Chapter 10

Beatrice

Beatrice's steps were heavy with frustration as she paced in front of the cage. The cattle prod in her hand constantly reminded her of her mounting irritation. It was the dead of night, and her pounding headache only increased her exasperation. The panther in the cage had pushed her to her limit. Beatrice was resolute. She'd lost way too much money due to the panther's steadfast need to break the rules, and tonight marked the end of her tolerance.

"I had hoped that maybe, just maybe, you were different than the rest." She stopped and leaned against the wall opposite the cage. "You cost me a lot of money. I'm not sure how you're doing it, either."

The hairs on Beatrice's arms stood, and a rush of cool air washed over her. The panther's shift was an awesomely grotesque display of power that fascinated and disgusted her. She'd spent her life trying to destroy all shifters. At first, it was just the need to control their living magic. They viewed their magic as superior to any other supernatural. They were not controlled by it but manipulated their magical gift to serve them. No one understood their arrogance the way she did, not even her sister.

Isabeau owed Beatrice her life, but instead of appreciating the gift Beatrice gave her, Isabeau betrayed family loyalty for the love of a dragon, leaving Beatrice to die.

The cracking bones echoed off the walls, making Beatrice's head hurt. A young, beautiful, emaciated female lay on the floor. She had stopped eating weeks ago in what Beatrice assumed was an attempt to end her life. Too many clients wanted to hunt the sleek panther for Beatrice to allow that to happen.

"Would you be happier if I just played nice kitty?" the woman said.

Beatrice pushed the button and watched the two prongs at the end of the prod turn red. The smell of burning flesh stung the inside of her nose. She reached through the bars and touched the prod to the woman's leg. The woman cried out and scrambled back against the wall.

"I would be happier if you would remember your place."

The woman's dark, empty eyes showed no signs of defiance like they once did. Beatrice had seen it happen many times before. Almost all the shifters they brought here fought to remain defiant. Each thought they would escape, but none had until they brought in that damn panther. She used her energy to help others escape. Since Rex found her outside the spelled boundary five months ago, she had helped over fifteen shifters escape. Why would she help others instead of helping herself?

"You've forced my hand." Beatrice waited for one of the woman's quick comebacks, but she curled into a ball, closed her eyes, and stilled on the floor. "I know you're not dead. You are more powerful than any of the others we've used. A little hunger won't kill you." Beatrice stepped back. "Your food strike will end tonight."

The woman did not react.

Rex stepped into the room, carrying a gun over his shoulder. "I've got two."

"Do you really think you need that many?" Beatrice asked.

"I've lost three men because of her. I don't feel like taking any more chances."

Beatrice spun to face him. "Perhaps it wasn't her fault but yours." When Rex didn't respond, she continued. "I don't know why I'm always surprised when a man underestimates the power of a woman. If your guards were not strong enough to bring her down, that's their fault, not hers."

Rex pressed his lips into a thin line and remained quiet.

"What do we know about the latest escapes?" Beatrice asked.

"A bear shifter and a wolf shifter. We caught the wolf," Rex said. "And we're hunting for the bear."

Beatrice stepped toward the prison bars, closed her eyes, and summoned a small amount of energy. Rex doubled over, grabbing his stomach before dropping to his knees. The female panther lifted her head and met Beatrice's gaze.

Beatrice smiled. "Rex and I have worked together long enough for him to know I do not tolerate incompetence."

The panther stared at Rex, who was now curled into a ball, moaning,

"He's not the only one responsible, is he?" Beatrice asked.

The panther lifted her head and started to speak but was cut off when the main door opened, and another guard stepped inside.

The guard looked between Rex and Beatrice. His eyes settled on Beatrice. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but you're needed at the main house."

"Is this something Morris can handle?"

The guard swallowed hard, quickly dropped his eyes to Rex, and backed up to the door. "Um, I didn't know you were busy. Morris told me to tell me that it happened, and you don't have much time."

Beatrice snapped her fingers, and Rex's body relaxed enough for him to move. He rolled to his side, whimpering.

Beatrice pointed to the panther. "Food will be here soon. If you do not start eating, I will order a feeding tube shoved down your throat. You won't like it."

She spun around, stepped over Rex, and walked out.

Morris opened the door as she walked up the porch steps. "I've placed the body on the deck."

"Is everything ready?" She handed the cattle prod to the man.

He nodded. "The blessed fire is almost strong enough."

A man sitting in a high-back chair stood and nodded his head once.

"Are you the one who did it?" Beatrice asked.

The man said, "Yes. I followed Bruce's instructions."

Beatrice stepped closer to the man and studied him. He was taller than her, but that didn't matter. He was a delusional human, a hitman. She stepped closer, holding his gaze and never blinking. The man's shoulders dropped a bit, and a single bead of sweat trailed down his face.

Beatrice raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Are you nervous, Mr., Mr., what's your name?"

The man's body stiffened. "Trevor. Trever Wilcox."

Beatrice allowed Trevor's unease to increase, enjoying his helplessness. When the strong smell of urine burned her nose, she lowered her eyes, shook her head, and clicked her tongue. Trevor's face burned a deep red, and he covered his crotch with his hands.

"Oh, my. I'm afraid you'll need to clean up before you leave." She pointed down the hall. "There's a powder room down that hall." She turned around and walked away with Morris at her side.

"How would you like me to take care of Mr. Wilcox?"

"Rex told me he's lost three guards, thanks to our panther. Do you think he'd be a good replacement?"

"I'm not sure, Ma'am. He seems to have control issues."

Beatrice snickered. "You do have a great sense of humor, Morris. I've always liked that about you."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Beatrice opened the French doors and stepped onto the deck, breathing in the night. The full moon was bright enough to see the large yard beneath the deck. One man attended to a bonfire, and two women, dressed in hooded ceremonial robes, waited.

She walked over to the female body lying on a makeshift pallet. A thin sheet covered her peaceful, limp body. Blood had soaked through the sheet, making a macabre pattern of red flowers. Her eyes were wide, frozen by the fear she must have felt knowing her life was ending. For a heartbeat, Beatrice felt remorse. Victoria didn't deserve a violent end, but she would thank Beatrice when she rose from death and grew into the power of a Tribe witch.

Beatrice suspected she was the right person, and after investigating her, she was certain. She grew up in a small Maryland town and dreamed of heading out to California, where she would become a famous actress. It was a tale as old as time.

One of the women took off the hood. Beatrice smiled. Over the last several months, Heather Fairchild had become a close friend. She reminded Beatrice so much of her sister. Despite the rift between them, there were times when Beatrice missed Isabeau so much that it hurt.

When the sniveling demon, Keyser, first brought her the black box, she'd been amused. His confidence was too off-putting. He came into her home with the silly notion that she would fund his project. If he knew her as much as he pretended to, he would have never assumed she'd help him. She was never a helper.

The day after Keyser ruined her boots, Heather approached Beatrice, offering to continue the work she'd started with Keyser. It didn't make a lot of sense for a Tribe witch to be working with a demon to create a weapon that would change the supernatural world. Beatrice never questioned her motives, and Heather never offered. The only thing that mattered was Heather was brilliant and rich.

"It's ready," Heather said.

Beatrice asked the men to carry the stretcher down to the yard. Heather directed the men to place it on a makeshift altar. The other woman brought over a large basin of water and towels. She lifted the sheet.

Heather took the sheet out of her hands. "I'll do it, Madelyn."

Madelyn nodded and stepped back.

Beatrice told Madelyn, "You have done an adequate job, but we will do this ourselves. You can wait for me in the house."

The woman bowed and walked to the house.

Beatrice asked the man who was attending the fire to leave as well.

Beatrice ran a hand down the side of Victoria's face. The mottled patches of deep purple bruises created a jarring transformation. She cleaned off the dried blood from Victoria's face and ran her fingers through the woman's knotted hair. Heather used magic to straighten two broken fingers and a broken rib. She cleaned the blood trailing from between the woman's legs and took off a shoe that had somehow managed to stay on. Her stomach burned when she smelled Trevor's scent. Beatrice knew Victoria was strong, but she hadn't expected her to put up that much of a fight. Bruce's instructions had been to attack Victoria enough to scare her and then kill her. Bruce must not have explained everything to Trevor.

Trevor would not live to see another day.

Beatrice found a knife and a bowl on the ground next to the fire. She set them next to the body.

"I share my gift with you, and you will soon see that the pain you suffered will be turned into strength," Beatrice said.

Beatrice gently kissed Victoria's mouth and ran a hand over her eyes, shutting them. She used the knife to cut her hand and squeezed the blood into the bowl.

"Goddess Hecate, Goddess Selene, I call on you with a sacrifice, a token of appreciation." Her head lifted to the full moon. "I call upon you as your first servant. Hear my call."

She put an arm under Virginia's shoulders and cradled her. Heather lifted the bowl to Virginia's mouth, letting it fall down the woman's throat and spill down her face. Victoria's arms fell to the side, and Beatrice smiled when she saw the butterfly tattoo on her wrist. Beatrice carried her down to the fire and placed her body on the ground.

"I call on you, Goddess of the moon. I call on you, Goddess of magic. Embrace your new warrior. Guide her in this battle that you have laid before her. She is not of your world but is part of a new world that creates warriors from the hurt. Love her. Claim her as your own."

Beatrice walked around the fire, repeating this prayer. The fire parted into two. A wind gust pushed the two sides apart. In the center, a twirling windstorm grew taller. Tendrils of fire surrounded Beatrice and Heather.

A duet of women shouting and talking replaced Beatrice's voice. The hymn grew louder and faster until the words merged into a jumbled mess of benediction and supplication.

A white curtain fell around them, hiding them from the world.

Beatrice uttered a low, animalistic groan, and the voices stopped. The only sound left behind was the growing wind in the center of the fire.

"Come to me, Mothers."

The wind stopped. The white veil and the land around her disappeared.

"Why are you here?" a voice demanded.

"I come here to bring you a worthy soul for your army."

"It has been more than a lifetime since you called," the voice said. "Why should we give you anything when you turned your back on us?"

Beatrice's heartbeat increased. When Isabeau betrayed her, the need for vengeance pushed her beyond protecting humans from supernaturals to hunting and killing all shifters. If they were eliminated, she would be able to harness and control their living power.

"Why are you here?" the voice screamed.

"You gave me the power to bring life back to the dead."

"We did. How did this daughter die?"

"A man attacked her and left her for dead, much like my sister when you raised her."

"Ah, Isabeau, your sister."

A light flashed, and a pop rang through the air. Two women appeared in front of Beatrice. One woman appeared to be three in one body. The main body faced her, while the other two faced north and south. A black dog stood close to her side. The other woman wore white with a long billowy dress and a cap that covered the woman's hair, which reached the ground. She carried a torch in her right hand.

Beatrice blinked, and the women disappeared.

"Your sister understood."

Beatrice spun around, searching for the voice, but saw nothing.

"Your sister understood."

She spun again but was only fast enough to see a blur when the women appeared and disappeared.

"Isabeau was selfish. She never understood. I have always been your faithful servant." She pointed to the body. "You will see, as I have, that this body is worthy."

The women continued to appear and disappear, taunting Beatrice.

"Enough," Beatrice cried out.

The woman with the three bodies flashed in front of Beatrice and Heather. She reached down and patted the dog's head. "You have always been a selfish child."

Beatrice clenched her hands. "I did not ask to bring Isabeau back from Hades."

A voice behind Beatrice said, "No, that was a gift I gave you."

Beatrice didn't bother turning around. "You call it a gift, but gifts do not have conditions."

The woman in front of her said, "They were not conditions. They were sacrifices. The Gods never give gifts."

Beatrice turned to the woman behind her. "When I came across my sister's body, I sang a song of lament to you—" she pointed, "Selene. I never called on you to help."

Selene smiled. "Your song was so moving, it broke my heart. I could not bear to hear one of my daughters in so much pain. I called on Hecate for help. We brought back your sister."

Beatrice was losing her patience. Her life of servitude to these two only brought her pain and suffering. It wasn't until she turned her back on the Tribe and allowed her power to grow that she realized she never needed their help. She didn't need her sister. She didn't need anyone.

"Why summon us when you don't belong to us anymore?" Hecate said.

Beatrice used her growing anger to fuel her magic.

Selene raised a hand, and Beatrice fell to her knees. "We gave that power to you. We can take it away whenever necessary."

Beatrice tried to stand but couldn't. "I bring you a woman, a woman who died a violent death at the hands of a man. You swore to always restore a daughter who was not meant to die. I am holding you to that oath."

Hecate and Selene circled Victoria's body. They argued. Beatrice recognized the ancient Greek, but as the argument grew louder and faster, the voices hypnotized her, making it hard to understand. She was running out of time. "Stop," she screamed.

The voices stopped. The power holding her eased enough for Beatrice to stand.

"You will not leave this woman to a forever death. She will be able to do what none of us have. She will bring supernaturals to heal, protecting humans."

"Who caused this woman's death?" Hecate said.

"A man." Beatrice lied.

The two goddesses exchanged glances.

"We see a future where she will replace you as a leader," Selene said. "Are you ready to make that great of a sacrifice?"

Beatrice stepped back and clutched her chest. There had to be a way to answer them without lying, but without admitting it, she would never give up control. She didn't when Isabeau betrayed her, and she wouldn't now.

She inhaled and let out a slow breath. "I will always do what is right for the Tribe."

The goddesses exchanged another glance and appeared to have a silent conversation. After nodding to each other, they walked over and placed their hands on Heather's body. A white light glowed under their hands, and Victoria's wounds began to heal.

Flames escaped the fire and circled the women. The heat singed the hairs on Beatrice's arms. Her lungs filled with smoke, making it hard to breathe. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Hot pain seared through her chest and gripped her heart. The last time she knew this kind of pain was the night Isabeau had been killed by a savage vampire known as Ambrogio, the first vampire.

Beatrice dropped to her knees again and pressed her face against the cold ground. Her nails dug deep into the palms of her clenched hands. She wanted to absorb the pain and let it consume her, but when the pain became too much, her soul floated above her, and she watched from outside her body.

Victoria's eyes opened. She cried out, and the goddesses disappeared.

Beatrice heard the goddesses' voices in the dying wind. "Be careful, Elspeth. We will always be watching." The wind disappeared, and the fire returned to a normal bonfire.

Heather helped Victoria sit up, and she looked around, saw Beatrice, and screamed. Beatrice crawled over to her, fighting to wrap her arms around the hysterical woman.

"It's okay. You're okay."

Victoria stopped fighting and sobbed. "What happened? Where am I?"

"Morris found you in the parking lot of that bar. He brought you here." Victoria buried her face against Beatrice's chest and cried. Beatrice rubbed her back and hummed the song she sang long before her life truly began. Heather wrapped her arms around Victoria, holding the woman between her and Beatrice.

After several minutes, Victoria calmed down and asked, "What song is that?" Beatrice smiled. "Oh, just a song I sang to my sister long ago."

Victoria started to say something, but her words were cut off as she screamed in pain. "What is happening?"

Beatrice held her close and rocked her. "It's the pain of rebirth."

Victoria pushed away and rocked on her hands and knees. "I don't understand. It burns everywhere." After an extended moment, Victoria dropped her head and remained quiet. When she raised her head and focused on Beatrice, Beatrice smiled. She recognized the blazing fire in Victoria's eyes.

One day, she would share with Victoria how she was brought back from the dead. But it wouldn't be today.

And she would never let Victoria know that she had brought about her death in the first place.