Blessed Curse

by Sandra R Neeley

  Where most girls her age were flirting with the boys in school, buying fancy dresses, or having highlights put in their hair, and planning senior prom, she started with weapons training at 4:00 A.M. each morning. Then she’d dutifully finish her home schooling, practice her craft — witchcraft that is, and eat every little healthy meal and snack placed before her every three hours. She practiced the old Latin spells her great-grandmother insisted she learn and be able to repeat verbatim in her sleep, and she practiced her gymnastics. She did it all or some combination thereof every single day.

  She sat dressed and ready to go, on the edge of her bed in the very room she was born in, and took a small 5” x 7” framed photo off her nightstand. She cradled the photo in her hand and gently ran the fingers of her right hand down the face of the girl in the photo. She seemed so shy, so quiet, and kind. Solange’s eyes misted over and blinked away the tears. Grandmama had never lied to her about her beginnings. She knew she was the result of a vampire’s attack on her mother. She knew her mother had thrown herself out of the second floor window to protect Solange from her own hunger. And she knew she’d been cursed from the moment she was conceived. But that was okay. She’d made peace with it, to some extent, anyway. And she saw everything she worked toward as her right, her right to defend her mother’s honor. Her right to destroy the male that had destroyed her mother, and by so doing, to take vengeance into her own hands. It was her sole focus in life. Kill vampires. All vampires. At least until she found the one. The one that had created her, then, she’d have to see how she felt after she’d sent him to hell. She may continue with wiping them from the face of the earth, and then again, she might not.

  Solange lifted the photo to her lips and kissed it. “I’m going to get him, Mom. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” She replaced the photo on her nightstand and stood. She leaned over touching the floor, then stretching even further, placed her hands on the floor between and even a few inches behind her feet. She held the position for a moment then straightened and twisted her back first one way, then the other. Working the soreness out of her muscles from this morning’s workout. Sensei Advinadeto may have been her trusted and beloved Sensei, but he surely didn’t take it easy on her. Every inch of progress she made, she fought for — she even on occasion bled for. And she’d have it no other way.

  She needed everything she could take away from her training. Even on the days she happened to see girls her own age in town and became momentarily envious of their easy, superficial lives, she still wouldn’t trade with them. She had a vengeance to deliver. A vengeance that would never allow her to rest, until it was delivered. And she renewed her promise to her mother every single day just to be sure that the promise was fresh in her mind, fresh off her lips, fueling her heart and soul.

  Solange left her third floor bedroom and started down the grand staircase to the first floor. She was only eight steps down from the third level when her Sensei launched an attack on her. She was lifted off her feet from behind, her Sensei holding her by the throat, as a real attacker would do. Solange lifted her body and using the strength of his hold on her, swung her feet up and over his head, breaking his grip on her throat and forming her own hold on his throat from behind. She held him tight, her arm across his throat, her other hand wrapped around her own wrist, pulling for added tension across his throat, one leg wrapped around his abdomen, holding his arms down so that he couldn’t pry her off.

  She waited until he tapped out, letting her know she’d won. Then she thought about it for a second, until he tapped out more insistently before she let go and dropped to her feet, immediately moving back up two stairs to keep her distance in case he was faking it to attack her again.

  “Very good, Solange. Very good,” he complimented, chuckling while he rubbed his sore throat on his way down the stairs, glancing back at her every once in a while to make sure she was following.

  “What will we begin with today?” she asked, following him, though still at a distance.

  “What would you like to start with?” Sensei Advinadeto asked.

  “I think, Katana. I’d like to start with the blades,” Solange answered. She was very adept, very talented with the blades, and training with them was a very easy training session for her.

  “Excellent,” Sensei answered. “Then we shall begin with Jiu Jitsu.” He glanced back to find her rolling her eyes. She should have known better. She answered with the choice that was easiest for her, and he’d known that. So, he’d chosen an option that she hadn’t, realizing she wasn’t as comfortable with the other choices as she was her blades. He was always thinking, always teaching, even in what seemed a simple conversation.

  Moments later, the sounds of grunting, snarls and the slap of flesh on flesh permeated the house as Solange and her Sensei grappled for control as they flipped, wrestled, and twisted one another in all the complex moves she strived to master day after day. Marceline had transformed the ballroom of the house into a martial arts training room for Solange. Its floors were covered in training mats, its walls lined in mirrors for the most part, with a portion of one wall mounted with displays of all the bo’s, katanas, escrima sticks and various other weaponry they trained with. There were even punching bags for use in practicing her punching and kicking suspended from the ceiling on a track and pulley system that allowed them to be moved back out of the way into the corners when not in use. It was a strange combination of martial arts training facility and old New Orleans Victorian charm between the stained glass windows, chandelier, and crown molding that accompanied the training equipment. But they made it work.

  Hours later, after Sensei Advinadeto bade her goodbye and took his leave, Solange, exhausted and dripping with sweat, made her way back to the third floor of the mansion to clean up and get ready for dinner. Dinner in their home was a formal affair. Grandmama was a stickler for certain old world traditions, and formality at meals was one of them. Dinner was especially formal since it was the only one Solange attended — all her other meals were small quick eats meant to fuel her during her days of training and were usually taken in the kitchen or in her room between training sessions. For their evening meal, their dinner, all the sisters of the coven living in the mansion were expected to attend if at all possible. Grandmama always had a full meal, three courses at least set out on the huge dining room table. Silverware, fine bone china, and crystal glassware were always used. One didn’t need to dress as though they were entertaining, but one was not expected to show up in sweats and workout gear either.

  As Solange moved past Grandmama’s office door, she heard her grandmama’s voice raise to enforce her point as she spoke to whomever was on the other end of the phone line, and paused to listen. “I do not care what your concerns and opinions are. She is not ready. When she is, the choice will be hers.”

  Solange listened, almost sure they were speaking of her.

  There was a pause before Grandmama spoke again. “I am well aware of your organization, and have been for quite some time. While I respect your mission and your energies, I cannot speak for Solange. She will have to make her own choices when the time comes.”

  Another pause. Then, “You are correct, she has trained all her life for exactly the same purpose, but her focus is much more finite. She is interested in only one particular male, not the race as a whole.”

  Solange wondered who was speaking to her grandmama, and why they were interested in her and her desired vengeance. No one outside her very small, very private circle, should be aware of her plans.

  “I shall keep that in mind, but regardless, the time is not now. If we decide to entertain your offer, we will contact you. Good evening, Gillian.” The line disconnected, and Solange hurried silently up the stairs to her own room before she was caught eavesdropping. Eavesdropping was a major faux pas in the myriad of manners her grandmama had insisted she be raised with along with her routine training. The irony of a young girl being raised to physically be a threat to most all she would encounter
, along with the manners of a lady of the aristocratic old south, was not lost on her. It was just another of the idiosyncrasies that made up her life and who she was.

  ~~~

  Gillian Laurant ended the call she’d been on and sat back in her chair. She shook her head disbelievingly and raised both hands to her face to press the heels of her hands against her eyes. She had a tension headache. She was under pressure from headquarters to contribute to the hunt for the vampire who’d become the most prolific, senseless murderer in all the history of E.V.I.E.

  E.V.I.E. was the acronym for the organization she worked for. She was in fact the cell director for the New Orleans branch of E.V.I.E. — Eliminate Vampiric Influences Everywhere. And they’d been watching the young great-granddaughter of Marceline De’Mers, head of the LaCelle Coven, as she came into her own. They wanted her for their own missions, their own agendas, and hopefully, if they could manage to get past Marceline to speak to the girl alone, she’d agree they could be beneficial to each other and join them. So far, they’d not been successful. Marceline was a force to be reckoned with, and she was highly protective of her great-granddaughter.

  Gillian ground her teeth and pointedly ignored the ringing of the land line sitting on the desk in her office, allowing it to go to voice mail instead. Then her personal cell phone began to buzz, vibrating its way across the slick wooden surface of her desk. Gillian huffed out a sigh and sat forward long enough to snatch her phone off the desk and look at the screen to see who was calling her. Great — it was her boss, Jude. Jude had no sense of humor, at all. Add to that the fact that he’d been riding her ass to get to the bottom of the psychotic vampire they’d been tracking for the last seventeen years, and he didn’t understand Marceline blocking them from access to her great-granddaughter, this was not going to be a happy phone call to answer.

  She begrudgingly swiped the screen on her phone to answer Jude’s call. “Jude, how are you?” she asked.

  “Did she agree?” he asked bluntly, choosing to ignore all pleasantries.

  “She’s only seventeen, Jude. She’s not completed her training, and Marceline refuses to give us access to her to even present ourselves as an option until she feels the girl is ready.”

  “Until she feels the girl is ready…” Jude echoed.

  “Yes.”

  “The girl’s got more training than most of our agents already working on this case! She’s been trained since she was barely able to stand. How much more ready could she get?!” Jude shouted in frustration.

  “I know that. But she is still just seventeen years old. And she has a right to make her choices as she grows into adulthood. She can’t be forced into E.V.I.E. if she’s not interested.”

  “Gillian, it is your job, no — your duty, to see to it that this girl chooses E.V.I.E. versus working alone. Are we clear?”

  “If I coerce her into working with us, for us, doesn’t it make her choice moot, not really her own choice?”

  “Would you rather this vampire continue to murder multiple souls at will? He’s escalating, Gillian. I don’t need to explain this to you, you are already aware. He’s escalating, and our people haven’t been able to even track him, much less contain him.”

  “I know that,” Gillian answered, her tone flat as she managed to keep her tone under control.

  “Solange De’Mers has more talents than just being a master of martial arts — she’s got witchery on her side. One is not descended from the most powerful coven in the Americas without having a mastery of witchcraft as well. Her bloodline, along with her mastery of the martial arts she so readily excels at, is what put her on our radar. We need this girl,” Jude exclaimed passionately.

  “I’m trying. But you can’t push too hard. She is still legally a minor. And Marceline will cut us off before we even get a chance for a meeting with her.”

  Jude thought about the issues rattling around in his brain, and pursed his lips before deciding to just say it. “We have a clean up crew on site in Venezuela this morning. Almost an entire village wiped out. Every man, every woman, every child down to even the babies were killed. Those he fed from were the lucky ones. Some just torn in half and strewn across the rooms, not even bled first. They were just viciously torn apart, murdered. For what reason? Why would he do that? There was no reason to kill the babies. They couldn’t possibly speak of what they'd seen. What is the reason?”

  Gillian closed her eyes and offered up a quick little prayer for the souls of those that had been slaughtered during the night, when her biggest problem had been trying to figure out how to reach Solange De’Mers through her obstinate great-grandmother.

  “Did he leave any of them alive this time?” Gillian asked.

  “Same as always whenever one fits his type. A tall, thin, brown-haired girl with sad quiet eyes. He raped her repeatedly, then forced her to feed from him. But this time, he spoke to her. He left her alive this time. He kept telling her that he’d searched for her for years, and now that he had her, his mouse, he’d make sure that she was not left hungry again. When the girl objected and vomited up the blood he forced down her throat, he became enraged and almost tore her throat out with his fangs.”

  “Oh my God,” Gillian whispered.

  “He kept feeding from her, then feeding her from himself, until he finally seemed to see her through clear eyes, realized she wasn’t his mouse, and threw her against a wall in a fit of anger before disappearing and leaving her for dead.”

  “Is she still alive? Can we speak to her? Did his actions ultimately kill her?” Gillian asked.

  “No, we can’t speak to her. She was near hysterical, not fully understanding all that had happened to her. After we got all the information we could from her, we ended her. We had no choice, he’d turned her. And if she is infected with whatever virulent psychotic nature he’s harboring, we cannot afford to wait until she succumbs to it. It is best if she is eliminated now, rather than having to search her out again later if she begins to mimic his behavior.” Jude thought about the fact that he’d had to give the directive to kill the girl that had just been savaged by a vampire. It bothered him, but not as much as allowing her to walk away would have bothered him. “For what it’s worth, she didn’t know it was coming, and it was painless — we are not monsters…” he added when explaining that they’d had to kill her.

  Gillian took a deep shaky breath. This was the part of her job she hated the most. The necessary disposal of innocents who’d been turned through no fault of their own. They were not willing participants, yet they had to be terminated in order to keep human civilization safe. Or at least as safe as it could be.

  “He’s escalating, Gillian. Every single attack is becoming more violent. He is becoming more unhinged. We need Solange De’Mers on our side. Perhaps her magics can help us locate this vampiric pestilence and remove it from the face of the earth. We’ve tried all else and just simply cannot locate him.”

  “I’m trying, Jude.”

  “Try harder,” Jude insisted.

  The line went dead and Gillian dropped her phone into her lap. Most days she was proud of her job, of her path in life and the way she personally helped keep the world just a little bit safer through E.V.I.E.’s observation and eventual elimination of vampires moving freely among humankind. But today, she got no satisfaction from it. Today, she mourned for the souls lost overnight, when a clearly insane vampire had gone on a rampage and killed all in his path.

  Chapter 5

  Eighteen months later.

  “Excellent, Solange. Very good, child. Now, let’s try it again,” Marceline encouraged.

  Solange lifted her double-sided Japanese blade and rushed across the room, tossing it away as she went to symbolize it being removed or lost during battle. She didn’t pause in her movements, instead she continued on, positioning her hands and arms as though they still held the sword, until eventually, one appeared there. Not of the same type she’d tossed aside, but one of light. This sword was blue and it shim
mered like the northern lights in the sky. Solange gripped it, but not too tightly so that it wouldn’t be split into two and become two separate weapons. She just needed the one. Just the one was easier to handle than two, at least of the magical kind…

  Solange held the shimmering sword just tight enough and ran at the human-sized practice dummy that had been set up in the ballroom that had become her practice studio. She plunged the shimmering blade into the dummy and after an initial high-pitched hum, the dummy burst into flame at the point of impact. Without turning, Solange flicked her fingers this way and that, causing other, smaller bladed weapons to leave their places on the walls and plunge themselves into the dummy as well. Then she closed her eyes, leaving her hands at her sides and used her mind — only her mind — to bring her katana sword back to her. As it lifted off the floor where she’d discarded it and hurtled through the air toward her, Solange simply raised her hand to accept it and seemingly effortlessly wrapped her fingers around it and held it relaxedly at her side.

  “Excellent, Solange. You are mastering your powers in such a way I’ve rarely before seen. I am very proud of you.”

  “Thank you, Grandmama.”

  “Have you been practicing your cloaking spell as I taught you?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I practice it regularly. So much so that I often find it running through my head without a conscious thought from me to start it.”