Blood Crescent

by S. M. McCoy

  Inside this strange memory I gasped, but nothing outward happened, nothing I did or felt changed the scene. This was why I was seeing this, it must be. Damien was Drawn to someone else. Maybe I’d learn what it truly meant to be Drawn?

  “It is not. Because time is our enemy. I do not wish for it to separate us.”

  “I will not force a conversion. If we are meant to be as you say, then I will naturally be like you one day. Until then.”

  “Then you do not accept my offer.”

  We both looked at the necklace in my hand.

  “I will accept it and keep it close, but I will not use it.” She held the vial in her hand firmly, closing her fingers around it and smiling with a happy kind of sadness.

  “It is a crystal of my blood. Of my love. And knowing that you possess it yet denying it tears me inside.”

  “I am not denying you. I am embracing what you call fate. Fate will bring us together, forever. You cannot know I am your one until I am transformed and I will not transform knowing there is a risk you aren’t mine. How horrible would life be forever longing for you and you are Drawn to someone else?”

  “What of the risk of having me forever. Would you throw that chance away?” He grabbed her hands, my hands, in his. Those eyes turning color, shifting to violet in his intensity. He had less control then than he did now. He had more control when he was around me, I should say. I was not her.

  “Would you have me living eternity with the chance that you are with someone else? What torture that would be.” She dropped her hands down, easing them slowly from his grasp.

  “What bliss of an eternity by your side. I would not leave you. Drawn or not.” He took her hand one last time to lift it to his lips.

  “Tonight,” she said, making a decision, one I didn’t know the details of.

  “You will join me at the social? My love.” He swept me, and thus her, in his arms and pressed his lips to mine. Such cold lips yet they were full of heated feelings that sent shivers down my spine.

  “My love,” she repeated back to him. I felt the pang in my chest reverberating from equaling feeling this moment; I was her.

  “You will not regret this.” He placed me back on the ground and smiled brilliantly. “Tonight,” he repeated to her, caressing my cheek with his finger and then I looked over his shoulder as he rushed back to the house. A stern-looking figure stared at us from the steps. He stood straight, a spear without a shield, in the face of an arrow of love rushing his way. I recognized him, but I didn’t know from where. He stepped back into the shadows.

  “Tonight.” I nodded to myself.

  He turned around once more to smile at me until he was out of sight. Such deep violet eyes.

  The sun fell into an evening glow like a backdrop and I could hear horses in the distance. They were galloping fast for around these parts. Too fast. Escaping? Was there trouble?

  The men descended from their mounts and rushed toward the house. I turned back to see the house I began at. It was like every step I took was the astral plan warping me through time and rushing me through a memory that someone only had a short amount of time to show me.

  “Is there a problem, sirs?”

  “Miss Grace?” he asked urgently.

  “Yes?” I took a step back, concerned.

  “Will you show us to your slave quarters?” They reached me and forcefully took my arm.

  “Excuse me?” I questioned.

  Their looks were solid, frozen, and hard without emotion.

  “Your slave quarters!” they demanded again.

  They drug me toward the guest house, which they saw Hope exiting.

  “Hope, go call on Mr. Mason! Something is direly wrong,” I screamed.

  They ignored Hope running for help. And I feared she wouldn’t be back in time rushing through the forest between the estates. But at least she was off the premises and wouldn’t be hurt.

  “Miss, you been harboring runaways. There be punishments if proven.” They slapped me hard against the back of my head and a whimper escaped, knocking me off balance having to rely on the arms I didn’t want on me to keep me from falling to the ground. I could feel it all as if it were happening to me and not to this girl I was trapped inside.

  The grounds spun and the girl spoke again, “I have not been harboring anyone. Everyone is bought and freed.” I struggled away from the grasp of the one holding me for a moment. “You have no right to handle me so, or to accuse me of such things.”

  He paused and his hand came up again striking me across the face sending me flying to the dirt floor. The pain surged through my head and the shock prevented me from standing right away. The gasps of a young mother and her children sobbing next to her sent pangs through my body, urging me to get up again to protect them.

  “You be guilty of harboring. These be the slaves done just escaped.” He looked to his partners and glared at the family, “Grab ’em and bring ’em back.”

  My voice caught in my throat, “I…I have paid for them fair and proper, they are not runaways!” I gathered myself to my feet again. Trying to stay strong to be the help they so desperately needed. I knew I wouldn’t be making it to the social later that night. Damien would dance without me.

  “You can’t lie to us. We already done spoke to the plantation owner; he told us he hadn’t sold you nothin’.”

  Again, he grabbed my arm hard and drug me out of the slave quarters as the other men rounded up the family like they were chattel. Branded and tagged for retrieval.

  “You will not get away with this!” I screamed feeling helpless, yet full of strength. Strength to stand up to what I felt was coming next because of my beliefs. I looked him straight in the eyes.

  “Miss Grace, you hafta come with us.” He averted his gaze; guilt ran through it.

  “I will not! I will not!” I was crazed, because some of the men turned away not bearing to watch what they were told to do next. The others had their mouths twisted into a grin no mother could respect.

  Hot tears streamed from my face. I knew what they were going to do. Most of the men were off at war, and the ones that weren’t were rich, coward, or wicked. These men were not rich.

  “Crystal!” I heard my name yelled out and a pressure on my shoulders shaking me.

  “I will not! I will not!” I screamed as loud as I could.

  “Crystal!” I heard it again, realizing it was my own name…not Grace.

  “Aislin…” Weak I asked feeling my body could blow away any moment. I was exhausted.

  “Are you all right?” she cooed, trying to sooth me.

  “Aislin, the men! The family! My mother…” I cried, tears burning down my cheeks.

  My veins felt like they were on fire. The pain. FIRE!

  “FIRE!” Panicked, I patted my arms quickly.

  “There is no fire. Shhh. Calm down.” Her arms wrapped around me to contain my outbursts. I kept struggling to push her away, push the fire away.

  “Mademoiselle, did you know about the fire?” For the first time Cerise’s voice was serious.

  “The fire?” Aislin looked up at Cerise standing near the doorway.

  “That lovely doesn’t have a name, but I know the story. She died in a fire. Burned the manor, grounds, and quarters for freeing slaves back in her day, even her immaculate garden. Framed for harboring runaways, but this piece was already moved to the neighbors for the party,” she said nonchalantly with a wave of her hand, dismissing the portrait. A fine mist of vehemence lay beneath her words yet hidden with her calm countenance. It was in her eyes.

  “How do you know that?” Aislin asked as she assisted me to my feet.

  “Family stories. No proof, of course, as you can see by the portrait being nameless. What a shame.” She said the last words blandly.

  “Do you know the story about the Masons?” I asked while clutching my chest, still trying to catch my breath from the ashy taste in my mouth, and what felt like smoke inhalation.

  “This was their
house. There was a man and a woman. He loved her, she didn’t. She died, he died. The end. You completely missed the party. I was the life of it, of course. But you missed the music, the dancing, and my company.” She shook off the deathly vibes still permeating from the portrait, which was alive with memories.

  “She didn’t love him?”

  “Of course not!” She calmed herself and continued, “Not at all. If she did she wouldn’t have died, because she would have been with him and he wouldn’t have let anything happen to her. But she didn’t love him, so she ended up dying and her death led to his. But since the party is finished I was going to invite you to stay. I do have someone waiting for you. Plus, I am under the understanding that you need help. And what better help than myself! Come, come.”

  “Are you…?” Was she the vampire we were supposed to meet? How else would she talk like she knew exactly what had happened to the girl in the picture? Grace died so young, I understood why she called out to me, we were in the same boat. I turned to the portrait once more and saw her hand was open in her lap, and the vial was gone. That was not how I remembered the painting before. My eyes grew wide, and I wondered what happened to the vial.

  I had a new appreciation and understanding for Damien…I might have judged him too harshly.

  “Qui, Come, come,” she urged, and we followed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Dark Love

  The flower mirror clicked into place. What need had she to go through her closet? Cerise pushed the mirror aside and there were no clothes in the armoire. She pressed a button on the inner wall and the dark room lit up to reveal a staircase winding down.

  A secret corridor.

  The underground safe house like Damien said. She must be the Shifter. But she seemed so fond of this particular look of hers and the people appeared to know her with this face. Cerise came across like the type of person that if she was having an identity crisis with her looks she would not be as cheerful. And if this wasn’t her normal look then that would mean that she had to have taken someone’s face, like Victor, to maintain it for so many years.

  Didn’t matter. Didn’t want to think about that. She was the key to solving my problems. Finding my mother.

  Someone to help.

  But what did she get out of it?

  She didn’t seem like the type to do something for nothing.

  Who was I to judge?

  “After you, mademoiselles. Go now, stop dawdling. We should be past this hesitation by now. You know my stories, I know your stories, come come now.” She waved her hand in the direction of the staircase.

  “Why are you so anxious? You’re normally a calm, ‘follow me’ type. Maybe impatient, but right now you seem different. Is something wrong?” Aislin looked at her and stepped toward the mirror or toward Cerise.

  “Anxious, please. Silly woman. I opened a hidden staircase do you expect me to have it open for hours waiting for you two?” She waved toward the stairs again for us to enter. Her face revealed a slight disturbance by Aislin’s comments, then again she seemed to be perturbed by Aislin every time she was near her. Considering the circumstances, I didn’t blame Cerise for her anxiousness after showing us this.

  Trust was needed on both sides of this arrangement.

  Aislin raised her eyebrow at Cerise and stepped through the wall and down the staircase. Pausing momentarily, I followed after her.

  The railing was soft wood, carved beautifully and accentuated by the dim lighting, giving it a kind of warm glow. Winding down the stairs, the lighting stayed the same. Enough to see but the once warm glow seemed lonelier the farther I descended.

  I could hear the click of the mirror rolling back in place and the steps of Aislin in front of me and of Cerise behind me. The silence between us was almost unbearable.

  Too silent for such a dimly lit corridor.

  “You know Damien?” Couldn’t stand the awkward silence any longer, I had to say something, ask something. It was possibly the stupidest question I had, of course she knew him.

  “But of course,” she said curtly.

  Such a short answer for someone who was normally so long winded. Then I thought since it wasn’t talking about herself, fashion or gossip, it made sense, might not have been something she would normally elaborate on anyway.

  “Has he told you of the situation?”

  “But of course.”

  “What exactly has he told you?”

  “That you are in need of my assistance.”

  “What has he told you of what type of assistance we need?”

  It’s almost as if I was prying designer shoes from someone’s hand during a fifty-percent off sale day. Too difficult to hazard most of the time, but in this case lives were at stake and I needed her on our side.

  “I would have learned more, but he would have made me late for the wedding.”

  “So, he’s been here the whole time?”

  “Of course, waiting for us. I couldn’t very well have him interrupt a party, could I? He isn’t very sociable for parties, so he stayed down here.”

  I could smell the scent of cinnamon. Damien…but something else?

  “There’s a struggle…” Aislin paused at the end of the steps.

  “Pet, are you having trouble with the stairs?” Cerise seemed irritated by the sudden stop.

  “No. But for someone who should know more about energy, this place is filled with it.”

  Cerise pushed me aside, then Aislin, swiping her hands through the air as she went.

  How strange…

  That I hadn’t noticed until now.

  Or I’d noticed and just dismissed it.

  She waved her hands through the air every time someone…Aislin picked up on something. She’d been removing energy from the air that Aislin was reading.

  Was she hiding something? Of course she was—everybody had something to hide, but what was it for her?

  For someone who’d lived a long life, and was still living, there could be quite a bit she may not want us to know, so secluded for someone obsessed with attention as she was.

  “Gone.” Aislin still paused at the last step of the staircase.

  “What did you feel?”

  “A struggle, anxiousness, urgency, and pain…passion. How odd.” She walked forward again, following Cerise. Curiosity compelled her to continue despite the doubt she had about our hostess.

  “Shouldn’t keep him waiting, should we.”

  The floors were carpeted in rich burgundy and the walls were lined with dimly lit lights made to look like candles. Like a cellar it was cool and drafty. With no jackets or blankets in sight the hair on my arms stood on end, reaching out for warmth but I felt no discomfort. The air felt normal, but the bumps on my arms said otherwise as the chill touched my skin.

  “So cold,” Aislin whispered confirming what I saw.

  “Goodness, I’ve forgotten. There should be a throw blanket in the library if you need one.” She pointed down the hall for Aislin to leave us.

  Something flashed in front of us and momentarily Damien stood before us holding a blanket. Cerise looked visibly irritated at the arrival.

  “I believe this is for you.” He handed the blanket to Aislin, shivering from the new gust of wind created by his fast entrance.

  I was sure that I needed a blanket as well, but I couldn’t bring myself to shiver indicating a need nor to ask for one.

  “Damien…” His eyes averted from me when I said his name. Was he avoiding me?

  “You’ve made it.”

  “Let us go to the sitting room.” Cerise escorted us all to the room of no windows. But to create an illusion of them, a red curtain that matched the carpet was draped closed on the wall. Walking toward the fake window, I moved the curtain to confirm my suspicions. Cement and a long painting peeked from behind.

  “Come sit. Crystal, come sit,” Cerise called to me, interrupting my curiosity. The first time she had actually called me by name. How odd. Could it be the presence
of Damien had changed her demeanor? Did I tell her my name?

  Joining them I sat next to Damien as Aislin sat with Cerise, who though uncomfortable with her hid it well. I felt strange sitting next to him. The connection seemed muted like he was behind a wall I couldn’t climb.

  I was trying to give him some slack after what I saw about his past. I understood more about him and why Grace was so important to him. Did he still have the vial with him, still holding on to that day.

  “Do you have the necklace?”

  I felt a twinge in my chest and turned toward the window. If only there were more than just curtains. It was one of those moments where the view of the sky or the fresh breeze of an open window could calm the nerves. I’d only been in this underground hideaway minutes and it felt like months of captivity. Who could live like this?

  “No.” He looked away from me then took my hand in his. It felt familiar and comforting. I didn’t know if I was supposed to feel that way, if it was the bond, or if I should be pulling away from him after knowing he intended to turn Victor into the Council.

  “Was it destroyed?” I asked, my hopes somewhat crushed by the realization that it must have been burned.

  “What necklace?” Cerise asked.

  “The one he gave to Grace.”

  “How do you know about Grace?” She sat still like a statue.

  “The picture in the parlor…” I admitted, sheepish; I felt like I was invading his privacy.

  “Nonsense, my doll. Could be a book you’ve read is all, or a movie… Yes, must have been.”

  “It was another life, not yours.” Damien squeezed my hand lightly. I was surprised he didn’t try to call me Grace again, relating me as his reincarnated blood bond. I was thankful that he gave me the space to accept that she wasn’t me, and a sense of comfort washed over me in his presence that I hadn’t felt before.

  “Damien…” Cerise’s mouth dropped for a moment then, composing herself, she continued, “Of course, your spirit reincarnated and you’re remembering your past life. Doll, you and him must be meant to be. How romantic.” She waved her hand and adjusted in her seat.