Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Francheska

 Clara woke with a deep breath, hand reflexively curling about the bone that sat on her palm. Though her body had taken care of the hangover in her sleep, she felt a ravenous hunger. There was the trade-off. She rolled to her feet, pulling her clothes on with a grumpy expression. Hanging the bone about her neck by the string, she briefly considered whether it was smart to wear it. It had clearly given her some funky dreams. Based on the stone tools, she’d been witnessing the deep past. The dark-haired Sulis had been as real as her own flesh was now. Her muddied thoughts could only grip the details lightly. Something pushed away the dream as the anxiety returned. Her girlfriend waited for her, somewhere in the city.

As she sipped on one of her juice bags, she sat down to watch the telly. The others had already gone to work while Clara had slept in. The sun was already merrily shining outside. She watched a TV show that seemed to feature several grown women shouting over each other. Shrugging, she drank her blood while her mind wandered. Sam had given her visions of flint axes. Maybe she’d seen his past. Though she was pretty sure Sam wasn’t transgender and never had tits. The bone grew hotter under her fingertips, almost burning her as she quickly hauled it off herself. There was a tiny squeaking coming from it. She trained her ear to the digit, listening with all her vampire ability.

“Hello? You’re not allowed in New Orleans! You promised my great grandmother, harlot!” Irene’s voice echoed through the bone. It glowed with a ruddy light as the reprimand came through, Clara rubbing her eyes to make sure she wasn’t going round the twist. Her ranting continued, accusing Livia of being a backstabber, a cruel bitch and an insult to witches everywhere. The vampire could only look on with confusion before Irene demanded an answer.

“I think you’ve got the wrong number, Irene.” Clara answered with a halting voice. The dead silence that dragged out after that slowly filled her with tension. Had she just given the game away, done exactly as Livia had instructed her not to? She remembered the older vampire’s words. That people would kill for this bone.

“Listen to me, Clara. Put the bone back where you found it.” Irene instructed with a grave tone. The sleepy vampire slurped her blood a little more before explaining she couldn’t. The place didn’t exist anymore. “You have to get rid of it. As quick as you can. People can hear that thing like a god damn nuke. What’s worse, it seems to be drawing Livia to you. Well, I think it’s Livia. That tracking spell has her style.” The witch pleaded, spurring her patient into action. She affirmed it just before standing and considering what particular corner of the bayou to toss it into.

As she put her coat on, she paused. Why did she want to avoid Livia? She was the eldest vampire Eddie knew of. She had answers. Aside from the aggression of her letter, there had never been any indication she was more dangerous than any other freak that had been tearing at her with contradictory instructions. With a defiant snort, she put the bone back around her neck. She wasn’t going to be lectured any more. Even if the ghostly woman showed up again, she was going to do exactly as she wanted. Sit in front of the telly and liquify for a few hours.

That was what she did for the most part. There was a pause in her loafing to make tea, after she’d bugged poor Hana to buy some. Not the green kind, the real kind. An aside to ruin all of Eddie’s high scores with her vampiric reflexes. At least that was what she told herself before the big lummocks showed her up without even showing up. Mary was right after all. She cast it aside and returned to being unproductive, pondering what sort of job she could do without any of her memories and skills. She could probably become a herbologist or gardener pretty quickly given how well she’d been identifying the pictures on Hana’s computer. Well, the pictures of plants she liked. The other ones had been hidden in a file called ‘work stuff’. She didn’t even password protect the file. Rooky mistake. Her secret hobby as a photographer was out. She was pretty good.

Her unethical snooping aside, Clara enjoyed a much-needed day of relaxation. A day in which she refused to think about anything that had happened to her within the last week. Like the average worker, really. She did spot the conspicuous black SUV parked at the entrance of the cul de sac as she took out the bins, pausing to flip it off before returning to her mind-numbing activities.

Mary was the first home, being a librarian. She carried a few plastic bags which she deposited on Clara with a wry smirk. Within, she found not only a phone complete with contract but several outfits. Apparently, Cavendish’s money had gone further than she’d thought, giving the vampire some much-needed changes of clothes. As Mary climbed the stairs to change, Clara made her way to the kitchen to make the pair some drinks.

Eddie made his way back from the precinct with a haggard look which only marginally improved by the offer of coffee. With the twins suitably watered, the three of them sat to wait for Hana. She usually managed to get in by seven, though lately the hospital had needed her covering ER shifts. Clara could only imagine the temptation. It’d be like sitting her before a trough of tea. Considering she was on her sixth that day, she’d give drinking it a go.

“So how was your day off?” Eddie asked with a teasing grin, sipping his coffee with an appreciative smile. Two sugars, light milk. Clara didn’t know much but she knew how to make a brew.

“Pretty good, actually. Felt human again.” Clara retorted with a sardonic air. “Though I could have done without the alphabet agency outside.” She indicated toward where she imagined the black SUV was still parked. The twins nodded with understanding as Mary swapped the channel to the evening news. Their nightly ritual, in case Cavendish had anymore bright ideas.

“Talk downtown is the FBI are rollin’ up. Now I ain’t the suspicious type but I can’ help myself.” Mary looked over at her brother, who gave a noncommittal shrug. Though the look on his sibling’s face told Clara all she needed to know. The feds were truly up in their business. “Look on the bright side. Least when you go nuts and merc a buncha guys, they can say you were on their radar.” She joked in the vampire’s general direction. The look she got in return slapped the grin off her face immediately. It was a look of conflict, as if she were mulling things over.

“I’ll need to tell you something after we go to meet my girlfriend. Long and short of it is I’m having weird dreams.” Clara hedged, placing a bet that her friends could indeed be trusted. Something was going wrong with her head, and she needed at least Irene’s input on it. Though she suspected that input would be ‘beats me kid!’.

“Plenty of people have weird dreams, honey.” Mary placated with an understanding look. Clara’s reply was to give her a stony stare. Even as encouragement, there was no such thing as an innocent mental illusion in this case. She hadn’t had one inconsequential hallucination or dream yet. It was like living in an arthouse film. Eh, maybe just a popcorn flick. “We coul’ just wait ‘til Sam’s back in town. He’s the oldest practitioner this side of the Atlantic.” She suggested with her lips pursed in thought. They didn’t get much opportunity to brainstorm as Hana’s car pulled into the driveway, the vampire rubbing her eyes with exhaustion. Clara realised in that moment why Cavendish had called it charity. She curled a lip. Tribunes should care for their tribe. They shouldn’t rely on the charity of the best among them. Mary got to her feet with enthusiasm, peppering Hana with kisses in the hallway as they moved to put the food on. Hana wouldn’t allow anyone, especially the amnesiac vampire, to cook while she was in the house.

“Whadid Hana do to upset you, cher?” Eddie grumbled from the armchair with a concerned eye. She looked over at him with wide eyes for a moment before shrugging.

“It’s wrong, what Cavendish is doing to her. He should pay her to handle the newbies. Or make an actual service for them.” Clara spoke emphatically, almost passionately. Eddie raised an eyebrow at his friend before staring into his mug in thought. It was her turn to question now.

“Sam used to say somethin’ similar. Said tribunes took care of their own.” Eddie recalled with a note of tacit approval in his voice. “Cavendish said that was the old way. We do things different now. Better, freer.” He continued before shaking his head with a sigh. “Maybe I’m jus’ a dumb human. But it don’t seem too free to me. Here’s yer charity guide, hope y’don’t suck!” He said the last sentence with heavy sarcasm. The implication of such a system made Clara’s blood boil. Vampires would sell each other out to sustain their own station. The powerful could play the powerless against each other for no other reason than stability.

“I’d hoped that vampire society would be more than a poor carbon copy of our own.” She snarled, looking out the window at the SUV which insisted on remaining in her eyeline. Almost as if it were mocking her. Her hand wrapped about the bone hanging from her neck. The symbols on it were quite clear. It could give her visions, true. But she could use it to give visions. Right now, she was considering what nightmares to give them. The knowledge came to her. The witch thing might not be far off the truth.

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After the gang had finished their food, the vampires taking smaller amounts, they piled into Hana’s car. Eddie checked his phone religiously, looking out the windows as Clara sat next to him. Hana drove them so close to the speed limit they were one sneeze from a traffic stop. The Brit sat back in her seat with a flat look. So, nobody had gotten permission from the precinct then. Considering they were Cavendish’s creatures it was probably for the best.

They arrived outside a relatively new-looking apartment building with bare brick aesthetic that appeared to be some kind of old brewery or industrial structure. As they approached the doors, their constant companion pulled around the corner. Clara was naturally suspicious of authority lately and they were doing very little to help in that.

Eddie and Mary took point, insisting that the woman needed to be informed of a few things before she went in there all guns blazing. As they buzzed the intercom, a voice with a distinctly Slavic accent answered. That was odd, Clara thought. Two European women in the middle of America. New Orleans notwithstanding, Louisiana wasn’t exactly gay destination of the year. The relieved tone was unmistakable though. She seemed to practically weep as the door opened, a pang of guilt travelling through Clara’s gut like a spear. Though her memories still eluded her, the weight of her past self’s actions weighed heavily.

Once the lift had taken them to the requisite floor, she followed the group to an almost insultingly mundane door. With all the anxiety twisting in her gut, it might as well have been a bulkhead. She looked toward the window at the end of the corridor as Eddie and the others entered the apartment. Mary stood by to keep watch. The vampire’s nervousness contorted to anger, her stomach dropping through the floor as she saw the worst or portents.

Standing as if she bore the weight of the sky itself, fingers shaped into twisted claws with the same burning red eyes as all other times, the spectre of the woman had appeared. Clara began marching toward her with all the grave determination of a soldier at Ypres. Mary called out to her, but the vampire was deaf to all but the sound of her own fury. She reached out with a hand, aiming to wrap it around her throat. Not tonight. She wasn’t ruining tonight.

Her fingers closed around nothing. She was left standing with a hand on the window frame. Mary had brought up the rear, though Clara didn’t notice. Her attention was grasped by a woman in an ostentatious red gown, flaring behind her in the breeze. Her blonde hair too whipped about, masking her face somewhat. Though she looked up with an expression that cut Clara to the quick. Her dark brown eyes locked onto hers with something close to hurt passing between them. A feeling of shame overcame her, as if she had done great harm to this woman.

“I get that yer shaken up but don’t scare me like that.” Mary huffed over her shoulder, placing a hand on her reassuringly. She then seemed to notice the death stare Clara was giving and moved to match her. Seeing the woman, she frowned. “Who the hell’s that?” She asked with an almost dismissive tone. The vampire could have laughed with relief. She was real. What a wonderful, stirring change of pace from the last few days.

“Livia. She’s Livia Juliana.” Clara answered promptly, chewing her lip in consternation. She knew with certainty that it was. The sense of shame she felt was overpowering. And with that shame came a deluge of memories. Memories that brought the shadows forward from idle fancies to reality. She remembered eating globi, dancing with her at Saturnalia.

A lancing, terrifying pain saw fit to split her skull. She sank to her knees, clutching her mouth with one hand and the side of her head with the other. Both were radiating the kind of pain that reminded her of a bullet. Burning more than anything, searing with dreadful depth. It was as if the dam had broken, a tide of agony coming with it. Mary’s questions and assurances fell on deaf ears as her mouth felt like a river of blood was coming from it. The vampire version of hunger, which had become so familiar, returned with savage potency. She looked up at her friend with ravenous eyes and bared teeth. It was brief as she grappled with herself, practically flinging her body away from her. Mary called for Hana, who burst from the apartment through several onlookers.

Instinctively, she hid her mouth from them hoping to pass it off as a fit or episode that was easily treated. She didn’t want to have to visit the hospital, not with her real life so close at hand. Hana seemed to follow the notion, rattling a plastic tube of sweets in her pocket. She assured everyone that all was well and would be over in a few minutes as they brought Clara inside her girlfriend’s apartment.

The interior had clearly been home to two people. Clara managed to find some surprise in her panic as her mouth dripped blood like she’d gone three rounds with Mike Tyson. The same feminine voice that had let them in shouted with alarm, threatening to call an ambulance. Modern medicine couldn’t do a damn thing for a vampire, she was informed politely. Mary and Eddie carried the babbling vampire to her bedroom, where she was laid out. Hana brought her a glass of water, which she downed gratefully. Anything to get the taste of vampire blood out of her mouth. Her new species had a defence mechanism for feeding on each other, clearly.

She looked about weakly and took in the surprisingly neutral room which was quite modern and spacious. The bed she lay on felt far too comfortable for her liking. She didn’t want to sleep yet. She had to give orders. Groping with a hand towards her pocket, she fumbled her phone out before realising she didn’t know the number.

“Get Cavendish here.” She ordered through gritted teeth. Her girlfriend, somewhere near her feet, asked what she was saying. Whether her teeth should look as they did. Great, even her fangs looked weird.

“Internet says she’s speaking Italian. She don’ wanna kill him. Pity. Wants him here.” Mary grunted as she typed in a rough transliteration of what Clara must have said. The short-haired woman looked at them with a cocked eyebrow as she made sure to speak English in future. Not a language she’d never learned. Or heard. “I’ll get ‘im on the blower. Got a feelin’ somethin’s not right.” She added, leaving the room while Eddie shoved a cup of blood under her nose. As she guzzled it, she blanched at the earthy aftertaste. With her vision returning, she saw the large man bandaging his forearm with a nod to her.

“Lucy is not Italian! And she speaks French.” Came the voice of her girlfriend. Craning her head from the pillows, Clara’s eyes met those of her love.

She was a woman of middling height and build, circular glasses perched on her nose. She wore a dark turtleneck and long brown skirt. Probably wearing the lace-up boots she’d seen earlier. Her face was freckled, dimpled when smiling. Only now it had been contracted in worry, blue eyes peeking out over her glasses. She had light brown hair normally, but Clara distinctly remembered helping to dye it the black with green streak in the forelock it currently had. She smiled the biggest smile she’d worn in days, perhaps in years.

“Hey Fran.” She waved weakly, the name coming to her as the face swam up from the mass of shadowy people she remembered. Francheska was Romanian, an artist and the kindest person on the planet. “I don’t recommend the bayou nightlife.”

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