Blessed Curse

by Sandra R Neeley

  Having checked the last home considered to be within the village, Solange set her feet on the path leading into the foothills surrounding it. There were a few homes and families tucked away here on farms and small tracts of land, that while not actually within the village, still depended on it and participated in its, for the most part, bartered commerce almost daily. As she walked, she lifted her face into the night breeze and smiled at the scents and sounds of the surrounding flora and fauna of the region.

  It was beautiful here. If not for her love of her native New Orleans, she might have considered transplanting herself to this little village permanently one day. As she walked, her ears were piqued for any unusual sound, her eyes for any sudden unnatural movement. But none assaulted her senses.

  Eventually, she came across a large iron gate that she’d seen several times in her nightly walks. At first glance, it appeared to be somewhat overgrown with vines and flowers, but, as she’d seen the first few times she’d visited it, they were carefully planted moonflower vines. Moonflowers were unique in that the flowers would bloom only in bright moonlight. The grasses were a little high around the gate and fence as well, but, that was normal in this region, unless one had a goat to keep the fence lines clean and neat.

  Solange began to reach a hand out to touch one of the flowers, still squeezed tightly shut, when she realized something was off. The little dog who lived here with his family hadn’t come running to greet her as he had before. Solange paused, her eyes surveying the place. The candles were not glowing warmly through the windows from inside the home. She detected no sounds of life, no clatter of dishes, no murmuring of voices — even the sounds of the creatures who lived in the foothills surrounding this home were silent and still.

  Immediately she slipped into stealth-mode, becoming one with the shadows to move silently forward.

  ~~~

  Crispin moved undetected through the small alleyways and footpaths of the antiquated little town. He was searching, waiting for anything to give him an alert that all was not as it should be. Several of the townspeople, tidying up their shops and closing up for the evening, had inclined their heads and smiled at him as he greeted them on his way past. They obviously had no idea of his nature. It was simply a matter of keeping his eyes cast down as he turned his head their way and called his greeting to be sure they couldn’t see the red glow of them. He’d perfected the technique centuries ago. It was a habit he performed without thought now. How then, he wondered, had the little slayer known immediately what he was?

  Crispin shook his head and scolded himself. Did it matter really? No, it did not. He looked down at his denim breeches, casual button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up neatly to just below his elbows and his very comfortable, very pristine, white running shoes. After the slayer had so readily identified him as vampire, he’d decided to modernize his look. He was pretty sure his style of dress was the main factor in her ability to know he was not as he should be. Of his new wardrobe choices his shoes were his favorite. He wiggled his toes in them, smiling at the cushioned bed beneath his feet. Why he’d never worn anything but hard, leather boots before was now a mystery to him.

  He cleared his head of its wanderings, needing a sharp mind for his mission this night. He glanced around once more at the innocents who had no idea of the danger moving amongst them and smiled sadly to himself. He had to keep this little hamlet safe and free from attack by Alastair. He had a hunch this was where he’d strike next, and until he was convinced otherwise, this was where he’d be. On he walked, sending his senses out into the proximity and making his way through the village, searching for any indication all was not as safe as it appeared to be.

  ~~~

  Solange followed the fence line down the side of the property, crouching low and keeping to the shadows. She didn’t want to just materialize in the middle of an attack, unsure of where the assailant may be. Instead, she calmly made her way toward the home, slinking past the windows and doors in an effort to see what, and who exactly might be there. It was possible the family had just gone to bed early.

  She cocked her head, listening to a very faint voice. She could just make it out. “Mouse, come out, come out wherever you are! I shan’t hurt you. You are not like the others. You are my Mouse!” the voice promised raspingly. Solange knew immediately the monster inside terrorizing the family who called this place home. He was here — her patience and diligence had finally paid off. She glanced through a window in the back of the home and on not seeing Alastair, but finding nothing but blood and bodies, closed her eyes and materialized in the midst of it all. As she took form, her lips whispered words of ancient spells to keep herself safe and unaccosted, holding all evil at arm’s length until she gained her bearings.

  She looked around at the bodies, several still slumping where they’d been sitting around the dinner table before the deadly attack on their family. Two little boys, the father, and mother — all dead. The father obviously tried to defend his family, his body torn and battered most brutally of all. But there was one place empty except for the plate of half-eaten food. There was no body for that place.

  “Come, little Mouse. You know you long for me as I do you. Come out and let us be once again joined. I promise not to hurt you - much,” the voice called out again.

  Solange followed the sound of the voice through the back door just on the other side of the kitchen. She saw a building of some sort a short distance from the house near the back of the fenced in property. There, that was where the voice came from. She started stealthily in that direction, carefully progressing so that her prey wouldn’t hear, or feel her coming for him before she wanted him to.

  A scream rent the night air, and all stealth was forgotten as Solange rushed to the outbuilding, pausing only long enough to glance inside. Her blood ran cold when she saw the girl in Alastair's clutches, her hands pressed against his chest to try in vain to keep him away from her as his filthy, reeking body effortlessly pulled her closer to his leering, blood stained face and fangs.

  Chapter 10

  Alastair's hands were gripping the young girl by her throat, his sharp claw-like nails digging into her flesh. There were bruises spreading on her skin from where she’d fought him, either in the house, or since he’d found her in the outbuilding. The girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fought the monster that had killed her family and now had her in his clutches.

  “Is that any way to greet your mate, Mouse? Of course, not. Stop your fighting and welcome me like a good little mate. I have searched for you. Killed for you. It is all for you, you know,” Alastair said, his voice obviously maniacal, as he pulled the girl closer and prepared to sink his fangs into her throat.

  “Let her go!” Solange ordered calmly, steadily, forcefully.

  Alastair’s head snapped up, his fixation on the girl in his hands momentarily broken. He hissed his displeasure, then opened his mouth wide, snarling at Solange.

  Solange raised an eyebrow and regarded him. “Really? That’s all you’ve got. Let the girl go, Father. I’m a much more worthy opponent, don’t you think?”

  Alastair’s glare took on a look of confusion as he examined Solange from head to toe. He looked from the girl in his hands, to Solange, then back again. The girl in his hands had stopped fighting him and gone limp. He tossed her away from him disgustedly and took two steps toward Solange.

  Solange waited for her father — Alastair — to notice her and drop the girl he held. If he didn’t let go of her soon, Solange would have to attack while he still held the girl. She’d prefer not to do that for the sake of the girl. When finally he tossed the girl aside and moved toward Solange, she smiled at him, welcoming the time for vengeance that had finally arrived.

  “Mouse? Have you finally come to find me? What a surprise this is. I did not think you strong enough,” he said condescendingly.

  “I’ve been tracking you for quite a long time. Trained for it,” Solan
ge said, not dropping the defensive stance she’d been holding since stepping into the outbuilding.

  “Then you’ve seen all the carnage you’ve caused,” he sneered at her. “This” he said, waving a hand around to encompass all he was surrounded by, “is all your fault. You should never have left me.”

  “I didn’t leave you. I’ve never met you. But you will regret that I have now,” she promised.

  Alastair threw his greasy head back and laughed.

  And that was the very moment Solange chose to attack him. She was on him before he finished laughing, a strike to the larynx, an elbow to the diaphragm. She could have struck to kill him, but instead wanted to punish him, to make him hurt.

  Alastair wheezed at the blows contacting his body, growled at the female attacking him and hurriedly stepped back.

  But she was on him again so quickly he couldn’t react. The heel of her hand was shoved up against his nose, breaking it on impact as he instinctively sought to move away from her again.

  Without warning, Alastair disappeared, then rematerialized behind her, grabbing her pony-tail in one hand, while attempting to sweep his claws across her throat, trying to slice her open.

  In the last moment before his claws made contact, Solange raised a hand and braced it against his wrist, keeping him from piercing her flesh. Her other hand reached behind herself, gripping onto his grungy clothing, and using the weight he pressed on her from behind, threw him over her shoulder in a move she’d practiced with her Sensei until it was ingrained in her subconscious. Adrenalin coursed through her veins as she enjoyed the battle she’d waited so long for, but she mistakenly underestimated her opponent.

  Alastair lay on the ground, the breath knocked out of him, appearing momentarily stunned.

  Solange lifted a foot and slammed it into his ribs, trying to incapacitate him so she could finish him off. But instead, he surprised her. As she lifted her foot away from him, he grabbed her ankle as she pulled it back and yanked it sideways, causing her to lose her balance and fall beside him.

  As she fell to the ground, Alastair reached out and backhanded her across the face as his body rose and he moved to subdue her.

  Despite the blow to her face, she was on the move as well, the same idea in mind that Alastair had — subdue your opponent in any way possible.

  A skirmish on the ground between the two ensued with no apparent winner. Finally, Solange disappeared, removing herself from his grasp, and rematerialized just feet away.

  “I’ll kill you, bitch,” Alastair snarled, a hand pressed to his ribs as he struggled to right himself and wheeze through the ribs she’d broken.

  “You can try,” Solange taunted. “But, aren’t you glad to see me, Daddy?” she asked, her words dripping with sarcasm as she held her hands out to her sides, palms up, taunting him.

  Alastair stopped snarling, his eyes narrowed. He examined the female before him. She was his Mouse — had to be. He squinted even more. He’d thought he’d found his Mouse many times, but each time he’d been wrong, so maybe this wasn’t really her, either. He inhaled deeply, but all he could smell was himself and the rotted blood and flesh stuck to and staining his clothing. “You are not my Mouse,” he said accusatorily on a whisper.

  “No. I’m not. And you are not a father. You are a nightmare,” Solange answered. “You murdered my mother. And now I’ll murder you,” she promised, blowing him a kiss and advancing on him again.

  Alastair, not quite sane enough to put together the pieces, countered, advancing on the infuriating female.

  Together, the two of them snarled, screamed and shouted as they went to blows. They struck each other so fast and furiously that the sounds were more like slaps than the deep, hard contacts that they actually were. And every three or four blows, Solange lunged toward him, her hand extended toward him, her fingers wrapped around a vibrant, glowing, blue dagger of light, and sliced effortlessly into Alastair’s flesh anywhere on his person she could reach. Every time she did, he’d let loose an enraged bellow.

  Finally, she’d had enough and decided it was time to finish him off. She moved in, her magical blade held chest level, the hilt held firmly, yet not too firmly in her hand, the blade extended down from the bottom of her closed fist as she grasped the hilt. She lifted the magic weapon, holding her forearm in front of her face, the blade following the smooth action of her arm as it moved from the right to the left side of her face. She prepared to gut him as the action of the blade followed the perfectly placed lines and movement of her body as she prepared to slice across his throat, beheading him instantly.

  Alastair smiled sinisterly as she moved toward him. He dematerialized and before she knew it, he was standing right behind her. He raised his arms, his hands and fingers positioned to latch onto either side of her head, preparing to simply tear her pretty head from her shoulders.

  Solange expected his move, and smiled to herself as she readied her hand. The blade was already extending below her hand, its blade pointing at the ground rather than held aloft toward the sky. She simply lifted the hilt to be even with her line of vision, grasped it tightly in both hands, and prepared to forcefully bring it down to her right and behind her, plunging it into his gut and out his back, before turning to face him and cutting out his heart while he watched.

  Then her plans went to hell when the entire dynamic shifted. Alastair was attacked from behind, drawing Alastair away from Solange and out of reach as the male shouted his own battle cry. Alastair dematerialized, vanishing from view. The male screamed his frustration as Alastair disappeared from his hand. Solange was outraged, furious that the interfering male had cost her decades of planned vengeance. Unable to get a handle on her frustration, she screamed furiously as she stabbed the interfering male in the shoulder. It wasn't on accident, she meant to — he was lucky he wasn’t dead.

  The male screamed in pain, turning shocked eyes on her. “What is wrong with you?” he shouted.

  “What the hell is wrong with you? What did you do? You interfering fuck! I almost had him! He’d have been dead, unable to hurt anyone else if you hadn’t interfered!” She recognized the male, but was too angry to even try to figure out why he was here so far from the streets of London where she’d last seen him.

  “Interfered? I saved you!” he shouted insistantly.

  “No, Crispy! All you did was allow my kill to get away. A kill I might add that has left a wake of torture and slaughter behind him!” Solange screamed at him. “You helped no one but him!”

  “He was going to tear your head off!” Crispin screamed. “And you stabbed me!”

  “Which is exactly what I wanted him to believe! He was about to be gutted! I was going to cut his heart out while he watched and you saved HIM! You’re lucky I didn’t kill you! You interfere in my business again and I’ll do more than stab you, Crispy!” Solange shouted.

  “I… I thought you needed help! Alastair is extremely dangerous! You have no idea what you were dealing with,” Crispin said, realizing maybe he’d misread the situation.

  “I know that! I’ve tracked him, I’ve studied him. I KNOW him! And you’ve let him get away. And now he knows that I’m after him, and what I’m capable of. Thanks for the help, Crispy!” Solange snarled. She stalked away from him to kneel beside the girl who still lay unconscious on the floor. There was a faint pulse and Solange smoothed the girl’s hair away from her face gently before she gathered the girl in her arms and stood. The girl was only a young teen and not very heavy. Her brown hair and slender build were reminiscent of the type Alastair had been hunting, her resemblance to both Solange and her mother not something Solange could ignore.

  “I’ve stalked him, too! I’ve hunted him!” Crispin declared. “And my name is Crispin, not Crispy!”

  “Not like I have,” Solange answered, turning to face Crispin. “My entire life is about vengeance. I will have mine. Do not get in my way, vampire.”

  “I could help you. You’d be surprised how well I know him — none kn
ow him like I do,” Crispin said. “I could help you track him. Together we could be much more effective. I want to help you, slayer,” Crispin said, watching her.

  “I work alone. I need no help,” she answered. “And regardless of your name, Crispy is what you’ll be the next time you interfere in affairs that have nothing to do with you. Stay away from me!” Solange ordered.

  “Slayer…” he started, watching her while she held the girl and subtly flicked the fingertips of one hand to begin the wind swirling.

  “You want to help?” she asked, her eyes still furious as she glared at him. “Bury her family,” Solange snapped, then still holding the girl in her arms, she disappeared before his eyes.

  “It is my right to kill Alastair! And I saved you!” he shouted to an empty building. He glanced around the building they were in. It was a barn of sorts, used for storage of their equipment as well as shelter and most likely any other use they needed it for. He threw his head back and shouted his frustration to the now empty building. When he was out of breath and his chest heaving from the exertion of the yell he’d held until he was lightheaded, he finally set one foot in front of the other, beginning his hunt for the girl’s family. Burying them was the least he could do, whether he’d been told to do it by an infuriating slayer or not.

  ~~~

  Hours later a very tired and dirty Crispin opened the door of the only church in the small village. He’d searched everywhere he could think of looking for the slayer. Finally, having eliminated all other possibilities, he decided she was either in the church, or she’d left the village altogether. He stepped into the little church and smiled right away. There she sat — his slayer — the object of his recent obsession.