Page 15 of Cursed Lifeline

I stand paralyzed by all I've witnessed, absorbed in the bitter memories of my past, and absentmindedly study the gravel where he was standing. A twitter-pated couple waltz into the entryway. Drunk on their obsession with one another and seeking a private corner to indulge in their lust, I barely make it out of the way before the gentleman and lady push into my hiding spot. They begin to enjoy each other in ways that have my normally ghostly complexion blushing from the sounds and sights of the erotic show they're so indecently putting on.

Slithering down the hallway towards Lord Martin's study, I push through the door on the right of the room and make my way to a bookshelf. Pulling back the spine of Shakespeare's Macbeth, the shelf opens to reveal a hidden passageway. Glancing over my shoulder to ensure I am alone, I take the darkened corridor and quickly emerge through the other side.

The study is seemingly empty, except for Lord Martin, who is huddled over his desk deep in thought. The fireplace off to the left is the only source of light, and it crackles and pops, creating a sinister ambiance as I approach the back of Lord Martin's chair.

I have half a mind to strangle the bastard.

Though my canines elongate, thirsty for a kill, the thought of slowly choking the life out of the man is oddly more appealing.

Any man who thinks he can control the coven deserves a drawn-out death and no chance at the afterlife.

My hands shake at my side, my mouth waters, and my feet glide me closer. My hands raise, my mouth opens, and my body stealthily lunges forward before I suddenly come to a halt when a woman steps forward from the shadows on the far right of the room.

Forced to retreat, I instantly step back towards the secret passage behind me and control my thirst, though my hands continue to itch with the need for a poetic justice I fear won't be delivered in time for the coven's sake.

"That went easier than either of us thought," she says.

With her cape pulled low, it's hard to make out her appearance as she glides closer. Lord Martin doesn't look up. Instead, he hangs his head and shakes it slowly, despairingly.

"It wasn't Felix's submission I was worried about obtaining, it was…"

"Leave the rest of the coven to me."

Lord Martin's eyes finally lift and meet his visitors. His jaw ticks. She stands up straighter and looks down on him with indifference. Under the veil of her cape, I take in the faint hint of a wicked, immoral smile as I keep hidden in the secret passageway.

"You don't have that kind of power," Lord Martin seethes.

"Don't underestimate me," she snaps. "In time, I'll gain the power and control we need."

The Lord stays silent. She begins to glide forward. Angrily, he watches her approach. As she gets closer, I remain hidden in the shadows and watch as his anger turns to bitterness. Eventually, a panicked look fills his features as her toes brush against the edge of his desk.

"Fate and destiny have finally aligned," she says. "We can obtain the reality we both want if we work together."

"As much as I love your enthusiasm and know casting spells is what you were born to do, need I remind you, magic tends to moonlight as fantasy, and not all fantasies are destined to one day come true," he seethes.

Her eyes grow wide with madness.

"This one is," she grins wickedly, "and I won't have a self-righteous fool like you stand in my way now."

"I'm not the one you have to worry about standing in your way," Lord Martin seethes.

"Let's keep it that way," she snaps.

As she retreats into the shadows, Lord Martin says, "My staff have informed me of two men who might prove to be a problem."

She stops and eyes the Lord angrily.

"Felix Caldwell and Alfred Crawley are not a problem," she states calmly, eerily, uncannily. "I'll make sure of it."

"I'm trusting you will," the lord sneers. "The fate of France depends on it."

The woman frowns, swings around with a twirl of her ebony cloak, and disappears into a cloud of magic and dust.

I know I should leave. I know it would be wise to keep to the shadows. But the conversation has planted a seed of resentment in my heart for reasons I don't yet understand. So before I do, I quietly step toward the Lord of the house, lean down to his level, and harshly whisper,"Something is rotten in the state ofFrance."

Lord Martin's normally confident demeanor falls and fills with fear, panic, and uncertainty as he looks over his shoulder and takes in my pale skin, violet eyes, and canines. I take note of every ounce of dread that washes over his face and let it fuel a fire within. Just before I slip back out the way I came, I warn, "When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions."

Though the words are meant to forewarn the Lord of approaching misfortunes if he steps out of hand, the presence of the mysterious woman has my heart cautioning that it's not the Lord whose future is in trouble.

---