by Willow Cross
The old witch laughed. “Now that’s more like it. Everyone sit.”
Liz’s mouth gaped open, surprised and utterly speechless.
Three of the witches cried out and ran towards her. For a moment, Michael didn’t know whether to intervene or stay put. Jon and Micah were up and at Michael’s side in an instant. Reading Liz, Michael felt a great joy burst within her, but her mind was so chaotic he couldn’t discern who they were or how she knew them. The three women cried and hugged Liz. Although she seemed astounded, Liz returned their embraces. The old woman hushed the group and told them to pull themselves together.
“There will be time for that when our meeting is done. Liz, sit,” she barked.
“Yes, Grandmother,” Liz obediently replied.
Now it was Michael’s turn to be completely shocked. He looked at Liz and mouthed, “Grandmother?”
The old woman sighed and repeated that there would be time for all of that later. Daylight was coming quickly and there were many things to discuss. Liz sat down, and the three women joined her. Holding hands with arms wrapped lovingly around her, they all waited patiently for the old woman. The three men sat as well. The scraggly old woman cleared her throat and began to speak.
“As you can see, we have a vested interest in Liz. I am her great-grandmother Minerva. Those women with her are her mother, aunt, and the only of her sisters to receive the gift. Until this evening, she was not even aware she had witches in her family,” the old woman cackled. “We have known that this time was coming for a very long time. We have done everything within our power to see to it that it didn’t come to pass. My daughter, Liz’s grandmother, lost her life attempting to make sure her turning wouldn’t happen.”
Liz looked questioningly at her mother, and the woman smiled sadly and nodded. The euphoria of seeing her family again dulled knowing that her grandmother died because of her. She had been told her grandmother died from a heart attack. Liz’s aunt gave her a quick squeeze with the arm she had wrapped around her shoulders.
“We have watched your kind for thousands of years, each generation passing on information to the next. When your Council came into being, we ended our vendetta with vampires. With you being the hand of the Council, Michael, we were able to put that to rest. Since that time, we have only killed those that are known rogues. Those that will not follow your laws are open territory for all white witches everywhere. A particularly brutal rogue caused my daughter to be killed, and put Liz in danger.”
Wide-eyed, Michael turned toward Jon, whose look mirrored his own. Children were off limits. Even before the Council came into being, most strictly followed that rule. They could be food, but to turn a child before the age of sixteen was tantamount to destruction. In the past, if a child-turned was discovered, the clan that allowed the transformation was put to death.
“Liz had not yet received the gift of magic, making her a perfect tool for the vampire to use against us. We believe his original intention was to start a war with us and to use the conflict to gain control of the vampire nation.” Her eyes narrowed, and the wrinkles in her face deepened as she lowered her gaze to stare directly into Michaels eyes. “He did not accomplish this as he’d hoped, thanks in part to you.”
Liz’s thoughts muddled as her mind grew numb. Michael felt shock and uncertainty emanating from her. Her human self would have been hysterical, but as she was no longer human, her mind began to shut down. Michael stood and slowly approached her.
“You need to let me have her,” he said as he cautiously squatted down beside them. “I’m sorry, but she could be a danger to you in this state.”
After seeing her vacant eyes and emotionless face, the women moved away. Michael scooped her up with ease and carried her to where the others sat. He tenderly nestled her in his arms as she sighed and curled into him. Her mind could not take any more. “Sleep, darling. You will be fine,” he said as her eyes closed. Michael felt her presence leave; her mind lost in the darkness of oblivion that can only be reached when one shuts down completely.
It was just before dawn when the meeting with the witches ended. The vampires learned many things they did not know before, including the person responsible for Liz's turning and why.
Back at the house, Michael paced back and forth. He stopped and pounded his fist against the table. “Damn Monroe,” he spat. His teeth clenched tight, he couldn’t believe the depths of Monroe’s depravity. He had visited Liz when she was a child, knowing well that the scent would fade completely. But what really angered him was how he’d set Michael up to be the one to change her. Leaving the cause of the vampire nation’s fall to rest solely on his shoulders. Years of peaceful living…gone. And for what purpose? So a maniac with little respect for anything could usurp power he wasn’t strong enough to wield?
In the realm of magic wielders, both white and dark witches dwelled. As with everything, there is always good and evil. Monroe had paired with a dark witch, an enemy to this particular coven. A spell was cast, and with the use of a lock of Michael’s hair, an enchantment was placed on Liz and Michael. There was no way that they could be in the near vicinity of each other and not feel it. Knowing Michael’s habits and hunting grounds, it was only a matter of time before they ran into each other.
Monroe took her the first time, in her own back yard. After the attack, the family placed many protective spells around the child’s home in an effort to keep her safe. The second time he took her blood, she was four. That time, he did more than take. He also gave.
Liz’s great-grandmother had figured out what was going on. She sensed the change in Liz and after delving into the matter, knew she’d ingested vampire blood. She knew that one more bite from a vampire would turn her and it wasn’t hard to figure the rest out from there. Without Minerva's permission, Liz's grandmother had immediately set out to find him and take his life. When they found her charred body, it was obvious a powerful dark magic had been used against her. The entire coven kept a close eye on the girl after that. Liz never knew she was rarely far from at least one of the coven.
After many years had passed, they became lax in watching her. Everyone assumed that Monroe had given up his effort to claim her. With all the protection spells, if Monroe had come anywhere near them, they would have known immediately. But Monroe had no intention of coming near the girl again. His plan was always about bringing down Michael by using his perceived crime to gain control of the Council.
Fifteen witch covens stood ready to come to the aid of Michael and his followers. Like it or not, Michael was now the leader of the vampire nation. The witches would only acknowledge him. Even though he felt that Big Jon would be the better leader, he had no choice. The witches would answer to no other.
The circumstances of the vampires had changed drastically; they had extremely powerful allies now. The witches knew of nine vampire clans who also shared in their desire to reinstate the Council and the vampire law. Each enclave already had a coven of witches placed near them ready to act.
Now it was time to bring the leaders of each nest together and strategize. Michael had his army, and they were a deadly force to be reckoned with.
Chapter Nine
The Light in the Darkness
It was almost a blessing to discover the nightmares haunting her youth were real memories. Now Liz understood why Monroe seemed familiar.
As a child, she had started wondering if she was crazy. Even then, no one had told her the truth. Several nights a week, she would wake covered in sweat and terrified. The dreams were always vivid, and unlike most people, she had no trouble remembering every detail. When she was very young, she would relay the dreams to her mother.
“Mom, I had that dream again.”
A quick look of fear would pass over her mother's face before being replaced with a smile. “Oh, really? Well tell me about it, was anything different this time?”
“No, not really. Just the scary man biting me, but it was so real.”
&nb
sp; Her mother would hug her and pat her head saying, “It's just a dream, sweetie, there's no such thing as monsters.”
But there were monsters, many of them. And now Liz had become one.
Needing answers, she began spending time at the witch's camp. Sitting around the campfire with her family almost made her feel normal again. “You seem out of sorts this evening. Everything all right?” Liz's mother asked.
“Now don't trouble the girl, Marie, she's just thinking. It's good for her to have time to think.” Minerva said.
“She is still my daughter and I still have the right to ask what is troubling her.” Marie answered.
Liz peered into the face that would have been hers one day, had she been mortal and aged. Except for the scarcely obvious age difference, and Marie’s shoulder length hair, they could have been twins. Giving her mother a half smile, she winked and answered, “I'm fine. I'm just having a nice big pity party for myself.”
Minerva moved to sit beside her and patted her leg. “Spill it.”
“Now who's bothering her?” Marie laughed and joined them.
“Nothing to spill, Gran. Really, I'm just lonely and missing Michael.”
The old woman slid her arm around Liz's shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “You feel so hard now. Funny that. I suppose I should be used to the changes by now.”
Relaxing against Minerva's body, Liz laid her head on Gran's shoulder and sighed. “I don't know how you could. I can't get used to it, and it's me.”
“I know, honey. I'm sorry you have to go through this. We did the very best we could to keep you from it.” She looked down at this grown woman in her arms, remembering the days when she fit there easily, and sighed.
“Gran? Why didn't you train me to be a witch?”
“Well you never had the dreams.”
“What dreams?”
“Prophetic dreams, dear. We know when the gift is passed on because at thirteen a young witch begins having dreams.”
“I had nightmares, not dreams.”
“I know dear.” She said as she stroked her hair. “I always feared it would come to this.”
“So did I,” her mother quietly agreed.
Liz sat up searching their faces. “Who else has it?”
Minerva stiffened but held her gaze. “That is no one's business. Not yours and not the rest of the worlds.” The harsh tone of her voice softened as she went on, “We keep that private, dear. Like the vampires, we guard our secrets closely.”
“But why?”
Marie reached out hesitantly, taking Liz's cold hand in hers. Touching her undead daughter was still an issue she struggled with. “Do you remember, back in fourth grade, when Tommy Owens made fun of you for wearing that short skirt?”
“Yes, but I--”
“And how his mother jumped on the principle for not having a formal dress code at the school?”
“Yes.”
“Darling, if people got that upset about a short skirt, how would they react to a coven of witches living in town. Especially when most of our family was part of it?”
Straightening her long skirt over crossed legs, Minerva said, “All you really need to know is that you come from a long line of white-witch warriors. Throughout time, your ancestors have fought on the side of good.”
Liz looked at her feet before answering. “Yes, and their worst enemies were what I am now.”
Minerva placed her hand under Liz's chin lifting it. “No dear. You are nothing like those that were hunted. And you will never be.”
“That's right. Now why don't you go find your sister and see if she needs help?” Marie said.
“Yeah, because Abbie so loves it when I'm hanging around.” Liz laughed.
“Now, Liz--”
“It's okay. I really can't. I need to get back and help with the training. Twenty-five new recruits have shown up in the last two days and Michael’s hands are already full. Give Abbie a hug for me,” she whispered as she placed a light kiss on Minerva's cheek.
“Don't worry dear, she'll get used to it. They both will.” She whispered back.
***
Michael and Big Jon met with various leaders from nine vampire covens. Tiberius, Rene, and Gabrielle were solid leaders, each having good reason to back Michael and stand against Monroe. Their camps had the same story: death, destruction and total annihilation of any that did not defer to the new Council rule. All were in hiding and preparing for war. Many nights passed before they had a workable battle plan.
Moving methodically, Angie filled Michael's now empty glass, and with no expression whatsoever, raised the pitcher in offering to the others. Although warm, the dark fluid appeared thick and unappetizing. “Thank you, but I'll pass,” Rene answered politely.
Big Jon and Tiberius nodded and she moved to refill the blood stained glasses. After taking a long drink, Tiberius wrinkled his nose. “Disgusting. I've never been partial to animal blood.”
“I don't know that many of us prefer it, but we must make do with what we have,” Big Jon answered.
Irritated, Michael finished his and said, “If we are done commiserating, I'd like to get back to the plan.”
Rene's jaw muscles pulled tight. “As you wish.” His thin body, coupled with lanky arms and legs, belied the warrior inside. Apparent youth and soft features played into the illusion that the man was no threat. However, those that had sparred with him knew different. Rene’s mind and skill in battle strategy weren’t the only things that made him dangerous.
Once again, tension filled the room. Big Jon cleared his throat. “We need to establish where the rogues are hiding and who controls them. We are assuming that Monroe is the culprit, but he could be working with any number of elder vampires.”
Michael rose and placed his glass in the sink. Dismissing the barely responsive Angie with a nod, he answered, “Agreed. He is not an ancient; his powers are strong but limited.”
Draining his glass, Tiberius leaned back in his chair. “Monroe doesn't have enough intelligence to run something of this magnitude alone. There must be a driving force behind him.”
The men nodded in agreement.
“William?” Michael called out.
Within seconds, William materialized in front of him. “Yes?”
“Nothing new from those inside?”
“Only what we've already been told. He holds command at the fortress with four generals at his disposal. His army consists of at least sixty Unnamed, one-hundred old ones, and four hundred fifty newly-made.”
Silent until now, Gabrielle rubbed his face. “There's no point in any of this. We cannot possibly take on that many. It is ridiculous to even consider. Unless we are going to start turning humans left and right, we will never win this battle.”
Leaning against the counter, Michael crossed his arms. “We have one hundred fifty-seven vampires, and one hundred ninety-five witches at our disposal. More are arriving every day. We are training, they are learning. This is not the time to doubt our cause.”
“Do you think they are not training? Monroe is a coward, not an idiot. He would not have started this if he didn't believe he could win.” Tiberius said.
“Exactly.” Gabrielle chimed in.
Big Jon's mouth slid into a toothy grin. “That is correct. But we have something they don't.”
Rene gave a derisive snort. “What is that?”
Leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, Big Jon cocked his head to the side. “They don't have a thoroughly trained assassin--that could best any one of them--training their forces. I've worked with him myself, and you won't catch me picking a fight with him.”
Michael smiled giving him a slight nod. “I don't know that I'd want to battle with you either.” He paused to look at their faces before continuing. “We may not have the numbers to win, but we have the will. And we have the witches. This is not an impossible undertaking. If it is well-planned and precisely executed, we can do this.”
The lead
ers muttered their agreements and talk returned to strategy.
Once the war effort was in full swing, Michael and Liz were only able to communicate with telepathy. He worked on battle plans and strategies and she trained the newest members. The incoming joined with the ready, each working diligently to prepare for war. There was no confusion as to what would happen to the losers of this battle, it was win or die.
Then a great silence came. Like the quiet pause before a storm. No new information came in. They were wound tight and ready to pounce. All they needed was a trigger to set things in motion. Vampires, ghosts, and witches alike, waited rather impatiently for it. The witches read stars, tea leaves, and old bones in an attempt to foretell the future, but they could not see what would come. That trigger came in the most unusual of ways.
Her name was Jenna. Small for her age, she was precious and fragile, having a beautiful sweet innocence only found in human children. Chocolate colored hair hung to her waist, framing soft brown eyes. The cute little dimples in her cheeks showed even when she wasn’t smiling, and her chubby little cherub face lit up like a star in the early evening when she did. It was just before sunrise when they heard her crying. Her wailing sobs could be heard from even the basement of the old house. On lookout for anything unusual, sentries were dispatched to inform Michael. They didn’t want to be caught in an ambush trying to rescue a crying child. He entered her thoughts.
Jenna sat in the backseat of a car listening to her parents talk, and staring at the stars through the window. The quiet hum from the engine made her sleepy. Wind blew through a small opening in the front passenger window, caught a strand of her mother’s long dark hair, and sent it trailing into the backseat. The girl leaned forward and giggled as it tickled her face.
Her father looked into the rear view mirror. “What's going on back there?” Noticing what Jenna was doing, he laughed. “Mommy, you are officially on tickle duty.”
“Yes, Mommy. Come sit back here with me.”
Her mother's head turned slightly. Gusty wind caught more of her hair and showered Jenna's face. “Darling, do you have--”
Screeching tires and a feeling of weightlessness. Pain, darkness, more pain, her mother's scream. Then everything went black. Michael could not access anything further in her mind.
