Lesbian Vampire Ch. 07 - That Which Haunts You

Lara ignored him and gasped when she saw the very witch walking behind the vampire.

"Rhea," she whispered. After months of planning, staring ceaselessly at the image of Rhea printed on that cheap stock paper-- there she was. Lara felt a rush within her and now struggled to speak. All she could think was that it was a shame she promised Braga could have her.

"Lara, I don't like this," hissed Braga, acid in his voice.

She was growing tired of him and resolved to break one of his bones later and laugh as he screamed while it healed itself in front of her. "She can walk only one way; we'll follow. When I take down the vampire, grab the witch and hold. You must strike rapidly." Braga responded with a deep frown.

The pair continued to descend step-by-step. Lara's ears roared and her skin burned as Rhea grew closer. Lara would follow the witch as long as she could, striking just before Rhea stepped into the bright lights of the marina. She'd come to yearn for the traces of Rhea's magick she felt through the hex. It was too beautiful to subsume just yet. She needed to see it embodied.

Lucy had reached the bottom stair. Lara's body tensed.

Then, in the corner of her eye, she saw a strange figure stumbling down the street towards the apartment building. She recognized him as a vampire the moment she looked at him. His pace was discordant, likely drunk on alcohol-infused blood. But there was something else-- she recognized his face.

Her eyes darted back to Lucy, who pushed the building's door open to the street.

"Patrick again?" asked Braga, incredulous. Then Lara knew-- that was Lucy's brother. And Janice's vampire, who she thought was a secret. Lara had seen his face the night Janice died. Rhea exited the building and stood on the sidewalk. She looked across the street at Lara. As if she recognized her.

Then she broke into a run.

Lara lunged after her. Rhea was fast and down the street before long. Soon she came within range of Patrick, walking in the opposite direction.

"What the—" he asked and, in confusion, grabbed the fleeing witch at her shoulders. Rhea exploded into thick, hissing vapor. Patrick fell on his back. He covered his face with his hands and rolled on the cement, screaming.

"She's an illusion," whispered Lara, who then noticed Lucy had not followed but walked back towards the stairs as the door to the foyer was closing in a lazy arch. "Get the witch," she ordered to Braga. She ran towards the door as it fell home.

Lara could make it easily. She was fast now. Faster by two.

Rhea approached the counter that divided the kitchenette from the rest of the studio where her phone lay. She was only a few paces away when the buzzing stopped. She picked it up and saw successive calls from Kivan, only a few seconds apart. Then a text emerged--

RUN!

The hairs on the back of her neck stood. She called him back. She thought she heard the call connect before the window behind her smashed through.

Rhea turned to see Braga spring onto his feet and rush her. She dropped the phone and lifted her hands; her magick halted his body. Her phone clattered to the floor as his legs froze in place. His chest snapped forward. He gave a dry groan as if punched in the gut. Still his eyes were gleeful. He flung himself towards her and an invisible force yanked him back, like a dog on a chain.

He paused, "This place reeks of the both of you."

He began to move forward with slow steps, pushing against the force of Rhea's magick. Braga's glossy leather Oxford shoes scraped along the hardwood. His feet slipped out from under him but he steadied himself. He was stronger than she remembered, only a few hours ago. The tension of the hold made Rhea's arms feel stiff. Her abdomen clenched and she felt the magick grow hot through her limbs. Tiny beads of sweat sprung up on her forehead and she willed her thoughts not to wander.

Rhea could only keep this up for a while. She could do no other magick-- he was too strong.

"Lucy!" she screamed. Her shoulders ached.

Braga grinned wide. Lucy should have been here by now. Rhea thought for a moment and she dropped a hand. It allowed Braga a generous lunge but let her grope the counter behind her. She searched for the knife she'd brought to the party. Lucy had unhooked it and left there.

Her fingers brushed the soft leather and she pulled it towards her. Braga grunted with each step forward, as if pushing a boulder to the steep precipice of a cliff. Rhea fumbled with the clasp of the sheath-- no luck. She grabbed the hilt and sandwiched the sheathed blade between her thighs.

Braga's pace had accelerated. She freed the clasp and brought her right hand back next to the left, the power that flowed through it the only barrier between her and Braga.

The door rattled and Braga looked over. With a deep breath she narrowed her focus. Braga's knees buckled as if a smothering weight had settled on his shoulders. He managed to catch himself just before his knees gave out. He was bent, bowed forward by an invisible force. His face was an expression of mirth.

"Rhea," he rasped. He said her name like he knew her well. "Do you think you can outlast me?" He smiled then groaned under the weight of the magick.

The door rattled again. At the door's dead center, the wood first began to crack and splinter. Braga laughed, the sound manic and heaving. Rhea heard popping as the thick wood swelled like a pregnant belly then finally exploded inward. A huge hole was gouged in the door. Sawdust alight the air and fell to the earth like snow. A white stiletto shoe with a flash of red on the bottom stepped through.

Rhea's call ended with a crash and disconnected. Marcella's knees hit the stone floor and she screamed into her hands. She couldn't hear what Kivan asked of her.

Weak she told herself. Pathetic. She felt tired, so tired.

There was a sharp, metallic pain across the nerves of her teeth and again her vision went black.

Darkness all around. It was quiet here. Marcella wondered if she could hide forever and pretend none of it was real. A bright light emerged in the black, like a pinprick of a star. It grew, dividing itself from the darkness. Then Marcella saw a figure. A vague outline of a person filled with light. It wore a nebulous gray mist that swirled around, as if the figure were the eye of a storm.

It reached out to her. Its palm was a cosmos of celestial colors and its fingers dotted with stars.

"Will you save her?" asked the figure. Marcella heard the voice echo within her mnd.

"Who are you?" Marcella asked. The figure did not answer but Marcella tasted cold water, fresh and sweet on her tongue.

"The magick can stop me, but it cannot recognize you on the threshold."

"Anything," said Marcella.

Rhea felt her strength drain as the woman in whitestepped through the hole and stood as she took in Lucy's apartment. Braga, still hunched, now moved towards Rhea with steady, shuffling steps.

The woman stood in a halo of sawdust from her wreckage. She still wore the pristine white dress, its capelet lined with blood red silk. She'd added a white hat. Its wide brim was massive and swooped wider than her narrow shoulders at an artful angle.

She wore a white latex glove and held a syringe in her hand.

Braga was closer now and soon she would be in his reach. Rhea tried to focus but was dumbfounded by the door. No witch had that strength of magick alone. Lara walked towards Rhea and, on instinct, Rhea grabbed the hilt of the blade still lodged in its sheath that was sandwiched between her thighs. The woman in white paused, wary as Rhea held the blade. But dropping her arm again weakened the already flailing spell she used to keep back Braga.

The woman smiled, and walked closer. Braga laughed.

Rhea's eyes darted between the two. The blade felt heavy in her hand. She thought of Lucy and wondered if she could use the blade to cut her own throat. Braga would be overcome with bloodlust and kill her before they could do what they did to Janice. Her muscles had stiffened and felt frozen in place. She could no longer will her limbs to cooperate. She was stuck and the spell would not let her go. It would cease only when her body failed.

The woman grabbed Rhea's wrist that held the knife. Rhea wobbled a bit but could not shake the woman free as she brought the needle's point towards Rhea's neck.

The lights in Marcella's eyes stretched and warped around her. Sweetwater cast her into Rhea's body. Marcella slammed to corporeality like colliding with a brick wall. Disoriented, the world around her seemed slowed. But there was no time to waste-- if she failed, Rhea would die a terrible death.

Before Rhea, moving at a glacial speed, stood Lara. She gripped Rhea's wrist and held the syringe. On the side of the Lara's neck, the skin began to glow then became transparent. Marcella saw her jugular vein. It sat plump like a ripe tomato on the vine.

Marcella felt the edges of time speeding rapidly towards her. She had one chance. With all the strength she could muster, all the strength Sweetwater had given, whipped Rhea's arm to break Lara's grip. With one decisive move Marcella slashed the blade across the woman's neck, slicing her the vein open. The syringe fell to the ground.

Marcella felt a jolt and then the cold stone of the passageways of the Center.

Rhea blinked in a shock. A curtain of blood poured from a deep gash in the woman's neck and soaked the neckline of her white dress. Lara staggered backwards. Rhea realized the blade was in her hand but her hold on Braga had broken.

She snapped towards him.

Braga stood in shock as he watched Lara stagger back and fall on the ground. The lights flickered.

Rhea lunged forward with a bellow of rage. She drove the blade into Braga's chest.

The beautiful amber light of Lucy's apartment flickered again. There was a deep, rumbling growl. In an instant a blur of a creature took Braga to the ground. The lamps faltered and darkness swallowed the room as he screamed and thrashed. In the brief interludes of light, a cat-like creature dragged Braga across the floor by the throat.

There was a guttural sound, ripping and popping. Then the room was quiet. After a few long seconds the lights flickered back on. Braga's headless body lay slumped on its side, the hilt of the knife still protruding from his chest. Lucy sat on the ground, covered in blood. His head lay beside her.

"What the fuck?" said a voice Rhea hadn't heard in awhile. She looked up. Patrick's head poked through the hole in the door. He stepped into the apartment. He wore slim fitting a black jeans and black hoodie over a Deftones t-shirt.

Patrick pointed at Rhea. His mouth seemed to move like he was yelling but she couldn't make sense of his words. The adrenaline of the moment began to recede and a wave of mortal fear loomed over Rhea. The putrid smell of decay hit her nose. Braga's death-deferred body began to decompose fast. Lucy sprung to her feet and ran to the sink. She washed her mouth of the rotting blood and Patrick followed, still ranting. Bits of sound began to cut through the daze.

"Why burn my face with another fucking spell when I've come to help you!" he yelled.

"The double," Rhea groaned.

"It wasn't meant for you," choked Lucy, still washing her face of blood.

"Well then why didn't you fucking warn me a direct likeness of the witch would be running at me full speed in the dead of night?" Patrick's eyes were wide with incredulous anger. "And burn my fucking face." He pointed at his face, and indeed there were angry pink patches where hot steam took off a few layers of skin.

On the ground, Rhea saw the woman was gone. Only a smeared puddle of blood remained. As if someone slipped in it, trying to run away. "Where did she go?" asked Rhea, voice was weak.

"You're fine. It'll be healed up in an hour," Lucy said to Patrick. The siblings did not seem to hear her. The stink of Braga's rotting body still hung in the air, but the corpse itself now seemed to wither.

"It still fuckin' hurt!" yelled Patrick.

"The woman in white; where'd she go?" Rhea yelled it this time and pointed toward the blood puddle. She saw the syringe on the floor. Lucy looked up from the sink.

"The one running down stairs covered in blood?" asked Patrick.

Lucy's eyes widened and she gripped the sink tight. "She slipped in behind me after I set the double loose. Whatever magick she used, I was frozen like a statue and fell straight to the ground. Just saw her white heels climbing up the stairs." said Lucy. "I have no idea how long I was down. Then, suddenly, the spell was gone."

"That's probably when I slashed her throat," said Rhea. Her throat felt constricted, the memory a strange sensation.

"Wait, what?" asked Patrick.

Rhea's phone buzzed on the ground.

She picked it up-- Kivan again, with Marcella. Lucy and Patrick didn't argue when Rhea insisted they take the call and share what they knew. Rhea was worried speaking to two vampires might frighten Marcella. But the girl was unfazed and explained everything she saw: a witch-priest and his magick that bled the victim of their life force that was then absorbed by the caster. Exactly what Rhea saw at the party.

"She makes a potion, with vampire blood and human ashes," said Marcella. "On regular people, they just get used up and die. But not witches. With them, the spell goes on forever. The body doesn't die and she can just keep taking. That's why they kept it."

"Wait-- they have her body?" interjected Patrick. His voice shook, made fragile by the weight of sorrow. Unlike his sister, his voice retained a trace of an accent.

"Lara needs it. The body stays alive and she takes its magick. That's why Braga wanted Rhea," answered Marcella

"Wait," asked Patrick, his voice wavered. "That was the woman that ran past me, down the stairs, covered in blood-- that was her?" Rhea nodded grimly. "She was her teacher," said Patrick. His voice was flat. "Janice never let me meet her, but she went almost everyday." Rhea inhaled sharply and Lucy's face was strained.

"Lara was her teacher?" asked Marcella, stunned.

"If her body isn't dead does that mean she'll be alright?" asked Patrick. The way he tried to hide a swell of hope made Rhea wince. "No, I think she's gone," answered Rhea. "The link between the body and the spirit is severed. But the magick that binds her spirit also keeps the body on a sort of...life support. The death process is arrested somehow."

"What's different about witches?" asked Lucy towards the phone.

This time Kivan's voice sounded through. "Magick," he said. "A practicing witch, no matter their ability, invites magick within them any time they engage with witchcraft. It's an exchange. The energy gets to manifest in a body and the witch uses it as a force to bypass the limits of the physical world. The more they practice, the stronger the magick within them. Even though she's gone, I think the spell engages the otherworldly energies that were already within her."

"So the witch becomes a renewing source of power?" asked Lucy..

"Janice knew something was wrong," interjected Patrick. "She was trying to get away from them." His voice was ruptured by pain. He shook his head.

Lucy placed her hand on his shoulder and tried to guide Patrick away. He flinched, irritable. Rhea took a few steps away to widen the space between her and the vampires. She dropped the volume of her voice as low as she could.

"So Lara somehow shunts Janice's magick to herself. How?" asked Rhea.

"The medallion!" interjected Marcella. "There's a necklace she was wearing-- it had a sigil. A scary one. Lara wore it when she touched the body. It was the same one the priest wore when he killed the little girl." Rhea nodded, recalling when Lara slipped the strange medallion and chain around Braga's neck at the party.

"How do we save her?" asked Patrick, suddenly behind her.

Rhea flinched in surprise, but her irritation softened when she saw the sorrow in his eyes. He was so sad he looked almost human. His movements were slow and he was still unsteady on his feet. But now Rhea wondered if she mistook intoxication for the hollowing that afflicted a body at the mercy of deep grief. "We need to find Lara and we'll find her remains. That's how we destroy the spell," said Rhea.

"Well then we have to go-- " said Patrick.

"We don't know where she's hiding it," said Lucy as she stepped beside him. Patrick scowled; he knew the sun would rise soon.

"We can get there early tomorrow morning," Kivan's voice again piped through the speakers. "And get to searching so we're not at square one when you vampires can come outside. She can't be too far." Kivan was deeply compassionate; but, despite being a librarian and archivist, believed words mattered less than action. Rhea worried Patrick would be too fragile to hear good sense, but he seemed soothed by Kivan's practical nature.

Patrick pressed his palms into his head. "Why? Why wasn't killing her enough? Why torture her after death?" He turned away.

"The spell is unprecedented in its ability to alter the material world," said Kivan. His kind voice spoke with gentle intention. "All the products we sell, for instance. Or our tinctures. They took generations of collective work to develop but their impact is fractional compared to Lara's magick. That's because no one has that much power alone. There's still much to be discovered about the spell, but I suspect it has created deep shockwaves that are felt far beyond our world-- it must have, because Rhea has seen the evidence. Entrapping her spirit must achieve that, somehow. Otherwise she would have just passed on and her body returned to the earth."

"And," said Lucy in earnest, "Rhea killed Braga. Until Lara finds another vampire, she can't keep making the potion," said Lucy. She said it with an element of pride. Patrick looked at Rhea. Dark brown in color, his eyes were sharp.

"So you're the one who finally took him down," said Patrick. He glanced at the remains of Braga, now crumbling to dust. "I have to applaud you for that. And it was a witch who did him in." His voice sounded flinty.

"Patrick," warned Lucy. He lifted his arms in mock-confusion and made a face.

"I'll need to arrange some details and try to get a few more hours of rest before I travel." Kivan continued.

"Do I get to go?" Marcella asked eagerly.

Rhea raised a brow. When had Marcella grown so bold? It was just a few months ago she was a wide eyed, timid creature, terrified of the world and her own burgeoning power.

"I-- Let me think about it," said Kivan.

"Text me before the boat departs," said Rhea.

"Wait," said Marcella. "I need to talk to Rhea."

Rhea took the phone off the speaker and walked a few paces from the group. She heard murmuring between Marcella and Kivan, and then Marcella's eager voice.

"Were those vampires?!" asked Marcella.

"They were," said Rhea with a smile.

"The lady," asked Marcella, "that's Lucy, right. She's helping you?"

"Yes," said Rhea, semi-rattled by the bloom of warmth in her chest. Marcella paused for a few seconds then asked "who's the guy?"

"Absolutely not," said Rhea, and ended the call. There were plenty rumors about Patrick and Marcella could ferret them out of someone else. She walked towards the couch but felt a tremor of fatigue. Worried she might succumb to sleep she decided to avoid sitting.

"But what about all your damn books," she heard Patrick snap as he pointed towards the door. The siblings went back and forth, until Rhea had an idea.

"I can put an illusion spell to hide the gouge so no one walks in," she offered. "Do you have any duct tape?" Lucy nodded and walked toward the cabinet to retrieve the roll. Patrick scoffed. "You can't just fix it?"