by Jamie Ott
Chapter 1
Her bed was extremely hard and cold.
Time for a new mattress, she thought.
Starr reached around for her blanket, but only felt the surface of something smooth and hard.
She opened her eyes and propped up on her elbows. Through narrowed eyes, she looked for her blanket, but, instead, saw that she wasn’t even in bed; she was lying on a cold black table.
Thinking she was dreaming, she rubbed her eyes, roughly. When she reopened them, panic enveloped her.
She looked around the room, but nothing looked familiar.
Except for a single set of red velvet curtains, the room was plain; the walls were bare and white, and the wood floor was dusty.
Then she noticed that the thick ray of moonlight that beamed across the room, from between an opening in the curtains, was disrupted by something at the foot of the table.
Propping herself up higher on her elbows, she noticed it looked like an altar.
The moonlight was snuffed out, for a few seconds, leaving Starr in complete darkness.
Carefully, she got off the table and walked to the window. She pulled back the curtains, looked out, and saw that a small hive of bats had just passed, and were flying off for a night hunt.
Looking down, she saw she was on the second story of an unfamiliar stone house. There were a couple acres of mown lawn. A mile or two out was a drop off that was barely visible through a large mass of fog rising upward.
She turned back to the dark room.
Using her power of remote viewing, a form of extra sensory perception, she sensed the rest of the house to see if anyone else was there, but there was not.
Starr turned her attention to the altar.
On it, laid a few burned down candles, a bowl of salt, a dagger and a silver goblet with a rosary draped across it.
Starr noticed a charred smoke smell, about the place. Looking down, she realized the smell came from her, as her pajamas were ripped, stained, and ashy.
A painful twinge shot down her neck, making her whole body jump.
She rubbed her neck and made to get a closer look at the items.
Immediately, she took interest in a black leather book that lay in the center of them all.
On the front, etched in gold letters, were the words Necro-Grimoire.
Although the pages were written in Latin, Starr could tell that it was a very special book. The Grimoire’s paper was heavier than books of today, and the edges of it were really rough, almost as if they’d been cut.
Judging by the smell that came from the book, it was old, too.
Starr didn’t know, exactly, what a Necro-Grimoire was, though she’d heard similar words in movies. If she were still alive, her pulse would have quickened; not only was she somewhere she didn’t remember coming to, but to find such items so close to her, upon waking, scared her.
She put the book in her pajama pants pocket and made to leave the room.
Whoever brought her there must not have realized that simple locks couldn’t keep her in.
Gently, she applied more pressure to turning the doorknob, breaking the lock easily.
Even though she sensed that she was alone, there was always the possibility that someone was masking their thoughts or their scent.
Slowly, she poked her head out of the door.
The hall was large and empty of any decorations as well: no tables, chairs, pictures, or anything, just dust.
Quietly, she made her way down the dark stairwell.
The bottom floor of the house was just as empty of furniture, or any personal touches, as was the upstairs.
When she stepped onto the bottom landing, she was instantly distracted by the moon, which appeared so large and white through the living room’s glass door that it looked as if it were sitting on the grass.
Momentarily entranced, she walked across the Spanish tile floors, and slid back the glass door, breaking the little metal latch, absentmindedly.
The sky was blackish, and the fog felt moist and fresh on her skin. She walked across the grass to the drop off, and then peered down into the houses on the lower incline of the hill.
She heard thoughts, like little whispers in her ears, coming from below.
In one grey stone dwelling, two people argued as they got ready for bed. On the other side of town, a couple made love as their teenage daughter climbed out of a window.
Many miles to her right, several bored teenagers horsed around, in a marsh, drinking booze they’d stolen from their parents: two of them weren’t wearing shoes, for some reason.
Starr could smell their blood all the way from where she stood.
One of them went to urinate in the marshy water of the river.
She sensed the animal, lurking, even before it stirred the surface of the water; it was hungry and knew it needed to put the colorless beast down, fast, or he’d get away.
It leapt out with lizard-like reflexes, scaring the kid into a backwards stumble onto the muddy ground. The alligator waddled on top of the kid, quickly.
Hearing him scream, the others ran, from out of the trees, to help.
Suddenly, she wanted to be there; not so much to help the guy, but to see the animal whose hunger she could feel. Never had she had such a connection with an animal before.
How was she to get there? She was so far away?
But, then, almost as if her inner demon were answering her, she levitated.
From below, she could hear the teens shouting. She commanded her body to go, fast.
And she did, fast like the wind she flew down to the spot where the largest, of them, was attempting a back grip on the alligator. One of the other kids held a shotgun, pointed at the animal’s head, and screamed at his buddy, telling him to try to get out from under it so he could shoot.
Her feet touched down amongst the clump of trees to their right, but they were too busy to notice.
She walked out, pushed the large kid away, and yanked the alligator off by the tail.
The alligator was angered, and it looked at Starr with complete ferocity. She could feel the animal’s surprise; it felt hunger, fear and rage all at once. It wanted to rip, tear and kill her, right there on the spot.
Uncontrollably, a growl issued from her throat, as is what happens, sometimes, when in danger: a vampire’s demon, within, would take over, and there was no stopping it.
She felt her fangs protrude, and they reached down to their full length, lightly touching her lower gums.
The alligator looked like it wanted to charge her, but it was entranced by her eyes.
Starr felt her power over the animal, and it excited her.
Go back to the water, she commanded, into its mind.
The alligator obeyed.
Fascinated, she watched it walk backwards into the water, and sink below the surface.
As she watched, it occurred to her that something was seriously wrong, for she’d never done any of the things she’d just done, before.
Yes, she was a strong vampire, but she was young; less than two years old. For most, it took at least a century for new fledglings to grow into all their new powers.
Until her waking, a few moments ago, she’d never been able fly, talk to animals, or sense people from miles away. Combine these things with the fact that she had no recollection of how or where she was, and the situation didn’t look good.
Starr needed answers right away, but she had the strangest feeling she needed to be somewhere, at the moment.
Her neck twinged again, distracting her from her thoughts.
“How in the hell did you do that?” asked one of the young men, in a terribly thick southern accent.
But when she turned, he screamed and ran off, shouting, “Demon! Courir!”
They ran as quickly as they could.
Starr just stared at the backs of them.
Judging by the man’s accent, and use of the word courir, she must be in Louisiana, somewhere
, but why and how?
She sat on the bank and watched the water, trying to remember anything.
The alligator poked its head out of the water. Its large yellow eyes watched her, curiously.
The last thing she remembered was saying goodbye to her parents, but that had to have been a few days ago.
Slowly, the alligator walked up the bank of the marsh, and then lay down in front of her, watching her with its mouth partly opened.
Then she heard someone rustling in the trees, and the cocking of a rifle.
Superstitious swamp folk had banded together, and were coming to kill her; another strange thing, for Starr was not, normally, a telepath.
Go, she said into the alligator’s mind.
It slithered back down the bank, and sank under the water.
She stood up and moved into the trees, away from the clearing.
Hearing the small mob’s thoughts, she realized they thought she was one from the new vampire species; the ones that were more like rabid dogs, rather than supernatural humans.
“Stop,” she yelled through the trees. “I’m not like them.”
An old man shouted, in French, “Diable,” and shot aimlessly in her direction.
Starr could have stopped him, but she decided to walk on down the river bank.
