My Midnight Moonlight Valentine

by J. J. McAvoy

  “What do you mean?”

  “The art was not originally blank,” he answered. “It was only Elisa-Maria Götze who could not see it then. Her husband’s curse was on her eyes only, so no matter how many times she put ink or paint or even dirt on hemp, cotton, or linen, she was unable to see any of it. The moment she would paint, her ability to see it would vanish—such a supernatural thing. You can imagine how a human would react.”

  A feeling of dread washed over me. “She went crazy, didn’t she?”

  “Worse,” he stated.

  But what could have been worse than losing your mind?

  “Having your mind while the rest of the world doubts you,” he answered like I had questioned that out loud. “She knew for certain something was wrong with her eyes. She called doctors, and they called her mad. She called priests, and they called her possessed. Nevertheless, she painted, knowing she could not see the works, and they were greater masterpieces. Her fame grew even more as society wished to see the works of the mad artist. Upon finishing, still painting, seeing its glory, her husband—who had pretended to be devoted and nurturing—strangled her as she signed her name. Upon her death, this which was said to be her greatest work faded into what you see now. The rest of her work has been destroyed or lost over the years.”

  A chill went up my whole body, and hair at the back of my neck rose. I had goosebumps on my arms, and my fingers twitched. I wasn’t sure if it was rage or just sadness rising inside of me, but it was deeply rooted. I wasn’t sure what to say but wanted badly to say or do something.

  “Now we’re talking!” Ulrik clapped, and I didn’t know why until I saw the painting tremble. I took a step away from it, feeling worse the more I looked upon it. They all looked at me, intrigued and bewildered.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” I shot back defensively. “I’m not sure what’s happening, either. Magic is even more of a mystery to me than it is to you. Whether I have it or not, this art is giving me bad vibes. I feel like her ghost might come out screaming or something.”

  “Another ghost?” Theseus grinned. “So, it is her spirit that makes it empty?”

  “Wait. What do you mean another ghost?” Hinrik cut in. “You see spirits as well?”

  “She did while we were with the Swan Family in America.” Theseus smirked. “She caused quite a stir.”

  “Hey! It was an accident, and luckily, it worked out. Let’s hope it was a one-time thing because I really don’t want to see another one any time soon.” Vampires and witches were enough; I didn’t need ghosts right now, too.

  “Retreating is not an option,” Sigbjørn replied. “I wish for you to break the magic. Whether that calls for you to break the original spell or undo the curse and free a ghost.”

  “Me?” I pointed to myself. Where were the ghostbusters? “I have no idea how to do that, and even if I did, what is the point of bringing this to me now? I thought our priority was to free me?” Saying that aloud felt a little selfish, but I didn’t understand why he brought this up.

  “You do not see your similarity to Elisa-Maria Götza?” Sigbjørn question.

  “I would certainly hope not, Father,” Theseus said defensively, eyeing his father oddly. “For that would mean I would share a similarity to the husband of Elisa-Maria Götza.”

  “The thought did not cross my mind, though your possessiveness did not help your cause.” Sigbjørn shifted his gaze to me. “The similarity I see is in the character, not merely the circumstance.”

  “A talented artist, a talented witch,” Hinrik spoke up, his large arms crossed over his chest as he inspected me. “One belonged to a talented school, the other a talented coven. Such supreme talent always draws envy, animosity, and rage. The talented artist was cursed to separate her from her art. The talented witch—”

  “Cursed to separate her from her magic,” Theseus finished, his eyes widening a bit as he looked down at me. “Someone tried to bind your magic, but it still came out, so what if someone tried to kill you—”

  “But I ended up a vampire.” As we could clearly see.

  “Which might be worse than death for a witch,” Ulrik said so seriously that it was disconcerting to see him like that. “Your magic would have been gone. Normal covens would have abandoned you and never spoken of you again, but the Omeron, they would hunt you down, and you’d been running from your own for the rest of your life.”

  All of them really knew how to string a story together to make me feel the absolute worst.

  “Forgive them,” Sigbjørn nodded to me. “My intention was simply to say that you and Elisa-Maria Götza share a similar characteristic, the strength of self. If anyone can discover how to break the curse on her work, it would be you, and in so, you may be able to break some of the binds that ensnare yourself.” He looked at the rest of his sons. “I was not seeking further to speculate on your circumstance so deeply, but it seems my sons lack restraint when it comes to such things.”

  Hinrik looked away from his father, pretending to be interested in the canvas. Ulrik relaxed and picked up a random book, flipping to it with the same fake interest. It was only Theseus who maintained eye contact and nodded to his father, and it was clear, it wasn’t just a nod of understanding, but more like he was being told something and agreeing.

  “So basically,” I said, trying to pull everything back into focus. “You think if I break this spell or curse, I’ll be able to break the one on me?”

  “Yes,” Sigbjørn and looked at me. “While we try to figure what it is that led you and Theseus to this state, and you will practice magic, specifically undoing curses and spellbinds.”

  “We have many cursed and spell bounded items here, Father. Will you have her unlock them all?” Theseus replied as if that were normal. Did they collect cursed objects?

  “Yes,” he said again. “What better way to work toward freeing yourself. Do you not agree, daughter?”

  Practice makes perfect.

  “Exactly,” he said aloud before his voice appeared in my mind. “Now that you know you have magic, Druella, exercise it.”

  I exhaled, though I didn’t need to, and rolled my shoulders. Stepping forward to the canvas, I lifted my fingers.

  “Druella,” I glanced at Theseus over my shoulder.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but then just shook his head. “I was going to say, do not be anxious. We have eternity, but you do not look like you need such words.”

  His grey eyes were clear and calm, confident—in me. The small smile at the corner of his lips made me smile in return. Thank God I wasn’t human because I was sure my heart would not have beat steadily.

  Tearing my gaze from him, I stared directly into the sunken face and pale eyes of a brunette woman, in a nineteenth-century, purple-bodice, belted-waist dress. Frozen in shock and a bit of terror, she screamed and so loudly that instinctively, I acted to protect myself. And like most vampires, that instinct was to fight. Grabbing her head, I ripped it off her neck as fast as I could before be jumping toward the end of the library, growling.

  “Druella?” Theseus called out only once before he was at my side.

  I panned the room left to right, looking for her. I didn’t see her, but I still couldn’t calm down.

  “Druella?” he called again, and the moment he put his hand on my arm, I felt another one on my shoulder, and I couldn’t get a word out as I was now against a wall of books. My body slammed so hard against it, I heard the wood crack under me before I collapsed onto the floor as books fell on top of me.

  I laid there a second, more stunned than actually hurt.

  “Druella!” Theseus once again was at my side. He reached up, grabbing my arms to help when I felt that same sick feeling on my ankle. Yanked from his arms again, I was catapulted from one side of the library toward one of the stone columns.

  “Gotcha, sis.” Ulrik caug
ht me first before I connected, but in all honesty, his body was so hard, I think I would have been better off colliding with the stone.

  I laid there in his arms once again dazed and so bloody confused. The woman, the freaking ghost tossed me around like I was a damn football, now just stood there, staring at everything Hollywood horror movies were made off. She watched me, not moving again, staring me down as if I were the one who had murdered her!

  “What the hell is happening?” Theseus moved to come to me again when she did, too.

  “Theseus halt!” Sigbjørn hollered, and Theseus was as still as a statue, standing directly in front of me, unmoving, shoulders square, feet firmly planted. “Every time you touch her, Theseus, she is attacked for it.”

  The woman reappeared this time, standing directly beside him, and again, she screamed like a banshee. I lifted my hands to my ears. My whole body twisted at the pain in my ears.

  It felt like tiny razor blades were falling into my ears!

  Unable to take anymore, I bolted out of Ulrik’s arms. When I did, Elisa-Maria turned to me and did the same. It wasn’t like running into the wall, but wind swept me up and tossed me onto my back. When I opened my eyes, she was above me. Her pale hand was around my neck, and she squeezed as hard as she could, trying to choke me.

  “That isn’t going to work. I’m dead, too!” I screamed, and for a second, it was like that got to her.

  She stopped and just stared at me. Her eyes didn’t seem as scary now—just anger and pain remained. But as quickly as it seemed to get to her, it was gone, and she was trying to strangle me again, pushing her, rising from the ground only to have her rise and scream. It was one short one, not the banshee cries she’d released before.

  “Druella?” At my name, we both looked at Theseus who was still standing at “halt” per the direction of his father. The look in his eyes—he was pissed, confused, and trying to stay calm himself but mostly pissed. His demeanor was the same as the first time we faced off with the witches in the museum.

  “I’m okay.” I cringed when I heard the scream again, and she appeared in front of Theseus.

  “Druella, talk to her,” Sigbjørn’s voice came to him. “You’re the only one who can see and touch her. Help her.”

  What?

  I looked around with my hands on my ears. The rest of the family was now here, staring wide-eyed at me. None of them were affected by the screaming; none of them were even sure what the hell was going on. So, they could only stare at me. Finally, when my gaze locked on Sigbjørn who was watching me—no reading my thoughts like a live video—I shook my head.

  “Help her!” I hollered loudly as I couldn’t even hear myself. “She’s trying to kill me or make me deaf. I’m not sure she’s picked yet!”

  “Druella.” His tone sounded exactly like a father about to give a kid a time out if they didn’t behave.

  Frowning, I turned to the woman still hollering; however, now she was hitting Theseus. Theseus didn’t seem to notice at all, but she kept yelling and hitting him as hard as she could.

  “He can’t hear you, Elisa-Maria!” I shouted at her. Apparently, only I was so freaking lucky.

  At her name, she turned to me, and thankfully, her screaming ended. I tried to smile and put up my hands, hoping that would calm her down.

  “Can we talk—”

  One again, her hands went around my throat. My feet dragged against the floor before my body was thrown against another bookcase, and then I fell. My hands started to tingle, and the sparks came to my fingertips. Pushing myself off the ground, I blew the hair from my face and turned to her.

  “I tried it Dad’s way.” I shook with rage. “But since you don’t want to listen, let me warn you. If you attack me again, I’m going to figure out how to summon your talentless, crazy, murderous husband, and you both can duke it out in hell, for all I care!”

  My hand sparked like fireworks, and she took a step back. There was a moment of clarity just like when she was strangling me, and in her eyes, the anger and pain were gone. In its place was one single emotion—fear. The moment I saw it, I dropped my hands, guilt washing over me. I just used a battered woman’s husband as a threat against her.

  “Sorry—”

  She was directly in my face again. Before I lifted my hands, she spoke for the first time. “S- summon him.”

  What was I now?

  Vampire.

  Witch.

  And Jerry Springer?

  Chapter 28

  Her face was far too close for comfort.

  “Summon him,” she demanded again; however, I couldn’t help but look at her neck. Something was there, but I couldn’t see it clearly. “Summon him.”

  “And what happens then?” I asked her. “Are you both going to toss me around?”

  “Summon him. Now!”

  “How about I just send you to him!” I snapped. I was getting yelled at by a ghost. It wasn’t even like I knew how to do for either of them.

  She shook violently.

  “Use your words!” I yelled at her, mentally preparing myself to end up at some other corner of the library.

  “Summon him.”

  Fine. If she wanted to be stubborn, so could I. “I’ll send you to him—”

  “No!” she screamed, and I flinched again and glared at her.

  “One of you is already annoying, let alone having two of you! Especially the murderer of the two!”

  “He’s not a murderer!” she screamed and flung me to the side.

  I wasn’t sure if it was because I was bracing for it, or if she was getting weaker, but I didn’t go flying. I only stumbled to my left a bit.

  Catching myself, I let out another groan of annoyance. At least she was talking. I just needed to keep her talking until God knew when. “I’m not an expert on nineteenth-century law, but I’m pretty sure strangling your wife is murder.”

  “Mistake. Mistake.” She kept repeating, and once again, I saw something around her neck.

  “He mistakenly strangled you?” I stood up straighter, and this time, I looked over like she was crazy. “How?”

  She opened to answer than shook her head. “Mistake!”

  “How?”

  She screamed, and I was so freaking sick of it, I shouted back. I screamed as loudly as I could until I couldn’t hear her and stopped myself.

  “I can shout, too!” I snapped at her. “I can shriek for the rest of eternity. You and I can make a contest out of it if you like!”

  “Mistake!” she shot back again.

  “It was not!” I hollered. “And you know that, which is why you started to screech! You don’t know how it was a mistake; you just want it to be one!” The moment the words came out of my mouth, I paused. All the days and years I had spent reading romance novels and fiction came to my mind, along with my own moment of clarity. “You still love him?” I said, and her eyes widened when she opened her mouth to scream. I held out my hand to her. “Don’t you dare!”

  This time she was the one who flew back, sliding across the library floor. I glanced at my hands, not sure what was happening. There were no directions this time, but I was going to roll with it.

  “Why are you attacking me? I’m not the one who killed you!”

  She didn’t snap back up in front of me like she had done the other times. This time when she rose from the ground, it was like a human. Her face was fuller, less sunken, less pale. She looked more like she was a sickly woman on the verge of death, and less like the woman in black out to give me nightmares. For the first time, I saw what looked like a crown of thorns. It pierced her neck, and I remembered another female, another artist who had drawn the same thing around herself. Frida Kahlo.

  “Summon him,” she insisted again.

  “No.” I shook my head gently. “I think the reason why you can’t go to him is that
he’s being punished for doing that to you.” I pointed to her neck. “And everything else he must have done before and after that. I, for one, do not want to interrupt that punishment.”

  “Die!” She shrieked, getting up and lunging.

  “No,” I said again at the flick of my wrist. Even though there was no wind, the gust knocked her to the ground. “That’s why you’re attacking me? Do you think if you hurt me or someone else that you’ll be able to get punished with him?”

  She didn’t say anything. She didn’t even try to get up. Instead, she crawled toward a now ripped and broken canvas on the ground.

  “No,” I said again, hands outstretched and the canvas came into my hands. “You don’t get to hide and wait there, either!”

  “Give it back!” she cried out, it was purely a scream but a sob. “It’s mine!”

  “You can’t own anything because you’re a ghost!” I reminded her because apparently, she had forgotten. “You’ve been hiding in this painting, haven’t you? Waiting for another witch powerful enough, or stupid enough to help you. Unfortunately for both of us, it was me. And this is my way of helping.”

  I felt the fire heat through my left hand, and smoke started to rise from the canvas.

  “No! No!” She tried to rush me, but with my right hand, I sent her back to her stomach.

  “You are a ghost, Elisa-Maria Götze. Your husband murdered you. He murdered you because cursing you wasn’t enough. Cursing you didn’t stop you from being the great artist you were. He could not handle being inferior to you. Your talent scared him.”

  “It was my fault,” she whispered, peeling herself off the ground. “I should have been happy painting. He brought me to the school to paint with him. It was my fault. I should have never—”

  “Been yourself?” I asked, dropping the burning canvas. “If a person can’t love you for who you are, then they can never love you at all.”

  “We…we would have been happy.” When she looked up to me, her tears fell from her green eyes without reservation. Her face was full and pink and round. No longer the ghost, but now fully Elisa-Maria Götze and still with a crown of thrones around her neck.