Grave Danger Page 12

  The meeting continued. Specters and livings alike stood before the council airing their grievances and giving their opinions on the solution to these unfortunate deaths. As Clarissa heard each of them speak, she became more angered against the creatures who had taken these peoples friends, sisters, and wives so viciously. Watching as several of them fell apart before they ever made it to the podium to speak, broke Clarissa’s heart. Death was always hardest for those left behind to pick up the pieces. She was more adamant now than ever to see that these creatures pay with their own lives.

  The meeting adjourned several hours later, no closer to a solution than they were at the beginning. All were in consensus that something must be done. But like so many political reforms for change, it would take them forever to draw up anything concrete. The Eidolon community was still at the same disadvantage they were at thirty-eight years ago. There was no one capable of standing up to and controlling these creatures.

  The flesh-eaters had kept to the rules for this long. Why the increase in deaths? And to attack the humans closest to the Eidolon community was a smack in the face and a blatant disregard to the treaty. These deaths could not go by without retaliation and it seemed in Clarissa’s opinion that the future would bring war down upon the oldest city.

  Chapter 9-

  “It is a full blood moon tonight,” Eleanor remarked as they walked home after the town meeting. Henry, who had been gone most of the meeting, had come up to them at the closing of the meeting to take Richard into the secret chamber behind the high council table. The men had bid the two women goodnight and a safe travel home.

  Eleanor walked beside Mrs. Connors, Clarissa following closely behind the two older women. Slowing her step, Clarissa gazed up at the full moon in the dark sky. She remembered a little saying about changing patterns of the cool bright orb.

  The New Moon rises at sunrise

  And the first quarter at noon

  The Full Moon rises at sunset

  And the last quarter at midnight

  Clarissa didn’t have a watch, but it was likely some time after eleven. Under the new ordinances, no one was to be roaming outside their homes or places of business past the midnight mark on the clock. To ensure that everyone returned safely to these places tonight after the meeting several Eidolon members were chosen to patrol the streets and to escort lone souls to their destinations.

  “A fine night for mischief making, I think,” Maddy said with a chuckle. She danced down the street, acting like she was twenty years younger. The woman seemed to have more energy than Clarissa and ten-times the exuberance that a respectable woman her age should possess. “If I were only a few years younger, I would be out this night, living it up.” She stretched her arms above her head, closing her eyes. “I would be the moon mistress again.”

  “You mean you would be running down the streets, bare-ass naked to the world and getting arrested for indecent exposure. Not to mention the riots you’d cause with your candle dances.” Eleanor danced around Maddy, throwing her hands up over her head in imitation. “I am the moon mistress,” she cried out to the night.

  “You know nothing about being a moon mistress,” Maddy said, piqued at Eleanor’s mocking. “Besides we were not naked – we wore shoes and a robe.”

  “That was gossamer. So you might as well have been naked.” Eleanor laughed as she remembered the first time she saw Maddy and her ladies group in the forests together.

  Eleanor had just arrived to the area and she had never seen this new religion, though it held beliefs similar to the older pagan faiths of Western Europe. The practice of feminist Wiccan, which spread out across the states in the mid-century was a branch of spiritualism that embraced feminine values and created autonomy for women disappointed with patriarchic religions. Maddy herself was not a Wiccan, her faith stemmed from a practice much older.

  “That is beside the point,” Maddy argued. “Our clothing was perfectly appropriate for the time period.”

  Clarissa listened absently as the two women continued discussing Maddy’s youthful activities. She didn’t feel like joining them in conversation and so lagged farther behind them as they made their way back to the house. Eleanor was planning on staying overnight at Mrs. Connors. There were plenty of spare bedrooms and Clarissa would have someone to talk to if she got lonely during the night.

  “Clarissa, stop dawdling back there. You have the slowest walk ever.” Eleanor turned her head to look back at Clarissa. “Is there something the matter?”

  Yes.

  “No,” Clarissa answered. “I’m just naturally a slow walker, that’s all. You two can go on ahead if you like. I’ll ketch up with you at home.”

  Eleanor and Maddy slowed down, both turning to face Clarissa with disapproving looks on their faces.

  “You’re not going to walk home all by yourself, Clarissa. Don’t you remember what they told us?” Eleanor thought to grab hold of Clarissa and pull her along, but just as she was about to make a go at it, Clarissa stepped out of her reach.

  “I’m a grown woman and I know how to take care of myself.” They stood in the open streets, now empty of pedestrians. Occasionally the headlights of a car would graze past them. It was almost deathly quiet in the streets of the old city.

  “Go on without me. I’ll be fine,” Clarissa strongly insisted as the two women looked to each other, wondering what they should do.

  Should they allow Clarissa to roam the streets alone, knowing full well that the beasts that walked the St. Augustine streets no longer held to the rules of the treaty? Could they stop her from this decision even if they wanted to? The answer was no to both questions.

  “Let her go, Elle, she is clearly a capable person.” Maddy said after a few seconds of deliberation.

  “But she can’t – she isn’t capable of – we can’t leave her out here alone.” Eleanor stuttered. Eleanor was deeply horrified over the possibility that Clarissa could come to harm from the night creatures. Even she, who had lived with them for decades, wasn’t foolish enough to believe she could match wits with these otherworldly creatures.

  “It’s her decision, Elle.” Maddy spoke in a reasonably calm voice, unlike Eleanor. “Isn’t that correct, Clarissa? If you think you are capable of walking the streets by yourself then who are we to disagree?”

  “Fine,” Eleanor concede defeat in the matter. “But do not stay out too late or I will send Henry out to find you and bring you home,” she threatened.

  As they continued down the street, leaving Clarissa behind, Maddy turned her head to look back. “Remember what they say about getting what you ask for.” Then she turned back, following Eleanor as they continued on home.

  Maddy had had a look in her eye when she had made that rather cryptic remark. Clarissa wondered if the woman knew why she was waiting out in the dark streets, and what she hoped to find. All evening she had mulled over what she could do; how she could help her people and the community. Clarissa had yet to figure out her purpose in this existence until now. Perhaps she was being rash or reckless, but tonight for the first time she would come face to face with the other kind and would find out for herself the true nature of the flesh-eater.

  ***∞***

  It was close to midnight and high on the old bride, The Bridge of Lions as it was aptly named because of the stone figures that flanked it, standing guard over the city, stood two still figures. In the darkness their presence went undetected by the few vehicles that crossed over the bridge at night. As the light slipped away from the world and night descended the solitary creatures of the underworld took to action, coming out of their daytime havens to venture into the city for sustenance and perhaps a little fun.

  Corrigan LeMoyne had once been a man, a living person who had spent thirty-one years on this earth before falling under the spell of death. His name, Corrigan, was all that was left of his humanity. He was cursed, like his brothers and sisters, into an existence that thrived on the death of others. No one who lived as they did could
count on any reprieve from the unrelenting desire for the taste of human flesh and blood. For some, it was like a madness; controlling their every fiber of being. But for others, like the LeMoynes, who had adapted a measure of self-control, this existence was almost bearable. They only took what was needed, nothing more.

  “It’s a blood moon tonight,” Corrigan uttered into the still night. “I smell death on the wind.” He inhaled the cool air breeze as it blew against his skin.

  Folding his arms across his muscled chest, he leaned against the bridge railing. Standing at close to six feet six inches without his shoes on, Corrigan was not a man who by any means should be able to hide easily in a crowd. His added girth of muscles didn’t help either. But he was like a wraith in the night, almost inconspicuous until the last moment; the moment before he took a life. By the very nature of a flesh-eater, they were not far from the wild animals in the swamps and surrounding forests. Like the beasts of this world, their bodies were designed to be strong and fast, cunning and resilient. A total contrast to the zombie characters of folklore.

  His iridescent blue eyes focused on the man standing a few feet away from him. Corrigan noticed that Chas was completely caught up in his own world. His brother hadn’t heard a word he had said the entire time they’d been standing on the bridge.

  Chas LeMoyne liked to point out on many occasions that he was the token black man of the family. In the LeMoyne clan, family meant people who were of agreeable minds, not shared blood. Though they did share blood, just not their own.

  Standing a few inches shorter than his youngest brother, Chas was as finely cut a figure of a man as his other brothers. His light mocha colored skin and odd eye color revealed his mixed bloodlines, which at one time had shamed and embarrassed him.

  Chas’s father had been a plantation owner, a respectable gentleman living in South Carolina in the early part of the nineteenth century. As plantations went in those days, it had the usual laborers, including imported persons from the continent. Chas’s mother had not been born a slave, but her son had; fathered by the respectable plantation owner. Unfortunately, the man’s wife didn’t take too kindly to the visual knowledge of her husband’s infidelities. In the end, it was Chas’s life that was sacrificed, the final blow having come from his father’s hands.

  Chas’s mother had been beside herself over the loss of her only son. In her grief stricken state she called upon forces best left alone. All she wanted was to have her son back, she didn't specify in what condition he would be in. Chas was restored to full vitality three days later, but the man he had once been was an empty shell of his former self. In the beginning, he couldn’t control the natural beast within him. He was a soulless predator; no longer a human man. His father had been his first kill upon awakening in this new existence; his mother had watched.

  Seeing the horror in his mother’s eyes and knowing he was the one to put it there, Chas left his home and everything else that had once been part of his living self. Several decades later he was adopted into the LeMoyne clan taking the surname of the clan’s leader, Ambrose. At that time it had only been the four brothers, Ambrose, Xavier, Trueman and then Chas. It had taken several more decades before the men had found their post-mortem mates.

  “Chas,” Corrigan yelled over the music Chas was listening to. He was ‘plugged in’ again with his little mp3 playing music device. He had swiped it off a kill several months back. It wasn’t like the dead man needed it anymore. Ever since then Chas had had the tiny buds permanently attached to his ear drums. Corrigan found it irritating to once again find he was talking to himself. He tried calling to him again to no avail.

  Chas was bobbing his head to the beat of the song. His bottle green eyes dancing around, looking at everything, but paying no attention to his brother. The volume was set loud enough that the heavy beats of the newest number one R&B song to hit the charts leaked out from the ear buds. Corrigan couldn’t guess the specific song title, but he speculated that Chas had likely bought the song long before it had become a sensation to the masses.

  Corrigan smiled to himself, speaking his thoughts aloud he said. “I wonder what Helen’s wearing tonight.” He made an appreciative growling sound deep in his throat, knowing that Chas could hear him. “I wonder if it’ll be that delicate little silk top with the deep dip in the cleavage and the tight denim skirt that just barely covers her ......” Corrigan broke off, on purpose.

  “What the hell did you just say?” Chas’s green eyes swung purposefully on his brother. There was a dark rage of madness under the surface of his skin. Chas was fiercely possessive of his woman. His mate, Helen had come into his post-life more than forty years ago after her own death in which she was killed when a civil rights campaign had ended in a bloody riot.

  “So you can hear me now, I guess.” Corrigan gave his brother an arched stare. “Anytime you can unplug and join the conversation, I’d appreciate it.”

  Chas pulled out the ear buds, stuffing them and the music device in his back pocket. “Be glad you’re my brother or you’d be dead-dead right now. It doesn’t merit talking about another man’s wife like that.” Dead-dead was an explanation to a legally and medically dead person who was taken into the folds of the truly dead; a death you don’t come back from.

  “I’ll keep that in mind for future reference.” Corrigan made an evil smirk. “Next time I’ll just keep my sordid thoughts to myself.” Chas looked like he was several heartbeats from knocking Corrigan over the side of the bridge. That is, if his heart actually still beat in his chest. It didn’t. Their hearts made sluggish noises every now and then, but never a true beat like the living had.

  “Calm down and stop looking at me like that.” Corrigan shrugged his shoulders absently. “I was just rattling your chains a bit. I don’t think of Helen like that; she’s like my sister.” He came away from the side of the bridge to stand in front of Chas.

  Chas gave his brother a hard shove. “Don’t talk to me about rattling chains, boy,” he growled. “You have no idea what it’s like to actually have the weight of irons on your body, to live every day knowing you’re less than the masters animal to him.”

  Chas’s father had chained him as a boy inside the smokehouse for days when his father’s family and friends had come for a long weekend visit. The heavy irons weighing the small body down had left bruises on his emaciated flesh. Rarely giving him enough to eat and drink, Chas very nearly died inside the stifling confines of the building. Only with the tender care of his mother, after he had been let loose, saved him from the madness that had taken over his young mind.

  Storing the boy away like dirty linens so no one of consequence would know of his existence, Chas’s father was able to distance himself from his only son. Anyone who saw the boy would immediately recognize him as his father’s son; the eyes and the shape of his face, even his ears, all were dead giveaways. Chas had stared at the dead carcasses of the beasts hanging in the darkened smokehouse, hating his father, hating himself for not being good enough. Even now, when all of them were dead and gone, he still felt the phantoms of his past; stealing away into his nightmares and making him relive his life’s horrors.

  Corrigan straightened quickly from the blow. Looking down from his superior height, he said. “I know just as much about chains and indignantly as you do. I’ve had the honor of donning my own set for many decades. Don’t think for a minute that I don’t know what your father did to you, or that I can’t relate.”

  Chas snorted, turning away. Corrigan never related any information about his past, living or otherwise. On a cold winter night, twenty years ago, he had come knocking on their front door, naked as the day he had been born. He hadn’t even had shoes on. That night, he had joined the family, no questions asked. No one questioned what he had been doing for the past one hundred some odd years after his death, where he had come from, or how he had come into this deathly animated existence. When anyone tried to fish for answers, Corrigan responded with a flat voice, “I’m a Le
Moyne now, that’s all that matters. My past is as dead to me as I am.” He never elaborated.

  The men stood silent once again on the bridge. Corrigan looked off into the downtown city while Chas stretched his limbs. He was under the mind-set that he needed to stretch before each meal otherwise he had terrible indigestion. Corrigan found it a ridiculous reasoning system, but didn’t comment when Chas started jogging in place, his knees coming up to his chest.

  Corrigan leaned against a lamp post; waiting. He could feel the minutes tick by in his mind, steadily moving forward until the time he could venture forth over the bridge. From his vantage point at the peak of the bridge he could make out the lighted windows in the stores and restaurants in the downtown area. If the living were wise they would be in their homes, but most weren’t. The livings were always foolish, wrapped up in their illusion of security. Just because they lived in a cement and concrete world didn’t mean they were safe from the beasts of the land. Corrigan and his family were proof of that.

  “Well, isn’t it my two favorite men in the world?” a soft feminine voice called out from the darkness. “Have you been waiting for me, boys?” Helen sauntered up the bridge, coming from the east side, her gate casual and unhurried.

  Dressed in a pair of dark dyed blue jeans and a black on black sweater set, she looked like a young living woman taking a stroll. Her long midnight colored hair blended seamlessly into the surrounding blackness. With a quick leap she landed softly on the balls of her feet encased in her Nike running shoes. Helen was anything but a normal living woman.

  Helen reached up and kissed her deathly mate on his cheek. Taking his hand, she turned to Corrigan who was watching the two of them. She liked Corrigan, though she liked all her brothers and sisters, there was a special place she reserved in her heart for this special man. Corrigan was a simple man, who asked little of his family except that they give him space.