Gypsey Blood (14 page)

A sudden chill ran through her. She glanced around. “Della, where are you?” she shouted.

“Up here.”

Damn, she was still jumpy.

Della peeked at her from the top of the stairs. “I’ll be down to start dinner in a few. I checked on you twice. You seemed fine. You feel okay?”

She sighed with relief.
“Yeah, just panicked for a moment.
Don’t know why.”

“Hey, cut yourself a break. You remember that little thing called Post Traumatic Stress? You just went through the most bitchin’ night of your life. Don’t think it’s not gonna leave some scream-shit aftershocks.” Della disappeared, and Rita heard the water running in the upstairs bathroom.

Rita’s muscles complained as she walked to the half-bath off the kitchen. Her heart raced. She washed her hands and dared to look into the mirror. The white bandage above her ear stood out against the darkness of her hair. The face that stared back didn’t thrill her.
Puffy eyes, swollen lips, and a purple bruise on her cheek.
She rolled her shoulders to work out the tightness. The cold washcloth on her face soothed her skin,
then
she brushed the tangles from her hair, avoiding the bandaged spot. She leaned in closer to her battered image. “That’s enough of being an invalid. You can at least start dinner.”

She went to the window above the kitchen sink and stared into the early night. The oak tree down the block extended its swaying arms, trying to catch the half-moon riding in the sky. She shivered. Her nerve endings crackled. “Damn vampire bullshit. I’m wound so tight, I still can’t breathe.”

Rita flipped on the light, opened the fridge, and took out a bag of baby carrots. She rummaged through the drawer for the paring knife, laid the vegetables on the cutting board,
then
leaned against the kitchen counter separating the kitchen from the living room.

The crystal frosted against her chest. Startled, she lifted it and noticed the purplish color. Uncle hadn’t done a very good job of washing off the blood. She’d take an old toothbrush to it after dinner to restore the clarity.

Della’s footsteps padding at the top of the stairs coincided with the knock at the door.

“Your uncle’s early,” Della said, starting down the steps.

Rita leaned over the counter and yelled toward the door, “Come on in,” then continued to slice the carrots.

“Thank you for the invitation.”

Rita dropped the knife. It skittered across the cutting board. Tremors hit her knees, and she sank onto the stool behind the counter. The crystal sent icy shivers down to her toenails.

Lucien stood in the doorway, a grin stretching his bloodless lips. His clothes hung rumpled and muddy on his wide shoulders.
“So nice to see you again, Pretty One.”

“Who the hell?”
Della stopped halfway down the steps.

Della’s voice broke through Rita’s shock. “Get back upstairs.
Now!”

“Holy shit!”
Della’s eyes went wide. “It’s him! What the fuck? You‘re supposed to be dead!”

“I am dead, My Lovely.” Lucien kicked the door shut behind him, leaned against the frame and crossed his arms.

Rita’s heart beat at a feverish pace. “Move your ass, Del. Run!”

“No way.
Not from this bastard.” Della reached to her back and pulled her revolver. She stood three steps up, gripping the gun in both hands and sighting on Lucien. “Another step and I’ll shoot.
On your knees, shit-face.
Hands on top of your head.”
She tilted her head to Rita, never taking her eyes off Lucien. “Girl, get the cuffs.”

“
Del
…
don’t
.” Rita stuttered.

“I am unarmed, My Lovely.” He pushed away from the door, brushed the grime from his blazer.

“Ask me if I care. You’re under arrest, you sick fuck.” She locked her elbows, widened her stance.
“Now, on your knees.”

“You will not shoot me.” Lucien hissed and stepped forward.

“Oh, how I love a dare.” Della pulled the trigger. The shot reverberated in the house. She hit Lucien dead center in the chest. He jerked, rubbed his chest,
then
took another step. “Shit! You’re wearing a damn vest.” Another shot blasted. A hole appeared in the middle of Lucien’s forehead. His head snapped back. He staggered, then took another step, and smiled.

A mixture of shock and horror spread over Della’s face. “What the….? Why the hell aren’t you down?”

“My granddaughter wants to keep a family secret. You see, I am a vampire, My Sweet.”

“Say what?” Della backed up two steps. The gun slipped from her hands and bounced down the stairs. She clutched the banister, her eyes round, trembling visibly, along with her voice. “Vampires aren’t real.”

“Oh, I am very real.”

Rita’s stomach twisted into a painful knot. “Run upstairs. Fast. Call for help.”

Della’s face was a mask of puzzled horror. Her lower lip quivered. “I ain’t leaving you alone with th…this thing.”

“Yes, please stay. I came for my granddaughter, but you will be a wonderful bonus.” He laughed. His eyes turned hard to Rita, his voice low, raspy. “Did you think you could do away with me so easily? I, too, jumped out of the van before your mother died.”

“Ma gave her life to be rid of you, you bastard.”

“Anna was a fool.” Lucien spat on the floor. “She sacrificed in vain. The spell did not work. She did not take her last breath before I escaped the red fire. She breathed her last on that hillside,” his thin lips split into a taunting sneer, “alone.”

Waves of anger blurred Rita’s vision. “You fucking maniac. Ma told me how when you were human, you let your dick do your thinking when you led our tzigan familia. You dishonored us all. Now you’re nothing but a dead, blood-sucking ghoul.”

Lucien tilted his head, his voice rose in volume. “I traded my soul to become immortal.
A true god.
The clan should have knelt before me.
Worshipped me.
Instead, the traitors tried to destroy me.”

“A god?”
Rita screamed back. “You know nothing but death and misery. If I could, I would pity you and your sad existence. You are nothing but a walking, rancid corpse who knows no life but to kill. You are a curse to all Roma tzigans.”

Lucien took a step toward her, his hands raised.
“So stupid.
Like your ancestor, you wear the amulet. It will not protect you. There are other ways of killing you. But first,” he turned and looked at Della who stood with mouth gaping and gasping for air. “I need sustenance. I will give you the pleasure of watching how a god truly enjoys his feast.”

The gold chain pulled heavy on the back of Rita’s neck, the ice-cold star vibrated against her chest. She glanced down. The energy inside the amulet stabbed her heart with prickling, painful shocks. Hot coals built inside her, choking her with the vile taste of pure hatred. The crystal radiated a purple hue. Fury boiled in her veins. Her rage shot back to the crystal and the purple changed again. The red power of her ancestors began building, swirling, within the body of the star, tiny tendrils of smoke spiraling to the tips.

The scene from the abandoned mansion flashed through her mind.
Her lying on the foyer floor.
The blood dripping down her face.
Lucien covering his eyes.
Now, the mystical red power of her heritage was channeling to her, and she knew without a doubt what the power transference was telling her to do.

Rita slipped the paring knife from the cutting board to her lap.
“Stay away from her, you filthy cadaver.
Are you afraid to come and get me, Granddaddy?”

“Stupid brave talk again, but it will not distract me.” Lucien walked toward Della, her fingers still gripping the banister like a lifeline.

Behind the counter, Rita drew the paring knife deeply across one of her palms, her rage so hot she didn’t feel the pain. Blood pooled in her palm, dripped onto the jeans covering her thighs with sticky warmth. “I’m warning you, Granddaddy, stay away from her,” she said in a sing-song voice to mask her wrath.

Lucien hesitated and sniffed the air.

Rita’s stomach curdled. Did he smell the fresh blood in her hand? She needed another few seconds.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Della lift the marble Venus from the wall recess, her mouth now set in grim determination.

Lucien laughed. “Your warnings are feeble words. Watch how I, an eternal being, truly
takes
his food.” His mouth opened wide, his canine teeth grew into long fangs. Strings of saliva hung glistening from the tips. He snarled like a rabid animal and leaped at Della. She grunted and swung the statuette, catching him on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her legs. He dragged her from the steps to the floor.

Della’s fingers clutched at his hair and pulled. Lucien slapped her hands away and slid up to reach her neck.

Quickly, Rita sliced into her other palm and dropped the slippery knife to the floor.

Della’s flailing arms beat at Lucien’s back, her screams muffled. He had her pinned beneath him on the rug, one hand yanking a fist-full of hair to hold her exposed neck steady.

Rita clenched her fingers around the crystal and tugged. The chain snapped free. The amulet was coated slick with her Roma blood. She ran and lunged onto Lucien’s broad back. Rita wrapped her hands around his head from behind and went for his eyes. She dug the bloodied crystal into his right eye while she smeared his other eye socket with her wounded palm.

Lucien’s shriek rang through the room. The melting pulp of his eyeball sent a sick smell of putrid flesh into her nostrils. He thrashed wildly, rolled away from her and Della, and lay on his back. His hand half covered the empty hole where his eye had once been. Gray ash oozed from between his fingers. His screaming agony gave her a heady rush, a taste of revenge for all the pain he had caused. And she wanted more.
 

Della coughed and reached for the statuette. She got to her knees, and with a crazed gleam in her eyes, began pounding Lucien over the head. “You bastard,” she sobbed. Lucien’s skull crunched. “You no good son of bitch, you don’t never mess with Della.”

Lucien’s half screams, half moans, spurred Rita on. She rubbed her palms together again, coating the crystal with more of her blood. She pressed the crystal flat against his chest and put her weight behind it. Black ash spit into the air. Rita’s hands sank into his body, passing first through jagged rib bones, a rock-like heart, and through his spine to the carpet beneath. More ash flowed from his body.

“Fuckin’ freak.”
Della pounded at his face, tears tracking down her smooth cheeks. The cracking bones of Lucien’s fingers, nose, and cheeks sounded like dead branches snapping off trees.

Gurgling sobs erupted from Lucien’s throat. His legs began to twitch erratically.

Lips pressed tight, Rita repeated the ritual of rubbing the amulet in her bloodied hands, and then pressing the crystal into his stomach, his legs. A black cloud rose from each part of his body that she pushed through and dissolved into gray, lumpy ash.

“Enough! He
gone.”
The booming voice penetrated Rita’s furious haze. Dragus hauled Rita to her feet. “Look at Lucien.
It over.”

Uncle Dragus took the statuette out of Della’s hands and threw it on the floor. He picked Della up and carried her to the couch. The manic look remained in her eyes.

While they watched, each part of Lucien’s body continued to crumble into a heap of ashes.

Uncle Dragus’s led Rita to sit beside Della, and all three stared at the pile of filth on the carpet.

Uncle was the first to move. He went to the kitchen and brought two clean dishcloths to wrap around Rita’s hands.

“Ma didn’t have to die.” Rita’s shoulders shook with a sob.

“Think, Rita.
Sister know
she will die soon. Like old story, when she
pass
to next life by her choice, power go to other in family. It
come
to you, not me. She
live
on now, with ancestors in amulet. To always help blood line.” Uncle grabbed her arms. “You understand?”

“I…I think so.”

“Come we fix hands better.”

Rita looked at Della. “You okay?”

Della nodded, eyes still wide, staring at the mess on the carpet.