The Bloodstone Oracle (The Dark Gifts Companions) (2 page)

Marie’s legs seemed incapable of navigating the wooden dock after four months of traveling by sea.  Grasping the low railing, she steadied herself while Damien spoke with the dock master.  Behind her, the crew of the Dover noisily hustled about the deck unloading cargo and making ready to take on new passengers.  The city of Saint Augustine sprawled out in front of her.  Narrow streets teemed with wagons, merchants, and citizens hurriedly going about their business.  Along the white, sandy beach strange trees and bushes danced in the scorching salt-scented breeze. Breathtaking in its beauty, she had no queries as to why people had designated this spectacular land the New World. 

“Are you ready?” Damien asked.

Marie wiped the beading perspiration from her brow and smiled brightly at her husband.  “What an unusual land this is.  How in the world does one grow accustomed to this climate?”

He winked and taking her arm at the elbow, propelled her down the ramp.  “I’m sure it is readily accomplished, my love.  However, we will not be staying here long.”

Moving through the bustling streets
as quickly as her wobbling gait would allow, they soon arrived at the Fairway Inn.  Although the outer appearance of the establishment was clean and quite comely, the open doorway and broad front window allowed a good view of the clientele inside.  If their manner of dress was any indication at all, a host of vagabonds and pirates frequented the business. 

Damien scanned the entire lengt
h of the street. 

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“Somewhere more befitting your condition. This is no place for an expecting mother.”

“
Harrumph
,” she expelled.  “And neither is a busy street for that matter.  I cannot imagine a safer place than my husband’s side.  Now shall we?”  Without waiting for an answer, she moved through the open doorway.

For a moment, the contrast between the brilliant sunlight and darkened room left her blinded.  Befo
re her eyes adjusted, she’d already noticed the excruciating silence. It was no surprise, when her sight returned, that all eyes were upon her.

A barrel-chested man behind the bar turned his head to the side and spat on the floor.
His voice, thick with Spanish accent, was not remotely welcoming. “Females are not welcome unless she be a bar wench.”

A low rumble
of agreement echoed through the bar patrons.

Damien’s eyes flashed with anger, but he managed to remain poised.  “My apologies.  I seek consult with Randle Lockheart.  I was told he is the owner of this fine establishment.”

A toothless old coot, covered head to toe in filth, yelled out from the back of the room, “And ye bring yer woman to parlay?  What kind of sissy-footed bonny-clapper are ye?”

Raucous laughter broke out amongst the horde of misfits.
 

“Enough,” echoed through the room and quieted the revelers. 

Marie raised her eyes to the balcony above.  The speaker, seemingly as fit and broad as her husband, and dressed in the finest of clothes, looked down on them with consternation.  “Mr. Smith, I presume?”

Damien gave him a curt nod.

“Up here if you will,” he said and motioned to the stairway.  “That is if the Misses can maneuver appropriately.”

With that, the bar patrons once again broke out with laughter. 

Marie’s face turned red as she replied with considerable venom, “Quite assuredly, good Sir.”

As if waiting to see if she
would misstep, the room once again grew silent as Marie gathered her skirt and made her way up the short flight of stairs with Damien right behind her.  After reaching the top, Lockheart motioned for the couple to enter the first doorway on the right, before leaning over the railing and growling, “Spend your money or get out.  This is no tea house.”

***

Randle Lockheart was a very strange man indeed.  He had all the expected affectations of someone with money and power, but at the same time spoke as one who spent countless hours amongst the general population.  Marie found him confusing, yet endearing.  The moment the door closed behind them, his rough demeanor slipped away and an air of friendly familiarity replaced the gruff, all-business attitude he’d displayed just a few seconds before.

Randle
smiled and motioned to a small settee covered in bright blue fabric. “Do sit down, Mrs. Stafford.  I’m sure the trek across the Ocean has been most taxing in your condition.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lockheart.  Our journey was
tolerable, although quite lengthy.”

“Call me Randle.  I save Mr. Lockheart for the ruffians and thugs.”  The
n turning to her husband, he extended his hand in greeting.  “My sister, Hannah, has much to say about you and your family, Mr. Stafford.  She’s terribly anxious to see both you and your lovely wife.”

Damien returned Randle’s firm handshake and smiled.  “Hannah and I go way back.  Most of your family has had dealings with mine for many decades now.  It was a great gift to d
iscover she’d left the Old Country to join you here.”

Randle nodded and motioned for Damien to take a seat with his wife.  “Have you eaten?  We have many good items on the menu.”

Marie shook her head.  “I don’t know that I could have an appetite in this climate.  The heat is near to unbearable.”

“Mr. Lockheart?
” Damien interjected.

“Randle.”

Damien smiled at the exchange.  “Randle, I believe what would best suit our needs at this moment is a cool room and a little rest.  There are also some other requirements we must address, when you have time.”

“Ah, yes.  In
your letter you indicated that you would need a carriage suitable for travel and a guide to the Northern regions.”

Damien nodded.

“I’ve made all the arrangements.  Unfortunately, my personal coach is being repaired at the moment.  However, I can offer you several choices of surreys or even a covered buckboard.  As far as supplies, most anything you need may be purchased at the mercantile across the street.  The guide on the other hand, is not so easy a task.”

“If payment is the issue...” Damien started.

Before he could continue, Randle cut him off.  “You misunderstand.  Most of the occupants of this area are here because they’ve fled the Northern English and savages.  I’m afraid finding anyone willing to brave the return will be a most arduous task.  Only one has come forward and he’s a most untrustworthy scoundrel.”

Marie repositioned her ample body and asked, “How so?”

“He seems well bred and never has less coin than needed for a bill.  However, he shows up when he feels the urge and no one seems to know where he resides.  As if that isn’t enough, he is only available just after dark.  I’m guessing he’s a raging drunk.  Only a man consumed with drink sleeps all day.  If that is what he’s doing.”

Marie traded glances with her husband.  To most
, a man with those oddities would appear a drunken slacker.  But they both knew looks could be terribly deceiving and more likely than not, the man wasn’t human at all.

Damien cleared his throat.  “And does this man know of our need and where we are headed?”

“No, of course not.  Only that I was interested in finding a guide into the North Country.  My employees are never privy to the inner workings of my day, Mr. Stafford.  I assure you, as you requested, I’ve kept your needs and business private.”

With the onset of the first vibration, Marie hurriedly grasp
ed Bloodstone.  Her quick movement immediately drew her husband’s attention.

Standing, Damien implored his host, “It seems my wife is in need of rest.  Is there another room we could continue this conversation in?”

Randle’s eyes raked over her, taking in her suddenly pallid features and the slight tinge of fear around her eyes.  “But of course.  The room next door is open, let’s move over there and allow the young lady respite.”

As the door closed behind the retreating men, the
Bloodstone burst to life, surrounding Marie in brilliant radiance.  Without conscious effort, her body instinctually reacted to the magic.   Her eyes closed and her head, mouth open, tilted back to allow full access.

A dark cavern surrounded a pitch black pool.  One solitary drop of water
, in the shape of a tear, hung suspended above the underground pond as if held by invisible hands.  Marie felt her breath catch in her chest.  Instinct told her that when the tear fell, what came after would be devastating. 

Images began to form in the water
.  Kiana, her mass of unkempt hair dripping with blood, spun in slow circles while laughing manically at the burned corpses of her latest victims.  A young boy, no more than ten, cowered at her knees begging to be spared.  Kiana grabbed the child’s hair and yanked his head back to peer into his dirt and tear smudged face.  “Where is she?” she screamed.

The boy stuttered as he attempted to speak.  “I-I d-don’t know who she is.”

Before he could blink, the old Witch had jerked him to his feet and placed a blood-stained knife against his throat.   “I will ask once more, boy.  Where is she?  You should know her well as anyone.  She’s your cousin.”

Marie desperately tried to scream at Kiana and force her to let the boy go.  She didn’t
know half of her cousins, especially the youngest of them.  At one time her family had been large and close-knit, but with Kiana’s constant attacks against them, they’d spread out far and wide many years ago.  There was no way this child would know her.

Tears poured down the youngster’s
cheeks, but unable to give the evil woman what she wanted, he remained silent.

The old
Witch hurled the boy to the ground and paced back and forth for a few moments before cackling with glee.  “We’ll just see what the blood knows then,” she said as she grabbed his arm and drug him several yards across the village plaza to the alter stone.  The knife easily sliced across his tender flesh.  Blood oozed from the wound.  Before it could drip to the ground, Kiana caught it in her cupped hand and transferred the fluid to the stone.  Kiana muttered an incantation and the fluid began to bubble and move about the stone in intricate lines and patterns.

Here and there
symbols and letters would form in the macabre liquid.  Kiana intensely watched the stone, taking in every detail the blood-spell offered.  Every so often, she’d hiss in disgust, “I know this.  Show me more!”

Terror gripped Marie’s heart as she recognized and translated the words being spelled out from Gaelic to English: Hannah, Lockheart, Augustine, Americas, and finally
Vampire.  Although she was fully aware her body remained in the small upstairs room of the Inn, she violently shuddered as the vision grew dark and transformed into another completely unfamiliar landscape.

She floated above a small cabin nestled in the clearing of a vast forest.  As her vision zoomed in, she found herself on the front porch peering in through a plate glass window.  Inside a young girl
, with golden ringlets cascading to her waist, vehemently argued with a tall, raven-haired man.  For a moment she wondered what this scene could possibly have to do with future events.  What was so unusual about a teenage girl fighting with her father?

When the girl completely lost her temper and threw a book against the wall, Marie gasped.  Not at the temper tantrum, but at the dent the book left in the wood plank it hit.  Suddenly the girl spun and hissed at the man.  Identical fangs protruded between her perfectly pink lips.  The man bellowed, “I’m sick of all this ghost talk.  You and your William need to grow up.  Read a book, learn something!  Try to become a useful member of society.”

Once again, Marie’s vision grew dark and she stood in the cavern watching the suspended tear over the pool.  A multitude of chattering voices filled the cave making it nearly impossible for her to focus on any one voice and what was being said.  Frigid winds whipped around her flailing her hair in every direction as the intensity of the voices grew. 

“Stop!” Marie screamed.  “I can’t understand you!”

As the onslaught of voices and air died down, Marie felt a presence at her side.  Slowly turning her head, she saw her mother standing at her side.

“My love, you must find the dark-haired
Vampire before the Harvest Noon.  You must entreat him to watch over our descendants.  In the end, he is the only one who can save the last.  His love for her will keep her safe,” Edana whispered.

Tears spilled down Marie’s cheeks as she spoke.  “You are gone from me then?”

Edana smiled sadly and shook her head.  “Never, my love.  Never gone, always I will be with you.  Fulfill the task.  Be certain the stone will remain with your child and her children after.  From your line on, there will only be one.  It is the blessing and curse of the Bloodstone magic.”

As her mother faded from view, Marie closed her eyes.  When she finally opened them again, she found herself back in the upstairs room of the Inn. 
Pulling up the hem of her skirt, she dabbed the hot tears from her eyes and cheeks. 

They w
ere all gone.  But not just her own family; if the vision was accurate, the Lockhearts had paid dearly for their help.  An unfathomable, completely terrifying price.  And how in the world could she ever bring herself to tell them?