"Liothide"
by J.L. Michaelsonn
Disclaimer: All Night World characters (if any used) and principles belong to L.J. Smith and whoever
else. If you read "Born On Saturday, Got Buried On Sunday" there's a little reference to it in this fic.
: - ) My characters: Aaron Glasey, Jo Glasey, Liothide, Chloë Glasey, Liza Harman,
Etienne, etc . . . belong to me. I think this story resembles Spellbinder or Soulmate or Dark Angel,
with a heavy dose of The Witching Hour by Anne Rice (which i'm in the process of reading right now).
But, anyway, please read on. . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He moved easily through the narrow path in the northern New Hampshire woods, listening
to the insects singing in his ears and all through the tree branches. The coniferous and deciduous
trees grew wildly all around him. A sugar maple waved its leaves at him in the light summer breeze.
An oak stood tall and watchful from between clusters of white birch, the papery bark peeling away
in thin layers. A spruce brushed his knee with its needles. From the trails, the world around him
was all green and bright with sunshine. The air was fresh and sweet, scented of rich, moist earth
and dewy vegetation.
He had taken up a thick, five-foot-long straight stick and used his pocket knife to strip
the bark at one end. He gripped this end firmly in his strong, well-made left hand, using it to keep
his swift, steady pace on the rough wooded hiking trail.
He paused, feeling uneasy at once. Was there someone watching me? he wondered,
throwing glances to his left, right. Yes, that was it. There were eyes upon him. And he didn't
like the sensation of being watched. Where—?
A voice echoed eerily as it shrilled, "Aaron!"
Aaron Glasey sighed; he recognized the nearby call of his fifteen-year-old sister. Well,
back into civilization, he throught wryly.
"Coming, Jo!"
In a small clearing, Aaron caught sight of his sister, Josephine. She was about four inches
shorter than he, and more of a city-slicker than his Aunt Geri, who lived in New York City, and
had a thick Brooklyn accent. Jo hated nothing more than being outdoors. She was also a bit of
a couch potato, who spent her days happily in front of a TV or on the computer.
Josephine had pale blond tresses, lighter than Aaron's dark gold hair, which he normally
wore spiked and swept up in the front with gel. At that moment, his hair was dishelved carelessly,
amnd he smiled mischievously at Jo, who glared impatiently with her icy blue eyes, paler than
Aaron's teals. Their grandmother had once said Aaron had eyes like ocean water, a deep green-
blue, sometimes like the shallow water under the pier at the beach, or like the seas in the photographs
Mom and Dad brougt back from their vacation in the Caribbean.
He focused his eyes now on Jo, who snapped, "Well, supper's ready, and I'M not staying
'round here all day!"
Aaron just grinned, and Jo smiled back. He could always tell when she was serious,
and when she was sarcastic. It seemed no one else could tell when Jo was joking. Though
he was two years older than her, they got along well, their banter more playful than malicious.
Through Aaron's amateur-blazed trail bewteen the bushes connecting his backyard to
the deeper woods, they walked. Jo stomped on the ground with her chunky, high-heeled shoes.
"What is up with you and wandering around in the woods?" she teased.
They emerged onto neatly-trimmed, healthy green grass. Their mother was a professional
gardener, proved by the lush, beautiful garden of white lilies, purple rhododendrons, and orange
marigolds, among countless other blossoms near the vegetable sector full of herbs, tomatoes,
cucumbers, and strawberries.
"I don't know," Aaron answered. "When I'm in the forest, I feel like I'm connecting to
something ancient and vast, like when I look out over the sea. You know, being part of nature—"
"If I wanted nature, I'd watch 'National Geographic Explorer,' " Jo said smartly, grabbing
his arm to show she was kidding.
He chuckled, carrying his hiking staff, as they set out cautiously across the prim lawn.
Inside, Aaron set his staff against the foyer wall, made of satiny knotty pine. Jo lingered there,
examining her shoes critically. He kicked off his worn hiking boots and crashed up the taupe-
carpeted stairs, and down a short corridor into the dining room.
"Hi, Mom," he greeted brightly, taking a large platter of deliciously-perfumed chicken
from her and set it on the table.
"Hi, Aaron," she said pleasantly. Aaron's mother was a polished, kind, and intelligent
woman, with bark-brown-hair and eyes green as a spring birch leaf in the sunlight.
"Where's Dad?"asked Aaron.
"At work. He's in charge of a new merger."
Aaron's father was a very Nordic man, tall, blond, and handsome. He was an executive
in a big communications corporation, and, though caring, always seemed to be busy. He
checked stocks online, or typed reports or contemplated a new proposal. Aaron loved his father,
but sometimes he secretly wished for a typical outdoorsman like his friends had. Around town,
all the middle-aged men were simple, hardworking, middle-class hunters and fishermen and
campers. And Aaron really enjoyed those activities.
But it was okay. His parents gave him everything material he could ever want. He
helped his mother set the table, and said, "That's cool. Hey, can I go to the carnival tonight?"
The summer carnival came every year in early July, right before and during Independence
Day. It was full of rides, games, and junk food: candy, fried dough, french fries, onion rings, and
more. It had wrapped up getting ready this morning.
"Sure," his mother said agreeably. "But, right now let's eat!"
After dinner, Aaron and Jo helped wash the dishes. Then, Aaron went down the steps,
yanked his tan jacket over his green Eastern Mountain Sports T-shirt and blue denim shorts, and
pulled his boots back on.
Outside, the air was much cooler, now that the sun was fading behind the Appalachians.
In the garage, he got in his gunmetal-colored Jeep Wrangler with the top off. When it rumbled to life,
the implanted CD player blared, "Festival Song" by Good Charotte. He drove to the Common Park,
where it was already bustling with summer activity.
Aaron parked, and locked it, then turned to face the crowd walking around in the soft, lilting
evening air. Again, a breeze rustled through Aaron's hair and whipped his jacket around.
Suddenly, a face in the cloud of people caught his attention.
It was a girl, aboutt seventeen, his own age, with a strange, sad expression. She was
astonishingly beautiful, however . . .
Her face was pale and waxy, like a white candle lit from within, sculpted like a Renaissance
Venus. She had long, rippling dark hair and royal blue eyes, darker in color than Jo's, more like
sapphire than ice. Crystal tears glittered in the flashing lights, sparkling tears in her sparkling eyes.
She captured his gaze, then seemed to fade back into the crowd.
Aaron had frozen, but his brain kicked back in, and he moved quickly, unobtrusively,
into the flood of bodies. When he stood where she had been, he looked around in confusion.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Puzzled deeply, he turned around to see his cousin Chloë, from his father's brother.
Aaron and Chloë always had fun together at family reunions, hanging out and talking about
insignificant stuff no one else would. She was as Nordic as his father, blond, but with dark hazel
eyes, and the same age as Aaron. She waved, and moved through the crowd to stand before him.
"Hey, Aaron," she greeted, smiling.
"Hey, Chloë." He gave her a quick hug. She grew serious, and opened her mouth to say
something, then—
"Merry meet, Chloë," called a girl as she passed, purple-eyed, wearing a baby-doll T-shirt
with a black flower on it. From what Aaron knew of flora from his mother, he guessed it was a dahlia.
"Merry meet," she called back rather absently. Then, "Aaron, I need to speak with you.
Privately."
"Um, okay," he said, and they went to his Jeep and drove a short distance to a side street,
where Chloë pointed to a small shop, and said, "Turn here."
Aaron parked neatly, and Chloë led him into the shop, which was called The Willow
Roots. Strange. Inside, it was a health food store, filled with vitamins, herb supplements, and
teas. It was fairly small, and had a last shelf of semiprecious stones and weird-looking items.
Wax figurines . . . Something stirred in his mind. A flash of holding a wax figurine, doing something
to it . . .
But Aaron's mind suddenly cleared of the vague image. And Chloë was leading him into a back
room. This looked a lot like a library. So many shelves of leatherbound books, each with a gold-leaf
inscription. Aaron strained in the darkness to make out a word on the largest volume, "Harman."
"Chloë, what's going on?" he demanded softly, sitting down on a folding metal chair.
She paused, taking a seat of her own on an identical chair. "Aaron, you're my cousin.
I'm not going to lie to you anymore."
"Lie?" He was taken aback. "Chlo—"
"Just listen for a minute." She made a patient gesture. "Aaron, you know our family has a
long history. We go back hundreds of years. The Glaseys are very prominent—"
Aaron listened, clearly annoyed and a little bored. "Chloë, I—"
"—in witch history."
Startled, he sat back. "There's no such thing as witches," he stated flatly.
Chloë's hazel eyes semed to gleam. "Oh, yes, there are. You're looking at one. And if you
had a mirror, you'd be seeing another."
"Chloë, is this some kind of a joke?" But even as he spoke, his special people sense told
him she was not. She was deadly serious.
She breathed, "See? You can feel it. That's one of your psychic powers, Aaron. Most of our
family has this 'special sense.' I have it, you have it, and your Uncle Uriel has it, and so does your father."
"My father?" But Aaron could see it now. It was all so clear. His father had always known what
his children wanted at Christmastime, even if they didn't drop any hints; he could tell when they lied, no
matter how well it was concealed; God, Jo's friends said he could read their minds!
"Yes," said Chloë quietly. She read it right off of him. "And Uncle Gabriel turned against his
powers in college, so that's why he immersed himself in business, because he can see the deals before
they're made. He could make a fortune just in stocks.
"But, Aaron, you're the subject at hand. You're a witch, too. Our last name, Glasey, is short
for "Glance-and-see," which means we're seers."
Aaron was in total shock. His family was all witches?
"Here." Chloë touched his arm. He shook off the shock and looked up at her as she
rose gracefully, and withdrew a book from the shelf. Yes, that was their surname.
She sat back down, pulling her chair closer to him. She opened it, showing him the parchment
pages, utterly ancient. Slanted, fancy handwriting listed names and dates. The ink had faded to a soft
sepia brown. "See here, the first witch of our family was Adrien John Glasey. He was born of a noble
Englishman and a young French girl; she'd been descended of the Harmans."
"Harmans?" Aaron asked quizzically. He'd heard that before, but couldn't remember where.
Chloë explained. "The Harmans are the most famous and powerful of all the witch dynasties.
They actually founded the Night World, a secret organization of us witches, vampires and shapeshifters."
Aaron said nothing.
Mildly, his cousin added, "You don't seem surprised at all this."
No, I don't, he realized. "Why bother not believing something I know is true. You're right. I
can tell what's the truth."
She nodded. He looked at the dates next to Adrien's name: 1566-1591.
Chloë nodded. "Adrien died young. He was only twenty-five. But the powers passed on to
his infant son, Jules."
Aaron shifted. "It's getting late. My mom will have a fit if I come home too late."
"All right. But, Aaron, come back here tomorow afternoon. I have some things to show you."
He nodded, and left.
Back at his house, his mother was asleep. She always went to bed early when his father
wasn't home. And Josephine had gone to sleep over at a friend's house. So Aaron crept silently
down the corridor, and into his messy room. He didn't bother to turn on a light, and flopped down onto
his bed. But before he could move, a paralyzing sleep siezed him.
Aaron shut his eyes wearily. And he dreamed.
Adrien Glasey sat down on a log, and looked around him.
He was seventeen, and was staying at a summer circle gathering in Renaissance France.
He felt the sun on his face, warming his dark blond hair. The forest was so relaxing.
"Monsieur Glasey!" called a voice. It was his Circle Twilight friend, Liza. She was
a pretty girl, a year younger than he, a true Harman, with starry fair hair and violet eyes.
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," he greeted as she came into the clearing, wearing a witch
dress, loose and free, of white linen.
"Ah, Monsieur Glasey. We must vacate this area. Circle Midnight is fast approaching to
cast a sacred circle."
He sighed, regretfully giving up his perfect spot. Rustling of branches came, and the
two his behind some dense bushes. Adrien watched intently as figure in black robes walked
single file into the clearing. All had their hoods drawn, heads bowed.
The leader stopped, and pushed his hood back, revealing it to be Etienne, a dark,
Italian man, with hard black eyes. All the followers did the same, throwing back their hoods.
They all stared solemnly.
All but one. She gazed around at the trees and the sky, breathing the air deeply.
Adrien held his breath. She was more glorious than Botticelli's Venus, with long, flowing
hair, almost black, but gleaming with rich umber, and the fairest complexion Adrien had
ever seen.
Etienne glared at her. "Liothide!"
She started, and stood straight, staring blank as all the others. He commanded,
"Harman, Morigan, draw the circle!"
Liza tugged at Adrien, and they made their escape.
That night, Adrien didn't sleep, as he lay on the bed. He took out his finest lantern,
lit the candle inside, and set out into the woods. With his directional sense guiding him, he found
the spot, warm with spiritual energy. He raised the light, peering around.
A twig snapped behind him. He turned around to see her.
She looked hauntingly beautiful so close to him. Her hair was like silk, and he noticed her
eyes were bright sapphire blue.
She hissed softly, "Do you speak English?"
"Yes, my father is English." He gestured for her to sit down on the log as he did so.
She sat gracefully, smiling shyly at him. "I feel like I know you."
"I'm Adrien Glasey."
"I'm Au—um, call me Liothide." She hesitated.
"D'accord. You're Circle Midnight, n'est pas?"
She chuckled airily. "Oui. Mais my mother insisted I join. It's a family tradition. And—"
"And what?" he asked gently.
"And I wanted so much to join Circle Twilight. Etienne is so cruel—" She broke off,
rubbing her arms. Adrien saw healing gashes on her delicate alabastrine skin.
"Are you all right?" He leaned over. "Those scars—"
"No," she cried, "I can't—"
And Adrien carefully clasped her bare arm.
Contact. Was it a bewitching?
(No.) Liothide's throughts were gentle, spoken with the voice of an angel.
(Etienne—hurt you,) Adrien thought, anger and protectiveness surging through him.
He saw flashes of pain, terrible pain, as Etienne lashed her, because she was not evil.
She wasn't evil. He felt the ring of truth in that.
(He wants me to be—something I cannot.)
(You're so beautiful the way you are.)
Fear jostled her. (I—I shouldn't be here.)
(No, Liothide. Feel it. You belong here.)
(NO! Etienne will be so furious!)
(Li—) What was her real name? He searched for it. There it was! A—
(Please, let me go!) And she ran, back through the trail to the Midnight house. Adrien sat,
anguished, watching her black cloak fly behind her. Was there a world anymore?
And then she screamed.
Aaron jerked awake.
What WAS that? His brain raced. Yes, he was Aaron Azriel Glasey, seventeen years old,
in the year 2001, in New Hampshire. He was laying on his unmade bed in his clothes from yesterday,
a T-shirt and shorts.
What was yesterday? He went for a hike, he ate supper, he found Chloë—
His cousin, telling him the most insane story he could think of. Witches? She was kidding,
had to be.
But he knew she was telling the truth. Just like Adrien, he could feel it.
His ancestor. But Aaron seemed to know him. Adrien's mother had died that spring, from a
strange disease. He'd loved the deep forests, the singing of birds . . .
And that mysterious girl. Liothide.
Who was she? Aaron had to know.
It was very early. The sun was barely rising. But Aaron slipped out, taking his hiking staff with
him. He pushed through the bushes, and moved easily, listening to the music of robins and jays. He needed
some time to be alone. Alone with the woods. He came upon the clearing where Jo had found him yesterday.
Inexplicably, there was a log sitting there in the middle. He froze, trying to hold back the images from his
dream.
Again, he felt like he was being watched.
"Jo?" he called.
A twig snapped. He whirled around.
And found himself face-to-face with that face he'd seen in the crowd at the carnival.
Her blue eyes were wide, her expression blank. Just like at the carnival. But this time, he
recognized her.
"Liothide," he whispered. He extended his hand, reaching out for her.
Tentatively, she did the same.
But just before they would have touched, she vanished.
After he showered, dressed in khaki shorts, a gray T-shirt, and his red fleece vest, and fixed
his hair, Aaron yelled to his mother, in the garden, and took the Jeep back to the Willow Roots.
An old lady was reading a novel at the cashier. She smiled at him, and nodded when he
walked to the back door to the archives.
In the dusty old room, he was alone. Aaron glanced at the shelves, searching . . .
There! One of the very oldest books, rather slim. Marked, "Liothide."
He opened it furtively. The first name listed was very strange. Egyptian, he thought.
The dates marked BC. No, the year he was looking for was 1583. Come on, some on . . .
"Aaron." He spun, dropping the book. It was Chloë.
"You startled me."
"Are you okay? You seem . . . on edge this afternoon."
"Yeah. Listen, I had a weird dream last night—"
"Yes?"
"I . . . " He felt ridiculuous. Reincarnation?
"Go on," she said gently.
He changed his mind. "Well, do you have a picture of Adrien?"
She brightened. "Yes. He had an artist paint his portrait on his seventeenth birthday.
It's back here, in the storeroom."
She led him farther back, into a small, dark room, filled with antique artifacts. In the very back she
stopped. She shined her flashlight on the wall. And gasped.
Aaron smiled grimly. Just as he suspected. On the wall was a large oil painting in a gilded
wooded frame. It was a boy, wearing old-fashioned tunics and leggings, made of fine materials.
Crimson silk, orchid velvet, all with gold trimmings. But it wa the boy himself that took Chloë's breath away.
He was tall, with a light tan, and had long, dark gold hair that curled at the ends, and flashing
teal eyes. He wore an expression of noble strength.
But his face looked exactly like Aaron's.
"Goddess," Chloë whispered.
Aaron said simply, "I was Adrien. I had a dream that I was him, and I know it was real."
"But, Aaron—"
"No, listen. Can you trace our genealogy?"
"Yeah. It goes in a straight line from Adrien to you. Our family is most noted for having the
power go to its male heirs. I'm just a fault."
"Is that why Grandfather Nathaniel is insane?"
Nathaniel Glasey was locked away in an asylum. He raved about a girl haunting him.
"I think Grandfather suffered from visions," Chloë answered.
Aaron nodded. "And now I've got it. Do you know anything about the Liothide family?"
She shook her head. "Not much. All I know is the name: 'Light-of-the-other-side.'
And they're a dead family."
"Dead?" Aaron felt dizzy a moment. He saw flashing teeth, and felt pain in his throat.
"Yes, the last heir died in 1583."
1583. THE year!
"Oh, God." Aaron sat heavily on an old leather chair. The horrible sleep invaded his
consciousness.
Adrien ran as fast as he could, running toward the piercing sound of Liothide's scream.
"No, no! Etienne, stop! ADRIEN!!"
He came upon them, Liothide dangling helplessly in Etienne's grasp, his mout buried in her
neck. He raised his head, glaring with eyes that reflected the lanern's light.
Vampire. Etienne was a vampire! Blood was dripping from Liothide's delicate neck. She
wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. Was she dead?
Adrien tried to fight him. But he just didn't have any fighting skill. Etienne easily threw him off, and
carried Liothide's limp body away, her blue eyes staring over his shoulder at Adrien.
It was a week later when Adrien saw her again. He'd moved into a grand, private chamber
within the main château. It was luxurious and lovely, but seeing the opulance just made Adrien feel
empty. It was a stormy night, dark and dull, with thunder mumbling softly in the distance.
The French doors that opened to the balcony swung open. Adrien shot up from his bed, and
leaped out to close them, when Liothide appeared. She climbed up the rails, and stood before him.
"Liothide?" He held her close, feeling the contact from her cold flesh that nevertheless
warmed him. She had her arms around him tightly.
"Bonsoir, Adrien." He stared at her, noticing a difference. In a flash of lightning, he saw
the blood on her lips, and how her beauty was multiplied. His lips parted, as if to say something, but
instead he just kissed her, feeling the fangs in her mouth, but losing himself in the softness of her lips.
She tilted his head back and to the side, and bit. Adrien obeyed to her every touch. And she drank.
In her mind, Adrien saw only love.
Love and joy as she cut her own throat for him. He took her blood in, savoring the taste
of her. It was sweet, like honey and milk, and brought a sense of peace.
They clung tenderly to each other for several moments, cloaked in love and wonder. Adrien
wanted it to last forever.
(It cannot,) Liothide thought sadly. (Soon, you will die. Forty or so years, perhaps less.
As I am doomed to be immortal.)
(It doesn't matter. Time will stand still. As long as we're together.)
(Oh, Adrien, I love you.)
Adrien's door burst open.
A crowd of people, bearing torches, exposed Adrien and Liothide in harsh flickering firelight.
And a terrible cry issued, "Tuez la vampyre!"
She screamed, and jumped off the balcony, with Adrien behind her. He was determined
not to let her go again. Together, with their hands clasped, they ran throughth the woods, sensing
out a path to safety.
(There's a small cavern near here,) Liothide told him. With her mind, she showed him
where it was. Hurriedly, they pushed through the brambles and dead trees that blocked their path.
Like two deer, running from vermin hunters. He smelled the smoke from their torches, heard their
hateful cries. Something whistled through the air. He ignored it and ran beside Liothide, as she
said, "There's the cavern."
Then she let out a gutteral cry. Adrien stared in horror as he saw a crude wooden arrow
protruding from her back. She limped, and he picked her up and carried her to a clearing in front
of the cave.
"Liothide," he whispered hoarsely.
She was shaking with fear and regret and pain. Ah, such wretched pain. But she buried her
face into his hair and said, "I'll be with you . . . always."
Then she died. He laid her down on her side, and stood crying silently, holding the backs of
his arms, knowing he'd lost his soulmate. They were destined to be together . . . but she was dead.
And when the tochbearers arrived, they set her mummified body on fire, burning her shining
dark hair and long black cloak to ashes, while they screamed in triumph. In the crowd, Adrien saw
Liza, with tears standing still in her eyes. So she knew. No one else did.
Adrien Glasey was seduced by an evil vampiress, said a woman loudly. Thank the Goddess
that she's dead.
Aaron woke up. Chloë sat on the floor beside him. When he began to stir, she put her hand on
his arm. "Aaron, are you okay?"
He groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples. "I have a headache . . . Chlo, did you HEAR all
that?"
She shook her head. So he told her, in great detail, all that was revealed to him in his dreams.
All about France in 1583, and the château where he'd been staying, and Liothide. Etienne, the woods.
Death.
She was wide-eyed when he finished. "And now there's a girl following you around that looks
exactly like Liothide? Exactly like the ghost that Grandfather Nathaniel claims to see?"
"Yeah," he said, rubbing his arm. Goosebumps on them. "I don't know what she wants."
"I think I do," said Chloë. "If this is the spirit of Liothide, well, she's trapped, you see."
"Trapped?"
"Yes. The soulmate bond and the exchange of blood combined with her early, violent death
resulted in her being bound to the male Glasey heirs. I've never seen her, obviously. But you're the
latest male heir, so you've inherited the power, the looks, AND Liothide from Adrien Glasey. What am I
saying? You ARE Adrien Glasey. And that means . . . you're her soulmate."
"WHAT?" Aaron yelped unpleasantly. "Oh no, I'm not. She's dead! I don't want a dead
girlfriend!"
"Aaron—"
"I don't want her!"
He took off.
Chloë watched as he left. Then she picked up the telephone and dialed. When a female voice
answered, she said, "Hello, Anni? Hi, it's me, Chloë. Emergency circle, now."
Aaron drove aimlessly, but he went by the busy fair, and heard a very familiar song.
" '--Caught by social evil . . . wasn't streetwise after all . . . was she there at all?'--"
sang a strong, male voice. It was "Pictures In The Mirror" by The Living End, a song Aaron liked.
He hesitated, not wanting to see Liothide again, but the song drew him in. He parked right next
to a lovely black BMW convertible.
When the band began "Roll On," he moved faster through the crowd before the public bandstand.
He stopped near the front to see a tall young man, maybe a year or so older than him. He looked
a lot like Gavin Rossdale, with curling dark brown hair and dark eyes. He riffed the electric guitar
just like Chris Cheney.
After the song was over, the concert was finished. The guitarist/singer
smiled and thanked the audience graciously. He had three silver hoops in each ear, and he wore a
black bowling shirt with a Jolly Roger (skull-and-crossbones) stitched over the left pocket. The band
split the money between them, a drummer, a guy who played the tall bass, and the lead singer.
The dark-haired boy bid them farewell, and put his electric guitar in a large case, jumped off the stage
and left. Before Aaron coud stop, he followed him.
The guy went to the Beemer, and loaded his instrument into the trunk. He turned around calmly
and faced Aaron. "Hello."
"Um, hi," Aaron said awkwardly. "You guys did a great job up there."
The guy smiled faintly. "Thanks. I'm Carrey."
"I'm Aaron."
"Nice to meet you. I'm not sticking around. I just needed some cash to get to Vegas."
"Vegas? You gonna be a lounge singer?"
He laughed. "No. But there're some people there my--uh--ex wanted me to meet with."
Aaron sensed something about the way Carrey had hesitated, almost like his voice had
cracked. "Well, I won't keep you any longer. It was nice to meet you," he said formally.
"Same here." Carrey looked at him, his eyes puzzled, then abruptly opened his door and got in.
He started the car, and drove away, playing "Dirty Man" by The Living End.
Aaron drove to the town forest. He quickly put the top up in case it rained, locked the doors,
and plunged into the trees. He jogged a while on the main trail, before he saw her.
It was Liothide, of that he was certain. She was standing absolutely still, her hair
unruffled by the swift breeze. But when her eyes slowly shifted to Aaron, her whole countenance brightened.
She said in her breathy, angelic voice, "My Aaron."
He noticed she wore a loose white gown, made of some flawless, smooth material.
Too perfect to be satin or silk. She looked like a lily.
She glided toward him, smiling. "I'm yours, my beloved."
He heard his own voice say, "My Liothide."
He hadn't said that! But how . . . ?
Who else could it be? he thought ironically. Who else but your own ancestor, Adrien?
"My Liothide, my love," the voice continued. Aaron's hand reached up and stroked her hair.
Aaron was shocked. She could be material? I thought she was but a spirit. But the touch sent
shivers down his spine. Like a dream, she was in his arms. Her flesh was clearly not flesh, however.
It was as if she was made of a pearly, white material, softer than stone, but anything but skin, muscle,
tissue, or bone. His heart overflowed with love that was a part of him.
She withdrew, looking shocked and wide-eyed. She spun, searching the trees. Her hair began to
move, like a strong wind had began to blow.
The air was completely still.
She screamed. It was horrible, just like when Etienne attacked her. Then she vanished into a
cloudly white mist, and blew away. Aaron followed it, deeper into the woods, off the trail, and through the
deeper forest. The mist stayed ahead, drawn by intangible forces.
Finally, Aaron saw it. A dozen teenage girls, all wearing white shifts, standing in a circle
of stones and burning incense, chanting. Chloë stepped forward and shouted, "Spirit and gods of the
north, hear us! Collect the earthbound spirit and soul of Aurelia Annwn Liothide, daughter of Hellewise.
We command you: Bring her essence now! So be it."
Then Aaron yelled, "Chloë, NO!"
She started, staring at him. But then, the mist was contained within the circle.
Another girl petite and violet-eyed, continued the spell. "Spirit and gods of the east,
hear us! Take—"
Aaron yelled again. "Stop! Don't do this!"
"—the spirit and soul of Aurelia Annwn Liothide, daughter of Hellewise, and punish her
for walking the earth. We command you: Do it now! So be it."
The mist let out a tortured screech. It seemed to writhe, and contract. Aaron cried,
"Can't you see?! You're hurting her! Aurelia!"
But the circle held strong. When Aaron said her first name, the mist collapsed into her
material form. She was once again the beautiful dark-haired girl. She was laying on the ground,
on her stomach, her face contorted in agony. She screamed again, but this time it was a young
woman's voice, not the howl of the wind. "ADRIEN!"
Another girl came forward. "Spirit and gods of the south, hear us! Open the way for
the spirit and soul of Aurelia Annwn Liothide, daughter of Hellewise, to cross through! We command
you: Show us the 'light-of-the-other-side'! So be it."
Aaron tried to run into the circle, but it was like an invisible wall. He couldn't reach her.
He pressed his hand against the wall, crying, saying, "I love you, Aurelia."
And her crystal-blue eyes opened. He felt a revealtion pass. That was it! If you
called a spirit by its name, you empowered them!
Aaron called hoarsely, "Aurelia Annwn Liothide! Rise up and defeat those who hurt you!
Aurelia Annwn Liothide! Use the strength of your love! Show them your own power as a witch!"
She stood, within the circle, just as a dark portal opened, as if a curtain had been drawn.
Inside was what looked like a hurricane, and Aaron heard the moans aand cries and curse of
lost souls.
"Aurelia Annwn Liothide, I love you. Prove to me how much you love me by ending this
ritual! RIGHT NOW!"
Those were the words she needed.
The last witch stepped forward and intoned, "Spirits and gods of the west, hear us!
Banish the spirit and soul of Aurelia Annwn Liothide, daughter of Hellewise to the other side!
We command you—Aaahhh!" she screamed as a violent gust of wind knocked her down.
Liothide had become mist again, showing rain down, that put out the burning incense. Instantly,
the portal disappeared, and the invisble wall disintergrated. The other witches ran away, pushed
onward by the same strong wind. Lightning cut the sky jaggedly, and thunder roared full of
untamed rage. The storm was the worst Aaron had ever seen, but he remained untouched.
He was dry and unafraid.
Soon, everyone was gone, all but Chloë. She stood at the center of the ruined
circle, unmoving. Aaron called to Liothide to subside the storm.
Instantly, the sun was out again. And a white mist hovered a few feet above Aaron's head.
"Chloë," he said softly.
"Hello, Aaron," she said bitterly.
"What was all that about?"
"You said—" she hiccuped. "That you didn't want HER around. So I called my friends up
to banish her to the other side, where she belongs."
"She belongs with me," Aaron said quietly.
"I'm going to be gone for a while. Tell my parents I'll be back eventually. Could you make
sure my father gets this message? I'm coming to grips with our family legacy."
He thought of Carrey, on his way to Las Vegas, and the way he'd said, "my ex."
Chloë nodded, tears in her eyes. "Blessed Be."
by J.L. Michaelsonn
Disclaimer: All Night World characters (if any used) and principles belong to L.J. Smith and whoever
else. If you read "Born On Saturday, Got Buried On Sunday" there's a little reference to it in this fic.
: - ) My characters: Aaron Glasey, Jo Glasey, Liothide, Chloë Glasey, Liza Harman,
Etienne, etc . . . belong to me. I think this story resembles Spellbinder or Soulmate or Dark Angel,
with a heavy dose of The Witching Hour by Anne Rice (which i'm in the process of reading right now).
But, anyway, please read on. . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He moved easily through the narrow path in the northern New Hampshire woods, listening
to the insects singing in his ears and all through the tree branches. The coniferous and deciduous
trees grew wildly all around him. A sugar maple waved its leaves at him in the light summer breeze.
An oak stood tall and watchful from between clusters of white birch, the papery bark peeling away
in thin layers. A spruce brushed his knee with its needles. From the trails, the world around him
was all green and bright with sunshine. The air was fresh and sweet, scented of rich, moist earth
and dewy vegetation.
He had taken up a thick, five-foot-long straight stick and used his pocket knife to strip
the bark at one end. He gripped this end firmly in his strong, well-made left hand, using it to keep
his swift, steady pace on the rough wooded hiking trail.
He paused, feeling uneasy at once. Was there someone watching me? he wondered,
throwing glances to his left, right. Yes, that was it. There were eyes upon him. And he didn't
like the sensation of being watched. Where—?
A voice echoed eerily as it shrilled, "Aaron!"
Aaron Glasey sighed; he recognized the nearby call of his fifteen-year-old sister. Well,
back into civilization, he throught wryly.
"Coming, Jo!"
In a small clearing, Aaron caught sight of his sister, Josephine. She was about four inches
shorter than he, and more of a city-slicker than his Aunt Geri, who lived in New York City, and
had a thick Brooklyn accent. Jo hated nothing more than being outdoors. She was also a bit of
a couch potato, who spent her days happily in front of a TV or on the computer.
Josephine had pale blond tresses, lighter than Aaron's dark gold hair, which he normally
wore spiked and swept up in the front with gel. At that moment, his hair was dishelved carelessly,
amnd he smiled mischievously at Jo, who glared impatiently with her icy blue eyes, paler than
Aaron's teals. Their grandmother had once said Aaron had eyes like ocean water, a deep green-
blue, sometimes like the shallow water under the pier at the beach, or like the seas in the photographs
Mom and Dad brougt back from their vacation in the Caribbean.
He focused his eyes now on Jo, who snapped, "Well, supper's ready, and I'M not staying
'round here all day!"
Aaron just grinned, and Jo smiled back. He could always tell when she was serious,
and when she was sarcastic. It seemed no one else could tell when Jo was joking. Though
he was two years older than her, they got along well, their banter more playful than malicious.
Through Aaron's amateur-blazed trail bewteen the bushes connecting his backyard to
the deeper woods, they walked. Jo stomped on the ground with her chunky, high-heeled shoes.
"What is up with you and wandering around in the woods?" she teased.
They emerged onto neatly-trimmed, healthy green grass. Their mother was a professional
gardener, proved by the lush, beautiful garden of white lilies, purple rhododendrons, and orange
marigolds, among countless other blossoms near the vegetable sector full of herbs, tomatoes,
cucumbers, and strawberries.
"I don't know," Aaron answered. "When I'm in the forest, I feel like I'm connecting to
something ancient and vast, like when I look out over the sea. You know, being part of nature—"
"If I wanted nature, I'd watch 'National Geographic Explorer,' " Jo said smartly, grabbing
his arm to show she was kidding.
He chuckled, carrying his hiking staff, as they set out cautiously across the prim lawn.
Inside, Aaron set his staff against the foyer wall, made of satiny knotty pine. Jo lingered there,
examining her shoes critically. He kicked off his worn hiking boots and crashed up the taupe-
carpeted stairs, and down a short corridor into the dining room.
"Hi, Mom," he greeted brightly, taking a large platter of deliciously-perfumed chicken
from her and set it on the table.
"Hi, Aaron," she said pleasantly. Aaron's mother was a polished, kind, and intelligent
woman, with bark-brown-hair and eyes green as a spring birch leaf in the sunlight.
"Where's Dad?"asked Aaron.
"At work. He's in charge of a new merger."
Aaron's father was a very Nordic man, tall, blond, and handsome. He was an executive
in a big communications corporation, and, though caring, always seemed to be busy. He
checked stocks online, or typed reports or contemplated a new proposal. Aaron loved his father,
but sometimes he secretly wished for a typical outdoorsman like his friends had. Around town,
all the middle-aged men were simple, hardworking, middle-class hunters and fishermen and
campers. And Aaron really enjoyed those activities.
But it was okay. His parents gave him everything material he could ever want. He
helped his mother set the table, and said, "That's cool. Hey, can I go to the carnival tonight?"
The summer carnival came every year in early July, right before and during Independence
Day. It was full of rides, games, and junk food: candy, fried dough, french fries, onion rings, and
more. It had wrapped up getting ready this morning.
"Sure," his mother said agreeably. "But, right now let's eat!"
After dinner, Aaron and Jo helped wash the dishes. Then, Aaron went down the steps,
yanked his tan jacket over his green Eastern Mountain Sports T-shirt and blue denim shorts, and
pulled his boots back on.
Outside, the air was much cooler, now that the sun was fading behind the Appalachians.
In the garage, he got in his gunmetal-colored Jeep Wrangler with the top off. When it rumbled to life,
the implanted CD player blared, "Festival Song" by Good Charotte. He drove to the Common Park,
where it was already bustling with summer activity.
Aaron parked, and locked it, then turned to face the crowd walking around in the soft, lilting
evening air. Again, a breeze rustled through Aaron's hair and whipped his jacket around.
Suddenly, a face in the cloud of people caught his attention.
It was a girl, aboutt seventeen, his own age, with a strange, sad expression. She was
astonishingly beautiful, however . . .
Her face was pale and waxy, like a white candle lit from within, sculpted like a Renaissance
Venus. She had long, rippling dark hair and royal blue eyes, darker in color than Jo's, more like
sapphire than ice. Crystal tears glittered in the flashing lights, sparkling tears in her sparkling eyes.
She captured his gaze, then seemed to fade back into the crowd.
Aaron had frozen, but his brain kicked back in, and he moved quickly, unobtrusively,
into the flood of bodies. When he stood where she had been, he looked around in confusion.
She was nowhere to be seen.
Puzzled deeply, he turned around to see his cousin Chloë, from his father's brother.
Aaron and Chloë always had fun together at family reunions, hanging out and talking about
insignificant stuff no one else would. She was as Nordic as his father, blond, but with dark hazel
eyes, and the same age as Aaron. She waved, and moved through the crowd to stand before him.
"Hey, Aaron," she greeted, smiling.
"Hey, Chloë." He gave her a quick hug. She grew serious, and opened her mouth to say
something, then—
"Merry meet, Chloë," called a girl as she passed, purple-eyed, wearing a baby-doll T-shirt
with a black flower on it. From what Aaron knew of flora from his mother, he guessed it was a dahlia.
"Merry meet," she called back rather absently. Then, "Aaron, I need to speak with you.
Privately."
"Um, okay," he said, and they went to his Jeep and drove a short distance to a side street,
where Chloë pointed to a small shop, and said, "Turn here."
Aaron parked neatly, and Chloë led him into the shop, which was called The Willow
Roots. Strange. Inside, it was a health food store, filled with vitamins, herb supplements, and
teas. It was fairly small, and had a last shelf of semiprecious stones and weird-looking items.
Wax figurines . . . Something stirred in his mind. A flash of holding a wax figurine, doing something
to it . . .
But Aaron's mind suddenly cleared of the vague image. And Chloë was leading him into a back
room. This looked a lot like a library. So many shelves of leatherbound books, each with a gold-leaf
inscription. Aaron strained in the darkness to make out a word on the largest volume, "Harman."
"Chloë, what's going on?" he demanded softly, sitting down on a folding metal chair.
She paused, taking a seat of her own on an identical chair. "Aaron, you're my cousin.
I'm not going to lie to you anymore."
"Lie?" He was taken aback. "Chlo—"
"Just listen for a minute." She made a patient gesture. "Aaron, you know our family has a
long history. We go back hundreds of years. The Glaseys are very prominent—"
Aaron listened, clearly annoyed and a little bored. "Chloë, I—"
"—in witch history."
Startled, he sat back. "There's no such thing as witches," he stated flatly.
Chloë's hazel eyes semed to gleam. "Oh, yes, there are. You're looking at one. And if you
had a mirror, you'd be seeing another."
"Chloë, is this some kind of a joke?" But even as he spoke, his special people sense told
him she was not. She was deadly serious.
She breathed, "See? You can feel it. That's one of your psychic powers, Aaron. Most of our
family has this 'special sense.' I have it, you have it, and your Uncle Uriel has it, and so does your father."
"My father?" But Aaron could see it now. It was all so clear. His father had always known what
his children wanted at Christmastime, even if they didn't drop any hints; he could tell when they lied, no
matter how well it was concealed; God, Jo's friends said he could read their minds!
"Yes," said Chloë quietly. She read it right off of him. "And Uncle Gabriel turned against his
powers in college, so that's why he immersed himself in business, because he can see the deals before
they're made. He could make a fortune just in stocks.
"But, Aaron, you're the subject at hand. You're a witch, too. Our last name, Glasey, is short
for "Glance-and-see," which means we're seers."
Aaron was in total shock. His family was all witches?
"Here." Chloë touched his arm. He shook off the shock and looked up at her as she
rose gracefully, and withdrew a book from the shelf. Yes, that was their surname.
She sat back down, pulling her chair closer to him. She opened it, showing him the parchment
pages, utterly ancient. Slanted, fancy handwriting listed names and dates. The ink had faded to a soft
sepia brown. "See here, the first witch of our family was Adrien John Glasey. He was born of a noble
Englishman and a young French girl; she'd been descended of the Harmans."
"Harmans?" Aaron asked quizzically. He'd heard that before, but couldn't remember where.
Chloë explained. "The Harmans are the most famous and powerful of all the witch dynasties.
They actually founded the Night World, a secret organization of us witches, vampires and shapeshifters."
Aaron said nothing.
Mildly, his cousin added, "You don't seem surprised at all this."
No, I don't, he realized. "Why bother not believing something I know is true. You're right. I
can tell what's the truth."
She nodded. He looked at the dates next to Adrien's name: 1566-1591.
Chloë nodded. "Adrien died young. He was only twenty-five. But the powers passed on to
his infant son, Jules."
Aaron shifted. "It's getting late. My mom will have a fit if I come home too late."
"All right. But, Aaron, come back here tomorow afternoon. I have some things to show you."
He nodded, and left.
Back at his house, his mother was asleep. She always went to bed early when his father
wasn't home. And Josephine had gone to sleep over at a friend's house. So Aaron crept silently
down the corridor, and into his messy room. He didn't bother to turn on a light, and flopped down onto
his bed. But before he could move, a paralyzing sleep siezed him.
Aaron shut his eyes wearily. And he dreamed.
Adrien Glasey sat down on a log, and looked around him.
He was seventeen, and was staying at a summer circle gathering in Renaissance France.
He felt the sun on his face, warming his dark blond hair. The forest was so relaxing.
"Monsieur Glasey!" called a voice. It was his Circle Twilight friend, Liza. She was
a pretty girl, a year younger than he, a true Harman, with starry fair hair and violet eyes.
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle," he greeted as she came into the clearing, wearing a witch
dress, loose and free, of white linen.
"Ah, Monsieur Glasey. We must vacate this area. Circle Midnight is fast approaching to
cast a sacred circle."
He sighed, regretfully giving up his perfect spot. Rustling of branches came, and the
two his behind some dense bushes. Adrien watched intently as figure in black robes walked
single file into the clearing. All had their hoods drawn, heads bowed.
The leader stopped, and pushed his hood back, revealing it to be Etienne, a dark,
Italian man, with hard black eyes. All the followers did the same, throwing back their hoods.
They all stared solemnly.
All but one. She gazed around at the trees and the sky, breathing the air deeply.
Adrien held his breath. She was more glorious than Botticelli's Venus, with long, flowing
hair, almost black, but gleaming with rich umber, and the fairest complexion Adrien had
ever seen.
Etienne glared at her. "Liothide!"
She started, and stood straight, staring blank as all the others. He commanded,
"Harman, Morigan, draw the circle!"
Liza tugged at Adrien, and they made their escape.
That night, Adrien didn't sleep, as he lay on the bed. He took out his finest lantern,
lit the candle inside, and set out into the woods. With his directional sense guiding him, he found
the spot, warm with spiritual energy. He raised the light, peering around.
A twig snapped behind him. He turned around to see her.
She looked hauntingly beautiful so close to him. Her hair was like silk, and he noticed her
eyes were bright sapphire blue.
She hissed softly, "Do you speak English?"
"Yes, my father is English." He gestured for her to sit down on the log as he did so.
She sat gracefully, smiling shyly at him. "I feel like I know you."
"I'm Adrien Glasey."
"I'm Au—um, call me Liothide." She hesitated.
"D'accord. You're Circle Midnight, n'est pas?"
She chuckled airily. "Oui. Mais my mother insisted I join. It's a family tradition. And—"
"And what?" he asked gently.
"And I wanted so much to join Circle Twilight. Etienne is so cruel—" She broke off,
rubbing her arms. Adrien saw healing gashes on her delicate alabastrine skin.
"Are you all right?" He leaned over. "Those scars—"
"No," she cried, "I can't—"
And Adrien carefully clasped her bare arm.
Contact. Was it a bewitching?
(No.) Liothide's throughts were gentle, spoken with the voice of an angel.
(Etienne—hurt you,) Adrien thought, anger and protectiveness surging through him.
He saw flashes of pain, terrible pain, as Etienne lashed her, because she was not evil.
She wasn't evil. He felt the ring of truth in that.
(He wants me to be—something I cannot.)
(You're so beautiful the way you are.)
Fear jostled her. (I—I shouldn't be here.)
(No, Liothide. Feel it. You belong here.)
(NO! Etienne will be so furious!)
(Li—) What was her real name? He searched for it. There it was! A—
(Please, let me go!) And she ran, back through the trail to the Midnight house. Adrien sat,
anguished, watching her black cloak fly behind her. Was there a world anymore?
And then she screamed.
Aaron jerked awake.
What WAS that? His brain raced. Yes, he was Aaron Azriel Glasey, seventeen years old,
in the year 2001, in New Hampshire. He was laying on his unmade bed in his clothes from yesterday,
a T-shirt and shorts.
What was yesterday? He went for a hike, he ate supper, he found Chloë—
His cousin, telling him the most insane story he could think of. Witches? She was kidding,
had to be.
But he knew she was telling the truth. Just like Adrien, he could feel it.
His ancestor. But Aaron seemed to know him. Adrien's mother had died that spring, from a
strange disease. He'd loved the deep forests, the singing of birds . . .
And that mysterious girl. Liothide.
Who was she? Aaron had to know.
It was very early. The sun was barely rising. But Aaron slipped out, taking his hiking staff with
him. He pushed through the bushes, and moved easily, listening to the music of robins and jays. He needed
some time to be alone. Alone with the woods. He came upon the clearing where Jo had found him yesterday.
Inexplicably, there was a log sitting there in the middle. He froze, trying to hold back the images from his
dream.
Again, he felt like he was being watched.
"Jo?" he called.
A twig snapped. He whirled around.
And found himself face-to-face with that face he'd seen in the crowd at the carnival.
Her blue eyes were wide, her expression blank. Just like at the carnival. But this time, he
recognized her.
"Liothide," he whispered. He extended his hand, reaching out for her.
Tentatively, she did the same.
But just before they would have touched, she vanished.
After he showered, dressed in khaki shorts, a gray T-shirt, and his red fleece vest, and fixed
his hair, Aaron yelled to his mother, in the garden, and took the Jeep back to the Willow Roots.
An old lady was reading a novel at the cashier. She smiled at him, and nodded when he
walked to the back door to the archives.
In the dusty old room, he was alone. Aaron glanced at the shelves, searching . . .
There! One of the very oldest books, rather slim. Marked, "Liothide."
He opened it furtively. The first name listed was very strange. Egyptian, he thought.
The dates marked BC. No, the year he was looking for was 1583. Come on, some on . . .
"Aaron." He spun, dropping the book. It was Chloë.
"You startled me."
"Are you okay? You seem . . . on edge this afternoon."
"Yeah. Listen, I had a weird dream last night—"
"Yes?"
"I . . . " He felt ridiculuous. Reincarnation?
"Go on," she said gently.
He changed his mind. "Well, do you have a picture of Adrien?"
She brightened. "Yes. He had an artist paint his portrait on his seventeenth birthday.
It's back here, in the storeroom."
She led him farther back, into a small, dark room, filled with antique artifacts. In the very back she
stopped. She shined her flashlight on the wall. And gasped.
Aaron smiled grimly. Just as he suspected. On the wall was a large oil painting in a gilded
wooded frame. It was a boy, wearing old-fashioned tunics and leggings, made of fine materials.
Crimson silk, orchid velvet, all with gold trimmings. But it wa the boy himself that took Chloë's breath away.
He was tall, with a light tan, and had long, dark gold hair that curled at the ends, and flashing
teal eyes. He wore an expression of noble strength.
But his face looked exactly like Aaron's.
"Goddess," Chloë whispered.
Aaron said simply, "I was Adrien. I had a dream that I was him, and I know it was real."
"But, Aaron—"
"No, listen. Can you trace our genealogy?"
"Yeah. It goes in a straight line from Adrien to you. Our family is most noted for having the
power go to its male heirs. I'm just a fault."
"Is that why Grandfather Nathaniel is insane?"
Nathaniel Glasey was locked away in an asylum. He raved about a girl haunting him.
"I think Grandfather suffered from visions," Chloë answered.
Aaron nodded. "And now I've got it. Do you know anything about the Liothide family?"
She shook her head. "Not much. All I know is the name: 'Light-of-the-other-side.'
And they're a dead family."
"Dead?" Aaron felt dizzy a moment. He saw flashing teeth, and felt pain in his throat.
"Yes, the last heir died in 1583."
1583. THE year!
"Oh, God." Aaron sat heavily on an old leather chair. The horrible sleep invaded his
consciousness.
Adrien ran as fast as he could, running toward the piercing sound of Liothide's scream.
"No, no! Etienne, stop! ADRIEN!!"
He came upon them, Liothide dangling helplessly in Etienne's grasp, his mout buried in her
neck. He raised his head, glaring with eyes that reflected the lanern's light.
Vampire. Etienne was a vampire! Blood was dripping from Liothide's delicate neck. She
wasn't moving, wasn't breathing. Was she dead?
Adrien tried to fight him. But he just didn't have any fighting skill. Etienne easily threw him off, and
carried Liothide's limp body away, her blue eyes staring over his shoulder at Adrien.
It was a week later when Adrien saw her again. He'd moved into a grand, private chamber
within the main château. It was luxurious and lovely, but seeing the opulance just made Adrien feel
empty. It was a stormy night, dark and dull, with thunder mumbling softly in the distance.
The French doors that opened to the balcony swung open. Adrien shot up from his bed, and
leaped out to close them, when Liothide appeared. She climbed up the rails, and stood before him.
"Liothide?" He held her close, feeling the contact from her cold flesh that nevertheless
warmed him. She had her arms around him tightly.
"Bonsoir, Adrien." He stared at her, noticing a difference. In a flash of lightning, he saw
the blood on her lips, and how her beauty was multiplied. His lips parted, as if to say something, but
instead he just kissed her, feeling the fangs in her mouth, but losing himself in the softness of her lips.
She tilted his head back and to the side, and bit. Adrien obeyed to her every touch. And she drank.
In her mind, Adrien saw only love.
Love and joy as she cut her own throat for him. He took her blood in, savoring the taste
of her. It was sweet, like honey and milk, and brought a sense of peace.
They clung tenderly to each other for several moments, cloaked in love and wonder. Adrien
wanted it to last forever.
(It cannot,) Liothide thought sadly. (Soon, you will die. Forty or so years, perhaps less.
As I am doomed to be immortal.)
(It doesn't matter. Time will stand still. As long as we're together.)
(Oh, Adrien, I love you.)
Adrien's door burst open.
A crowd of people, bearing torches, exposed Adrien and Liothide in harsh flickering firelight.
And a terrible cry issued, "Tuez la vampyre!"
She screamed, and jumped off the balcony, with Adrien behind her. He was determined
not to let her go again. Together, with their hands clasped, they ran throughth the woods, sensing
out a path to safety.
(There's a small cavern near here,) Liothide told him. With her mind, she showed him
where it was. Hurriedly, they pushed through the brambles and dead trees that blocked their path.
Like two deer, running from vermin hunters. He smelled the smoke from their torches, heard their
hateful cries. Something whistled through the air. He ignored it and ran beside Liothide, as she
said, "There's the cavern."
Then she let out a gutteral cry. Adrien stared in horror as he saw a crude wooden arrow
protruding from her back. She limped, and he picked her up and carried her to a clearing in front
of the cave.
"Liothide," he whispered hoarsely.
She was shaking with fear and regret and pain. Ah, such wretched pain. But she buried her
face into his hair and said, "I'll be with you . . . always."
Then she died. He laid her down on her side, and stood crying silently, holding the backs of
his arms, knowing he'd lost his soulmate. They were destined to be together . . . but she was dead.
And when the tochbearers arrived, they set her mummified body on fire, burning her shining
dark hair and long black cloak to ashes, while they screamed in triumph. In the crowd, Adrien saw
Liza, with tears standing still in her eyes. So she knew. No one else did.
Adrien Glasey was seduced by an evil vampiress, said a woman loudly. Thank the Goddess
that she's dead.
Aaron woke up. Chloë sat on the floor beside him. When he began to stir, she put her hand on
his arm. "Aaron, are you okay?"
He groaned, pressing his fingers to his temples. "I have a headache . . . Chlo, did you HEAR all
that?"
She shook her head. So he told her, in great detail, all that was revealed to him in his dreams.
All about France in 1583, and the château where he'd been staying, and Liothide. Etienne, the woods.
Death.
She was wide-eyed when he finished. "And now there's a girl following you around that looks
exactly like Liothide? Exactly like the ghost that Grandfather Nathaniel claims to see?"
"Yeah," he said, rubbing his arm. Goosebumps on them. "I don't know what she wants."
"I think I do," said Chloë. "If this is the spirit of Liothide, well, she's trapped, you see."
"Trapped?"
"Yes. The soulmate bond and the exchange of blood combined with her early, violent death
resulted in her being bound to the male Glasey heirs. I've never seen her, obviously. But you're the
latest male heir, so you've inherited the power, the looks, AND Liothide from Adrien Glasey. What am I
saying? You ARE Adrien Glasey. And that means . . . you're her soulmate."
"WHAT?" Aaron yelped unpleasantly. "Oh no, I'm not. She's dead! I don't want a dead
girlfriend!"
"Aaron—"
"I don't want her!"
He took off.
Chloë watched as he left. Then she picked up the telephone and dialed. When a female voice
answered, she said, "Hello, Anni? Hi, it's me, Chloë. Emergency circle, now."
Aaron drove aimlessly, but he went by the busy fair, and heard a very familiar song.
" '--Caught by social evil . . . wasn't streetwise after all . . . was she there at all?'--"
sang a strong, male voice. It was "Pictures In The Mirror" by The Living End, a song Aaron liked.
He hesitated, not wanting to see Liothide again, but the song drew him in. He parked right next
to a lovely black BMW convertible.
When the band began "Roll On," he moved faster through the crowd before the public bandstand.
He stopped near the front to see a tall young man, maybe a year or so older than him. He looked
a lot like Gavin Rossdale, with curling dark brown hair and dark eyes. He riffed the electric guitar
just like Chris Cheney.
After the song was over, the concert was finished. The guitarist/singer
smiled and thanked the audience graciously. He had three silver hoops in each ear, and he wore a
black bowling shirt with a Jolly Roger (skull-and-crossbones) stitched over the left pocket. The band
split the money between them, a drummer, a guy who played the tall bass, and the lead singer.
The dark-haired boy bid them farewell, and put his electric guitar in a large case, jumped off the stage
and left. Before Aaron coud stop, he followed him.
The guy went to the Beemer, and loaded his instrument into the trunk. He turned around calmly
and faced Aaron. "Hello."
"Um, hi," Aaron said awkwardly. "You guys did a great job up there."
The guy smiled faintly. "Thanks. I'm Carrey."
"I'm Aaron."
"Nice to meet you. I'm not sticking around. I just needed some cash to get to Vegas."
"Vegas? You gonna be a lounge singer?"
He laughed. "No. But there're some people there my--uh--ex wanted me to meet with."
Aaron sensed something about the way Carrey had hesitated, almost like his voice had
cracked. "Well, I won't keep you any longer. It was nice to meet you," he said formally.
"Same here." Carrey looked at him, his eyes puzzled, then abruptly opened his door and got in.
He started the car, and drove away, playing "Dirty Man" by The Living End.
Aaron drove to the town forest. He quickly put the top up in case it rained, locked the doors,
and plunged into the trees. He jogged a while on the main trail, before he saw her.
It was Liothide, of that he was certain. She was standing absolutely still, her hair
unruffled by the swift breeze. But when her eyes slowly shifted to Aaron, her whole countenance brightened.
She said in her breathy, angelic voice, "My Aaron."
He noticed she wore a loose white gown, made of some flawless, smooth material.
Too perfect to be satin or silk. She looked like a lily.
She glided toward him, smiling. "I'm yours, my beloved."
He heard his own voice say, "My Liothide."
He hadn't said that! But how . . . ?
Who else could it be? he thought ironically. Who else but your own ancestor, Adrien?
"My Liothide, my love," the voice continued. Aaron's hand reached up and stroked her hair.
Aaron was shocked. She could be material? I thought she was but a spirit. But the touch sent
shivers down his spine. Like a dream, she was in his arms. Her flesh was clearly not flesh, however.
It was as if she was made of a pearly, white material, softer than stone, but anything but skin, muscle,
tissue, or bone. His heart overflowed with love that was a part of him.
She withdrew, looking shocked and wide-eyed. She spun, searching the trees. Her hair began to
move, like a strong wind had began to blow.
The air was completely still.
She screamed. It was horrible, just like when Etienne attacked her. Then she vanished into a
cloudly white mist, and blew away. Aaron followed it, deeper into the woods, off the trail, and through the
deeper forest. The mist stayed ahead, drawn by intangible forces.
Finally, Aaron saw it. A dozen teenage girls, all wearing white shifts, standing in a circle
of stones and burning incense, chanting. Chloë stepped forward and shouted, "Spirit and gods of the
north, hear us! Collect the earthbound spirit and soul of Aurelia Annwn Liothide, daughter of Hellewise.
We command you: Bring her essence now! So be it."
Then Aaron yelled, "Chloë, NO!"
She started, staring at him. But then, the mist was contained within the circle.
Another girl petite and violet-eyed, continued the spell. "Spirit and gods of the east,
hear us! Take—"
Aaron yelled again. "Stop! Don't do this!"
"—the spirit and soul of Aurelia Annwn Liothide, daughter of Hellewise, and punish her
for walking the earth. We command you: Do it now! So be it."
The mist let out a tortured screech. It seemed to writhe, and contract. Aaron cried,
"Can't you see?! You're hurting her! Aurelia!"
But the circle held strong. When Aaron said her first name, the mist collapsed into her
material form. She was once again the beautiful dark-haired girl. She was laying on the ground,
on her stomach, her face contorted in agony. She screamed again, but this time it was a young
woman's voice, not the howl of the wind. "ADRIEN!"
Another girl came forward. "Spirit and gods of the south, hear us! Open the way for
the spirit and soul of Aurelia Annwn Liothide, daughter of Hellewise, to cross through! We command
you: Show us the 'light-of-the-other-side'! So be it."
Aaron tried to run into the circle, but it was like an invisible wall. He couldn't reach her.
He pressed his hand against the wall, crying, saying, "I love you, Aurelia."
And her crystal-blue eyes opened. He felt a revealtion pass. That was it! If you
called a spirit by its name, you empowered them!
Aaron called hoarsely, "Aurelia Annwn Liothide! Rise up and defeat those who hurt you!
Aurelia Annwn Liothide! Use the strength of your love! Show them your own power as a witch!"
She stood, within the circle, just as a dark portal opened, as if a curtain had been drawn.
Inside was what looked like a hurricane, and Aaron heard the moans aand cries and curse of
lost souls.
"Aurelia Annwn Liothide, I love you. Prove to me how much you love me by ending this
ritual! RIGHT NOW!"
Those were the words she needed.
The last witch stepped forward and intoned, "Spirits and gods of the west, hear us!
Banish the spirit and soul of Aurelia Annwn Liothide, daughter of Hellewise to the other side!
We command you—Aaahhh!" she screamed as a violent gust of wind knocked her down.
Liothide had become mist again, showing rain down, that put out the burning incense. Instantly,
the portal disappeared, and the invisble wall disintergrated. The other witches ran away, pushed
onward by the same strong wind. Lightning cut the sky jaggedly, and thunder roared full of
untamed rage. The storm was the worst Aaron had ever seen, but he remained untouched.
He was dry and unafraid.
Soon, everyone was gone, all but Chloë. She stood at the center of the ruined
circle, unmoving. Aaron called to Liothide to subside the storm.
Instantly, the sun was out again. And a white mist hovered a few feet above Aaron's head.
"Chloë," he said softly.
"Hello, Aaron," she said bitterly.
"What was all that about?"
"You said—" she hiccuped. "That you didn't want HER around. So I called my friends up
to banish her to the other side, where she belongs."
"She belongs with me," Aaron said quietly.
"I'm going to be gone for a while. Tell my parents I'll be back eventually. Could you make
sure my father gets this message? I'm coming to grips with our family legacy."
He thought of Carrey, on his way to Las Vegas, and the way he'd said, "my ex."
Chloë nodded, tears in her eyes. "Blessed Be."