Blood of the White Witch (12 page)

A uniformed man, holding a large rod in one
hand, looked at us before banging the rod three times on the
floor.

“Mr. and Mrs. Vance Mangum,” he announced
loudly with a booming voice into the room, and I was surprised that
he knew who we were since I had never laid eyes on him before in my
life.

Every single person in the room stopped
whatever they were doing and looked over at us standing at the
entrance.

Vance led me into the room, and Fiona
quickly weaved her way through the throng of people to come and
give him a kiss on both sides of his face.

Douglas stepped up to his side, placing a
hand on his shoulder.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present you
with our grandson, Vance,” Douglas spoke proudly to the crowd.

People immediately began lining up to come
meet him, and suddenly I found myself pushed back behind the three
of them in the shuffle of the crowd.

I smiled, though, as I watched him standing
there with his family, feeling very happy for him in this
moment.

Only a few seconds passed before I saw him
turn to look for me in the crowd. He stepped from in between his
grandparents, effectively shunning those who were milling around
him vying for his attention, reaching out to pull me firmly up next
to his side.

He never let go of my hand for the rest of
the evening as he politely introduced me to every person that came
to meet him. If anyone called his attention or threatened to
separate us, he would make them wait until I could join him.

After meeting so many people that we
couldn’t have possibly remembered any of their names, he finally
led me out onto the dance floor.

He swept me up, moving to a romantic waltz
while the string quartet played away, but I could feel that he was
upset about something.

“Don’t you ever let people push you to the
side like that again,” he chastened me with a serious look.

“It didn’t bother me. I’m no one to these
people. They were all excited to meet you, and rightly so,” I said
softly.

“I don’t like it when you talk like that,
Portia,” he said gruffly, though his voice softened a little.
“You’re the most beautiful person in this room, inside and out.
They may not know what they’re missing, but I do when you aren’t
there.”

He had a point he was trying to make, and he
chose to do it here. He stopped dancing with me, as the other
couples in the room swirled around us on the floor, and pulled me
into his embrace. He lifted both hands to my face, tilting it to
his, placing a gentle kiss on my lips.

I stood there rooted to the spot while he
tenderly moved over my mouth for everyone in attendance to see. I
could almost feel the heat from the stares we were getting as
people began to notice us in this sweet embrace.

He took his time, not caring what anyone was
thinking, or what protocols he was breaking, sending his message to
me and everyone else in the room. I was part of him, and he was
part of me.

A quiet cough interrupted our interlude, and
we pulled away from each other slowly to look at the intruder.

Brian Fitzgerald was standing next to
us.

“May I cut in?” he asked politely, extending
a hand to me in invitation as was customary.

“No,” Vance said, clearly irritated at the
intrusion, and he sized Brian up, refusing to let go of me.

“I’m sorry?” Brian asked, taken aback at the
refusal, and I thought I saw anger flash briefly in his eyes.

I spoke up quickly, trying to ease the
tension in the situation.

“My husband and I were having what should
have been a private moment, Brian. I’m sorry if we weren’t being
discreet enough,” I said, and I lightly reached out to rest my hand
on Brian’s forearm.

I felt the anger seethe through Vance at
this, though, and I quickly removed my hand, worrying that I had
somehow made the situation worse.

“Don’t apologize for us, Portia,” Vance
said, and he took a step closer to Brian, so he was standing in
between us.

This time I put my arm on Vance in an
attempt to restrain him from doing something stupid.

“Could I speak with you for a moment,
Vance?” I said with slightly clenched teeth while I forced a
smile.

Vance looked at me for a long moment before
giving me a nod and allowing me to tow him out of the room.

I walked with him into a sitting area in the
room next door, closing the door behind us.

“What was that all about?” I asked him
curiously, my eyes wide.

He gave a sigh before he turned to walk away
from me.

“I don’t know,” he said, running a
frustrated hand through his hair. “I was upset by everyone shutting
you out in the beginning of the evening. I just want to be alone
with you instead of at this stupid party. Then this Brian joker
walks up and wants to dance with you.” He looked up at me
seriously. “I don’t like that guy.”

“Why not? He’s been nothing but kind and
helpful to us,” I replied, surprised at his sudden declaration
against the man.

“I just get this vibe, every time he looks
at you. It’s like you’re something he wants for himself. He doesn’t
care that you’re my wife, and it’s driving me crazy with the need
to rearrange his face,” he said angrily.

I laughed in spite of his anger.

“I think you’re jealous, and there’s nothing
to be jealous of. I certainly have no feelings for him,” I replied,
watching him. “You’re the only person I can even see, Vance.
There’s no one else for me but you. Nothing will ever change
that.”

“I know,” he said as he came back over and
placed his hands on my arms, running them over me. “But so help me,
you belong to me, and if that punk gets any idea in his head
otherwise, he won’t live to regret it!”

I felt a shudder move over my body, thinking
Brian would indeed be a complete fool to cross him. I had
absolutely no doubt in my mind that Vance was completely
serious.

I finally managed to coax Vance back into
the party, where he put on a pretty good show of proper manners for
the rest of the night.

The only thing people found curious,
including myself, was the fact that he turned down every request
anyone made to dance with me.

He would laughingly explain that he was
still such a newlywed that it was impossible for him to let me go
anywhere without him. He stuck to me like glue the entire evening,
breaking all the rules of propriety. By the end of the night,
though, I think everyone thought he was charming in his devotion
and affections toward me.

I, however, began to watch him a little
closer, noticing that his behavior became ever more possessive. He
seemed nervous to me, grabbing a glass of champagne every time a
waiter passed, and quickly downing the contents. I could see that
something was really eating at him; I just didn’t know what it
was.

I was happy when the last of the guests
departed well after midnight. After thanking Douglas and Fiona for
the wonderful evening, I led him gently by the hand back up the
stairs to our room.

“What is going on?” I asked once we were
safely inside with the door closed and locked behind us.

“Portia, I’m losing my mind,” he said as he
sank to sit on the tufted bench at the foot of the bed, looking
completely dejected.

I went over to kneel in front of him,
placing my hands gently on his knees.

“Can I help you somehow?” I asked, truly
concerned at his attitude and wanting to help him somehow.

He looked at me for several long moments,
not replying, his gaze never wavering, and he stared deep into my
eyes.

I waited, not pressuring him or trying to
read the thoughts in his head, letting him decide when he was ready
to speak.

“Something is wrong. I have felt funny ever
since we stayed the first night here. Temperamentally, I get
irritated by the smallest things, and I just have this constant
itch to be with you. Physically, I mean. I’m not saying that’s a
bad thing, but something is different. It’s almost an overwhelming
need to be with you … all the time.” He rubbed his hand through his
hair in frustration. “I know I’m not making any sense. I always
want to be with you, but this is something really intense. It’s
almost like the desires I had when I was going through the demon
conversion.”

That did scare me.

“You aren’t having some type of relapse are
you?” I asked, alarmed as I looked him over closely searching for
any of the telltale signs. “We did just assume that you’d been
cured of everything. Could we have missed something?”

“I don’t know,” he said shaking his head,
reaching a hand out to drawn it lovingly over my cheek. “I’m not
really noticing anything like withdrawal, and I haven’t noticed any
red eyes or anything.”

He stood up then and walked around me to go
over to the table where a new bottle of champagne was chilling in
the room. He popped the cork and poured himself a large glass
before turning to me.

“Do you want some?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” I replied. “It doesn’t
settle well with me.”

He quickly downed the entire contents of the
glass and poured himself another one.

I watched him with concern. I had never seen
him drink like this. We had both stayed pretty far away from
alcohol in our lives, except for the small sip of wine here and
there, when performing rituals.

I didn’t say anything about it to him,
though, figuring he needed it to calm his nerves.

He drank in silence, and I noticed after a
few minutes he did seem a bit less antsy. I went to him then and
wrapped my arms around him.

“Do you feel better now?” I asked while I
hugged him.

“Yes, thank you.” He sighed, placing his
glass down on the table so he could begin to pick the pins out of
my hair, bringing it down from its up-do. “I’m sorry for scaring
you with all this.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m your wife. This is what
I’m here for.” I smiled up at him, and he fanned his fingers
through my hair, bringing it around my shoulders.

He didn’t reply, instead bending to kiss me.
The kiss was soft at first but quickly deepened into more.

Our previous thoughts were soon well
distracted, and I noticed the first morning light was creeping into
the room when he finally pulled me into his embrace so we could
both fall asleep.

It was late in the afternoon when I woke up.
I noticed right away that he wasn’t in the bed with me anymore.

I turned to search the large room for
him.

He was standing next to the fireplace in his
robe, leaning over the mantle, watching the fire burn. I saw that
he had a bottle of champagne in one hand and an almost empty glass
in the other.

He lifted the flute to swallow the rest of
the contents and immediately raised the bottle to pour another
refill.

Something was really wrong here. I didn’t
know what it was, but I began to feel a little bit of fear creep
into my chest. This was not the way Vance acted. He wasn’t a
drinker at all. This behavior was completely out of character for
him.

He sensed my feelings instantly, lifting his
head to look at me. He downed the rest of the champagne quickly and
placed the glass down, coming to crawl on the bed next to me.

“Vance? What’s going on?” I asked as I
scooted myself up against the mountains of pillows to look at
him.

“Don’t be scared,” he said, and he caressed
my face with his hand. “I’m fine.”

“I’ve never seen you drink like this
before,” I said, looking over to the nearly empty bottle still
sitting above the fireplace.

“I’m sorry. It just helps take the edge
off,” he replied.

“The edge of what?” I asked, completely
confused.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” he said,
his eyes raking over me. “Just trust me, okay?”

“Maybe we should go tell your grandparents
how you’re feeling. They might be able to help,” I suggested.

“I’m fine. Really,” he said before he
grabbed my face with one of his hands, kissing me roughly this
time.

He became a little too aggressive, and I
finally pushed him away. I was actually beginning to feel like he
was bruising my face with his strong fingers.

He looked at me intensely, almost
angrily.

“Is the breakfast tray still here?” I asked,
shooting the first words I could think of out of my mouth, feigning
hunger.

I didn’t think I would really be able to eat
as my insides were shaking horribly.

“Oh! I’m sorry! I forgot you haven’t eaten
yet,” he said as he climbed off the bed and went over to get the
cart and wheel it to the bedside.

I watched him carefully.

He still seemed like himself, yet there was
this edge that hadn’t been there before. I wondered lamely if he
just wasn’t getting enough sleep. Surely that, combined with
stress, could cause some strange behavior.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and began
feeding the food to me. I watched him intently while forcing myself
to chew what he was giving me, even though it tasted like sawdust
in my mouth. I soon noticed how every now and then he would raise
his hand to his temple like he was getting a headache or
something,

“I’m really tired today,” I said in between
bites of food.

“Well, I did keep you up quite late.” He
smiled, feeding me another mouthful, and I saw a flash of the lusty
look from last night pop back into his eyes.

I nodded my head. “Do you think that maybe
we could sleep some more this afternoon? I think all this
honeymooning is catching up with me.” I tried to add a little
laughter.

He lifted his hand to his head again, this
time closing his eyes as he held the bridge of his nose. “I think
that sounds great,” he answered a few moments later, his voice
sounding slightly pinched.