Hail to the Queen

by Shyla Colt

  His alto, descriptive words and the wheels on the road relax me. Beautiful imagery dances in my head. I can see the colorfully tiled walls and feel the bricked walkways beneath my feet as I let sleep take me.

  ***

  I roll onto my back and allow the sunshine to coax me into consciousness. A deep peach ceiling greets my vision. I fought to recall our arrival late last night. Stretching my arms over my head, I embrace the peace that comes with being hours away from all my stressors. Snuggling back into Cristobal, I pull the crisp white sheets up to my chin.

  “Morning, reina.” His sleep worn voice makes me smile.

  “Morning, mi corazón.”

  “Aaah, she’s happy. The endearments have come out.”

  I playfully slap his chest. “I know I’ve been tense, but it hasn’t been that bad, has it?”

  “Tense is not a powerful enough adjective.”

  I prop myself up on my elbow and narrow my gaze.

  “And why have I been so tense, dear?”

  “The Esçhete Coronation.”

  “And?”

  “Witch for Hire. New businesses take a lot.”

  I scowl. “And?”

  “The Court Coronation,” he says softly.

  “Uh huh. And all that comes with it.”

  “My poor, dove.” His playful tone is a reward in and of itself. He’s loosening up a bit at a time.

  “Look who’s finding their sense of humor after centuries.”

  He rolls me onto my back, and his lips brush mine. “I’m learning lots of new things.”

  I bury my fingers in his hair and pull him down to me. Our bodies meld together, and our connection hums to life.

  “I want to show you something,” he whispers.

  “I think I have an idea of what,” I say cheekily.

  “Here.” He brushes his fingers over my temples. I swallow to moisten my throat. I nod my head, unable to speak. It’s the first time we’ve intentionally connected our memories. “It’s not pretty, but I think you need to see it right now.”

  “I trust you.”

  “Thank you, dove.” He sits up against the headboard and pulls me into his lap. “Take a deep breath, relax, and clear your mind.”

  I focus on my breathing as I relax against him. My surroundings fade away as I tumble into the past.

  ***

  PAST

  Pain pulls me from the darkness. An intense searing pain unlike any I have ever known explodes through every part of my body. It slices through me, cutting so deep, I can’t form sound. The coppery taste of blood fills my mouth as my gums are ripped and reformed.

  “This is the hard part. The transformation. It’s the final bridge you must cross from your old life to your new one.” The heavily accented voice of my employer sounds overly loud in my ears. I come off the floor, arching my back as the agony sweeps its way through my limbs.

  “What have you done to me?” I croak.

  “I have given you the life you never knew you wanted. Your talent and intelligence would be wasted here, toiling away as a textile worker, barely able to create. No. You were meant for better things. I knew it the moment I first saw your work. Now you’ll have eternity to do as you see fit with.”

  “You’re speaking madness, sir. Please. I need―” My muscles clench and my stomach heaves. Rolling onto my side, I empty my stomach as the burning begins. My body catches fire from the inside out. My veins are a delivery system for poison. I fight against the blackness, as I try to climb out of bed. My limbs refuse to cooperate. They’ve become useless deadweight. I manage to pitch to the side.

  Strong hands grab my arms and place me back in the middle of the bed, holding me down.

  “It will all be over soon.” I drift in and out of consciousness.

  The most delicious scent rouses me once more. Pushing myself into a sitting position, I open my mouth, tasting the air as I breathe it in. Saliva dribbles down my chin. I tilt my head and close my eyes, focusing on the one thing that makes sense―the hunger and the thirst, unlike anything I’ve ever known. I open my eyes and find a pretty maiden in a jade dress seated in a chair with my benefactor behind her.

  “Ahhh, my son is awake.”

  “What is this?” My voice is distorted.

  “Where you decide if you will live or die.”

  I focus in on her throat. The flutter of her pulse, calls to me. My body takes over. I gain my feet as a red haze lowers over my vision. I blink and find myself bent over her petite frame, ready to strike.

  “No.” I throw myself back.

  “You will find the will to live is strong. I caution you. The longer you choose to fight, the worse the first feeding will be.”

  “I will never give in to this evil.” I hunch over, squeezing my eyes shut. I open them quickly when it only intensifies the woman’s scent.

  “I will give you time to reconsider.”

  Vampire. The soulless beast who possesses life after death. How have I landed myself here? Damned beyond redemption, dependent upon the blood of others to live. Better to die now than live a life of sins I can’t hope to cleanse myself of.

  Every day Rasputin returns with another woman. They wait, clearly under the influence of his will, like living dolls in chairs. Lambs to the slaughter they smile down at me, never realizing the danger they’re in. I lay on my side, fighting to breathe as my vision dims.

  I am not ready to die. I give in to the beast, clawing to the surface, and let instinct take over. I fall upon the first girl.

  PRESENT

  I’m jolted out of the memory.

  “You don’t need to see the rest.”

  “Why show me that?” I whisper, shaken.

  “Because I want you to understand. We’ve all gone morally bankrupt at one time or another and had to work our way back up from the muck and mire. Who we become after the corruption can be an entirely different identity. It’s how we recover that matters most. I know you’re hurt. You’ve never seen the ugliest sides of your abuelita.”

  “It was more than that.”

  He trails his knuckles down my side of my face. “I’m not belittling your situation. I know this is hard, and you have every right to be upset. But I encourage you to reserve your judgment and sort your feelings later when you aren’t coming off a gut reaction. You’re clouded by your emotions right now.”

  “You expect me to excuse her behavior?”

  “No. I want you to remember we all have monstrous moments. It doesn’t make us savage beasts. It makes us fallible humans.”

  His words are everything I didn’t know I needed to hear. He kisses my forehead as the silence falls while I think on his words, and the vivid imagery I’ve lived. Sharing memories is more than a remote viewing. I was in his body. I struggle with reconciling the rabid creature with an insatiable lust for blood with the cultured man I know and love. I trail my fingers through his hair. I’ve never seen this vulnerable side of him.

  “Thank you for sharing that with me. I get the point you’re trying to make, but I’m not ready to deal with it yet.”

  “And you don’t have to. I brought you here to get away.”

  I fall into the dark pools of his eyes and wonder what else he’ll share. The man is an enigma I’m still decoding one secret at a time.

  “Enough sorrow, and painful memories. Let’s go explore the gardens. They’re a part of the reason why I brought you here. I know how much you love to immerse yourself in nature.”

  “How did I get so lucky?” For forty-eight hours, I’m going to focus on this man, my bond mate, who I’m linked to for the rest of my days. The finality of the situation still shakes me to the core.

  He cups my face and delivers a drugging kiss, clouding my mind, and carrying away the concerns and tension.

  Chapter Ten

 
; The speaker box chimes as the door swings open. I peer up from the desk and wonder briefly if the smartly dressed woman is in the wrong place. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask when she scans the room. Her gold and green elephant print dress and rose covered sunglasses are obviously designers. The two things alone could pay rent on the office for months, and that’s before I add in the leather purse at her side. Her plump lips are not ones that occur in nature. The deep maroon lip color contrasts with her perfectly highlighted golden-blonde locks, which tumble around her shoulders like she’s about to audition for a Herbal Essence commercial.

  “Can we help you, ma’am?” Fel asks.

  “I hope so. I have a …” She peers behind her like she anticipates being followed. Stepping inside, she closes and locks the door. “Problem with the new home my husband purchased. He may be in denial, as he travels for business and is rarely home, but I can no longer afford to ignore the incidents.” She clears her throat, and peers down at her French manicured fingernails. Her voice is cool, but I can detect the undercurrent of fear. “Before I say anything more, I need to be assured you can be discreet.”

  “Of course, Mrs.?” Fel stands and moves toward her.

  I lean back in my chair, content to observe, and let her take point. Of the three of us, Fel has the best people skills.

  “Charlotte Addington.”

  I bet you think that last name means something to us, don’t you?

  “Please let me get you settled, Mrs. Addington.” Fel guides her over to the suede charcoal couch in our receiving area. “Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, tea, or water, perhaps?”

  I glance over at Sacha and arch an eyebrow. Is this chick for real, or are we being pranked? She shrugs her shoulder and shakes her head. We get all kinds. Half of them have problems we can explain with science. Hauntings and paranormal issues are rarer than most people believe.

  Mrs. Addington has yet to remove her sunglasses. If the scandalized and the shamed expression on her slender, oval-shaped face―with impossibly perfect, asymmetrical features―is anything to go by, she wishes she was anywhere but here.

  “I’m fine. Thank you.” Mrs. Addington’s voice is sugary sweet. A proper southern belle knows how to maintain impeccable manners in any situation, regardless of how awkward it is.

  “Here at W.F.H., we work as a team to produce the best results. I’m Felicite, and I’ll be taking the lead in your case. These are my associates and co-owners, Sacha and Louella.”

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Sacha says. I echo her statement as we join them both in the receiving area. I want to see her eyes. You can tell a lot about a person by merely locking gazes and watching their response. Everyone has tells, and body language is only altered by the consummate liar.

  “Please, call me Charlotte,” she offers like an olive branch. “I must seem silly to you, showing up here in oversized sunglasses, but people in my neighborhood live for gossip. A person in my situation does not dabble in the occult. I can’t risk damaging my husband’s good name. Surely you understand that?”

  We’re being insulted and asked for help in the same breath. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. I grit my teeth and hold my tongue.

  “Of course, Charlotte. We know these things can be scary and hard to believe if you’ve never experienced a paranormal event. So, we understand your concerns about people possibly misinterpreting things. I assure you we are well-versed in the art of subtlety. We never reveal our clientele list.”

  Thank God, Fel’s taken the lead on this case. She handles the blonde bombshell with warmth and professionalism.

  “Can you tell us what brought you here today?” Sacha asks, gently steering them toward the main event.

  Charlotte takes a deep breath. “It started off small. Things going missing, odd noises. While it’s a new home for us, the building itself is hundreds of years old. I thought it was a matter of acclimating myself to a new property. When the strange occurrences continue, strange smells, sounds, and the feeling of being watched. I thought maybe we had a ghost or two. It’s a plantation home. We all know the ugly history tied to such locations.”

  Ugly history. Years of mistreatment and inhuman living conditions, demoralization, and inhuman atrocities can be wrapped up in a proper sentence. I sneer.

  “What changed your mind?” Sacha asks.

  “The tone changed. I started to be afraid of being alone in the house. The knocking grew louder, more agitated, if you will, rattling doorknobs and shaking beds. Then I started to see them.”

  I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “Them?” I ask.

  “The shadow people,” she whispers.

  Chills run down my spine. “Can you describe them?” I ask, skeptically.

  “They’re not black. Not in the way we normally understand the color. They’re darkness. A shape no light can penetrate. They’re all long limbs, reaching to the ceiling and bending in ways no human could ever manage. They stand at the end of my bed, moving closer with every blink. I catch them out of the corners of my eyes in other rooms. They whisper to me.”

  Shit. The woman is one of two things: mentally ill or under siege. Part of our job is determining which is the case.

  “Charlotte. We have to ask you a series of questions before we agree to take the case. They may be a bit personal, but we need you to answer them honestly. Please keep in mind, we’re here to help, not judge.”

  “No, I’m not on medication, nor do I have a history of mental illness. I’m not a heavy drinker, and I wasn’t under the influence of anything when I had my experiences,” she says haughtily with a smirk. “I did my research. I’ve tried smudging, ignoring, and questioned my sanity a number of times only to come to the same conclusion. This is really happening.”

  “How long has this been happening?” Sacha asks.

  “Eight months.”

  “That’s a long time to deal with what you’re describing,” I state.

  “I exhausted all other venues before I came here.”

  “Do you have a problem with witches, Mrs. Addington?” I lean back, narrowing my gaze.

  “Not personally, but the open association with them would be bad for my husband’s business. I’m a newlywed. It’s too soon to be rocking boats. A girl’s got to look out for number one.” She flashes a faux smile.

  “And how do you propose we help you with your issue without ‘rocking the boat’?” I air quote.

  “Well, I’m not a saint. I can have friends over for girls’ night.” Her pleased grin has me struggling against eye rolling.

  “Clever. We’ll be happy to accommodate your needs.” Fel schmoozed like a socialite, and I grit my teeth and remind myself not everyone is grateful for the help they receive. No. Mrs. Addington apparently feels she’s entitled to it. Thankless jobs are often the ones most necessary.

  I continue to take notes as we arrange a time and date to explore her home and see her out the front door.

  “You didn’t like Charlotte at all,” Fel remarks a few moments after she leaves.

  “I didn’t say a word.” I stir the honey into my rosehip tea and she snorts.

  “Like you had to?”

  “I was polite.” I shrug.

  “Yeah, and nothing else,” Sacha echoes.

  “Shut it, Sach. You didn’t like her either.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a better bullshitter.” Sacha winks.

  “I didn’t have it in me to pretend with another person. I have enough ass to kiss in everyday life. She rubbed me the wrong way.”

  “I think she knew it, too,” Fel says.

  “Bitch.”

  Fel laughs. “Meow. Put away the claws.”

  “Do you want us to drop the case?” Sacha asks.

  “No. Last time I checked, being a bitch isn’t a crime. Come on, we have another appointmen
t to make,” I say, eager for the road trip to the next site. I need time to shake this.

  ***

  “How the hell could anyone do this?” Sacha asks.

  I stare at the old battlement at Fort Pike historical site and shake my head. A massive chunk is missing from the brick and mortar. I crane my neck to peer up the decaying structure initially built in the early eighteen hundreds. The old cannon still rests atop the high wall constructed to see the enemy coming and give a perfect place to fire off from. The old girl’s been breaking down for a while under the strain of hurricanes and aging, and land under the water level. It bore cracks and weak points.

  It’s the perfect slices taken out like a slice of cake that screams magical aid.

  “Had to be magic. Nothing else could be that precise and go undetected,” I say. There’s no sign of heavy machinery, and short of lasers, I can’t think of a damn thing that could make a clean cut.

  “Even if someone figured out a way to remove this section, how would they carry it away, and where would they store it?” Sacha asks.

  “Why would they do any of it?” Fel adds.

  “To move something this big magically, you’d be expending a large amount of energy. It doesn’t seem worth the effort for a witch.”

  “You think it’s the demon again?” Fel says, catching on to my train of thought.

  “Yeah.” I nod my head, straining to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Corpse, heart, head, and battlement? They’re all random. If I stretch it’s possible the parapet could be connected to the veteran’s family history, but I don’t know why you’d need both for any spell. At least not that much of it. They took the ground as well as the wall.

  “Why? I think we’re letting one case get into our heads. We need to remain more objective,” Sacha argues.

  “You think someone else did this?” I ask skeptically.

  “Maybe. We’ll never know if we attribute every single thing we came across to one case. Our business is dealing with the strange. Why should we be shocked when we encounter it?” Sacha throws her hands up in the air.

  Have I been compromised? My gut says no. I clamp my mouth shut and gesture forward in a sweeping motion with my arms. “You take point, Sach. We’ll follow your lead on this one. You’re right. I’m not able to remain impartial right now.”