Blood Child

by Rose, Lucinda

  Soon it was apparent that sleep was out of the question. My fingers automatically dialed Anthony. As girly as it may sound, I just wanted to hear my best friend’s voice. His level head was what I needed.

  ***

  The morning blinked at me through the shades, though I didn’t remember dreaming, or sleeping, for that matter. Anthony wasn’t at home, so I talked to his girl, Belinda, for almost an hour. She was nearly as savvy as his last, Rae. God, I loved that woman—tough, beautiful, and incredibly sexy. Bee was like a secondhand copy of Rae, at least to me. In any case, she was a damn fine woman who thought I was driving myself crazy by over thinking every aspect of the story. I needed to step back and take another look. She had worked her way around the words in order not to use Anthony’s pet phrase. The call ended with both of us smiling and laughing.

  Anthony was in the air headed to Orlando to look for a place to live. She promised to tell him I called as soon as he was on the ground. Knowing he was going to be in town soon was a relief. I loved that Bee had taken the time to talk to me, though it was still Anthony I really needed. Rae would have been able to help as well; she could cut through my BS just as easily as Anthony. It just didn’t seem like a good idea to call her up after five years of not talking. She had tried to help me with sobriety even after she parted from Anthony. I tried instead to get her into bed, which was the real reason I was mentally downing Bee, it seemed like the least I could do after betraying her. I was pissed at myself for pushing Rae away.

  Sleep sneaked back into the room and overpowered me, but no way was I going to complain about this assault. My feet didn’t even twitch when I got up again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Anthony had been my friend for nearly twenty years. We met in boarding school, both outcasts. I was a street kid on a scholarship with a smart mouth, and Anthony was the illegitimate son of a foreign diplomat. He was just as rich as they were, but he was unwanted, and being a bastard marked him. We watched each other’s back and bonded over the stupidity of our rich classmates and the attempts of the Jesuits who ran the schools to get all the students to open their minds to a lifetime of learning.

  The priests seriously hoped some of us would become priests. Father Machy had told both of us that the church would pay for our graduate degrees after seminary school. The offer didn’t tempt either of us.

  Over the years we had drifted in and out of each other’s lives. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would give you the shirt off his back, but he was still a pretty damn good person. Besides, there was no way I could fit in his big-ass shirts.

  Anthony was close to seven feet tall, with skin the color of rich coffee. He was as exotic as I was white bread. Women fell over themselves when he came into the room. They pretty much lost it when he spoke. His words were always smooth and hinted at the sensual without ever trying. Did I have the hots for my best friend? Once upon a time, yes; thankfully, he forgave my foolish attempts to woo him.

  As soon as he was clear of the baggage claim, he called me and arranged to meet at the roach motel so I could follow him back to his hotel, a Travelodge next to the colossal courthouse. His rented SUV seemed to know where it was going as it wove through the back streets. It was only about five miles away from the roach motel, but it was a different universe. This was my first trip where I got to see the real O-Town. Like any big city, it had its rough areas. I knew it, of course, but seeing it was different. The most common image of Orlando was theme parks filled with oversized rats and boy wizards. We passed by some one-story concrete row houses. It was a bit jarring to see a housing project from the 1950s just five minutes from the gleaming tower of justice courthouse.

  Anthony insisted I leave my hotel as soon as he heard where I was, saying it was no wonder I had had nightmares staying in that place. Anthony was just a cool son of a bitch who believed in karma and good vibes. He listened, listened, and listened some more. Our conclusion after about an hour of me talking and him listening was what I already knew. Em—Emily Bath—fascinated me more than I wanted to admit. My fascination had overcome my better senses, and I was acting like she was a friend, not a story. Not a job. Then I freaked myself out with all the hocus-pocus and gore surrounding the case. He was right. He usually was. I had done it to myself.

  This time when I fell asleep and found myself in the castle, I knew it was a dream. Everything happened the way it had before, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. When the burning started, Anthony woke me. Part of me wanted to go back to sleep and get closer to the two women. They were important, but Anthony advised me against it, so we finished the rest of the beer we had picked up.

  ***

  The morning light seeped through the drapes, stinging my eyes. Anthony had opened them with glee, knowing I needed to be awake. He always delighted in waking me after a night of drinking. He found it funny that no matter how often I drank, I was forever a lightweight in his shadow. The man never had a hangover. How much did I drink? Counting drinks the next day was never a skill of mine. When my eyes finally opened, they found Anthony already dressed and holding up three fingers to indicate how much I had had. Yep, I am a lightweight. It shouldn’t have been enough to make me act like a zombie in search of brains, but my head ached nonetheless as I dragged myself into the bathroom. Once I was showered, Anthony led the way once again to a local treasure, Sims, a teahouse serving breakfast. By the time we got there, lunch.

  Breakfast was served by a girl with slightly more metal in her head than Pinhead. Anthony tapped the side of my skull when he caught me staring. The girl, Sindy, chuckled and walked away. She probably thought I was mesmerized by her. Had I been drooling?

  Anthony chuckled as well. He knew about my bad habit to try to describe everything I saw in my head when I was stressed. The typewriter in my head was always trying to get the story out. It got in the way more than it helped, unless, of course, I was ready to write.

  We went over my new game plan over the sweet potato skillets we both ordered. Good food has a way of making things clear, feeding the brain and the soul simultaneously. The new plan involved remembering to call Em Emily or Ms. Bath, and no matter how horrific the story became, I was not to take so much as a sip of wine. I didn’t think there was much chance of that. I was meeting her at school, and then we were going to the lawyer’s office. I would show the photo to Emily to get her reaction, instead of her friends. Their reaction didn’t matter as much as hers. Once today was done, I could return to New York to finish writing. If I had any follow-up questions, they could be handled over Skype.

  “It is like she cast a spell on you. I’ve never seen you this enraptured with a woman.”

  “I am not enraptured!” I insisted.

  One eyebrow lifted in accusation, cutting off my stammered responses. “Then what is the plan? Because you have done much more work than is necessary, even for a feature.”

  Again, my stammered responses were insufficient in defending myself. We both knew I was guilty as hell, but that didn’t mean I was going to admit it. Finally, he cut me off again and just said one word. Book.

  CHAPTER NINE

  It bothered me that despite the logic of his arguments, Em was all I could think of. I said her full name under my breath a thousand times as I drove. I didn’t know how I would bring up the idea of a book. He was right, though; that was the direction all my work was heading.

  There was no way I was in love with Em. And if I was going to pursue a book, I needed to speak with one person in Orlando before I met with Emily. There, I said it. I said her name.

  Patricia Gilben had been a practicing psychotherapist for the last eighteen years. She had a long professional resume or curriculum vitae that included recent publications in journals. She had begun treating Emily five years earlier and had given up the majority of her practice to be there for Emily. Not that Emily paid her for all that she was doing.

  The good doctor had hoped to become a celebrity doctor. It hadn’t work. Emily may have been in her
thrall, but she never agreed to finance her. It was the one thing that everyone said about Emily. She would help you if you helped yourself. If you were just looking for a handout, she would ignore your passive-aggressive attempts to get her attention. If you became too aggressive, she would simply pick up and walk out of your life.

  After she lost her office, Dr. Gilben moved her practice back into her home. Most of her current income came from consulting for attorneys on different cases. It allowed her to keep her head just about above water, provided she was able to refinance her home in the next couple of months The majority of her patients had left her months ago. She lived in a small 1920s bungalow just five miles from Emily’s house. The neighborhood was considerably better, with its manicured lawns Most of the homes were considered to be historic; more than a few were up for sale.

  The good doctor was a mousy woman in her fifties. Her hair was streaked with gray, and her eyes had matching sandbags. She let me in without a word and made her way to the back of the house. My small talk was ignored.

  Her office was located in what used to be an open back porch. It was friendly and inviting, two things the doctor was not being at the moment. She proceeded to take a seat and stare at me. I would have loved to continue this staring contest, but I had to meet Emily in less than two hours.

  I tried my opening line again.

  “Thank you for taking the time to see me.”

  “Em said I should talk to you.”

  “You don’t seem happy about it.”

  “You are just trying to use her for profit.” The mousy professor’s doe eyes became even larger, with just a touch of insanity.

  “Excuse me—”

  “You want to use her. Not help her. She needs people to know.”

  “Know what?”

  “The truth.”

  “OK, I will bite. What truth?”

  She began to rant on and on about the psychopath that Atalik had been and how everything was his fault for meddling. He was a demonologist. His studies in the occult were behind everything Emily did. He was the one responsible, and his evil lived in Emily, though she tried to hide it.

  Dear Patty had seen it. She knew. Emily was born to make his quest complete. Sooner or later she would succumb to her blood. She had been bred for a purpose.

  The empty vodka bottles in her recycling bin should have been a clear indication of her issues. Whatever Emily had seen in her was gone. I don’t even think she noticed when I got up to leave.

  CHAPTER TEN

  I nearly choked when “Hey, Em” came out of my mouth as she greeted me in the lobby of the school. So much for the rules. The school clerk offered me a seat when I failed to catch my breath. Em’s face—I mean, Emily’s face—was genuinely concerned.

  The school itself was just one long hallway. Ten teachers taught all the subjects for both middle and high school. What they weren’t certified to teach was taught online through the county. The students weren’t due back for another week; still, the classroom doors were open, with people weaving in and out. Em explained that the school partnered with a nonprofit agency whose volunteers were helping to clean and paint all the classrooms.

  The chaos didn’t faze her; she was just as calm as she had been at the house. Entering her playpen, as she called it, I was greeted by a redheaded boy who insisted he was really working as he scribbled in a workbook. Little Jayden looked exactly like his mother, except for his shocking ginger mane. Hollis was taking an exam. She was in her final semester—only two more tests, and she was done. Her MBA meant a raise and increased responsibility.

  The boy listened to every word his auntie said and soon had reseated himself at his desk to finish his “work.” Em motioned for me to come to the far side of the classroom. I was surprised when she didn’t take the seat of power behind the desk. Instead, she guided me to a pair of desks where we could talk face-to-face.

  “I am sorry about Jayden being here. I forgot today was one of Hollis’s exam days.”

  “I am surprised with all she handles for you that she would have time for school.”

  “She is an amazing young woman. I am going to be sad when she moves to Albany.”

  “I thought she might be staying with you after graduation.”

  “I would never do that. She has too much business sense to remain as an assistant. Besides, it is about time she took over as CEO of Ecsed Enterprises.”

  “You are going to entrust your father’s company to an assistant?”

  “Ty, she has basically been running it for the last five years. There hasn’t been a single business trip or decision that I have been in on since I took over where she wasn’t by my side. The company’s continued success has been a result of her guidance. I would be a fool not to make her CEO.”

  She was clearly agitated by my lack of confidence. This was not going according to plan. Time to get back on track and get the answers I needed.

  Em—Emily—answered every question I had prepared. Her concern for her brothers was the result of accusations that had arisen after their deaths in Albany. Several women came forward claiming they had witnessed the brothers’ sexual depravity. Some of the charges suggested they were all deeply entwined in an incestuous relationship, both with one another and with their father. The massacres were attributed to their dependence on their father and an inability to cope without him.

  She insisted this was completely false. When I finally asked her who she believed was responsible for the deaths at the manor, she looked toward Jayden with tears in her eyes. My heart begged me not to push her, but Anthony’s sound, reasoned voice rang through my head. If I didn’t push, I wasn’t doing my job.

  “My father,” she said. No explanation, just her father. Her father who died a week before the massacres was the one responsible. I waited for her to expand her answer. An eternity passed before she finally showed any response, flicking her eyes over to Jayden.

  “Jayden, why don’t you go see if Ms. Maria needs help?” The boy was out of his seat before she finished the sentence. “Maria doesn’t really need his help, but if he goes, he is sure to get something to eat.” She paused, then with a heavy sigh, continued. “I knew you would eventually ask directly who I felt was responsible. Actually, I am surprised it took you this long. As insane as it sounds, I know it was my father. He was obsessed with Erzsebet Bathory. He truly believed she was a vampire. He wanted to recreate her path to immortality.”

  His obsession, if known, would explain all the vampire rumors running rampant, as well as the ranting of the good doctor. Still, it didn’t explain what really happened.

  “Did you see him that weekend?”

  “No, everything I told you before was true. I don’t remember anything after dinner that first night until the police pulled me out of the closet.”

  “Then how?”

  “Gerald. The ritual backfired. Something else came back and slaughtered.”

  “Gerald was one of the dead. What evidence do you have?”

  “None except my nightmares and the location of Gerald’s body. It was right outside the door to the crypt and the only one that was intact.”

  “Why doesn’t the investigator’s report mention it?”

  “I didn’t tell them.”

  “Why?”

  “I was afraid that whatever was sealed in there would be released if they opened it.”

  “Are you serious?”

  She took a deep breath before responding.

  “Yes. In all your research, have you found anything to explain what happened?”

  It was my turn to hesitate and search my mind for a response. Facts, I needed facts. “A claim like that needs to be verified. Where is the evidence? Do you even have any beyond your gut?”

  It was cruel, but true. Without something, anything tangible, no one would believe her. Many would assume she was insane or worse, the one responsible. She stood up, turned away from me, and lifted her shirt. Instantly I knew the answer to my question about the p
ictures. The scars on her back were identical; something had carved distinct red crescents into the otherwise unblemished flesh of her back. They were still healing. Nine years later, and they appeared to still be healing.

  I expected her to turn around and talk to me; instead she ordered me to touch them. My hands reached out, but I didn’t want to feel that jagged skin. She repeated her command.

  “No.”

  “You can’t touch it, can you? Not many people can. I have been marked.”

  “By…what?”

  “That is the question, isn’t it?”

  It was hard to imagine them being worse. Nothing natural made those marks. Logic was failing and taking me with it. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them, everything would be back to a nice, safe normal. It wasn’t.

  Em was facing me again. I had to look down at the notepad to continue. She returned to her gracious self, although in truth she hadn’t changed for even a moment. I was the one who had been transformed, the one who could no longer deal with reality. In my mind I was beginning to understand how she could be so sweet and ruthless. Her survival wasn’t an accident.

  “Why now?”

  “I can’t hide from it anymore. In four months the world is going to revisit my nightmare, whether I want it to or not.”

  “Still, you don’t have to be a part of it. You could just continue to live as an anonymous schoolteacher.”

  “You and I know that won’t work. It is a miracle that it lasted this long. This will be my last school year. I am going to leave before May’s anniversary. I have to confront it. Take charge of it.” She paused, biting her lip. It was the most unladylike action I had seen her do since our first meeting. “There is another book coming out.”

  “Why does this one make you nervous?”

  She sighed. “Because Patty is behind it. She betrayed me. Claimed that her office had been bugged and that she had no knowledge of it. I only found out about it because of some of my father’s former contacts.”