Blood Ties (6 page)

As we approached the store, I could hear the familiar sound of the wind chimes. The pleasant melody usually calmed my soul, but today nothing would to give me peace. Julie parked the car in front and hopped out. She looked back at me, knowing I’d need a moment. She went inside. I tried to prolong my time in the car as long as possible, just staring at those wind chimes. I knew that as soon as I got out, my life would change forever—and not in a good way.

Chapter Six

Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family. Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.

—Jane Howard

A
unt Evelyn greeted me at the door in a calico sarong and cork sandals. “Aw, baby girl, I heard you had a rough day.” She ushered me in, enveloping me in a tight bear hug. Her store was filled with Books of Shadows, herbs, candles, and crystals. The dark mahogany trim and veil of incense gave the space the feel of a temple.

Before I could speak, Aunt Evelyn and Julie started talking. Evelyn said she had glamoured her property with a protection spell.

Damn
. I’d always thought Aunt Evelyn was a bit eccentric, but never a real witch.

Julie told her about my attacker. “It wasn’t Catherine. I didn’t recognize the scent.”

“Sounds like one of her protégés. It looks like Catherine has figured out the general area of Grace’s whereabouts, but couldn’t pinpoint it. She probably didn’t want to expend any energy going after Grace herself, since she isn’t sure if Grace’s powers have kicked in yet.”

I did the referee time-out signal. “Excuse me. I didn’t hear that right. Did you say ‘powers’?”

But they kept up their own conversation. “A girl was murdered on campus,” Julie said. “They just found her head. It was the same guy who attacked Grace.”

“Oh, he needed a snack,” said Aunt Evelyn.

I stood between the two and said, “You mean
eating
pe
ople
?”

“Yes, I mean exactly that,” Aunt Evelyn said as nonchalantly as she could, to prevent me from going into total meltdown mode. She pulled me to the white-chenille sofa on which she performed tarot card readings. She started pushing my clothes around, looking for something.

“Have you seen any strange marks on your body?” she said, her examination getting a little too personal.

I pushed her hands away. “No. Same ole, same ole.”

“We told you your mother died when you were born, but we didn’t tell you how. That was for your protection,” Aunt Evelyn said. “We come from a long line of witches dating back to the Middle Ages. There was a division, and your mother was ultimately killed because of it. But before she died, she had an indiscretion with a mortal, Ed, and you were born. Not only born, but created with a purpose. You were born to lead. It is your destiny.”

“So let me get this straight. I’m some sort of half mortal and half witch savior?”

Aunt Evelyn sighed and gently cradled my face in her hand. “Grace, since you’re the first of your kind, we really don’t know what you are. We weren’t sure you’d awaken like the rest of the witches, but it appears you are doing just that. Past this point we really don’t know what’s going to happen. But we hope you are ready for what’s coming.”

She paused for a moment, bracing me. “Your blood may be so potent that a single drop could open the doorway to the many gifts and abilities of our clan. Because of that supernatural forces are plotting your demise. They will stop at nothing to see you dead, but not before they take your powers. We are the only immortals who can protect you, honey.”

I jumped up. “I’m a guinea pig! Is that what last night was all about? Is this what I am now? A girl who rides on brooms with fucking fangs? And seriously, what kind of witches have fangs? Never ran across that in a Grimm fairy tale.” I started to walk away, but felt the need to express myself a little more, a little louder. “Oh yeah, let’s not forget the killer who tried to eat me. Now witches eat people too?”

Aunt Evelyn stood up, keeping her emotions close to the vest. “Grace, you need to calm down, or I will help you calm down.”

“What does that mean? Is it a threat? Are you going to silence me with your magic?”

I was about was to say more when Aunt Evelyn lifted a finger and said, “
Mouth so big. Quiet now. Listen up. I’ll show you how
.” She pointed at my mouth, and I couldn’t open my lips. It was like they were superglued together.

Julie laughed and said, “I thought she’d never shut up.”

Aunt Evelyn approached me with a motherly smile on her face. She didn’t know that my right hand had started burning like it had at the beach. Also that sting in my throat had returned. A sudden rush of electricity shot through my veins, just enough to blush the surface of my skin with a warm, tingly feeling. I pointed at my mouth and mumbled. Aunt Evelyn saw I was upset and reversed her spell. I clenched my teeth as my fangs poked all the way out of my mouth.

Julie got excited and started having a reaction of her own. Her hands trembled violently, then her arms, followed by her head. The vibrations became blurred, as did Julie. Even though she broke through her clothes, she wasn’t naked. Her skin was replaced by fur—dark brown from head to toe. I was horrified, yet totally entranced. Julie’s face turned upward, and she belted out a howl.

Aunt Evelyn elbowed me. “Close your mouth, dear,” she said, chucking it up. “Isn’t she beautiful? Grace, you have no idea what a gift you have been given. Julie has been placed here to keep you safe and sound. I guess you can call her your own personal sergeant-at-arms.”

Julie shook like a dog after a bath and was back to normal, clothes and all.

What a sad moment for me. The friend I’d known was no more. The ugly fact was that Julie and I were both monstrosities.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m leaving,” I said, and ran out of the house.

The chirping of crickets filled the forest as if warning the woodland creatures of some strange beast in their midst. As I hurdled over brush, I noticed I could run faster than normal, almost gliding through the air. I caught the scent of some freshly killed animal’s blood…and it smelled good. The iron-y scent wafted into my nose and shrouded my entire being. My wet pallet responded, and I thought about following the scent and getting a taste.

What?

As I snapped back, I heard Julie’s voice pleading in the distance. “Grace, please don’t do this. Come on back to the house.”

“Stay away from me, Julie. This is not your life.”

Somehow she appeared right in front of me. “Do you really think you’re faster than me at this point?” She bucked me with her chest to pushed me in the opposite direction. Now that was the Julie I was used to. Not that kumbaya chick at Aunt Evelyn’s house.

But that didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t going to let her talk me out of my breakout. “You heard I have some special powers. You sure you want to mess with me?”

Julie cracked up. “You’re brand new. What are going to do?”

While I contemplated that, I heard something huge and powerful running toward us. Suddenly three coyotes rushed out of the woods. I was hit with the blunt force of Julie’s arm pushing me out of the way, knocking me into a tree. A little dazed, I watched her toss each coyote in the air like rag dolls, and they scampered away with their tails between their legs.

Julie turned her attention back to me. Fortunately for her my body was numb from being thrown into a tree. I was unable to move right away, and I had to listen to her.

“Those were just a few coyotes. But there are more-powerful predators out there, and they’re coming for you, no doubt. So get a grip and deal with the situation, because there’s no place for you to hide, and the only thing you can do to change it is fight.”

I guessed she was right, but I wasn’t letting her off that easy. “Um, maybe if you hadn’t launched me into that tree I would be able to walk home on my own.” I winked at her and held out my hand. Julie gave me a sly grin and helped me up.

Chapter Seven

A verse from the Veda says, “What you see, you become.” In other words, just the experience of perceiving the world makes you what you are. This is a quite literal statement.

—Deepak Chopra

S
tapleton. Thompson. Williams. Boudreaux. Winstead. These were the aliases the Bolingbrokes had assumed over the past twenty years. Well aware of their family’s vendetta against them, not to mention the threat of Catherine, they never let their guards down,. Their most recent neighborhood—Southern Shores in the Outer Banks—was quiet, and thankfully filled with transient residents who didn’t stick around long enough to ask too many questions. The house was a cozy craftsman-style cottage complete with an ID-card printing machine. James was in charge of it, and was the one who came up with their new names.

Even though James found the wild horses, bird-watching, and fishing to be ideal, Addison found the OBX intolerable. In her former life, she had been an icon in the immortal world, where her beauty and other talents had always gotten her exactly what she’d wanted. She’d used her short, black bob, endless legs, and dazzling aquamarine eyes to turn many heads. She’d enjoyed being the center of the universe and had taken every opportunity to bask in the admiration of her fanatic following. Plenty of immortal girls had begged to be her apprentices. However, Addison had always refused; she didn’t like the thought of potential competition. In her old life, she had lived by these famous words: “If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much room.”

Addison had also been an unapologetic feeder—that was until James had become involved with Ilan. During Ilan’s pregnancy more than twenty years ago, Ilan had forbidden the four other witches to eat human flesh in her presence. No matter how hungry Ilan got, she had refused to let go of this principal. That decision had left the others somewhat in a state of malnutrition. The spirits that inhabited their bodies had been famished and held their enormous powers hostage, refusing to share with the witches until they fed them—which was how Catherine had almost defeated them.

Now Addison resented the fact that James continued this abstinence during their years in hiding; she had grown tired of steak tartare and the occasional bleeding cattle late at night. But she had to refuel somehow. Lately her discontent had grown to the point that she was considering leaving James and his cause behind. She missed her old life and was exhausted from trying to keep their secret from the world. This was even more difficult because of Adrian’s outlandish antics, which constantly threatened to expose them.

Addison joined James at the end of a long pier that had battled way too many nor’easters. She could tell his mind was elsewhere, but was not deterred from what she had to say.

“You’re thinking about Grace again, aren’t you?” She tried to ease into the conversation.

“Yeah. I think I feel her.”

She gave him a doubtful look and leaned on the railing. She focused her eyes on the horizon. “It’s been more than twenty years. Witches awaken at puberty. If she were going to do it, she’d have done it by now.”

“She’s unique. We don’t know what she’s going to do.”

“So what are we to do in the meantime? Sit around, waiting for something that may or may not happen? For eternity? Come on, James, let’s be realistic for a change.”

Addison refused to look him in the eye as he turned her toward him.

James said, “What’s wrong with you lately? You know we have an assignment…a mission.”

“No, James, I don’t have any mission. I only agreed to come because I wanted to make sure
you
were safe. It had nothing to do with Ilan or that baby. I’m here only because of you. I really think this is wasting time at best, and death sentences for us all at worst. You know I live my life quite literally on the edge, but this is just plain stupid.”

Addison started walking away from James, but felt bad for being so hard on him. She called back, “Next time we move, could you pick a better name for me than Sally?”

Chapter Eight

Neither love nor evil conquers all, but evil cheats more.

—Laurell K. Hamilton

T
he envelope had a New York City return address—33 W. 55
th
Street—and contained instructions to be there at seven o’clock sharp, followed by an obnoxious comment: “I do not suffer fools, tardiness, or mistakes.”

Chetan, a low-level witch, felt it was an honor to serve Catherine as one of her protégés. Catherine had been missing for years; many believed her to be dead. Following the invitation, she sent a driver for him, and he was overly impressed by the luxury treatment he was receiving. And why not? If anyone were asked to describe him, most wouldn’t have been able to. He was unremarkable in every way. Beige. Vanilla. Whitebread. His only distinguishing feature was that no one could seem to remember his name.

The limo arrived at the Shoreham Hotel, where Chetan was ushered into Catherine’s lush penthouse suite. It had a magnificent view of the heart of New York City. The floors were marble, the walls adorned with suede. It was spacious, and decorated in a modern Art Deco style. Vases with fresh, sweet-smelling flowers were positioned in corners. However, the heady scents of jasmine and gardenias hardly masked the stench of decomposition somewhere in the penthouse.