by Clare Daly
As she approached the cell, a familiar scent rose to her. She stopped, looking at the floor. Something wasn’t right. She knelt, pressing her ear against the boards.
‘What is it?’ Gabriel said.
‘There are vampires here,’ she said, her fingers spreading across the floor. ‘Lots of them.’
The black dog leapt to his feet, barking wildly.
‘There must be hundreds down there,’ she said.
‘No wonder the town is empty. We must find the opening.’
They looked about the floor. There was no sign of a hatch but Evelyn spotted four grooves worn into the wood. The table on the far side of the room had been moved.
‘There,’ she said. ‘It must be underneath.’
They shifted it easily to one side. A small iron ring lay set into the wood.
‘Can you do this?’ Gabriel asked.
‘I’m certainly going to try,’ she said, and she pulled the ring, the trapdoor opening with a cool rush of air. She quickly lowered herself into the pitch blackness, dropping down to a tunnel crudely dug into the earth. As she moved through it, she hoped the earthen ceiling would hold, the thoughts of being buried alive not one she wished to encounter with so many of her own kind. Gabriel followed behind her and together they made their way slowly along, following the scent of the undead.
Evelyn’s vision in the darkness was tinged in green and blue and when they reached the end of the short tunnel, the colours seemed to ignite with the picture before her. In a wide cavern, lay hundreds of sleeping vampires. She felt Gabriel’s hand on her arm and she turned as he pointed to a family lying asleep together. Two parents, each with a protective arm around their sleeping children, their little faces frozen in their immortal dream world. Evelyn had never thought that a child would be made endure such a fate, and she looked on horrified as they surveyed the others, spotting more children among them.
She didn’t know if she could destroy a child, vampire or not but the alternatives, that this army would reach New York was too horrific to contemplate. She reached a hand back to Gabriel, telling him she would go on alone. Carefully she made her way through them, stepping between the gaps, until she stood in the centre, the vampires spread out around her like fallen petals. Closing her eyes, she summoned the fire. She would need more power than ever before. She envisioned the flame growing inside her, taking it to molten red, then white hot, urging the heat stronger and stronger. Instead of releasing it, she contained it, intensifying it until it exploded outwards – a bright light as harsh as the midday sun. It blasted the vampires where they lay, it’s light and heat so intense that it turned them instantly to ash.
When she was satisfied that every one of them was destroyed, she dropped to her knees, the light vanishing, plunging them back into darkness. Gabriel crouched at the entrance, shielding his eyes until it was over, awestruck by her power. She moved back to him, stepping between their bodies as before, her ankle touching the arm of a male vampire. His body disintegrated like grains of sand until there was nothing but the scorch marks of where he’d lain.
Gabriel looked at the vampire family, still holding each other in death, taking care not to disturb their resting place. When they reached the surface again, the black hound wept in its cell, howling for its lost compatriots.
‘Burn it all,’ Gabriel said.
Evelyn nodded. ‘And Jude?’
‘He’s gone,’ he said. ‘He travels at great speed, perhaps to tell of our exploits or to run as far away as he can from the retribution that will be coming. We have disabled an army here but the top tier is still out there and they’ll be coming for us – not tonight perhaps, they will come here to see the damage themselves – but certainly thereafter.’
‘Let them come,’ she said.
41
Ashleigh allowed the seeds of jealousy bloom into revenge. The power of its secrecy, allowed it to flourish in her mind as she considered her best course of action. That morning, she rose with a spring in her step and as she watched Michael speaking with Bailey and Thomas at the stables, she felt her heart swell with expectation. She had considered perhaps blackmailing him in return for the kisses that Salome had stolen from her, but then Michael had kissed a slave and that tainted him beyond repair. She had laid awake the night after their kiss, dreaming of his lips again on hers, when her desire could no longer contain itself and she’d thrown on her housecoat before sneaking down to his cabin. It was Salome she had seen first through the trees, and from there she had stumbled upon the pair, brazen in the dawn.
Her mouth watered at the thoughts of their punishment and the importance of her discovery. She imagined the reactions of Foster and that idiot Harley, not to mention her father who would erupt at such a flagrant breach of his moral code or her mother who would weep for humanity. Ah yes, the shock would be shattering, the punishment almost surely death, for it could not be condoned. Much as she wanted to, she knew better than to gloat to Michael that she had unmasked them, as passionate men were unpredictable and he might take to silencing her. No. She knew what she had to do and the part she would play.
42
That evening, Foster and Harley emerged through the trees, a length of rope swinging idly in each of their hands. They were afforded a certain level of autonomy when it came to dealing with the slaves, and Foster was grateful to Ashleigh that he was the first to hear about his new employee’s deception. He knew all too well that Salome was a temptation for any man, but how dare that upstart take what was his, and how dare she give herself willingly to him. They would take Michael first and restrain him while they waited for Salome to finish her service in the house. Ashleigh would alert her father at the right moment, when justice was in hand, and Foster could be seen to have a handle on things. If Mr. Boudreaux had to bring the news to him, it would surely come with his swift dismissal, his own overseer having no knowledge of what was going on right under his nose. This he could control.
Harley had subdued Michael with a swift punch to the gut as he’d opened the door of his cabin to them. Then they’d tied him to a chair and for an hour Harley beat him. He refuted their claims, over and over until at last he relented, knowing that their intel was too close to the truth to have been anything other than an eye witness. They even teased his plans to flee with her to New York and finally he had to admit it, though he insisted that it was not Salome but another girl from a different plantation. For this, Harley beat him some more until he stopped talking again. It was only when he took him to the edge of the trees, where the lawn stretched up to the house that he began to scream her name. Foster was dragging her across the manicured grass, one hand embedded in her short hair, the other gripped tightly to his shotgun.
Harley knocked him forward on his knees, tying a piece of cloth around his mouth to subdue him as Salome struggled with Foster, one shoe falling behind her as she scrambled to get her feet under her. He shoved her down on the grass beside Michael, both of them kneeling before him.
‘I’m gonna miss you, Salome,’ he said, bending down to stroke her face. ‘Your position’s gonna be a hard one to fill, but you know little Agatha’s coming to that age now, isn’t she? Starting to grow into a fine young woman.’
Salome leapt to her feet and sprang for him, landing a blow to his face. He hesitated as he considered hitting her with the butt of his gun, then turned to Harley.
‘Hang her,’ he said.
His words were music to Harley’s ears as he brought out his noose, slinging one end of the rope over the thick branch of a nearby tree, before slipping the loop around her delicate neck.
‘What in God’s almighty earth is going on here?’
Mr. Boudreaux stormed across the lawn, loading his own shotgun, his fingers fumbling with the shells. He was followed close behind by Ashleigh, shrinking timidly behind him, but following pace for pace, her ringlets bouncing like a riot each side of her head.
‘Sir, we have a serious situation. This here negro has been fornicating with the new boy. It’s against all goodness and they’re gonna get God’s swift punishment,’ declared Foster.
Harley worked the rope slowly through his hands as Salome was pulled towards the tree.
‘You should have come to me immediately. Only for my Ashleigh hearing the commotion, I’d be oblivious. Pick that boy up,’ he gestured to Foster.
When Michael was stood facing him, he pulled the gag down over his chin.
‘What have you to say for yourself?’
‘You’re wrong,’ Michael blurted out in a panic. ‘It wasn’t her.’
Ashleigh stepped forward. ‘I saw them Daddy, in the woods. It’s her all right,’ she said with a smirk.
‘No, no you’re wrong,’ Michael said.
‘Shut him up, Foster. I don’t want to hear anymore. If Ashleigh says it, then it is so.’
Michael fought it in a frenzy of desperation.
‘You jealous, stupid little…’ he shouted before Foster gagged him again, pulling it tightly into the corners of his mouth. Mr. Boudreaux cocked his shotgun at him but Ashleigh put her hand gently on her father’s elbow.
‘No, Daddy,’ she said. ‘I want to see them hang together.’
He lowered the gun, shaking his head.
‘A sorry state of affairs indeed. Alright sweet pea, but come back to the house. You can watch from the porch steps,’ he said.
He was aware suddenly of a line of slaves gathered among the trees.
‘You get back to your quarters, now. Justice is being served here tonight,’ he shouted, putting a protective arm around his daughter as they walked back across the lawn. Ashleigh strained her neck to see what was going on.
‘Go back,’ said Foster to the slaves. ‘Or there’ll be punishment for all of you.’
In the leafy darkness, the men didn’t move, Bailey and Thomas among them. Harley let go of the slack on Salome’s rope and took another noose, looping it around Michael’s neck. He and Foster took one each as they pulled hard, hoisting them until Michael and Salome’s feet left the ground. They kicked the air as the men tied the ropes and stood back to watch their handiwork.
43
Michael felt as though his throat had been cut. Every fibre of the rope seared his skin, made worse by the slightest movement of his body. His throat had squeezed shut and he gasped, the air unable to get to his lungs. He didn’t notice the sun stone until it had landed on the grass in front of him. It had burned a hole through his trouser pocket, its orange and pink fissure glowing brightly in the darkness. He twisted his body to look at Salome, feeling a jolt as the rope snapped and he was falling backwards, carried on the air back into the trees. His body met the ground with a thump and he pulled the noose over his head, flinging it to the ground where it landed beside a pair of familiar cowboy boots. He looked up to see Wade towering over him and screamed a hoarse cry as he scrambled back into the undergrowth.
‘Don’t kill me,’ he said. ‘At least not yet.’
‘Kill you? I just saved your sorry ass,’ said Wade. ‘It’s good to see you, pal. Now get yourself together, we gotta make like lightning if we’re to get back tonight.’
Michael listened to his words, trying to decipher them.
‘You’re not going to kill me?’ he said.
‘Nope, now come on, let’s go.’
‘No,’ Michael said, ‘I have to save Salome.’ He struggled to get to his feet.
‘Stay here,’ Wade said sternly. ‘I’ll get her,’ and he disappeared into the darkness.
44
Harley and Foster were still trying to grasp what had happened. One minute they were hanging their captives, the next Michael was gone in a whoosh of furious wind, a straggle of rope left dangling from the branches. Salome had stopped moving, her struggle finally over, until she too was falling, caught by the arms of a strong black man who laid her carefully down on the ground.
Foster didn’t recognise this slave. He wore a suit more expensive that any item of clothing he owned, but a negro was a negro no matter what way he looked at it. He drew up his shotgun moving closer to him, when the man disappeared into thin air. Then someone grabbed him from behind, their strong arm across his collarbone. Hot pain burned in his neck, as the man latched his mouth to his skin, drawing every drop of blood from his trembling body. Harley couldn’t believe his eyes. He drew his hunting blade from the sheath in his belt. He faced foes on all sides – Foster’s negro killer, the slaves advancing from the trees, Salome panting on the grass and then a cowboy, who smiled at the odds so favourably stacked against him.
As Foster’s body slid to the ground, he thought better of his grandstanding and dropped the knife. He made a dash along the treeline as the slaves emerged. Some charged after him, while others made headway across the lawn. The other strangers didn’t follow. He may have a chance yet. But they were smiling, looking past him and when he turned around again, a red-haired woman was coming towards him, walking at a leisurely pace.
‘Well, your mama must be so proud of you,’ she said. He kept charging, sure he could push her out of his way, but she braced herself for his assault. Every bone in his hands splintered on impact and he let out a high-pitched wail. The slaves had stopped their pursuit and they watched as Velle grabbed one of his hands, squeezing each broken finger into the next. She twisted his arm, forcing him face down onto the grass, where she sat on his back, his legs kicking out under the back of her dress.
‘This’ll only hurt a bit,’ she said as she sank her teeth into the crook of his neck. Quickly she drank and when she was done, she reached her hands around his jawline and pulled swiftly to the left, until she heard it crack.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Naughty boy.’
***
Ashleigh had watched in awe at the ease at which both men were dispatched. She scanned the treeline for Michael. He had completely disappeared. Half of the slaves had already made their escape but the others favoured revenge and they came upon the house brandishing torches. Things were about to get very bad indeed. She ran up the porch steps but a stranger stood there, leaning on the door, one foot crossed over the other, his hand resting on the jamb.
‘Please,’ she said. ‘You must help me.’
By the time the words came out, she realised her mistake. The man’s appearance was disarming. He was beautiful in an odd way, his skin smooth and pale but in his eyes, she saw a monster. She backed slowly down the steps lifting her skirts as the man followed her.
‘You can see pretty good from here’ he said pointing to the hanging tree. ‘You had the best seat in the house.’
Sasha moved to his left as a shotgun pellet came whizzing through the wooden door, narrowly missing his shoulder. Ashleigh saw her chance and disappeared into the porch shadow, running as fast as she could along the edge of the house. Sasha looked back to see Mr. Boudreaux framed through the hole he’d put in the front door, his shotgun in his arms, newly reloaded.
‘You’re going to need that,’ Sasha said walking down the steps away from him.
45
Harley’s knife lay abandoned in the grass and while the others watched him run away, Salome slid her hand across to grab it. She clutched the handle now to her breast, as she watched Sasha approach. He must be the leader. She had heard the red-haired woman speak and knew that she was not Michael’s sister but the others certainly fit his description perfectly. They had taken him. Somewhere among the trees, he lay dying. They would kill them all until their thirst was quenched.
The leader glanced at her as he spoke with the cowboy. What would they do with her? Kill her too? Michael was gone and with him, hope of ever leaving Raven Wood alive. He was coming towards her. She closed her eyes, as his hands reached under her and then she thrust the knife into his chest, the blade finding the soft flesh of his heart.
46
A cry rang out that silenced the whole night. The sound of agony and fear bound together. Sasha clasped the handle of the knife. Had she done it? Finished him? Perhaps he could reverse it, remove it so quickly from his heart as to render it futile. He went to pull it out but her hand came upon it again, ready to finish the job. She must have known the chance she took. To kill just one vampire, when three others were waiting – ready to avenge him. Lincoln swept in, his hand pulling the blade out and with a flick of his wrist, he slashed it across her neck, silencing her forever.
Sasha was still. In truth, he was afraid to move. He hadn’t seen any vampires killed in such a way so he didn’t really know what to expect. Was his heart on fire, or was he imagining it? The dark blood ran like hellfire through his veins. But instead of burning him, it was hard at work restoring the tissue, rebuilding torn arteries. The blade had missed the chamber by millimetres. He closed his eyes, knowing all too well, how close he’d come. Michael’s voice called through the woods. The girl was dead. His love. Sasha let out a sigh.
‘Go, get him Wade,’ he said. ‘It’s time we left.’
Wade looked at the fallen girl and shook his head.
‘Man, he’s not going to be happy.’
The calmness of the cold still night disappeared. A rush of wind powered through the trees, whipping the branches into a sudden frenzy, the low hanging cypress trees swishing their manes. There were screams from the house and the sound of gunfire as the slaves advanced, invading the ground floor. Wade had done his best to prepare him, but Michael was railing against his grip as they returned. He flung himself to the ground where she lay. It was wet with blood, the blades of grass black in the moonlight.
