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When my screams subsided, malevolent laughter filled the uneasy silence. Discordant, cruel laughter that sounded as though it bubbled from underwater. I turned around to see the macabre faces of the Kane sisters behind me, pressed against the window of their cottage, black teeth chattering.
“Where did they take him?” I demanded. My anger increased their delight.
“Where did they take him?” Margery mocked, my own voice coming out of her blackened mouth.
“Poor, poor girl lost her puppy!” Margaretta cackled.
I felt the rage rise within me, but I was utterly helpless. I knew they had the information we needed, but even if they were willing to speak, they could not be trusted.
Suddenly, their faces changed. Their dead white eyes widened in terror; their smiles had melted. Mina shrieked, a cacophonous cry that sent my hands to my ears.
It was René. Their eyes were fixed on him. His very presence caused them to tremble in fear.
“What is he doing here?” Margery hissed.
“Come back to hurt us again, he has!” Mina shrieked.
“Devil take you, vampire!” Margaretta cried.
I looked at René in astonishment. He wore an expression I had not seen before, a smile that was almost cruel.
“Well if it isn’t the old charlatan sisters!” He said. “I would have never guessed that she would still be keeping you around, but then again, she’s always loved the most pathetic of sycophants.”
“Be gone, vampire! Be gone!” They shouted.
“I would love nothing more. But you heard Nora. You have information we need. Where did they take the werewolf?”
Margery turned to me.
“Stay away from him, girl! Stay away!”
“He hurt us! He hurt us!” Mina moaned.
“How about we make a deal?” I said, thinking quickly. The sisters cocked their terrible heads in curiosity. “You can tell me your story. Tell me what he did. But in return, you must tell us where they took our friend.”
René raised his eyebrows, but did not protest.
“And I will know when you are lying,” he added menacingly.
The sisters looked at each other and began to nod eagerly.
“The girl says she will listen!” They whispered excitedly. I felt a pang of pity.
“Do you agree?”
“Yes,” they hissed, the glee returning to their voices. The door to the cottage opened.
I stepped inside with René close behind me. The sisters glared at him.
“Whatever you’re going to do, do it without drawing blood this time.” I said, remembering the claw marks in my wrists.
“No appreciation for the fine art of channeling,” muttered Margaretta.
The sisters gestured to the chairs at the table. René and I sat, but I kept my arms tightly crossed. The sisters closed their eyes and moved from side to side rhythmically, putting themselves into a trance. They moaned and their mouths opened, emitting a thick, ectoplasmic mist.
“Gross,” I whispered to René, who smirked in response.
The mist enveloped us and our ramshackle surroundings, along with the sisters, vanished. In their place appeared a mid-19th century parlor: a finely carved mantle draped in black crepe, the ornamental mirror on top covered with black cloth. It was night, the heavy damask curtains were drawn, elegant oil lamps were lit on a large oak table, also draped in black. The sisters sat at the table, very much alive, dressed in ostentatious displays of mourning, their wide skirts spread across the chairs they sat in, jet bracelets clattering at their wrists. Human hands wreathed by delicate lace grabbed those of an older man who trembled with emotion.
A small audience observed the séance, dressed for an evening’s entertainment. There was one man in particular, whose clothing was undoubtedly the finest, with a dazzling silver jacquard waistcoat. Though he wore a pair of blue tinted spectacles, I immediately recognized him as René. His brown hair was longer, combed away from his face and curling just under his ears. He was smiling, that same strange smile I had seen before.
The sisters made their usual dramatic entreaties to the Great Beyond and the crowd gasped when the spirits responded intelligently to their questions with a series of rapping sounds. The man begged them to contact the spirit of his young daughter who had perished in a carriage accident decades before. The sisters obliged, making contact through the rapping. With a flourish, Mina threw her head back and out of her mouth squeaked the voice of a small child. The man collapsed in tears. Women in the audience dabbed their eyes with their handkerchiefs. René was no longer smiling.
When the audience had shuffled out, René lingered. Margaretta gave him an unctuous grin.
“How may we assist you, sir?”
“I would like to schedule a…private appointment.” He lowered his glasses and fixed his grey eyes on her. Margaretta’s eyes widened. She stared vacantly as though in a daze.
“We are entirely booked. We are in such demand, after all. We leave Rochester for our world tour this Saturday.” Margery said. Mina peered at René over her sister’s arm and smiled. He winked at her.
“Such lovely ladies you are. Money should be no issue, of course. I think you will find that you are free tomorrow evening” he said slowly. Margaretta nodded.
“Yes, yes. We are.”
“Very good. I very much look forward to our session.”
“Yes!” Shouted Mina, clearly enamored.
René smiled and put on his top hat, taking his leave.
The next night, the sisters eagerly awaited their guest. René arrived with a veiled woman on his arm, wearing lace gloves, matching the sisters in a black silk gown. Mina looked slightly disappointed to see the woman, but the other sisters grinned at her obvious finery, expecting a hefty sum for their services.
“Ladies, I hope you do not mind I have brought my wife,” he said, almost unable to hide the sinister grin that crept across his face.
“Of course, of course, welcome, madam!”
The veiled woman made no response. René escorted her to the table and they joined hands. The sisters began their show: the room erupted in rapping.
“The spirits are many in the ether tonight,” Margery moaned. “To whom do you wish to speak?”
“I wish to contact the spirit of our deceased child.” René said, watching the sisters carefully.
“Ah yes, it is a child who has appeared before me now, a beautiful child!” Margaretta cried. “Child, rap twice for yes, or once for no. Are these your beloved parents before you?”
Two distinct raps were heard on the table. Mina made an exaggerated gasp.
“The child wishes to speak through my sister!” Margery shouted.
Mina began to speak in that same squeaking voice as the previous evening. René could no longer contain his fury. With one swift movement René rose and flipped over the table before them. He grabbed Mina by the neck.
“I have no child, you insidious swindlers!” He shouted. He dug his fangs into Mina’s neck and the sisters began to scream. The witch stood and removed her veil, green eyes glowing, black teeth grinning. She raised her hand and the remaining two sisters rose into the air. René threw the corpse of Mina at their feet. They sobbed hideously, begging the witch for mercy.
“I have no use for such talentless fools,” she said.
“We will do anything, we will be your most faithful servants,” they cried still suspended in the air.
“Ask them how much money they’ve bled from the grieving, how they’ve bankrupted their victims in the name of their lost loved ones!” René said, enraged, fangs bared. “Let me finish with them!”
The witch sighed. “Forgive my friend with his tedious sense of justice. Would you really do anything? Bind yourselves to me for all time?”
“Yes! Yes!” Margery and Margaretta cried.
“Idiots,” René muttered.
The witch curled her hand into a fist and the women began to cough, hands clawing at their necks. Their eyes rolled in the back of their heads. The body of Mina rose to join them. With a sickening snap, the necks of Margery and Margaretta broke and they joined their sister in death. The corpses’ mouths opened, so wide the jaws were broken and three familiar specters climbed out. The ghosts fell at the feet of the witch, making obsequies, hailing her their mistress.
The mist that had descended around the cottage dispersed, leaving the sisters glaring at us.
“Time to fulfill your end of the bargain,” René demanded. “We don’t have much time.”
They chittered angrily and turned their ghoulish heads to me.
“Girl! Have you nothing to say of the crimes of your beau?”
What I had seen had certainly shocked me, but it was something I could not bear to process at the moment.
“He’s right. Show us where they took Jake.”
“No lies.” René warned.
The sisters grumbled among themselves, but once again broke into a trance. A vision appeared before us. It was the river, a great gray mist hanging over it. A large, shadowy structure pushed its way through, revealing the towers of an elaborate stone castle. The castle was familiar to me. Around here, we call it Bellevue Castle, an abandoned Gilded Age flight of fancy on a private island that is now our most famous tourist site. During the winter months, it is closed to guests, leaving the island abandoned. The vision dissolved into smoke.
René stood up to leave.
“You’ll never reach him before dawn,” hissed Margery.
“Yes, yes, the sun is rising, revenant!” Margaretta cackled.
He ignored them. I followed him out, feeling their hateful stares at my back, leaving them to howl and complain among themselves. They had not been lying. The sky had lightened considerably, a thin line of orange had appeared on the horizon. René cursed and shielded his face.
“Let’s get to my cottage,” I said. We arrived just as I began to feel the sun behind me. René had bolted for the dark bedroom. I found him sitting on the bed, his face in his hands, shoulders tense with frustration. I was frustrated too. We’d been outmaneuvered and I feared for Jake’s safety. Would she make him the object of her retaliation? I was certain of it. But there was no way I could sail for the castle without René. I may have a death warrant, but I do not have a death wish.
“We leave as soon as the sun sets tonight,” he said, as though convincing himself.
“I don’t think we have a choice,” I said.
“Not if we want to find Jake.”
“Do you think…do you think we’ll be too late?” I didn’t want to contemplate it.
“I do not think she would kill him without us there to witness it. She wouldn’t deprive herself of the spectacle. We have to understand that she is anticipating exactly what we are planning on doing.”
“This is it then,” I said, trying to sound strong, though I felt like a fist were gripping my heart. René lifted his head and took my hands.
“I won’t let it happen,” he said. “I swear to you.”
“I don’t think that’s something you can promise, René.”
I pulled my hands back from his. It was hard to look at him, when Mina’s face flashed before me, eyes filled with terror just before he buried his fangs into her neck.
“I realize that you have not seen me feed before,” he said quietly.
“Feed? You make it sound so…casual.”
He raised my chin to his face, gray eyes resolute.
“I have spent many decades in utter misery, disgusted by myself, by what I am. That self-loathing is still with me and will be forever. But I cannot change the past and I cannot restore what I have lost. If I can channel this bloodlust, this propensity for violence, against those who have done evil, then perhaps through evil, I can accomplish something good, spare an innocent. This thought was the only thing that sustained me in that century of servitude by her side. This is something … something I hope you never have to understand.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“I’m going to take a shower.”
“If you return while I am at rest, remember—”
“You’ll look kinda dead. I know.”
He smiled sadly.
I was desperate for the warmth of the shower. The cold within me was not merely the effect of winter, but a numbness that I couldn’t shake. I tried to reach back to a couple months ago, before the sky had changed to that ghastly green, before the abyss opened before me. It was as though I were viewing another person’s life on a different planet. And yet the life I am living now does not seem like my own either. I am straddling the lives of two strangers.
I tried to imagine death. I tried to imagine not existing. Of course, I could not. Who can? I had to hope that there would be peace, that the spirits were not lying to comfort me. After all, I had already witnessed the existence of far more unlikely things.
The sound of the water soothed me. I stepped inside, relishing those first few drops, immersing my body, emptying my mind. The future didn’t matter. At that moment, I was alive and that was glorious.
I don’t know how long I had been standing there, when the water began to feel different. Thicker. Metallic tasting. I opened my eyes to find myself covered in blood, it was pouring out of the shower head. My skin began to burn, my hair falling out in clumps, my teeth loosening and I spat them out. I screamed.
I found myself on the floor of the shower, bruised but wet from water alone. My hands fluttered to my mouth, my hair. Nothing was amiss. I dragged myself upright, trying not to sob. She would take even those small moments away from me… I toweled off with trembling hands and allowed myself a brief glance in the mirror, too fearful of what might stare back if I lingered. Beyond some considerably dark rings under my eyes, I looked relatively normal.
Before, I had contemplated watching the full sunrise, sitting in the sunshine until eventually dozing on the couch. Instead, I went back to the dark bedroom and climbed under the covers of my bed. In my current state, my only comfort came in the form of the reanimated corpse next to me. I curled up beside him and fell asleep.
++
René woke me up at sunset. Despite everything, I actually felt well-rested and at ease. René prepared by downing a large thermos of blood. I secured my uncle’s knife under my coat in a leather belt sheath, my movements calm, almost mechanical. René handed me my silver bracelets and a wave of sadness passed through me.
“We don’t know what state he is in,” he whispered. I nodded and put them on my wrists.
We set sail in silence, the boat’s movements for once not triggering nausea. It was desperately cold on the water, despite the promise of spring in the near future. The cold struck through my gloves and burned my face. René was clearly not bothered by the climate; his coat wasn’t even zipped. He stared ahead with his brows furrowed, scanning all around us for ice and other enemies.
I thought of the summer and of the river crowded with life, with people laughing, speeding past each other on their boats, picnicking under the turrets of our destination, Bellevue Castle.
“Do you know the story of Bellevue Castle, René?” I asked.
“Manhattan hotelier wanted to build the grandest home in all of the Islands, but his wife died before it could be completed.”
“And in his grief, the husband asked all the workers to put down their tools and step away, leaving the castle a half-finished husk, a monument to lost love.” I added.
“I actually think he just ran out of money. I spent some time on that construction site in the 1890s.”
I laughed.
“Of course, you did. Don’t burst the bubble of anyone on the tourist board, alright? That place is a big money maker around here.”
It was good to smile with him, even if just for a moment.
As we neared the castle, a mist descended around us, just as in the vision of the sisters. The air felt heavy and old, as though rife with mildew and rot, difficult to inhale. The visibility severely decreased, but René was able to continue to navigate towards our destination, its hulking shadows barely detectible even by his eyes.
Our boat was hit by a wave, as though from the wake of a boat. René and I looked at each other, thinking the same thing: there was absolutely no one else on the river. A great creaking sound echoed all around us, the groaning of wood and metal. A veritable flotilla of ships and boats broke the surface all around us, arising from the depths glowing a ghostly green. There were wrecked wooden speed boats, steel-hulled freighters from the turn of the century, coal steamers, massive three-masted schooners, and frigates built for the wars of two hundred years ago.
No crew piloted these vessels, which groaned and sighed with the sadness of their years at the bottom. Something was weaving its way through the wrecks, howling through the air with the screeching of a cyclone. René leaned forward, craning his neck to spot it, when a rotting hand shot out of the water and grabbed his shoulder. He pulled it off, but another joined the attack, and another, until a great host of drowned, rotting corpses were pulling at him, threatening to board the boat.
I grabbed a paddle and whacked at them, but there were too many. They were pulling him overboard, despite our best efforts. I clutched his arm and with all my strength tried to drag him back in. The cacophony was approaching, my hair whipped around my face as the freezing winds accelerated. Something caught my boot and my grip on René’s hand slipped away. I was hurtled into the swirling air. I saw below me René’s struggling body dipping below the surface of the river, drowned dead glaring up at me lifelessly.
The whirlwind hummed with the cries of miserable souls. I was suspended among them, falling upwards and upwards until I could breathe no more.
Thus began my final encounter with the witch.