Part One: Wonderland
There was blood everywhere. The woman on the bed screamed as though someone was stabbing her, killing her slowly. Sweat and tears made her forehead look slimy as a garden slug. Moira didn't know how her mother could stomach this for a living. Just a few drops made her stomach clench and head feel woozy. She hated blood. "Get me more clean water from the stream," her mother had ordered an hour earlier. "More clean sheets," was the next command. Wipe her brow. Hold her hand. Only a couple minutes more.
The woman had come waddling in after her water had broken while fixing super. The father was busy working the fields alongside Moira's. She remembered the large woman, struggling to walk, collapsing at the door. Her deathly pale face. Fear in her eyes. It was not uncommon for women to die giving birth. This was fact everyone knew well. But no one had died in the hands of Beatrice O'Malley. Only three had died in the hands of her mother before her, two in the hands of her mother before that, and so on and so forth. Someday it would be her turn. The young woman here would not die today. It was going to be a girl. Her hair would be brown and eyes blue. She would be healthy. Moira could feel it.
Moira watched with gruesome curiosity as her mother helped deliver the baby. The way she calmed down the woman, kept her breathing controlled. How she wiped away the sweat and blood. How she helped the woman carefully drink tea that soothed the contractions. Someday it would be her turn to help care for people. To be there when they were born and there for when they died and all the messy bits in the middle. Life was a very messy thing.
Finally the baby was born. Screaming, trying to learn how to take its first breaths. She was handed to Moira. Go clean her up. The fear of dropping or breaking the fragile creature in her hands terrified her. Supporting its head, she gently washed the new born with a wet rag. Her blues eyes were startled by the wet object, staring at Moira's green ones with a painful expression. The baby continued to cry, wailing for its mother. Helplessly not knowing what to do, she tried rocking it and patting its back. "Just pipe down why don'cha," Moira grumbled in a whisper, both frustrated and not wanting to make the baby cry anymore. The baby stopped on command as a warm feeling spread from Moira's fingers to the baby she was holding. It was a lot cuter when it wasn't screaming its head off.
Eventually her mother called for Moira to come back into the room with her and the woman. "She's so beautiful," the new mother sighed exhausted. The baby smiled as it was cradled to its mother's chest. "I'm going to let you two sleep. Call if you need anything," Moira's mother said before walking to the back room. She signaled Moira to follow her as she washed her hands. "Ya' did good fur'ya furst time," her mother complimented. "I wanted to puke. There was so much blood!" Moira's eleven-year old eyes widened with doubt. Her mother kissed her cheek and began dividing Moira's long, blonde hair into sections as she began to braid it. Moira always knew her mother was stressed when she braided her hair. The idea of doing something with her hands soothed her. "Well, life is a bloody, messy thing. It always ha'been for our family. Always will be," her mother huffed. "But why Momma?" she felt younger as her mother carefully braided her hair. "Because our family is special."
"How are we special?" Moira asked. "We're stronger t'most, deep down," her other pointed to Moira's heart, "We ha'a certain know-how," she pointed to Moira's forehead, "An'we all we got." Her mother hugged her close, kissing her. "I want to show you something," her mother quickly checked to see if their guest, or now guests, were awake. Once it was safe, she picked up a small pebble in her hand as well as a slightly larger one. She placed the small her one in Moira's palm while holding the larger one in hers. "Me thinks y'old 'nough t'learn about what it means t'be a Grey witch. Was a wee girl m'self when my mother taught my sister and I," her mother beamed proudly. Grey had been her maiden name. The 'witch' part confused her. Witches were these ugly, old things that ate children who went into the woods alone. Ghost stories told to keep children in line. Her mother had been called a 'witch' before by many of the towns people, but often her mother would exchange swears with the person and go on her merry way. Witches didn't exist. Her mother was too kind and pretty to be one. Seeing her daughter's confused face, she focused on the stone. Feeling its weight, imagining it weightless and floating. And so it did.
Moira couldn't believe it. Her mother only smiled warmly, "Now you try."
Moira had grown up catching glances of the many scars that lined the pale, smooth skin of her mother. She did her best to hide them from her daughter, but occasionally Beatrice found her daughter staring at them curiously. There were three white lines about seven centimetres long on her right cheek, just below her eye. Her left palm had many think, clean cuts as if they had been done with a knife. Her shoulders and back seemed to be covered in vine like scars, weaving through the flesh. On her mother's right hip was a burned-in black mark of star.
Her mother was a very stern woman at times, with frown lines carving out her face. They had carved their way from a hard life and scowling in the face of adversity. When Moira was younger, she use to climb on her mother's lap and try to smooth the lines out with her toddler hands. Softly kissing away bad memories. Then her mother would tell her about her life in Ireland before she married Moira's father.
"I wa'born here y'know? Same room as many o'our family. Same as you. But I w'sent as a very young gal to live w'me grandmother and cousins. T'was a bunch'o witch hunters running t'streets har in Loxwood. My mother wanted to keep me safe. Learnt t'be a Grey witch from my grandmother. Margie and I were t'only gals. Raised like a boy. Fought like one too. When t'was for me to marry, I sailed back here and took ov'the shop," Her mother would say with misty eyes. Things had been difficult growing up for her. Many of the villagers said she was 'rough', 'feisty', and 'angry as a raging bull'. Her mother just smiled and said she was Irish.
The shop had always been dusty. It didn't matter what she did, dusting, sweeping, or washing. It had been owned for centuries by their family. It had seen better days as well as terrible tragedies. Much like her family. But none the less Momma had ordered her to clean the front of their humble family shop. Moira was smart enough to know the real reason. A large, disheveled woman in a brown cloak had just come storming in, red faced with scowl marks. "Bessy, we have a problem!" was all she said. In response her mother had hushed the stranger, offered a cup of black tea and a seat in the back room. "Not in front of the girl, Margret," was all she said before closing the door. The stranger had an unpleasant air to her. Momma had been teaching her how to understand the world around her and the people in it. If they were kind? If they were ill-tempered? If they were in pain? If they could be trusted? This woman was bossy and mean. But something had frightened her. Something that was scaring Momma too. But she had called her mother 'Bessy'. Her mother's name was Beatrice.
Moira knew she shouldn't have ease-dropped. She would be caught since her mother always knew best. Her ear quickly found its way to the rotting wooden door. "This is what you get for leaving me to run the coven all by my savvy self! I knew mum wanted you to lead, you always were better at magic than me. It's a sorry shame y'gave it up. And for what? Love? Such foolishness from a foolish girl!" the red faced woman nagged. "I gave it up not just for him, but for Moira," her mother argued, "Too many of us have gotten nothing but plagues o'trouble from mess'n about to early. By God Margaret, I only just started teaching her a month'go. The girl ain't ready t'all for any of this!" Moira could imagine her mother rubbing her face with frustration. "The coven needs more o'us. She turns twelve in what? Four months? Already the vampires are going through us one by one. They think we can help'em. We are witches not miracle workers!"
Beatrice wanted what was best for her daughter. Her sister wanted their family to be stronger. It would be safer to stay away from the danger. Remain a secret between just Moira and her. "I'll think 'bout it. But no promises."
That night her mother taught her how to light a candle by waving her hand over it. She didn't know Moira had been listening to their conversation. Her father came home late into the evening, hugging his wife, whispering something in her ear that made the stress melt away. They kissed, which Moira didn't mind. She loved seeing them happy together. More often than not they would be screaming and throwing things at each other late into the night when they thought Moira had already gone to sleep. Momma told her she wasn't allowed to tell Father about their lessons. About how Moira could make things float with her mind. How she could turn water into ice. How to make flowers sprout on command. How she could light candles now. Her family was special, but it wasn't perfect. It held secrets.
Moira was trapped inside a cupboard. It smelled of mold, dust and dying wood. Through the tiny light crack, she saw her mother screaming at three people who were all extremely pale and beautiful. A medium sized man with brown hair, a taller man with choppy blonde hair and a small young woman who had pale hair down to her waist. "Stop this. Just leave her and the girl alone. Please!" the pale woman begged. Moira liked her. The brown haired man ignored her laughing. "You tricked us!" he bellowed, seething as he told the blonde male, "Do what you want with her." Moira watched helplessly from her cage as the blonde male gripped her mother by her throat.
Moira felt someone grabbing her, shaking her. "It's just a dream. It's okay. You're okay," the voice said calmly. It was just a dream. Once more awake she saw that the blankets were tangled everywhere. She was covered in sweat and tears. Her mother hugged her close. It was just a dream.
Her days were now filled with lessons on how to be a good witch. Bare foot and hand-in-hand they would voyage into the dark forest that lined their village. Occasionally her mother would sneak an old leather bound book in cloth, tucking it into a wicker basket as if they were going on a picnic. They needed to keep their powers a secret from the rest of the world. Secrecy was their friend. The woods were still deemed haunted and few people made it past the initial shadows. And if they were so bold as to venture further, they often got lost and wandered helplessly. Moira never got lost. Making their way to their usual spot, where her mother yesterday taught her how to make it rain for a minute or so, she smiled noticing the usual landmarks.
First there was Lovers' Rock, a giant stone that had a red mark in the shape of a heart that looked like it was bleeding sweet crimson. The legend was that there once was a young couple and the husband left to fight in a war and ended up dying or selling his soul to the devil, but it didn't really matter since the story changes each time. One night the wife was called by the husband's presence and met him at Lover's Rock and they soon disappeared forever. Some say he killed her while others say they eloped to Paris. Second was the JAD tree. It was a large hemlock tree with the carving J, A, and D on it. The lines were crude as if young children who had stolen their father's hunting knife had carved it. The marks were centuries old. The bark around it had decayed and faded with age, but somehow the carvings stayed there. Finally there was the Weeping River. Occasionally you could hear a woman weeping, My babies, My babies, My babies are dead. There was an old ghost story of a woman who abandoned her children and came home years later to find they had been killed. She could be seen wandering aimlessly, crying for her dead children in an old white dress, ripped from the cruelty of the forest. Mother's would tell their children, "Don't go into the woods, or the Woman in White would steal you away and eat you." It guided them to where she and her mother normally sat, pouring over spells and incantations. There were scorch marks in the grass from a lesson involving candles going awry. Mud puddles from yesterday's rainstorm. A frozen mouse from learning how to paralyze things. This was her classroom.
"Ok so wha'ave ya' learned so far, girlie," her mother quizzed her. "All witches have green eyes. You can only be a witch through birth and it is passed down to the next living descendant. As long as a witch uses a certain quota of magic, we do not age. But we are not immortal. Anything else can kill us. Most covens are led by women, which is befuddling for humans. Especially men. Our family's lineage can be traced to even before stone hedge which was built by Celtic druids. Through the millennia we have been hunted by humans and vampires alike. Many vampires want us for power or kill us out of fear of us potentially being a threat, like humans," Moira recited proudly. She had learned a lot in the last month. "And how to do stop being a witch?" Her mother asked rhetorically. "Death is the only thing. If you are bitten by a vampire, which counts as death, and you no longer are considered a witch. You can stop using your powers, but then you age and then die," Moira remembered. Her mother chose to limit the amount of magic she used when she met Moira's father because she wanted to grow old with him and live a somewhat normal life. It was an honorable gesture out of love.
The bell on the shop door rang as one of the most beautiful women Moira had ever seen entered. "Sorry, we are closed, miss," Moira said politely since it was nearly midnight. The woman was a similar height and build to her mother with smooth ivory skin against the black cloak and torn white lace gown. The hood was pulled over just enough so Moira couldn't see her eyes, but she saw the carefully sculpted nose, blushless cheeks, and ruby red lips. The mistress' hair was a pale, platinum blonde color and reached to her hips. "Jane?" the woman asked tilting her head to the side, almost confused and in a dream. Her mother, hearing Moira speak, hustled into the room. "It's been a long time, Lila. I trust your mate has no knowledge of your presence here. We have much to discuss," her mother quickly locked the door and closed the drapes. The gorgeous woman made her way to one of their chairs, sitting down slowly and crossing her legs with such an elegance it was if her feet never touched the ground. "Yes, Avi is too busy with a red-herring errand. It really has been too long since I have been in this shop," the strange woman's voice almost sang. Everything about her enchanted Moira.
Slowly the woman removed her hood and cloak. Her eyes were glowing red embers. Moira gasped when she realized the woman was a vampire. Not only that. She had a striking resemblance to the woman in her nightmare. Lila smiled at Moira, "Well aren't you just the prettiest thing?" Moira blushed, tempted to hide behind her mother out of bashfulness. Instead she struck up the same grit her mother had in her eyes. She was a witch now. She needed to be strong like her mother. "Lila," her mother warned, "I would like to know how close your coven is to my family. I need to know if we should run or not."
The vampiress laughed a cold, beautiful laugh. "You won't out run my husband. He is certain you have the cure. And he has a bad habit of not stopping until he gets what he wants. I came here to see if you had it. I hoped that way you and your daughter would be spared," Lila scoffed. "Your coven has killed too many of us! Why save us two?" Her mother almost growled in anger. The drapes had caught fire in her outburst and Moira quickly did a mini-rain spell to put them out. "Because you have always been kind to me, Bess. You make me feel like I am still a witch in a way. That and I really have taken a liking to your daughter just now," Lila raised an eye brow at Moira who was putting out the fire. "We don't have the cure! There never has been a cure. You vampires are all insane. Just leave my family and coven in peace and I will leave yours as such," her mother threatened.
The vampiress stood up, put on her cloak as rolled her eyes, "Don't say I never warned you. I know you are lying." She showed herself to the door. "Goodbye, Jane," she cooed as stared at Moira with this sorrowful look in her eyes. Then she was gone.
"Momma, why did the vampire keep calling me Jane?" Moira asked as they made their way for another lesson. Her mother sighed, obviously not wanting to tell her. "Because she is old, sad, and crazy. Lila had once been a witch. She had three kids, two twins who were also witches and a little boy who was human. One of the twin's names was Jane and you two must look very similar. When Lila and her husband became vampires, they left to protect their children since they couldn't control their thirst. They came back home to find that the twins had been burned at the stake," her mother recalled, "Which might just happen to you if you're not careful, girlie." Her mother found a way to make everything into a lesson now.
The continued with levitation since Moira was still struggling to lift anything heavier than a piece of firewood and for longer than ten seconds. Focus. Breathe. Be one. It was working slowly. She watched the boulder shake, hovering above the ground by a couple centimetres. Gesturing with her hands, it rose higher and higher. Elation filled her as it rose as well as this dizziness. She felt light as a feather as she lifted the stone with her mind. She had never lifted something this heavy before. She knew she would be exhausted after, but enjoyed the joy of magic for now.
"Moira, stop," her mother whispered snapping her out of her daughter's daze, her voice now scared, "We are not alone." Two vampires emerged from the woods. The brunette and blonde males she had seen from her nightmare. Her first vision. They had tried to fight, but soon the brown haired male had his cold hand around Moira's throat. If her mother tried anything, he would crush it before a spell had time to take effect. "Come with us," was all the brown haired vampire said.
The vampires had them walk for several hours before they got impatient and picked them up to run. It was thrilling and frightening how swiftly they moved, almost flying through the dark forest. Each step they grew farther and farther away from home and safety. Eventually they came to an empty cabin deep in the woods of an unknown territory. Neither had been this far north. "We don't have the cure," was all her mother spit out angrily as the blonde threw her on the ground. "Lies!" the darker haired male slapped her hard across the face. Her mouther gritted her teeth and took the blow as she felt the bones break in her cheek, while Moira gasped at the sudden violence. "Please don't hurt us," she pleaded, tears down her face. "We won't hurt you, little girl. If you make a cure," the brunette smirked and knelt down, brushing a cold hand through her hair gently before tugging it at the end. Her mother, crossed her arms gruffly, "Why would you want a cure vampirism? You seem to enjoy the power that comes from being a vampire?" The brunette chuckled darkly, "Details, details. We just need enough for five. Then we will send you and your baby girl on your merry way." Her mother, strong and stony, spit the blood out from her mouth that had accumulated from the punch. "Fine, I will make a cure. If you swear to let us go and not harm my daughter," her mother shook hands with the dark haired demon.
The vampires had been surprisingly hospitable. Once the brunette's anger had subsided, Moira realized he was rather young and handsome. His wavy mahogany hair, smooth hairless face, wide curious red eyes, thin smiling lips and small build made him seem no older than his mid-twenties. He often adorned a strange maroon top hat with a raven's feather tucking into the silk band. He often let her try it on and wear it. If her mother asked for something, an ingredient for the cure, food, an extra blanket, or even a doll for Moira, he would bring it readily. The only thing that scared her was how she could never hear him coming up from behind her. She would only know of his presence when she felt his cold, thin finger brush through her golden hair. "You remind me of someone I loved," he would say smiling lost in thought as she sat at the small table in the cottage as her mother worked furiously. He would tell her stories of when he was human, when he had been a French soldier, as he made her food and occasionally sipped her tea.
"I was the youngest of thirteen boys. The smallest and weakest by far, which made mean easy target for being picked on. Technically I had eleven brothers, but I consider my father as one of those boys. He gave everything to my elder brothers, and only laughed at me. A scrawny boy who couldn't even hold a sword. He would encourage his sons to fight amongst each other for food, to make us stronger he would say. I wished to be nothing like him, but unfortunately I inherited his foul temper. I ran away from home to join the army when I was nine, hoping to please him so I would no longer be his petit lâche. His little coward. I did fine for a boy so young. Being the youngest had taught me one thing. How to fight for yourself and get what you want. Although I was never on the front lines, I worked as a messenger for many years before working my way to the status of a soldier. When I was nineteen, I was sent to England to work as a guard in Loxwood, where you are from. I got very lost and was aided by the beautiful young maiden who later became my wife. She blessed me with three beautiful children, who I miss every day. Unfortunately I rarely saw them since I was often called away to fight. This all stopped when I was caught in a battle late at night and was fatally wounded. Stabbed several times in the chest, left bleeding in a field. But then a dark savior by the name of Frederick found me. He made me stronger than I ever imagined. This creature you see before you. I soon learned I had a rare ability. I could control and influence dreams. I was a wild vampire in my early months. The only thoughts that kept me in control were thoughts of my awaiting family. I needed to be tame again in order to ever see them. My creator taught me how to control the thirst, saying he would help me turn them so we could be together forever. I practiced stopping while feeding on several soldiers left dying. That's how I turned my best friend Captain Henri March, who has stayed by my side ever since. I have turned a couple others over the last couple hundred years. A son of a baron who wanted his son to be king and hoped being a vampire would give him this power. Unfortunately he fled and had been in hiding ever since. At least he ended up being a tracker. A son of a priest who claimed to be a vampire and witch hunter who was giving us trouble. That we did just to spite him. I heard he hated himself so much for becoming a vampire he nearly starved himself to death before breaking down and pitifully hunting animals. When I was sure I could bite my family without killing them, I voyaged back home and found them in the woods. My eldest two, Jane Marie and Alexander, were nearly seven and climbing trees as happy as could be with their baby brother watching, round cheeked. They came running at the sound of my voice, although barely recognizing me. When my wife saw me, she was frightened by what I was and took my children away from me. But that night I slipped into her dreams and convinced her to meet me alone. I turned her hastily and she hated me for several years. We couldn't be near them since both of us struggled with controlling our thirst and feared killing them on accident. I wanted to turn my children, but she warned me of the dangers of turning our children while they were still young. We agreed to take them with us when they were adults. When we returned to Loxwood on our youngest eighteenth birthday, we learned our eldest two had been murdered and our only remaining child was now happily married with a trade and two children. My wife begged me to let him remain human, and I obliged. We watched over him as he later had grandchildren and great-grandchildren and even great-great-grandchildren. Even through all these years, I sit next to my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter. My greatest regret in life was how we could never save the twins and be a whole family again."
His eyes were sad and genuine. Surly this creature could not be all evil. He had had a family once. But his friend, the blonde male, scared her. He often watched her mother as she sped around, mixing herbs, whispering chants to herself, writing down notes. His eyes hungry, licking his lips whenever she bent down to grab things that had fallen to the floor. She had told him numerous times to give her more space and to stop his flirtatious purrs. She was happily married to Moira's father and hated how this thing seemed to be undressing her with his glowing eyes, "I will miss you when you go, mon trésor. Perhaps you can stay and teach my heart to beat again." She would slap his stone hand away as he groped her rear-end, teasingly kissing her neck. He would stop when the brunette snarled at him. "We promised not to harm them, Henri," he would remind the younger vampire. "But she is so pretty, Avi," he would beg. "Sexual assault counts as harm. Not to mention you are distracting her from work," the brunette would snap. Each day both grew more and more impatient. The brunette would hover, watching her every movements in anticipation. A cat watching a mouse while swishing its tail.
The vampire did keep his promise. He was careful not to hurt them and did his best to make sure they were comfortable. He let her mother continue her lessons with Moira. He watched interested and helped to keep Henri March from interrupting. Moira was doing surprisingly well. "It's the fear ye' felling," her mother told her, "Getting ye' a'worked up and ready." It was true. Moira was scared. Although the brunette had been kind to them, she still remembered him hitting her mother and the fact that they were prisoners. She could lift all the furniture in the small house, make the pond next to the house freeze with a single breath, light all the candles in the house by snapping her fingers, make small dust clouds with puffs of wind by rubbing her hands, and make shapes and figures appear in the small cooking fire. She would stare at the humble blaze as horses galloped and flowers blossomed. When she wasn't practicing her magic, the brunette, who now told her to call him "Avi", taught her French. "You might just be the most educated woman in these woods," he beamed as she recited verb tenses. He was happy to learn she already knew her letters and a bit of arithmetic. If only she was his daughter…
Over a month had passed. "Is it finished yet?" Avi asked for the third time that day. "No, Avremarus. I need the light of a full moon bottled up for exactly thirteen nights," her mother panted as she mixed an odd mixture.
"How about now?" he asked after that had been collected. "No, I need the tears of an ocean," she replied as she smashed more herbs.
"Momma, when will it be finished? I really want to go home and see father," Moira asked as the curled up to go to sleep. "Soon, m' darling. Soon. Be strong," she whispered as they fell asleep. 'Be strong' was what she whispered several times a day. She was sick of being strong. Father must be worried sick about them and where they might be. They had been missing for such a long time. Each day her mother had told both her and Avi that it would be done soon. That it was almost ready. Moira then had a sudden revelation. There was no cure. Her mother had been just doing busy work, tricking their captors. "Is there a cure?" Moira whispered softly. Her mother looked around to see Avi was posted outside, guarding the door to make sure they didn't try to escape. Henri March was 'Hunting', whatever that meant. Her mother shook her head sadly, mouthing "I'm sorry" with sadness in her frown creased eyes. She hugged her baby girl to her chest. Beatrice knew the vampires would kill them both when they learned of her deceit. It was all her fault. She had been stalling for weeks now, hoping to buy some time as her family, other witches, came and tried to save them. She had done several spells contacting them, letting them know they were in danger and where the cabin was. There had been no responses. Even her sister Margaret had left them.
The next day Avi demanded to know when the cure would be done. "I have been up and down the British Isle searching for the strangest things that I don't even think exist, getting you everything your black heart desires, and waiting day after day. When will it be done?" he growled impatient. "Just a couple more days," her mother huffed. "You have three days to come up with a cure before I search for someone else," Avi said plainly, leaving his threat open ended.
Her mother broke down crying. Moira had never seen her mother cry. She had always been fearless and brave. Facing every struggle that came her way with a stiff lip and unnerved eyes. Her mother had claw marks on her face from battling a bear. She had fought off pirates on her voyage from her home in Ireland to England. She had seen the most helpless of people come crawling into her shop, begging for aid and offered the softest of touch. Now she lay on the floor, face in her hands sobbing uncontrollably. They were going to die. Kneeling down, Moira wiped away her mother's tears saying, "Be Strong, Momma." She wasn't even twelve yet and she knew what they had to do.
Flipping through the Grimiore she found a curse that they could do easily within their time restraints. Silently, she showed it to her mother. Her mother looked at her shocked, then smiled at her daughter for showing some spunk. This plan might just work. The two of them worked around the clock trying to prep the curse. They had to make the final product seem like the cure and convince their captors to take it. They had to be strong.
They were interrupted on the final day by a third vampire barging through the door. It was the beautiful vampiress Moira had met in there shop. "You promised not to harm them," she snarled at Avi. "I did. See how they are obviously in pools of their own blood with broken bones begging for death," he sarcastically gestured to the two witches who were pouring themselves cups of tea while nibbling on pieces of toast, "Plus they promised to help, mon amour. The cure will be ready today. We will finally be human." He kissed his mate in joy.
"Hello Jane," Lila called as she gave her a tight, cold hug. Moira was still confused. This vampire needed to stop calling her 'Jane'. It wasn't her name and it was starting to scare her. Both she and Avi were insane. Maybe that was why they were somehow mates? Her mother was right. Vampires were crazy.
Her mother asked the three of them to step outside. The last ingredient could possibly be toxic to vampires and she didn't want to harm her hosts. Moira was confused. This wasn't part of the plan. They vampires blindly trusted the witch. "Get inside the cupboard," her mother ordered. Moira didn't know what was happening. "Just do it," she ordered again. Moira nodded and curled up inside the cupboard. "I love you not matter what. Be strong," she mother hugged her and kissed her forehead before shutting the door. It smelled of mold, dust and dying wood. Whispering a spell, the door magically locked. Moira, panicked and started to try and open the door. It wouldn't budge.
"It's ready," her mother called. They came running inside. "I only had time to make one," she said apologizing. "That's okay. If it works, you can make more," Avi smiled, now kind. With shaking hands, she brought a stone bowl with a thick red liquid in it. "You must dump it over your face. Then you might feel a slight burning feeling on your skin and eyes," her mother instructed as she handed the bowl to Avremarus. Unable to wait another second, he lifted the bowl and poured it over him, eyes open and waiting for mortality.
The bowl shattered on the floor as Avi screamed in agony. The liquid burned as if he had submerged his head in Hell itself. He clawed at the liquid trying to clear it from his face. His eyes felt like they were white hot coals, they hurt so much. Opening them, trying to purge them with water, he realized he couldn't see. He was blind. "You bitch!" he screamed, splashing cold water on him. The pain was so intense. He turned ready to kill Beatrice as his wife grabbed him. "Stop this. Just leave her and the girl alone. Please!" Lila begged. Moira hoped she could stop Avi. She was watching her vision play out just like her nightmare and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Moira cried and screamed as she banged on the door. The vampires did not seem to notice, it was as if she didn't exist.
Avi ignored his mate. His rage had turned to maniacal laughter. "You tricked us!" he bellowed, seething as he told Henry, "Do what you want with her. Just make sure she suffered." Lila protested, begging both to calm down and be reasonable. They could fix this. Give them a second chance. She and her mate, stumbled out of the cottage into the woods. Avi, although now blind, was angrier than he had ever been in his life. Once both had left, Moira watched helplessly from her cage as the blonde male gripped her mother by her throat. "You are still quite pretty, witch. If my boss wants me to kill you, then he won't mind if I enjoy your company. It would be a shame to waste you after all," Henri smiled a crooked smile as he roughly kissed Beatrice on the lips. She screamed into the kiss. Keeping a hand on her neck, he carried her to the table where Moira had learned French and made paper flowers with Avi just a week ago. With greedy cold hands, he pushed her skirt up to her mid thighs, kissing the newly found skin. Her mother fought back, kicking and hitting. The vampire mocked her protests as he hit her head against the table. She had to fight from blacking out from the blow, her vision now grainy and hearing echoed as she lay barely conscious on the table. Her vision was too blurry to see the vampire unbuckle his trouser and slide them partially off. "Oh I'm going to enjoy this Bessy," he hissed in her ear before kissing her neck seductively. Moira was too young to understand what the man was going to do to her mother. The cupboard was too low to see what was happening. A sick feeling in her stomach told her to look away and that she didn't want to see what was happening. Her mother screamed in pain as the man forcefully entered her, pressing against her body. "I love it when they fight," he panted as he thrust deeper and deeper. All Moira could hear was the sound of skin against skin and the occasional grunt from Henri. Maybe her mother was hurting him? Maybe she would fight back? Moira did not know what rape was.
Finally she heard the man moan loudly as he collapsed on top of her mother, completely spent. "Well that was fun," he joked as he re-adjusted his pants. The cabin fell silent except for Moira and her mother's sobs. When Avi and Lila returned, Lila gasped at the sight of her almost unconscious friend, "You sick animal!" Avi could not see what had happened, but he could smell it. "You are disgusting. I said to torture her, not rape her," Avi seethed, rubbing his face in frustration. Even he had boundaries he wouldn't cross. Rape was one of them. Henri smugly smiled, "Well maybe you could have been clearer on your instructions." Avi's anger had calmed with the help of his wife. The pain was gone and all that remained was his blindness. She had convinced him to let her try again. Lila ran to the body of her friend and helped her to the bed, tending to wound on her head from being smashed on to the table.
The next day Avi explained the new rules for the two witches. They would have three months to come up with some sort of cure or they would be dinner. Her mother limped, terrified of Henri after that night. They spent the next week sifting through every book they could find, hoping to find a cure. But on the third day, something startling happened. Beatrice woke up suddenly, about to throw up. She stumbled outside, emptying her guts. She threw up several more times that day. The rest of the week followed. On the eighth day Moira found her mother hugging her stomach, feeling her lower abdomen. Pure horror filled her face. "What's wrong, Momma?" Moira asked. Her mother had felt this way before. It was too familiar. The last time she felt like this, she had been ill for months. Nine to be exact.
"I'm pregnant," her mother choked out venomously, "With a vampire's spawn."
They ran to tell Lila, hoping she could help. The vampiress felt the witch's stomach. "Are you sure you weren't pregnant before? You must be at least two if not three months along." This was impossible. Vampires could not conceive children. This child would be half-vampire, half-witch. "Avi, something's wrong. Your oaf of a friend impregnated Bess. That's why she is really sick," Lila told him. Avi's eyes went wide with surprise. This was not counted for. They watched Beatrice as her health declined each day. Moira was often left forcing her to eat, helping her lay down, and other things to help care for her mother. Avi feared she would not be able to make the cure.
One night, when all three of the vampires had left to go hunt, they tried to escape. It was desperate and rushed, but soon they heard voices. "Moira! Beatrice!" men called searching for them. One of them was her father. "Father, we're here! Momma needs help!" Moira called as he rode up to them. He stopped when he saw his wife's bulging, pregnant belly. The rest of the men rode up to where the three were standing. "She's pregnant," one of them gasped. He knew it wasn't his child. Perhaps they had run away in the shame of his wife's wicked act of adultery. He told Moira to come with him, to leave his cheating wife. Moira shook her head. Someone needed to stay with her mother. "You are dead to me," he spat at her disgusted. The men left them, calling Beatrice a "whore" and "slut". The vampires heard the noise and found them broken. After minor chastising, they were brought back to the cottage.
By the second week, she was too frail to get out of bed and spent most of the day sleeping. Their attempt at running away had exhausted her more than she realized. The creature inside her slowly sapped away her strength. "Maybe we could feed her blood," Henri suggested. Beatrice found the strength to spit on him. Drinking blood would require killing an innocent life. That she was not ready to have on her conscience.
"Are you going to die?" Moira asked as she got her mother a new blanket. She had been shivering uncontrollably. She now looked seven months pregnant, even though she had only been pregnant for nearly three weeks. She didn't have an answer for her daughter. "It's going to be a boy," her daughter whispered hoping the news would cheer her up. She didn't know how she knew that, she just did. She remembered helping her mother deliver the baby girl, the night she had learned she was a witch. She knew it was going to be a girl then. She pictured the creature growing in her mother's belly having blonde hair like hers. But she always hoped she could envision her mother holding the baby. Every vision, she always saw just her holding it. No matter how hard she tried, her mother was never in those visions.
"It's okay, Jane," Lila cooed as she braided Moira's hair. The couple's obsession with her hair and the resemblance with their dead daughter still scared her. But it seemed to be the main reason they were so gentle with her. Moira wondered if her new baby brother looked like one of their sons, if he too would be treated the same way. She twistedly hoped so. The couple had told her they could hear the baby's heartbeat, which astounded them. Would the creature be more vampire or more witch? They both had wished to have more children after them becoming vampires, but sadly could not. Lila told her friend she would help take care of the baby and Moira if she didn't live through the pregnancy. Which motivated them to helping Moira take care of Bess. Moira had always wanted to help people bet better, just like her strong mother. Not like this.
They had entered the fourth week and her mother looked ready to burst. Her belly was painfully full. "You'd think she was having twins," Henri joked giving his cohorts false hope. The vampires had left to hunt, now trusting them not to run since Beatrice could barely more laying down. "Moira, come here I want to you to do something for me," she mother struggled to speak. "Anything," Moira said. Her mother gestured to her stocking to where she kept a small dagger for different rituals. Moira grasped the cold metal object in her hand.
"I want you to slit this Thing's throat when it's born. Promise me."