“Marriage,” the bishop stated, looking out at the assembled masses hanging on his every word, which for right now totaled one. In my opinion, his dramatic pause was way too long in the drama department, for in the silence that followed His Bishopness, all I could hear was the labored breathing of the Howler next to me. Maybe she was trying to blow a bug away from her mouth? Or a spider? I dared not look and kept my face pointing straight ahead, fixed on the blustery bishop.
“Marriage,” the bishop began again. “Marriage is the sacred union of a man and a woman joined by love, blessed by heaven above, and is a treasured institution since the very dawn of civilized history.” I guess he had not heard of Immortal Divorce Court, which had apparently been deciding marital disputes since shortly after the great seas cooled.
“Without marriage,” the Bishop said, “we could not have unions between a man and a woman so that they can produce progeny to honor God’s name and carry on our great traditions.” His eyes tried hard to ignore the Howler’s swollen belly, but failed, and briefly found mine and were clearly filled with his moral displeasure. The bishop reached into his vestments, jiggled some gold coins, then found Angus’s gaze with a knowing nod. Angus frowned and then smiled back at the bishop, whose fee for performing this service had clearly just gone up. So, I had skipped a step in the bishop’s mind. So what?
But I knew I was here for Angus Blackheart’s mortal and moral appearances and for my unborn children. I heard the Howler stifle a slight moan of pain. I looked around—surely, someone could bring the poor girl a chair. Or a block and tackle, perhaps? Angus was as strong as a proverbial bull, but the Howler was threatening to bring even him to his knees. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her squeezing her father’s hand so hard her knuckles were white. And still not the least bit of a reaction on Angus’s face. Or so I thought.
“Speed it up,” Angus hissed in a voice so low that only those of us at the altar could hear it. “Consecrate these marriages, now!” Indeed, the Howler’s moans were coming more and more frequently, and the assembled congregation was beginning to whisper audibly.
The bishop snapped into action. “Er, now then, do you lovely brides of the House of Blackheart, daughters of the honorable and esteemed and courageous Angus Blackheart, and his wife, the caring and sweet and innocent Anne Blackheart, take these noble men, Lord Warlock Jova of Hopkinshire and Prince Sirio Sinestra, heir to the throne of Spain, as your husbands, and masters, and centers of your universe, so help you God?”
“I do,” said Cornelia, beaming like the morning sun at Jova, who stifled a tear of joy.
“Ungh,” grunted the Howler, leaning over for a moment and clutching her abdomen.
The bishop paused, looking at the Howler, not sure what she had just said, and he opened his mouth to ask her again. Angus was having none of that. “She said ‘I do’ clear as day,” he said.
“Uh, are you sure?” the bishop asked.
“Ungh,” moaned the Howler, even louder.
“Uh, quite,” Angus replied. He lowered his voice. “Continue this ceremony right now, or I am going to shove your precious gold right up your vestibule!”
“Yes, I did hear her say it,” the bishop suddenly agreed. “And do you, Lord Warlock Jova of Hopkinshire, and Prince Sirio Sinestra, heir to the throne of Spain, take these daughters of the House of Blackheart as your lawfully wedded wives, to procreate in the name of God and protect as your property, so shall you swear?”
“I do,” Jova said, barely letting the bishop finish.
I paused for the briefest of moments, and between Garlic’s whines of concern and the Howler’s grunts of pain, I could barely think to speak aloud, since I was just trying to block out an awful, visceral feeling of impending doom. But what could I do at this point, other than to say . . . “I do”?
Looking relieved that his role in this travesty of a service was nearly complete, Bishop Sturgeon raised his hands. “Then, by the power vested in me by His Holiness in Rome and our good and loving king, I hereby pronounce you man and wife. You may now kiss your brides.”
Jova nearly knocked me over in his quest to get to Cornelia and take her in his arms. He kissed her long, deeply, and passionately, drawing a collective murmur of sweetness from the congregation. I turned to the Howler and reached my arms around her. Her stomach was so big it pushed into my own, and yet it seemed we still stood quite far apart. I looked at my new spouse’s glazed-over eyes and saw her lips curling back for a kiss, or perhaps a snarl. Then all of a sudden, her face went white, and there was a great rushing of liquid from under her dress onto my boots, breeches, and the floor of the church. She leaned back hard and howled in absolute agony, collapsing to the floor. Anne Blackheart and her bevy of ladies-in-waiting rushed the altar, and I found myself thrust to the background.
“These babies are on the way,” Anne declared. “Help her to the back room. She is not going to make it to the castle this day.” She looked up with disgust at the speechless Bishop Sturgeon as he stood taking up space in her maternal domain, saying nothing and doing nothing—not even giving a well-timed blessing. “Clear out of the way, Your Holiness,” she ordered. “And you had better start praying for this good woman and her newborns, or you will be doing your own last rites and not the baptisms of the lovely little ladies that are coming into this world right damn now!”
In a moment, the church was cleared by the ladies-in-waiting, and Jova, Cornelia, Angus, and the congregation retired to the castle to begin the wedding reception to end all receptions. Garlic stayed inside with the ladies-in-waiting. That left me and Oliver standing by a tree out in front of the church, waiting for the birth of my children. “You don’t have to stay,” I said to Oliver, who merely shrugged.
“There are not a lot of mortal or immortal ladies that fancy dancing with trolls,” he replied. “Unless Angus’s moat has a mermaid in it, I am probably out of luck. Besides, I can’t leave you here all alone, now can I?”
“You can,” I said. “But I am glad you have not done so.” A bloodcurdling howl of pain came from the church, cracking one of the stained-glass windows near the door with its volume. I had never felt so helpless. I could do nothing to help the Howler and my daughters. Inaction did not suit me.
“Here, try this,” Oliver said, handing me a flask. “It will settle your nerves.”
“I am not nervous,” I said, watching my normally calm hand shake like a leaf on a windy spring day as I took the flask from him, accidentally spilling half of its contents into the dirt. Another shriek, this one longer and louder, came from the church and shattered the remaining stained-glass windows, leaving a rainbow path of glass shards across the entrance that glistened in the setting sun. I put the flask to my lips, and the fiery liquid ran down my throat, sending a peaceful calm throughout my body. “Thank you,” I said. “I needed that. Do you think everything is going well in there?” Another long scream answered my question, bursting the church doors from their very hinges and sending them clattering to the ground.
“I think so,” Oliver replied, eyeing the doors. “Your children are quite the fighters, it seems.”
“Right,” I said. After a few minutes, a great cheer rose from inside, and Garlic padded out to the front entrance, barking once, and made for us to follow. Anne Blackheart met us halfway down the aisle, barring our way as Garlic disappeared into the back room.
“Sirius,” she said, “Oliver must wait for the formal introduction of these children to Lancashire proper. But you are the father of four unique wonders and may see the spectacle of their beauty.”
Oliver nodded in understanding and stepped back. “I am going to go to the reception at the castle and leave you with your new family,” he said. “And besides, I have a special bottle of wine to deliver for Jova and Cornelia’s first night as husband and wife.”
He bowed to Anne Blackheart and departed the church, and I followed my new
mother-in-law into the back room, my blood rushing through my veins so fast that I could feel my ears burning crimson. My throat had a dryness that no liquid could quench, and my heart threatened to pound itself right out of my chest. I had no earthly idea what to expect.
Behind a curtain and buried deep in a warm nest of blankets, I glimpsed the Howler. Piled near her were many blood-soaked cloths, and her face was pale, and her breathing faint and shallow. Anne caught my concerned eye. “She lost a lot of blood with the biting and sucking of those newborns,” she said. “Your ladies have a taste for it, even so young. But we got them out of her and feeding on something that wasn’t their mother, just in the nick of time, and so she will be all right in a few days.”
I was so stunned I could not even speak and merely nodded. Then my eyes took in the four little swaddled bundles, each held by a lady-in-waiting, who rocked them ever so slightly. I dropped to my knees and took them in, each as beautiful as her sister with tousled wet hair and red little faces. One was bigger than all the rest and slept the most contentedly. Two were the same size, and the last little beauty was smaller in stature than her sisters, yet she mewed the loudest. It was by her lady-in-waiting that Garlic sat, keeping vigil over her new charges.
I rose to my feet in utter awe and wept openly, as first one then the others were passed to me so that I could hold them close to my heart. Each in turn flashed her beautiful eyes at me as they were placed in my arms, cooing ever so softly and contentedly in the safety of fatherly love. I looked up at Anne, beaming with utter joy, and Anne returned my smile and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“You need to go now, and join the revelry at the castle,” she said. “Your daughters need to feed and sleep—as does your wife. All will be fine, Sirius Sinister, so do not worry.”
I gazed down at my littlest child more in love with her than I had ever been with anyone or anything in this world. “But,” I said, feeling so cold and lost as she took the baby back from me, “these girls are not properly named. My wife and I must talk and name them.”
Anne had handed off my little girl to her lady-in-waiting as I spoke, and my eyes longingly followed her every move. “There will be plenty of time for that tomorrow,” she said. “Now you celebrate with your friends and let your women rest. Garlic will be here with them.”
I nodded and let her usher me out of the back room into the nave of the great church. She said goodbye and returned to the back room, leaving me feeling more alone than I had ever felt. But then, a strange new feeling came over me.
It was responsibility. The Howler and I were going to raise these girls into amazing young women. For the sake of these girls, this marriage was going to work and be as loving as that of Jova and Cornelia. I stood outside in front of the church, comforted in knowing my family was safe and secure, and my future was as bright and permanent as the great moon above. So focused was I on my thoughts, that I never even saw the blow coming to the back of my head—but I sure felt it as I was pitched face first into the ground fighting to stay conscious. I was dragged to the back of the church out of sight of any rescuing eyes. If only I had known what was transpiring just a few feet away from me.
In the back room of the church, Anne Blackheart picked up the largest pup in the litter and held her up to the sky with the approval of her nodding husband. “Are you sure she is the one that came out first?” Angus said.
“I caught her myself, my liege and husband,” Anne replied, not risking the wrath of the leader of the Pack in a moment like this, of all times. She knew all too well the feel of his harsh hand across her face and the pain of his boots in her ribs. She was worried she sounded insubordinate and spoke quickly to compensate. “Look at her size compared to the others, Lord Blackheart,” she said. “She is clearly the product of your line.”
“Our seed is indeed strong in her,” Angus agreed. “We have created the perfect weapons for the Pack. They will have all the coordination and stealth of the vampires, and all the muscle, power, and resources of our kind. It is time, my wife, to begin the ceremony of the firstborn . . .”
Anne Blackheart nodded, and brought the baby’s ear to her mouth. “Your loyalty is to the Pack . . .”
Chapter 12
I faded in and out of consciousness, hearing muted voices and laughter and feeling my body lurch to and fro. I tried to scream in anger but found myself tightly gagged. I saw nothing but blackness for I was hooded. I strained hard against bonds that I could not break, but that did not keep me from trying again and again, until I could feel the blood dripping from my wrists.
Finally, I gave up and lay still and listened for any hint of the identity of my captors or location. When my senses calmed, I smelled the salt of the ocean and felt rounded wood at my back, and I realized that I was in the hold of a ship. A ship I knew was heading out of Liverpool, and with every moment getting farther and farther away from my baby girls. As the waves steadily slapped against the hull, and the occasional gull cried, all I could do was conserve my strength and wait.
The thud of heavy boots on the deck above woke me from a brief slumber, and I soon found myself hoisted in the air by gloved hands and deposited unceremoniously in the back of a wagon. We had only sailed for a day or so at best, and I felt the air was mild for July, so I knew I was still in the British Isles somewhere. I listened intently for a clue but heard only the rhythmic clack of hooves on cobblestones, which soon turned to dirt. I tried to scent the identity of my captors through the hood, but it was perfumed so heavily that I could only catch a whiff of the freshly cut hay I was buried under.
The wagon lurched to a stop, and I was again carried aloft, but this time the journey was shorter, and the air grew colder. We were going underground, and deep, by the feel of it. I could hear a faint drip of water in the distance and felt my body tilt increasingly down at a steep angle as my captors walked. I was placed on the ground with my feet shackled, and pushed roughly against a stone wall. I could hear the clink of metal on metal as my chains were attached to the wall. My hood was ripped off, and I blinked in the darkness, lit by a single torch, and took in my surroundings.
I was in a dungeon, hewn out of red sandstone. Iron chains covered the walls, but the ones binding me shone with an eerie gold hue emitting more light than the torch. Iron I could break, but these chains were made of something entirely foreign to me, and no matter how much I tested them, they failed to yield the slightest bit. The dungeon could have held a whole company of soldiers, but it seemed that I was its only prisoner. But the real question was, who were my captors? And why had they taken me? I had made lots of enemies over the last several centuries, so many that I couldn’t even begin to hazard a guess as to who intended to even the score against me. I was not concerned, in spite of these seemingly insurmountable odds. After all, I had survived Hell, and even it did not ultimately hold me. So then, what could an immortal do? Standing guard over me were five gigantic humanoid creatures, dressed head to toe in black, and each wearing a different color mask over their faces. I could not tell if they were vampires, werewolves, goblins, trolls, or something else entirely. Their scent was apparently masked by their uniforms, but there was no mistaking that they knew how to use the deadly swords hanging from their waists.
The leader wore a gold mask, and he motioned for two of the soldiers to leave the room. They returned with a long red carpet, which they unrolled from the entrance of the dungeon right up to my feet. The leader pointed at an insubordinate wrinkle in the carpet, which was quickly smoothed out by his lieutenant. Satisfied, the leader left the room and returned with two large golden shields, which he set on the floor on either side of the carpet. In the center of each shield a great red gem sparkled in a familiar way—transportation crystals! It seemed like I was about to meet my warden. The leader looked to the ceiling, down to the floor, and all around the room, finishing with moving around my chains. A great hum filled the air, and I could see a curtain of energy forming i
n between the shields. A hulking figure appeared, hazy at first, then crystal clear, and stepping into the room still wearing his finest wedding wear, was my new father-in-law, Angus Blackheart.
“You have a pleasant boat ride, vampire?” Angus said with a sneer, sauntering up to me. “I much prefer traveling by crystal if I can, don’t you? Oh, I am sorry you are still gagged. Let me help you with that.” He pulled the gag from my mouth and slapped me hard across the face. “Oops, sorry about that—actually no, I am not.” He glared, looming so close to me I could smell the stench of wine on his breath, and his nose almost touched mine. I remained quiet and looked at him calmly.
“You’ve got nothing to say, vampire?” Angus said, stepping back again. “Now that is a surprise. I do remember how you like to run that mouth of yours. Which reminds me . . .” He lunged forward and punched me in the face, bloodying my lip. “That’s for insulting me in front of my troops.” He paced back and forth in front of me. “Still nothing to say?”
I spat out some blood, and looked up at the smooth, carved ceiling of my new home. “I was kind of hoping a spider would drop on your head so I could watch you soil your breeches again,” I said.
My Ex-Wife Said Go to Hell Page 21
