Covenkeepers

by Denise Gwen

The sisters flew through the dark night, skimming across the clear black sky, as the bright, luminous stars twinkled down at them. Maddie sat on her broom, with Malamar behind her; Bettina perched on hers, with Roby hooting behind her.

  Apart from the few moments it’d taken to hurriedly bundle themselves up and pack small provisions for themselves and their familiars, the girls wasted not a single second. As they flew over the Ohio River, Maddie sustained a moment’s surprise. It didn’t seem possible that only a quarter of an hour had passed since Bartholomew left their house with Victoria.

  An eerie sense of déjà vu suffused Maddie’s senses as they flew eastward. Didn’t she just do this, going the opposite direction, not three days earlier? And here they were, flying back to the same castle with the same sense of urgency.

  Only, last time, Nana and Mama were with us. It doesn’t feel quite right without them.

  Not only did Papa remain trapped in Ezekiel’s prison-like fortress of a castle, but now her mother and her nana were prisoners as well.

  She loved her father, she dearly loved him, but a keening sense of loss overwhelmed her senses at the absence of Nana and Mama. On the night they arrived at the abandoned nursing home, she’d believed her life couldn’t possibly become any worse; she sighed with regret. She’d been mistaken, sorely mistaken.

  She blinked back her tears. More tears filled her eyes and she wiped absently at them as they crept down her cheeks. The residue of her salty tears burnt her skin in the stinging cold night. Malamar pressed up against her backside and a swell of love rose up in her heart. Malamar possessed an innate sense, an intuition of knowing just when to press up against her, to comfort her, exerting his feline skills to ease the pressure on her burdened heart.

  “So tell me again,” Malamar said. “Who is this Drakkur, exactly?”

  “Drakkur,” Maddie said, “is Ezekiel’s son . . . from the mistress Ezekiel took when he tired of his wife.”

  “I know that,” Malamar huffed. “But what is he?”

  A bubbled up inside her.

  Good question, Malamar. Good question.

  “Well?”

  “This is how Nana explained it to me. Drakkur is a rare creature. He’s half-Wiccan, half-vampire. His father, Ezekiel, mated with a woman, a human woman, a non-witch by the name of Cassandra.”

  “Cassandra, eh? And I take it she’s a vampire?”

  “Not at the time of the mating, no,” Maddie said. “But shortly after . . . well, after Drakkur was—”

  “Conceived?”

  “Yes. While Drakkur was growing inside his mother’s body, a vampire turned her.”

  “Turned her?”

  “Into a vampire herself.”

  “Are you joking?”

  “No,” Maddie said, “ I’m dead serious. It’s a strange thing to happen. Under ordinary circumstances, Drakkur would’ve died inside her when she died, but apparently, Ezekiel did something . . . he performed some kind of special dark magic and he managed to save the unborn baby, and the unborn baby continued to grow, and was born, and became Drakkur.”

  “So,” Malamar said, considering. “Drakkur was half-human, half-wiccan at the time of his conception.”

  “Right.”

  “And when his mother became a vampire, he assimilated some of her vampire qualities.”

  “Yes. Obviously,” she added dryly, “Esmeralda, Ezekiel’s wife, wasn’t too happy over the fact her husband had taken a mistress.”

  “I surmised that much,” Malamar huffed. “I’ve met his charming wife, you know. The hideous Esmeralda.”

  Maddie chuckled. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. You do know her, don’t you?”

  Malamar shivered. “What a witch.”

  You said it.

  “Well, anyway,” Maddie continued, glad for a respite from her raging worries, “Ezekiel did what I suppose so many men of a certain age like to do when they grow bored with their wives—he went looking for excitement elsewhere.”

  “I take it he found it.”

  “Oh, yes. In buckets.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Malamar said with a withering disdain, “is how in the world a vampire can give birth? I thought vampires were dead. I thought that was the whole point.”

  Maddie laughed. Malamar’s disgust for—and irritation with—vampires was legendary in their household.

  “It just surprises me,” Malamar said, “how the baby didn’t die.”

  “In a sick kind of way, Malamar, he did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, a lot of witches were concerned over Cassandra’s pregnancy. When the vampire bit her, she was far enough along in her pregnancy that the baby didn’t die, but when Drakkur was born—” and here, she hesitated—“well, it just reminded everyone once again why it’s not a good idea for witches and vampires to breed.”

  “Why?”

  Maddie licked her dry, parched lips. The closer they drew to Salem, the colder and more acrid the wind turned, and the colder and more frightened she grew. “Drakkur possesses all the best elements of each parent. From his father he’s inherited all the Wiccan strengths and skills at subterfuge and trickery.”

  “And?” Malamar asked. “From his mother?”

  “From his mother he’s inherited all the powers of a vampire. And then some.”

  I’ve listened to Mama and Nana talking when they thought I wasn’t around. Drakkur has some awesome powers. Nana says he’s a Day-Walker.

  “I take it then, Drakkur is one powerful dude.”

  “Yes,” Maddie nodded. “Way powerful. And mean.”

  Malamar fell silent a moment, considering. “I get the sneaking suspicion, Maddie, that you’re leaving something out.”

  “I am. I am. I almost hate to tell you this, Malamar, but I think you need to know. Drakkur may very well be a Day-Walker.”

  Malamar hissed softly. “Dear me, that’s bad.”

  “Yes, and Drakkur is also incredibly volatile, easily angered.” She shook her head. “Nobody knows if he gets his temper from being a changeling, a not-quite vampire-yet-not-quite-a-warlock, or if he just happened to be born with a filthy temper.”

  “Suffice it to say, he’s not a nice person?”

  “No, not nice at all.”

  “Be quiet, you two.” Bettina’s voice cut through the eerily clear night sky. “We’re getting close.”

  Maddie glanced down, surprised. There, sure enough, twinkled the city lights of Salem. Goodness, the time flew.

  Maddie took a deep breath. “You ready, Malamar?”

  Malamar nodded.

  Following Bettina’s lead, Maddie slid her broom into place behind her sister. Bettina bobbed and weaved for a moment, before finding an air stream that suited her; Maddie followed suit, and in the next moment the sisters zoomed down to earth, their eyes focused on the abandoned factory located on the outskirts of town.

  Maddie couldn’t remember a time when she felt more frightened.

  9

  Still the deepest part of night when the witches flew into Salem. They pointed their brooms east, to the city’s outskirts, until they found the place they wanted: the abandoned wool factory. No mere abandoned factory, however; built secretly on the inside of the abandoned factory rose up the gothic castle that Ezekiel and his lieutenants built a century ago. The cleverest kind of disguise, for humans paid no attention to the dilapidated-looking firetrap, and because they weren’t the least bit interested in it, the Wiccan tribe had felt no need to put elaborate charms or incantations on the place. Humans simply stayed away as a matter of course.

  With a trace of unease, Maddie wished suddenly Ezekiel hadn’t been quite so clever, quite so treacherous; a less clever, less duplicitous warlock would’ve gotten himself killed long before now, but Ezekiel had witnessed the sun rising on not one century, but two. Clearly, a warlock to be feared.

  She and Bettina hovered above the castle for a long moment, hanging on the air currents, discerning any subtle change
s that had taken place to the castle since the last time they lived there.

  “What do you notice that’s different?” Bettina asked.

  “The ramparts,” Maddie said. “They’re lit with tapers.”

  “Yes,” Bettina said. “That’s the first clue. Very good, Maddie.”

  “It’s a strange thing to do, isn’t it? Light the tapers, when a coven’s primary goal is to avoid human detection?”

  “Absolutely,” Bettina agreed. “On a typical midsummer’s night, the castle would’ve appeared darker than a crypt.”

  “What in the world does Ezekiel mean by it, ordering the fires to be lit?”

  Maddie and Bettina glanced nervously at one another.

  “I don’t like the looks of that,” Bettina muttered.

  “Nor do I. It’s like they’re waiting for us.”

  “Not too much we can do though, is there?”

  “No,” Maddie said miserably. “There isn’t.”

  In unison, the sisters bent their broomsticks down and hit an air current that sailed them smoothly to the back side of the abandoned warehouse. Once safely on the ground, they reconnoitered their positions and worked out a strategy.

  “This is what I think we should do,” Bettina said in a hushed whisper. “I’ll sneak in at the side entrance and make my way to the dungeon where Papa’s locked up. You go in through the back entrance over there and see to Mama and Nana.”

  Maddie’s brow creased with worry. “Do you really think it’s a good idea for us to separate? After all, they know we’re coming. It’s not like we’ve got the element of surprise.”

  “Oh, well,” Bettina faltered. “Well, I didn’t think of that.”

  Maddie watched as her sister’s face betrayed her conflicting emotions. A tiny part of Maddie’s heart lurched a little as she realized something amazing: she and Bettina were talking to one another as if they were adult witches. None of the arguing and back-and-forth cattiness that generally defined their relationship, and which, quite frankly, Maddie half-hoped for. Bettina was taking Maddie’s concerns seriously, as seriously as if Maddie were a real adult witch. Their sisterly relationship was maturing, and this frightened her more than if they’d argued over their game-plan to enter the castle undetected. It demonstrated to Maddie, with a full force that terrified her, that Bettina felt as clueless about this situation as she did.

  Bettina was also deeply frightened.

  “We mustn’t separate,” Maddie said.

  “I know, I know,” Bettina fretted. “But what can we do? I figure if we separate, we stand a better chance at saving somebody.”

  “I’m sure Ezekiel’s got vampires stationed at every entrance. We’ve got to come up with a better plan.”

  Bettina scowled at the pitch-black sky. “If we wait to enter the castle at dawn, the vampires will be asleep by then.”

  “But that’s six hours from now,” Maddie said.

  “If we wait till dawn,” Bettina said, “the vampires can’t stop us.”

  “I know, but I don’t think Ezekiel’s going to let us wait that long.”

  An important ceremony will take place soon.

  Maddie started with surprise at the sudden insight. She sensed Ezekiel was waiting for the right moment to occur, and then the event would take place. But how did she know this, sense this?

  “What do you mean?” Bettina’s blue eyes betrayed her tremendous fear.

  Maddie shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I can’t explain it, but I’ve got a sense, a bad feeling. Something’s going to happen, and soon. I’m afraid we don’t have the luxury of time.”

  Bettina gazed closely at her. “What makes you say that?”

  Maddie shrugged. “It’s just a—it’s just a feeling.”

  Bettina nodded thoughtfully. “You want to know something? Mama always said you’ve got a lot of Griselda in you.”

  Maddie smiled faintly. Griselda had been Nana’s mother; to her infinite regret, Maddie never got to meet her great-grandmother, but Bettina did, as a child.

  Griselda perished in a freak fire when Bettina was five years old. Mama and Nana never spoke of it, but when Bettina reached puberty, she began remembering odd little bits and pieces from her great-grandmother’s life. One morning, Bettina had jolted awake from a horrible nightmare, screaming, her body bathed in a cold sweat. She ran around the house babbling nonsense, until Mama finally got her settled down. As she nursed a mug of warm cocoa, Bettina said something aloud—something, no doubt, Maddie was not been meant to hear.

  “They laughed as they set fire to the embers!” Bettina cried, her eyes bright with horror. “Her own people. They laughed!”

  “Who laughed, Bettina?” Maddie asked.

  “Hush, child,” Nana said, shooing Maddie away as Mama hurried to the cupboards to find the ingredients for a soothing paste to apply to Bettina’s forehead.

  “Her own people!” Bettina cried.

  “Hush that child,” Mama said to Nana, who glanced at Maddie with concern.

  Later, after they got Bettina calmed down, Maddie crept up to Mama’s side to pose the question. “What did Bettina mean, Mama? When she said people were burning Griselda?”

  Mama shook her head. An answer would not be forthcoming, but then she said, “We don’t associate with that coven anymore.”

  Oh.

  As if that explained it.

  Oh, we don’t associate with them anymore. No indeed! Not when my great-grandmother is burned alive at the stake. No siree!

  Maddie had pressed Bettina for more details, but after her frantic outburst, Mama and Nana must’ve placed some kind of a forgetting on Bettina; for, after that, whenever pressed for information on Griselda, Bettina grew frustratingly vague and obdurate. After that one incident, Maddie believed that Bettina had completely forgotten all the details concerning her great-grandmother, but apparently, she’d retained some vestiges of memory. Not only that, but she’d learned not to discuss it in front of her little sister.

  Maddie glanced at the back entrance to the castle. Time was of the essence, yet she felt a compelling desire to know more. “Did Great-Grandmother know they were planning to kill her?”

  “No,” Bettina mused. “On the subject of her own death, she seemed distracted. As I recall, in the week before she was burned to de—well, she kept complaining she felt tired and unwell.” A troubled look passed across Bettina’s features. “The night she died was a bad night, a very bad night.”

  “I wish you’d tell me more,” Maddie said fervently.

  Bettina gazed at her, her blue eyes filled with tears. “I’ve finally stopped getting nightmares from it, so I suppose one day I will.”

  “Oh, Bettina,” Maddie said, reaching forward and draping her arms around her sister’s heaving shoulders. “You poor thing.”

  Bettina gulped back a wrenching sob, then pulled herself away. Drying her tears with the back of her hand, she laughed wryly. “Look at me, getting all choked up when there’s work to be done.”

  “You can’t help it.”

  “I know,” Bettina said, flashing with irritation, “but we’re wasting time. I don’t want to live through a repeat of that terrible night with Griselda.”

  Maddie’s blood turned to ice. “What do you mean, Bettina?”

  “This.” Bettina thrust her chin at the factory. “The night Griselda died—a night not too different from this one.”

  Maddie gazed silently at her sister.

  “Just like tonight,” Bettina repeated. Roby and Malamar gazed solemnly at her, their large eyes luminous and fearful in the full night.

  But there’s another way in.

  Maddie reared her head back; the idea had arisen, unbidden, in her mind. “There’s another way in,” she said slowly.

  Bettina whirled around, staring at her. “What?”

  Maddie gazed at Malamar. “There’s another way in.”

  “What do you mean?” Bettina demanded. “There are only three ways in�
��the front entrance, the side, and the back.”

  “There’s another way in.”

  “Well, we can’t very well go sailing in through the front door,” Bettina scoffed. “We’ll be killed instantly, you know. Vampires are guarding each entrance.”

  “It doesn’t really matter what we do,” Malamar said in a mournful voice. “We’re going to get killed no matter what we do.”

  “No, no, no.” Maddie reached for Bettina’s delicate hand and squeezed. Maddie looked away, smiling with a sheepish air. “None of you ever knew this, because if Mama and Nana found out—well, they would’ve been pretty upset with me.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bettina said.

  “I don’t know where it came from,” Maddie said, “but your talking about Griselda reminded me of some things from my childhood, some of my memories.”

  “We’d appreciate it if you got to the point sometime tonight,” Malamar remarked tartly.

  “Malamar,” Maddie said. “How would you like to eat a tasty treat tonight?”

  “A mouse?” Malamar turned up his nose with a dainty repugnance. “I’m not interested in mice.”

  “How about a rat?” Maddie said.

  “A rat?” Malamar cocked his whiskers at her. “Now you’re talking.”

  “How about,” Maddie said with a gleam in her eye, “lots and lots of rats?”

  “Maddie, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we don’t have time for this—”

  Malamar cut Bettina off. “My dear,” he said. “I’ve got a funny feeling I know what Maddie is trying to tell us. And if my guess is correct, it’s another way into the castle.” He glanced up at Maddie. “Am I right?”

  “Malamar, you are so right.”

  ****

  “Oh my,” Bettina muttered. “You are so kidding me.”

  “I am so serious,” Maddie said.

  “And that is such an awful stink,” Malamar added. “Worse than the foulest litter box.”

  The sisters stood on the embankment of the Naumkeag River; below their feet, a drainage pipe flowed into the river. Although the pipe appeared to be relatively clean—relative being the operative word here—a malodorous odor emanated from it. No doubt, it housed many a mouse colony, rats’ nest, and the occasional homeless person seeking shelter from the cold night air.