Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren

by Silvana G Sánchez

The first crop circle ever found in the world came to his mind; the story of the Mowing-Devil, published in pamphlets around the seventeenth century. Just think about that for a minute. The Devil—the embodiment of Evil—had taken time off his busy schedule to mow some poor farmer’s crops…

  Antoine laughed. He might not have been the Devil, but he was a powerful immortal nonetheless, pacing under his girlfriend’s window, nervous as hell because he was minutes away from confessing to her that he was a vampire.

  He’d kept his distance from Cassandra ever since his awakening—after all, I’m a vampire chérie wasn’t exactly the best opening line to mend their differences. But hey, she came from a family of witches, maybe he could expect a little leniency.

  “I promise I’ll make it up to you, Cassie…” he mused. The more he pictured her large dreamy eyes, fair freckled skin, and sweet lips, the more he ached to see her.

  Antoine would make her fall in love with him again—he’d even fed earlier than usual. A pair of teens had been enough to make his skin blush and his eyes sparkle.

  His killing style was more than refined by now. Victims offered themselves to him, making the hunt too easy. Time had taken care of readjusting his moral compass as Phillip had once said. His remorse had lessened after each kill, until it came to a point where he gave no more thought to the matter—look at those clouds, would it rain?

  “Are you ever going to knock?” a voice said. “I’ve been waiting here for hours!”

  Antoine turned. There he was—leaning back against the old oak tree, hands in his pockets, giving him a wry smile.

  “Keep your voice down, Ivan!” he said.

  “I’m not staying here a minute longer, waiting for you to make up your mind.” Ivan huffed, moving towards the door. One quick turn to the doorknob, and voilà: Ivan signaled the way in with a wave of his hand.

  “I’m not ready for this.” Antoine bit his lower lip.

  Ivan sighed. “It’s now or never. You must tell her the truth, Antoine.”

  “And everything will be all right?” raising his brow.

  “Of course not,” his maker replied with a frown. “She’ll hate you for a while—and me too. But the sooner it happens the quicker we can all move on with our lives.”

  “Fine…” Antoine said under his breath.

  The second he set a foot inside Deveraux Hall, there was no turning back. Strange that all the lights were off... She might be in the kitchen. Antoine took one more step and…

  “Wait!” Ivan hissed, pulling his jacket.

  Heart pounding hard in his ears, and warm blood rushing faster through his arteries, he turned. “What is it?” he whispered.

  Ivan gave no answer. He pushed Antoine back, moving forward himself with the graceful stealth of a wolf leading the pack’s hunt.

  Letting his guard down, Ivan ran to the stairs’ landing. “No, no, no!” he mused.

  Something’s wrong, terribly wrong.

  In a mortal reflex, Antoine rushed to turn on the lights.

  “What the hell is going on?” With his vision clouded by anxiety, Antoine’s faulty focus roughly captured Ivan’s silhouette kneeling at the foot of the stairs.

  The chandelier’s amber light grew brighter and the scene soon became clear.

  Ivan winced. “This can’t be happening.”

  Antoine moved closer. “What are you talk—?” His eyes flew open. He fell on his knees. “Cassie?” he whispered. The voice barely there at all, stunned as he was to find her lying on the cold marble floor.

  He took her in his arms, his eyes full of tears. “No, no!” He sobbed. “She’s dead, Ivan… Cassandra is dead!”

  “That’s enough, Antoine.” Ivan swept the hall with a quick glance. “She’s not dead. She sleeps, that’s all.”

  She slept? If that was his maker’s way of softening the blow, it failed. Antoine cleared the tears off his face with the back of his hand. He carried Cassandra into the living room and lay her on the sofa.

  “This isn’t right,” Ivan mused, picking from the floor traces of blue dust—the same sparkling dust Antoine had noticed on Cassandra’s face and in her hair.

  “What is it, Ivan?” he asked, moving closer.

  Ivan got on his feet, his narrowing eyes focused on the dust in his hands. “It’s witchcraft… Cassandra has been cursed.”

  Grim as it seemed, there was light at the end of this tunnel. Ivan’s words gave Antoine a glimpse of hope. “A sleeping curse…” he said, turning towards her.

  Antoine knelt beside her. He smoothed his hand over her cheek, removing the traces of blue dust. Diving his fingers in her soft hair, he leaned closer and closer still, until his lips met hers in one heartfelt kiss.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ivan’s scornful voice echoed in the hall.

  Antoine turned. “True Love’s kiss,” he said. “It breaks all curses, doesn’t it?”

  “Not this curse, Prince Charming…” with a mirthless laugh, drawing his phone out of his jacket. “This calls for a witch’s touch.”

  “Do you know any?” Antoine asked.

  “Fortunately, I have one on speed dial.” He winked, making the call.

  “Allez, allez!” Denise clapped. She called it the morning madness—getting her kids at the table on time to serve them breakfast before the school bus arrived blaring its horn.

  Over twenty years in the job, and she still didn’t get used to it. “Tilly, Josie!” she called into the foyer.

  A few minutes later, both girls stampeded downstairs.

  “No running in the house!” Denise said, pouring her second cup of coffee and all but melting on the kitchen stool.

  Stopping short at the doorway, her little one froze at the door. Smiling proudly, Josie’s small hands combed back her dark bangs—though they fell again immediately, covering her eyes. Sweet Josie… Denise couldn’t believe she’d turn six this year.

  Josie sat at the table with a frown. “Maman, où est la lait au chocolat?” Mom, where’s the chocolate milk? She asked the same question every morning, and every morning, Denise’s answer was the same.

  “No chocolate milk for you, sweetie,” Denise said, picking up her coffee mug.

  Josie slumped in the chair. “But why?” she whined, pouting her lips at the end.

  “Because…” Denise chanted back, “you’re allergic to chocolate, ma petite.”

  “What’s anergic?” Josie replied, wrinkling her nose.

  “Ugh… English, again?” Tilly arrived, dragging her backpack, which she then dropped by the door.

  “Tilly…” Denise warmly said.

  “I’ve told you a dozen times, Mom. It’s no longer Tilly, it’s Mathilde.” She scowled all the way to the table and then sat on the chair.

  Mathilde was a diamond in the rough—fifteen years old and the smartest in her class, though her grades had dropped around the time she divorced André. This year she had insisted on having rainbow-colored hair… Denise allowed it, but not a day passed that she did not miss seeing those beautiful red waves.

  “Why do we have to speak English, Mom?” Mathilde complained, pouring a glass of orange juice, pushing away her breakfast dish.

  Denise sighed. “Because your father wants you to practice, so that his wife can understand you.” Another sip of coffee. Coffee, do your thing.

  “How come she doesn’t learn French?” Josie said with eloquent charm and then took a bite off her toast.

  “Because she’s stupid, Josie.” Mathilde choked a laugh.

  “Language!” Denise slipped off the stool and picked up Mathilde’s backpack. She then reached over the counter for Josie’s lunchbox and set it on the table, grabbed the orange juice, opened the refrigerator and—was that a doll inside the refrigerator? Really.

  Denise gave Josie the stink-eye—you know, the mom’s-mad-at-you-eye. The chilled doll landed on the table.

  “What is Mimi doing inside the refrigerator?” she asked with a frown.

&nbs
p; “She was hot,” Josie said with brazen assurance, taking her doll.

  Mathilde rose from the chair, opened her backpack and slipped a notebook inside. She then left the backpack on the floor—again. “If Mona wants to talk to us, she should learn French. Why should we—?”

  “She can’t because she’s stupid,” Josie chanted, combing her doll’s chilled hair with her fingers.

  “Josie! Language!” Denise said, reaching for Mathilde’s backpack. “We’re not doing this right now, Mathilde,” offering her the backpack.

  “But, Mom!” Mathilde said, taking the backpack and slipping on the chair.

  “Listen…” Denise sat before her daughters. “True as it may be, we can’t go around speaking ill of the dim-witted girl... Especially not in front of your father.” She smiled.

  The girl’s looked at each other and laughed.

  The blaring horn arrived.

  “Go, go!” Denise ushered the girls as they grabbed their backpacks and ran to the door. And off they went, and the morning madness ended for the day.

  Denise closed the door behind her. Finishing that nice cup of coffee seemed like a good idea, and then off to open the shop.

  As she headed to the kitchen, Denise gathered her auburn hair into a quick bun. Once again, she sat on the stool by the counter, opened the newspaper, reached for her coffee mug and took a sip. Cold.

  Her cell phone buzzed and vibrated on the counter. Too early in the morning for a chat… Who could it be?

  “Allô?” she said. Her eyes flew open. “Quoi? I’ll be there as soon as I can… And Ivan—keep her safe!”

  She ended the call. Denise tried to remain calm and keep a cool head. The plan fell into place quickly. No time to lose. She dialed the number and waited for him to pick up—her heart racing, breath shortening.

  “André?” she said with the most casual tone. “How are you? Yes, I’m fine. The girls are fine—in fact, I just got a call from Cassie… She wants us there for her birthday…” She rose from the stool and paced in the kitchen. “Yes, I told her we would all come… Yes, it’s a marvelous idea… Could you pick up the girls from school? My flight leaves today.” Denise opened her laptop and searched for the airline’s website. “Well, you know Cassandra. Yes, I’ll see you and the girls over there… All right, then. Bisous.”

  Phillip

  “Phillip Blackwell at The Devil’s Coven? This is a pleasant surprise… A true honor!” Jiao rose from the bar stool, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture.

  Jiao Long had been most persistent, sending him psychic telegrams—Come see me, This cannot wait and the like. Phillip had no choice but to show up and find out what was so damn important.

  Fearing what might become of her if his interest were exposed, Phillip buried all thoughts concerning Alisa’s imprisonment.

  “I thought you might want to see me… So, here I am,” he teased, sitting next to him. “What is this matter that cannot wait?” Phillip crossed his arms over the counter.

  “Of course, but first—there’s a race tomorrow. Will you come?” Jiao asked.

  Phillip pursed his lips and shook his head. “Not this time, Jiao…”

  The Dragon smiled. “Running a bit low on courage, are we? And, who wouldn’t after crashing that gorgeous Lambo?” He clucked his tongue. “I gotta hand it to you, Phillip. You went off in style… What a way to fly off a bridge!”

  “Yeah, I see what you’re doing… and it won’t work.” Phillip gave him a knowing look. “I’m not racing, and that’s that.” He paused. “I assume there are far more important matters on your mind.”

  “Indeed…” Jiao inhaled sharply.

  “Well, I’m all ears.”

  “The time has come for you to rethink your allegiance, Phillip,” Jiao said, playing with a shot of tequila between his fingers. “Ivan has made it clear that he stands against the Coven, but it’s not too late for you. Regardless of your maker’s will, you can still join us.”

  Phillip frowned. “Why should I choose a side? I can see you’ve found greatness in the Coven’s leadership, but my ambitions lie elsewhere…” with my family. “I don’t see how our interests would align.”

  Jiao pushed the glass aside and fixed his gleaming amber eyes on him. “Have you seen the quality of vampires around here?” raising his brow. “The Coven needs strong blood drinkers like you if my plans are to succeed.”

  Phillip took a quick look at the vampires in the club. They were young, careless of their roles as part of the unnatural world—but he knew that already.

  “So you’re rallying strong vampires…” he said with a disparaging smile. “Is that why you keep Alisa locked in a cell?” fixing his gleaming eyes on Jiao’s. The question came as much as a surprise to him as it did to Jiao Long.

  “I mean her no harm, Phillip…” he said with a nervous grin. “You know me.”

  “Do I?” he murmured. “Is she part of those plans of yours?”

  “She’s already played her role…” Jiao said with an evasive stare.

  “Then, will you release her?” Phillip had to ask, though he suspected the answer.

  Jiao Long smirked. “Beware of Alisa, my friend… She’s a treacherous beauty,” he said, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

  “What do you want, Jiao?”

  “I want us to step out of the Dark and claim what’s rightfully ours, what we’ve been denied for centuries: The mortal world.” He paused. “It’s time for a change, Phillip… I’ll be damned if I lead this coven with nothing but the promise of more shadows.”

  Phillip smiled, shaking his head. “What you speak of is poetry… It’s a beautiful dream, but it can never be done.”

  “Oh?” Jiao said with a pretense of surprise. “And what if I were to tell you that in my power is the one weapon to renew our Kin?”

  What on earth was he talking about? For the first time in this entire conversation, Phillip was genuinely intrigued.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  Jiao Long slipped his hand beneath his shirt’s collar and pulled the golden chain he wore around his neck. From this necklace hung a small crystal flask with a bright red liquid inside. Jiao shook the necklace, and the liquid twirled.

  “I have it, Phillip—the Source and all the power that comes with it. It’s mine.” The corner of his lips curled into a sinister smile.

  Phillip leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “How’s that even possible?”

  “I have my methods.” Jiao shrugged off. “There will be an assembly next Friday where I’ll be proclaimed as the Coven’s leader. I will drink the Source that evening, and I would share this power with you… as long as you join me.”

  Phillip couldn’t imagine the methods of which The Dragon spoke. Jiao Long’s plans, Alisa, the Source… it was all too much and his heart couldn’t handle it.

  “This is madness…” Phillip mused, gathering his thoughts. “There’s a reason why our kind has remained underground for so long, and it’s the same reason for our Kin’s endurance.

  “Our innate stealth, the sharpness of our fangs, our superior physical and mental abilities, and our stunning beauty are features designed to avail our condition of predators. Why would you take away our primal advantage for survival? And I don’t mean personally, but as an entire species.

  “Your desire for acknowledgement blinds you from the fact that your plan would endanger every vampire in the world. And I’m thinking most of the millenaries won’t like that one bit. It’s an open invitation for a catastrophe. It doesn’t make sense, Jiao.”

  The waiter approached them. Without making a sound, he slipped a cocktail glass before Phillip with a bright red drink and a lemon peel. It looked like an ordinary Martini, except this drink was not a Cosmopolitan, but freshly procured blood, perhaps freely donated by one of the midbloods—there were so many here.

  “We will be ready for those who oppose us.” Jiao hid the necklace beneath his shirt. “We are many, as you know. Leaders from other co
vens have pledged their allegiance to me. The time for an uprising draws near.”

  Phillip gave him half a smile. “Yeah… But you see, that’s not the point. You cannot erase entire millennia of vampire history on a whim of vanity! And it’s not that I don’t agree with you—it’s not that I wouldn’t care to reveal my true nature to each passing mortal on the street. It’s simply that it cannot be done, and any attempt to pursue this will end in tragedy.

  “If there’s something I’ve learned throughout my mortal and immortal years is that the sky’s the limit when human kind is threatened, and the result is always war. And nothing good can ever come out of it. You’re thinking too small. You do not grasp the repercussions such endeavors entail. A war between mortals and immortals… it would change everything.”

  “That’s exactly what I want, Phillip!” Jiao spoke impassioned, clouded by his pride. “I want to change forever the history of our Brethren, don’t you see that?”

  Phillip pushed the drink away with his fingers. “I do not care to bring more chaos into our darkened world,” rising from his seat. “I bear you no ill will, Jiao. I never have—and neither does Ivan, nor does the rest of my family… You’ve asked me to take sides whereas I have always chosen to remain neutral. Let me be clear: I want no part of this plan.”

  “You’ve already made your choice then,” Jiao mused.

  Phillip turned. “I will not entertain this matter any further.”

  Jiao Long smirked. “The Coven’s era of Darkness is coming to an end, Phillip. A change will storm upon us whether you want it or not!”

  “Not in my lifetime…” Phillip mused, walking away from the bar.

  Not only had Jiao Long refused to release Alisa, but he had the Source! Cloaking his mind from the Coven’s vampires mean a great difficulty under such circumstances. Astonishment and fury entwined in his racing thoughts.

  I gotta get out of here.

  His hand closed around the door’s handle, and as he was about to step out of the nightclub, Phillip saw her.

  Why was she here of all places? Finding her in The Devil’s Coven grieved him dearly. Yes, seeing her set more than a spark to his damned heart—it quickened his blood, pumping the adrenalin to his every limb. But still, this was no place for her.