26. The Songbird

Our new home is lovely, albeit quite different from the house in the mountains. It is far more traditional. There have been updates to the plumbing and decoration, but there is no open concept, and much of the original woodwork remains. Restored and given new life over the years, it is beautiful.

We all have homes on the same block, making getting together effortless and enjoyable, but it is nice not being on top of one another all the time.

Charlee lives a few doors down with her live-in vampire girlfriend, a solo traveling vampire who has stayed in the city for three months longer than planned. Something Charlee takes credit for and makes her very proud.

Rolando is across the street and currently romancing a young lady who works at a coffee shop around the corner. We have a theory that she is his mate, but he can’t hear her yet and hasn’t hinted at a mate bond.

The triplets share a house at the end of the street and are as rowdy and goofy as ever. Zach and Chandra moved in right next door and are the best neighbors.

Oz and I have our place to ourselves, though coven members come and go as they please. It isn’t unusual for me to find at least two or three randomly strewn about. It is kind of like having the kids come home to visit.

As our new leader, Oz is quite impressive. He made it official with the council representative who came by. Apparently, it is common for someone to go into a city and address the coven leader to get information on changes in the area. It isn’t frequent, though they do make a point to stop by when rumblings reach them about a death or, in this case, many deaths.

His name is Nathaniel, and I feel tense around him for reasons I can’t quite explain. He praised Oz for removing Emerson, a feat he’d admitted they should have undertaken long ago. Something about that bothers me. If the whole point is to keep our existence a secret, why had they not moved against him at any point in time since Roanoke?

Was it because he was Leland’s? Did that grant him some immunity? Is there an unspoken rule about letting makers take out their maligned children?

It tickles the back of my brain and makes me wary, and when I’d shaken Nathaniel’s hand, he gave me chills. I haven’t voiced my concerns to Oz yet, wanting more information before I bring it to him, but I did ask Rolando to look into it. He’s agreed to keep it between us for now, at least until he has something to report about it.

My fears of being recognized so far have prove to be unfounded. I didn’t grow up here, and my parents live two hours away. My work was in the next town over, and while some of the people I worked with might live here, I doubt we’d interacted enough for me to leave a lasting impression.

Today I have a meeting with someone, and I’m not sure if I should be doing this. Instead of talking to Oz about it, I decide to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. A week ago, a letter told me to be at Lorenzo’s, a local Italian restaurant at one o’clock for lunch.

Sneaking out while Oz had been sleeping was easy, and I’ve resigned myself to telling him about the meeting when it’s over.

Stupid?

Probably.

Approaching the host, I reference the letter I was sent for a name. It may be the millionth time I’ve read it, but I still have no idea who it is. My research in our archives didn’t find them, and I hesitate to ask Rolando to keep another secret from Oz.

“Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked, all chipper and filled with sunshine. Her bronze-colored name tag reads, “Becky.”

“Yes, I’m meeting someone. It should be under Leblanc.” I try to keep the edge out of my voice. My nerves are firing all over my body, and as the hostess leads me to a table, I shudder involuntarily.

At the table sits a beautiful woman. Her skin is sun-kissed and tan, and she has a Mediterranean look. Dark thick hair twists behind her head, and her full lips are painted red. She stands to greet me, and I see that her clothes are casual but nice. Dark linen pants that flare at the knee, swallowing her calves. A plain white blouse tucked in neatly. She’s wearing no jewelry beyond a sun-shaped pendant on a gold chain around her neck.

“Miss Butler,” she greets as if this meeting has been planned for ages. “How lovely to see you!” Turning to the hostess, she adds, “Please bring us some water. That will be all for now.” As Becky leaves to fetch our water, Ms. Leblanc gestures to the table, indicating I should sit.

“Ms. Leblanc,” my voice is plain, void of warmth or recognition, and I sit warily. Her smile seems forced now like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

“Please, call me Sophie.”

“Okay, Sophie. Who are you, and what the hell am I doing here?” I want to get to the point. I want to get back home. Something is gnawing at me, and I don’t like the feeling I’m getting from this woman.

“Wren,” using my first name since apparently we are so well acquainted now. “I want you to know that I, and my coven, mean you no harm.”

Coven?

I look her over. She definitely isn’t a vampire. I can hear her heart beating. At the same time, she gives off the vibe of a predator.

“You’re not like me,” I state. “But you’re more than human. What are you?”

Whether she means no harm is something I will find out later, but right now, I want to know more about Ms. Sophie Leblanc.

Becky returns with our waters, and Sophie sips hers. My impatience for an answer must be plain because Sophie seems to scramble to answer.

“I am, for lack of a better term, a witch.” Her voice is low enough that no nearby patrons can hear, but I can hear her perfectly fine with my heightened senses.

Air hisses into me.

Reading the archives, I learned that many supernatural creatures existed—demons, fae, werewolves, witches. Pretty much anything humans ever feared going bump in the night is real. We are all trying to coexist and keep our presence a secret. Despite the common goal, all the texts and journals I’ve read make it seem like our kinds don’t mix much. I’m still not sure what being a witch means, but I can guess.

“So why ask to meet me?”

Ask isn’t exactly the word. She’d more or less commanded me to be here. Curiosity and the unease I feel about the council are why I came.

“I have a proposition for the vampires, one I think you are in a unique position to listen to, given who your mate is.” Ah, the crux of it. She wants the vampires for something. Likely, she doesn’t think Oz will meet with her at all. I, the newborn mate of the vampire coven leader, am a much safer bet to invite and at least be heard out.

She’s not wrong.

“What would that be,” I can’t hide my interest. I have been eating up all the knowledge I can about my new world. Magic and supernatural things fascinate me. If my childhood self could see the things I just happened to stumble upon, she’d be squealing with delight.

“A chance to re-imagine the vampire”s existence and condition. A chance to change the fate of vampires everywhere and keep up with the rise of werewolves and demons.”

“And witches,” I add, noticing she purposefully omitted her own kind.

Nodding in agreement, Sophie leans in. “The demons are becoming a problem. We cannot stand against them individually but united, and we stand a chance.”

So she wants an alliance?

The demons I’ve read about are dark and evil, on the run from their realm and hunted by their law enforcement, I.M.P. The Inter-realm Magic Police. They come here and cause mayhem until their side catches up with them. It’s quite a lot of red tape, and demons live forever, so it’s not like time is a concern. Why did she mention the wolves? From what I can tell, there is no direct animosity between us.

“Why do you want to unite with us? Why vampires?” Sophie is holding back. She has a card that she wants to play when the time is right. I am anxious to get to that time, to have it all laid out in front of me.

“We can’t offer the wolves anything that they don’t already have. They will probably agree to join us for safety, but why would vampires? Unless your kind has something to gain, you’d leave the rest of us to it and keep your own necks safe.” She’s annoyed. She thinks we should be helping out of the kindness of our hearts, and we aren’t.

I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “Fine way of asking for help.” I don’t hide the irritation in my voice and watch her face as she tries to backpedal.

Good witch.

Smart witch.

Don’t forget I have the power in this situation.

“I just mean that demons haven’t been as large of a concern for your kind as they have been for the rest of us. You’re the most difficult to fight and kill, and so you are afforded a certain protection from them. They don’t come after you the way they come after us. And make no mistake… They are coming after us.”

We are getting to the meat of things.

“In the last five months, seven witches have gone missing. Some are from my coven, and some are from other smaller local covens. We have evidence that it’s demons and filed a formal complaint to I.M.P. So far, they’ve done nothing.”

Gotta love that red tape.

“What about S.P.E.L.L?” I ask. Surely the Supernatural Police of Enchantments, Laws, and Lore would be more useful than vampires.

“Not their jurisdiction, and as such, they refuse to make a move against anything demonic.” Red tape and territorial pissing matches. Fun.

“So, as a last resort, we’ve come together to make you an offer that could sway you to assist witches and werewolves when needed.” She does want an alliance. I don’t speak for all vampires, though. She knows this, but I suppose she was focusing on the local coven before trying to take her plan, whatever it is, to the next level.

“I’m listening,” I lean back, relaxing in my chair, intrigued. I can see her excitement as she realizes I’m not going to blow her off and that I will seriously consider her offer. What does she have that vampires want? Why is she so insistent that werewolves play a role in this?

Sophie opens her handbag. It looks like it’s a designer brand and probably is. She pulls out a small glass vial with a shimmering purple liquid. A potion?

“It’s well known that vampires are, and should be quite picky when expanding their covens. A fact I think you’re all too aware of, given recent events.” Ah, yes, Sophie, I get it. You are up to date on vampire affairs. I try to ignore the jab at Leland’s death, but I can’t control how my nostrils flare. Sophie isn’t paying enough attention. Her eyes were on the bottle. “But what if there was another way to bolster your numbers? Werewolves can turn others, and they can breed. Witches can seek gifted humans and help them develop their magic and produce children naturally, but you… You can only turn.”

I want to reach across the table and claw her stupid face.

She could not know that I desperately want to be a mother.

If I could have this life or the life I’d dreamed of, I would choose the latter.

Preferably still keeping Oz in the process somehow.

I eye the bottle in front of me. There’s no way– no possible way this can give me what she claims.

“What if you could do both? What if you could have biological children the same as we do?”

I stare the witch down, asserting dominance and looking for even the slightest hint that this is all bullshit. She looks at the potion with such pride. Sophie seems to sense my eyes on her and leans back in her seat, finally looking at me instead of the shifting glittering swirls inside the bottle. I detect nothing but honesty.

“It’s impossible. We’re dead. Dead things don’t birth life.” Glaring at the potion she placed in the center. She wants my attention on the vial. “What’s in the bottle?”

Smiling now, she takes a deep breath. “Life.”

A shaking hand reaches out and grasps the potion, it feels cool in the palm of my hand. I turn it over, staring as it curls around itself and continuously shifts in the bottle. Life?

“If you drink that Wren, your heart will beat again. Your blood will flow, and you’ll remain everything you are now, but more. If you and your mate drink it, you could have children together. The child will be like you, though I admit, I don’t know how the aging or immortality part would play into it....”

Children?

In the mountains, I accepted that it would never be possible. I accepted that I had my life and a man who loves me. I decided that it would have to be enough. What if I could have more? The cost is simply standing against a foe all supernaturals share. Joining with witches and wolves against a common threat to the entire world.

The temptation to uncork the bottle and down its contents is overwhelming. I force myself to place it back in the center of the table.

“How do I know it would work?”

Becky returns to check on us and asks if we’re ready to order. “No, thank you,” I mutter, but she turns to Sophie instead.

The witch extends Becky’s hand toward me, puncturing her palm with a sharp nail. “Becky here was my first test subject. Taste her blood, and you will see she remains a vampire.” I am studying the hostess now, my skepticism waning.

Pressing the pad of my index finger to the drop of blood spilling into Becky’s palm I raise it to my tongue.

It’s fucking vampire blood.

I can hear her heartbeat and see the flush of her cheeks.

“Listen deeper,” Sophie urges.

Deeper?

Closing my eyes I tune out the restaurant, focusing solely on the hostess, this vampire with a beating heart. A flutter comes from her midsection.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

“I’m due in five months,” Becky’s voice is filled with pride. “It’s growing at the same rate as a normal human baby. I still drink blood, and the pregnancy is healthy so far.”

I know my mouth is wide open in shock. Sophie grins and thanks Becky for her time. I laugh, feeling light-headed. History books will remember that a hostess named Becky was the first vampire to ever get pregnant.

Sophie pulls an identical bottle from her bag and sets it with the first. “My gift to you, regardless of your decision to help. One for you, one for your mate. All research indicates this is permanent.” I stare once more at the shimmering purple liquid in disbelief, despite all of the evidence to the contrary.

“How is this possible? What sort of magic…” I can’t even find the words.

Eyebrows raised, Sophie sits back and lists off the process. “Necromancy magic was the jumping-off point. We had to blend it with earth and blood magic. Then we needed a binder. That’s how I found Becky. She volunteered, so we used her and her mate’s blood to quicken the potion. I have another young vampire lady who is also with child. She drank the potion that used Becky’s blood, as will you. If we have a vampire to make the initial donation, it should work on any other vampire who drinks it.”

I want to cry with joy.

Of course, Oz and I have never discussed kids, simply because it wasn’t an option. Though I can’t imagine him denying me anything. “Thank you,” I whisper, tucking the bottles into my bag, ensuring they aren’t in danger of being crushed.

Sophie didn’t have to give me this outright. It symbolizes the witches being willing to work with us, that they trust us more than demons and will help us obtain dreams that many of us have.

A symbol of good faith.

A symbol of our future.

Doing my best to keep my voice even and my poker face on I say, “I don’t speak for the council or even speak directly for my coven. But Sophie, I will relay your message, and if I have any say on the outcome at all, my preference is to help you.”

Ms. Leblanc rises and straightens her pants. I do the same, adjusting the strap of my bag, careful of my precious cargo. “That’s all I ask. Here’s my card,” she fishes out a piece of cardboard that labels her as a higher-up in a research lab. “Call me with your decision, please.” I tuck the card into my wallet and nod. “Take care, Wren,” she says casually, before striding past Becky and out the door, her hair gleaming in the sunlight.

Stepping out of the restaurant, I head home, unsure what will happen for my coven, for vampire kind, for me… But I am thoroughly excited to find out.