Midnight Coven (Devil's Roses Book 7) (The Devil's Roses)

by Tara Brown

  I blink a tear down my cheek and Marcus is gone from the doorway. I turn where I feel movement to see Inger making a stupid face just seconds before he drops to the floor, falling off the bed.

  Marcus covers my naked sex. “Did he hurt you?”

  I shake my head, confused and scared. Marcus killed a vampire. He killed him instantly. He bends down, grabbing Inger’s limp hand and drags him across the beautiful slate floor to the door. “HENRY!”

  He drags Inger to the hall and leaves him there. A man in a bowler hat comes around the corner, giving me a smile. His eyes hurt for me. I can see it. He doesn't agree with my treatment.

  Marcus sighs, like he’s annoyed with the large man. “If it pleases you, could you get rid of young Inger here? He mistreated my friend.”

  Henry bows once, picking the massive corpse up and carrying him away like he was nothing more than a sack of flour. Marcus looks down at the bloodstain marring the floor and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did any of the others come in?”

  “Rydal.”

  He nods and closes the door.

  I don't know what has happened, but I feel like something Grandmamma woulda stewed to cure a plague. My whole body feels like I was found on the side of the road with a tire mark up my ass.

  At least it wasn't Inger up in there. I shudder, just as I realize Marcus never clicked the lock on the door.

  I struggle with the cuff, groaning as my strength is regained, and whatever Marcus drugged me with, wears off. I look at the cuffs and know exactly what I’m going to have to do. I take a deep breath and drag my hand down the cuff. Tears and whimpers leave me simultaneously as my flesh is ripped from my hand as I slide it free using my own blood as lube.

  I saw it in a movie once in the ‘90s.

  I lick the wounds and try to use my free hand to get the cuff undone but I’m no MacGyver.

  I have to slide the second one free too. I don't want to, in fact my brain is reasoning with staying on the rape table, but my heart forces the decision. I pull my hand from the cuff, experiencing double the pleasure and fun.

  I sit up, kicking the wood at the end of the bed until it splinters enough for me to slide my chains from the end of the bed. I hold the chains in my hands and try not to sound like Jacob Marley as I creep to the door. My head is instantly pounding and my brain feels like it might explode at any second.

  I reach as fast as I can for the knob, turning it and swinging the door open. I leap across the threshold without touching the door. I don't need to be electrocuted twice.

  I turn to the right but I realize something about myself—I am bad at decision-making, a flaw that will need to be discussed with Lorri at some point. I turn left and slink down the hallway. I hear voices and duck into a room, hiding behind a door, as a woman walks past. She seems sweet. I look at the window to the yard and realize I have a good chance at going into the woods. Why not? I always end up running in the woods.

  I snap my fingers, feeling the spark. A smile crosses my lips as I snap the chains away from my feet and snap the window out of existence completely. I jump from the window without even looking, landing on the grass below with a thud. I don't look back. I run as hard as I can into the woods, as fast as I can. My legs stretch and strain as they get used to the run after being tied to the bed. My wrists heal as I’m running. I could be so much faster had I taken the blood from the girl, but she was an innocent. I need something evil, now.

  I run across a huge gully and over a hill and suddenly I’m at the edge of a city I have never seen before. I look down and realize I’m going to get arrested if I don't find some clothes. I creep along the forest, toward a neighborhood of lower income housing. I sneak to them, smelling the air. Of course, they’re clean. Lower income people are never as evil as the rich. They really are the worst of society.

  I listen for a heartbeat inside of the houses. When I find one without, I slide the window open and pull myself inside. A man lives here alone. I pull on his trousers and a black dress shirt. I look up at the sky and nod. “Thank you. I don't know how you feel about me, because of what I am, but thank you. I have a feeling you might have had a hand in my rescue.” I look down at the slim pants and nod. “And thank you for helping me find a slim man to rob.” I jump back out the window and hurry along the street in his slippers. It was better than his shoes. They had an odor.

  I miss cell phones and the ability to Google things. I miss being on the run with some cash and an idea of what I should do.

  I remember how hard it was in the beginning alone. I walk toward the city, looking for a meal.

  I find one, a man committing evil as I walk past his house. I don't even need my sense of smell to find him. His hand coming back in the window and then punching forward at whoever is in front of him is enough to draw me to him. I walk to the house, knocking on the door.

  His footsteps are heavy as he answers, still shouting at the sobbing person inside of the house.

  I smile wide, compelling him instantly. “Invite me in and don't fight me on anything.”

  He steps back, calming completely but looking confused. “Please, come in.” I step inside, grabbing his head and biting hard the second he gets close to me. I drain him of just less than half of his blood, but I use magic to stop his heart, killing him completely. I lick the wound, knowing it’ll be nothing but an insect bite if they look him over. His heart is stopped—that's going to be his cause of death. I lean inside to see what was taking the beating and notice the stench of evil is still putrid in the house. A small boy is on the couch, holding his hands to his eyes and rocking.

  “Oh lord in heaven.” That big man was hitting a small boy. I wish I could eat him again.

  I position the dead man on the floor, clutching his heart, and step over him to the boy. “It’s okay. You’re all right now.”

  He shakes his head. I pry his fingers from his eyes and make him look into mine. “Your dad fell to the ground and died instantly. It’s a heart attack. You’re gonna be okay. He’s gone and he can’t hurt you no more.”

  His eyes dart to the right, to the hallway.

  I sigh, knowing there must be something worse that way.

  It amazes me that people are so much worse than the actual monsters that go bump in the night. I lift the kid, who can’t be more than ten years old, and hold his hand, pulling him behind me. We walk down the hall, into the dark. I nearly scream I’m so tired of it all.

  I open each door, prepared. I find a bathroom, an empty bedroom, another empty bedroom, and finally the last door. I assume whatever it is, is behind door number four. I put my hand to the knob, licking my lips at the smell. Whatever it is, it’s evil. I turn the knob, opening the door to a dimly lit room. A woman is moaning and tossing about in her bed. I assume she’s big and sleeping but that's not the case. I tuck the kid behind the door and make sure he can’t see nothing before I tiptoe to the bed. A man and a woman are fully doing it. She’s under him. When I get close enough her eyes open, flickering on my face. Her mouth opens for a scream but I freeze them both. “Stop!”

  I pull back the covers to see what I’m dealing with. I’ve never met a man who shared his woman. The woman is mid-forties but the man has to be near seventy. I bite into him, filling my mind slowly with the images. He paid her for sex. The man wasn’t just her husband—he was her pimp too. This man is the first man’s boss. I stop half way, killing him the same way. I push him off of her and bite down on her neck. She is the best tasting of them all, so evil I moan into the feast. Her husband nearly lost his job so his boss agreed if he could screw the man’s wife, the man would keep his job. The kid isn’t theirs. He’s a foster kid and he’s not the only one in the house. I drain her completely, enjoying the kill. I get up, seeing the kid staring at me. I shake my head. “Let’s go get your sister.” I hold a hand out. He sees them dead and takes my hand. He fears me, ME, less than them. Damn.

  I pull him to the basement, opening the cell in the back. The girl, maybe eight,
is curled in a ball, smelling like her own urine. I don't even want to know what’s happened to these kids. I hold my hands out but she won’t come. So I get on my knees and pull her out with one hand. The boy won’t let me go. His hands are trembling. I carry the girl and pull the boy to the back door where I see a gas can and a box of matches, giving me an idea. I sit the boy at the door. “Let me just do this one thing, then we leave okay?”

  He nods. I put his sleeping sister next to him.

  I pick up the gas and move it to the middle of the floor and pick the little girl up. I shoot a bolt of lightning at it. The gas explodes so I shield us and offer my hand to the boy. He smiles wide. I nod. “That's enough of that, huh?”

  He nods and we walk out to the steps into the backyard and to the gate. We leave, walking down the road hand in hand. Sirens fill the air after a few blocks. No amount of emergency services is going to save their nasty asses.

  We walk for a long time until the houses get real nice, looking more like what I grew up in. I pick one that has a single heartbeat inside and walk to the front door. The kid instantly gets nervous so I look down at him. “Be cool.”

  A lady comes to the door. She’s probably about forty, has a wedding ring, and a completely clean house. No kids maybe? That's my goal. “You got kids?”

  She scowls at me. “No, who are you?” She has a thick English accent.

  I lean in. “Invite us in and be happy to see us.” She steps back, holding her hand out. “Of course, please come in. I’m so happy you came.” She looks confused.

  “You never had kids?”

  She shakes her head. “What can I do for you?”

  “Love these kids.” I nod and look at the boy. “You love this lady like a momma. Your real momma was her sister. She died in a car accident with your daddy. You are a happy kid and you don't remember anything bad ever happening. You don't remember being in the system. You had a great mom and dad and a great life.” He nods blankly.

  The lady scowls. “What?”

  I look at her. “You don't say a thing for the next two minutes. Don't panic.” I look at the little girl, giving her a little shake. She trembles and wakes, defensively swinging. Jesus. I cup her face and smile. “You are safe. You are happy. You had a wonderful momma and a wonderful daddy. They died in a car accident and you and your brother are safe and happy, living with your aunty. You don't remember being in the system or anything bad ever happening.” Her tense little body relaxes. She nods slowly, sniffling and then smiling at me.

  I look at the lady. “Your sister, Rhonda, and her husband, Danny, died and you are raising her kids. You love them like your own. You’re an amazing mother to them. You’re so happy you got them. You will always love them and make them feel welcome and good enough.” I frown. “What’s your name?”

  “Diane.”

  “I’m a social worker, Diane. Do you have other sisters?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Your parents here?”

  She shakes her head again. “They died in the war. My parents were in England—London still when the bombs came down. I met Stanley where I was working as a nurse in Bristol and moved here with him after the war.”

  I don't actually care, as mean as it sounds. I have to make this plausible. “Your sister Rhonda has died. I’m so sorry. You loved her so much. You have so many fond memories. These are her kids.” I look down at the boy. “What’s your name?” The woman always called him ‘you little bastard’ and I have a feeling that's not his name.

  “Sammy.”

  “Diane is your aunty. She’s gonna love you.”

  He nods and sniffles over the loss of his mother and father. Diane scoops him up, kissing his swollen cheek. “What happened?”

  “The kids survived the crash.” I look at the little girl. “What’s your name, honey?” I don't even want to think about what that hateful slut called this poor thing. I’d like to go back and kill her all over again.

  “Anne.”

  “Diane is your aunty. She’s gonna love you and take care of you.”

  She nods.

  I look at Diane. “Where’s your husband?”

  Her face lowers. “He died a year ago. He was sick for years after the war. It’s why we never had any kids.” She starts crying harder. “I’m so shocked about Rhonda. I don't even know what to say. My poor sister. She was the last of my family.”

  Thank God.

  She kisses Sammy again and holds a hand out to Anne. “Want to go get cleaned up, dear?”

  She nods and lets Diane take her hand.

  I pause and think about the fact she’s gonna have to pay for their life—a widow. I nod at the kids. “They get inheritance money once a year for the rest of their lives.” I’ll make Lorri send money—if it’s possible to make Lorri do anything.

  Diane smiles and hugs them both. “Stanley, my husband, had a pension and insurance. We’ll be all right until the money comes.”

  I wave at the kids, both of them giving me a blank stare. “Have a good night.” And a good life. I turn and leave the comfortable little house.

  Damn, I should have asked where the dickens I am.

  “That was really sweet of you.”

  I turn to see an older lady standing there, giving me a grin. She smells like something other than what she looks like.

  I shake my head. “I don't know what you mean.”

  Her eyes sparkle like she’s my old granny and she might bake me cookies any second. But she shakes her head. “I don't bake cookies, my dear. But Annabelle does. Now you come on with me, and we can have a nice talk about how you’re in my city and why.”

  I prepare to fight or run but she’s a witch, I can sense that. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Lydia. Now don't be rude, child. Come along before the things out there in the dark night get you.” She smiles again. “I have a feeling you’ll be wanting some place to go and hide away from the sunrise. You are an odd one, aren’t you?”

  I nod. “Look ma’am, I ain’t got nothing against you, or your coven of cookie makers, but I’m not the kind of company you want to keep.”

  Her eyes draw to my hands. “I assumed all the Devil’s Roses had rings. I guess Lorri forgot to give you yours.”

  I drop my hands. “How do you know—”

  “Like I said, I know who you are.”

  I decide right then that I can do worse than a witch who understands my need for blood and shade and who knows Lorri. Unless, of course, it’s another trap. I turn and follow her into the dark of the night.

  Chapter Ten

  The house is spooky in a way that makes me uneasy, even after the castle in Scotland. But the ghost maid making my cookies and nattering on makes it less spooky. She is pretty easy to be around and she’s Southern too. So that makes for a nice reprieve from all the Northerners. She cooks and cleans and brushes hair. I might never leave this house just because of her.

  “What you gots ta be so moody about?” She talks like Grandmamma Holt, only less Cajun. Same Deep South accent though. I always liked it, found it to be relaxing. The people from the Deep South speak their own language and I like that. They have character. They don't have to try to be Northern and mighty white, speaking all proper and shit.

  I shrug. “A boy broke my heart, ma’am. He made me this, whatever the hell I am, and he tried to make me his blood slave.”

  She shakes her head, putting her hands on her thin hips. “Now why men folk gots ta be so mean? I met me a man when I was fifteen. He turned out to be nothing but trouble and a lot of work.” She waves her hands in the air. “I say no sir, no. I ain’t gots me no time for dem bad men. I say no, dear lord, I ain’t gots time and I ain’t gots energy to be worrying about him all day.”

  “Sounds like sound advice.” I’m going to die an old maid—scratch that—live forever as an old maid.

  The lady of the house, Lydia, comes strolling in with a large book. “You are a natural witch, so many of these won’t be necessar
y for you. You can make up spells on the fly, if I’m not mistaken. But you can still give it a look over if you want to.” She plunks the huge, thick, dusty old book in front of me. I narrow my gaze at the title of the weird book. “Grimoire? What’s that?”

  She smiles. “You really don't have a clue about any of it, do you, sweetie?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She sits across from me as Annabelle places a plate of steaming hot cookies in front of us. Chocolate chip cookies to be exact, my favorite. Lydia ignores them, staring at the book, but my eyes don't leave them.

  She glances up at me as a hundred bad thoughts about myself flitter about in my head. “Sweet child, no one has the right to tell you that you aren’t pretty enough or slim enough. If you want a cookie, have a cookie. No one here is going to judge you. Eat the whole plate if you want to.” She turns and looks at Annabelle, her ghostly maid. “Her momma used to tell her she was ugly every day and starved her all the time.”

  Annabelle shakes her head, her eyes sparkling with emotion and creepy ghostly affection. “Dat’s a sin. A sin to treat one’s child like dat. You eat up all dem cookies. You pretty, just real pretty.”

  My cheeks are on fire and I can’t believe she said that to Annabelle. But as Annabelle vanishes Lydia smiles and places a warm hand on mine. “I didn't tell so you’d be embarrassed. Annabelle gives a soothing bath; she does it and focuses her energies on the problems you have. It works wonders but she needs to know the problem. She’s probably pouring you a tub now.”

  I shake my head. “What are you people?”

  Lydia’s eyes glaze over almost as if she’s seeing a picture behind her mind and reliving something remarkable. “We were like sisters when we were younger. Her family is very magical, same sort of magic as you.”

  “Blackwater?”

  She nods. “My family was less amazing but not less magical. So I was raised by her family and taken in to be her sister in all things. She has worked for me my entire adult life. When we first came, black people were only ever maids and butlers and grunt workers. It was so surreal to see, after having been raised and loved by a black family my whole life and treated as their equal. So for show, she worked for me but she has always been my sister. Of course she likes to be busy, she won’t live any other way. She cooks and cleans and counsels and keeps me company.”