by L. T. Kelly
“Oh, my goodness.” Charmion stepped back, a hand over her mouth.
Freya fidgeted, then shrugged. “Bartholomew and Bruno are the only vampire’s who have frequented the camp since I can remember, and they’ve never once requested to stay.”
Charmion gave her host, a host she was so pleased to see earlier, a look of disdain before stepping gingerly down the rickety, wooden stairs.
The space beneath was filled with junk – surplus furniture, old blankets, clothes and other crap you’d find in a garage. Charmion appeared extremely put out as she cleared some litter from the large, wooden bed against the far wall, tutting as she swiped at it. Her mood was such that the rest of us shuffled around, finding a space on the floor to sleep. I smiled fondly, watching David gather together a makeshift bed for Doug before even considering his own needs.
“Hey, Charmion, are you really going to let these guys sleep on a hard, damp floor whilst you take the bed?” Alex’s lips curled into a snarl. This reminded me why we were friends, always looking out for the underdog. She huffed, ignoring him.
“I wouldn’t ruddy well allow a lady to sleep on the floor.” David glared at Alex. Though I have to say, Doug eyed the bed with envy as he struggled down to the ground, unsuccessfully. David turned to help the man, once he’d finished tutting at Alex.
The day passed without comfort. Less to do with the sleeping conditions and a whole heap to do with what was to come. What if Freya and Charmion were wrong about Bartholomew? What if we arrived to rescue him and he laughed at us, his intention to stay with Catherine and her cronies? My gut swirled and lurched as I thought about how stupid I would feel all over again for having a leap of faith. Even if Bartholomew were being controlled by the witches, having endured many hours of analysis, sober and otherwise, our relationship was not right by any stretch of the imagination. I doubted him long before all this shit happened. How could I marry him and pretend everything would be okay? It was not okay. My eyes fluttered open during the day more than they ought to.
We rose as the sun set and headed up the dusty staircase. Freya leaned against her desk as we entered the room. She wore another see-through, finely knitted ensemble.
“Hey, Freya. We’re headed to a city. You may want to give wearing some clothes a go.” I was being serious, but I caught a snicker from Ryan.
Freya had clearly been forgiven for her transgressions by Charmion, who rushed forward and told her she had some clothes on the airplane she could wear.
Nobody spoke in the vehicle on the way to the jet. My mind repeated the thoughts that confused me as I slept through the day. Freya headed up the airplane steps in front of me when we got to the plane. I managed to grab her arm before she selected the seat next to Charmion.
“Hey, will you sit beside me?” I asked her. The expression on her face the previous night born of Rose’s comment about vengeance bothered me. I had to be sure she was on our side. She dipped her head with pursed lips and searched my face for the reason for my request. I turned and took a seat.
The plane rattled over the bumpy tarmac. Freya’s breath hitched in her throat, her body shaking as I noted her death grip on the armrests.
“You haven’t flown before, have you?” I placed my palm over her hand. Her lips pressed tightly together as she shook her head. “Talk to me then,” I said gently, trying to help take her mind off things and get answers in one fell swoop. “What knowledge do you have of Catherine and her clan?”
“They are strange.”
I sighed. No shit, Sherlock. “How so?”
“The clan was torn apart after your mother’s death. Catherine’s ancestral mother was destined to return to her clan. But she refused and recruited from them instead, bringing them to Dublin. All except your mother’s two other sisters, who’d been outcast within the group.”
I wished my mother found it in herself to tell me about her family whilst she was still alive.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Freya told me matter-of-factly, seeming much calmer now the rush of engine noise passed and we were firmly airborne.
“Do you?”
Freya bumped her lips together and nodded. “Your mother left the clan not just to marry your father.”
My body tensed, whatever Freya was about to tell me was not going to be pleasant, judging by the look on her face.
Twenty
When the Ship goes Down
“Look,” Freya said, her fingers pressing to my temple before I was able to stop her.
I’d been flung back to the courtyard at the Ancrum camp. The fire burned brightly between me and two young women opposite.
“Please, Raven.” The girl opposite spoke in a Dublin accent. She shared my ginger hair, blue eyes and pale complexion. I stood beside a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Freya. “We have nowhere else to go.”
“What happened to your clan, Eliza?” Raven tipped her head.
The brunette standing beside Eliza kept her head down and began to shift her weight on the cobbled stone. Eliza grabbed her hand, tears welling in the girl’s eyes. “They didn’t believe me.” Eliza’s voice cracked, her face crumpled as though she were in excruciating pain. “I tried so hard to make them believe. I was eleven years old. I couldn’t stop his wickedness.”
“Whose wickedness?” Raven challenged.
“My aunt’s husband.” Now Eliza looked to the ground. “When my sister told the same story of what happened to her many years after my own demise, they put her down as a copycat, but I knew she had not lied about a thing.”
A sob heaved from Eliza’s sister’s chest, echoing painfully through the courtyard. My heart slammed against my ribcage. It was obvious just by watching the two young women they were telling the truth. Call it instinct.
“Our clan has changed since our elder sister died and our youngest was sent to Dublin to care for her. She possesses both power and money. The others flocked to join her, but Alice and I were prevented from joining them.”
In all fairness to Raven, her face displayed an appropriate level of disgust by what the women had told her so far. “And your mother?”
The two girls’ expressions turned more solemn. “She refused to accept the clan’s treatment of us,” Alice finally managed. She clutched her sister’s hand and squeezed.
“And?” Raven urged. “I know your mother well. Tell me she’s in good health.” Raven’s voice was strangled. She asked a question she already knew the answer to, unless she was blind to facial expressions and deaf to Eliza’s heavy breaths.
Tears dribbled down both sisters’ faces, staining their reddened cheeks. I held my breath, awaiting their answer.
“Come on, Raven. For fuck’s sake, are you going to turn them away? Can’t you see what they’ve been through?” I screamed at Raven, my shoulders pressed back and my face close to hers. Of course, it was futile. She could neither see nor hear me.
The moans of sadness dissipated enough for Eliza to manage speech. “They murdered her, sentenced her to death because she wouldn’t give in to their ramblings.” She pressed a palm against her chest. “There was no witness for me. But my aunt saw her husband touching my sister. She blamed Alice and accused her of trying to take him away from her.”
“My god.” Raven’s chest heaved and her previous strong stance faltered as her eyes flew wide.
“I was fifteen,” Alice explained, her eyes roaming the cobblestones. “He was thirty years my senior. I tried to escape him, I swear!” Her voice broke into another wail, and Raven rushed around the fire to comfort both women.
I blinked when my vision went blank and Charmion hovered above us. “You’ll weaken her too much,” she hissed, as though I were the one to initiate Freya’s trip down memory lane.
“I hadn’t finished,” Freya said breathlessly, not looking at Charmion. Freya’s face marred with the same pain as her ancestor’s. The unravelled scene truly despicable to the both of us. Those poor girls… The betrayal of their own kin must be worse than th
e man placing his hands on them. As though each one of them had themselves laid sick hands on their young bodies.
I stared at her. “My family did that to those girls?”
Freya nodded.
Shame washed over me.
Charmion reached down and grabbed Freya’s hand. “Come, my darling. You must change.” Freya rose, with Charmion’s aid, and filed along the aisle to a curtained area at the rear.
Pearl walked over and took a seat beside me. “What on earth did she show you?”
“You see a horror movie lately?”
Pearl shook her head, her bottom lip protruded. “No. My imagination is too vivid. My head would have me reliving the horrible images long after the film finished.”
I released a bark of laughter. I felt exactly the same about gruesome movies. Even a cat carrying a mouse or rat along the street was enough to make my stomach heave. Despite our method of survival, looking at it still seemed wrong. “It was like a horror movie. It will be difficult to forget.” I shook my head. “I didn’t meet my family growing up. My mother never spoke about them, and I now know why.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think what happened transpired until after her death, but I have a sense about people. I can’t always put my finger on it. I sort of know when there’s something not right. Bartholomew often chastises me for saying I don’t like someone a few minutes after meeting them.” I shook my head.
“Do you ever change your mind?” she asked softly, as though she’d been one of those people. She hadn’t.
“I won’t say never, but very rarely.” I laughed. “I couldn’t abide Bartholomew. Now I love him more than I’d possibly imagine ever loving anyone.”
My body tensed as I considered never sensing his soft skin against mine again. Never waking up to his smattering of kisses at my back, his hair tickling my skin. I was given enough reassurance and some proof to force me onto this plane on a rescue mission. But until I saw it for myself, until he told me what happened, I couldn’t fully release my anguish. Even then, our relationship was in a much worse state than I previously considered. This hellish situation forced me into the knowledge that marrying Bartholomew wouldn’t resolve the issues whirring inside my brain.
“Are you going to be okay?” Pearl whispered, ever the empath.
I reached out and squeezed her hand. “I hope so.”
We both looked up as Freya walked back down the aisle of the airplane, tugging awkwardly at the skinny jeans she wore, coupled with a snowy white chenille jumper, and pulling a disgusted face. My heart went out to her. Ever since we left camp, she looked at everyone differently, a glint of mistrust in her eye. Freya stopped next to us, and Pearl returned to her own seat to allow Freya to sit beside me again.
“I need to tell you another thing before we get there.” I dipped my head, urging her to continue. “Alice and Eliza weren’t the only members of your family to come to our camp.”
“Oh?” My brows drew together.
Freya shook her head frantically. “About every thirty or so years we receive them.”
I held my palm up, my eyes widening. “Whoa! What the fuck do you mean?”
Freya took her lip between her teeth, looking elsewhere, as though carefully choosing what to divulge. “We’re all stuck on a repeat cycle. Not just your family, but every witch clan.”
I shook my head and waved my hands around. “I’m really not getting you.”
Freya tutted and rolled her eyes. “There are certain histories that repeat themselves. I tried to defy my own destiny, but it hasn’t worked, I’m afraid. We all tried it. None of us possessed mothering instincts, yet we’re all destined to continue the clan.” Her palms moved slowly to her stomach, which she patted.
“Oh.” Freya had obviously been trying not to get pregnant, but fell foul of her goal.
“Is it only one thing that repeats?” I asked for lack of anything else to say in response to her unwanted, yet fated condition.
“Hmm… With the Ancrum Clan it appears to be a number of things. A pregnancy in the early thirties for the clan leader, the untimely death of the father and two girls from the Irish Clan seeking asylum having suffered traumatic events at the hands of their aunt’s lover.”
“Sounds complicated,” I murmured. Shame for my family’s actions assaulted me. “I wonder how many girls before Eliza and Alice were sexually assaulted, and if they made it out.”
“I considered the same myself. Our personal cycle at Ancrum spans right back to Bartholomew’s daughter. Funny. After he met your mother, the girls began to arrive.”
“Seems he’s the bad luck charm, huh?”
“Certainly looks that way.”
“Hey, don’t you think you ought to sit this out? You know, with…” I paused and gestured toward her flat stomach.
“No. I haven’t come all this way for no reason. Nothing will happen to her. Of that much I’m certain. I always had a morbid curiosity about Catherine. It would be nice to put a face to the name. So many nomads flock to me after experiencing her…” Freya cleared her throat, “hospitality.” She smiled sardonically. “We’d better prepare ourselves. She won’t go down without a fight.”
“Why are we putting her down? I thought the plan was to get Bartholomew and leave.”
“She ran her clan too hard. Possessing the amulet gave her too much power over others, not to mention wealth. Charmion and I discussed this at length. We cannot allow this way of life to continue.”
“Back up,” I snapped. “Money?”
“You think your mother put herself in danger to hold the amulet for nothing?”
I thought back to the letters Bartholomew had given me, which belonged to my mother. My stomach flipped as I realised her wealth must have increased. When my father took ill and could no longer work, there were no dramatics. I should have paid more attention to what hadn’t been said. My father passed away by the time she herself became too weak to continue her work. She mentioned in a letter to her friend in Wexford County that someone came to take care of her. It dawned on me now she talked of her younger sister.
If my mother had the ability to see into the future, if she for a moment thought they’d utilise the amulet for greed and power, would she have handed the fucking thing over to her sister? Or would she have done with it what was intended and allow it to be part of a house clearance or something? I imagined the amulet resting in a pawn shop window before being transferred to a jewellery box belonging to a human, never to be bestowed into the wrong hands again.
“So, to get this straight. Bartholomew paid my mother to keep it safe for him, then continued to line the pockets of my extended family for all this time?”
Freya beamed proudly, nodding. “All to keep my clan safe.”
Christ, this woman oozed with love and respect for Bartholomew. Having fallen victim to his charms myself, I couldn’t blame her. Platonic relationship or otherwise, in simple terms, Bartholomew could aptly be described as charismatic.
“Okay, so what I’m failing to understand is why the fuck he didn’t destroy the damn thing.”
Her lips flattened, her gaze bouncing around. “I guess you never know when something like that may come in useful.” She shrugged, as though she conversed about a dress she hoarded in her wardrobe for years but never wore.
“Mmm, okay.”
It crossed my mind perhaps Bartholomew kept it for the opportunity to control something beyond his power. Or maybe he didn’t want to discard it because his wife created it for him.
I cringed at the thought of Bartholomew being married to another woman, even if it was centuries ago.
The fasten seatbelt sign illuminated and we complied, despite the whole undead thing. The air pressure shifted, and Freya closed her eyes and shoved her fingers into her ears as the plane lowered, eventually skimming smoothly on the runway.
We stepped from the plane into a waiting stretch limo. My heart felt as though it may explode through my chest. The last time I
rode to a battle in a limo, Marc died. I studied the faces of each person and silently prayed for them, despite my lack of religious belief. I needed something.
Once again, people were risking things for me, for what I wanted. The worst thing about this particular battle was I waged war against my own flesh and blood. It wasn’t that I changed my tune since Catherine and I first met. I didn’t think I would have ever accepted them as my family. In fact, from the moment I stepped inside the apartment at the top of the club, my intuition screamed at me something was very wrong in that place. All I learned about the clan since only proved to validate my theory.
The tension aching in my shoulders appeared to be infectious, judging by the serious, thoughtful expressions scattered around the back of the vehicle. Alex smirked at me when he caught me staring at him.
“Play ‘When the Ship Goes Down’ by Cypress Hill,” he stated into thin air. Music piped through into the car. He nodded his head along with the track, and I joined him, smiling at the lyric and his intended sentiment. Rose met my eye and laughed, her head nodding in unison with ours. Even Charmion and Freya got into the sprit as we pulled up outside of the club.
Twenty One
Wide Awake
“Let me go first,” I told them all, scrambling to exit the vehicle.
Something felt off. Music pumping from the building and the flashing lights were oddly absent, along with the bouncers who guarded the doors when we previously visited.
I stepped cautiously toward the large, black doors, jumping out of my skin from the rush of air at my back. Alex.
“I couldn’t leave you to approach this place alone. It gives me the creeps.”
A puff of laughter escaped my lips. “I’m glad someone else senses it, too.”
We reached the dimly lit door brandishing a poster. CLOSED FOR PRIVATE EVENT. Alex and I exchanged glances.
“Like hell it is,” I said with a smirk.
