WeavingDestinyebook (25 page)

“Man, you scared me.”  His look changed from surprise to concern as his eyes took me in.  He wiped his hands on the rag and walked towards me.  “Are you okay, darlin’? You have some kinda accident or something?”

“No, I’m okay,” I whispered, my brain clouding over.  It was hard to hear him over the smell of pizza.  It was like he had bathed in it.

“Well, you’re all muddy and bloody.  Did somebody hurt you?” he asked, taking a step closer.

I felt a sharp pain in my mouth and howled.  My teeth were extending, pushing through the gums.  This wasn’t possible.  I threw my hands over my mouth and whimpered. 

He rushed over, dropped his rag, and grabbed my arms.

“Hang on, honey, let’s get you to the house.  We need to call you an ambulance.”  He caught me around the waist as my knees gave out and caught me before I sank to the floor.  My arms snaked around his neck and I laid my head on his shoulder.  The smell of food was so strong now I couldn’t take it any longer.  It was the man. It had to be the man.  I just wanted a little taste.  I was so hungry.

“Come on, I guess I’ll have to carry you.”  He half-dragged me towards the open garage door. 

I took one last whiff of his intoxicating scent and I lurched forward, latching onto his neck.  My teeth sunk into his skin, like it was nothing more than a slice of bread.  He gasped, caught off-guard by the bite, and attempted to pull away.

“What...what are you doing?” he asked.  My arms were locked around his neck of their own volition.

“I’m just really hungry.”  I pulled my head back from his neck and looked deep into his eyes.  “Don’t move.” 

His eyes glazed over.

“Okay,” he said, staring off into space.

I sunk my teeth back into his neck, and all of the flavors I had smelled spilled down my throat in one glorious smorgasbord.  Every meal my mother had ever made filled my stomach, the warmth of it spread throughout my body.  And then it stopped. 

The man slumped over in my arms, empty.

Startled, I gently laid him down on the garage floor.  What the hell?  This was so not good.

“Harold?”  A voice yelled from the back door of the house.  “Are you all right out there?” 

I jumped, hiding myself behind the closed garage door.  I looked down again.  Harold appeared to be sleeping on the floor, but I knew better.  He didn’t smell like pizza anymore.  On his throat were two bloody puncture wounds.

“Harold!”  The woman shouted again and the back door slammed shut. 

I held my breath as her footsteps padded across the driveway. 

“Harold, I swear, you never listen when I call you.  Harold?”  She gasped, finally seeing him on the floor of the garage.  “Oh my Lord, Harold, what happened?  Can you hear me, Harold?”

She knelt down on the ground and slapped his face.  Her eyes caught on the puncture marks.  “What is this?  Harold!”  

I stepped out of the shadows, and she jumped, pressing one hand to her heart.

“What did you do to my husband?”  She shrieked, still holding his hands.  She smelled like freshly-baked muffins.  Banana nut. 

 “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” 

The silver streaks in her dark hair glinted in the garage light.  Her red and blue plaid flannel pajamas were faded and worn.  I took a step closer.

“You…you stay right where you are.”  Her voice shook.  “I’m calling the police.”  She rose to her feet, trembling, and walked to a phone above the workbench.

In a flash, I was by her side.  I grabbed her arm and whipped her around.  She screamed and tried to hit me but I stopped her hand with one quick motion. 

Her eyes landed on mine and she stopped struggling.

“Your eyes, they’re so beautiful,” she said. 

“Please don’t call.”  I begged with my eyes. 

“I won’t call,” she mumbled.

The smell of muffins washed over me again, causing my mouth to water.  No, no, no!  Not again.  My mouth hurt much less this time when my new, sharp teeth slid down.  I found myself drawn to her throat, just as I had been to Harold’s.  My teeth sank into her neck, the taste of muffins splashing into my mouth.  I drank from her until she too collapsed in my arms.  The fog in my brain cleared again, and I looked down in horror at the limp woman.  I choked back a sob and tears pooled in my eyes, overflowing and spilling down my cheeks. 

Had I really killed three people in one night?

Until I figured that out, I needed to get as far away from here as possible.  And I needed to avoid people.  I didn’t want this to happen again.  I dragged the woman across the garage and laid her next to Harold.  I linked their arms together.  I didn’t know them, but I thought they might want to be together wherever they were headed.  I stepped out of the garage and pulled the door closed, blocking out the macabre scene.  I prayed there was no one left in the house. 

I remembered I was still wearing the bloodied and torn Homecoming dress.  My fingers found clumps of dirt and leaves in my hair from my graveyard and forest exploits.   I needed some clothes and a shower, or I’d never make it to wherever I was going.  I headed towards the back door.  I opened it and sniffed.  No people, just a cat. 

I padded through the house, feeling like I didn’t belong there.  There was a teakettle whistling on the stove, which I turned off as I walked by.  No need for the house to burn down.  I found a staircase and climbed upstairs, stopping by the first bedroom.  It must have been their bedroom.  I flipped the light switch on and walked around the bed.

A neatly-made bed with one side turned down waited patiently for an owner who wouldn’t be coming back.  A paperback romance novel with dog-eared pages lay on the nightstand.  I ran my fingers over the bedspread as I walked towards the open closet.  I rummaged through the old lady clothes until I found something suitable.  Sweatpants and a tee-shirt with a college logo on it.  A pair of clog-style slippers would have to complete the outfit since my feet were too big to fit in the woman’s shoes. 

I stepped into a spotless bathroom and stopped to glance at myself in the mirror.  My long, dark hair hung in dirty clumps around my face, which, like the rest of my body, was streaked with mud and blood.  My eyes glittered in the light.  There were so many more facets, like gemstones

I inspected my arms again, finding no evidence that they had been torn to shreds by splintered wood less than an hour earlier.  My eyes fell on a razor lying on the edge of the bathtub.  I picked it up and gently touched it to my skin but pulled it away before it could cut me.  I didn’t really want to do it, but I had to see it for myself. 

I buried my head in my hands, eyes wet with tears I hadn’t noticed.  There was only one way to do this.  It was like ripping off a Band-Aid, only the exact opposite.  With a quick move, I sliced the skin on my arm.  I bit my lip, trying not to cry out.  The blood trickled out slowly, a few drops plopping onto the white tiles below before the cut started to heal.  The skin fused back together, changing from red, to a light purple, the color of an old bruise, and then shifting back to a light brown.  It disappeared.  No trace, no scar.

My mouth was smeared with dried blood.  My hands shook as I gingerly touched my lips, still not fully believing what I had done earlier.  I thought about my teeth and how they’d extended at the smell of all that glorious food.  I could feel them slide out again and opened my mouth, wanting to see for myself.

Razor sharp fangs replaced my canine teeth.  I touched one with my tongue, and it drew blood.  My own blood didn’t smell like cupcakes; it smelled wrong, off, not unlike the guy in the woods.

No.

This couldn’t be possible.  I stared again, eyes sparkling, fangs out. 

This creature that stood before me was just a myth.  A bedtime story or the lead character in a teen romance novel.  Not me, not here in the middle of Illinois.  I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that when I opened them I would awaken from this awful dream.

I opened them again.  I stood before the mirror—horrible and magnificent.

I was a vampire.

Anathema (Excerpt)

Megg Jensen

Chapter One

My fifteenth birthday. My greatest fear. Funny how my life as a slave made the two synonymous. Even though I wished I could sleep through the day, hoping such an act would make the inevitable impossible, I woke up just like I did every morning. But today was different.

It wasn’t the icy draft tickling my toes under the mouse-nibbled blanket that roused me from sleep. Nor was it the chatter of the thirty or so other female slaves, who shared the sleeping chamber with me, prepping for their morning chores. No, I woke up knowing something was quite wrong because I didn’t hear my best friend’s snores. Like the other slaves, I shared a bed and today Ivy was curiously silent.

Without lifting my cheek from the pillow, I threw my left arm backward, reaching out for Ivy. Instead of thumping her on the head, the pillow caught my hand. I rolled over, expecting to see the sheets already tucked in, but instead I was surprised by a rumpled mess.

Ivy wasn’t usually up first, but she always made sure her side of the bed was neat if she was. Our overseer, Ranee could punish us from across the room with just a flick her wrist, leaving small welts on our backs if we didn’t keep our bunks clean. One of the magically gifted, she kept us in line when our masters weren’t around. Ranee loved thinking she was better than the rest of us because she was gifted and we weren’t.

I glanced around the room, but didn’t see Ivy. The other female slaves were getting dressed and shaving each other’s heads, just like they did every morning, but still there was no sign of her. Maybe she was up early getting a surprise ready for my fifteenth birthday today, anything to mask the agony our master had planned for me.

Eyeing the sheets, I sighed and reached down to tuck them in. Making the bed was a task I hated and wasn’t very good at. I grumbled under my breath as I yanked the sheets tight. A small object flew through the air, landed on the floor with a metallic ping and rolled under the bed.

I paused, my hands still grasping the edge of the sheet. What was that? My heart pounded. The mysterious object combined with Ivy’s absence caught me off guard. I had heard the rumors. What slave hadn’t? It was the moment we longed for and the moment we feared. My hands shook as I wondered if her early exit this morning hadn’t been her idea.

“Reychel,” Ranee yelled from across the room, “get that bed made quickly. They’re expecting you in the kitchen. Take an example from Ivy and try getting up early for once.”

I nodded, dropping to the floor.
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be,
I repeated to myself. I reached under the bed, where my fingers bumped the rough edge of the object. It was too thick to be currency, but too small to be a button.

“It couldn’t be,” I whispered.

My fingertips tickled the edge of it and I reached a little further until my fingernails scraped the top.

I dragged the metallic thing along the floor, barely grasping it with my fingertips. I prayed to Eloh that it wasn’t what I feared it was.

“What’s going on?” Ella, who slept in the bed next to us, popped her head up off the pillow. I had thought she was still asleep. “You drop something under the bed? Need help? I’m a little smaller than you and can slide underneath.”

Normally Ella’s company would be a good distraction in the morning, but the new girl was too eager to make friends and today I didn’t want to deal with her. I shook my head, hoping she would go away. Right now I needed to be alone. I slipped the object closer until I could see my hand on the floor, peeking out from under the bed. I palmed it before anyone, myself included, could see what it was. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ella inching closer.

“Ivy must have gotten up really early this morning. I didn’t see her leave. Did you?” Ella glanced at Ivy’s empty side of the bed.

I shook my head again, hoping Ella would get the hint. Unfortunately nothing short of a rude comment would turn the new slave girl away. Hoping there was nothing to hide, that the metallic item I felt under my palm wasn’t anything more than a piece of trash, I pulled my fist tight and stood up.

“What is it?” Ella asked, peering at my hand. She reached out, but I jerked my hand away, hiding it behind my back.

“Nothing.” I shrugged my shoulders, trying to avoid looking concerned.

“Ivy’s up earlier than normal. You’re being secretive.” Ella paused, her strawberry eyebrows arching. “It’s not a token, or is it?”

“Shh.” I grabbed her by the arm with my free hand. I glanced around the room, hoping no one heard her. Luci yanked her dress over her head, wiggling to pull it over her ever-widening hips. Geannie fought with Terah over an apron. Everyone seemed enveloped in their own dramas, at least enough to ignore mine.

I pulled Ella down on my bed next to me. We sat quietly, both of us staring at my fist. My palm hurt as my fingernails dug into my skin. I was afraid to open my hand. Maybe if I squeezed hard enough it would disappear, just like the coins Ian, my master’s servant and fool, would lose and magically find behind someone’s ear.

“You need to look,” Ella said. She patted the back of my hand. It didn’t reassure me.

But I knew she was right. If I sat here much longer, Ranee would punish me. It wasn’t going to disappear, no matter how much I willed it gone. I took a deep breath.

I opened my fist and looked at it. The token. I held my breath and closed my eyes, not willing to believe what lay in my hand, the emblem left behind every time a slave was kidnapped. We didn’t know who or why but for years, intermittent reports had popped up all over the kingdom of slaves disappearing at all hours with only the token left behind.

There were rumors, of course. Some people thought the Sons of Silence, a band of outlaws, kidnapped slaves simply to anger the local authority. Others believed in the old tales and prophesy of a savior freeing slaves until an army large enough to overthrow the Malborn was built. While there were more theories than kidnapped slaves, it hadn’t affected me. Until this morning.