by L. T. Kelly
“Oh, you poor things,” Pearl cooed, her eyes slanted as they moved between the both of them.
“See that over there?” David nodded toward something across the room. My head turned, as did Pearl’s, to see a small, portable refrigerator beside the noisy generator. No wonder poor old Doug had been rendered as deaf as a doornail. “That’s where our blood goes. When we get it, of course. We ‘ave to go easy with it, mind you. Never know where the next lot’s coming from.” David nestled back into his chair with a downtrodden expression, revealing the table beside him where two bottles sat untouched, the green liquid glowing from the light behind them.
David noticed me staring at the absinthe. “Yes, yes, yes,” he said quickly. “That’s for when it all gets too much,” he muttered grimly.
I grimaced. If I thought my shit was bad, I only had to consider for a moment the quality of life, or lack thereof, these men had.
“So, is the man who brings you the blood Bartholomew?” I asked, hoping he’d deny it. Unfortunately, he affirmed with a bob of his head.
“Has he been here recently?” Pearl asked, allowing me to process the horror of the situation.
“Yeah, a couple of weeks ago. Why?”
“I’m meant to be marrying him tomorrow, but he’s gone missing,” I explained without inflection in my voice.
“Oh,” he said, looking around the room. “Well, he told us he was off on an adventure. Something to do with a witch clan.”
He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, then turned to me, his eyes gleaming as though he just picked up on something I said. “Married?” David sat up straighter, a grin displaying his stained, brown teeth. “He’s a ruddy dark horse, ain’t he? ’Ey, Dougie boy! Do you ‘ear this? Old Barty’s getting married.”
Doug looked up grumpily. “Who?”
“Gawd, why do I bother?” David slapped his forehead, exasperated. It appeared as though David spoke to Doug merely for the sake of having someone to speak to. It seemed obvious from witnessing the brief interactions with Doug he suffered from some sort of dementia. The man needed care, proper care. Not to be shoved into a cave to quietly rot away. I huffed, my hands flying to my hips. I’d kill Bartholomew for this treacherous behaviour.
“Make that was getting married,” I stated coolly. “What did he say about this witch clan?”
“Ohh…” David looked skyward, searching back in his memory. “He said the ones from ‘round ‘ere redirected him to another clan, hoping to find out who killed the poor buggers.”
Pearl and I exchanged glances. Freya misled us entirely. Bartholomew had wrongly accused these men, and she had set him straight immediately. The issue was we didn’t have the faintest idea of where to head next.
“Oh, did they now?” I spoke in a sing-song voice, envisioning my fingers curling around the lying witch’s neck.
“Yeah. Got to say I was quite shocked when he said he’d ‘ave to head to Dublin to find ‘em. They must be right wrong ‘uns. Witches usually can’t stand the city.”
I grinned at David. “I could kiss you.” I giggled.
He dipped his head with a shy smile on his lips. “Don’t let me stop ‘ya.”
****
“I simply don’t think it’s worth it at this point. We need to get moving,” Pearl argued indignantly as we stomped along the stream away from the caves.
“So, you’re suggesting we let the little witch bitch get the better of us and lead us on a wild goose chase?” I huffed, gritting my teeth.
“We need to make arrangements to travel to Dublin. That ought to be our priority. I’m not advising we let this go permanently.”
Pearl was always led by her head, but I was led by my emotions. An apt description of my feelings would be fucking livid. I stopped dead. Pearl turned, her mouth popped open to continue her reasoning.
I flashed her a smile. “But, of course, I know something you don’t, which makes an awfully nice change.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket, marching ahead of Pearl and her flummoxed expression.
Geo’s voice sounded drenched with sleep. “Hello?”
“I need to speak to Grace. Put her on the phone.”
“For fuck’s sake, Teagan. It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s urgent,” I rushed, fearing he may hang up on me. He paused, and I thought he had ended the call before hearing him huff.
“Hang on,” he told me, grit apparent in his voice.
A minute later, Grace’s voice sounded.
“How long does it last?” I picked up my pace, not far from the camp, then forced to slow because the howling moorland wind whistled down the phone and she only picked up part of the question.
“Okay, thanks.” I ended the call before she could ask why I wanted to know.
Pearl stormed beside me. “You’re wasting time, Teagan. I thought our objective was to find Bartholomew, not go around making witch clans extinct.”
I shook my head. “This will give us more time. I promise.” I whooshed off, leaving her to catch up.
A minute later, I stood beside the desk Freya sat behind hours earlier.
“What are you playing at?” Pearl whispered gruffly.
I held a finger up to my lips indicating she should remain silent. My brows gathered in. Freya wasn’t alone. I distinctly picked out three beating hearts coming from a single bedroom. I crept up the stairs, indicating with my head for Pearl to follow.
It appeared the Ancrum Clan leaders projected image was less white than it originally appeared.
Freya’s raven hair lay ruffled on the centre pillow of an enormous hand-crafted oak bed. The furry, thick skins of animals partly covered the naked bodies of her, a young man, who could barely be twenty, and the young girl Grace had been arguing with outside earlier. I momentarily pondered if this exact situation had been the subject of their feverish disagreement that caused Grace to leave the clan.
The young man stirred, turning until he was on his back and stretching, his muscular body making it apparent why the clan leader invited him to her bed.
I leaped through the air and landed on the tops of Freya’s arms. Her eyes flew open with terror. I rested on my haunches, peering down at her. The two sleeping beauties on either side of the bed were wide awake now.
“Drain them,” I ordered Pearl, offering her a wink to show I was just kidding. I wanted to scare the shit out of the lot of them. If they considered it pertinent to fuck with me, I could shamelessly do the same to them.
“You chose this for them both,” I hissed, allowing my fangs to run out and pulling my lips back into a sneer to reveal them.
The boy and girl tried to run, but Pearl grabbed them, gently telling them not to struggle or try to fight us, or we’d drain the entire clan.
Freya frantically shook her head beneath me. “I didn’t choose to lie to you, Teagan.” Her face appeared calmer, almost serene as she spoke. “I was honouring Bartholomew’s wishes. I know him much better than I allowed you to believe. Let them leave, and we can talk about this calmly.”
Ten
We Have no Secrets
My mind warred against me, the visions of this woman with Bartholomew clawing at me. What was she trying to say? Had he been in this bed with not one, but two other women? Freya played an Oscar winning performance at purity, aside from her practically see-through garments. Pearl and I would be none the wiser to her sexual deviancy if we hadn’t slipped back to the clan camp.
“Teagan?” Pearl spoke in a questioning tone.
“Don’t let them go. How do I know this bitch isn’t lying?”
“How do you know I am?” Freya retorted. The worst thing about this predicament is she didn’t look in the least bit frightened now the initial shock wore off.
“Have you fucked him?” I screeched, lowering my head closer to hers.
She offered me a simpering smile, which caused a growl to escape my throat. I drove my teeth into her shoulder, sucking hard as her body struggled beneath me. A f
ew sips of blood made my grip on her loosen. Her magic hands flew up and sent me hurtling backward, my back slamming into the opposite wall, chipping at the old plaster.
“Calm down,” Freya warned, now sitting bolt upright on the bed, her pert breasts displayed. “You have taken my blood now. Luckily only a small amount; otherwise, the blow would have killed you.”
She inspected the wall behind me. Fragments of the plaster speckled my black shirt. The blow hurt like hell. Something I wasn’t accustomed to. I wriggled slightly and struggled back to a standing position, my slow, imprecise movements feeling alien. I hadn’t counted on her blood morphing through my system this quickly.
Flicking a glance at Pearl, I saw her lined face inspect me and her grip tighten on the two naked witches. I needed her more than ever now without my speed and preternatural senses. I wiped my mouth with my sleeve, wondering why I always had to go too far and screw up my advantage.
Pearl stared at me, as though awaiting an explanation. Neither of the terrorised witches fought to get free, both glancing wide-eyed between Freya and I, ignoring their captor.
“It’s the witch blood that makes you human,” I informed Pearl coolly. Her jaw dropped, and she stared at me strangely, only removing her gaze at the sound of Freya’s voice piercing the silent room. Clearly, there were some secrets so precious they didn’t filter down even to the vampires sitting on The Assembly.
“Let. Them. Go,” Freya demanded once more.
I looked to Pearl to see if she’d follow the witch’s order, but she loyally waited for me to confirm what I wanted her to do, although she looked seriously pissed off. Something I was wholly unused to seeing on her face. I was paralysed by indecision. Unmoving, unthinking, the only thing flashing through my mind were the images of Bartholomew in bed with The Ancrum Clan witches, threatening to make me too insane to continue.
“I can explain,” Freya’s voice lilted as she moved gracefully to the edge of the bed, reaching for a gown from the chair. “But not with them here. There are too many secrets I vowed to keep.”
I studied Freya’s expression for a hint of mistruth. The problem being, I did that on previous occasions and found nothing wrong with her accounts. No matter which way I looked at the situation, it became lose-lose. I had nothing without my speed and strength. I’d known what would happen when I made the stupid decision to bite her.
“Let them go,” I huffed.
“Good.” Freya nodded, shooting the pair with an urging glance. They both scrambled out of the door once Pearl relinquished her grip on them. They didn’t even bother to collect their clothes. At least watching them scurry away naked provided mild amusement for me.
“I take it you’ve seen the Malapropos?” Freya asked.
“You mean Dave and Doug?” I asked pointedly, irritated by Freya’s lack of respect for the men. Those poor men hadn’t done anything to anyone. They’d been sent to those caves for no other reason than because they aged. Imagine if the humans treated their elderly so badly.
She shrugged nonchalantly, tightening the belt of her gown. “Whatever. They were placed there for me to watch over and due to the frequency of Bartholomew’s visits.”
“Comes here often then, does he?” I made a futile attempt to maintain a blank expression. “So you are fucking him?” I hissed, rage bubbling inside my stomach. The ingested witch’s blood threatened to expel on the polished oak floor in the bedroom. I gave up trying to fake nonchalance almost immediately.
It would be fair to say my expectations of my future husband were high. Now they plummeted to below ground level. His decision to not be forthcoming made me look weak and stupid and that was exactly how I felt.
I took a side glance at Pearl, who gave away nothing of her thoughts and feelings. Her stare fixed to Freya, either born of awe or self-preservation…maybe both.
Freya’s tut echoed around the room. “Who’s being disrespectful now? Bartholomew is my ancestor, not my lover.”
Pearl’s gasp matched my own. Ancestor? Bartholomew hadn’t discussed his distant past with me in any great detail, but to completely leave out him fathering children when he’d been painfully aware of my own tumultuous emotions when I pondered my children growing up without a mother and how much I had worried about them over the years.
“He washed up on the shore, almost dead, when my ancestral mother dragged him on the back of her cart and brought him here to this very camp. His maker, Charmion, had been a guest here. She turned him before he died.”
“So how the fuck did he have kids then?”
It dawned on me in an instant. One of those moments that made you want to slap yourself around the head.
“The amulet,” I breathed. This fucking amulet continually gave me a headache. I swore to myself if I ever found the godforsaken thing, I’d toss it into the ocean and allow the waves to drag it down, sinking to the bottom, hopefully never to be seen again.
“Is that it?” I pointed at the silver necklace lying proudly upon her chest. The polished metal gleamed in the room, lit by only the fire crackling behind me. The blue stone glowed eerily. The contents seemed to swirl around under my scrutiny.
She smirked, inciting a further roll of rage to quake through me like a bolt of lightning. I took a step toward her, and she held up her palm as a warning.
“Don’t, Teagan.” She purposefully fired her palm past me. An electric blue light scintillated from it, exploding a large, decorative lantern that had been nestled beside the open fireplace. Its previously pretty coloured glass spat over the polished oak floorboards. Unmoving, I glanced from her placid expression to her not so placid hand.
“Besides, this isn’t that amulet,” she told me smoothly, as though she hadn’t just obliterated an inoffensive lantern. “This one protects me and my clan brothers and sisters. This isn’t the amulet you speak of. It would have been too dangerous for us to keep that here.” She tipped her head to one side and stared into the fire. “Legend already places our clan in grave danger from werewolves and vampires seeking to be humans once more. Our clan is famous for its existence and creation.”
“What legend?”
Freya tittered. “Honestly, Teagan. Can’t you read?” She shook her head and flapped a hand at me, as though we were girlfriends in a bar and I had said something hilarious. My lips clamped tightly shut to prevent utterance of the malevolent words lingering in the back of my throat.
“Look, lady…” I slammed my hands on my hips. “I read about shit I want to read about or for entertainment. Why the hell would I want to be human again? My life as a human was atrocious.”
I needed her to know I didn’t care about the amulet. My only aim, the only reason I stood before her, had been to get Bartholomew back, no matter the status of our relationship. I loved him wholeheartedly, despite everything I’d discovered that evening.
“Not all of your kind feel that way. It became clear the amulet was compromised when those boys were found slaughtered in the woods. She came for it as many have before her, though not for several hundred years. It appears she didn’t get the memo it had been hidden elsewhere.” She held my gaze, her dark eyes twinkling with glee. “The amulet was made for Bartholomew to continue here with his wife, but when—”
“His what?” I roared. How in the holy fuck did he think it had been okay to leave all this shit out? My body twitched with the build-up of adrenaline, no outlet for it, unless I wanted to put both my and Pearl’s life in danger.
The amulet she wore must provide the power coming from her hands. I asked Pearl, the previous night, why she battled me to the ground, if one shot from Freya’s palms could harm me? Pearl admitted she didn’t have a clue, but it wasn’t worth taking the risk. With my body in at least a semi-human state at the moment, I didn’t stand a chance. The Ancrum Clan was apparently renowned for having been around for over a thousand years. Imagine how much knowledge and power could be attained over such a vast amount of time.
Of course, I never outright quest
ioned whether Bartholomew fathered children or got married before, but this was ridiculous. I thought about the opportunities he’d been offered over the years to divulge this information. Nothing. Not a single fucking word left his full lips. I confided my entire being in him and failed to notice that, in reality, he told me nothing of his own history. He told me he was a Viking as a human, his ship sinking on the coast of Scotland in the ninth century. His maker, a handmaiden to Cleopatra, found him and turned him. Well, that had been his brief explanation of how he came to be. Not an utterance about a wife.
Freya’s eyes danced with mirth. My body held so tensely I became convinced my own muscles would break the bones they served to protect.
“His wife,” she repeated slowly, as though I were a moron, before issuing me a grin, enjoying the pain she must have seen line my face.
I felt certain of her abundant awareness of my lack of knowledge surrounding what she told me. I prayed Bartholomew would suffer a fit of rage at Freya’s epic indulgence of her revealing his secrets, resulting in him breaking the insolent wench’s skinny fucking neck.
“Anyway, as I was telling you before you rudely interrupted me…” She crossed her arms over her chest.
I considered it as a momentary opportunity to break her neck myself, but she moved and perched on the edge of the bed before I got the chance.
“When his wife died of pneumonia, he removed the necklace, taking it to another land for safekeeping, but he always came back. This became a home he couldn’t keep away from. I’ve known Bartholomew since I was a baby.” She held her shoulders into a prolonged shrug, a triumphant smile planted firmly over her dark pink lips.
“Where is he?” I grit through clenched teeth. At that moment, I couldn’t establish who ranked first in my list of people I wanted to kill – Bartholomew or Freya.
