Haunting Echoes

by Caethes Faron

  She had done it. She had stayed away, killing to distract herself from Michael’s energy. The three bodies sprawled in front of her were a group of friends, young men daring each other to stay in the haunted wood as long as possible. They should have listened to the townsfolk’s stories. Normally it didn’t take so many, especially so close together, but today was different. Her heart still felt the pull, but she couldn't think about Michael, tending his goats, searching the horizon for her form. Those thoughts would move her feet south. She needed blood, the thrill of the kill to drown out anything else.

  Michael’s eyes appeared, their gray depths full of sorrow, calling her to come to him, to fulfill her promise. Ever since he had recognized her, she saw herself reflected back in his eyes. She shook her head. It still wasn’t enough. Her ears focused on the sound of another human in the forest.

  The crunch of snow was indicative of only one man this time. Perhaps a hunter. It only took a few minutes to reach him. He didn’t have any time to react, to even see the blood remaining on her fangs. She flew to his neck, ripping out a chunk of flesh as she bit into an artery. The blood gushed into her mouth, drowning out any thoughts of Michael. Her urgency was too great to savor the kill. She took the man’s life, relishing her power. This was how vampires were meant to live. This was what she was: a monster. Tales already circulated of the monsters dwelling in the woods. Amaia simply brought the tales to life.

  The man was empty, his body no more than a limp sack of flesh and bone. Amaia waited for Michael’s eyes to appear. She wondered how many more humans she would have to kill today. By Amaia’s calculations, it was about time for it to end.

  Michael’s energy spiked violently. His eyes twisted with anguish when they appeared. She had been correct. Only a few more seconds. There wasn’t time to drown out the feeling with another kill. Amaia closed her eyes and simply endured. The eyes that stared at her didn’t know her, didn’t know the truth. The man lying dead at her feet knew her better than Michael did.

  It was done. Amaia opened her eyes. Without Michael’s energy taunting her, her body succumbed to the high of her overabundance of blood. She dropped to the ground, letting the snow envelope her, its coldness embracing her like a familiar friend. This was how she was meant to be. Her heart accelerated just enough to keep the blood from congealing and stiffening her limbs. She stared at the sky, not really seeing it. For the first time since Michael had recognized her, her mind was blessedly blank.

  Hours passed as she rested on the forest floor, simply being. Michael was gone, but she remained, as she always would, unchanging. The sun rose to its zenith and began to retreat. She needed to clean up her mess and return home. The body next to her was already blue. She deftly lifted him and carried him to the river, weighing his body down with rocks before unceremoniously dumping him into the current. She repeated this three more times until all of her kills were disposed of.

  Amaia washed herself in the water and then retrieved a large satchel she had placed in a nearby tree. It contained a change of clothes. The dress she had been wearing was discarded the same way the bodies were. Once in her new attire, there was no indication of her day’s activities. She’d become adept at hiding her habit, but she wouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. The reckless killing ended today with the death of the distraction that drove her addiction. She only hoped she’d retain her grip on sobriety when he returned.

  No sense ruining the present by worrying about the future. She headed home with plenty of time to ready for the night’s dinner party.

  •••

  Cluj bored Amaia, especially when compared to everywhere else she had lived. They were originally sent to see if the residents of Transylvania were once again going to rise against the rule of the Habsburgs. Zenas had heard rumors, but there was nothing more than the standard grumbling against authority that could be heard almost anywhere. They had stayed because of the abundance of intense energies. Lawrence was ecstatic.

  Amaia sat in the parlor dressed in a simple yellow silk gown, waiting for Lawrence. They had decided to live as a respectable father and daughter for their stay in Cluj. The city held no power, so there was no one really worth bedding, and it wasn’t as if she needed the money. It was more advantageous for her and Lawrence to become part of society in a more innocent manner. They had developed quite the reputation as matchmakers.

  “How long have you been waiting, my dear?” Lawrence entered the room looking smart in a dark brown coat. She never could get used to him in a wig and hoped the fashion would pass. She much preferred his bald head with the gray fringe around the sides.

  “Not long.”

  “Good. Let’s be on our way.” Lawrence covered her with a gray wool cloak and then escorted her into their waiting carriage.

  “And what were you up to today?”

  “Scaring humans in the woods.” They were in the habit of mind-speaking to avoid eavesdropping servants.

  “Was it satisfying?”

  “They make it much too easy.”

  “Really? You look quite flushed and sated. I take it you fed.”

  “Of course. Nice rosy cheeks for this evening.”

  Lawrence didn’t believe her. She could tell by the way his blue eyes bored into her, but she willed herself not to look away. He had been questioning her more than usual lately. He knew she was up to something. He might even know the full extent of her activities.

  At dinner, their goal was to facilitate a match between two of the other guests. Andrei and Clara both had very distinct auras, strong in their own ways. Lawrence found them particularly interesting because Amaia recognized both of them. Ever since her study of reincarnation, she’d been alert to the possibility of finding familiar energies. It helped in her quest to make sense of Michael and justified her studies to Lawrence. Andrei’s aura was bold, extending further than most mortals, while Clara’s was warm and rich, amplified. Both distinct and familiar. Their offspring would make an interesting study.

  Amaia had one job during dinner. It wasn’t to be clever or appealing. She didn’t even need to pay attention to the conversation, which was a relief since she usually found it dull and trite. Her sole focus was on the auras of Andrei and Clara. The abnormally strong energies in the area had given her much to play with, and she was learning to do more than just warm herself with them. If she concentrated hard enough, she found she could slightly alter a human’s energy.

  Clara was a charming young woman. Her rich brown eyes were always bright, and her chestnut hair silky. She was modest and timid, the way men liked women they were to marry. Her looks ensured that Andrei stole glances at her across the table. Every time he did so, Amaia reached out to his energy, massaging it into mimicking the energy of a human in love. Over the last couple of years, she had become quicker at it, but it still took time.

  It appeared to be working. Andrei kept looking at Clara. Amaia renewed the feeling. After all, the girl wasn’t that beautiful. His eyes took on the warm look of a man besotted. Clara caught Andrei gazing at her. Amaia jumped to her energy, working it in the same way as she had the man’s. It was easier. Clara was a more naturally loving person. Amaia wished she could work on both auras at once. That would be the next skill to learn. She hoped that eventually she’d be able to alter a mortal’s energy almost instantaneously.

  After dinner, the men and women separated. The rest of the evening passed in an unbearably boring blur. Amaia had no interest in the conversation. She only paid attention so she could manipulate Clara’s energy any time Andrei was mentioned.

  “May we leave, Lawrence?”

  “Soon, but not yet, my dear.”

  “Are you sure boredom can’t kill our kind? It sure feels like it might.”

  Lawrence chuckled. Amaia loved the sound and took pride in it. Lawrence rarely found anything genuinely funny. “It sounds as if you aren’t being creative enough.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It seems to me like this is a gr
eat time to practice your skills.”

  “I’ve been manipulating that empty-headed girl’s energy all night. I’m developing a theory that her aura is so strong because it’s composed of energy diverted from her brain.”

  “An interesting theory, definitely worth further study. But I wasn’t referencing Clara. This new power of yours can be used for more than just facilitating our breeding program.”

  “Are you saying that I should stir a little mischief?”

  “Have fun. Just don’t cause too much trouble.”

  Amaia had been so caught in her own bloodlust and fighting her own angel—she had to call Michael that; it wasn’t fair to call him a demon, and if either one of them was a demon in this situation, it was most definitely her—that she had only devoted the minimal time Lawrence required to her skills. It had never occurred to her that she could use them in ways other than pleasing her sire. The evening had just become more interesting.

  Amaia surveyed the women around her. So far, Amaia had only influenced strong auras. They were easier to sense in the level of detail needed to reshape them. Plus, all the people she and Lawrence wanted to manipulate had stronger energies. There had never been a reason to mess with anyone else’s aura.

  With the possibilities of her newfound power in mind, Amaia was eager to find out just how far her reach extended. Could she completely change a person’s feelings? Make a woman believe she felt fear where there was joy? It was tempting to try, but Amaia knew it was asking too much. It would be difficult enough working with the smaller canvas of a weak aura. Best to start by amplifying existing feelings and proceed from there.

  “Elena, why don’t you tell us about your wedding plans?” one of the old biddies asked.

  “Things are coming along nicely.” Elena sat her drink down in preparation for being the center of attention, a position she took to with ease. “My dress is absolutely gorgeous. Papa has spared no expense. I only hope it’s ready in time. I don’t know how the dressmaker is going to do it.”

  On and on. After fifteen minutes going over every detail of the dress, it was time to move on to the wedding party and who was invited and who wasn’t and the dreaded task of having to snub some people because simply wanting an invitation was not enough. Then on to the wedding feast and the care that was being taken to make sure there was something appetizing for everyone in attendance, even dear Aunt Olga who found almost everything disagreeable.

  All the while, poor twenty-four-year-old Iliana, who had never had a suitor, quietly seethed. It started out as annoyance tinged with jealousy. With a little help from Amaia, it quickly turned to anger. At that point, Amaia discovered she didn’t need to maintain her interference. Once the anger reached a certain level, it carried itself onward without any direction from her.

  The only problem was Iliana’s natural shyness. It seemed mere anger would not be enough to cause the kind of entertainment Amaia sought. Even without Amaia’s senses, it was easy to see the girl was furious. Her cheeks flushed, and her small hands clenched into little white-knuckled fists. Yet she didn’t make any move to halt Elena’s incessant chatter.

  Amaia needed to induce rage. She reached out and intensified the anger. Her energy wove through Iliana’s, twisting it and increasing the vibrations. All the while, she kept her eyes on her subject, looking for visible evidence of her work. It was a bit of an experiment. She had only ever worked with feelings of love and fondness.

  Amaia saw the change in Iliana a split second before Iliana bolted to her feet. “Will you kindly shut up, Elena! No one cares about your stupid wedding.”

  Silence fell over the room. No one looked more surprised by the outburst than Iliana herself. Elena was too shocked to even respond. She simply stood with her mouth hanging open.

  Iliana was worked up enough that Amaia could leave her be and focus on Elena. Nothing would come of the situation if Elena didn’t respond properly. The trick was to pull Elena’s outrage to the forefront to overshadow her surprise. It wasn’t hard at all.

  “Well it’s not my fault you’re too homely to find a man. You’re just jealous.”

  Iliana screamed and lunged at Elena, pulling her hair. Elena responded in kind, slapping Iliana before grabbing a fistful of hair. The other ladies shrieked in alarm. Within a minute, the men tumbled into the room to investigate the disturbance.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Elena’s father’s booming voice echoed in the room, bringing the commotion to a halt.

  “She started it, Papa.”

  “Well I’m ending it. Come along. We are leaving.” Calming himself, he turned to the rest of the party. “My sincerest apologies for my daughter’s behavior. I bid you all a pleasant evening.” He nodded to the group and left with Elena in tow.

  Lawrence nodded to Amaia. “It’s about time we were leaving as well. Goodnight, everyone.” Lawrence bowed and Amaia curtsied, barely able to contain her glee at the scandalized faces.

  “I take it that rather shameful display was your doing?” Lawrence sat next to Amaia in the carriage on their way home.

  Amaia giggled at the memory of Elena pulling Iliana’s hair until a fair chunk of it came out. “I only intensified the feelings simmering beneath the surface.”

  “Good. You played their natural tendencies to your advantage. Someday, you may even be able to create animosity where none existed.”

  The possibilities were endless. Real power lay in front of Amaia, seeming even more impressive when she considered that she was the only known vampire who could wield it.

  “You improve quite quickly when you’re not distracted by other things.”

  Amaia met Lawrence’s cool blue eyes. He knew. Somehow, he knew. The exact depth and breadth of his knowledge was uncertain, but he knew Amaia wasn’t as innocent as she would like him to believe. Amaia scanned his eyes and face, but she couldn’t find any anger there, just knowledge.

  Amaia wasn’t able to conjure a response. Anything she thought of admitted to too much or not enough. She didn’t have the nerve to simply brush by it without acknowledgement. There were grave implications to Lawrence being aware of what had transpired. The fact that he wasn’t lecturing her or showing any signs of disappointment was evidence of his faith in her. She didn’t know if she was worthy of it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Cluj, January 1723

  “You may go out with Meg if you like.”

  Amaia hadn’t said anything on the way home and was grateful for Lawrence’s dismissal—spending the rest of the night in tense silence wasn’t appealing. She didn’t even bother responding before she left, headed toward Meg and Liam’s home.

  Meg opened the door to her one-room cottage before Amaia could even knock. It was a quaint stone structure between the town and the forest, the perfect location for a pair of reclusive vampires. Their apparent domestic tranquility sparked a longing in Amaia that only faded when she reminded herself that she was independent by choice.

  “I was hoping you’d stop by. It’s been a while.” Meg was all smiles. It always awed Amaia that, no matter the circumstances, Meg was always happy to see her.

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “No need to apologize. Do you want to come in, or did you want to go somewhere?”

  “Here is fine.” Amaia stepped over the threshold and nodded to Liam who sat at the table reading what appeared to be a book of poetry. Liam acknowledged the greeting then immersed himself in his book again.

  “How was your evening?” Meg sat in a wing chair by the fireplace. The roaring fire was unnecessary. In fact, Amaia would have preferred the cold, but they needed to keep up appearances. The townsfolk would think something was amiss if no smoke rose from the chimney on such a cold night.

  Amaia joined her in one of the straight-backed chairs from the table. “Interesting.”

  “Playing matchmaker?”

  She should have been excited to share the new development with her powers, but that wasn’t the reason she ha
d come. “Yes. I don’t understand how love can be so powerful if I can manipulate two people into feeling it. The way humans talk, you’d think being in love was a magical experience. If only I had understood it better when I was mortal.”

  “We could spend the rest of eternity listing the things we wished we had known when we were mortal.” Meg’s light laughter lit the cottage more than the fire ever could.

  “I suppose so.”

  “What’s bothering you?”

  “Just something Lawrence said to me tonight.”

  “What?”

  Amaia didn’t know how to explain. Meg watched her, open and inviting, but Amaia couldn’t determine how best to broach the subject.

  Meg leaned forward in her seat. “Does it have anything to do with the killing spree you’ve been on?”

  Amaia’s eyes focused on Meg. Apparently, she had been a fool to think she was hiding her habit. “How did you know?”

  Liam spoke from behind Amaia. “It wasn’t a grand mystery, Amaia. You’ve been running high on kills for a while. The only mystery is when you’ll stop.”

  “No, I think you have stopped, and that’s why you’re here.” Meg sat back in her chair. “I’m not sure, but it seems like it’s about time for Michael to die again. He did, didn’t he?”

  Amaia chuckled. “Am I really so transparent? Yes, he died earlier today.”

  “Good. Do you think you have it out of your system now?”

  “Yes.” Amaia nodded. “It was a distraction. A bad one. I should have focused on other things.”

  “I should think so. A vampire on a killing high is aiming to lose her head.”

  “I wouldn’t let it get that far. You only noticed because you know me so well.”

  “You can’t let this happen again, Amaia. How much does Lawrence know?”