Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren

by Silvana G Sánchez

  Her feet touched the ground, her legs shaking. The Harley stood a few feet away. The keys were on the ignition.

  “How on earth…?” There was no time to lose. She jumped on the bike, started the engine, and drove away fast.

  Marianne’s tears smeared on her cheeks against the roaring wind. The Golden Gate Bridge loomed ahead.

  One quick look at the side mirror sufficed to let her know that Liam and the others followed her riding motorcycles as well.

  “Dammit!” she said, as they gained up on her. “I’ve got to lose them!”

  Marianne zigzagged through the bridge’s evening traffic, daring her immortal nature. But it worked—two of them crashed against a bus, leaving two more to handle.

  The bikes closed in on her, one at each side—Liam and another vampire, who suddenly leaped off the vehicle and jumped on the back of hers. The sudden tug to her hair made her turn. The devious creature hissed in her ear, both sharp fangs ready to give her the bite of death.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” Marianne reached back and pulling him by the shirt she yanked him over and in front of her. And revealing her vampire fangs in a vicious grin, she pulled him close and ripped the vamp’s neck wide open with a single gash. Rivulets of blood poured down the wound. Shock filled the vampire’s widened eyes. Marianne then tossed his body over the bridge, straight into the ocean.

  Belvedere Island drew on the horizon. “Almost there,” she mused. Ivan Lockhart’s lair was the only place she could think of right now.

  Oh, Michael! Michael! Those thoughts returned, and for a second, Marianne felt weak and weary—wait a minute. Where was Liam? He’d disappeared in the middle of the traffic.

  Why would he suddenly stop chasing her? Had he figured out where she was heading and was he afraid of Lockhart?

  “Better safe than sorry…” Marianne turned back just to make sure. No trace of him. She sighed. Looking ahead, a black mass of clothing and light blond hair flashed before her eyes. A strong blow hit her full front. Grazing metal screeched against the pavement as the bike tilted over, sliding on the street with demonic speed. Marianne clenched the handgrips tightly.

  Everything went black. She was out.

  Cassandra

  “A curse?” Cassandra said, catching her breath. “I was cursed?”

  “What’s wrong, Denise?” Antoine rushed to Cassie’s side. He pressed her hands—his hands were cold. “How come she doesn’t remember?”

  “Remember?” she said. “What’s there to remember?”

  “It’s perfectly normal,” Mom said, moving towards her. The soothing tone of her voice calmed her rising anxiety. “It’s a side effect of the curse.”

  “What?”

  “Cassandra…” Mom sat on the other side of the bed. “You were asleep for a very long time. Everything will become clear in a moment.” She took a smoking teacup from the night table and offered it to her. “Drink your tea, ma petite.”

  Holding the warm cup between her hands, she turned to Antoine. She searched for comfort in his dark eyes, but something about them had changed. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

  “Mom,” she said, turning to her. “Why am I here? Wait. Why are you here?”

  “How far back do you remember, Cassie?” Mom asked, almost too calm. This must be serious… Am I dying?

  Summoning her last memories gave her a splitting headache. Nothing came to mind. Rien de rien. Oh, but look at him… Her handsome Antoine stood by the window. What few beams of light penetrated the room landed on his face.

  Cassandra studied him with her painter’s eye. Every color in the room entwined in the darkness of his brown iris. His rosy skin did not fool her because she knew those eyes better than anyone—she had lost in their profound obscurity more than once.

  His eyes had changed. Antoine had changed.

  Not human.

  “I can’t remember…” she mused.

  Aware of her clever stare, Antoine pursed his lips and looked away. His delicate hands covered his mouth.

  Cassandra’s heart broke in silence. Antoine’s leap into the murk of immortality was a done deal. No words of disapproval could undo his transformation.

  “Have another drink, dear,” Mom insisted.

  She took another sip of tea, noticing her surroundings. Lockhart was there, and so was Phillip. The grimoire lay over the night table and—the book! Something clicked in her brain.

  “Mona Mai,” she said. “She did this to me!”

  “That vixen!” Denise hissed. “She’s a witch!”

  Cassandra took the teacup to her mouth and drunk some more. The tea worked wonders; it soothed her anxiety and even eased the heartache of losing her Antoine forever. She tasted apple and cinnamon, but she was sure there was more to it than that.

  “Hold on,” she added. The missing pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “Mona was not in it alone. There was a cute-looking guy with her… A blood drinker.”

  “Jiao Long…” Ivan mused.

  “That’s the name, yes.” Cassandra paused. “Mom, did you do something to this tea?”

  Without saying a word, Mom winked.

  I have to see him. I want to see the change in him with my own eyes… With a quick tug, Cassie removed the comforter, ready to run to Antoine’s arms. But as she tried to stand, her legs didn’t respond. “Mom, what’s wrong with my legs? I can’t feel my legs!”

  Mom knelt before her. The serenity of her green eyes calmed her better than any spell ever could. She stroked Cassie’s hair with fondness. “Everything’s going to be all right, ma petite,” she said. “Your legs are weak because of Mona’s curse. You should recover within a few minutes… Give it time.”

  “Time…” Cassie mused. “That’s it!” Again, she tried to move her legs. Hopeless… A slight tingling spread on her thighs and knees.

  “Merde!” she muttered, banging the mattress with her fist. Mom gave her a scolding glare, but remained silent. “The clock, Ivan! The spell… The invocation—it worked!”

  “It worked?” Ivan drew closer. He sat at the foot of the bed. “What clock?”

  “What invocation?” Mom asked, unpleasantly surprised.

  “It didn’t work at first,” Cassandra said. “But Granny came… She did!”

  Mom’s eyes flew open. “You summoned my mother?”

  Cassandra took another sip of Mom’s special tea. “She came back as a two-year-old, skipping her way downstairs. Annette led me to the clock!”

  “Katherine’s clock?” Ivan asked.

  “Bingo!” Cassie smiled. “Ivan, I found the necklace. Annette hid it inside the Mora clock!”

  Ivan winced. He buried his face in his hands. “And now, Jiao Long has it and the Source.” He sighed. “There’s no other way… I must face him.”

  “You don’t understand.” Cassie leaned forward. “Jiao Long doesn’t have the Source.”

  “But I’ve seen it,” Phillip intervened. “He showed me the flask tonight. He wears it around his neck.”

  “Ah… He only thinks he has it.” Cassandra narrowed her eyes, hinting a mischievous smile. “When Jiao Long showed up at my doorstep demanding the Source and threatening to kill me, I had little time to think of a way out.” She paused. “I saw the potion on the chimney’s mantel and that’s how I got the idea. I told him that was the Source, and he fell for it!” Widening her eyes, Cassandra smiled with a gaping mouth. Cool, huh? I duped a vampire! She would have said it, but there were too many vampires in the room.

  “And what potion did the vampire take instead?” Mom asked.

  Cassandra bit her lower lip. A quick glance at her mother begged her to take back the question, but it was too late for that. “Um… It was Katherine’s Siren Song potion.” She spoke the words in the lowest of voices.

  “But that makes no sense… That potion attracts vampires,” Mom said with a frown. “Why would you make it?”

  Cassie blushed. Lowering her chin, she gave Antoine a sideways look. “It didn
’t take a genius to figure out you were a step away from becoming a vampire…” She paused. “I planned to use Katherine’s potion so that you wouldn’t forget me when it happened.”

  Antoine’s detached demeanor melted away. Unfolding his arms from his chest, he went to her.

  “Ma belle,” he whispered, pressing her hand against his lips. “I could never forget you—or stop loving you.”

  His words warmed her heart. Cassandra smoothed her hand over his jawline. Antoine’s skin was cold and hard as marble.

  “That’s all very sweet,” Ivan said getting on his feet. “But where’s the necklace?”

  “It’s in my bag…” She frowned. “At Deveraux Hall.”

  “Is this the bag?” Antoine asked, picking up a leather messenger bag from the floor.

  “Oh, Antoine!” she said, thrilled. “You brought it with you!” Cassie turned to her mother, hoping she would notice how amazing her boyfriend was.

  Antoine shrugged. “I thought you might need it when you woke up,” he said, handing her the bag.

  Gleaming with joy, Cassandra opened the bag. “All this time…” she said, “the box was inside the clock, in a secret compartment. Who would have thought?” With the wooden chest in her hands, she offered it to Ivan.

  Ivan stared at the chest for a minute or so without saying a word. “Annette did,” he said with half a smile. “She knew I’d never go near that wretched clock.”

  Shaking his head, Phillip stepped back. He sat in the chair in the corner of the room. “You summoned her spirit…” he mused. “And she came.”

  “Find her, Ivan,” Cassandra said. “But before you go… Take this with you.” She removed the black tourmaline pendant and placed it in his hand. “It will protect you against dark magic.”

  Ivan smirked. “Cassandra, I don’t need—”

  “Please,” she insisted. “Do this for me.” Hmmm… her foot moved. The tingling on her legs disappeared.

  “All right.” Ivan took the talisman and fastened it around his neck.

  Cassandra moved her legs. “Look, Mom!” she said, bending her knees. She summoned enough strength to slide to the edge of the bed and sit there, dangling her legs.

  “That was quick,” Mom said. “I’m glad. We should go home, Cassie, to Deveraux Hall.”

  “Is she strong enough?” Antoine asked. “She could stay here for a couple of nights…”

  “Mom’s right, Antoine.” Cassandra rose from the bed with her mother’s help. “I should go home… I feel much better now.”

  Restless, Antoine pursed his lips. He slipped his hands into his jeans pockets and gave her a quick nod.

  Cassandra sent him an unspoken message: “I need time.”

  “Come on, ma petite,” Mom said. “We have a birthday party to plan.”

  Ivan

  Sitting on the parlor’s floor, in the sanctity of his bedroom, Ivan held the wooden chest on his lap. He leaned against the wall. His gaze drifted towards Alisa’s portrait as he gently smoothed a finger on her face.

  An hour had passed since the box had found its way into his hands after nearly a century of estrangement. Ivan couldn’t help but reminisce upon the many moments this chest had witnessed throughout his years in the Blood.

  He opened the chest and extracted the black velvet purse. Pouring the reticule’s contents in his hand, the pearl chocker with its sapphire brooch appeared. In silence, Ivan read the inscription on the back of the brooch.

  “Love is too young to know what conscience is.”

  A. Lockhart, 1671.

  Dinner in candlelight on the rooftop of their Parisian lodgings, the memory flashed before his eyes with pristine clarity. He gave her the necklace that night, and she’d promised to wear it on every social occasion. She was so happy—but it was not the jewelry which had brought her to tears. The brooch’s inscription resonated deeply in Alisa’s heart. Who could have foreseen that Shakespeare’s words would later on haunt him forever?

  “I thought you’d be here…”

  Ivan swept him with a quick glance—brown suede Oxfords, dark jeans, dark olive pullover sweater, and a brown aviator jacket. “Phillip, I’m just…”

  Phillip leaned against the wall and slipped down until he sat beside him. “It’s a beautiful necklace,” he said.

  “Hmmm, it is…” Ivan mused. “And it’s finally back in my hands.”

  Ivan’s fledgling furrowed his brow with an air of innocence, turning into the most enticing creature ever to roam the earth. “Why so sad then?”

  “This box is full of memories…” Ivan said, looking down.

  “Good ones, I hope.”

  “And bad ones too,” Ivan added.

  Phillip pursed his lips. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Ivan cherished his offspring’s company, it certainly calmed his racing mind. He could have remained silent and still give him comfort. But then, that was Phillip Blackwell.

  Slipping his fingernail beneath the brooch’s metallic plaque, Ivan flicked it open. Inside the sapphire’s mounting lay a small silver flask.

  Phillip drew closer. “Is that—?”

  “The Source,” Ivan said. “It is.” He raised the flask to eye level, studying it. “This small flask was given to me by my maker the day he released me to the world as a vampire.”

  “He was a powerful millenary, from what you’ve told me.” Phillip tilted his head, observing the flask. “He must have been wise.”

  “Was he?” Ivan raised his brow. “I don’t think so… He trusted in me, enough to charge me with guarding his most valuable possession—and I failed him.”

  “Failed him?” Phillip asked. “What do you mean?”

  “So far, Alisa has shared with you her part of the story,” Ivan said. “But here’s what you don’t know.” He paused. “She and I traveled Europe in the Grand Tour, Venice was our final destination. Upon our arrival at the Serenissima, I met my maker.” A vacant stare took over him as he spoke. “He made me what I am… gave me this Gift of immortality.”

  “Alisa showed me her heartbreak and disillusion…”

  “Of course, becoming a vampire kept me away from her for a while, and I’ll even admit to breaking her heart with Juliette Deveraux—”

  “The witch? She was a Deveraux?” Phillips eyes widened.

  “There’s more to this story than meets the eye, Phillip,” heaving a sigh. “The point is, I revealed to Alisa my dark secret, and she coveted it ever since.”

  “She wanted to become a vampire,” Phillip mused. “And so you gave her the Blood, and she became your first fledgling.” He paused. “I still don’t see how you failed your maker.”

  “Alisa and I built a life of our own. We settled in London, and Paris later on... Decades later, the day came when she wanted to return to Venice. She claimed it would rekindle our love. She asked to meet my maker, the source of our happiness… God help me, I loved her so much that I conceded to her every whim.

  “We installed in the palazzo that once witnessed my awakening. Weeks passed, and then, Dristan—my preternatural father—returned.

  “Seeing him again quickened the blood in my veins. He embraced me as a father would, proud and warming, but regret filled his eyes the minute she saw her.” Ivan tapped Alisa’s portrait with his finger. “He reminded me how unwise it had been of me to make a vampire—being so young myself. Alisa resented his words, and hatred built up in her wicked heart from that point forward.”

  Phillip pressed his arm. “But surely, no harm could have come from it,” he said with a velvety voice. “Perhaps, if you met Dristan once more—”

  “That’s just it, Phillip. I can never see him again,” Ivan said. “She killed him.”

  Phillip flinched. “What?”

  Snapping out of the trance, Ivan turned to his fledgling. “Alisa plotted Dristan’s end in silence. She patiently waited until the day arrived when I was called away to Rome on business.

  “On my return, I was greeted with my
maker’s lifeless body.” A knot built on his throat. The warmth of upcoming tears built up on his eyes. “She drained him to the last drop of his millenary blood… This necklace was all she left behind. I found it in Dristan’s bloodied fist.”

  Phillip remained silent, unable to process Ivan’s account.

  “Having trouble believing it?” Ivan asked, cynical as ever. “It’s been three hundred years and I still find it hard to believe myself.” He pursed his lips. “Not only did she destroy my maker, but she shattered my heart. She walked out of my life without so much as saying goodbye.”

  Phillip frowned. He then turned to Ivan. “Have you seen her since?”

  Ivan shook his head.

  “I can see now how this entire ordeal has meant nothing but torture to you,” his fledgling mused, appalled.

  “I want nothing more than to leave her to her own devices,” Ivan said. “But I cannot find it in my heart to ignore her calling—no matter how much she’s wronged me in the past.” He opened the flask’s cap.

  “Ivan, wait!” Phillip held his wrist. “Do you even know what this will do to you—to drink the blood of the first vampire bloodline? Its effects could be devastating. I won’t risk losing you!”

  Ivan smirked. “Then, I’ll do it for you,” he said, pouring the Source inside his mouth.

  Sour and stale, the thick liquid bathed his palate. He swallowed it as a child takes down that dreaded spoonful of medicine that enfolds its hideous taste with the promise of restoration.

  Nothing happened.

  “Are you all right?” Phillip leaned closer, his blue eyes filled with concern.

  “I… think so.” Ivan checked into his preternatural body. He sensed no difference. The legend of the Source might have been a myth after all… He winced. A sudden blow of pain pierced his stomach. The pain spread to his body in shocking pulses that throbbed inside his every limb.

  “Argh!” he groaned. Lying on the floor, Ivan bent his knees over his chest.