Blood Haven: Year Three: A Mayhem of Magic World Story

by Nicole Zoltack

But I don’t. I say nothing at all.

  Because Mercy is suffering too, and she might die as a result. Tyra will have to live with the consequences of her actions regardless of whether Mercy survives or perishes.

  Chapter 4

  Romelia

  Tyra nods a few times and takes a step back. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here.”

  “Or that I’m married.”

  “Or that you’re married,” she agrees.

  “You won’t tell… but what if your… emotions… get the better of you?”

  Tyra shudders. “You think I’m a liability.” She draws in a shaky breath. “And you’re right. I am. What will you have me do?”

  “Tyra, I’m not a puppet master. I won’t use you like my father will use me if he could. You have to start doing whatever you need to in order to gain control of yourself. Stop letting that side of you dictate your actions. Be yourself.”

  “I don’t know who I am anymore,” she murmurs, sounding so broken that I want to cry.

  I can’t stand this animosity between us. Quickly, I place my tablet on a small side table against the wall beneath a gothic-framed oval mirror and cross over to her. Tyra practically collapses into my arms, and I rub her back.

  “You need to learn who you are. Figure out who you want to be, and become that person. That’s what you should do.”

  “I… I’ll try,” she murmurs.

  I beam. “Good.”

  Tyra hugs me again, starts to pull back, and then embraces me once more. She’s trembling, but she stands a bit taller when she finally draws back.

  “I’ll try,” she repeats, sounding more confident this time.

  I nod as she leaves, and then I blow out a breath. As much as I don’t want to worry that something similar will happen to me potentially soon, I can’t help be concerned.

  Pushing aside my thoughts, I do as much research as I can on werewolf-vampire wounds, and I come up with nothing to explain Mercy's symptoms. I decide to look up demons and their powers, but again, I come up empty-handed. There's nothing here that I can find that will help. How can I find a cure or treatment when I don't even know what exactly is going on with her? Even her file leaves no clues. The healers haven't seen anything like this, and the healer of chief on the chart is two hundred years old.

  But I know someone much older than that.

  I just don’t know if I can trust her.

  And yes, I know someone even older than she is, but I definitely don’t trust him, so there’s that.

  I tuck my tablet in my purse, sling it across my shoulder, and retrieve my phone. Fully charged at least.

  My heart feels like it’s being squeezed as I call my mother. If she’s with my father…

  “Mother?”

  “Romelia. I didn’t expect you to call.”

  “So soon or ever?”

  “Ever actually,” Mother says.

  I blink a few times. “Maybe you know me a little better than I thought you did.”

  “It was your father who thought you would come crawling back. You do want something, don’t you?”

  Heaving a sigh, I close my eyes. She knows what buttons to push.

  My eyes open, and I try to remind myself that you can catch more flies with honey and all of that.

  “I was hoping that we could talk.”

  “We are talking, dear,” Mother says dryly.

  “Face to face.”

  “Very well. I suppose that can be arranged. Where do you want to meet? You can come to the house and—”

  “No, Mother. I won’t ever be returning there.”

  “It’s—”

  “It’s not my home, if that was what you were going to say. I’ve been disowned, remember?”

  “Yes, yet you still call me Mother.”

  “Do you disown me too?”

  Mother says nothing.

  I let out a snort.

  “That’s hardly ladylike,” Mother admonishes.

  “I thought you shouldn’t care,” I remark.

  “Your flippant tone is not appreciated. I can change my mind.”

  Flies. Honey. Not vinegar.

  “There’s a diner in Arlington. Metro 29 Diner. Let’s meet there.”

  “Arlington? That’s a bit of a ways—”

  “You’re a vampire, Mother. You can leave your precious beach. I swear you’re the only vampire in existence who lives on the coast.”

  “You don’t have to act like that,” she says mildly.

  Hmm. Why isn’t her feathers as ruffled as I think they should be? Not that I should be ruffling any feathers.

  “Why this particular diner?” she asks.

  “It’s known for its French toast.”

  “It’s not breakfast time.”

  “We can have the French toast anyhow.”

  Mother surprises me by laughing. “Very well. Metro 29 Diner.”

  I hang up, and I race over there. The place is a little gaudy on the outside, all silver with neon lights. It's a place Tyra and I went to a few times. The first was after we ran away from home, wanting to see how far we could run before we were tired. We never did find out because Tyra spotted this place and begged for us to stop. We did, and we asked the waitress to surprise us with something to eat because we were only five at the time, and we couldn't read very well. She had been so confused when no adult showed up, but we were very persuasive. We compelled her without even realizing what we were doing, and it wasn't until we ran back home that I realized she never asked us to pay for the meal. We enjoyed the French toast, of course.

  For the second time that day, Mother surprises me because she’s already there and securing us a table. I sit in the booth across from her, and we both order French toast with Canadian bacon. While I have cranberry juice, Mom has grape juice.

  Once our drinks are served, Mom leans forward and pours a large vial of blood into her juice.

  I gape at her. “Mother!”

  “Yes?” she asks as she uses her spoon to stir her drink.

  I just shake my head.

  We eat the thick homemade challah bread French toast in silence. It’s as delicious as I remember, so buttery and sweet, just perfect.

  Mother wipes her mouth and eyes me. “Well, Romelia? Why did you drag me so far from home?”

  “Wasn’t it delicious?” I ask eagerly.

  “Yes,” she says slowly.

  I swallow hard. “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “About…”

  “I need your help.”

  Mother holds up her hand. “Before you explain just what you need from me, I have to know if this is going to go two ways. Will you do what I want in return?”

  I hesitate and then nod. In a rush, I blurt out, “I need to know what can help a person who has been attacked by a vampire. Vampire blood won’t save them, and they’re dying.”

  “If they’re too far gone…”

  “I don’t know. There has to be a way to save them. They’re vomiting the vampire blood. I mean, someone can’t be allergic to our blood, right?”

  “No.” Mother shakes her head. “That is interesting, though.”

  "Interesting in an I-never-heard-of-that-before kind of way? Or interesting in an I-experienced-that-or-know-about-it?" I ask eagerly.

  “What else is going on?” Mother asks.

  “The person is having a lot of seizures. I… I don’t know if they have anything else going on too.”

  Mother nods slowly. “The vampire who attacked them, was it you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I would imagine the vampire had to be a living one?”

  “Yes. A demon father.” I scowl.

  Mother huffs a sigh. “You really need to stop acting like that. Disowned or not, you cannot change the fact that your father is a demon, which makes you part demon.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “You might hate that, but you may soon discover that it was always meant to be.”

  “Everything happens
for a reason,” I mumble.

  “Yes. Fate, free will, nature… We are slaves to who we are.”

  “I don’t want to be a slave to nature or to Father.”

  “Your father doesn’t want a slave for a daughter. He wants a daughter who will listen. How is that different from any other father, hmm?”

  “Father wants to sell me off to a vampire I don’t love.” I cross my arms and do my best not to scowl.

  “And there are arranged marriages across the world. It’s not anything new.”

  “You think I should just grow up and marry Constantine.”

  “You did say that you would do something for me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did, but you’re supposed to help me save this person, and so far, I haven’t heard anything at all that might help.”

  “Without seeing the injured person, I can’t be certain what’s going on.”

  “But you have an idea,” I press.

  “It’s possible that… The wounds didn’t originate from the vampire.”

  “The demon,” I say slowly. “I wondered about that.”

  “Did you now?” My mother gives me a slight smile as she shakes her head. “The one you should be talking to is your father, and you know that, but no. Of course not. You can’t possibly talk to him because he’s an ogre, a monster, a terrible, vile man.”

  “I…”

  “You could have learned long ago about your demonic side. He wanted to teach you, but you always rebuffed him, always pushed him away. It’s a miracle that he still wants to help you despite how cruel you’ve been to him all your life. But then again, I suppose maybe he understands you better because being cruel can be a trait of some demons.”

  “Some demons?”

  “Yes, some. Not all.”

  Mother’s being serious.

  “Think what you want, but your father loves you, and I do too. We want what’s best for you.”

  “And that’s Constantine.”

  “It is.”

  I hesitate. “So you can’t help me then with this… with the wounded person?”

  “Not for certain.”

  “Which demon trait or power or ability could cause all of this, though?” I persist. “You have no guess?”

  Mother shrugs and waves the waiter over. Instead of asking for a check, she orders strawberry shortcake. I sigh and shake my head when the waiter turns to me to see if I want dessert too.

  Mother doesn’t say a word as she slowly eats her dessert. It does look appetizing with all of its layers, a perfect strawberry on top with a line of them through the middle. She indulges, taking her time with every bite, chewing a hundred times before swallowing. All the while, I keep wondering and worrying that Mercy’s dead already, that this is taking too long, that Mother is doing this deliberately.

  “Come,” Mother finally says. She reaches into her purse and leaves a fifty on the table. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

  The diner is right on a highway, so when Mother suggests a walk, she means we walk as in human-speed walk. It's a bit strange to walk alongside her, but before the silence can become weird, she clears her throat.

  “I know precisely what is happening, Romelia,” Mother says softly. “Forgive me for being a bit cagey earlier, but we were in an establishment filled with humans.”

  “Tell me!” I beg.

  “I will.”

  She says nothing more.

  “Mother!”

  “I need to know that you will marry Constantine. I want—”

  “Can the wedding be after my third year?” I blurt out.

  Yes, I’m that desperate. I’ll determine a way out of it later. Right now, I need to know what’s going on with Mercy so I can help save her. The rest can wait.

  “Postponed?” Mother asks. “Oh, dear, no. No, your father wants you to marry Constantine within a month.”

  “A month?” I choke out.

  “Within the week would be better. I already picked out a dress for you already. Don’t worry. You’ll love it.”

  My face feels pale. I can feel the blood drain from my face.

  “You don’t mean to marry him, do you? This is all just a farce to get information from me. I knew it!” Mother lifts her arm as if to slap me, but then she flings me aside, and I fall hard to the ground.

  Without warning, Mother bursts out laughing. She reaches down, not to help me up, but to touch the talisman. The fall jarred it free from underneath my shirt.

  “Everything will happen as planned, you sill girl. There’s nothing you can do to stop it. Accept your fate, and you’ll be much happier for it. Refuse, and you’ll live a life of misery, but either way, you will marry Constantine.”

  Chapter 5

  Julian

  My wolf legs eat up the miles. Virginia has a lot of open fields, and I don’t have to worry about roads, cars, buildings, or people. It should be freeing, and I should be happy.

  I’m not. My wolf longs to be free, but I still feel as if I’m trapped in a cage.

  Mercy has to hang in there. She’s tough, one of the toughest werewolves I know, but whatever she’s battling… This might be the last fight she’ll ever face. Mercy hasn’t lost many battles, but this one might be too much for her.

  Finally, I arrive at the place. Rune Darkmore is the witch’s name. Yes, it’s a bit ridiculous and over the top. I’ve always assumed he took that name, that he hadn’t been given it at birth, but maybe I’m wrong. It could be the name his parents gave him. Who knows? The witch is ancient, and he’s helped my pack before. Hopefully, he’ll help Mercy and her pack too.

  I knock on his door. His house is made from a thick tree, the thickest tree in the entire state, maybe on the entire East Coast. Normally, only fairies and pixies and the like live in trees carved and hollowed out to become houses. Rune lives in one, though. As for dryads, they don't live in trees, not inside them anyway. They'll live in the branches, out under the moon and the stars at night. They don't have roofs over their heads.

  When the door doesn’t open, I bang my fist again and again until finally, I almost knock right on Rune’s chest.

  Rune Darkmore glares at me with his teal-colored eyes. His hair is as white as freshly fallen snow, his locks longer than I've ever seen them, reaching almost to his elbows, his clothes a dark robe with silver accents and lines all strew throughout.

  “Who are you?” he asks, his voice raspy and guttural as if he hasn’t spoken in months.

  “Julian. Julian Moon—”

  “Moonblaze. Heh. Come in.” Rune walks inside, shuffling his feet a bit.

  His house is just like I remember it from the three treks I've taken here. The roots are visible inside. Dirt and rocks make the floor, but there are tables and chairs—all wooden, of course. There are wooden shelves that hold all kinds of vials and potions, and I can just see the kitchen from here.

  “Are you here to appraise my house? I didn’t think I was in the market to sell it.”

  “Ah, no. Sorry. I need your help.”

  “That is why people come to see me. Heh.” Rune shakes his head. “Rude, if you ask me. Always wanting me for my brain.” He looks around and squints. “It’s getting a bit dark in here, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t think, but he is older than I am, so maybe he needs more lighting. It’s also his house, so whatever he wants is more than fine with me.

  He shuffles down the hall and then returns with an iron lantern with a skull inside, the device giving off a deep red glow.

  “There,” Rune declares as he plops the lantern onto the table. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Food. Drink. You’re my guest even if you are an uninvited, unwelcomed one. What do you want to eat? Drink?”

  “Ah, some berries. And water is fine.”

  “Berries? Water? Bah! I’m old, but that doesn’t mean I can’t offer more than such trifles! Let me see…”

  He hobbles to the kitchen, and when I move to follow him, he points a gnarled finger at me.

&n
bsp; "Heh, now, you sit down, boy, and don't get up! My mother taught me manners, and you'll get some hospitality while you're here. Now, where did I put the frog urine?"

  I choke.

  “Heh. Heh! I’m only joking, my boy! Or am I?”

  He cackles to himself as he goes about his work, disappearing from my line of sight half the time.

  The scent of meat and starch filters over to me, and I suppress the urge to rush to the kitchen and force him to speed up. He’s being kind, and I do need his help, so I won’t be rude, but I am anxious and growing more and more agitated with every passing second.

  The longer he takes, the more I think, and the more I realize that I don’t recall him acting like this before. Is the old witch becoming senile? Or is something else going on? Something darker and more dubious?

  Is he stalling?

  “Here you go!” Rune says cheerfully as he comes back over to me. He plops some kind of pastry onto my plate and hands me a glass full of blue liquid.

  “What is this?”

  “A meat pie!”

  “No, the liquid.”

  “Blue milk.”

  I stare at the blue liquid. I’m not so sure I want to drink it. What animal produces blue milk?

  But Rune looks at me with great anticipation, and I use a fork to crumble the top of the meat pie. It’s so very flaky that it gets everywhere, and the crust tastes like I’m eating air. The meat inside is so very tender, but the vegetables are entirely raw. It’s rather bizarre, but I manage to swallow a few bites.

  “Thank you. I appreciate all of this. I was wondering—”

  “Did you like it?” Rune asks.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Good! Eat up! You’re a growing werewolf, aren’t you? Go on!”

  I put down my fork. “Rune, it’s important that we talk. Someone’s life is at stake.”

  “Isn’t that always the way?” he complains as he hobbles back toward the kitchen. “Everyone forgets about good ole Rune until they need something from him as if I’m only good for my magic. I’m a person too, you know. I have feelings, and I like my solitude most of the time, yes, but there are some occasions when even I would like some company. Is it really too much to ask for someone to check up on an old man? I won’t live forever, you know. What then? Bah.” He waves his hand as if to shoo me away. “You’ll just find another witch, a younger one, hungrier, and he’ll do what you need. I bet that’s already what’s happened. That’s why you’re here and not an alpha.”