Innocently Evil (A Kitty Bloom Novel)

by Beadsmoore, Felicity

  Max’s smile dropped for a second and that painful face returned. His eyes seemed to plead forgiveness and then suddenly, they hardened and became icy cold. A smirk returned across his lips and he took a cocky step towards me. “Oh, Kitty,” he purred at me. “Don’t be like that. You don’t really want me to go now, do you?”

  I clenched my fists tighter, tensing my whole body, as I tried to fight back my fury and I curled my top lip up at him in a snarl of disgust. “Get out,” I screamed at him, as all the pain and anger inside me radiated from my voice.

  Max looked at me, his face returning to an almost more empathetic, although serious expression. He took a step back from me and bowed his head slightly. “As you wish,” he said quietly. His body shimmered and then he was gone.

  I glared into the empty space that remained behind and lost the will to keep fighting back my emotions. I sobbed out loud, a heart-tearing and pitiful sound as warm tears flooded my cheeks. Slumping to the ground, I hit the floor hard and then pulled my legs up tight into my chest. Hugging my knees and with my head resting on top of them, I felt my body rock softly back and forwards as my chest shook with each painful sob.

  The night was silent once more and only my cries pierced the cool, empty air around me. While the broken and breathless corpse in the corner watched me carefully from frozen dead eyes and listened quietly through deaf ears to my whimpers, waiting patiently for me to calm.

  Seventeen: Giving Up is Only the Beginning

  When there were no more salty tears to shed and my body was finally dehydrated and numb enough for me to move without crying, I decided to get up. I stood slowly, steadying myself on shaky legs and I stumbled forward a couple of steps until I started to get the hang of it. I stepped towards the crumpled corpse in the corner and then thought better of it. Instead, I walked towards the bathroom and once I was inside, I shut and locked the door. Turning, I relaxed my body against the hard, wooden door, completely exhausted after everything, and then I tried to find the strength of mind to focus clearly on one thing at a time.

  What I really needed now, I decided, was not to smell like Sam or Max or werewolf blood. I desperately wanted and needed a shower and that’s all I had to worry about for the next few minutes. Pushing myself off the stable security of the bathroom door, I took a few wobbly steps towards the basin, careful to avoid Max’s shirt and my singlet still piled together on the floor. Then, I looked in the mirror. My face and body were drained of color and my wide, sapphire and emerald eyes looked dark and damaged. There was dirt and a few drops of werewolf blood on my white sports bra and my burgundy black hair had all but fallen out of its ponytail.

  Ignoring the disturbing state of my appearance, I turned around, ripped out my hair tie, then undid my bra and slipped it off. I kicked my blood-spattered sneakers off my feet, pulled down my shorts and knickers and stepped out of them into the bathtub. Crimson droplets of blood had dried on the sides and the floor of the bath and I tried my best to avoid standing on them. I pulled the shower curtain closed behind me and then reached over and turned on the hot and cold taps one at a time. I adjusted the heat and then closed my eyes, leaning into the soothing warm water.

  With a soapy blue sponge, I scrubbed my body hard, trying to rid myself of all the adventures of the day and I let my mind fall silent as I did so. I needed to wash every painful minute from my skin, every caress from Sam, every touch from Max and every spot of blood from the poor, innocent werewolf boy who had died because of me. Once my body was red and raw, I stopped scrubbing and glanced down. Rose collared water churned around the floor of the bath, catching the drier blotches of crimson blood on the outer edges and creating darker swirls as it dragged them down towards the plughole.

  A nauseous feeling came over me and I had to shut my eyes. But even in the dark sanctuary of my mind, the dead werewolf boy’s body haunted me. I saw his violent injuries in 3D and Technicolor and a wave of self-hatred and misplaced anger caused a suffocating sob to escape my lips. Almost as soon as I’d let it slip, I recovered, then shook my head and let out a deep sigh. I had to pull myself together. I had to get through this. ‘We,’ my other half agreed, ‘had to get through this.’

  Subconsciously, I poured some shampoo into my palm and then lathered up my skull until I could feel the bubbles popping around my fingers. The self-massage seemed to calm me slightly and I felt my stomach start to settle and the tension in my neck begin to loosen. Turning my body to face the shower curtain, I lent my head back into the flow of warm water and used my fingers to wash the shampoo bubbles from my hair.

  Finally, I opened my eyes and tried hard to keep my mind blank as I reached for the conditioner. The soft, sweet-smelling lotion seemed to surprise my senses and I hadn’t realized until that moment how much the bathroom smelt like blood. It was a relief to smell something else, something normal. I took a deep breath and sighed, beginning to feel more relaxed and revived. I let my head fall back into the shower of water that was plummeting down onto the small of my back and I washed my hair free of conditioner. Eventually, satisfied with my cleanliness and feeling a little stronger, I turned off the water and pushed back the curtain to grab a towel.

  It was then that I noticed a small corner of lavender paper sticking out of the top cupboard drawer under the basin. The top drawer should have been my drawer, yet I couldn’t remember putting that there. I pulled a bloodied, fluffy green towel off the rack by the shower and used the clean side to dry myself a little bit, before throwing it to the ground and using it as a floor mat. I stepped carefully out of the bathtub and onto a clean part of the towel, and then pulled open the drawer. A large folded piece of paper lay on top of my half emptied bathroom bag. I snatched it out, leaving damp fingerprint smudges as I touched it, and then I flipped it open. My mum’s familiar neat handwriting formed swirls of blue ink across the lilac page. Now, this was a letter clearly written by Mum.

  ‘Kitten,’ it read. ‘I’m sorry I had to leave you tonight. I couldn’t wait. I had to know for sure whether it was true. If I’m not back by morning, please know I love you and please don’t try to find me. Sam will protect you and get you safely out of Saint Jean. But I have faith that everything will be fine. I know it will all work out for the best, baby. I believe in the cure. I will see you soon. Love Mum.’

  I folded the paper and placed it on the bench top by the basin. The letter was unusually short like the one she’d left me downstairs, but seemed more sincere although a little cryptic. Looking down at the drawer, I wondered why she felt she needed to hide it for me, assuming she was trying to hide it. It was almost as though the one she’d left on the front door was for show, as though she thought someone other than me might get a chance to read it. But who, I couldn’t be sure. I even began to question again if she had written the first letter at all or whether someone else had made her write it.

  I opened the cupboard door by the drawers and grabbed myself a new turquoise towel. As I wrapped it around me, I flipped open the letter again and scanned over it once more. My mind and body were still numb from the earlier events of the evening and I wasn’t sure how to react to the message that she’d left me. Although the meaning behind her words seemed to hold a desperation and fear that I was sure she wanted me to understand, I just couldn’t seem to feel it. The only thing my mind could focus on was the fact that she’d gone off into the night to meet with an evil vampire about a cure that we weren’t yet certain existed. Even in my numbed state, I knew how bad that sounded. I had to get her back before it was too late.

  I unwrapped the towel from around my body and hurriedly dried myself properly. Half-heartedly, I sprayed on some deodorant and quickly brushed the knots from my hair. Then, with the towel securely around me once more, I stepped more confidently around the bloodied tiles and Max’s shirt, to the bathroom door, unlocked it and turned the handle. My heart was racing as I pulled the door back towards me. I was beginning to feel more and more paranoid and my imagination kept filling with violent memo
ries of sharp fangs and gleaming yellow eyes. But, I couldn’t tell who I feared to see more, another werewolf or Max. Relief swept over me as the open door revealed nothing more or less than I’d left in the hallway before. The werewolf boy’s bloodied body was still in the corner of the hall, near my bedroom door and all the bright, warm lights were on overhead.

  Although I was somewhat happy to see that the body had not got up on its own and walked away or managed to get some help, I still had no intention of getting too close to it. I stepped out into the hallway, looking left towards the top of the stairs and then, once satisfied with my safety, I tip-toed around the corpse to my room. I ignored the silk dress and its garment box on the bed completely. Instead, I crouched amongst some of my unpacked bags and boxes and rummaged around for some underwear and clothes.

  Coincidentally, the first thing I came across was my delicate gold wrist watch whose tiny face held a time that astonished me. By its thin, ticking black hands it was nearing midnight, a quarter to twelve to be precise. I sat back on my heels a little shocked that so much time had escaped me. I was sure it had been no later than six when I had made it home.

  Ignoring the time, I slipped the watch over my wrist, then zipped closed the pocket of the black bag I’d found it in, and continued on my hunt. Eventually, I found a matching set of black underwear, a pair of tight, black track pants and a slate grey, long sleeved shirt. My evil half convinced me that dark clothes were my best option when trying to sneak around a town populated by supernatural creatures. Strangely enough, they also made me feel stealthier and gave me a little more confidence in my mission. Getting my mum back from a deranged vampire wasn’t exactly something I’d counted on doing during my stay in France. But then again, I’d also never planned on meeting an angel, kissing a vampire or stabbing a werewolf. I glanced back over my shoulder at the pale, outstretched arm and the head of lifeless, auburn hair that I could see peaking around my door. I swallowed and turned my head back around, trying to ignore the sick feeling I had in my stomach.

  As I slipped the towel off and pulled on my clothes, I tried to think of what I should do about the body. I didn’t really want it in my hallway any longer, the stench of blood and death had already filled my bedroom and the hall. Yet, there seemed no easy or practical way for me to get rid of it. The guilty part of me, the part that felt the most responsible for his death, wished that there was a way I could bury him respectfully. But, the only way I was sure I could do that was if I had Sam’s help. Unfortunately, that would then involve him demanding answers about tonight and then lead to him trying to stop me from going to rescue my mum. And, I couldn’t deal with that right now.

  I slipped the grey shirt over my head and stretched it down to my hips. Then, I grabbed some flat black shoes from an open box, slipped them on my feet and walked to the bedroom doorway. As I tip-toed around the body once more and back into the bathroom, I realized that my only option for the moment was throwing a sheet or something over it and leaving it here. I just didn’t have enough time to waste trying to dispose of a body. A pang of guilt stabbed my heart. I couldn’t believe I was being so callous, but in the situation I just didn’t know what else to do. I had to believe that I would be in time to save my mum and that it wasn’t too late to get her back from Saint Jean’s patron vampire, Louis Tiennan. Living people just had to have precedence over dead ones, right? I glanced back at the unresponsive carcass in the hallway and decided that I was right and that I had no time to lose.

  After a brief check of my appearance in the bathroom mirror, I ran back into my bedroom, snatched the house key from my bed and switched off the light. I turned off every light upstairs except for the one in the hall and then dashed down the stairs and began doing the same down there. My last stop was in the kitchen and I searched quickly for any type of small weapon I could carry with me. Then I remembered Mum’s pocket knife. I switched off the light in the kitchen, then turned on the light in Mum’s studio, and there on a table by her clean brushes was a rusty, paint-covered pocket knife. I forced it closed and held it tightly in my hand with the key as I ran out of the room, flipping the light switch as I went. When I got to the front door, I took one last look into the dark silence of the house behind me and then I hurried out the door.

  Out in the cool night air, I started to realize that I could feel properly again and I was grateful for it. My heart was thumping with adrenalin from the fear that I’d be too late to save my mum and my chest was tight with the coming fury I’d feel if I was. I ran silently through the shadowy cobblestone alleyways with my house key and my mum’s old pocket knife in a death grip in my left hand, until I remembered that I’d never been shown the way to the patron’s home. I slowed to a walk and then slipped the key into a zippered pocket in my pants. I bit my lip and looked around. So, far I’d run in the direction Mum had first lead me when we were on our way to the Tiennan’s home. But I knew it was likely that I’d very soon reach a point in the path that I didn’t recognize, I just wasn’t sure how much further the Tiennan’s place would be past that.

  I hurried along the path, around a couple more winding corners and then, I was there. I had reached the last point in the path that Mum had guided me to. Past here, I had run ahead of her following the main path blindly for a while before turning off suddenly and finding myself near the old washhouse. From here, I had no idea where to go. I stopped and looked around me. Besides the main path I was on, which continued ahead of me for twenty meters or so before snaking around another corner, there was also a small, dark alleyway leading off to my right.

  I couldn’t believe that the patron’s home would only be accessible from a tiny, unimportant path. For at least three hundred years the same patron family had ruled Saint Jean and before that the town had stood alone, without a strong supernatural influence. So, that would mean that the patron’s house would have existed before Louis Tiennan and his family took over. If this were true, then if I were to keep following the main path, the larger path, I should inevitably run into the Tiennan’s home, right?

  “Right,” I whispered under my breath.

  A mental image of the castle-like mansion I’d seen from the bell tower with Sam reminded me that the patron’s house was the highest part of Saint Jean and built firmly into the mountainside. As long as I kept following the larger path and as long as that path kept leading me higher, I should come face to face with the Tiennan’s home.

  “Hopefully,” I sighed quietly. I bit my lip hard and hoped that I’d successfully deduced the correct route to the patron’s home. If I hadn’t, I knew I’d never forgive myself.

  I took one last look around me searching for another option, but found that my instincts still told me to follow the path I’d chosen. With a deep breath and a sinking feeling beginning to fill my stomach, I picked up my feet and started sprinting off up the path.

  The path twisted left then right, then left again, but ultimately kept taking me higher up the mountainside. I ran as fast as I could, ignoring the searing, hot pain in my muscles and the cold burn at the back of my throat. Every time I began to slow, I visualized my mum’s face contort with agonizing pain and I heard an imaginary scream echo from her lips. Fear gripped my heart tightly in its cold clutches, while a vicious rage, only my evil side could possess, heated my fear-strickened blood. I felt my feet move faster, as my other half used her power to quicken my pace. I flew up the last few alleyways, along the main path, my feet barely touching the ground as I ran.

  All of a sudden, a great wrought-iron gate appeared around a corner in front of me and the two shaggy werewolves pacing protectively in front of it spun to face me. Their lips pulled back in a warning snarl as their heads lowered menacingly and the dark hair on their backs rose. My sprinting slowed to a pause a few meters in front of them, but in my current state I had no intention of freezing in fear. There were more important things at stake than obedient werewolves.

  A memory flashed through my mind of the first night I had spent in
Saint Jean, but it was my darker half’s memory, not mine. She had spoken to a werewolf then and it had obeyed her. Unlike the werewolf we had faced together earlier in the night, these two and the one from her memory were most certainly owned and controlled by Louis Tiennan. Although, neither one of us could be certain we hoped that as on our first night here there was something in my evil half that they would listen to. Without much choice, I gave her permission to take over my body completely, but only for the moment, while I chose to watch and wait silently from inside our mind.

  My blood began to vibrate deep in my skin as her full self forced itself into my limbs and her power begin to radiate from our body. Suddenly, the werewolves ceased snarling and their ears pricked up. Their heads rose cautiously and they passed an uncertain look between them.

  As I watched through our eyes, I felt my evil self narrow our gaze and stare hard at the werewolves before her. “Move,” she growled, dominantly.

  The werewolves’ heads bowed low and they whimpered ashamedly but they retreated and let me through.

  “Good boys,” she said and I felt the corners of my mouth lift into a smile.

  Without hesitation, she lifted our legs and marched assertively past them. At the gate, she checked the thick, silver lock then fiddled with it, but it was no use, it wouldn’t open. She turned our head from side to side, taking in our surroundings. There was a tall, iron fence continuing around the property on either side of the gate and a row of towering green shrubs lining the inside of the fenced perimeter. Beyond the gate, directly in front of me, was a cobblestone path lined with red rose bushes and lush green lawns that led to a set of steps and then to a broad, black double door. There were lights shining out from the stained glass windows of the mansion, proving that someone was home.

  My other half made our body take a step back and then we jumped up at the gate, rattling the lock just a little as we climbed up to the top. We narrowly avoided the heaven-aimed sharp spikes and then flipped our body onto the opposite side of the gate and jumped to the ground. The werewolves watched me confusedly from their side through the bars of the gate. Our lips pulled into a grin once more and we waved them a quick goodbye before turning and creeping along the path.