Witch Wars: The Underlayes, Book One

by T. A. Moorman

  “Aha.” I spotted it on the center island counter as soon as I turned around, right next to a roll of paper towels. What? We do have all the modern conveniences over in our realm too. Who do you think invented the stuff over there?

  Once I had my miniature version of a Scooby and Shaggy sandwich, I stepped into the sitting room to see who my mystery host was. Maybe the next person I met would just step up to me with introductions. Nah. That was just wishful thinking on my part. Wasn’t even going to waste any brain waves on thinking it might actually happen.

  “Well, have a seat, I don’t bite. Correction, because that’d just be a lie. Of course I bite. But I do not bite family.” She said it with a slight twinkle in her eye. Looking at her, one would think she was just some harmless lady. Good thing I knew better than that. To say looks can be deceiving, especially when it comes to vampires…

  “Please, don’t tell me—yet another sister I didn’t know about?”

  “Hel, no. I hate my sister to my utmost ability. No, dear, I’m your great-grandmother, on your real father’s side of course. Can’t you see the family resemblance?”

  She began laughing at her own joke. Glad to see someone was amused by all this.

  “Oh, don’t look so glum. You need to lighten up a little. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over all of my centuries of living, it’s that sometimes you just need to laugh instead of crying. Now answer me this. While you may have learned that the man you called Dad for the entirety of your life isn’t truly that, wouldn’t you rather learn that you have more family instead of less? Especially one that’ll love you instead of judging you, and wouldn’t sell you off to the highest bidder.”

  “They weren’t getting any gold or money for me marrying Bran.”

  “No, they were getting more power, or so they thought, and that’s just as bad. Daughters should be loved, cherished and spoiled. Not groomed, primped and forgotten about. Hel, them bitches probably don’t even realize you’re gone, thinking—rather hoping—you’re sitting at that fool’s bedside.” The last was mumbled so low I barely even caught it. “Anyway, I am Anastasia Nikolaevna Crisco, no relation to the royals over there, your great-grandmama.”

  That handful of a name was said with a genuine Russian accent, and with so much authority that there was no question she was indeed royalty. Just not of the human variety.

  “My pleasure? Look, it’s great and all having more family. But it’s just a lot to take in, especially after everything. I’m really not sure how you all expect me to react. I barely know how to react. And it isn’t just you, and I’m not trying to point any of my anger at you. I’m just not sure how to feel about anything at this point in time. That goes for any other family member I may or may not have roaming around here; aunts, uncles, cousins. Maybe a year or two from now I’ll be ready for a full-blown family reunion, just not right now.”

  And bring on the wet shit again. I was once again a jumble of tears, and I hate crying. That happens when you grow up never having a shoulder to cry on, since you’re supposed to be oh so strong. I was such an emotional mess I didn’t even realize she was holding on to me and rubbing my back. At some point she must have pulled me closer to her, or scooted over closer to me. It didn’t matter. She seemed to know exactly what I needed, and it wasn’t words—not conversational words, anyway.

  Instead, she began crooning what must have been a Russian lullaby. What’s weird? After she continued for a while, I began translating the lyrics in my head, even though I didn’t speak a lick of Russian.

  “…He is sleeping in a cradle. He is not crying, nor is he screaming. Sleeping tight all night. Please, you children, go ahead and bring us that little flower, that scarlet flower, for little Ilusha.”

  She continued holding me, gently rocking me back and forth. “I used to sing that for your grandfather—your father’s father—and then for him once he was born. All I had was boys; always wanted a little girl. Which is probably why I spoiled your sister so much. You just go ahead and let it all out. I’ve wanted to hold you for so long. Don’t you worry about any of that, or any of us, for that matter. We’re practically immortal; we have plenty of time to catch up and learn about one another. For you to get to know all of us, if you want to.”

  “Can you answer one question for me? Were you singing in English or Russian just now? Towards the end.”

  “Russian, moy milyj. Why do you ask?”

  “Then how could I understand when I don’t even speak Russian?”

  “Oh, moy milyj. You shouldn’t be able to, not yet. Looks like your powers are coming online even quicker than your father feared.”

  “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that. Why does everyone sound so scared when they talk about it? And why is it so flippin’ hot in here?” I was sweating, actually sweating. I don’t sweat. Come on, my element is fire—why would I? “I haven’t been drugged again, have I? Wait, did I say that out loud?” My words came out slurred; I was barely able to get them all out. No sooner had I said that than I began convulsing.

  “Oh no. Anya! Get your father, now!” I heard her screaming frantically.

  “What’s happening to her?” came my sister’s reply. Faintly, I realized I was hearing her name for the very first time—one less thing for her to hold over me now, eh?

  I felt so hot, and not a good hot either. Which was beyond odd, considering.

  “Dearest Nyx. Tia, no, not yet,” Someone else knelt down beside me and whispered in my ear—my newfound dad, going by the sound of the voice. Louder, he bellowed, “We have to get her out of here! Her True Turning has already begun. There’s no stopping it or slowing it down.”

  He began issuing orders in earnest then. Everything started to sound like nothing more than echoes to my ears, because now I was not only hot, but also in agonizing, excruciating pain. I don’t know if I screamed out loud or just in my head.

  Someone picked me up, flashing me away to what almost felt like a dungeon. I didn’t even open my eyes to see what was going on, it just had the same feel as my workout room at home. Which is fireproof. Though I seriously doubted that was where we were. I was laid down on a cold slab, and that was when the fun really began.

  “Everyone back up!”

  My entire body burst into flames, both on the inside and out. While usually it felt not only good but comforting as well, the way in which these flames consumed me was anything but, and they also rose much higher than they ever had before, my body rising right along with them, levitating. My skin was literally being singed off my bones, and my organs were ablaze, and felt as though they were reforming and reshaping. All of it was completely out of my control. I felt as though I were both dying and being reborn again. They do say the closest one comes to death is giving birth, but I wasn’t exactly giving birth to myself. More like a part of me that had been lying dormant was bringing itself to the forefront, and none too politely at that.

  A door that was locked inside me had just burst open, and some other part of me that I’d never even known existed broke free, full of flames that put mine to shame. They began not only burning through my own, but merging with them, and the pain that caused was excruciating. They were the brightest, fullest, most powerful flames I had ever seen, and they were consuming me, swallowing me whole until it felt as though there was no part of me left. Not only were my flames being converted into something completely new and different, but so was my entire being. It was beyond terrifying.

  I could tell people were still in this hollowed-out room with me, their voices echoing, bouncing off the walls, but that wasn’t my concern right now. I was consumed by way too much pain to bring myself to care about what was going on around me. They could be having a full-blown party going on all around me at this point, if only one of them could get this pain to stop.

  How long it went on like that, I haven’t the slightest idea. It could have been hours, days or even weeks—with the amount of pain I was currently undergoing, years could have passed by
for all I cared.

  When the pain finally ebbed, leaving my entire body feeling exposed and raw, and the flames extinguished themselves, there were gasps from all around the room. All my newborn body and I wanted to do was to drift off into a much-needed deep sleep, and that was exactly what I did as soon as someone threw a blanket that seemed to be coated with some sort of healing balm over me.

  13

  Over My Dead Or Alive Body

  As my mind came back online, the first thing I noticed was the fact that I was not alone. I no longer had a full audience, however, just two visitors this time around. One sat at my bedside holding my hand within a pair of hands that I knew all too well, since they belonged to my mother…and my hand now had very sharp and thick claws, by the feel of it. The other was pacing back and forth like a caged animal ready to break through the walls.

  I observed all this by sound and touch only, not yet ready to open my eyes and let the world know I was fully alert. Just not ready to face the proverbial music, hear any more unwanted explanations or excuses, just plain not ready to deal with any more of the bullshit just yet.

  “This wouldn’t have happened yet had it not been for that damn son of yours.” Mom must be pissed, her words ending on a gust of wind that I did my best to ignore, else give up my charade.

  “Don’t you dare blame this on Darvyn. If you hadn’t insisted upon keeping things from her as long as you did, he wouldn’t have felt compelled to do what he did.” Dad, my real one—which was more than apparent, considering the now very sharp canines I felt in my mouth—seethed between his fangs. “She should have been eased into this long ago.”

  “She wasn’t ready yet.”

  “She wasn’t ready?” He laughed a laugh so low and sinister even I flinched inwardly, and it wasn’t even directed towards me. “Do you reckon she may be ready now? Hmm…possibly yes? Since now she has to be brought up to speed and into the fold like in one of those damn novels you used to be so fond of! What would have been better? She’s had to endure all this without even knowing what in the fuck was going on. I wonder who gets the Mother of the Year Award? Ding, ding, ding, not you!”

  Uh-oh, I think that did it.

  Mom rose ever so slowly, drawing in all the air in the room, and blew Dad all the way up to the ceiling like he was no more than a rag doll. He only stayed there for a few seconds, though, to give him credit where it’s due—anyone else would just have been stuck there. With a stone-cold glare that would have given even Medusa a run for her money, he pushed himself off the ceiling to stand directly in front of her in less time than it took to blink an eye. Yes, at this point I was peeking. You would too! I wasn’t about to miss all this action. You ask me, they both deserved to get their asses kicked. Mom for keeping all this shit from me, and Dad for apparently being too much of a pussy to say screw her and tell me anyway.

  My reverie was cut short as Anya flashed in. “Guys! This isn’t helping anything. And if you would both stop for just one whole minute, you’d notice Sleeping Beauty over there isn’t even sleeping anymore.”

  Well, guessed that meant my jig was up. As all three of them rushed towards where I lay, I held up a hand. “Don’t.”

  Gradually, I started sitting up on my own, taking inventory of all my body parts, and the newness of them all. Everything felt different yet the same; mainly just stronger and healthier, and my skin seemed thicker. My nails were now claws—not extremely long and curled under, just sharper and very much thicker, almost like a cat’s claws. My canines…well those were now fangs, not fully extended, but definitely noticeably different.

  And I was hungry—ravenous, really—and had a thirst so strong that my throat not only felt parched, but raw. I reached my hand up to my throat as I took in just how much that one word had taken out of me to say with my throat as dry as it was. Not realizing how fast I was now, I ended up scratching the hell out of my neck, the smell of my own blood making my thirst even worst.

  “Here, drink this.” Anya was right there, handing me a tall, skinny champagne glass filled to the brim with a thick, warm, deep-red liquid that was unmistakably blood. The smell was so alluring I’m surprised I didn’t snatch it out of her hand and gulp it all down. Think the only thing truly stopping me from doing just that was the fear that I would waste even one precious, delectable drop. I just gingerly took it from her hand, careful not to spill, then tipped the glass back to my lips until every last drop was gone.

  “More,” I snarled, then immediately gasped at the sounds that were emanating from me, I was snarling at her. Literally, like I was some ferocious beast. I don’t know what disturbed me more; the fact that I was snarling, or the fact that it felt kind of good to do so.

  “Jeesh,” Anya responded, shaking her head, “let your body absorb that, and I’ll get you some more. No taking in too much at once—you need to tame the beast, not spoil it to the point where it thinks it can just gorge on blood whenever it wants.”

  “Come now, dear, she’s going to need a lot more than that for the time being. What your poor sister just went through was traumatizing to say the least.” Ah, dear, sweet Grams with the voice of reason; I may just have loved that woman already. “We’re going to have to do things a lot differently with her. Your vampiric side has been online since birth, like most vampires. Poor Ti Ti here, she’s a rather late bloomer to say the least.”

  My eyes became as round as saucers as she handed me the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, a large platter filled with chopped-up raw steak that had been drowned not in animal blood, but freshly spilled human blood. Please don’t ask how I knew the difference, I just did. And I tore into it like a baby on her first birthday ripping into her very first birthday cake, only it wasn’t as cute. It was horror-flick-worthy in a Stephen King sort of way, only even bloodier. I licked the plate clean, not allowing a drop to go to waste. As I was licking my fingers, I noticed how silent it had become.

  “What?” I asked anyone, everyone, whoever felt like answering, as they all stood there with their mouths gaping wide open. “Weren’t any of you ever taught how rude it is to stare?”

  “Uh, Tia, I think that rule just flew right out the window given how you look.”

  Just as Anya finished that statement, Darvyn flashed in; now all we were missing was Elyssia. He took one look at me, tilted his head to the side, said, “Maybe now isn’t such a good time,” and flashed right back out.

  Huh, guess he didn’t like what he saw. Imagine that.

  “Mom, Dad, why don’t the two of you finish hashing things out while me and Grandmama take Tia down to the hot springs so she can get all cleaned up? Tia, we’re about to take you to the room I love most in the family castle. I’m sure you’re going to love it just as much as I do.”

  It wasn’t until I stood up that I noticed I didn’t have a stitch of clothing on besides the blanket that had just slid from my legs. “Uh.” Suddenly, Darvyn’s sudden departure took on a whole new light, poor thing. If he wasn’t such a pompous ass, I might have actually felt sorry for him.

  Anya laughed at what must have been my epically dumbfounded expression. “No need to be modest, now; all you can really see on your top half is blood anyway. We have clothes, shoes and all that good stuff waiting for you by the springs. No one dares come down here but family, and since most of them have seen me naked, it’s pretty much the equivalent to seeing you naked, so no worries.”

  As we walked through the labyrinth of tunnels, I was surprised mostly by the fact I wasn’t cold. I had managed to at least grab the blanket, but my feet were also completely bare. I must have burned through everything I had on my body, something I wasn’t used to, since all the clothing I owned and flashed into was spelled to be flame-resistant. Whatever clothes Anya had put on me hadn’t been.

  True to her word, so far we hadn’t run into anyone. I could hear a few voices echoing off the walls, though granted not very many. And the walls were absolutely majestic. An incredibly deep midnight black, interspersed
with what seemed like small jewels, glittering like a starry night. Sconces every six feet or so softly lit each corridor, enhancing the beauty without taking anything away. Everything was so much sharper and clearer to me now that I wondered if it would have been this beautiful had I seen it before going through my transition, for lack of a better term.

  Up ahead, I saw someone crouched down in a corner, not in a threatening way, just rocking back and forth. Anya must have noticed me staring, because she said, “That’s just Great-great-great-great-great Auntie Hildegarde. You know how you hear some talk growing up? About those who didn’t make it over with all their wits intact when they created the Realm? Well we’ve got one of those in the fam. Ta-da! The rumors are true. There’s a family vote, like, every year or so on whether or not to put her out of her misery. But with her rare bouts of lucidity, some believe that someday she may just come back around and have her wits about her again full time.”

  “Okay, maybe this is a dumb-ass question, and don’t hesitate to tell me so if it is. But why not, when she does have her rare bouts of lucidity, just ask her whether she’d rather continue with her existence in the state she’s in, or just end it?” I asked as we walked past her. Glancing back at her for a hot second, I could have sworn I saw her smile and wink her eye at me. Then she began singing a rather creepy song in Russian.

  “Oh, we’ve asked her that several different times during her not-too-crazy moments.” This time it was Grandmama who answered. “And each time there is a unique, ridiculous, brand-new crazy answer. It’s almost as if it has become a game to her. Some are beginning to wonder if she truly is broken, or just so damn old that she’s run out of things that bring her very much entertainment, and this is some sick and twisted game she’s come up with.