E.V.I.E.: 13 Slayers, 13 Missions

by Lexi C. Foss

  Tears started to roll down Adrienne’s cheeks as she realized there was nothing she could do. Her sisters couldn’t hear her calls, her grandmother couldn’t hear her calls, and this creature, this vampire, was so powerful he had her completely under his control. She wouldn’t survive this. She didn’t want to survive this.

  Alastair watched the emotions flicker over her face, he felt her resignation, he heard her thoughts. “Perhaps you will choose to join me, little mouse,” Alastair teased.

  Adrienne couldn’t look away from him; she wanted to, but his hold on her made her body not her own.

  “Do you like my new name for you, Mouse? It is fitting I think. One with even as little magic as you would certainly fight me, but no, you just give in and choose death rather than fighting the inevitable. What a pity.”

  Alastair had no fear of her running from him, she was frozen in place, awaiting his next command. He looked down at the ugly, shapeless poncho she wore and used his milky-white nails to rip it down the middle and snatch it away from her shoulders, tossing it carelessly to the ground beside her.

  “I wish to see my prize,” he said, licking his lips. He grabbed her blouse, ripping it down the center, exposing her bra to his hungry eyes. Alastair lifted one painfully thin hand and caressed the breast beneath the lace cups holding her breasts in place. At his touch her nipple hardened, and she closed her eyes shamefully.

  “Do not fret, Mouse. You will know all there is to know of me soon. Then you’ll not be laying with a stranger, you’ll be laying with your lover. For a while anyway, until your death.”

  Adrienne’s breath caught with her fear.

  “That is what you wished for, isn’t it? Death?”

  Adrienne’s eyes were still closed. She was making every effort to regain some of her self-control.

  Alastair knew as long as he could stare into her eyes at great length, he could keep the hypnotic control over the pretty, young witch. If she kept her eyes closed for too long, though, she may possibly be able to give him a fight. The fight he craved. He loved it when his prey fought him. It made for so much more entertainment than simply feeding.

  This one, Adrienne — she confused him. She had power, yet she was timid. More timid than any little witch he’d ever encountered. He had a particular affinity for witches developed over time as a result of the Granddame of the LaCelle coven refusing to even attempt to help him when he’d begged for it during a moment of clarity. A moment in which there may have still been hope for him. But now, now it mattered not. That time was long past. He’d embraced his insanity, his complete lack of remorse and had made every attempt to become so powerful he was nearly unstoppable. And as a special gift to the great Marceline, whenever he could, he fed from any witch he was able to entrap, then left them dead all over the world. But Marceline had trained her coven well. They were never caught unawares. He’d yet to take one of her own coven-sisters.

  Alastair’s brows creased and he leaned forward, sniffing his pretty, willing - yet unwilling prey. He pressed his nose to the valley between her breasts, inhaling deeply. Her scent was familiar. He sniffed her again, lifting her hair and pressing his nose against her neck up near her ear beneath the heavy curtain of her blue-black hair.

  He laughed. Slowly, evilly, his rich laughter poured from his chest. “You are of the LaCelle coven, are you not?” Alastair grabbed Adrienne’s hair in his bony fist, yanking her head backward and startling her into opening her eyes. He towered over her, staring down into her eyes.

  “Do you know the witch Marceline?”

  Adrienne couldn’t help it, her mind began to show her scenes of herself as a small child, sitting on her grandmother’s lap as she taught her spells and read to her from the books of their history.”

  Alastair’s eyes glittered with the realization of what had fallen into his hands. His laughter was boisterous, his head thrown back. “Finally! The fates have smiled down on me!” he shouted, then laughed again as he tore the bra from Adrienne’s body, grabbing her breast and twisting it painfully. “Marceline is your mother, is she not?”

  Adrienne didn’t answer, she held her tongue defiantly.

  Alastair twisted her flesh harder. “All it takes is a yes or a no. One simple word and the pain stops,” he whispered into Adrienne’s ear. He angled his fingers so that his nails pierced the soft flesh he mangled.

  If he’d not replaced his other hand at Adrienne’s throat, her screams would have filled the night, but he stopped her from breathing, he stopped any chance of her calling out.

  Her vision became doubled, her head pounded and blood streamed down her side from the punctures in her breast.

  “Just. One. Word,” Alastair repeated on a whisper.

  With her lips trembling, tears weeping from her eyes, she said the one thing he didn’t expect. “No,” she barely managed to get out as he slowly strangled her.

  Alastair leaned forward again, pressing his nails deeper into her breast.

  “Do not lie to me, Mouse,” he snarled.

  “Grandmother,” Adrienne whispered on more tears.

  Alastair grinned. Then he leaned over, and used his tongue to trace the small trails of blood leaking from her damaged breast, before suckling her nipple into his mouth and drinking hungrily of the blood his suckling brought to his lips. “Such a sweet treat you are, granddaughter of Marceline. What shall I do with you?” he asked, using one bony finger to tap against his blood smudged chin. Suddenly his eyes took on a look that would have made Satan nervous. “I know. I know what I shall do. But, for now, I need sustenance. I fear you shall both feed me, and be my messenger to the great Marceline. Can you do that, Mouse?” he asked. He fluttered his hand in the air above his head. “It matters not, you will, whether you wish to or not, you will. But, fear not. I’ve decided not to kill you. Oh wait, you wanted death, did you not? I’m sorry, Mouse. I just can’t. I have a better plan in mind.”

  He grabbed the hair at the base of her skull in his hand, roughly snatching it back and down, thrusting her neck and throat out for his ease of access, and at the same instant plunged his fangs into her soft, sweet flesh, drawing her blood into his body with long, strong pulls. Alastair wrapped his other hand around her waist, holding Adrienne tightly to him as he continued to drink from her, as he took to the dark, night skies. The mists and fogs of the typical New Orleans night hiding any sight of them from view.

  1

  Nine Months Later

  “Marceline! Marceline! Come quickly!” a clearly frightened female voice called down the darkened hallway.

  Marceline LaCelle Leschessaire De’Mers opened her eyes, and glared in the general direction of the voice calling to her. She’d told them not to interrupt her — not under any circumstances was she to be interrupted. She sat on her knees before the great fireplace in her private rooms, rooms that not too long ago were awash with elegance and opulence, now cluttered with seemingly non-connecting items strewn about as though discarded in a hurry. The room was as darkened as the hallway leading to her rooms. As dark as her spirit since her precious granddaughter had been stolen away in the night.

  Marceline closed her eyes once again, clasping the delicate golden chain in her hands, focusing every bit of her strength, her powers, on the object her granddaughter had often worn, attempting to divine any information that would give her a direction to follow to find and bring her granddaughter, her precious Adrienne, back into the light, into the fold of the coven that waited anxiously for her return.

  “Marceline!” the voice now outside her door called again, even louder than it had been before.

  Marceline pursed her lips and squeezed the golden cross tighter. “I am busy!” Marceline snapped.

  “Please, Marceline! Come at once!”

  “Surely you can handle whatever this is on your own, Pauline!” Marceline answered irritatedly, getting to her feet. She looked at the array of items strewn about her bed and floor. All of them belonged to Adrienne, and she’d used each of
them to try to locate Adrienne, but none had been fruitful. “Where are you, my darling?” Marceline whispered, holding the golden cross to her chest reverently.

  “You must come! It’s Adrienne! She’s in the courtyard!” Pauline said urgently.

  Marceline dropped the cross to the thick, woven throw rug carpeting her room, and rushed for the door, fumbling to unlock it and fling it open. “Bring her inside! Do you not hear the storm?” Marceline asked, running as quickly as she could, her wrinkled, unkempt nightdress and robes fisted in her hands to allow her to hurry without hindrance.

  “We cannot!”

  “Bring her in!”

  “But… there’s a vampire!” Pauline said, hesitance clear in her voice.

  Marceline didn’t slow down. She kept running as quickly as she could. Down the hallway, down both sets of stairs, through the large drawing rooms and finally the foyer of the huge mansion sitting in the center of the Garden District, the center of upper class society and old money, in the city that played host to as many mystical creatures as it did humans, all desperately trying to find their place — New Orleans.

  Marceline grasped the handles of the double French doors that opened onto the courtyard at the front of the home and threw them open, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t be the vampire she feared it was. “Adrienne?!” she called, her eyes straining to see through the darkness of the night, made murkier by the hurricane drenching the city in its wake.

  “Adrienne?” Marceline called again, stepping out into the gale force winds and driving rain.

  “She’s a bit… under the weather,” a male voice answered, an evil feeling brought on by his cackle of laughter.

  “Begone, demon! You are not welcome here!” Marceline said forcefully, raising her voice to be heard over the storm.

  “I am no demon, Marceline — I did try, but they just won’t let me play with them,” he said with a pout on his thin, cold lips. “Surely, though, you can offer more of a welcome to the male who’s returned your beloved little witch to you and yours,” Alastair said sarcastically from his vantage point, hovering just above the high wrought iron gate at the front of the courtyard.

  A moan sounded from her right, drawing her attention to the woman lying in the shadows. Marceline realized then, it was Adrienne, lying on the paving stones of the courtyard, writhing in pain, a plain white, cotton gown plastered against her pale skin as the rain pelted her.

  Marceline ran toward her granddaughter, all the while banishing Alastair with a protection spell she whispered non-stop. Finishing her spell she turned and screamed at Alastair. “You are not welcome here. You cannot set foot on this hallowed ground! Leave us!” she demanded, as she fell to her knees beside Adrienne. Immediately, she saw what the problem was.

  “What have you done?” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears as she reached for Adrienne, and looked back over her shoulder toward Alastair, who was no longer there.

  “I’ve brought her back. That’s what you wanted isn’t it?” Alastair asked from his new vantage point, atop the grey stone wall to her right. “I’ve heard your prayers to your goddesses every time I’ve come to see just how you’re handling the loss of your sweet little girl. You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I thought she’d be stronger. She wasn’t quite as much fun as I thought she’d be. I believe your bloodline is weakening. Perhaps you should look into strengthening it,” he recommended.

  “She’s just a child!” Marceline shouted.

  “A child? Truly? I see a fully grown woman. One who should have known better than to wander around after dark in parks. One never knows what manner of criminal may accost them. Lucky for her, it was me,” Alastair said sarcastically. He looked down on the whimpering, writhing female he’d kept beside him for the last nine months. His disdain and utter disgust were apparent to any who were brave enough to look at his face. “She chose me to mate, you know. Despite her weakness, I took pity and gave her a moment of happiness.”

  “You did this! She didn’t go willingly, I know you did this!” Marceline accused.

  “Mois?” he asked dramatically, his fingers of his right hand pressed against the velvet jacket adorning his thin, sunken chest. “But I’ve done nothing wrong. I suppose I could have chosen another. You know, one whose grandmother wasn’t such a negative influence on our blossoming relationship. But, then, where would be the fun in that?” Alastair asked. “Besides, she is such a weak, shivering little thing, I couldn’t bear to leave her out in the world alone. But I’m done now, the rest is up to you. So, there you go.”

  “There is no relationship!”

  Alastair lost all sense of jest, his face becoming cold and hard. The alabaster white of his skin, marble-like in its appearance, shining eerily in the rain, showed not a wrinkle as he glared at Marceline. His hatred and resentment of the most powerful witch in the United States, the Granddame of the LaCelle Coven of New Orleans, clear for all to see. Those who were brave enough to look at him, anyway.

  “Of course there is. She carries my child. I kept her long enough to be sure there was nothing you could do to change the outcome. She will birth the pitiful whelp, and you will raise it, ever aware that you can’t kill it. It’s part of the granddaughter you loved so well, and protected so poorly. Each and every time you look on the child, you’ll see me. You will have a part of me with you, carrying your name for eternity. Perhaps there is even enough of me in the little bastard that it will be your downfall.”

  Adrienne screamed and grasped her stomach, her fingernails digging into the skin there hard enough to draw blood. “All is well, you are home. I will take care of everything,” Marceline cooed while waving several of her coven-sisters toward her. They hesitated, eying Alastair as they clearly wanted to help, but were afraid of exposure to him.

  “Yes, Grandmama, do take care of everything now. I am on to my next adventure. This one has lost its taste of… yumminess,” he said, licking his lips and tapping his chin with a ghostly white, sharp nailed finger as he searched for just the right word.

  Several females, all members of the coven, had come to Marceline’s aid. Together they managed to get Adrienne up and moving toward the house. Every single one of them saw her turn her head as it bobbed weakly on her neck and search him out with her eyes. Was she glad for a reprieve from him, or was she already mourning his loss? No one knew, but not one of them felt safe as they assisted the woman who used to be friend and coven-sister to them. She turned her eyes on each of them, looking for her grandmother, and each pulled away as her glowing red eyes focused on them, leaving her weight solely on Marceline.

  “She is vampire!” one whispered, a horrified look in her eyes.

  “He’s kept her all this time, impregnated her! How could she be anything but?” one of the younger coven-sisters said.

  “Do not speak of her as though she isn’t here!” Marceline ordered. “She is our Adrienne. And she is home now. We will solve this.”

  As they crossed the threshold into the old, grand mansion that was once a church, Alastair cleared his throat to gain their attention.

  Marceline stopped, glanced over her shoulder and saw the master vampire, the antithesis of her life, glaring at her as he levitated just inches above the ground, his arms crossed over his chest, his thin, elegant eyebrows raised as he regarded her.

  “I’ve banished you. You cannot enter here! I’ve added my own protections to the hallowed ground beneath your feet. Begone!” she screamed, her voice shaking, her very nature shaken from the condition her granddaughter had been returned in.

  Alastair looked down at the ground inches below his feet. “I am not entering. And I am not standing on your ground, the great Marceline. I am hovering. Should I explain the difference to you?”

  “What do you want from us? Just go!” she shrieked, realizing Alastair had grown much stronger than she’d ever anticipated over the decades.

  “What I wanted I lost any need for many years ago. Perhaps you should have helped me w
hen you had the chance,” he said, a cruel lilt to his voice. “Enjoy my poor, little mate. I did,” he raised an eyebrow and as they all watched, he faded away while the thunder rattled the windows and the lightning flashed around him.

  Adrienne whimpered as she watched Alastair fade away. The conflict of pain from separating from him, as well as the relief of the safety of separating from him, were warring inside her. She despised him. She feared him. Yet she was pulled toward him. She needed him. Her baby moved further into position, readying itself to be born. Adrienne screamed, slamming her hand to the bottom of her stomach to support its weight.

  “You will be fine, my darling. You will see, trust Grandmama,” Marceline promised as she and her strongest ally, her most powerful coven-sister, Pauline, each slipped a hand behind Adrienne’s waist and hurried her toward the third floor of the mansion and her own room.

  Alastair entered the dark, dank, musty basement he’d used as a home base for the last nine months. It was actually a large storage room, long ago forgotten beneath the condemned remains of a once majestic mansion sitting in the famed Garden District of New Orleans. In it he’d gathered a cluttered assembly of mismatched pieces of furniture. The only window in the large room, tiny and painted black, gave no indication of anything or anyone living inside. He dropped down onto the mussed bedsheets and allowed his body to fall back onto them. He huffed out a low pitched growl as he clenched and unclenched his fists, and curled his toes in his boots. He’d forced himself to endure the pain brought on by Marceline’s magics. He wanted her to believe he was more powerful than he really was. He tried to relax and turned his face to the side, dropping his hands beside him on the bed.

  His nostrils flared as he inhaled. The bedsheets still smelled of his Mouse. And didn’t that just anger him more than the stinging and buzzing of his body. He rose to his feet in a flurry of activity, snatching the sheets from the stained mattress and shredding them to pieces before screaming his frustration into the now empty space. He didn’t want to think of the little female he’d called Mouse. She wasn’t actually his mate. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to be especially cruel to her, treating her like a caged animal rather than a treasured mate, just to ensure that he didn’t grow attached to the wretched creature.