Part 4
Draven remained in the shadows as he listened to the conversation between Demios and Tiarina. Who the hell was Demios calling obnoxious? he thought, irritated. But if he didn't want to be detected, then it wasn't worth saying anything about it now.
It didn't surprise him that Tiarina would try to escape, even in the highest room of the manor house. Providing she didn't work out her shapeshifting power, then that was okay with him. Or the telepathic thing so she could call for help.
He allowed himself a small smile. Well, she didn't remember her idiot of a sire, or any friends of hers who might be able to come and save her. No one should work out where she was. As far as any of his enemies were concerned, he was dead and buried. He even visited his own grave sometimes.
His smile faded as Demios got into the history thing or why he was holding her. If the little bitch hadn't run off all those years ago, then they wouldn't be doing this, she would be his and never have become part of that idiot clan of hers.
When Demios came back down the stairs he blended in with the shadows of the tower steps, not wanting to be seen. Demios paused, blue-green eyes narrowed as he looked around. Then shrugged and walked on.
Draven walked over to the door, pressing his hands against it. If she was still in a mood, it would be hard to make her understand. Her memory was still fuzzy, and despite what he'd said, he had asked one of his secretaries to find him a more powerful witch.
Which meant, first of all, the old one had to be taken care of. That'd keep him busy for all of...ten minutes. He left the tower room and walked through the open room so the mansion where his witch was probably brewing her potions in the basement.
Most of them stank so much he didn't want her stinking the house out so he made her do her work in the basement, that meant it was only herself and the prisoners who had to put up with her.
"Today's potion isn't ready yet," she grumbled, looking up from her cauldron. Her pale violet eyes glimmered angrily. Her silver hair was tied back in a messy bun. She was only twenty-five. The only Harman he'd managed to find that hadn't been nabbed by Circle Daybreak in their gather-all-the-lost-witches crap.
"When will it be ready?" His arms crossed across his chest. She would have something sharp around here...ah. Poker by the fire place, that would do. When she turned her back he would make a grab for it.
"About twenty minutes, it needs to cool down," she answered, taking a ladle dipping it into the pot, using the ladle to pour the steaming gold coloured liquid into a clear glass jar.
"And this one will reset everything."
"Begin the process. I'll need to do a little hypnosis and invent some memories to replace the one's she lost if you want her to stick here with you."
Invent memories? Not a spell he'd ever heard of, nor seen done before. Well, his new witch would probably do a better job of it than he would. He didn't really believe any sort of hypnosis would work, and would even admit to be impressed if it turned out he could be proved wrong here.
The witch still hadn't turned her back yet. Draven sighed with irritation...then frowned. Something...something wasn't right. He could sense a presence in the room that didn't belong there, and his witch was starting to sense it too.
"Evil is in this room," she whispered hoarsely. She cupped her palms together, and Draven could see the orange witch magic starting to grow between them. The witch's violet eyes were darting around the darker corners, where the light of the candles she used to light the room didn't quite manage to reach.
The witch shrieked, and Draven cried out in anger and surprise as a knife appeared, slicing the witch's throat, the arm coming from behind. Her ball of magic flew off, striking him in the chest, throwing him ten feet across the room. The witch was on the floor, blood gashing from the wound in her neck. She was making choking sounds, and within two minutes or less, lay still.
The figure that emerged from the shadows was tall, with long blonde hair and blue eyes and a coldness about her that didn't seem to fit in with her fairy-like beauty. She looked more like she should be a nymph in a classical painting. Draven scrambled to his feet. "Who the hell are you?"
The girl laughed, chilling but beautiful at the same time. Like everything else about her. "You sent for me." Her accent was British, and kind of posh as well.
He eyed her dubiously starting to move out the room. "You're the witch my agent got?"
"I'm a little more than just a witch," the girl said proudly as she followed him out the basement and upstairs. "The man who called me said someone named Draven Blacknight was looking for a powerful magic worker, they called me." He noticed her sneer a little at his name.
He would have liked to stick with Redfern, but Garret Redfern was dead. Draven Blacknight was the pseudonym he'd chosen. It sounded better, more flashy for a two thousand year old vampire. "You got a name?"
"Susanna Tempest."
Draven turned to stare at the woman. ^Great, just what I wanted. Another fucking Tempest^ he thought.
* * *
Draven remained in the shadows as he listened to the conversation between Demios and Tiarina. Who the hell was Demios calling obnoxious? he thought, irritated. But if he didn't want to be detected, then it wasn't worth saying anything about it now.
It didn't surprise him that Tiarina would try to escape, even in the highest room of the manor house. Providing she didn't work out her shapeshifting power, then that was okay with him. Or the telepathic thing so she could call for help.
He allowed himself a small smile. Well, she didn't remember her idiot of a sire, or any friends of hers who might be able to come and save her. No one should work out where she was. As far as any of his enemies were concerned, he was dead and buried. He even visited his own grave sometimes.
His smile faded as Demios got into the history thing or why he was holding her. If the little bitch hadn't run off all those years ago, then they wouldn't be doing this, she would be his and never have become part of that idiot clan of hers.
When Demios came back down the stairs he blended in with the shadows of the tower steps, not wanting to be seen. Demios paused, blue-green eyes narrowed as he looked around. Then shrugged and walked on.
Draven walked over to the door, pressing his hands against it. If she was still in a mood, it would be hard to make her understand. Her memory was still fuzzy, and despite what he'd said, he had asked one of his secretaries to find him a more powerful witch.
Which meant, first of all, the old one had to be taken care of. That'd keep him busy for all of...ten minutes. He left the tower room and walked through the open room so the mansion where his witch was probably brewing her potions in the basement.
Most of them stank so much he didn't want her stinking the house out so he made her do her work in the basement, that meant it was only herself and the prisoners who had to put up with her.
"Today's potion isn't ready yet," she grumbled, looking up from her cauldron. Her pale violet eyes glimmered angrily. Her silver hair was tied back in a messy bun. She was only twenty-five. The only Harman he'd managed to find that hadn't been nabbed by Circle Daybreak in their gather-all-the-lost-witches crap.
"When will it be ready?" His arms crossed across his chest. She would have something sharp around here...ah. Poker by the fire place, that would do. When she turned her back he would make a grab for it.
"About twenty minutes, it needs to cool down," she answered, taking a ladle dipping it into the pot, using the ladle to pour the steaming gold coloured liquid into a clear glass jar.
"And this one will reset everything."
"Begin the process. I'll need to do a little hypnosis and invent some memories to replace the one's she lost if you want her to stick here with you."
Invent memories? Not a spell he'd ever heard of, nor seen done before. Well, his new witch would probably do a better job of it than he would. He didn't really believe any sort of hypnosis would work, and would even admit to be impressed if it turned out he could be proved wrong here.
The witch still hadn't turned her back yet. Draven sighed with irritation...then frowned. Something...something wasn't right. He could sense a presence in the room that didn't belong there, and his witch was starting to sense it too.
"Evil is in this room," she whispered hoarsely. She cupped her palms together, and Draven could see the orange witch magic starting to grow between them. The witch's violet eyes were darting around the darker corners, where the light of the candles she used to light the room didn't quite manage to reach.
The witch shrieked, and Draven cried out in anger and surprise as a knife appeared, slicing the witch's throat, the arm coming from behind. Her ball of magic flew off, striking him in the chest, throwing him ten feet across the room. The witch was on the floor, blood gashing from the wound in her neck. She was making choking sounds, and within two minutes or less, lay still.
The figure that emerged from the shadows was tall, with long blonde hair and blue eyes and a coldness about her that didn't seem to fit in with her fairy-like beauty. She looked more like she should be a nymph in a classical painting. Draven scrambled to his feet. "Who the hell are you?"
The girl laughed, chilling but beautiful at the same time. Like everything else about her. "You sent for me." Her accent was British, and kind of posh as well.
He eyed her dubiously starting to move out the room. "You're the witch my agent got?"
"I'm a little more than just a witch," the girl said proudly as she followed him out the basement and upstairs. "The man who called me said someone named Draven Blacknight was looking for a powerful magic worker, they called me." He noticed her sneer a little at his name.
He would have liked to stick with Redfern, but Garret Redfern was dead. Draven Blacknight was the pseudonym he'd chosen. It sounded better, more flashy for a two thousand year old vampire. "You got a name?"
"Susanna Tempest."
Draven turned to stare at the woman. ^Great, just what I wanted. Another fucking Tempest^ he thought.
* * *