Blood Ties

by Gina Whitney

  Six large, evenly spaced stone pillars kept the castle standing. Each was carved to perfectly accentuate the structure’s noble feel. A majestic wooden door led to a grand library, while another one went to an emerald room that housed an immeasurable amount of fragrant roses in all shades.

  Despite the castle’s beauty, the brutal markings of some sort of violence were etched into the cold, stone walls.

  Someone’s fast footsteps echoed off the marble, shattering the ubiquitous silence. Not knowing to whom those steps belonged or even where I was, it was imperative I find a hiding place.

  In the nick of time, I hid around a corner; whoever it was just barely missed me. I peeked around and saw a passing feminine shape wrapped in a cloak. She looked familiar to me, and I was bizarrely drawn to her. Overcoming my common sense, I followed her.

  My heart raced as I trailed the woman. The rounded hallway seemed to go on forever before darkness swallowed it. I stayed back as the young woman entered a pair of large, amber-colored French doors.

  I heard two voices arguing, one male and the other belonging to the young woman. I figured since I had been dumb enough to follow this girl instead of trying to find a way out of the castle, I might as well go all the way. I inched toward the door, every step seeming to reverberate throughout the macabre palace. I took a breath as I opened one of the French doors and peered in.

  Our family crest was elaborately displayed over a gigantic, stone fireplace. I turned my head and saw the young woman appealing to an older man. A bolt of recognition! That young woman was my mother, Ilan. Aunt Evelyn and Dad had shown me a few cherished photos of her, but in no way had they done her justice. She was the most striking creature I’d ever seen. Her long, blonde locks cascaded over her cloak and were tied off with a ribbon at her waist. She was lithe, fine boned, yet it was obvious she possessed a massive fount of strength.

  My mother passionately engaged the man, an authority figure to her. He looked at Mother with eyes of the deepest red. He had a middle-aged face, though he was not as young as he looked. I made myself quiet and listened to their conversation.

  “Your Honor, Maximus. I speak to you not as a subject, but as your daughter. Father, please, you must listen to me. You cannot ignore this forever,” Mother said, the palms of her hands facing up, engaging my grandfather. “Yes, I do understand the ramifications of committing the most egregious sin of our clan—falling in love with a human.”

  “I have no more patience for you, Ilan,” Grandfather said. “Once more you have disgraced this family, me in particular. To me you do this? You have put me in an impossible situation, and now I cannot protect you any further.”

  Grandfather paused, then went on. “I loved you more than my entire existence, Ilan. You have broken my heart into a million pieces, my only daughter. It was your destiny to be at my right side on the council. You were to be my successor, the future of this coven. No other witch possesses the gifts and abilities you have, and you have chosen to discard them.”

  I wanted to run over and wipe away the huge tears streaming down my mother’s face. But my body couldn’t move; some power kept me in my place as an impotent observer.

  Mother said, “I cannot say how sorry I am, Your Honor. I know I have offended you. It was not my intention to do so. It grieves me to cause you so much pain and, for that, remorse engulfs my heart. I know what my punishment is by our law. I do not ask you lightly for this favor, but I must ask. I beseech you to grant me one final request.”

  I could tell it was not in my mother’s nature to grovel, but for some reason she felt it was warranted.

  “You ask too much of me, Ilan. I have nothing more to give,” Grandfather said as he turned his back to her.

  “Please, Father, I am not asking for myself, but for the life of your unborn granddaughter,” Mother said, her cloak becoming soaked with tears.

  My grandfather’s body went totally still, like he was petrified. My mother’s last words had stunned and devastated him. He walked away from her, treating her like she was nothing more than a common subject. “Laws have been broken. The council will decide your fate. I can no longer protect you, Ilan.”

  Mother grabbed his arm like a death-row prisoner seeking pardon from a governor. “You can, Father! I have been careful to keep my thoughts to myself, so I know the council knows nothing. I am no longer asking. I am begging you,” she said as she fell to her knees.

  Grandfather sighed, his heart heavy. “What will you name this fetus?”

  Mother’s eyes shined with the tiniest sliver of hope. “I will name her Grace.”

  “You will name her Grace?” Grandfather said, his rage bellowing forth.

  “Yes, Father, it is a family name. Our family!”

  “You dare give a half breed our family name? This plague, this bane you call a child?”

  “How can you speak of her that way? She is one of your own, is she not? She may even possess more of our outstanding qualities than we do.”

  “The Seers warned me of a possible future where Catherine Bolingbroke took over the council, with massive bloodshed of both witches and mortals as the result. However, their abilities to see the future clearly were clouded. Of course I didn’t believe them… I found their prediction ridiculous. And most certainly I did not believe my own daughter would have anything to do with it if it were true. Now look at you. You’ve developed doubts about feeding on mortals like we’ve done for centuries, knowing that is how we survive, how the Ancients give us our powers. And you go and have an affair with a mortal and allow yourself to be impregnated. Woe, this is how Catherine takes power.”

  Grandfather sat down, as if he could take no more. He spoke with his hand over his eyes. “How have you been eating?”

  “My lover allows me to feed on his blood to offset this problem, but it’s not enough. So occasionally he offers up bits of his flesh to quell my hunger,” Mother said.

  Grandfather moaned. “It gets worse and worse. You need to explain something to me. How can it be possible that a half witch, half mortal child can be more powerful than a fullblooded immortal?”

  I watched as my mother wrung her hands, getting ready to confess something. She said, “Well, I have more to tell you. I could see the rapidly increasing influence and power the Bolingbrokes were having over the other witches. That psychotic banshee, Catherine, posed the biggest threat of all. Her magical abilities are nearly as great as mine, and she is the main instigator of conflict and dissention in all the coven families. I decided to end the Bolingbrokes’ quest for power. In my way, not yours. I secretly rummage through forbidden grimoires and found an obscure spell to create a magical child with a mortal. Normally that wouldn’t be possible, as witches and mortals are unable to reproduce with each other. The spell warned that the child could be a gift to us, a curse, or have no special abilities at all. There is no way to know until the child’s Awakening…if indeed it has one. I took a chance on even the slightest possibility of my baby having greater magical powers than I do—powers for the good.”

  “Such stupid, needless risks. We were dealing with the Bolingbrokes,” Grandfather said.

  “No disrespect, Father, but we weren’t doing anything, and they were rapidly rising up,” Mother shot back, her fighting spirit making an appearance.

  “It is too late. The spawn is here, and she will be a curse upon the earth. Witches on all sides will attempt to kill her because none of them will know what she is. It is the law to put her to death. I want you to know you gave her this sentence when you decided to consort with that mortal.”

  I slumped on the door, totally dejected. However, my snarky inner self couldn’t help but think, Damn…this shit gets better and better. Who forgot the party streamers?

  Mother said, “Don’t worry. She will not sully the rarified air of Valois castle. She will go to her father in the Americas and will be raised with our name.”

  Oh, apparently I’d gotten that snarky gene from my mother, because I heard it al
l through those comments.

  “A human with no abilities or gifts to protect her.” Grandfather laughed, while Mother could only heave a frustrated sigh.

  I saw my grandfather lift my mother’s chin—finally there was some compassion in his face. He said, “You’re always thinking, my child. I can only blame myself for your ambitious and defiant nature. I groomed that warrior spirit into you, and now I am so sorry for that.”

  “Do not fret,” Mother said. “I have a plan. I will leave at dusk. No one in the coven we see me go. I will take the baby away from here on the night of a full moon. I will not involve you with all the details, so as not to put you in any more danger. I know you have risked so much already, Father. If anyone should ask, a simple ‘she’s away’ should suffice. All I ask is for some time to make sure Grace is safe and never tied to this coven or you—until it’s time.”

  “And what becomes of the child’s father?” Grandfather asked. “A mortal man raising an immortal child? He is not a mother, and the child will need one. Surely even you can see that.”

  “I have planned for Evelyn to assist him. If and when Grace embraces her gifts, Evelyn will be there to guide her,” Mother said.

  “Ilan, maybe someone along with Evelyn should act as a buffer between Grace and the mortal world.”

  “I’ve found her too. One of our old clan mates. Julie Glentworth.”

  “What? One of the heretics who left us? I can see I won’t be able to reason with you any further—you are stubborn as always. But no matter how I feel about you, I am still leader of this coven, and I play no favorites. After you birth the child, you will return and face the council. I will have no choice but to vote with them. Go, Ilan. It pains me to look at your dear, sweet face.”

  I saw Mother kiss Grandfather’s thick, platinum ring adorned with an intricate fleur-de-lis pattern and the letter V in calligraphy. He looked at her as if he wanted to sweep her into his arms and whisk her to a safer realm, but all he could do was walk away.

  Then Ilan—Mother—looked directly at me and started walking my way. I quickly yanked my head back and hid behind the door. I heard her voice right on the other side.

  “My dearest daughter,” Mother said as she pulled the door. My eyes flew open like window shades. There she stood right in front of me.

  I had been denied my mother’s touch, and I had always longed for it. When she stroked me, my body became weak and rubbery. All the grief I had stored for twenty-one years poured out into a painful cry. Mother knew exactly what to do, caressing my hair and lightly kissing my face. If she had lived, she would’ve been the perfect mom.

  Even though she was an apparition, I saw she was just as affected by our lost time as I was. Right then she wasn’t a witch or the leader of some coven. She was just a woman reunited with the child she’d had to give up so many years ago.

  The ethereal cord to the past was wearing thin. Mother knew her time was limited, and had to get down to business.

  “Grace, I allowed you to listen to the past so you can start to connect with your future. You’re wearing my pendant. It is a temporary portal allowing us to communicate briefly. Wear it well. When you’re ready it will yield all of my power to you,” Mother said.

  She leaned over and crushed her lips onto my forehead. They were ice cold and hard, like they were mummified. I didn’t matter to me; they were still part of my Mother’s touch.

  I saw her fading away. Panic set in, and I pleaded with her, “No, please don’t go. I’ve missed you my whole life. You can’t leave me again. And I can’t do what you want me to do. Can I stay here with you?”

  “Oh, precious, as much as I would like that, it is not an option. Aunt Evelyn is waiting for you. Remember, always and forever, I love you.” She wiped a single, red tear from her eye. And with a smile and a wink, she vanished.

  Then my body felt like it was freefalling through a wormhole, with flashes of colored lights streaking past me. I was as light as a feather, and the spatial trip seemed to go on for days.

  I opened my eyes and was laid out on the attic floor, next to the truck. I could hardly catch my breath. However, I felt like I had been reborn, and was filled with some unexplained delight.

  Aunt Evelyn sat calmly in the rocking chair. “Quite a jaunt, huh?” she said with a mischievous grin on her face.

  “How long was I gone?” I checked my body to make sure I had all my parts.

  “I left the attic one minute ago and came right back in to check on you.”

  “One minute? You’ve got to be kidding,” I said, standing up and flexing my muscles. They felt like they had been built up a bit.

  “Yeah, I’m some kind of comedian,” Aunt Evelyn said as she did a silly dance toward the trunk. We put it back in its place, exactly where Aunt Evelyn had found it. She spoke to me, but now with all kinds of seriousness on her face.

  “Whatever happened between you and your mother, I hope it was beautiful. But I’m sure you learned some unpleasant things too. Tonight, rest up, because the real work is about to begin.” Then she matter-of-factly walked down the stairs, leaving me with that thought.

  Ugh, really? Aunt Evelyn absolutely had to go and kill the mood by reminding me of …everything. Couldn’t a blossoming messiah catch a break?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sophisticated persons masturbate without compunction. They do it for reasons of health, privacy, thrift and because of the remarkable perfection of invisible partners.

  —P.J. O’Rourke

  A late-night storm hovered over the farmhouse. Flashes of lightning gave way to fleeting glimpses of huge raindrops splashing in and out of mud puddles situated like potholes all around the property.

  I stood at the large picture window, the sheer curtains pulled open wide. Despite Aunt Evelyn’s instructions to rest up, I’d found it impossible to drift off to sleep. I had a mad case of insomnia and was killing time, hoping the night would fast-forward itself.

  My wakefulness didn’t make any sense. I was hella drowsy, and my whole body ached with not only physical exhaustion but mental fatigue as well. The bedroom was straight out of Bed, Bath, and Beyond, with an ultra-plush down comforter with the thick smell of long-term storage and a king-sized, cherrywood sleigh bed. Battery-powered tea lights dotted the blackish corners of the room, giving it a relaxing ambience. A large bowl of lavender potpourri sat on the nightstand, its heady fragrance permeating the air.

  All that combined with the glow of moonlight breaking through the deluge would have been enough to lull most normal humans to sleep. But the insomniac in me could only concentrate on the constant stream of raindrops thumping into a rusted-out tin bucket under the window. TINK. TINK. TINK. I got into bed and folded the pillow over my ears but could still hear the settling house creaking like an old woman’s hip. I looked up at the vague outline of the ceiling fan going around and around in an endless carousel. With an exasperated sigh, I pulled the down comforter up to my shoulders… and was too hot. I kicked it off and was too cold. I twisted onto my back, then my stomach, then my back again.

  I tried every mind trick I could think of to induce sleep. I replayed episodes of favorite television shows in my mind: Dexter. CSI. Snapped. When that didn’t work, I started making plans for my future. Five years ahead… Ten years ahead. I quickly became frustrated when I realized I couldn’t even plan for the next hour of my new life, let alone years down the road. Then I played the game of counting sheep. I got up to 566 before I started repeating numbers and forgetting where I was in the sequence.

  I decided to play a final game—my own version of solitaire. Masturbation always put me to sleep, but I rarely used it as a somatic tool. I always felt like such a skeevy perv afterward. But tonight, I reasoned, it was necessary. After all I had a lot of work ahead of me. So I popped open a few top buttons of my nightgown—an XX-large, striped men’s dress shirt I had found at a garage sale. The shirt’s armpits still had a lingering musky scent—that testosterone odor found in all men�
��s shirts after they’d been worn a few times. That smell you can’t even fully remove in the wash. I had just enough room to stick my hand in and stroke my hardening nipples.

  I relaxed my body, from my toes with the flecked nail polish to the top of my scalp, which was still a little damp from my shower. I sank into the mattress and allowed it to mold around me like a firm marshmallow. I felt safe, embryonic even. And I closed my eyes.

  Usually I fantasized about guys around campus I crushed on and, regrettably, even Rafe. He was the only man I’d ever been with, and I thought for sure I’d never experience the love or touch of another human being after him. So I learned how to love and touch myself instead.

  Before I could go through my mental Rolodex of guys, an image I’d never seen before entered my mind. His appearance was crystal clear—Technicolor vivid. It was almost like he was really there. His face was overly serious, but sexy nonetheless. He had otherworldly eyes that were the strangest shade of blue I’d ever seen. His body was rocking—slim, athletic—yet it had many scars on it.

  I started to rub my lower belly in a small, circular motion.

  The dream lover stood at the foot of my bed and stared at me for a moment…in that way…giving me notice that things were about to get really X-rated. My chach began to ripple with slight contractions in anticipation.

  This fantasy was so real, I thought I could actually hear the bed squeak as the phantom lover climbed over the footboard and parted my bent knees. He slithered his body between my legs and kissed me. At first his full lips were slightly opened, teasing me. The wetness moistened my eager lips. He opened his mouth wider and then closed his warm lips around mine. I couldn’t hold back and French kissed him, drawing his hot breath into me. He pulled back, taking control, and returned us both to a more measured pace.