air was cool and moist—would it rain soon? He’d hate that. He should have driven here, but Phillip had insisted they walk.

  “Come on, don’t tell me you don’t love it?” Phillip laughed as they strolled down Larkin Street.

  “I hate everything cooking related—that includes reality television,” Ivan added. “You’re obsessed with the Food Channel, Phillip!”

  “It’s not the food, Ivan,” he was quick to rebuff. “It’s the competition, you’ve got to see these kids cook. They’re amazing!”

  “Why would I ever—? Ugh…” Ivan stopped in the middle of the street. His eyes full of dread fixed on that Queen-Anne-styled house as if it were the entrance to Hell.

  “What’s wrong?” Phillip stopped a few steps behind him.

  “Oh… It’s that house,” heaving a heavy sigh. “It reminds me of what I’m forced to do.”

  “Saving her?” His fledgling scowled. “Why wouldn’t you—?”

  “Listen, Phillip. I’m only doing this to spare you from the grievance of Alisa’s psychic summoning…” But was he? Not really. There was another reason behind his actions, and it was so dark and terrible he’d scarcely dared to look into it.

  Oh, but why not say it? Ivan wanted answers. He deserved an explanation after all the pain she’d put him through. It was that alone that had spurred his pride into this foolish pursuit in the first place… Why deny it?

  “You’ll learn everything, by and by,” Ivan mused. “But for now, here we are… And for once, I’ll knock.”

  The second Ivan’s fist touched the door, it creaked open.

  “Cassandra?”

  No answer. He pushed the door and went inside. The house was dark and sunk in silence.

  “I’m in the kitchen!” she said. “Hurry!”

  “What is it?” Ivan’s heart froze. He rushed through the hall with demonic speed and reached the kitchen within seconds.

  “Whoa!” Phillip uttered, stopping short at the doorway. “What on earth happened here?” It looked like a whirlwind has stormed in the room.

  Cassandra’s eyes sparkled as she rose from the chair. “Ivan… it’s true. The book—I’ve been reading it all evening.” Holding Annette’s journal with care, she offered it to him. “Look!”

  Ivan’s preternatural eyes scanned the pages displayed before him. Was this a joke? None of it was readable.

  “I don’t understand…” Ivan mused. These were no letters he knew, but a bunch of ancient symbols. How could she possibly comprehend any of it?

  “See here…” Cassandra pointed at a paragraph. “That’s my name on the page. The voices said, Whisper thy name and I did, and now it’s there!” She stopped to catch her breath.

  “The voices?” Had he heard correctly?

  “Yes,” she said. “You were right, Ivan!”

  “I was… right?” She’s gone mad. I’ve lost my one chance to find Alisa.

  The young Deveraux witch now furrowed her brow. “You don’t… see it?” she mused. “It must be a cloaking spell to protect the family’s grimoire from unwanted eyes.”

  “Hold on…” Ivan stepped closer. “Are you telling me this book is—?”

  “The Deveraux’s Book of Spells, our grimoire—just as you said.” Cassie hinted a smile. “It says so right here.”

  Ivan looked at the page again. Pure gibberish, obscure figures of which he knew nothing. “All I see are ancient symbols…” He closed the book and studied it for a while. The leather binding and the cover’s lapis lazuli stone, he remembered. “I’ve seen this book before. This was Katherine’s journal. She used to scribble in it... a lot.” Ivan opened it and still, nothing. Witchcraft, for sure.

  “Does it mention anything about the necklace?” Phillip asked, moving closer.

  “Not that I’ve found… Just spells.” Cassandra pursed her lips. “I wish Granny were here to guide me to this necklace!” she whined. “But, maybe…” with narrowing eyes.

  “What?” Ivan said. “Speak your mind, will you?”

  “Maybe I can summon her… Granny could lead us to the necklace.”

  “Yes. No more demurrals…” Ivan mused.

  “Aw, hell, no!” Phillip stepped back, seemingly haunted by the entire concept of contacting Annette in the Underworld. “Are you sure about that, Cassie?” he said. “Shouldn’t the dead… you know, rest in peace?”

  Cassandra sighed. “Of course. What was I thin—?”

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” Ivan interrupted. “If that book can help you communicate with Annette, then by all means, do it.”

  “Ivan!” Phillip hissed.

  “What?” he replied. “Annette hid my property. The least she can do now is own up to it and tell me where it is.”

  “I’m afraid he’s right, Phillip.” Cassandra closed the grimoire. “If I’m going to do this, I need a proper place for it… This kitchen’s a mess.”

  The flickering amber light of four white candles gleamed before Cassandra’s eyes. In the living room, she sat by the coffee table where she had placed the grimoire. It was a comfortable spot where she could relax and focus on the task at hand.

  This was her destiny. The fates of the Deveraux witches had long been entwined with the vampire Ivan Lockhart’s. The beginnings of their alliance went back over three centuries. This was Cassandra’s moment to shine, to contribute to her family’s promise. It was in her blood to repay the many times that Lockhart had intervened on the benefit of the Deveraux witches, and also, to make up for the pain and suffering inflicted upon him by her ancestors—Katherine’s father, George, came to mind. He had dissolved Grandmama’s union with Lockhart when he made sure to marry her to Edward Lancaster.

  Granny had entrusted the family’s grimoire to Cassandra, she would make sure Annette’s faith in her did not go to waste. The wellbeing of Lockhart’s first fledgling solely depended on her now. No pressure, Cassie.

  “I think I found it,” she mused. Her finger landed on the paragraph which would remain as unintelligible to both blood drinkers as if it were written in Sumerian. “It’s an invocation… a summoning spell.”

  “Sounds great.” Ivan slipped on the sofa. He looked ready to see some action. “I’ll probably get an earful from her since I’ve caused her so much trouble beyond the grave…” He sniggered.

  “How can you laugh?” Phillip said, upset. He paced in endless circles by the fireplace. “Do you have no respect whatsoever for the dead?”

  “On the contrary, Phillip…” Ivan smirked. “I hold them in the highest regard—most of them served my unnatural thirst before they left this world.”

  Phillip huffed. “You’re impossible.”

  “I know.” Ivan smiled. “Now, will you please sit down? Your restlessness is unbearable.”

  Phillip snuck into the corner and sat on a chair. He folded his arms over his chest. His lips pursed and his brow furrowed with sourness. “I don’t like this one bit.”

  “Oh, really? I hate to break it to you, Phillip, but—you’re a vampire! What else is there to be afraid of?”

  “Both of you—please!” Cassie raised her hands. These two blood drinkers were most distracting. She needed to concentrate. In silence, she read the spell one time. Then, following the spell’s instructions, she hovered her hand over the grimoire’s page and read the spell.

  “Annette Deveraux… Ostende te!”

  “Annette Deveraux… Ostende te!”

  She repeated the words one more time. Silence installed in the room. The Mora clock’s ticking was the only sound.

  Lockhart stretc
hed his arms over the sofa’s back. He then turned to the stairway. Was he hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman he’d known since she was a child? Would she walk downstairs?

  They waited a few more minutes.

  Nothing happened.

  “Ah, well… I guess she’s busy then.” Ivan rose from the sofa.

  “Why didn’t it work?” Cassie mused. Had she said it wrong? Had she not focused enough on the words?

  “I guess it’s for the best.” Phillip’s warm hand landed on her shoulder.

  “Maybe…”

  “Don’t let this discourage you, Cassandra,” Ivan said, standing by the doorway. “You’re new at this. It will take time and practice… Unfortunately, time is a luxury we cannot afford.”

  Alisa depends on you, he would have added for certain.

  Time was their enemy.

  Mona

  Jiao’s exclusive manor spread across hundreds of acres in the island. Mona’s ancestor had amassed a vast fortune throughout his years in the Dark. Every commodity lay at her disposal: Vast gardens, swimming pools, a gym, and a central kitchen led by Michelin-starred chefs.

  But not everything was what it seemed. Beneath the paradise worthy of a luxury hotel lay a security compound. This war-proof bunker had an intricate web of concrete-walled tunnels, vaults, and security posts. Not to mention the hundreds of guards roaming in Jiao's lair.

  She had been here before, a few years back. But as she arrived at what looked like another endless tunnel, Mona lost track of the way out. Where’s the damned exit?

  “Are you lost, Mai Mai?” a voice spoke behind her.

  Mona turned. Seeing him made everything better. “I’m afraid you’ve failed to place a map on the wall, Jiao.”

  Amused, he passed his arm around her shoulders and escorted her to the ground level. “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to talk, Mona. I’ve been busy handling delicate matters.”

  “I understand.” She followed him into the elevator.

  The doors opened at Jiao's office. He stopped at the fireplace, his hand landed on a bronze dragon on the mantelpiece. Stroking the beast's scales, Jiao smirked. He then tilted back the sculpture. Something clicked in the wall. The panel shifted and turned, revealing a secret room.

  “One can never be too careful.” Jiao shrugged.

  How many enemies had he made across four hundred years in the Blood? What number would justify such high levels of security and extensive precautions?

  They stepped into a private room behind the chimney.

  “Please, sit. There’s tea and pastries if you’d like.” Jiao sat on the sofa in front of her, crossed his legs, and relaxed.

  “Thanks,” Mona said. She was starving, but poured only some tea into a small porcelain cup and took a tiny sandwich.

  “You wanted to discuss something important.” He offered her the tray of sandwiches. Had he read her mind, and found out how hungry she was? Probably.

  Mona accepted the tray and smiled. She finished her tiny sandwich and took a sip of her tea. And then, her face turned into a mask of seriousness.

  “Cassandra’s powers are increasing. It won’t be long before she discovers who she is. Her twenty-first birthday is weeks away.”

  “And this worries you—the Deveraux witch?”

  “It should worry you too,” she pressed. “She found it—the grimoire.”

  Jiao’s eyes widened. He leaned forward, expecting to hear the rest of the story.

  “A few nights ago, I caught her sneaking out of the house—the little deviant. She had the book.”

  Jiao sneered. “The grimoire means nothing without the proper guidance.”

  “There’s more,” Mona said. “There was a struggle between us. When I touched her I saw—Lockhart and the necklace.” She paused. “Don’t you see? Lockhart wants it, and she’s helping him!”

  A quiet laugh escaped from his mouth.

  “Is this funny to you?” Mona asked. Jiao’s reaction was almost insulting. “If Lockhart finds the necklace and drinks the Source, he’ll become the most powerful vampire that ever lived!”

  “Calm yourself, Mona.” Jiao stroked her cheek. “Your news brings me much joy. The wheels I’ve set are finally in motion.”

  Wheels? What was he talking about?

  Jiao rose from the sofa. Clasping his hands on his back, he paced in the room.

  “I’ve wanted that flask for centuries...” Jiao stopped before the fireplace. “That millenary bastard, Dristan, stole it from my Father in the Blood ages ago. When my maker was destroyed in the Hybrid Wars, I vowed to restore the Source to the House of the Dragon. And, who better to drink it than myself?” Raising his brow, he sniggered. “Lockhart disposed of the Source into the Deveraux’s hands as if it were a worthless trinket. Hidden inside that necklace, the witches have kept it ever since. For decades, I've tried to snatch the Source from them, and every single time I failed.

  “But as they say, A man is never too old to learn. And I've learned that the way to the necklace is not through the Deverauxes, but through Lockhart.”

  Jiao Long's hazel eyes gleamed an unnatural spark.

  “What did you do?” Mona asked.

  “I’ve given Lockhart enough motivation to claim the necklace back from the witches. He’ll lead me straight to the Source without even knowing it.” He huffed. “Brilliant, isn’t it?”

  “What motivation?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  They found themselves in the tunnels again. This part of the compound was restricted to Jiao's personal access.

  The elevator's doors opened. “It’s a long way down, Mai Mai. You might feel dizzy, but only for a little while.”

  She knew where they headed. “The prison cells,” she said.

  “That’s right.” Jiao smiled. “I want you to meet a very special prisoner. I’d like you to work a spell and shun her presence from unwanted eyes.”

  His request pleased her more than words could say. Mona would never refuse Jiao Long’s bidding.

  “Anything to restore the Dragon's supremacy above all other houses...” she said. “But first, you must show me. Let me see Lockhart’s motivation.”

  Jiao’s lips curved in a malicious smile. “I will.”

  They stopped before an impressive iron door, too grand and imposing for a place such as this. It was the kind of door one would expect to see in a bank’s vault. Something precious and invaluable waited on the other side.

  Jiao flicked open the lid of a control panel. He entered a digital combination. Gears slowly rumbled inside de door, their mechanical resonance echoed in the tunnel.

  A current of cool wind filtered through when Jiao pulled the door's handle. He opened it as if it weighed nothing.

  The doorway divided the tunnel into two different sections. A rustic darkened tunnel lay behind, but before them was a hallway that could well belong to a palace. Crystal chandeliers pended from the high ceilings, medieval tapestries hung on the walls. Red carpeting covered the marble floor. Lavender lingered in the air.

  At the end of the long corridor was a room, its white double-French doors invitingly open.

  “This is new…” Mona mused.

  Jiao led her down the corridor. It was warm and cozy and nothing reminiscent of a prison.

  “It’s the same prison ward you charmed for me years ago,” he said with a dismissive gesture. “I did a little redecorating for my guest.”

  A little? His guest? “Prisoner,” Mona said.

  He frowned. “What?”

  “You mean, your prisoner,” she added. “You went to a lot of trouble for a prisoner.” Mona didn’t like this at all. But Jiao didn’t seem to mind her scornful words.

  They stopped at the door. With a sideways glance, Jiao pressed his index finger over his smooth lips, suggesting silence. Someone was inside, sitting in a white velvet wingback chair. She read by an electric fireplace. Heavy locks of pitch-black hair rippled over her shoulder, concealing the woman’s face.


  The prisoner closed the book and laid it on her lap. As she rose from the chair, the shimmer of her beaded dress caught Mona’s eye. It was a royal blue gown, sleeveless and embroidered in gold.

  “Is everything to your liking, dear?” Jiao asked the woman.

  Too many considerations for a prisoner.

  The woman turned. “I want...” she said, “my freedom.”

  Jiao smirked. “I’m afraid that’s impossible… But I believe your stay amongst us will be brief.” He paused. “How’s Liam treating you?”

  Her eyes lit with fury. The woman pursed her lips, raising her chin. She tried to appear indifferent to Jiao’s words, but the prisoner’s eyes shimmered with looming tears. What exactly had Liam done to her?

  “Why have you brought me here, Jiao Long?” she said, her voice barely breaking. “Is this some kind of revenge? I should have killed you in Bucharest…”

  “Too bad you didn’t.” He sneered. “You will know everything, in time.”

  She tilted her head. Her striking blue eyes pierced Mona through and through. Mona’s knees buckled. Whomever she was, this woman was powerful—but no more than Mona, surely.

  “You’ve brought a witch with you…” raising one eyebrow. “Scared of me are you, Jiao Long?”

  Who the hell does she think she is? How dare she treat him with such disrespect? Someone had to remind her that no matter how luxurious her surroundings, she was still a prisoner.

  The corner of her lips curled in a wicked smile. And then, the woman laughed. She actually laughed. “She doesn’t know who I am!” she said with a pretense of surprise.

  Outrageous! Mona’s face flared up. She clenched her jaw and closed her fists, ready to blast away some Dragon Magic.

  “You bring an amateur witch before me?” She sneered. “I say, that’s rather insulting.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Mona blared. She couldn’t stop now.

  “Trust me witch, you don’t want to know.” The prisoner turned her back on Mona. How dare she?

  Mona went after her. “I’ll show you…!”