Lilah

by Gemma Liviero

  ‘Leave now.’

  She didn’t.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I know you don’t love Lewis, that you still yearn for another.’

  I was loathe to argue, mostly in the hope that if I did not engage in conversation she would leave sooner. It was well known that I was not the most accommodating wife, and subject to argument; though I did have some feelings towards him. After Oleander was born he seemed to soften. He had conceived another child in centuries gone but I did not ask what became of him. Although I perhaps spent more time with him than anyone, Lewis was still a mystery, so guarded of his past and his thoughts. I often wondered why he passed so much time alone when there were so many who vied for his attentions.

  I’d had enough of the scrutiny and asked her to leave so I could continue my work.

  ‘You are not liked here by the other strigoi. If I were you I would have left a long time ago.’ Then she looked suddenly pleased. ‘But then you can never leave can you.’ There was too much satisfaction in her smile to be anything other than malice.

  She departed but her words had affected me so much that I could no longer concentrate on my tasks. The other strigoi in the castle kept their distance and their greetings were superficial. I thought it was only arrogance that made them appear suspicious, but I now had to consider the depth of their resentment.

  I confided in Georgio of my situation with Lewis and he had jokingly called me a ‘prison bride’ something I had thought amusing. But it was clear that others knew the terms of our personal arrangement also.

  Neve might be bitter but she knew in her heart, if she had one, that not even she had a choice in any matter concerning her destiny. We were all prisoners.

  Lewis had arranged for a strigoi wedding as he also felt that such an act would keep me safe and respected. Though one could hardly call it a wedding since there was no higher order to marry us and I did not consider it legal since it was not in the house of God. It was merely our pledge.

  Irene helped me dress, her warm touch giving me some strength on that day. I was bathed in water scented with lavender. Lewis had purchased my wedding attire and it took two servants to lay it carefully on the bed. The gown was cream, beaded heavily with crystals, and with pleating from just under the bust. The sleeves were wide and tied with pale pink ribbons at the elbows. A cap made from pearls covered my plaited hair.

  Despite my annoyance, Irene was instructed to paint my face with crushed white lead. She then rouged my cheeks and with a tiny brush painted my lips the colour of wine with paste made from beeswax and crushed flowers. To me the effect was anything but beautiful and more like a harlot or street performer, and all the while I sat in front of the mirror pondering my future and thinking of another’s betrayal.

  In the weeks preceding this day I had cried constantly and ate little, my melancholy leading to a fever, so weak had I become. The night I had left the house of Gabriel to fall asleep in the snow, Lewis had lifted me in his arms, returning me to the castle to heal my frosted bones. Irene reported that at one point I was so delirious calling names and places that she had never heard of. Irene could not remember the names – they were jumbled sounds but I thought that perhaps they were my visions.

  I recovered slowly and said little. Lewis had visited me once in the room to advise that our wedding would take place in coming days. He stood arrogantly and there was no negotiation but neither was there any fight from me. I had accepted my destiny.

  ‘If it is any consolation,’ he said quietly without emotion, ‘Gabriel and Arianne will not be present.’

  Just the sound of their names stabbed at my heart.

  ‘In time you will get over the feelings you had for Gabriel,’ he continued. ‘And it is best to forget the miscreant who was once human. She is no longer your friend. She would sooner see you die than befriend you once more.’

  ‘You misunderstand my melancholy,’ I said, falsely. ‘I have no feelings towards them.’ He seemed pleased with this and left but his words caused me to weep once more as there was no-one to turn to. No family or friends to fully confide in, just a life destined to remain with a creature of nightmares.

  It was Irene who supported me throughout this time.

  ‘I know it doesn’t mean much,’ she said, ‘but I have grown up with Lewis and know he will be kind to you.’

  I responded with sobbing that was so loud, Irene hushed me and held me firmly to her breast to calm. She was only a few years older than me but seemed so wise in her quiet human way and I felt sorry for her too. I told her this through tears and gasps for breath.

  ‘Don’t feel sorry for me,’ she said. ‘I know no other home. My mother was born here as was I. I did not even know my father, and it is not all boring in the quarters beneath the galley. We have a kinship and we are fed well and the world outside seems too fearsome to be part of. I am looked after here.’

  Just like me she owned nothing, could not leave and was born to serve, just in a different way.

  ‘I can tell you though,’ she said. ‘That while you were lying there shivering for days from your icy illness, Lewis was in here regularly checking on you. I am not old enough to have witnessed him in love before, and I have never seen him frown so much as he did. Although he cured you with magic your whole body seemed to fight it. He was afraid you would die willingly.’

  Lewis. In love? How ridiculous. I wished I had died.

  I had repaired on the outside, though internally my heart was sad. On the day of our union, the sun shone into the grand hall; the light streaming in pathways of gold across the stone tiled floors, highlighting the circular patterns of coloured stones.

  The other strigoi stood in two lines for me to walk through. Lewis did not look so old this day. His beard had been trimmed and he wore a resplendent tunic of cream silk threaded with gold, and a long ruby cloak. Despite his reassurances that all would be well, I could feel nothing but dread.

  As I walked the others chanted in witch speak, some of which I understood to be wishes of fertility to expand the coven. While approaching my warden who waited with a half smile, something rare to see, I prayed to God that I would be barren. I did not want a child to be born here.

  My wish was not granted. Oleander was conceived on our wedding night. Lewis was a gentle lover. His body was lean and cool to touch and despite his years his skin was smooth. I had only known such an experience through an act of violence.

  Lewis’s room had been decorated in pale blue, colours that he thought I would like, and silver hair brushes and mirrors were laid out on a small table of marble designed and made as a wedding gift. I did not begin our marriage as a blushing bride. Instead I was flushed with pride and disdain. The experience was unpleasurable and I made it so, refusing to yield. Though despite my chagrin I did marvel at the effort he made to ensure my comfort. And I recalled how Irene had used the word love and wondered whether it was at all possible for a strigoi to understand its meaning.

  Afterwards, he left the bed and I heard the sounds of horses at the front entrance and other loud voices I did not recognise: a carriage full of people lured under false pretences and soon to be the celebratory feast of those beasts which had touched my shoulders to wish me well. Is this what you had planned for me, mother, father? Is this what you were protecting me from?

  Lewis had been right about one thing. I grew to not hate him but neither was I able to feel affection. He doted on his young daughter and this perhaps removed the hate, but the love I felt in my heart was all for Oleander.

  I watched my daughter then, long hair and golden eyes. So like me said Irene. Oleander knew she was loved. She did not look down at her feet but raised her chin and addressed everyone inquisitively with her eyes. She was much like her father, strong and unemotional. I admired that she was not like me: she would always look out for herself first.

  Lewis

  I did not mean to care so much this time. My last wife encouraged no feeling of fondness. She was mere
ly a means to an end, to continue my line. She bore me a weak-minded witch and I eventually left them to their mortal lives. To begin with my wife was given every luxury in the castle, every material desire, just not the one thing she wanted most – my approval.

  My son attempted to run away so often that I could see no good in his company. We carted him blindfolded for days, delivering him to a foreign country so that he would never know how or where to find us. I had him watched as I did not believe in completely abandoning my own kin. He became a drunkard and in his stupours he would tell stories that he once lived in a castle with the strigoi, a word associated to many as just a gypsy story. He was laughed out of one town before begging in another.

  One night his minders slipped five gold coins in his pocket. He had woken perhaps knowing they came from me before spending them on drinking and sleeping at inns with harlots. He did not have the strength to be a strigoi, instead he drank himself to death. My regret for his destiny inspired the decree to offer the change to those witches worthy of such a gift, and the weak to make a quick end to their pitiful lives.

  I did not convert my son’s mother to strigoi for the signs of mania were delivered early. She was committed to a nunnery where she shouted out blasphemies one minute and then at other times begged for forgiveness for marrying the devil. It was not so unusual for witches to succumb to such a disease, especially born as bastards with little knowledge to cope with their magic.

  My methods may seem heartless but a master must be decisive and always the strength of the coven must take precedence over any personal desires. Unions must produce heirs and those who did not show strength did not earn a place beside me. Many have been killed for weakness, or questioning my motives, as well as those who betrayed me.

  That marriage was near to a full century earlier and it was this experience that delayed me expanding my line until Lilah arrived. I had heard many years earlier from a soothsayer that one day I would care for someone who would produce a powerful heir. And in the months after Lilah’s arrival, I knew she was the one. Though, I lament often on the other words spoken: the girl would not reciprocate my feelings.

  While humans might refer to me as elderly, my body aged well past middle years, internally I was still as strong as a human male in his prime. Lilah and I were meant to be together for our union had created a protégé in my daughter. I sensed the powers within my daughter shortly after her birth. I would finally be able to return to the earth knowing that the coven was in safe hands with an heir but that was still years away while Oleander grew to maturity.

  My wife entered from the courtyard. She was twenty years and growing more appealing by the day. Since the wedding night she had been, for the most part, a dutiful wife, accepting her circumstance. Though, sometimes the disapproval in her expression often preceded our verbal disagreements, which were often over the treatment of the witches. At other times, she would touch my arm in genuine affection to marvel at our daughter’s progress.

  But there were other events that would yet test the strength of our marriage. The day was coming when the date for Oleander’s conversion must be set in ink, and I could tell this weighed heavily on Lilah’s mind. I had thought that it might be good to marry our daughter first and produce another child with blood from one of the oldest strigoi lines but the thought of keeping her chaste would be a good omen for the future of the coven, and without the distraction of maternal instincts that might affect her decisions.

  In many ways I wished to please Lilah and ensure her happiness yet it was my duty not to put anyone ahead of the coven. If that meant introducing my daughter to the strigoi gift sooner, then so be it.

  As if sensing my thoughts my wife asked me of the plans I had for Oleander.

  ‘We will wait and see.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  She had come looking for an argument.

  ‘Surely you can see it!’

  Lilah knew what I was talking about. There was a discernible aura of witchcraft around Oleander that only a strigoi or witch could see. To see this so early meant that Oleander’s skills would be powerful by the time she reached adulthood.

  ‘So can she not stay a powerful witch and travel the land for her freedom.’

  ‘As a witch she would still be in danger…’

  ‘But as a blood sucker she is not?’

  This phrase that she used to mock me did not offend. But it continued to remind me that she lived in sufferance of me for the sake of our daughter.

  ‘You may use the speech of a peasant to get your point across but the answer is still yes! It is her rite of passage to the highest of orders.’

  ‘Untrue!’ she exclaimed. ‘If you are so superior, why hide like hares in the forest?’

  She had grown into her anger. When once she was just curious, questioning and open, she could sometimes be tempestuous.

  ‘She has everything here but in order to have her freedom, and to know she is safe there is only one clear window.’

  ‘And what if she chooses to live amongst humans and not practise her magic – will you stop her?’

  ‘My rules are clear, but regardless she would not restrict herself as such. It is obvious that she has no limits.’

  Lilah looked at me and then away, defeated. She knew that Oleander would follow her instincts. We both did. Oleander had already made leaves flutter from the trees with a wave of her hands, or surrounding herself with butterflies. She was unaware of this – her thoughts spontaneously embracing magic. Most witches did not know their power until they reach their womanhood.

  I sat beside Lilah. There was no show of public affection between us. It was not something that came easily to me nor did I think it necessary. Our closeness had made her tense slightly.

  ‘Oleander will make the choice,’ I said.

  ‘With your encouragement.’

  ‘Possibly, but I do not think she will need much. The only way you can control this is to lock her in the dungeon. Is that what you want?’

  When Lilah looked at me then I felt tightness in my chest that can only be described by humans as devotion. If not for what happened later, I would have spent my last remaining years trying to please her.

  Gabriel

  It was four years since I had seen the castle. Most of those years were spent in London where disease and murders were our allies, where the most notorious villains filled the streets, where leprosy touched the lower classes, and where many rose up among the filth, their pockets filled with gold. It was the safest place to hide since we could do what we liked with so much squalor to hide our hunting. It was also the best place to keep Arianne for she did not cover her tracks well, and, in this period of debauchery and lunacy, it suited us well.

  Arianne was difficult to live with, but it was my cross to bear for she was, in effect, my creation. Yes, I could have destroyed her any time but for the guilt I felt. Yes, I had lured her. Yes, I had wanted her. I had enticed her with my stories of riches and places where we could travel to faraway places.

  I had loved her for a period. She was engaging on every level and the thrill of luring her from the monastery had stayed long after we were together.

  Had I left her in human form we may have had a good relationship but the change had altered her in ways I found hard to bear. The strigoi did not aim to make humans suffer longer than was needed but Arianne had other ideas. Like a cat with a mouse, she played with her prey as if in a game. It was said that some return from their brief death with a different soul, one from the underworld, but all I saw was abuse of her endowment by her already damaged soul. Though humans would argue we are all from the underworld.

  We left a few weeks after the change. Lewis asked us to leave informing us that he would take care of Lilah. There was no reason to disagree. She wanted nothing more to do with me. There was much I had to tell Lilah about my relationship with her father but she refused my attempts to see her.

  Arianne clung to me as if I were some sort of prize she ha
d won. But she was perceptive, knowing that my heart was no longer beating hard for her.

  Dressed like wealthy travellers, we stayed at inns sometimes just to observe and sometimes to find our prey. Arianne fed more than me. Her hunger did not lessen with time. The constant need for blood was something that even I found repugnant. Arianne preferred the young blood, something that could not so easily be controlled outside the coven.

  Arianne drew many gazes in the town, preferring the attentions of dressmakers and young men. We would stay long enough for her to have a new dress made, her bodice and sleeves tight. Sometimes we would rent accommodation and stay longer parading as aids and messengers for the Vivoide. Arianne would hire young servant girls and it was there that I would have to watch her closely that she did not take more from these girls than just their services.

  On a perfect spring day, we arrived in England met by a horizon of purple iris stretching tall towards the sky, and a carpet of pink and white apple blossom to line our entry. We did not waste time in the lush green fields of English countryside, instead hiring a charming house on Fleet Street in London. It was not my idea. I would have preferred some modest home in the remote north but I indulged Arianne further, mainly to watch over her. We became a distant cousin of Hungarian royalty. From our generosity, high number of servants, and ability to buy whatever we wanted, there was never any question of our social standing and we were soon invited to many events. Eventually, we hosted our own afternoon teas and extravagant dinners.

  We attended stringed concerts at the manors of nobles, listened to choirs, and were treated to lavish balls. One concert was so good Arianne hired the musician exclusively for Saturday evenings.

  One of our neighbours, a renowned master builder, commissioned to restore St Peter’s Abbey, would often invite us to dinner.

  Our servants cooked stuffed goose and spinach with cardamom, fish soup and peaches with honey for desert. We went to functions and were served pigeon pies and mustard, baby fowl, pears and chestnuts, cakes in the shape of fish, wine and ale. Arianne developed a strong friendship with the master builder, who we discovered was a witch, and much of the time was spent in his company. I did watch her though, that there were no feelings of blood. Sometimes her hunger urges were far greater than her bedroom lusts. And ashamedly, there were times when I would have to clean up after her, disposing of the husks into the murky Thames, burning bloodied sheets, and cleaning blood splattered walls before the servants awoke.