“We need not go far for feeding. Lucido said. “We must not leave the impression that vampires can be hunted without consequence. A statement must be made lest we be hunted with increasing confidence.”
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MacQueen sat on a log surveying the fire for any attempts from those beneath to escape. He kept an eye on the fire and those of his select group. He didn’t want the fire to get out of hand and his men only thought they knew how dangerous vampires were, so he would sit and watch over them. As he kept his vigil, it slowly occurred to him that the air had become heavy and the night sounds, even chatter between his men had become silent. At first he remarked to himself the oddity of the moment but birthed an increasing concern. Standing nearly imperceptibly among the men in their various locations were two female vampires looking in his direction. Members of the group moved very little and as panic built inside, he became aware of someone sitting next to him. MacQueen tried not to show his surprise but he was trembling by the time he turned towards the person on the log with him.
“Your wife is expecting. You didn’t know that did you?” Lucido said. “She doesn’t know it yet, either. It’s a girl and that will make two of each in your small home. Imagine your wife struggling to raise them without you and the tears, from all who are now home, over your death. I understand the feelings of helplessness over the loss of farmer Rounding’s late wife, Sandra. She was taken as you might take an elk from the herd, and cherished as you might prize many good meals from that elk. I am a vampire, MacQueen. Vampires usually are content to wander where they will, adding to the ebb and flow of daily lives. The killings are for our survival and without mounting a head on a wall boasting of our prowess. We are lions MacQueen. Hunting a lion is not without losses. It is an undertaking that must be done with grim expectations. Would you like to die tonight?”
MacQueen shook his head slowly.
“Well then, look out there among your people and select three who will.”
13
Michael stopped his tale and stood glancing at their curious guest. She had cried with eyes buried in her arms as they crossed against her knees, drawn up as she sat on the floor in the corner. During the discourse at the table, Ruby ceased her continuous weeping and it resolved into whimpers and then far-off stares. Michael stood in silent contemplation for a minute and then surveyed the world outside the window over the sink. Cinnamon watched him silently and absently swished the last few remaining swallows of beer round and round in the bottle, eying it down the neck. She too, was carefully watching Ruby who was clearly in mourning…devastated. Both of those watching Ruby were skilled readers of the human condition.
“Can I get you anything, Ruby? …Water? …Food?” For the moment Cinnamon was wrestling between wanting to find out more from Ruby. It bothered her that Ruby remained on the floor.
Though still under guarded observation, she had made no aggressive moves and looked up at Cinnamon though didn’t really see her. Clearly she was somewhere far away.
Michael returned to his chair. “She is reminiscing about old times-times with Max but there aren’t many thoughts about running down the beach or frolicking in a meadow. Most of what I’m picking up has walls and doors…locked doors.”
“Picking up on the others down the beach?”
“John and Persephone are now trying to rekindle their daughter’s life, trying to revive her with what pieces of Misty they’ve managed to pull from the sea. They are headed back but the journey will be slow. They are floating Misty for easier transfer and walking her in the water, parallel to the beach.”
“Can they do this? Is there a chance she is not lost to us?”
“Certainly, Cinnamon, you have been presented with accounts from me and from John Skye. Life can sometimes slip away so easily and yet other times, cling beyond imagining. Let us hope Misty will surprise us.
I have spent a lot of time with you regarding the history of the Havens and what little we know of the Lorn. John spent time relating the past with Yoomans like Fawn17 and Captain Gibson and Havens such as Crying sky and Sun Dog. I believe he is interested in relating more of the tale as am I. Listening to these events will bring you most of the answers you seek. Let me bring you this information in an order and context that helps with understanding. I’m sure you have experienced a deeper view of things since I first told you I’m a vampire.”
Reluctantly, Cinnamon had to admit this truth.
“Though the evening was usually a time when I would sleep because I represented the vampire’s interests during the day (conducted business, attended meetings, ran errands) while they slept. I had not gone to bed this particular evening because I was returning late from a meeting regarding the sale of a ship to don Lucido, adding to his shipping fleet. Don Lucido and I had both been in attendance but I had started the meeting and he had come as soon as the darkness allowed him. When agreement was reached, don Lucido left and I was left to finish things up. ‘The devil is in the details’ was a phrase existing in those years as it does today, and certainly I thought of it several times while finally concluding our business. It wasn’t that the dealings were difficult. Indeed, this was something both parties wanted from their perspectives. Don Lucido knew how to negotiate in this realm. He had more years of experience in shipping than anyone alive in the entire world. Don Lucido was buying more than a ship; he was buying property and docks, essentially the entire business from the seller and there was inventory to verify.
Once I had concluded my tasks and bid the seller good evening, I started the walk back to my house…well, my house had become the current version of the House of Del Rio, yet those who came and stayed or those who came and went, managed to make themselves at home without my feeling like I had given up anything. After so long apart without a word from any of them, I was happy to have them back in my life. I loved it actually.
The trip from the harbor was, not surprisingly, an uphill trek. I did not mind because it served to keep me in good shape through the effort of the climb done many times a day on busy days. My route took me past several cafés and cantinas, but tonight it seemed lively and rough in front of some of the seedier places. I cared not for entanglements or to be targeted for a mugging, so I decided on an alternative route, one that would bring me past the home of the former harbormaster. In a note to me from my beautiful Charlotte, she had bid me to avoid going near the residence for a while. A grizzly murder had taken place there. Many young vampires had converged upon the poor man leaving very little of him to be found when next someone had come looking for him.
I wound through the streets in a route not taken recently but well-established with me. It was a more direct course and usually busier. But in these later hours those with families were now with them and those with wilder natures were out and about looking for that indescribable fix. I was not a vampire but I was perceived as a man of means, and so I avoided coming into the realm of those who might accost me for one reason or another.
The home of the former harbormaster Mario Lopez, was dark and closed up. No one had moved in. No lights came through the windows. There were many dark shadows cast upon the home from un trimmed trees embracing the house at too-close quarters. I briefly thought of my visit there and finding him not in his office but cowering out back, fearful of a foreboding ship that had drifted in to the port, and the demands from others to get the ship out of the way of commerce.
As I now strode in front of the harbormaster’s dark home, I decided not to follow anymore thoughts into the sad history of Mario Lopez’s last hours. I was turning away so as not to look at the house he’d left behind when the front door opened and a haggard-looking woman came from within the black interior. Her arm was raised and she was pointing at me and loudly she screamed, “You! You’re the lout who caused my daddy’s death.”
She charged across the yard with little regard to the lateness of the hour or who might hear her accusations. In fact, she meant to cause a scene or get the attention of others w
ith her wild rage. I was taken aback and confess to fading over to the far side of the road in reaction to the suddenness of this unexpected outburst. She was a hag. Her hair hung in straggles but through them she saw me and continued her charge. It didn’t make sense that this was happening. How could she have seen me and indeed known it was me in the darkness? How could she have known I was going to come by when I didn’t even know myself until I changed my route? What did she mean by saying I caused her father’s death?
It was then I felt an arm surround me in an embrace as strong as iron chains hemming me in. A hand went to my throat and closed off my breathing. My struggle lasted no more than long panicked seconds before I was released and when I turned to my attacker he was not there. My eyes strained in the night to find anything in the darkness, for I felt my assailant had not left, but remained in the vicinity. This feeling was strong and I knew it to be possible that I might be looking at the accoster but not be seeing him… or was it her? I turned back to the hag in the yard of the harbormaster’s house. No one was there. She had disappeared.
Though puzzled by this I could not now ponder it because danger was at hand. What I did do was recall some of my education provided by don Lucido Del Rio; learning not only to observe things directly but indirectly as well. Instead of staring and straining into the night shadows, I peered ahead in the road but really concentrating on what my eyes picked up peripherally. Something I did not notice when staring more directly became evident. There, nestled into a nearby tree was Edwardo Lorenzo, called more often; Edwardo the assassin.
“Edwardo,” I said. “Are you hiding from me…watching me…or playing with me?”
“Maybe I am here to kill you.” He disengaged himself from the shadows and stepped forward.
“You’re not.” I said. “If you had meant to kill me I would already be dead.”
“Maybe I like to taunt my victims.”
“I’m sure you do. But, you also like to taunt your friends.”
“You are not a friend of mine.”
“The list of people who aren’t friends of yours is quite long, but not being your friend is not the same as being an enemy.” I watched his face but not accidentally it was hidden mostly in shadows. “To have arranged this little scene with the hag storming out of the house must have been quite amusing. I hope my reaction made your efforts worthwhile.”
He chuckled disappointedly. “Are you actually trying to…shame me?”
“Look, are we not supposed to talk about my becoming a vampire and being part of the House of Del Rio?” I asked. “Or perhaps you don’t care.”
“Maybe it’s because I find this important that I have set you to dizziness in the night.” Edwardo stalked me slowly in a tight circle I could feel him scanning me. “It drove you stunned, muddled and predictably to me. I only had to wait for you to come to me. This matter is significant and the reason why your blood still pulses within your body instead of mine.” He let this statement soak in. “So, dazzle me with your reasons and qualifications.”
“I will not. It would appear too much like begging for my life, and I won’t do that. You know it all, anyway, from your probes into my mind.”
Edwardo put his face closely in front of mine and raised my face to look into the depths of his eyes. “You will beg! Beg for your life or beg for your death, which will you choose?”
14
They flew like falcons with eyes set on their target, but the sought-after prize kept eluding them. Just when it looked like a safe haven was in sight it wasn’t solid enough or dark enough or big enough. Finally they had to abandon what would have been nice and settle for what would work, and so Lucido Del Rio, Veria Daccota and Charlotte Tilson found access in the upper recesses of a castle in the town of Leeds where they would remain undisturbed and under the blanket of darkness. Candles were stolen from nearby rooms, one was lit and Veria drew back the hood from her cloak which she wore often and sat on the floor next to the flame, beckoning Charlotte to join her. Lucido made ready for his slumber on a broken bed on the far side of the room. Charlotte came tentatively to share the light and then, feeling insecure about what to say she offered, “Well, I guess it’s clear with which house my loyalties lie.”
“It often seems to be clearer to us than it is to you. I know it has been a struggle.”
The flame played between them as they sat. It reflected in their eyes.
“I am lost. I have been lost…drowning I think.” Charlotte couldn’t quite make herself look directly at Veria.
“Hands reach out to pull you from the water if you would but grasp one.”
“I am not ready… if I ever will be.”
“Charlotte, if you expect to find your heart by keeping to the shadows and wandering aimlessly in remorse, this is a sad mistake. You are your own jailer serving your own sentence.”
“I struggle under the weight of what I have done. Release will never come.”
“It will if you let it.”
Out of the deep shadows in the back of the room, Lucido approached and leaned his shoulder against the wall with his arms crossed.
“Charlotte, we welcome you back if you would have us. But as you reflect on what you will do your situation is not unlike it was when our fates crossed. You bear the Tilson name but the family who brought you into this world had been infected by the 2songs; the Lorn. The infection needed to be stopped and so it was. You were brought back to our home but kept under guard until we could learn about each other. You bore my mark yet this was not honored, and Desmondo Milan turned you into a vampire. You became part of his lineage except you already were marked by me, and so we all wait to see what this means. You are welcome here and to our home but your actions will be limited and carefully watched until we are all comfortable. We wouldn’t have come all this way to find you if we didn’t feel you were family. Sit and talk with Veria. After a while I will come and have my time with you. For now though I will rest.”
Lucido retreated to his sleep as Charlotte watched him and Veria watched her. “I believe I was just told that I am under guard.”
“It’s more like welcomed but cautiously embraced. You’ve escaped from our enemy. Who knows what manner of incantations and infestations you have suffered, though you had no choice? Heal here and purge yourself from the touch and the stench of Desmondo Milan.”
“He hates you, Veria.”
“What’s left of him does.”
“Why?”
“Because…because he spent a lot of effort to destroy me. In the end he drove a dagger through my heart, but I wouldn’t stay dead. He’s done the same with you.”
Charlotte started to cry, quietly grieving with bowed head. Veria tried to alter the mood with words.
“I grew up with a tattoo marking my head. It was placed on my scalp not long after I was born and eventually hidden by my hair as I grew from babe to little girl. I knew nothing of its existence, but this identified me to those who did, as a descendant of a lineage culled, tended to and bred for beauty and grace. This was done for the purposes of high marriages, and beautiful children, a physical asset to powerful men or for use as a pleasure slave. This line was known in secret realms as Cartier. Beauty, grace knowledge, and how to present these features in ways that added, in a complimentary way, to a man’s influence, I was being groomed to become a Cartier woman.
Veria continued. “These times of my youth were beset with unscrupulous people, war and marauders, conquerors, criminals and murderers, not unlike the world as it is now, but fate spares some and throws others before the blades of devastation. My village, home and family was ransacked and pillaged by invading hordes. All was lost for me and I walked out into the fray awaiting my end. Somehow in my shock, I meandered through the flames and destruction unnoticed and untouched. I wandered, almost trance-like, through days and miles with no food and little care about it. When I had surfaced enough to realize more of my surroundings, I took to the lesser roads and paths to avoid people and the help the
y might provide. Even at that tender age I sought the comfort of death. Once, near evening, I had taken a high mountain path to avoid a village somewhere below. Despite being cold and hungry, I walked with wild cries of wolves and other creatures sounding all around me. I happened on to a downed elk and a group feeding of wolves and other night creatures converging upon it. They realized my vulnerability and moved to add me to the feast by attempting to surround me. It was then I heard a voice call to me, guiding me to back towards the thicket and urging my trust which I gave. Somewhere in those moments I decided I wanted to live. My rescuer was Lucido Del Rio, or as you call him, don Lucido. He placed me in a shack away from danger and bade me to stay there during the day until he could help me further, when evening came once more. But I was hungry and he was a stranger and I did not do as he said. Eventually I was captured and sold to the river people who had collectively raised the money to purchase me. They knew I was a Cartier girl, and their hopes for a more profitable future were linked to the exploitation of my lineage. These ragtag people were led by someone they called the Great Milan and he had two sons, Hector and Desmondo.
I was a little girl in the beginning stages of womanhood when they first imposed their capture and domination of me and they held all the cards. They could deal pain most severe if it served their pleasure, which often it did. They used all manner of confinement and restraint to punish and condition me. And certainly they could withhold food, sleep, warmth, and refreshing coolness. With a simple hood over my head or a blanket thrown over my cage they could control my light and darkness; my day and night.
There were few ways I could use to manipulate my situation. One I turned to, was cooperation which, after I sold my soul down river, I did extremely well. When it came to selling myself out and pandering my pride, I’m sure they found me a wondrous student. But my situation was an uneasy balance between playing to those who showed an interest in me, no matter how foul, and having to deal with those who were threatened or jealous of the attention I attracted. I was being readied for work as a whore. My lineage, my youth, and my appearance were the river people’s hope for high profits. The taking of my virginity was to demand a steep price for the privilege. Many of the river people wanted pleasure from me and many wanted to beat me to death with a rock, but my earning potential stopped either from happening but I couldn’t help but wonder for how long.
The Blood In Between Page 7
