Blood Ties (27 page)

“The next time I see Adrian, I will kill him. You can be most assured of that.”

Adrian couldn’t believe the other witches had left him on Tobay Beach without any money, food, or clothing.

A few hours earlier, they’d literally tossed him out of the car with nary a word, and kicked up dust as they drove away. His last memory was of the car’s taillights, and doe-eyed Addison looking out the rear window at him. Once again James had won. Not only did he have Grace, but he’d also caused Addison to disown Adrian too.

He sat on the sand and watched the outgoing tide of the Atlantic. The sky was still glowing with a sliver of the setting sun behind him. The sun’s clear, then yellow, then orange rings radiated out, but were not able to lift the gloom he felt.

Instead of being toasty, the remaining rays were cool on Adrian skin; his body was having a hard time recovering from Julie’s assault. His injuries were extensive. He was missing a patch of scalp where his head had bounced off a tree trunk. His eyes were swollen, with black, viscous fluid ballooning under the skin. Multiple splits in his lips stung as salty sweat dribbled into them. And he had three of his teeth in his pocket.

Humiliated and vilified, Adrian ruminated on how Grace had manipulated him into loving her. The player wasn’t used to getting played. But he also couldn’t deny that he really had fallen in love with her. He hated himself for pining for her. Moreover he could hardly bear the thought of James touching, kissing, and making love to Grace. It was a gut punch when he imagined how much she liked it.

Adrian knew Grace would never truly love him, and this severed his heart in two. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to eat her. Not so much for revenge, though. He figured if he consumed her, she’d always be a part of him, like a biological trophy.

Now, concerning the other witches and wolves, he did want revenge. And he was going to take it.

Adrian closed his eyes and repeated a name:
Catherine
. Like music on airwaves, his voice traveled from the beach, down the highway, to Massapequa proper. Its final destination was a large, foreclosed home with a lockbox on the door. The house was one of only two on a winding street. The other, directly across the road, was occupied by Michelle Ross, a night-shift night nurse and full-time student working on her practitioner license. Today she was exhausted. She had overslept, and was in a mad dash out the door.

She paused, though. There was a strange odor seeping into her house—had been for the past few days. It smelled like a festering sore. She blew it off, thinking it was the stench of decaying sea life coming in from the bay. The truth was she hadn’t been paying much attention to anything going on in the neighborhood. Not even the supposedly empty, foreclosed house across the way.

Michelle stood on her porch and searched her junky purse for her elusive house keys. The bag was an ever-changing hodgepodge of receipts, lipsticks, broken cell phones, and that-time-of-the month essentials. Heaving heavy sighs, Michelle was unaware that Mrs. Delores Davenport had been watching her from the sidewalk. A power-walking retiree and recent widow, Mrs. Davenport seized whatever opportunities she could to hobnob with her outlying neighbors. She lived three streets over and always managed to catch Michelle in a frantic rush to work.

“Hello, Michelle. Nice weather we’re having,” said Mrs. Davenport as she marched in place.

Michelle sighed even heavier; she had no time for Mrs. Davenport right now. “Sure was. Going to work now,” she said dismissingly.

Mrs. Davenport put two fingers to her neck, making sure to maintain her target heart rate. “Did you hear about all those missing people?”

“No.” Michelle dropped her purse and spilled its endless contents. She partly blamed Mrs. Davenport for ruining her concentration.

“Yes, for the past few weeks, people from here to New York have been disappearing.”

Michelle found her keys. “Hot damn!”

“Damn is right. We must be careful. Especially you out here on this street all alone.”

Michelle locked her front door and hopped into her Hyundai. She backed up, flooring the accelerator, without looking in the rearview mirror—and nearly ran over Mrs. Davenport.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Michelle said, but thought,
Not really
.

“That’s okay. You did hear me, though?”

Michelle’s car was already on the street, ready to go. “Uh… say it again.”

“Be careful.”

“Sure.” Michelle peeled out.

“Such a sweet girl,” Mrs. Davenport said to herself. Just as she turned to power walk back home, she thought she heard a noise coming from the empty house. She listened more closely. Now all she heard was an airplane passing overhead.

“You must be getting old, Mrs. Davenport.” As she passed the empty house, she too noticed the smell of rotten meat, but ignored it like Michelle had.

If anyone had taken the time to investigate, the putrid odor would have led them straight to the empty house. The back sliding-glass door had been broken into a few weeks earlier. Low noises always seeped out at about three a.m., but, because of Michelle’s night shift and the desolation of the street, there was no one around to hear them.

The house’s below-ground bonus room was the home of ten sleeping protégés. Newly formed, they were resting in somewhat of an embryonic state. The protégés had been well fed. All around them were the rotting carcasses of the missing people Mrs. Davenport had talked about.

Their mother, Catherine, was wide awake. She had been covertly peering out of the bonus-room window at Mrs. Davenport and Michelle, whose absentminded tiredness had been a blessing to Catherine. A more observant neighbor would have noticed the almost too obvious signs that someone had taken up residency in the abandoned house.

Catherine had seen Michelle and Mrs. Davenport numerous times since she had broken in. And each time she had thought about eating them, especially that irritating Mrs. Davenport. She opted not to; they were too close to home. Catherine couldn’t afford to draw the scrutiny of law enforcement to the enclave.

After Michelle and Mrs. Davenport left, Catherine swiped her hand and created an orb of light that rose to the ceiling. It illuminated the maze of baby protégés. Like a nanny watching over her sleeping charges, Catherine strolled the rows between them. It had been a time-consuming task to change each one individually in ritual. She relished the time when she would be able to confiscate Grace’s powers. Then she’d be able to create protégés at her whim.

As Catherine passed each one, she recollected how she had acquired them. One she had abducted after he’d robbed a convenience store. She’d kidnapped the sadistic school principal with a penchant for paddling after he’d brutally disciplined a young girl. Another one Catherine had taken after he’d smothered his cancer-stricken wife for a $500,000 life-insurance policy.

However, Catherine’s favorite was Tamara. Catherine saw so much of herself in her. Tamara was the featured act at a sleazy strip club. Abused as a child, she had turned into a sociopathic killer after a lifetime of suppressing anything remotely resembling love. Her victims of choice were muscular and dark-haired males—just like her daddy. She was highly transient, and her hunting grounds were the clubs where she worked. One night a customer wanted some after-hours activity. However, instead of giving him a quick screw in the bed of his pickup truck, Tamara shot him in the eye. Catherine captured her right after.

As Catherine reveled in her children, she felt an itch inside her ear. Not really paying attention, she reflexively rubbed it. However, she took notice when the itch grew more intense and spread over her body. Red patches appeared on her skin as if she had run through a poison-ivy field. She looked straight ahead through the darkness and saw a blob of static electricity coming toward her. As it got closer, it took the shape of Adrian’s body. His spell finally had reached her.

Adrian’s specter form pointed to a black wall where a montage of images began to play. The pictures were of Aunt Evelyn’s house, Chief Weylen, and a bonfire. The final image was of Catherine standing in a vortex of energy, with Grace— near death—at her feet.

Meanwhile, upstairs, a lone candle lit up the kitchen nook. Chetan sat in its corner, keeping his eye on Nick, who had come out of his stupor and was now cognizant. Chetan had become increasingly afraid of him. The protégé’s hunger was growing at an alarming rate, even for Catherine’s taste.

Nick licked his lips and looked at Chetan like he was a steak. “I’m hungry.”

“Why are you looking at me?” Chetan responded, shrinking in his chair like an ogled woman.

Nick wasn’t Chetan’s only concern. Catherine had been acting strangely as of late. It was noticeable that she was distancing herself from Chetan. He could tell she was scheming something when she looked at him.

Chetan picked up the candle and excused himself to get away from Nick. As he hurried out of the kitchen, he looked back to make sure Nick wasn’t following him. All he saw was the protégé’s black silhouette against the window, watching him back. Chetan jittered and scurried out. He crossed into the living room and quickly shut the door, then fell back on it, thrilled to be alone in relative safety.

“Whew! That crazy motherfucker,” he said. He lifted himself off the door and waved the candle around. That was when he saw Catherine standing right in front of him.

“Where did you come from?” he asked.

Catherine had no time for small talk. “It’s time. I know where Grace is.”

Chetan could tell Catherine was chillingly wound up. “Okay, let’s go then,” he said, trying to sound ambivalent.

Catherine studied him for a bit. She then opened the door with wave of her hand. “Nick, could you come here, dear?” She addressed Chetan again. “You’ve done your job well. But it’s time now for you to complete it.”

Nick came in and stood next to her.

“How? Do you want me to kill Grace for you?” Chetan asked. A sense of dread cascaded upon him.

“Oh, you fool, you know
I
have to do that. No, no… Come here,” Catherine said. With her bony finger, she beckoned to Chetan. She stroked his face and sweetly smiled. Chetan knew he was in trouble then. Catherine said to him, “You have to die.”

Suddenly, Nick grabbed Chetan and locked his arms behind him.

“Haven’t you wondered why I kept a witless hack like you around? Do you think it’s because you’re so awesome?” Catherine said.

“I thought it was because I was the only witch who’d go along with your plans,” Chetan prattled.

“Partly. See, you served a purpose. I needed to have a readily available energy source—like a backup generator, so to speak. A witch’s blood to consume. That blood would make me stronger when the time came for me to confront Grace. That time is now, and that witch is you.”

Chetan tried to break free of Nick’s grip. “Catherine? I can’t believe you.”

She mocked him with a fake pout. “Why so surprised? You know I’m bad. What did you expect?” She slashed his throat with her long nail.

Chetan was very much alive as Catherine sucked his blood. Nick, still propping him up, found it nearly impossible to fight off his desire to devour him.

Catherine raised her face, and through bloody teeth and fangs spoke to Nick. “Here… Your first taste.”

Nick was like a wild animal as he chomped down on Chetan’s shoulder, taking out a chunk. Nick let the body drop to the floor and pounced on it, biting out large portions.

“Ah, ah, ah… We must share,” Catherine said, her body contorting as she transformed into her demonic appearance. She ripped out Chetan’s chest muscle and held it in her hand. It looked like a tender roast, marbled with fat. “Take him to the children,” she instructed.

Chetan’s life was fading fast as Nick hauled him by his ankles to the bonus room. Catherine followed, eating the delicious piece of muscle, savoring it like petit filet. Chetan’s head bounced up and down on the stairs as Nick dragged him.

On Catherine’s way down, she noticed a discarded, rusty, cast iron skillet hanging on a wall. She used the hammer hanging next to it to make an impromptu dinner bell, banging on it loudly to rouse the sleeping protégés. “Wake up, children. It’s dinnertime.”

“No! No! Catherine… Nick…” Chetan pleaded.

Nick tossed his body into the swarming horde below. They converged on it and finished eating him alive. As they did, their physical strength grew into superhuman power.

Catherine was delighted. “They are fed. Tomorrow night, Grace and I finally meet.”