Daisy After Life (Book 1): Perdition

by Demers, Raven J.

  The hunger satisfied, the monster talked to her of gruesome acts—of pumping the heart to get the last remains, of—No!

  Daisy dropped the box knife and skittered backwards into the wall, staring at the horror of what she’d done. Even the vilest humans didn’t deserve to be murdered by a self-appointed executioner. She stared stunned at the corpse of Rick. Rapist, detestable, but still human. And what am I? Daisy thought. A monster, a coward, and now a murderer. How far I have fallen. Dear Lord, forgive me. Henry? Henry, forgive me.

  Like the young woman she rescued, Daisy ran blindly out of the alley and made her way out of Atlanta to the sleeping cottage in the woods. All the way, her thoughts were filled with hateful words and the constant replay of the murder she had carried out. What angered her most was the absolute pleasure she had taken in the act. She had felt ecstasy. Ecstasy! It became more horrid with each revisiting.

  Just as she had the night before, she raced for the cottage door as if a pair of hunters followed at her heels. This time, no tiny figure opened the door, and she scrambled frantically to get the key in the lock. As she opened the door, she threw herself inside, and shut it behind her.

  "Ah, you have returned," said an unfamiliar voice.

  Daisy's head turned sharply to see a stranger sitting in one of the living room chairs. His black curls fell in ringlets to his shoulders, and he leaned back in the chair, relaxed and at home in the cottage. Even in the dark, his ochre eyes sparkled at her. "Who are you?"

  The stranger waved a gloved hand to motion for silence, Daisy felt compelled to comply. "Your presence is requested to meet with her Majesty, the Queen of Atlanta. She wishes to understand how you came to harbor a human child in her cottage. She is not tolerant of pets."

  Perdy! Daisy's hand tightened on the doorknob, and she heard the metal squeal a protest as she crushed it. "What has Valerie done with—?"

  He cut her off with a laugh, his head tipping back, pink lips parting to reveal a set of perfectly sharpened canines. "I was warned you would be amusingly charming. No. I said, 'The Queen,' not Valerie. Your pet is being held until she determines the child's fate. As well as yours. Shall we?"

  Daisy clung to the door as she stared at the stranger in horror. He rose and straightened his velvet coat—two centuries out of style—before giving an elegant gesture with his hand to the trees beyond the doorway.

  Shadow Court

  The dark-haired man moved at a leisurely pace along the dirt path leading to the road. Daisy followed, a mixture of guilt, concern, and wariness warring for attention within her. A black sedan waited with its engine on, but its lights off. Gracefully, the man stepped forward, opened the door, and invited Daisy to enter the backseat.

  She eyed the grey leather interior, and a number of scents hit her at once, among them, Perdita. "Where is she?" she demanded, as she noticed the distinctly young blood. "So help me God, if you've hurt her—"

  "You are in no position to make threats," he replied congenially. Once again, he made a flourish with his hand, indicating she should enter the car and be seated. She slid in, her eyes narrowed at the stranger whose features remained unaffected by her ferocity and anger.

  He slipped in, fluid as a rolling river, and closed the door behind him. The locks clicked, and she found herself cloistered in a car that smelled heavily of a curious blend of olives and chocolate, which seemed to emanate most from the stranger next to her, and ... rose soap and oatmeal!

  The delicate scent wafted to her from the driver in the front seat, who turned around, with a broad smile on her pixie face.

  "What is she doing here?" Daisy demanded of the stranger. She spontaneously snarled at the short-haired woman in the front who gave her a vicious wink.

  "Please calm yourself," the gentleman said to Daisy, and then turned to the driver. "Jillian, drive."

  Jill stiffened at his command, and turned herself around, jerking the clutch, which made a whining sound as she forced it out of one gear and into another. She drove too fast along a road that wound toward the heart of Atlanta. Daisy noted Jill kept the lights off.

  Daisy hissed through her teeth, and glared at the stranger who remained calm and collected beside her. "Why is she here?"

  The stranger ignored her, and said, "When you meet her Majesty, you will answer all of her questions with absolute honesty. She may not have such talent as Adelaide at her command, but she has me." Daisy heard the threat in the statement, though the tone of his voice remained soothing. "You will only ask questions when given permission to do so. Is everything clear?"

  She faced him, turning in her seat. "No," she said. "It is entirely unclear who you are, who this other queen is, and what either of you have to do with her or Perdita."

  "Don't forget Nathaniel," Jill said from over her shoulder as she whipped around a sharp curve, not bothering to slow her speed. The tires ripped across the asphalt. Daisy, already tense and ready to attack, lunged for Jill.

  Or she tried to. As soon as she reached out to do harm, she found herself unable to move. No matter how much she willed her muscles, they wouldn’t budge. It was only when the confusion set in, and the murderous rage passed she discovered she could move somewhat again. She turned to look more closely at the sable-haired man with the ochre eyes. He tilted his head, a gesture confirming his talent, and assuring Daisy would now master herself so he would not need to force her.

  Jill laughed, as she glanced in her rearview mirror at the pair in the backseat. "Daisy Margaret Shaw, Nikola the Basque. He's from Spain and Camilla adores him."

  Nikola stiffened, his face twisting into anger for a moment. "You will master your tongue, serpent, or I will."

  "Is that a promise?" she asked him, and laughed the rest of the way through a hidden tunnel.

  Daisy quietly cursed herself for not paying attention to their path or destination.

  Nikola said, offhand, "I am pleased to see you overcame your obstacles and fed tonight."

  Daisy found the statement unnerving, and the pride in his eyes both unsettling and confusing.

  The tunnel continued on, black and unmarked for a long while before emerging at the edge of a dirt road leading toward a paved driveway making its way to a grand Georgian Revival home now in disrepair. Hastily trimmed bushes edged the brown lawn.

  They came to a stop before a partially obscured path. Nikola turned to Daisy as if about to speak, but pressed his lips and remained silent.

  The slight smile left her curious and sent a shiver of fear through her. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t fight. He could stop her, and worse, imprisoned by him, Jill could use her abilities to control her. Though she wasn't certain how Jill's talent manifested, she was confident it required direct contact.

  Jill stood outside of the car, waiting impatiently a short distance before Nikola stepped out and held the door for Daisy. Instead of making their way to the house proper, they moved across the thirsty grass and patches of weeds toward what appeared to be a dilapidated pool house with archways. The pool, long since filled in with soil and covered in crab grass, boasted a white, three-tier fountain.

  They moved over a thick network of ivy and moss and beneath an archway where all that remained of the pool house roof was a metal frame. A shaft of moonlight broke through between overhanging tree branches, casting a luminescent green stripe across their faces. One Grecian column stood alabaster and gold, though its twin strangled beneath English ivy.

  Nikola reached his hand inside a thicket of vegetation in the far corner, and exposed a small panel with a button. The moss and leaves at their feet trembled, but remained affixed to a square portion of land rising upward, revealing a small, iron cage elevator.

  Jill entered first, and Nikola gestured with a gallant smile to enter before him. He followed the women in before Jill hit the switch and the car descended with a jerk and shimmy.

  Daisy watched as they passed a floor opening out onto a wide, partially lit tunnel. They continued downward to the next level where
a several doors lined a long hallway, and when this too passed out of sight, she grew steadily claustrophobic. It reminded her of the night she awoke in her grave.

  It's too far. Too far beneath the ground!

  She resisted the urge to claw her way out of the metal cage. Nikola gave her a sidelong glance when he sensed her agitation.

  They came to a stop on the next floor down. The elevator's door accordioned open onto an entry hall to what Daisy was certain was a much larger chamber beyond. The flickering light of a fire cast disquieting patterns on the floor through a wide doorway. Jill walked forward with Daisy once again between her captors.

  They stepped into the expansive chamber, which proved to be everything Daisy expected of vampires. Fire danced in a broad, black and gray-veined marble hearth. A pair of Confederate Calvary sabers crossed over the mantle. Chains lined one wall, and stone benches faced the opposite. The dark floor polished smooth held an obsidian throne, playing its dramatic role in the center of the room. In that chair sat a lithe figure with blonde hair brushed into a gossamer veil around her shoulders. Thin wisps fell to her hips, and even curled around the small, dark bundle asleep in her arms.

  Perdy!

  Daisy's body tightened into a quivering series of knots. With all her control, she held still and kept her tongue, but her eyes never left the small girl resting as peacefully as she did in Daisy's bed. The young woman—the Queen—stroked Perdita's silken hair as it mingled with her own. They appeared as a perfect portrait of contrasts. Daisy recalled the name Jill let slip in the car: Camilla. Was this the name of their Queen?

  Camilla raised her eyes slowly to the three who stood before her, waiting. She continued to pet Perdita as if she were a favorite cat. As the Queen looked to Daisy, Daisy stared back into the translucent, glassy eyes reflecting nothing but serenity in the gray, milky substance of her irises. Is she blind?

  As she stared into the eyes that did and did not return her gaze, she noted other subtle differences. For one, she could hardly be called a woman. She appeared on the edge of childhood herself—no older than twelve or thirteen. Her willowy form barely hinted at experiencing adolescence. Despite the lanky form, the Queen was quite diminutive.

  How did this girl become the power of the city?

  Daisy wondered whether this, too, was another figurehead. Someone who, like Valerie, acted as a puppet for whoever truly controlled Atlanta. She continued to speculate for many silent moments. Until the Queen spoke.

  The blush rose lips parted, as though each movement took many seconds to consider, as though she consciously thought about each muscle as she made it move. "Welcome," the child-Queen said. Her voice filled the room with a honey-sweet sound that made Daisy want to weep.

  Such a simple word. Daisy swelled with peacefulness. All her rage subsided. The delicate scent of tea leaves and sweet cream permeated the room, the comfort of the fragrance matched only by the delectation inspired by the Queen’s voice. Daisy took a long draught of it as though drinking the air. The Queen's fragrance was intoxicating, and subtle enough to leave those close to her hungering for more.

  Camilla's milky eyes turned toward the Basque at Daisy's right. Again, her lips opened as if in slow motion. "Nikola," she said, and he quivered, lowering his eyes.

  He stepped forward, and with nothing more than a slight glance at the child, he lifted Perdita into his arms, her tiny porcelain doll, and carried her from sight.

  A twinge of concern rose in Daisy, but it remained distant and muted behind the allures of the Queen who acted as a snow drift on her senses. There could be no choice but to focus all her attention on the cold white form on the throne; all else meant little by comparison.

  Without much awareness of it happening, Jill exited the room as well, leaving Daisy alone with Camilla. The Queen slid one leg out from beneath her, in the midst of a contemplative dance. Soon, the second leg followed until both dangled over the floor. She stepped lightly onto the cool, polished stone and made her way toward Daisy like a ghost in a dream. As Daisy had expected, the Queen proved petite compared to her, and Daisy, once a woman of average height, had lost inches to age.

  The pearlescent face and wide, gray eyes of the Queen, now close to Daisy’s, seemed to study her, despite her blindness. Camilla quietly sniffed the air, and let her proximity help her see the old woman before her. Pink lips parted again, and the honey dripped forth. "Red hair," the Queen observed, "now white."

  Slender fingers reached up and twined in the loose strands of Daisy’s hair that fell free of her bun. The Queen twisted the locks into curls around her finger the way Perdita had, and then released her hair, letting it bounce back into its natural shape.

  Camilla's cool hand slid down Daisy's shoulder to her arm, and finally grasped her wrist. The Queen lifted Daisy's hand, palm up and sniffed at the veins that showed beneath the skin. "You fed," she said.

  Daisy imagined it as an accusation, though the words remained as dulcet as before. She condemned herself once more. The sudden reminder of the murder she committed came up sharp and broke the spell of the Queen's sweet scent. Anguish cut through her, and she shut her eyes.

  I killed a man, and now ... I have lost Perdy.

  The desire to cry welled up in her face, swelling her nose, but no tears came spilling down her dry cheeks. She would not allow them to form, but she couldn't deny the pain.

  The Queen said, "I feed." She brought Daisy's arm up to her lips and bit down. With a sound like punching a paper bag, Camilla's teeth broke through Daisy's skin and it pulled her back down into the sweet blanket of the young woman's presence.

  As the Queen drank, Daisy experienced a form of ecstasy she had never expected. She folded in on herself, collapsing, and with each fold there came an exquisite pain wrenching at her being. Her head swam with a craving for the ache, and she thought she might fall forever into the darkness that spun around her vision. She wanted to fall and fold and hurt and swim in the divinity of sweet cream and tea leaves.

  Just as painfully as it had begun, it stopped. The Queen removed her mouth from Daisy's arm, which repaired itself. A slight dark red smudge remained on the girl's lips, which bloomed a warmer shade of pink. Camilla licked absently at the missed drop and smiled.

  "The others do not yet know," she said, and Daisy wondered whether she meant the murder or the Queen feeding on others.

  Camilla did not bother to explain herself, but lit back toward her black throne, curling into her former posture. With a delicate sound, she called to Nikola, and the Basque returned within an instant. "There is a task we need you to perform."

  Falling once again into the exquisite luxury of the Queen's comforting voice, Daisy couldn’t make sense of whether she spoke to Daisy or Nikola. Both stood at attention, and Daisy only absently noted how strong the pull between the dark man and his ghost queen. His chest moved in an unnecessary breathing pattern, and his eyes drank in the svelte form of the girl draped in gossamer hair.

  "Daisy," she said, and the grandmother turned her attention to the haunting figure who spoke her name. "We need you to kill Valerie."

  Even amidst the swirling dream of scent and melody, Daisy managed to drag up a sense of concern. Killing, no matter how much her new body required it, wasn’t something she did easily.

  "I cannot kill her," she said, her words came drawn out and sluggish. She struggled to form them in her mind.

  Mistaking Daisy's intent, Camilla produced a sound like the tinkling of bells. Laughter. Her hair shook with it, making her appear to be in the midst of a waterfall. "Drink from Nikola. His blood will make you strong."

  Daisy could not ignore the pull of the command, and even saw Nikola turned toward her, ready to bare his flesh to her. In the firelight, his eyes danced and sparkled with acquiescence and unconditional love. For a moment, it was enough to bring Daisy nearly fully back to herself. She found it easier to speak. "Why do you want her murdered?"

  The young queen tilted her head to the side, as if consid
ering Daisy's form, but even now, her gray eyes didn’t focus on the woman before her. "Jill can no longer control her as I wish. You have been witness to her behavior, and experienced it firsthand."

  Daisy worked to keep from slipping back into the reverie of the ethereal creature's voice. So many word gifts presented at once, coiled around her an embracing constrictor. The Queen called her to consider the pain she suffered at Valerie’s hands, the one hand plunging into her stomach and spilling her intestines. "Who do you plan to replace her? Jill?"

  Camilla's mouth inched into a playful smile. "No. Far too impetuous to offer her such an allowance of power."

  Daisy struggled to think of who might be a good replacement. She thought of Addie or Jared, but was unsure of their connections to this secret palace. The girl's mouth twisted into a wry grin, as she watched Daisy. When Daisy decided to assent to the assassination, the Queen laughed again, sending Daisy back into the dizzying sense of pleasure and serenity she thought she might have known after death.

  "Good. Nikola?"

  Without further prodding, the Basque stepped forward, removing his coat in a simple gesture, and rolled up the sleeve to reveal his right arm. He smelled delicious and rich, of olives and dark chocolate and charcoal. The temptation welled in Daisy, desire tugged at the back of her neck, drawing her forward with an icy hunger differing from her feral need for human blood.

  Her lips met the marbled skin of his arm and teeth forced their way through. It proved more unyielding to penetrate than she expected, yet easier on her conscience than anyone would have believed of her. The Queen ordered, Nikola consented, and I obeyed, she justified to herself.

  The near-dark liquid cooled her tongue as it seeped into her mouth, a slow sap as dark in flavor as his hair and scent. Without thought, she took a great draught of it, pulling hard upon the thick substance. It slid down her throat, thick and sweet as molasses, and her eyes met Nikola’s. It called to mind her last meal before she died.