Page 2 of Taken By the Vampires
Gary’s eyes narrowed and gleamed. An uneasy feeling swept through me, making me sweat despite the frigid air. “Then your mother will be taken into custody.”
My heart thumped to a stop. “You can’t do that to her.” She was too weak to be forgotten in some cold, dank cell. I couldn’t –wasn’t– going to let that happen.
“Then you know what you have to do, Ella.” He cupped his balls and licked his lips. “Sleep with me and I’ll forget all about this little thing.” Gary punctuated the air with my Grimoire.
“Yeah, this little thing,” Dean repeated.
“Just stop talking about the size of your dick, Gary,” I couldn’t help myself. Again.
“What?” Gary clutched my book in just in one hand, but he was looking down at his pants as though to check the package I’d insulted.
I didn’t pause long enough to deal with the outrage I knew was coming. I jumped the remaining steps, grabbed my Grimoire out of his hands, bolted down the porch stairs and dove into the open door of Gary’s truck. The idiot had left the keys in the ignition. I had the motor started and was backing out, the wheels spinning in the mud, before he stumbled down the porch steps towards me, a look of horror on his ruddy face.
He pointed at me. “Don’t do anything you’re going to regret, Ella.”
I only paused to give him a one-finger salute before spinning the steering wheel and turning the truck onto the road. I pressed the clutch and threw it in first. “The only thing I regret is not kicking you in the nuts before I took back my book, you souless asshole.”
I lifted the clutch, pressed the gas and zoomed down the road in a squeal of Gary’s brand-new tires.
Chapter Two
WhathadIdone, whathadIdone, whathadIdone?
That singular thought banged non-stop in my head like a resounding base drum. I’d stolen Gary’s truck. He knew I was in possession of an illegal spell book. If the townsfolk knew I had a Grimoire—specifically, if Minister Jeremiah knew I had a Grimoire—I didn’t want to guess what everyone might do, juiced up on Jeremiah’s hatred of anything remotely pagan.
I glanced at the book on the passenger seat beside me. It bounced a little as I shot over the rough roads. Its brown leather was embossed with exotic-looking sigils. The sigils were framed in gilt gold, overlaying the embossed pattern with minute detail. In the middle of the sigils, in its own little circle, was a symbol more heavily embossed than the other patterns.
The symbol itself was a mystery to me. It was divided into six sections, where lines intersected and created smaller triangular shapes. Within the triangular shapes were little images of a quarter moon, a male and female symbol. There were four others made from circles and curved lines, but I had no idea what they might mean. Despite spending many an evening from my youth memorizing the various spells that never worked, I still hadn’t found the meaning within the thick pages.
A weathered brass lock held the pages closed. Thank goodness for that. I hated to think that Gary might have opened the book and read the spells. There was something intimate about them. They were mine, bound by something that went deeper than consciousness. When I read the spells, I could almost taste their magic. I know it sounded stupid, like I was living in some kind of alternate reality, but that’s what I seemed like to me.
Sometimes, it would be like an elusive word on the tip of my tongue. The more I tried to recall the word, the more fleeting it would become. It was frustrating beyond belief.
My mother had no affinity with the spells it contained, thinking the book just a far ancestor’s fancy. When the spells failed to work, I’d agree, but then I’d look at the detailed work on each page. The neat handwriting in old English that made sense to me. The elaborate illustrations and meticulous, documented results of the spell, and I’d think that it was way beyond someone’s simple pastime
As much as I loved the book, it was a complete mystery to me. Unfortunately, there was no one else in my family who could tell me anything about it. Mom was my only living relative. And yet, despite its value and ability to bail us out of this inescapable life, I couldn’t bring myself to sell it.
We were bound, that book and me. But where to keep it safe?
The answer slammed into my mind out of nowhere, as though it had been shoved there by someone else. The hunter’s cabin that was little more than a survival shack. It had little to no amenities, apart from a crude fire pit, but it would provide shelter if you were stuck out in the elements. It had been built by the state forestry service years ago, and it had all but been forgotten. I don’t know why I’d thought of it just now, but it was perfect place to hide my Grimoire.
The only problem was it was way up and over the mountain. So remote, but I’d always been drawn to the area for some reason. One day while I’d been hiking, I’d chanced on the cabin and then started visiting when I wanted some solitude away from Conway. No one I’d told knew it existed and I doubted that had changed. It was dangerous going there, especially in this weather. If there was no Grimoire, there was no proof, so I had no choice but to hide it.
Needles prickled my blood as I drove around the sharp bends of the only road in and out of Conway. I kept half an eye in the rear-view mirror, half expecting lights from a police car, but luckily there was nothing but darkness and sleet. No other person was stupid enough to drive on this road in this weather. Desperation was my motivation. I only wished I’d had a phone to tell Mom where I was. She’d be worried.
The burgeoning storm was actively getting worse. Light rain had given way to sleet, and now snow. I shivered, my thin shirt no match for the intruding cold. I jacked up the heat full force. It helped, but only enough to take the edge off the cold.
White flakes swung into the headlights, the rest of the landscape was a solid wall of black. I traveled for another half hour, slowly making my way up and around the winding mountain road that was treacherous enough in dry daylight. Luckily, I’d lived there all my life and knew every bend. My experience was a life-saver now.
I hummed a tune. I don’t know where or how I knew it, but it was a strange melody. All I could think of was that Gran used to sing it to me when I was young, but that was a long time ago. Too long to remember where it came from, but as soon as I started to hum, everything seemed to move in slow motion, like I was in an alternate reality.
Snowflakes flew towards me slowly, the truck hit potholes smoothly and I didn’t feel as cold as I probably should have, given my attire. The tune made me think of my own longing to be loved. To be cherished. How often I’d chased bitter loneliness away in the face of duty to the farm, the unending list of chores that was too much for one person to get through, and the perseverance to care enough and provide for my mother.
For a moment, I allowed the full force of my wish to find someone who would somehow complete me, care for me, understand and love me. I let it wash over me, through me and around me. If only I wasn’t stuck in this life. If only I had a choice. If only… if only.
But that was just wishing, and wishing never made anything real.
Goddamn I needed to get out of town. Things were different now I’d gone and done this. Gary would be out for blood that I’d stolen his truck. Mom was sick. The farm was going nowhere. Maybe it was time to cut and run, and get out while I still could. I’d hide the Grimoire and sneak back and get it later, after I had Mom set up somewhere else.
