The Blood of Caged Birds (Mortalsong Book 1)

by J. M. Stredwick

  “He’s been expecting me. I am a trusted friend.”

  At this, the servant closes the door stiffly and withers away into the house, no doubt cursing the ungodly hour and waking his master, heating the coals in his fireplace. As if there will be any need of it.

  When the servant returns again from beyond the door, he opens it wide and beckons me inside.

  “Come with me, Monsieur,” is his solid, irritated demand.

  I comply swiftly. This is what I have wanted, brooded over, and desired for many months now.

  The servant leads me into his salon, where he is dressed in his sleep attire, facing the glare of his fireplace, sipping a mug of what would have been tea. As I know him otherwise, I know that it is filled to the brim with a lovely shade of red wine.

  The servant leaves us, shutting the door behind himself.

  “I’ve waited six months. Where have you been?” My father, seated, grips the arm of his chair, not caring to look back. “I almost wondered if our business had been called off. Everything has been…compromised.”

  A smile toys along my lips, and I step with slow, heavy steps towards the back of the chair, all the while staring at the back of my father’s head. There is hair there that should not be. Hair that signifies a youthfulness that he should not possess.

  “I apologize for the inconvenience; I’ve been busy with other affairs,” I speak nonchalantly, drawing my weapon from the crevices of my coat.

  At the sound of my voice, he freezes, then stands to face me, eyes wide and stanch, brightly flickering with a fear so deep that I have to laugh.

  “Benjamin,” he hisses, marveling at the sight of me.

  “Yours truly.” I chuckle, running my finger over the trigger of the gun.

  “Did you really think I’d let you off so easily?” I test, and cluck lightly, anger dislodging in the pit of my gut, infusing rage through to my every vein.

  “Listen, my boy,” he attempts to use the same timeless nickname he’d given me.

  There is nothing that goads my fury more.

  “You are confused. It was not I that brought this about.”

  I prowl about the room, replaying his lying words, pacing back and forth before I come to a fowl resolution.

  “You say it was not you?” I raise my brows, “It is funny to me now, when I have a gun to your head that you are begging for your life. Remember when I begged you not to take hers?”

  A great tremble of fear rumbles through him and he quakes in his soft night robe, a whimper escaping his lips. I wish for it to be done and linger there for only a few moments.

  “We are all to be held accountable,” I utter.

  “How did you get off the island?” he croaks. “Did she let you escape?”

  “No, you see,” I fix him in an iron stare, “being that I was trapped in a cave, no light or food, stuck with the rotting corpse of the woman I loved, I had to be smart about the choices I made. I resisted your demon woman, played her, even. She let me out when I promised to give her the one thing she wanted. Ah, I mean, one of the two things she wanted.”

  My father stares at me as if I am unreal, indeterminable to him.

  “Food for her, food for me…” I explain. “Did you know that it is excruciating for her? Losing her life slowly every day that passes? She coaxed a few men to the island and, as she was stealing their souls like she does, I took their boat.”

  I go to him and place my hand around his throat, bringing my face close to his.

  “I am better than you in every way. Stronger and smarter. She wanted me, oh yes. You think she didn’t try to bind herself to me? Fuck her. Fuck you. You can all go to hell. It’s where you belong.”

  The chuckling starts low in his chest, small wheezes of breath, then he begins to cackle. I squeeze my hand tighter and he coughs.

  “You have always been my unruly son,” he hisses through the pressure of my palm. “Loyal only to those who are loyal to you. Once someone has crossed you, they are dead to you as I am. Perhaps you did do the right thing. Perhaps you are made from stronger flesh than mine.”

  “I don’t question that,” I seethe. “I would never do what you did to me in that position.”

  “You don’t understand. Clearly, you did not listen to what she had to say,” he stammers.

  “I listened to her every day for months,” I bellow. “I heard her twisted words. How you met her and gave her life for life, how you came to befriend her creator by selling him a siren—whatever his name, Vauquelin. How you both cultivated a plot to heal her from her destitute state. She explained Giselle’s blood. She explained that sacrifices sometimes must be made. That one life means nothing when she could potentially correct the rift in the human body. To bring back our immortality.”

  He waits for me to continue, watches me as if this is a glorious moment.

  “Why did you do it? Why leave me there?” I release his neck and he stumbles backwards, rubbing his tender throat.

  “I wanted you to join me! I wanted you to understand the truth of this world,” his voice is emphatic.

  I scoff loudly, hanging my hands upon my hips. “That is pathetic. I would never do that. Not after everything you’ve done. You’d have to be mad to think that anyone would follow you.”

  “Alphonse has,” he barks stubbornly. “Alphonse always knew. He knew about the magic of the creatures, the experiments to create an immortal being. A fickle science, that is. He killed for our cause.”

  “He knew about Giselle?” I croak, fury simmering.

  “He knew that she was imperative to our scheme. That we needed her for something important.”

  “And then you fucked it up by stabbing her?” I snicker. “Passion make a slip on you? You just had to do it right then?”

  His face turns to black ash.

  “I am glad that she is dead instead of assisting in whatever plan you, Vauquelin, and that demon woman had in mind,” I tell him. “Now you will never be able to do as you wanted.”

  “You think that you are smarter, stronger? Did you grow deaf ears when Sidra told you about past lives and the like?”

  I stop myself. Sidra did not outright explain that Giselle would be reborn. Now that I am pinned with the reality, my stomach sinks. I did not believe her words. I ignored many of them, slipping in and out of reality as I lay in that cave, thinking only of my return and the vengeance I would take. I feel a coldness descend into my bones. What did Sidra say? That our souls remain constant, our bodies not? That would mean that Giselle will live again. She will and they will try again. This is not the end. They will never stop trying to take her soul.

  I raise my gun, align it with his skull.

  “How many know the truth?” I ask him. “You, Vauquelin, Alphonse, the demon woman…”

  I tick off my fingers as I say their names.

  “Four? Only four.” I let out a content sigh. “It won’t be hard to kill four people to keep her safe.”

  “Sidra cannot die and Vauquelin always remembers. He will always return for her until the deed is done,” his voice is thin now.

  “But you and Alphonse…you are expendable to them.” I smile. “You thought she loved you and wanted to be free to live her eternal life with you? She begged me to have her. She’d beg any man to take her. That is what she is.”

  My father snorts and smirks as if entertaining himself with a private joke.

  “That’s the blood of the succubus,” he rejoins. “I am not a fool. I know how she is.”

  I am shocked by this. He put on a good show.

  “You wanted her to think that you were under her charms?” I ask.

  “Oh I am. I always will be. But, just as you said, she is quite easily persuaded when you know what she wants.” He shrugs. “If you know what created her. How it works. You will always be one step ahead.”

  “What created her? Giselle’s blood?” I marvel. “She was a succubus?”

  Father guffaws lightly and shakes his head. “You are a disa
ster. I had a predilection to see you return. Although, I thought it would be under different circumstances and you’d want to help us. It is unfortunate for a father to be at odds with his son. Vauquelin knows more about her than I do. He was the one who captured Giselle, the one she was before, so long ago and used her to create Sidra. That being said, let me ask you a question. How do you know that you were not manipulated by the blood within her? How do you know your love for her was true?”

  I am quiet for a moment. My anticipation is mounting, and I have no reason not to pull the trigger now. He will be gone and then I will focus my efforts upon the rest of them, and then, finding Giselle again. Vauquelin will be the key I need to open that door.

  “I owe you no answers,” I spit. “But now, I am becoming bored. I’ll be sure to mention your death when I kill the others.”

  He breathes heavily, and I step forward, pushing the barrel against his forehead.

  “You will go back,” he whispers. “And not to kill her. You think she made no impression on you but give it time. We all go back. Mainly for the promise of our youth…but also for her.”

  “One last thing,” I say ignoring him. “Where did Vauquelin run off to?”

  “I thought you were him. I haven’t heard from him in months. I’m assuming he caught wind that Giselle died, and he is already on the hunt again. Probably looking for more loyal dogs like me.”

  I nod and cock the gun.

  “Good bye, Alexandre,” I speak formally, and before he can yell or scream, the bullet has hit home, and the stench of blood rings up through the air like a malignant spirit.

  I do not look at the body, nor do I leave.

  I know the servants will arrive soon, but I do not care if they see me. I will be gone by sunrise. No one will find me, and I will never come back to this place. Thus, I walk stiffly to the mug that he had set briskly upon the side-table, sniff its contents, and sip.

  About the Author

  J. M. Stredwick is an emerging author of young adult fantasy. This is J. M.’s first book. Find her at jmstredwickauthor.com!