by Alex Owens
Cassidy gasped behind me.
I turned to face her. “What?”
“Um... If she’s still alive, she’s more powerful than any witch I’ve ever met. Most live longer than the typical human life span, but they are not immortal. I’d say one-hundred-and-fifty is about the max. But three hundred years, that’s unheard of. If she was made into a vampire at some point, that might explain it though. ” Cass said.
Great. It wasn’t enough I had to go against just any witch to get my daughter back, it seemed as if I had to go against The Witch who might also be a vampire.
“What does it say, exactly, Claire,” Clive walked up beside me and pressed his hand on my back.
The implied support was appreciated, but not acknowledged. I didn’t have time for any of that. I studied the glowing script again. I took me a few minutes, but I was able to piece together the gist of things. It sounded like a creepy nursery rhyme.
Claire,
Soon we meet, but parting is sorrow. You have something of mine, so yours I’ve borrowed. Return to me and I’ll consider a trade, but make no mistake, the price will be paid. I’m right where I’ve always been.
~ Venna
“Okay.“ Cass said. “We know the who, now we just need to know the where and why.”
“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” I was being shitty and I knew it, so I apologized. “Sorry.”
Cass flashed me a tiny smile, her way of letting me off the hook. “Have you read anything in the journal that would tell you where Venna might be calling home these days?”
“No, I haven’t gotten past the grown man raping her as a child. I haven’t been able to stomach looking at it since then.”
Mentioning the journal out loud zinged my brain into a coherent thought. Perhaps tracing it backwards through time could tell me something? I decided to phone a friend.
Pulling my cell from my back pocket, I brought up my contacts list, recently updated in the past few days. I punched a few buttons and the call went out to the only person who might be able to help me locate the witch in her own backyard.
“Bette, its Claire. I need your help,” I said.
Chapter Fourteen
I sat in an aisle seat on Clive’s jet, in a grouping of four plush chairs, two facing two. Pete took the seat opposite of mine, effectively making an unconscious choice to cut me off from the rest of our traveling party. Of course, I was so used to thinking the worst of him that I jumped to that conclusion. Maybe he sat with me because he barely knew the others. Or maybe he was just as worried about Quinn as I was, and having that in common called for a temporary truce in our relationship.
Whatever his reasons were, I didn’t want spend the next eight hours talking to my Ex. I needed to read through more of Venna’s journal to see if I could pin down her current location to somewhere more precise than just all of Europe. I pulled the journal out of my messenger bag and flipped it open.
“What is going on, Claire? Who has Quinn, and why?” Pete said, with zero inflection. His voice was monotone. Creepy, really. And not the caring-father reaction I’d expected from him. Where was the frantic demand for answers? Where was the blind fear? Maybe he was dealing with things kind of like I was, by not dealing with them. Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt, or so they say.
I sighed and closed the journal, drumming my fingers on the cover.
“I’ve told you everything I know at this point, honest.” I looked him straight in the eye and waited for him to break contact.
He did not look away. “You have to know more than you’re telling me. Why would someone take Quinn? What have you gotten her mixed up in? And where the hell is Morgan; did they take her too?”
I so didn’t want to cross that bridge. Pete would shit himself if I told him that Morgan was dead. Besides, no one else knew that little tidbit and I needed to keep it that way until I found Quinn. She was my top priority.
“I swear, I have no idea why someone would take Quinn. All I know is that she’s gone, and a wi—woman named Venna took her. I have a contact in Italy that believes Venna’s in the country and hopefully we’ll have an address by the time we land.”
Pete pushed a hand back through his hair, his jaw flexing. He was tense and not hiding it very well. It was to be expected though. Inside, I felt like a live wire downed in a storm, and I was more in-the-know than he was. I bet he felt like Dorothy after the twister, turned upside down and inside out.
Clive interrupted our conversation, thank the gods. Undeterred by Pete in the least, he squeezed past our legs and took the available seat next me. He sat, took my hand in his and kissed it.
“How are you holding up?” He asked, ignoring Pete completely.
I noticed a sudden flare of anger from my Ex’s direction and had to fight the smirk that threatened to spread over my face. Clive was smooth, I’d give him that. He’d managed to make me feel better, even if fleetingly, and he’d managed to mark his territory.
“I’ll be better when we land,” I said softly.
Clive pulled me into a quick hug and then thumped the journal in my lap. “Anything helpful in this thing?”
“No, I was just about to crack it open.” I said, glancing at Pete.
“Well, let’s get to it. The hours will pass quicker than you realize. And we’ve got a lot of ground to cover. Cass is already pouring over all of her notes and the few books you had at the house.”
“How is reading some dusty old book going to help me find my daughter?” Pete said.
“It just is. The woman that has Quinn—this is her journal.” I said, opening it to the scrap of paper I’d used as a temporary bookmark.
Pete leaned over to glare at the pages, scowling. “How old is that thing? It smells like someone’s basement. And is that Italian—you don’t know Italian.”
“Oh, Pete,” I sighed. “You’d be surprised at what you don’t know about me.”
I started to read the journal through in earnest. Time was not on my side and Clive was right, there were at least two hundred pages left to comb through. That was a lot of reading to be done at a time when my thoughts were elsewhere.
I heard Clive lean forward to address Pete directly.
“It is very old and much of the text would be hard to read even if it weren’t in archaic Italian, so Claire really needs to focus right now. It is what’s best for Quinn.” Clive said.
“Don’t you pretend to know what’s best for my daughter! She wouldn’t even be in danger if it weren’t for Claire bringing the likes of you...”
I did not look up. I didn’t have to. Instead I growled, “Watch it, therapist-fucker. If you want to place blame, I’ll carry it all the way back to two years ago and by the time I’m done with you, you will be begging me for your life, and not just for forgiveness.”
I looked up to face him before finishing. “If you want to go, we’ll go. If not, sit back, shut the fuck up and let me read.”
Pete stared at me like I’d just kicked his puppy. He’s lucky that’s all I’d done. Believe me, my bite was a lot worse than my bark.
I heard Cass snicker at the table behind me and Clive pinched my arm just a bit. I wasn’t sure if that was his way of telling me to ease up, or if it was his way of saying “atta girl” but either way knowing he had my back made me feel better.
Pete stood up in a huff and walked away. I had no idea where he thought he was going at thirty-thousand feet, but I really didn’t care. I’d only brought him along because it felt like the right thing to do, for Quinn’s sake, and he’d already made me regret my decision.
I got down to the research after that and didn’t look up from the book for several hours.
A man of pale complexion and peculiar affinities arrived late in the night two days hence. I was made aware of his presence only this morning by my chamber maid, when endeavoring to understand why A. has not visited my chambers. With twelve daughters born from me already, I thought him eager to plant the thirteenth within my womb. Whatever drew his
attentions, while auspicious for me, must be of great consequence if he delays in fulfilling the prophecy when it is so close at hand.
I quickly did the math. If Venna was but thirteen with the birth of her first child, and she’d given birth twelve times over by that point, and if I allowed three months between pregnancies for her body to heal, then that would put her at age twenty-five or so when this journal entry was written. God, I’d barely had Quinn by the time I was that age, let alone a dozen babies. The horror if it all hit me again like a Mack truck.
Shaking my head to clear out the depressing thoughts, I got back to the journal quickly.
I met our esteemed guest in the gardens tonight. I was there, tending to the nocturnal blooms and harvesting the proper ones under the gravid moon, when he appeared by my side like a specter, shimmering in the moon beams.
He took my hand into his own and kissed it softly. I pulled back, placing the proper distance between us while looking around for anyone that may have witnessed such a forward advance, but we were wholly alone. The man bade me not to fret and said he would never dream of harming me. The way he emphasized the words made me feel as if he knew what A. had been doing to me all of these years, and that he did not approve. Perhaps I have found an ally after all this time.
His name is Lord Oberyn and I find him both enthralling and peculiar in his mannerisms. He does not take meals with anyone, in fact I’ve never seen him partake of any food or drink. I have been unable to locate the Lord during the daylight hours but easily encounter him once the sun has set. The oddest thing; A. seems to fear our guest to a great extent, which only increases my desire to be around him all the more.
The most disconcerting event occurred this evening and it has made me question whether Oberyn will help me out of this place if I ever beseech it of him. I fear that I am not the desire of his true affections, as I had believed. After spending several minutes looking for him, I came upon the door to his bedchambers and observed light flickering under the door. Excited to locate him at long last, I forgot to announce myself before entering his chamber, and found myself witnessing the most peculiar scene.
Oberyn was seated in a chair by the fire, watching on as two young stable boys tussled on the carpeted area before him. The boys, who could not have been more than fifteen or sixteen, were without a stitch of clothing and seemed to be fighting wholeheartedly for some unknown prize. Such a spectacle it was, that I stood frozen to the floorboards, unable to look away while knowing it was only a matter of time before Oberyn glanced in my direction. When he did turn towards me, I turned and fled whilst he called out my name.
So Venna’s mysterious guest had a thing for young boys it seemed. A thought occurred to me and I couldn’t help but to follow up on it right away. I looked to Clive who appeared to be sleeping.
“Clive, what was the name of your maker?” I nudge him, whispering so that the others didn’t hear me.
Clive opened his eyes briefly to look at me before shutting them again.
“Oberyn, why?” he mumbled.
“No reason,” I replied, stone faced. “I just realized that I’d never asked you before. What ever happened to him?”
“Ashes. I heard he crossed the wrong woman. Don’t know if that’s true or not. He was very old and it would take a lot to get one over on an Ancient.” Clive didn’t even open his eyes while giving me the details.
“Hmm,” was my response, as I filed the information away as another possible clue.
If the strange man in Venna’s journal was indeed a vampire, and if he changed her and Clive into his kind (I mean, how many Oberyns could there be in the world?) and Clive was Bette’s maker, and Bette was mine... well, you get the drift. It was likely that in addition to sharing Venna’s human blood, but her vampire line as well. Whether that knowledge could help me at all remained to be seen, but it was better than nothing.
When I’d read all that I could take and finally pulled myself from the journal hours later, I found Cass asleep on one of the sofas, curled up under one of her multi-colored ponchos. She looked like a clown had thrown up on her, but I’m no fashion expert. My daily wardrobe of jeans and a t-shirt were proof enough of that. Clive appeared to be still asleep in the chair beside me, but I somehow doubted it. The moment I needed him he’d be wide awake and by my side.
I spied Pete sitting at the built-in dining booth. He had an empty glass in his hand and a mostly-gone tumbler of scotch sitting in front of him. God, I hoped he wasn’t drunk. Pete wasn’t the best lush—sometimes you got the arrogant jerk and sometimes you got the angry, petulant bastard. Fun Party Pete didn’t exist.
I debated whether I should go talk to him, to try and smooth things over, but decided against it. Poking the bear wasn’t a good idea, especially in an enclosed space with my control wavering. Nothing good would come of it and I’m sure the next few days would present infinite reasons for Pete to argue with me, so postponing any of that seemed like a wise move.
My mind jumped back to Morgan. Poor, sweet, dead Morgan. I couldn’t reconcile the perky, if naïve, girl I’d met at a strip club in Orlando and almost drained dry during my first vampire feeding. From there, I pretty much adopted her and brought her home to help me with Quinn. After all of that, she was now tucked away in my freezer on top of hamburger and deer tenderloins. It was absurd, in a dark depressing way. I had no idea how I was going to break the news to Quinn when the time came.
A slight rustling to my left pulled me back to reality.
“By the way, I received a text from Gregor earlier. Whatever you did to block the free-for-all orgasm seems to have worked. No reports of anything out of the ordinary.” Clive said, looking at me through half-shut lids.
“Well, that’s one thing going my way. Thanks.” It made me feel slightly better, which reminded me that I’d never checked my mental storage bottle. I need to do that and there was no time like the present. Goddess knows, I may end up needing to tap into my reserves to get Quinn back unharmed.
I closed my eyes and envisioned the container. It was there, full and capped, glowing brighter than I’d ever seen. That was a heck of a lot of magic, no wonder it backfired and knocked me out for several minutes. The bottle may have no limit, but my undead body could only take so much. That was good to know.
Chapter Fifteen
“I’ve got an address,” I rattled off the text message from Bette and Clive plugged the details into the GPS in our rental car. We were somewhere near Florence, Italy and heading to somewhere else that was close enough to drive. That’s about all I knew.
Did I mention that I flunked Geography in high school?
Clive studied the screen’s directions. “We should be there in about forty-five minutes.”
I turned to look at Cass, seated in the back seat.
“Are you sure that you want to stick around? I have no idea what we’ll be walking into... I may not be able to protect you.” I asked her.
Cass seemed to consider my warning for a moment before responding. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me at all,” she said cryptically and glanced nervously over at Pete, asleep beside her. That was weird, but not weird enough to make me question her on it. I had bigger fish to fry. Nor did I want to know how or why Pete was managing to take a catnap while in the middle of trying to rescue our daughter. Honestly, it would be easier with him unconscious either way.
I turned back to Clive. “Bette’s closer, said she’ll meet us there.”
He frowned, but didn’t say anything. Why was everyone getting squirrelly on me now? I so didn’t have the time or the mental agility for any of it at the moment.
We rode the rest of the journey in silence. I did my best to prepare by imagining every scenario in the book, and how I’d deal with each and every one. That was all I could do, though I had no idea if any of it would help me out when the poop hit the fan for real.
I thought of Quinn and how terrified she must be, but all that did was threaten to make me cry and I had no t
ime for weakness. I had no time for sadness or regret either. With one job to do—get Quinn back safely—all else was not on my agenda.
“We’re here,” Clive spoke, pulling me out of my own thoughts.
I looked up to see that we’d pulled to a stop in front of an ancient looking iron gate, which was flanked by an imposing stone wall. It reminded me of a castle moat in some regards, especially after I looked up and saw an actual damned castle nestled atop the mountain way up in the sky. It was a bloody fortress. I wondered if I’d manage to get my own ass out alive, let alone everyone else that I cared about. And Pete.
“Well, how to do we get in...” I started to ask, before the gate swung open on its own accord. Creepy. Of course. I shouldn’t have expected any less from the old bag of witch-bones.
Clive inched the car forward, slowly, up the long inclined drive to the castle. I noticed his eyes scanning the sides of the driveway, the tree line, up ahead. He seemed to be looking for threats, or memorizing the landscape ahead of time.
If the thought wasn’t so absurd, I would have surmised that he had some sort of military training. Of course, perhaps he did. What did I know about Clive’s past, really?
When we reached the top of the mountain, I took in the view. It was beautiful enough to make a saint cry, while highlighting just how far away the rest of civilization was. If things went sideways, it would be impossible to reach the entry gate far below in a hurry. Even on Vampire feet.
The car stopped and Clive cut the motor. We all looked to the structure in front of us, large and foreboding. Dracula’s castle was the first thing that came to mind, followed closely by thoughts of how beautiful it must have once been, back when newly built and properly maintained. It always made me sad to see an old building in disrepair, forgotten by time and humanity. And this place was no different; it was the ghost of people long gone, and one witch in particular that I only wished was long gone.
The obvious effort had been placed in keeping the structure standing and not on cosmetic appeal. Several large portions of the brick work had been sloppily repaired to keep the façade from crumbling over the years. The plantings at the entry grew wild, having been left to flourish unchecked for a very long time. A thick layer of grime coated the windows, every single one of the dozens I’d counted adorning the front of the structure. The massive, carved wooden door stood slightly ajar, as if the owners had stepped out for something years ago and never returned.
