by Drew Avera
"Poor Julian. I do not wish to harm you. You are far too valuable to my organization," I said with a haughty smile. I released Tabitha from my grip and sauntered over to the long back chair where I often sat to read and contemplate the meaning of life... or lack thereof.
I could feel her glare at my back as she rubbed her throat and Julian's relieved breath mixed with the damp chamber air. I seated myself like a king on his throne and looked at my subjects, one human and the other, vampire. What class of subjects have I associated myself with? They're such a thankless bunch? I thought to myself as both looked at me in fear tinged with anger. Both emotions were useful, in my experience.
"If you're just going to stand there and stare then I should at least share the good news," I said with a dismissive gesture of my hand.
"What good news?" Tabitha asked, attempting to hide the malice in her voice as she rubbed her reddened throat.
"I have made another," I announced. The act of creation could not help but lift my mood. I could feel my new subject in my mind now. The blood we shared created a strong union between us. Her rebirth was complete and I felt her hunger as strongly as if it were my own.
"You made another vampire?" she asked. I sensed a bit of shock in her question.
"Yes."
"What about the authorities outside The Realms? You said that if we created new progenies that we risked exposing ourselves."
Did I detect jealousy in her words? "I am not concerned with any authorities outside The Realms, Tabitha. Please, spare me your melodrama and celebrate the making of your new sister."
"You may not fear them, but your enemy works with them. Do you not fear the repercussions of your actions knowing that Andre de la Croix is in their pocket?" she asked. She made a good point, but I did not appreciate her tone.
I flew from my seat to stand before her again and she tensed, realizing that I was close to destroying her for her insolence. "I fear no one!" I slapped her face with the back of my hand, and it sounded as though a cannon had fired in the room. I saw Julian flinch from the impact.
Tabitha dropped to the stone floor and held her face. A tear in her cheek wove back together as she healed before me. The wound may fade, but the emotional impact would last for much longer.
I stood over her and glared at her. I felt a mental flash from my new progeny, she was alarmed, fearful. I turned away from Tabitha as Natalie's mental anguish and her love for her child ripped into me like the talons of a predator. I felt as if I were drowning, though that was impossible. The claustrophobic feeling would not diminish.
There was something else. A piercing sensation and a loud clap like thunder. I suddenly realized that it was a gunshot wound to her abdomen. My new child was under attack!
I turned to Julian. "Fetch some of the guard and report to Apartment 713 at the Harping Suites in St. Paul. One of our own is under attack and I fear the worst!" Worry lines etched upon my face.
"What if it's too late?" he asked.
My eyes darted to his. "Then you will bring every breathing entity in that apartment to me. Do you understand?"
"As you wish, sir." He ran off with all the speed a two-hundred pound man could muster.
"What do you need me to do?" Tabitha asked eager to reclaim her standing at my right hand, after failing me moments ago.
"Follow them. Ensure that no mistakes are made!"
"Yes, Mic... Raven," she said and turned to leave.
"Tabitha," I called out, sensing something else. She stopped to look at me. "She is gone... killed by her husband for the life of a child. I could feel the torment rage inside of her before he killed her." Anger flared in my body at the outrage that I felt. I wanted revenge more than anything else. "Bring him to me alive, and do not feed upon him. I want him lucid, so he will know the pain that comes with crossing The Raven."
She nodded and rushed to carry out my orders.
I sat back down in my chair with my head in my hands. I wiped away blood-stained tears as the bond between vampire and her maker faded into nothingness. I imagined that this was how God felt when His children died. I knew deep inside that it was. But His pain was nothing compared to the torment that I felt for my loss.
Chapter 7
1725
"Are these the lines by which I can measure your love, father?" I whispered to myself, while running a pink finger across the purple welts along my legs. The strap used against me had cut into my flesh in several places and my wounds were still very tender, even a day and a half later. It was nearly time for him to come home. I said a silent prayer, urging God to either let him come home sober and happy, or not at all.
My prayer went unanswered.
"What's with the sour expression, Michel?" he asked upon his arrival, as though the lashing I received by his hand had never happened. Perhaps for him, it was just another mystery that occurred during his lapse into a drunken stupor.
"Nothing, father," I answered and stared at my feet. I could not help but wince, expecting his hand across my face. I felt his pause, but he did not strike me this time. Instead, he walked inside, where my mother labored to prepare dinner. I could feel the hatred permeating the air between their eyes, even from outside.
It was no surprise that my mother hated him, and he, her. Each blamed the other for ruining their lives, but my mother would never dare say it out loud. She suffered silently for her children's sake.
I stood up and brushed the dirt from the back of my stinging legs. It hurt to walk. Every time I bent my knee, another jolt of pain accompanied my gait. I was utterly miserable. The possibility of love from my father no longer made a difference to me. I learned by watching my mother deal with the situation. Silence was the tool that preserved me most times.
I could hear their argument begin as the festering wounds of their unholy matrimony sparked another outrage. Who was to blame this time? I wasn't convinced that blame really mattered anymore. It was simply existence permitting the unimaginable to manifest in this world.
Pottery shattered against the door behind me, but I did not flinch. My inaction was equal parts an inability to move quickly and the cold truth that I was accustomed to the violent nature of my family. I snuck away from the house when I heard her scream. It was piercing, like always. If I had known what it entailed, then I would not have stayed out until dark. Instead, I waited for my little brother to come home, so I could protect him from our father's wrath.
"Why aren't you inside already?" Jean-Philippe asked me when he returned, with the innocence of a child. I missed those days.
"I was waiting for you," I answered. I had not heard any other commotion from inside the house for over an hour. I just assumed that they were seething in other rooms, away from each other.
"Let's go in! I'm hungry!" he urged as he clasped his small hand onto mine, trying to pull me up from my seated position. I winced in pain, but hid it from him. I didn't want him to know that he was hurting me. He was a sensitive child and needed my protection.
That was my lot in life. I was a child protecting another child. It seemed so precarious.
I followed Jean-Philippe into our home and my eyes needed a moment to adjust to the horror that awaited us. I knew that he saw it first by the whimper that escaped his lips. I moved my hand down over his eyes to shield him from it, but unfortunately no one was there to conceal the scene for me.
My mother was sliced from her neck to her pelvis and lay open across the dinner table. The knife was still protruding from her face, where our father had violently shoved it through one of her eyes, leaving her to die with a silent scream upon her lips. My heart tore in two at the sight, but I could not force myself to look away.
Rivers of blood ran from her torso, down the legs of the table, and pooled onto the floor below. What was still fresh showed the reflection of a horrified boy that I barely recognized and his younger brother.
My eyes darted back and forth, in search of our father. I could not hear him at first, due to the throbbing of m
y anxious heart, drowning all other sounds in my ears. After forcing myself to listen, I detected the faint snore of a drunken man passed out in his bed, oblivious to the nightmare that ravaged his wife and motherless children.
"Jean-Philippe," I whispered into my brother's ear, while still cupping my hand over his eyes, "we need to flee! Do not ask me any questions, just trust me. If we do not leave now, we may never leave!"
I felt the gentle shake of his head as he agreed.
I gently pulled him closer to me and led him out the door. My eyes remained glued to the still image of our mother's slashed body, until after we crossed the threshold of our violated home.
We fled on foot, with no possessions in our pockets and no food in our stomachs. It was days before we had a normal meal and even then I could only bear to eat nibbles from it. The image of death was burned into my mind with a ferocity that rivaled anything I could ever imagine. My fury was only strengthened in that I could not get the image of my father resting comfortably out of my mind, either.
Nightmares tormented me for years before they started to fade. I could still see my mother covered in blood, but my father no longer slept peacefully in their bed. The dreams carried me to a desert, the sands shifting in the wind. I was always searching for something, but never knew what. I finally found an oasis; the plush green welcomed me to its protection from the sun. I stumbled when I found the dead body of a man, dried out from the heat, unprotected by the nearby oasis. The corpse started to rot, while the sands of the desert blew upon him. Atop his head sat a black bird, a raven. It ate something stringy, like a worm. As I approached, I noticed the deep, empty sockets in my father's face where his eyes once were. The condemning orbs that never granted me an approving gaze were gone. The raven tilted its head back and slurped the last bits of them fully into its mouth. It appeared to smile at me. Its head nodded an affirmation that, after all this time, my father finally got what was coming to him.
"Is he dead?" I asked the raven, partially understanding that I was caught in a vision and this wasn't real.
I heard my own voice speak back to me from the bird. "He is condemned to an eternity of darkness," the raven said, and for the first time that I could remember, I looked at my father without fear.
Chapter 8
Present Day
I could hear the hollow footsteps of my guards marching down the corridor of my mansion. The stone walkway was a throwback to a simpler time, one without the constant distractions of the modern world. I preferred to live in the past most of the time.
The scrape of dragging feet accompanied the footsteps. I lifted my head as they entered my chamber, to witness Tabitha leading Julian and another guard named Drake as they carried an unconscious man. His head hung and his chin tapped his chest as they moved. I could see that he was an older man; his bald head was spotted with gray stubble, as was his five o'clock shadow.
In her arms, Tabitha carried a small child no more than a couple of years old. The girl was still asleep. I knew why, as the small spots of blood on her neck were evident. It was a condemnable offense to feed from such a delicate thing, but Tabitha would not find that condemnation from me.
"So, this is the one who killed my child?" I asked as they stopped to present their captive. He dangled helplessly before me. I moved closer and examined his body for wounds. He had scrapes along his bare arms and his face, but nothing too deep. He would live... for now. "Did he put up a fight?"
"No, sir," Julian answered. I knew that regardless of the effort the man might have made, it would have been nothing for the hulking figure of my favorite guard.
"How did he end her?" I needed to know so that I could exact the proper punishment, but there was also darkness in me that craved the morbid details, as well.
"It was with a silver knife," Tabitha answered as she cradled the girl. "We cleaned up the mess, in case anyone tried to investigate. We didn't want anything to lead back to our kind."
I nodded. "Thank you." I paced in front of the man, willing my anger to subside, but I could no longer hold it in.
"See to it that he is restrained in a cell until he awakens," I ordered my men. Both left without a word, removing the prisoner from my sight, before I did something rash... and final. I joined Tabitha and ran a gentle hand over the child's face. "And what shall we do with you, child?"
"Perhaps you could allow me to keep her?" Tabitha suggested. I looked up, slightly appalled by her desire to have a human child in her possession. My reaction quickly passed when I realized that children were a soft spot for her. They had been ever since that first night when an expectant mother was forever changed to the wickedness that was forced upon her.
I gently touched her shoulder and smiled. "Of course! You may care for her, if that is your desire."
"It is," she said with a smile upon her lips. I could see her attachment to the girl already swelling in her cold, dead heart. "She is so precious," she whispered.
"Yes. All children are." The scorn of losing my newborn burned in my heart. I was thirsty for revenge, but could not drink deeply until he knew what was coming. I planned to toy with him as a cat toys with a mouse. I would dangle freedom in front of his face, before slapping it away. I intended to break him before killing him, and then I would savor the kill.
"Are you all right?" Tabitha asked, pressing her hand against my cheek.
"I will be. When the man you brought in is bled dry and his bones rotting in the desert sands of The Realms, then I will be all right."
She looked down, as if the rage and pain she saw in my eyes were too much for her.
"Please, leave me to my thoughts, Tabitha. It has been a long night and I need to be left alone."
She turned to walk away with her baby still sleeping peacefully. I watched them leave, her steps as light as her mood. It was good for her to have someone to care for in a maternal way.
I moved over to the painting still sitting on my easel. The raven's dark, ruffled feathers jumped from the canvas as if real. The image was one that I had seen many times during my long existence. I listened to the wind blowing beneath its wings and the gentle thrum of its heart beating rapidly in its tiny body. When I listened more closely, I realized that the painting was speaking to me, to my soul.
"He is condemned to an eternity in darkness," it whispered in its purgatorial flight. I understood the ramifications of its statement. I knew what must be done. Death would conquer my enemy forever and ever. Amen.
THE TWIN CITIES SERIES
INJUSTICE
CHAPTER 1
I choked from the inhalation of ash from Natalie bursting aflame on top of me. My teary eyes struggled to focus as a gasped, my heart splintering from the loss of love in my life. Why? I rose to my knees and caught bits of ash in the palm of my hand. I could barely grasp the fact that I was holding some of the only pieces of my wife's body that were left.
I felt sharp pains of anguish build inside of me. I was alone! I was a killer!
I jumped to my feet and looked around the room for something that could explain what had happened. Since when did a knife cause a person to erupt in flames?
I found nothing in my frantic search.
Angelica made a sound in the other room and my heart split yet again. I moved into the other room and quickly grabbed my daughter. Deep sobs were building in my throat as I thought about the bleak future she would have without her mother. What about me, would I go to prison for killing my wife? There were too many questions right now.
I wrapped Angelica in a pink blanket and sat in the rocking chair where Natalie often rocked her to sleep. I had spent too many nights away from home to do so myself. It was yet another failure on my part as a husband and father. I was always worried about money.
I rocked my daughter and held her close. Since when had she grown so big? It felt like yesterday she was born, but she was already two years old and could say a few words. She wiggled a bit to try and see into the other room, but I tried to keep her from seein
g the mess left behind from what had happened. I didn't know what to call it. Was it a fight? If it was then Natalie was fighting herself with just as much ferocity as I was. I couldn't understand how she had become so strong.
And the gunshots; I had emptied the weapon into her body and she just stood there.
I brushed small locks of hair from Angelica's face and brought her up to my lips to kiss her. "It will be all right," I said. It was a lie and I was a bastard for lying to my child like that. Still, I wanted to believe my words, if not for my sake, then for hers.
I heard a knock at the door. It was more of a pounding, like the cops were here. I stood up on shaking legs and I knew that my future was over. Someone had called the police because of the gunshots! Someone had heard the screams and reported it!
I stepped quickly to the door and turned the handle. It felt as if I were pulling the trigger on the gun pointed at my head. Once the door was opened, I saw two men in suits. They must be detectives, I thought to myself. "Can I help you?"
"Yes, sir," The tall, bald man said. "We are here about a disturbance."
Oh God, what am I going to do? What will I say?
"What kind of disturbance?" I asked in an attempt to mislead them.
"Cut the crap, Mr. Grimm." The other man said. There was something about the way he looked at me with fierce, deep-set eyes that seemed to boil with contempt.
I could barely breathe. "Uh, come in?" I asked. I didn't know whether to ask politely or to tell them to come in. It was evident that my ruse was obvious to them.
Only the bald man entered. He turned back at his partner and then looked back at me, nudging his head in the direction of the door.
"Please, come in," I said. I could only assume that the man did not like the tone of voice when I had said it before.
Both men now hovered near me. I cradled Angelica in my arms as fear stampeded into my heart. Misery tore me to pieces inside as I tried my damnedest to hold it together on the outside.
