She didn't understand why she dragged herself all the way to Massachusetts. Sure, she was fifteen, but she was much more than a meager witch and much older than an immature teenager. And yet, her mind, her feet, it dragged her all the way out in the middle of nowhere. It was somewhere she was unfamiliar with, and if the old codger's ramblings about these "witch trials" were at least a little bit true, then her immortal life just got a thousand times more complicated. She'd rather that not happen. She'd like to leave alive.
Mary rubbed her once bright emerald green- now dull and tinted red eyes. She would never understand these mortals. Especially the men that constantly followed her a week after she got here. Granted, the twenty-nine-year-old hunter was, but that seventy-year-old? No, the old pope sent his henchmen after the blonde teen. What was so conspicuous about buying food and other items from merchants?
'Oh right,' she thought bitterly, 'I'm a bloody fifteen year old, looking five years younger than I actually am.' She looked at her precariously built house and glanced absentmindedly out the small window. 'What will happen today?' Mary got off the floor, dressed haphazardly for this time period and walked out the door.
By the time Mary came back to her thoughts, she was sprawled against the floor whining pitifully. 'This was not how I imagined that to go.' "Ouch!" She thought she might as well play the part, "That hurt!"
"Well," It was abrasive and the continuation was barbed, "maybe you should start paying attention to your surroundings, girl."
Mary tilted her head and pouted, looking up to the man in front of her, from her place on the floor. Mary teared her eyes up and gingerly got off the floor, noticing the little scratches adorning her hands. "I'm sorry mister," her lips wavered slightly, "I didn't mean to."
The once annoyed twenty-nine-year-old panicked at the sight of unshed tears. Muttering apologies to her, he held his hands up as if in surrender hoping to calm her down. "Hey, hey," he shushed her, "I'm Malachai," and he continued to placate her while obscenities spewed out his mouth. "What is your name?"
"Mary." she sniffed looking from underneath heavy lashes to see the olive-toned man whose attempts to be soothing were useless. 'Look at what the cat dragged in,' she thought maliciously. 'Would the old codger get pissed if I burned down this little naive village to the ground? Hopefully.' As Mary kept drying fake tears, she heard the footsteps of a partially bald seventy-year-old man. 'He's here too?' she thought, sniffling. 'If I really wanted all this attention I would have just stayed at home. Dear Lord knows I get enough of it there. I do not need it here.'
"Are you okay, miss?" the pope's voice presented worry, but Mary caught the underlying uneasiness.
Though she kept sniffing, head down, Mary made herself nod, though inside she was seething. This was not supposed to happen! Meeting both of them were to happen separately. Now she just wondered if she was ever gonna make- 'No Mary. Don't think like that. You will make it out alive. If only to tease the old man that you finally survived from hunters for about a decade. You must!' "Yes mister, I'm fine. Thank you for asking." she wiped her face and smiled brightly towards the balding man who held a calculating gaze.
"That sounds absolutely wonderful." the pope smiled down at the girl, "My name is Tomas. I am the pope of Salem Massachusetts. It was wonderful to meet you. May I inquire about your name?"
Malachai responded as if she herself wasn't there. "Her name is Mary." His tone was arrogant. Like it was before Mary started faking tears.
Mary gritted her teeth. 'These dumb and insensitive mortals. Thinking I cannot speak for myself. I am higher, and soon they will know their places.'
Tomas smiled once more and after a friendly conversation, he admitted that he had to depart and left the two with their own thoughts and feelings.
Malachai smiled apologetically towards Mary as if sensing her irritation. "I'm sorry for not allowing you to speak to Tomas. I did not mean to harm or threaten you in any way, but there was something about him that was deeply perturbing."
True to his words, Mary's rage settled down after the explanation, and she understood it better. Around Tomas, her senses went haywire too. But soon thereafter, she narrowed her flickering red eyes and growled dangerously, "Who do you think you are? Are you assuming you know who and what I am?"
Malachai gave a little dangerous smirk before sauntering away, parting with simple words. "The crossroads heading south in a fortnight."
Marry attempted to follow him, but soon he was lost in the crowd of merchants, and instead found a bunch of girls 'My ire for this village will soon be planned fruitfully. Hopefully, the devil himself will adore these souls. Shame I would never be able to meet him.'
Even separated from these girls about twenty feet, with Mary's keen ears, she was able to pick up parts and pieces of their dialogue.
"Have you heard?" It was not quite a whisper to her ears, but the girls surrounding themselves seemed to nod their heads and continue to whisper harshly to each other.
"...Beatrice and Annie were complaining...pins and pricks.'...a shame,' my mom kept repeating, 'these poor girls... fits, and threw...around the room uttering strange sounds...getting help….'" The teenage girl kept her hands in motion as she explained to the rest of the girls what her own mother overheard from the locals.
One of the girls, a brown-haired preteen quickly covered her mouth before giggles started to spill. She had a hard time explaining herself. "I heard that the black woman over cross the street is likely going to be found guilty."
Mary stopped herself from rolling her eyes, but her eyes flashed in irritation, and she bit her lip harshly spilling tiny drops of blood as she left the location. She desperately tried to continue her days normally until the meeting, but every time she saw one of those gaggles of girls during that time, her mind wandered towards the conversation with missing pieces, and she thought briefly if the old codger really would get pissed if she burned the village down to the ground. She was over this scenario waiting to be played.
By the time she arrived at the crossroad heading South, the moon was already high in the air, and she could sense Malachai nearby.
"Show yourself," Mary commanded as her eyes finally showed it's true nature. As crimson as the mortals, she drank from ever since her birth.
From up a branch, Malachai dropped down landing on two. He carried his weapons, and Marry eyed more than half of them wearily. After moments of silence, they started circling each other. And soon, the dead silence of the night was broken when Malachai dropped over laughing.
He sputtered, more than half his words incoherent, "Your face!" he coughed, "It was genuinely somber! HAHAHAHA."
Mary puffed her cheeks before blowing out harshly. "Yes, and I never considered the last family member of the banished clan to be here joking. But look, here we are." As she said this, Mary gestured outwards with palms facing up motioning to the dead grass that led on for a mile, and the broken, bent water tower.
As soon as Malachai calmed from his boisterous laughter, he grew serious as he discussed the topic at hand. "You are a witch and a vampire hybrid. I don't know why you are here, and quite frankly I don't care. However, if you permit it, I'd like to ask your assistance."
The response was a burst of amused filled laughter and the sentence following it was just as ardent. "Me? A hunter asking the thing it hunts for help?" When laughter from Malachai didn't follow, Mary considered his idea, thinking seriously. "What do I get in return for helping a mortal like you? Your body cremated and then scattered everywhere?"
Malachai rolled his eyes as if thinking Mary was an idiot. "No," he said. "You'll live." and before he could blink, he was on his knees with multiple blades held to his neck.
"You'll let me live, you say? I'd like to see you try."
When more force was added, he tried not to gag as he raised his arms in surrender. He felt Mary leave before he saw her as she appeared right where she was before, raising an eyebrow asking a silent question. "Whatever you want." He finally relented.
Mary giggled happily before sitting right in front of the exhausted Malachi. "Details," she demanded.
After a long conversation about the do's and don'ts of the mission, the sun was rising and they set to put their plan in motion. They waited a month to be sure, and during that time, about a dozen of accused females and a quarter of that males were tried and found guilty of witchcraft. Most died from starvation, or torture by the church.
The preparation was to gather all the necessary materials. Step one was to wait for the people of the town to sleep. Which meant the entire plan would take course overnight. Step two was to start the incantations to summon the demons from hell. And then step three was to sit back and watch the chaos that would ensue. It was to show the pope that no godly being would help them survive. They were worthless mortals using too much oxygen. She would show them and then bring her old man here. He would be proud.
But they were caught.
She was caught.
Mary thrashed her now bloody arms and legs that were held in metal chains. It hurt. Hurt so much. She held back tears, hardly recognizing the murmurs of the adults around her. She didn't want to die. She had so much to live for. She wanted her old man back. To say a final goodbye. The final word she would ever speak to the closest thing she had as a family.
"Why?" Mary questioned softly. She didn't understand. Why? Why would they hurt her? She never did anything wrong! She just lived.
"Why you ask?" Tomas replied. "Its because you are an abomination. A disgrace to the name of God."
"I don't understand." Mary sobbed softly. Why? What did she ever do? "Malachai?"
"Of course you don't understand, sweetheart." cooed Tomas. "You have a demon inside your body. It makes you nonfunctional. It's hurting you."
Mary shook her head softly. But it hurt. Every inch of her immortal fifteen-year-old body hurt. It hurt so bad, and it wasn't supposed to. "Malachai?" It was softly spoken, and Tomas had trouble hearing what she had spoken.
"Cleansed." Tomas's tone was curt. It was straight to the point. "Now," he glanced at the materials stacked upon the metal desk, "it is your turn to be cleansed."
"No.. no.. no." Sobs racked Mary's petite frame. Her eyes were held tightly closed. She didn't want to open them. She felt the pain first right in the middle of her back. It hurt. She writhed in pain. She wanted it to stop.
Tomas murmured Latin underneath his breath. The pain soon grew unbearable. And soon, Mary was screaming, thrashing back and forth, as much as she could be held tight to the metal table under her. Black bloody tears rolled down her pale eyes and ignoring the pope behind her, Mary could see the tan hand leading up to the dead body of Malachai hanging limply on another metal table.
'Stop, please stop.' but the pain never stopped, and the last thing Mary felt was the excruciating pain and the dullness of Malachai's blue eyes.