Roseblood

by Emily Shore

  “Naturally.” Calista turned, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Still a half-bred mongrel.” I tensed from the insult but swallowed back my mincing words when she changed the subject, “So…tell me where you found that gorgeous piece.” She motioned to my top.

  “I shop online or in thrift shops. It’s like a library of brands.”

  Calista grimaced. “Ugh, thrift shops. Yes, an old library. A very old library. Sometime, I’ll have to introduce you to my wardrobe. I’d loan you a few pieces, but our sizes would be a challenge.”

  “And colors…” I noted of her blonde hair, a contrast to my hearty cinnamon brunette. Reds and blacks for me. Pastels for her.

  Once in the car, I noticed her GPS included territory lines drawn for hunting grounds in case she ever wanted to make a pit stop on her way home from events. Little wonder that Calista White had access to the finest breeding grounds in Le Couvènte, though I doubted she ever visited animal farms. The memory of the first and only one I’d ever seen still unsettled me. The blood typing app on her car screen was far more interesting. One drop of blood and it could isolate the DNA, record the richness of the blood, and match it to any royal lineage dating all the way back to the Dark Ages. Calista turned it off.

  Our conversation drifted to light topics, but it was clear we didn’t agree on much. Where Calista excelled in subjects like math and science, I preferred drama, literature, and art. Though we were both extroverts, she preferred the club scene while I preferred parties like the Chateau’s or smaller, more intimate gatherings such as a coffee shop poetry reading.

  Finally, we reached the Museum of Paranormal Phenomena and I was relieved when our conversation drifted to the displays. I’d only visited this Museum once. I was seven. My parents never brought me back. Apparently, my family was banned for a time due to a disturbance I’d caused. I hoped the curator was different since there was no chance of forgetting about the only human in Le Couvènte.

  “Good evening, Calista,” one of the staff managers chirped.

  Then, the manager flared her nostrils and eyed me. “And Reina Caraway, a pleasure.” By now, I was used to people identifying me by scent, so I gratefully accepted her hand. “Our curator will be pleased to see you both.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I tried to stall her, but she’d already turned around and strode to the front desk where an older gentleman with a bald head but striking, chiseled features nodded and then met our eyes. I squirmed.

  Calista noticed my discomfort. “Something you’d care to share, Rin?”

  To think, this vampire witnessed one of the most embarrassing moments of my life; I knew I had next to no chance of him forgetting me. He walked toward us, slow and assured, with hands folded behind his back. “Miss White.” He nodded to her, then inclined his head to me, placed his hand across his chest, and bowed his head. “And Miss. Caraway, what a pleasure. It is encouraging to see your return after so many years.” Forget about the ‘next to’ no chance.

  “Thank you, Dr. Decker.” I shook the Curator’s hand.

  “Would you ladies enjoy a personal tour? I trust your reservations to our fine Museum have changed,” Dr. Decker motioned to the first archway on the right side.

  “I assure you there will be no outbursts this time.”

  “Outbursts?” Calista leaned in to whisper.

  “Last time I was here,” I lowered my voice, “I was seven. I don’t remember much, but apparently, I was screaming and knocking down displays.”

  Calista frowned. “Scared?”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I didn’t like them put on display.”

  “You intrigue me more and more, Reina Caraway.”

  “Yes, I had a temper.” I’d learned to channel it over the years into a stubborn determination.

  Out of respect for Calista and the fact that this place housed more vampire and werewolf history than any other on earth, I followed her and Dr. Decker inside the first room. When I was little, I didn’t get past the third room, but here, the first one was dedicated to historical accounts. Old Le Couvènte newspaper clippings, annals from the Council Library, and various articles related to vampirism or werewolf-ism. One trend I noticed was how closely aligned the articles coincided with periods of war. After the Civil War, the Le Couvènte Founders had created this society and enacted the No Human Blood Law. Ever since, no human had been killed by a citizen of Le Couvènte. At least until recently, I thought of the Rose Killer.

  Dr. Decker motioned toward the second room. “Did you know our race took advantage of the great wars in the country for their own benefit? Wartime is the best time to feed. At least in this country. In Europe, they have a different system. Part of the old world.” That was Raoul. He’d participated in every single war since the Civil War. His military history ran deep.

  The next room housed a variety of artifacts in glass cases — everything from pieces of vampire skin to sets of fangs to werewolf bones.

  “This one,” Decker pointed to one of the bones and continued, “belonged to one of the original alphas. He was the strongest of his kind.”

  “So why did he die?” grumbled Calista out of spite.

  Decker explained, “He was killed during the period of unrest just before Le Couvènte was founded. He sacrificed himself to the vampires so his pack could escape.”

  “Noble,” I remarked.

  “Ignorant,” Calista declared while raising her jaw. “His pack should have stayed and fought alongside him.”

  “And I suppose they would have had a chance, save for the fact that it was spring and they’d welcomed several new pups into their pack. They knew the vampire clans would not have shown mercy,” Decker drawled a little and followed with, “Many vampires circumnavigate this exhibit. It is one of honor and dedication. Follow me, ladies.”

  In the next room, the lights were dimmed. Third room. And there was the ancient vampire and werewolf encased in amber. Curiosity whetted, I narrowed my eyes. Fangs bared, the vampire lunged in the middle of the amber, face partially chewed away due to the werewolf’s powerful canines. The werewolf had launched on its hind legs, lips pulled back over its teeth, snarling.

  Decker reflected on my reaction. “I’m quite impressed by your gastrointestinal functions today, Miss. Caraway.”

  I blushed under his gaze while Calista pivoted her gaze back to me and asked, “You threw up?”

  “I was seven!” I excused.

  Calista and Decker both chuckled as we passed to the fourth room, one I never had the chance to see. The vampire was also encased in amber, but this was no normal vampire. It was some perverted work of nature, limbs shriveled and warped, face twisted and gruesome with a head swollen to twice its size and a skinny neck with skin so white, it was ashen.

  “A fascinating specimen. Took us forever to catch,” Decker mused ultimately pleased with himself.

  “You caught that?!” I pointed to the display and studied it again. “What is it?”

  “Something only the father of vampires can create.” Decker primed his eyes on the amber display. “A mangled machination of our race. Starved of blood and the full amount of venom it requires to become a true vampire. No other vampire has the skill to create such a creature. It is where zombie legends stem from. One hasn’t been seen since the Civil War — the time we drove Father into hibernation once again.”

  “Again?” I questioned.

  “At times, he will awaken and attempt to start a war, but the bitten race and werewolves, together, manage to force him back into hibernation. The cycle repeats every few centuries.”

  He started to lead us to the next room while I asked, “Can’t he be killed?”

  “No,” Decker and Calista uttered at the same time. So forceful, I knew not to press.

  One of the rooms housed an extraordinary find. “This little beauty was found in ice. We brought it to our Museum and encased it in amber.”

  “A werewolf?”

  “A werewolf in the process of
transformation left from the ice age,” Decker elaborated. “Their bodies are accustomed to such frigid temperatures, but apparently, he wasn’t fast enough. We believe he was one of the ancient ones ― perhaps a direct descendent of Romulus or Remus, most likely Remus.”

  I knew of the legend where my brother and mother’s ancestors originated. Heath, who was a research junkie, regaled me at least once a month.

  The final room was where Calista lingered, and Decker departed shortly after we entered, indicating he had business. Inside, marble gilded the floor with pillars decorating the room in a perfect circle. In their center were two caskets ― side by side. I eyed the walls and pillars around them. There were black plaques, gold lettering scrawled on them. Names.

  “Donors,” Calista answered my silent thoughts, but her eyes were fixed on one of the coffins, the one to our left. “Notice the pillars.”

  A few plaques adorned the pillars, and I read the names and the inscriptions. These ones were dedicated to more generous donators. One name stuck out from all the others. Shaw White: Full Body.

  Wistful, I turned toward her, sympathizing, “Your father.”

  “Most of him at least. He donated part of his bones to this display, our original Founders of Le Couvènte.”

  “Are they…?” I motioned to the glass caskets.

  Calista scrutinized me with a measure of loathing. “They’ve been in sleep stasis for a hundred years now. Thanks to donations like my father’s, they are protected.”

  I read the exhibit plaque. At night, the caskets were lowered into the floor and hidden behind not only five layers thick of reinforced steel and titanium, but beneath those layers, the sleep room was also canvassed behind a bed of vampire fangs, skin, and werewolf bones all tangled together to harbor our Founders in a veritable indestructible shield.

  “I never feel closer to him than I do here,” Calista murmured. “Skip feels closer elsewhere.”

  “Yes, the catacombs.”

  Calista swiveled her head to me, stunned. “He told you about the catacombs?”

  I squeezed my shoulders together and confessed. “Took me there actually.”

  Her lips thinned tighter than violin strings. “His infatuation with you never ceases to amaze me!” I didn’t get a chance to answer before she redirected the subject. “Werewolves robbed me of part of my childhood. Whatever you may think, Skip holds more animosity to them than even I do. He simply hides it better. He’s always been sure of himself. He and I have a lot in common.”

  “I can tell the two of you share a connection.”

  “It’s more than that,” Calista snapped. “All brothers and sisters share bonds as you know. But our bonds transcend the normal familial ties.” Calista waved a hand, gesturing for me to follow her to another exhibit. “Would you like to know why?” She lingered nearby, flicking her gaze to me so her curls shifted from her shoulder to her back.

  I thought back to her drinking his silver blood, but given how she reacted to the catacombs confession, I kept that knowledge to myself.

  Calista focused on the next display housing fangs. I studied her as she concentrated on the glass, her blue eyes dilating, deepening grayer like they’d gone adrift. When I heard a click, I turned to see the display opening just before one long fang levitated and hovered in the air, its keen point aiming for my throat.

  “Calista…” I took one step back, unnerved by her sudden ability. Persuasion.

  “Skip doesn’t know it yet.” She beamed. “He thinks he’s the only one who inherited our father’s persuasion. But he’s wrong.” At the flick of her hand, the fang leapt forward, poised at the skin at the base of my neck. When she tilted her head to the side and grinned, the fang sliced into my skin.

  “Calista!” I cried and cringed at the same time, pressing my fingers to the cut. It was no wider than a thread, no longer than a fingernail’s length. She moved the fang again, but I reached up to seize it.

  Before my fingers could land, Calista warned me, “Don’t move, Caraway. I don’t know how long I can hold it there. But I was so curious…” She approached. My skin turned colder than a hoarfrost. Beneath her persuasion, I was frozen, trapped worse than glass inside a marble. I held my breath when Calista swiped her finger across the cut. She rubbed my blood between her thumb and index finger before raising it to her mouth and flicked her tongue across the drop. Sampling me. Her eyes dilated, pupils becoming rosebud pinpricks. “No wonder my brother’s so attracted to you.”

  And then, it all ended. The fang retreated. I almost careened forward when her persuasion released me. Then, she persuaded the fang back into the display, closed the case, cracked her neck to the side, and wiped her hands off like nothing had happened.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Skip’s Control

  An hour later, I was holed up in my bedroom, ignoring the sound of the doorbell and the familiar voices I could hear downstairs. Even when he came up to knock on my door, I didn’t move from my bed. Nor did I bother to look up from my laptop when I heard the knock.

  “Go away!” I yelled.

  “Rin, let me in please. I know my sister took you to the Museum today. And I know she can be unsteady.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you!” I fumed and continued to click away at the keys.

  “Then, just let me open the door, and I’ll talk for both of us.”

  “I’m not decent,” I made the false excuse.

  “I can hear your heartbeat, and Heath is standing right next to me shaking his head.”

  “Oooh,” I growled and jammed my fingers down on the keys. “Heath, I’m going to tell Mom! You know you’re not allowed to use your ability when it comes to my bedroom walls!”

  “Rin,” Heath muttered and rapped on the door. “I knew you were decent. Stop being a baby and talk to him. I saw what happened in your mind, and you’re right, it shouldn’t have happened. But Skip didn’t know, so will you just open the door so he can leave and I can get back to work?”

  “Fine!” I shouted.

  I didn’t look up when Skip entered the room, sweeping in with confidence dredging every inch of his skin like always. No one would make me move. Not even his persuasion could uproot me from the host of throw pillows. No, none of this was his fault. But I’d witnessed two of his family members drinking human blood, the second who tasted my blood. How could Skip not know something? How could he not do something? I considered the ridiculous notion when it came to his mother. Granted. He was her son, but it didn’t negate any responsibility toward his sister. Perhaps that was my perception having two older brothers who’d taken so much responsibility for me over the years. But I was a human.

  Instead of focusing on the vampire, I toyed with my elements, conjuring frost, then ice, then fire to melt them both. For a few moments, Skip merely studied me, admiring my elemental sculpting. First, a miniature redwood tree, a cluster of grapes, then a rosebud unfurling into beauteous petals.

  Sighing upon his approach, Skip pulled up the chair but scooted it closer toward my side of the bed. “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

  “Would you believe me over her?” My voice sounded lethal.

  Skip uncrossed his leg, leaned over, his fingertips touching. “Try me.”

  After hesitating, I sighed and moved my hair to the right side of my neck so I could reveal the fang slice along the base of my throat. “Your sister’s crazy. And…she has persuasion just like you.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  I related the event at the Museum before demanding, “You need to talk to her.”

  “I will. I always knew Calista had control issues, but I'm certain her jealousy perpetuated the threat. After our father’s death, she’s had trouble, but her claim to the throne is strong. She believes it’s her opportunity to change things. But she lacks…control.”

  “The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree,” I muttered while staring down at my hands resting in my lap.

  “Excuse me?”
/>
  Don't say anything, don't say anything I repeated, pinched the bridge of my nose, and confessed, “I saw your mother, Skip. She was drinking animal blood mixed with human blood she bought from a hospital.”

  Skip’s hand coiled into a tight fist. “When did you see this?”

  “When I got lost in your house.”

  “You saw this weeks ago, and you never mentioned a word to me? I am her son!” When he rose, his shadow practically skewered me.

  I held my arms, ashamed but ready to defend myself. “Maybe I should've told you, but I didn't know what would happen. It's still illegal. I knew I couldn't report it. Your family doesn't deserve to lose a mother too.”

  “Rin…” He rubbed his eyes. “She wouldn't be imprisoned. At most, the Council would require a temporary stay in a safe house. But you still should have told me. I wouldn't keep such a secret from you, and I'd hoped you would give me the same respect. However…” Skip lowered himself to the bed and placed a tentative hand on my leg. “When it comes to the situation with Calista, you have every right to be angry, and she should never have threatened you that way.”

  “Oh?” I wondered, jerking my face to his and circling my index finger, my humor deflecting from the position of his hand. “You're saying there's some politer way that she could have threatened me?”

  Skip smirked and patted my leg. “Good to see you still have your sense of humor. Let me make it up to you. There's some place I want to take you. Somewhere special.”

  “More special than the catacombs?”

  Skip grinned.

  Less than a half hour later, I dropped down alongside Skip, landing on the outskirts of an expansive field on the border of Le Couvènte.

  It took some doing to convince Heath to keep my rendezvous with Skip a secret. In the end, I had to get creative and bring up the time he left his blood bottle in the family fridge instead of his personal room fridge. I thought it was raspberry lemonade. And the time I caught him drinking a peacock’s blood to see if it tasted fancy. Not to mention the time I threatened Lucinda Minneli when she had roving eyes for him. I saved him from her obsessive need to worship the ground he walked on. As if Heath needed anymore ego. No sycophantic suck ups for my brother.