Crimson Veil

Chapter 15

When Camille returned, she had some good news. “Grandmother Coyote will look after them for the night. They can hide in her tree. Vanzir, Shade, can you run them out there? They’ll be safe until Nerissa finds out whatever it is she needs to know.”

“Great.” Delilah snorted. “As if they’re not shell-shocked enough, they get to hang out with one of the Hags of Fate.”

“Better that than if Lowestar finds out about us and launches a preemptive strike.” Camille shook her head. “We’re in a wartime situation on so many fronts—we do what we have to and accept help from wherever we can find it.”

She yawned. “I’m done in. I say we get some sleep. We have to be on top of things tomorrow. We need to find out what Lowestar gets up to. Now that we’ve disrupted his little operation, you know he’s going to be after us.”

As Vanzir and Shade took our guests out to an even darker space than they’d been in—albeit with less danger for them—my sisters headed up to bed and, hopefully, a deep, dreamless sleep.

I still had a couple hours before sleep claimed me, and all I wanted to do was cuddle with Nerissa. But she was exhausted, too, and I sent her back to bed after a long kiss and a quick feel of those beautiful breasts.

The house was silent within ten minutes, everyone tucked in for the night. I sat at the kitchen table, looking around the room. We’d worked so hard, and our family had grown. Now everything felt shaky and at odds. Not internally—we were a strong unit—but the dangers looming from the outside. I was tired. We were all tired, and we needed a break.

As I sat there, toying with the tablecloth, a noise startled me and I looked up to see Trillian. He was in his bathrobe, leaning against the door frame.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

He shook his head. “Am I interrupting? I can go in the living room if you like.”

“Not at all. Come. Sit.” Truth was, I welcomed the company. Too long alone with my thoughts wasn’t always a good thing.

Trillian put on the teakettle and rummaged in the fridge, looking for a snack. He found some leftover chicken and an apple, and then fixed his cup of tea. Sitting opposite me, he took a long sip of the hot drink.

I watched him eat. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“Thinking. A lot on my mind.”

I knew what was bothering him. “You’re thinking about Darynal, aren’t you?” At his nod, I decided to ask something that had been in the back of my mind for a while. “Trillian, do you have family back in Svartalfheim? Are you worried they might be in danger?”

He paused, lingering over the drumstick. After a moment, he set it down on the plate, wiped his fingers on his napkin, and propped his elbows on the table. “Yes, I do have family there, but I’m not concerned. They disowned me many years back—before I ever met Camille.”

“I didn’t know that.” I had never heard him talk about his family, but that didn’t always indicate a problem.

“I wasn’t… they didn’t like my attitude. Believe it or not, Darynal and I are considered too philanthropic by our families, if you want to put it that way. You think I’m arrogant—oh don’t bother denying it.” He waved away my protestations. “I know it’s true, you know it’s true. I don’t care either way. But the fact is, that for my family, I’m considered meek. I care too much about people outside the family, outside the caste I was born into. I mingle with ‘undesirables’ and had the gall to fall in love with…” Here he stopped, and picked up his tea again.

I stared at him. That cast a whole new light on matters. “You think they wouldn’t approve of Camille.”

“Think, nothing. They found out about us shortly after we met, and blew a gasket. My father gave me an ultimatum. Leave her, or leave the family. They had arranged a marriage for me to one of the higher-ups in the Court. And I wouldn’t play along. Now, Vodox—the King—he is the most progressive ruler we’ve had in centuries. But his rule is still criticized. And my family is old school. They are firmly ensconced in the caste system. Tradition means everything to them.”

That was the most I’d ever heard him talk about his background, and by the look on his face, I began to realize just how far away Trillian was from his upbringing, and the sacrifices he’d made to be with Camille.

“And our father treated you like dirt, too.” I suddenly felt ashamed that I’d backed Sephreh in his opinion. I hadn’t really bothered to find out the man behind the mask. And it was obvious that there was a lot more there than I’d anticipated.

“He was a product of his upbringing. But that only goes so far. Once you discover what someone is like beyond your preconceptions, then it’s up to you to make a change in your perception and action. Your father didn’t want to change his beliefs.” He was treading carefully, I could tell. And I knew it was because of Sephreh’s death.

But I understood—probably more than Camille, and definitely more than Delilah. “He was the same about my vampirism. He hated vampires, and was suddenly up against the horror of a daughter of his being turned. It was hard for him. For the first couple years after I returned home from the OIA’s year of rehabilitation, he could barely look at me. He was civil, but it was all lip service, and he never once told me he loved me during that time. And after he managed to learn how to treat me with any semblance of respect, I still always knew that I was broken—that I’d been whole and lovable, and then Dredge tainted me.”

I seldom dwelt on the past, but some days, the memories swept up as if they were from yesterday. I pressed my lips together, trying to keep from sinking into the mire. It was never a good thing when the quicksand of the past rose up and sucked me down.

“He had a narrow range of acceptability. Look at what happened with Camille.” Trillian finished his tea. “I know she’s not going to say anything, but it’s breaking her up that he wasted time they could have spent together being angry at her. She’ll never say a word, but you know it’s happening.”

I leaned forward, gazing into Trillian’s face. “It was always like that. He loved her most, but only if she stayed strictly on the path he approved for her. One misstep and he was yelling at her and calling her names.”

A cloud passed over his face. “Oh, I know. After Hyto’s attack, a lot of those memories came back and she told us about how strict Sephreh was with her in terms of forcing her to run the household. And how angry he was because she could never do anything as well as her mother. You all had a rough time. I do believe your father loved you, but he had no clue on how to show it.”

“He had no clue on a lot of things.” I stared at my hands. “I want to apologize. I treated you badly. I didn’t look beyond the fact that you are Svartan. I was brought up to consider your people dangerous. And I just accepted it as fact.”

Trillian broke out in a smile then, the easy charm giving a warm glow to his otherwise aloof nature. “Not a problem, Menolly. I think… if anything… the past couple of years have brought us to an understanding and—I hope—a mutual respect.” He leaned back and yawned, stretching. “And now, I think I’ll head back to bed. Your sister is snuggled warm, and I want to be next to her.”

He stood and—without thinking—I rose and crossed around the table to give him a hug. Surprised, he accepted and returned it. Then without another word, he headed back upstairs.

I watched him go, suddenly feeling more at peace. Yes, we were facing danger from all fronts, but we had a pretty damned good foundation here at home, and no matter what, we’d persevere. Another glance at the clock told me it was nearing three thirty. While I couldn’t fall asleep early like most people, I could go down, crawl into bed next to my gorgeous wife, and just let my mind wander. And that’s just what I did.

The next night, I received a call from Erin. She wanted to take Roman up on his offer, and with both a heavy heart—it suddenly felt like I was losing her in an odd way, like she was “growing up”—and a smile, I told her that I’d contact him and we’d hammer out plans soon. I slowly dressed, my thoughts drifting over the past few years as I thought about how far we had all come from where we started, then, glancing at the clock, I shook away the memories as I headed up the stairs.

I entered the kitchen to find myself in the midst of a bustle of activity. And it wasn’t just for dinner. Then I remembered, it was Samhain Eve, and we were scheduled for ritual. As I glanced at the table, I saw an urn sitting there, and I knew what it was before even bothering to ask.

Father’s ashes.

Camille saw me staring at it. “I picked them up today. We’ll consecrate them in our ritual tonight, then when we head back to Otherworld next, we’ll take them with us and scatter them up at Erulizi Falls.”

I nodded. “Sounds right. So what are we doing tonight?”

“Ritual down by Birchwater Pond and then a late dinner. Hanna’s making ham and sweet potatoes and a green bean and bacon dish. Apple pie for dessert. I’m going to run up to my room and get ready. You should, too. Formal dress. We need to keep some traditions alive.” And with that, she bounced off, hurrying out of the room.

Iris and Bruce came crowding into the kitchen just then. Iris was wearing a formal blue gown and her white fur cape. Bruce was dressed in rusts and greens.

“Iris! Are you joining us tonight?” It seemed like it had been forever since we’d all been together. I realized how much I missed having her around the house. But there was no way our house could fit everybody now, and she and Bruce needed their own space.

“Yes, we are. The Duchess is taking care of the babies. Chase will be joining us, too.” Iris grinned. The Duchess was her mother-in-law, who had arrived to help out when Iris had her twins a week ago. And she showed no inclination to return home, so Iris was making full use of her to steal moments away from the sudden influx of responsibility twins had thrust upon her. Add wet nursing Chase’s daughter, Astrid, to the mix, and she was one tired house sprite.

The men were carrying stuff out into the backyard, and I realized they were heading down to the pond with the odds and ends we would need. As I stepped out onto the steps of the back porch, the wind whipped past. A storm was on the way and we were due for strong winds and heavy rain. The air felt chill, ready for a good blow.

Morio slid past me, dressed in his ritual kimono that he reserved for holidays. He was carrying a box with candles in it, and he gave me a little wave as he hurried toward the path.

I turned back inside, not bothering to ask what I could do. Everything looked firmly under control, so I returned downstairs to my lair and opened my closet. There, in the back, hung two gowns. My usual—black as night and beaded—covered me fully, from throat to hem, from shoulder to wrist. But behind that, hung one I’d worn before I was turned. It was a pale shade of silver, and it shimmered with beaded embroidery. It was also sleeveless and had a low neck. I hadn’t touched it since the last Samhain I had worn it—the year before I was turned. But something pushed me tonight to take a chance. To take a step from where I’d been stuck for the past fourteen years.

Three nights ago had been the fourteenth anniversary of when Dredge turned me, when he killed me. Covered with his scars, I had come back to life as a vampire. The scars on the inside were a long ways toward healing. The scars on my body would never fade, a constant reminder. But maybe, maybe I was ready to face them. Maybe I was ready to let go of the fear of being seen. Seen as ugly, as deformed.

Hesitating, I almost caved and reached for the black gown, but then I shoved it to the side and pulled out the silver one. I slid out of my jeans and shirt, wishing I could see myself in a mirror. But truthfully, I had eyes. I could look down, see the marks on my body, the hundreds of intricate spirals and designs he had carved into my flesh. Everywhere was marked, except for my hands, my feet, and my face. Even my pubic mound bore the letters etching out his name. He had claimed me for all time. But he was dead, and now Roman was my sire. And I was still here, still in control, loved and in love.

Pushing aside the past, I slid into the silver gown. That it was sleeveless wouldn’t bother me other than my scars showing. The cold didn’t faze me when it was natural weather. I added a silver shawl, and then, before I could talk myself out of it, I undid the perpetual braids that I kept my hair in. I loved the corn rows, but tonight I wanted to be free—free from my usual identity.

I thought about Trillian, how I had categorized him and stereotyped him based on his looks. I’d been trying so hard to avoid showing my scars, that nobody had even had the chance to see the real me. Who I had been—unmarred, alive, pretty without a scar on her body—was forever gone. Now I was simply Menolly, the vampire. Menolly, the wife. Menolly, the mother of Erin, my middle-aged daughter. Menolly, the warrior and the sister. Menolly, consort of a Vampire Lord. And that… that had to be enough for anybody. Including myself.

Laughing, I slipped on a pair of black flats and then, with one last pause, I headed upstairs.

“Menolly? Everybody’s gone down to the pond. I waited for—” Camille rounded the kitchen corner and stopped, gasping.

“What? Too much?” Nervous once again, I shifted uncomfortably, my resolve of a moment before starting to slip.

“You’re so beautiful. I haven’t seen you in that gown since…” She stopped. “Oh, Menolly. The last time you wore that was before…”

“Before Dredge turned me. The year before. I know. I thought… I thought it was time to drag it out again. Do I look okay? I can’t see myself in the mirror.” I trusted Camille. She’d tell me the truth, even if it was what I didn’t want to hear.

But she just smiled, ducking her head. “Better than okay. You look wonderful. And your hair. I miss your hair like that. It was always so curly and pretty. It’s hard to see just how much it shimmers when you’ve got it back in the braids. But whatever makes you comfortable, that’s all that matters.”

She was wearing her priestess robes—a sheer peacock halter dress, beneath which she wore an ornate demi-bra and a pair of bikini panties. She was carrying the cloak of the Black Unicorn that matched the horn—a gift from the Black Unicorn himself.

Once every so many thousand years, he shed his body like the phoenix and was renewed. The hide and horn were considered great artifacts and some nine or so pairings of them existed. Any sorcerer or magician or witch would slaver to have them, which made Camille a sitting duck should some unsavory and powerful wizard type find out she owned them.

“I have to charge the horn tonight—I exhausted it last week in Elqaneve getting those damned doors open so De-lilah and I could escape.” She slid the horn into the inner pocket of the cloak. “Tonight’s going to be so hard,” she said, sinking into a chair. “I have to stand up there and summon our father’s spirit among the roll call of the dead. Do you realize how difficult that’s going to be for me?”

She didn’t say it accusatorily. In fact, the resigned look on her face told me she’d already resolved the fact that—as Priestess—she was responsible for the tough part of the job tonight.

Samhain was the night we honored our ancestors and celebrated the dead. FBH pagans often celebrated the holiday, too, as well as our Earthside Fae kin. It was a night in which to reflect on the nature of death. Unfortunately, when you’d seen as much death as we had, the honor part was often outweighed with the heaviness of loss. But it was our way, and it helped cushion the sense of futility against a force over which, truly, no one had any control.

“I know, and we love you for doing it. I think…” I stopped, trying to think of a way to phrase what had been running through my head. “I think it’s important that we do this, that we take time for this ritual. It will help us cope with Father’s death. Everything has seemed so surreal the past week, and we’re just holding on by the tips of our fingers.”

“Along for the ride?” She flashed me a smile then, weary as it was.

“That’s pretty much it. We’ve been dragged through the mud and this will give us some sense of continuity. Our home world is in trouble. Let’s face it—Telazhar is wreaking terror across the land. We have little left from our past. This gives us a sense of tradition. Of building new traditions, even when it’s rough.”

I wasn’t sure if I was making myself clear but Camille seemed to get my drift. She pushed to her feet and slid the cloak around her shoulders. “I suppose we should head out there. The others will be waiting.”

And without further ado, we exited the kitchen and headed toward the backyard.

Birchwater Pond gleamed under the glow of lantern light. We owned the entire property that surrounded the pond now, and had turned it into a veritable park. Picnic tables, arched poles that held flickering candles encased safely within hurricane lanterns, fallen logs surrounding a fire pit—we’d worked our butts off out here to create the perfect ritual area, and it was a comforting place in which to spend a few quiet hours.

The rain was at a drizzle, but at least it was no longer pouring, and the clouds parted now and then to show the evening sky. The moon, she was nearing her darkest point, and did not turn her face to us. But the stars gleamed through the inky blackness that overshadowed the night. Another gust, and the cloud cover closed once again, bringing with them showers. It was around forty-two degrees, and as we all stood around, I could see everybody’s breath.

We were a good-sized group. Camille motioned for us to spread out in a circle. The permanent altar table had been erected—Smoky had carved it out of a large stump, etching a perfect pentagram in it, then he had polished the top to a high sheen, allowing the grain of the massive tree to show through.

The altar was set with candles in hurricane lamps, a chalice of wine, a chalice of blood for me, Father’s ashes, and Camille’s dagger. She was carrying the yew staff Aeval had given her. It was a little taller than she was, with a silver knob on top, and in an indentation on the knob rested a small crystal ball. Silver webbing encased the sides of the globe, keeping it in place, and the bottom of the staff was capped by a silver foot.

Bruce, who had turned out to be an excellent drummer, set a steady, firm beat on the bodhran, as Camille picked up her dagger. She slowly circled the area, a pale purple light emanating from the tip of her blade. Within the light, sparkles danced—minute faerie lights, shimmering.

As she finished casting the Circle, once again she stepped up to the altar and inhaled sharply in the chill night.

“We gather together, as we have for years on end, to celebrate the day of death and the festival of spirits… we gather to bid farewell to friends and family who have passed since last Samhain.”

And just like that, I closed my eyes, and was swept back to the first time I remembered celebrating… and how much the rite had clung to my memory.

I was around three years old. Or the equivalent to it. And it was a dark night like this one, only we were standing on the shores of Lake Y’Leveshan. I was holding on to Delilah’s hand, and we were dressed in warm cloaks over long white dresses. Father was there, but he wasn’t paying much attention—he was standing by the shore, staring at the falls as they tumbled over the bluff.

Camille was at the bottom of the Erulizi Falls, on a rock that overlooked the pond at the bottom. The water thundered down, spraying her with mist, as she stared into the depths. Her eyes were wet, but with the water, not tears. During the day I never saw a tear on her face, even when Father yelled at her because she’d forgotten to tell the housekeeper what to fix for dinner or because the gardens weren’t in order. But at night, I heard her. She was the oldest so she had her own room, but I could still hear her crying over Mother.

Father was kind to Kitten, and to me. But Camille? He was hard on her, and his complaints rained like bitter drops. Every day it was one thing or another.

He hadn’t wanted to come tonight. He’d told Camille to ask Aunt Rythwar to bring us, but she’d talked him into it, begging him to join us. Finally he gave up and agreed. Now he stared into the water, as if he were alone in the world, as if we didn’t exist.

After a bit, Camille returned to the altar she had set up. She was studying with the Coterie of the Moon Mother, and they’d assigned her the task of leading a simple rite for the holiday. So she’d laid out an altar with white star-flowers—an autumn-blooming plant, and candles, and a glass of wine. Ginger cookies, made by Leethe, our housekeeper and cook, rested on a tray next to the altar.

“We should start.” She watched Father expectantly. He studiously ignored her. “Fah—we should start the rite. Menny’s tired.”

But he did not turn, did not speak. So she gathered Delilah and me around the altar and, in halting fashion, cast the magic Circle to keep spirits out and energy within. Her knife let out a few halting sputters of energy, but she bit her lip and kept going. And Delilah, with a glance back at our father, resolutely stood at attention. I turned to watch Sephreh. He was alone; he missed Mother. But so did we, and for the first time, I felt like this was the way it would be from now on. The three of us on the inside of the Circle, with him on the outside.

And inside, a swell of anger bubbled up. If that was the way he wanted it, then that was the way it would be. I turned my back on him and focused on Camille, and for the rest of that short, tense ritual, there was no one else in the world except my sisters and me, and the moon shining down overhead, and the memory of a woman with golden hair and a smile that could blind the morning sky.

The Circle cast, Camille took her place at the altar and Morio joined her. They were a matched pair—magic to magic, heart to heart, soul to soul. Smoky and Trillian were also her matches, but the magic—it bound Morio and her in a way she could never have with anyone else in the world. But Camille could never be with just one man. There were too many sides of her. It would be a disaster if she expected one person in the world to understand her inside-out. It would be too much to ask of anyone.

Like me. I glanced over at Nerissa, who wore a cloak as gold as the sun, over a black dress. She matched me well, but I also needed Roman for when my predator wanted out to play. I would never expect just one person to meet my needs. And Delilah? Well, she was more like our mother, but still she had both Shade and the Autumn Lord.

Perhaps that had been the problem. Perhaps Father had turned against his nature, needed Mother too much, and in doing so, denied anyone else the chance to make him happy and whole.

Whatever the case, the past was long over, and now we stood on the side of Birchwater Pond. Instead of our mother, we were here to bid farewell to Sephreh. The formal rites would come later—but for now, we passed the chalice and intoned the prayer of the dead, and focused our energy on Camille as she cut the cords of energy connecting him to our lives. Grieving would take time, mourning would move as it would, but letting go? We had to let him go. We had to let him journey on to find his joy and his future.

We ate our communion cakes—ate the body of the Great Mother. And we sipped the blood of the Harvest God, found in sweet wine, although my chalice contained actual blood. We lit the fires and wandered the shore after wishing Father’s spirit—and Chrysandra and Queen Asteria and all those we’d lost over the past few years—well on their journeys.

After we were done, Nerissa and I strolled arm in arm to the water’s edge, and once again, I flashed back to childhood, watching the lake churn as the falling water thundered into it.

“What are you thinking about? You look so far away.” Nerissa slid her arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“Memories. Just… the past. The first Samhain we bade farewell to our mother. And how Father was such an ass.” I told her about it.

“He was mourning your mother.”

“He had three daughters who needed him to man up, to be both father and mother to them. We needed him then, and I swear, he never fully returned after checking out. I just hope Mother was waiting for him. I don’t like to think of him wandering alone. For one thing, I don’t want him haunting our home.”

She laughed, but I was serious. The last thing we needed was the ghost of our father wandering around the house, bemoaning his fate.

“I think you’re safe. Wouldn’t your mother be there for him? Isn’t that how it works in your afterlife?” The way she said it made it sound almost like a disease, but I knew she didn’t mean anything by it.

“I hope so. I seriously hope so.” We paused by a little bower where Smoky and Morio had built a covered bench. Taking shelter from the rain, we held hands, snuggling together.

“I love the look, by the way. I love your hair down.” The way she said it sounded wistful. “You seem more vulnerable… less… less like nothing matters. Sometimes I think everything just bounces off you, and I worry that anything I say will do the same.”

Oh, no. We didn’t need angst tonight and this had become a common argument. There was enough pain with remembering our dead, remembering our friends and family who had passed. Especially those who died because of us.

“Don’t. Not tonight. You know I love you. You know I listen to you—even if I don’t say anything. I never ignore you.” Apparently I wasn’t tuned in enough, or so Nerissa thought. I wasn’t entirely sure where her complaints were coming from because I didn’t think I did that at all.

“Yes, you do.” She let out a long sigh. “But we’ll talk about that later. You’re right. Tonight is not for arguing. Tonight’s for remembering the dead, and letting the past move into the past.”

I hated seeing the clouded look on her face and leaned in to give her a kiss. “I promise—we’ll work on this. I may not understand why you’re upset, but I see that you are. And I don’t want you unhappy. I love you too much for that.”

She squeezed my hand. “I know. I love you, too.”

And with that, we headed back to the others. Trillian and Morio grilled the meat while Hanna and Vanzir spread out the rest of the food on the tables. Iris was playing with Maggie, who looked delighted to have her first nanny around again. Iris hadn’t been able to care for Maggie since mid-pregnancy, because Maggie accidentally tripped her up, and she could be a real handful. But now, she sat, contented, on Iris’s lap, leaning against her softly with that wide-eyed innocence beaming up at her.

Trillian picked up a guitar and started to play an Otherworld melody. He’d proved quite adept with the instrument, and Camille had bought him one last Yule. The song was one of loss, and acceptance, and I recognized it right off. I’d learned it when I was a teenager.

I closed my eyes and fell into the rhythm, then started singing softly. I missed singing—I’d been considered talented before Dredge had gotten to me, and I still led the chants and songs during our holidays.

Camille glanced over at me, where she sat between Morio and Smoky, and smiled softly. Kitten stoked the fire, then handed out skewers with marshmallows. Vanzir scrounged up a drum and joined in, and Iris lent her voice to mine. As one song ended, we moved into the next, and then the next, heedless of the light misting drizzle that showered down. Warmed by the fire, we ignored what might be coming tomorrow, as we remembered our yesterdays.