Blood wars [Chapter 2: Mirrors/part 1]

~~*~~Chapter 2~~*~~




         



         WALKING DOWN  the long, marble corridor of the West wing of the Stregoni Embassy in Brighton were a man, a young woman, and two very large, and very hansom, guards.
The young woman was being pushed along down the corridor by the youngest of the two guards, whom she had gathered was named Alexander. She looked up at him, for she was a bit short and small, whereas Alexander was tall for his apparent youth. He had auburn hair that was windblown and long. It hung over his eyes slightly and over his ears as well. He had somewhat of a smirk on his strong face, which gave him a much more approachable look than the other guard. His eyes, from where the young woman could see, were the strangest shade of brown. They seemed to have a tint of red in them with a ring of gold around the irises. He looked down at her, the soft smirk still on his face, and she blushed. He was very hansom, but something about him made her uneasy.
         The man, being held by the arm and pulled rather roughly by the other guard, squirmed, trying to free himself from the guard's iron grasp. Unlike the woman, he did not have to assume the names of the guards. He new them very well. And the guard pushing him along was Nicholas.
         Nicholas was tall, muscular, and hansom like the other, but his mouth was pulled into an irritated scowl, and his strange burgundy eyes were cold and harsh; absent was the ring of gold around the irises. His hair was jet black and long; pulled back into a short pony-tail at the nape of his neck.
         The woman sighed.
         The man grunted in defiance.
         How would they be able to escape from these two? The woman was smart, quick witted. She new the chances of escape: Zero to none. Even if she did, she could not out run them, that was certain. And her husband--the man--would never be able to free himself from Nicholas's grasp.
         Before long, they came to the end of the corridor and stood before an enormous double-door, carved with intricate patterns of flowers and trees as well as people and horses and dogs. Gold leaf covered the door and shimmered in the light of the sconces lining the corridor walls. The woman could not place her finger on it, but something about this door was ominous; as though walking through it meant utter doom.
         Alexander walked in front of the young woman to push open the door. With one graceful motion, both doors swung open to reveal the room inside. The walls were decorated with paintings and wall hangings and mirrors. The wall to their left wasn't even a wall at all; it was a huge bay window, looking out over Brighton. At the back of the room was a large, beautifully crafted desk, piled with papers and envelopes. The wall to the right had two doors; each exactly like the other. Under their feet was an enormous Oriental rug with patterns of flowers and vines, animals and butterflies, embroidered in golds and reds and greens. The young woman looked up at the vaulted ceiling. It was painted with a mural of cherubs and demons. Clouds and fire danced with each other across the surface. Around the edges of the ceiling were paintings of roses and branches. The site took the young woman's breath away.
         The man just stood there only seeing one thing in the room:
A young woman sitting in one of the two armchairs looking out the bay window. He bristled at the site of her. The young woman looked at her husband in confusion then turned her gaze to the woman. She was gorgeous to say the least. Her long black hair fell from her head like waves of onyx. Her ivory skin seemed to glow in the light of the sconces around the room. But she gave the young woman an uneasy feeling as well. The woman stood up from her seat and turned her burning gaze on them. Her eyes were like the guards'; burgundy and cold as ice. But they seemed less serene then the guards, like she was restless.
         "And who are you?" she spoke to the young woman. Her voice was like honey, but was harsh at the same time. And to the young woman's dismay, unpleased.
         "Felicity. Felicity Mikhailovich."
As soon as she said her last name, the woman's eyes widened.
         "Mikhailovich?"
         "Yes, madam."
The woman's eyes narrowed into piercing slits. She turned her gaze to the man.
         "And you, Kougra, what have you to say?"
Kougra stood silently.
         "Well, then. Nicholas, please take him to the prison. I would like to speak with the girl, alone."
         The Felicity looked to Kougra in panic, but Nicholas was leading him out one of the two doors on the right wall before she could receive any comfort. Alexander turned and left through the other door, leaving the two women alone.
         The woman sat back into her chair and beckoned for Felicity to take the seat next to her. There was a table between the two arm chairs. On the table were two wine glasses and a tall black bottle of red wine. The woman pored a bit of wine into each glass.
         "So, Felicity is it? What a pretty name," even the compliment held a certain malice in this woman's voice, Felicity thought.
         "Yes madam."
The woman smiled and took a sip of wine form her glass.
         "Please, call me Isabella. There is no need for formalities here."
Felicity nodded but still felt uneasy.
         "So, Monsieur Mikhailovich is your lover? How quaint."
Felicity did not notice before, but the madame had a French accent that rolled off of her tongue like the notes of a song. This sort of beauty to her voice kept Felicity from noticing how irritated Madame Isabella seemed at the idea of her and Kougra being married.
         "Yes, Ma-- Isabella." she nearly forgot to not use formalities. Felicity was a country girl, not fancy or shallow, but smart and polite. It pained her to be so intimate with someone she had just met; to call Madame Isabella by her first name.
         "I see. Well, this is a problem."
Felicity's stomach dropped. A problem? What could be the problem?
         "A problem?" she asked timidly.
         "Yes."
         "But why?"
Madame Isabella startled Felicity by laughing. The sound was like bells ringing through the air. But the undertones of irritation were unnerving.
         "You, don't know where you are, do you?" she said after she quieted her giggles.
         "I know I am in Brighton. As for what this place is, I can only begin to guess."
Madame Isabella nodded her head in understanding.
         "And you don't know who I am, other than my name?"
         "No, Madame."
         "Hm, I see. Well, do you know who your Monsieur Mikhailovich is?"
Felicity didn't know how to answer that question. She loved him terribly, but telling anything like that to Madame Isabella was sure to make her angrier than before. So she answered quietly,"A great man."
         Madame Isabella replied with another bout of giggles.
         "So, you really don't know him, do you? Ha! How long have you two been together?"
         "About a year now."
Madame Isabella nodded her head again.
         "Well, I suppose I should do more than chastise him for being so secretive with his own wife," her lips spoke the word wife as though it were a curse. "The only penalty I can think of would be death."
         "Death?!" Felicity screeched. "You cannot kill him. He is the most loyal and honest person I know! There is no need for such an extent of punishment!" and then added quietly, "I can't live without him."
Madame Isabella's lips curled into a mischievous smile.
         "Oh, you need not worry dear. By the way the circumstances have played out, you will not live without him long. Heh, you'll be joining him on Death Row."
Felicity's eyes widened in horror.
         "But, why?" she whispered.
         "Because, what you did, marrying Kougra, was the most terrible thing that could happen. He is not for you, and you are not for him. He may not have told you, but the reason he took you all the way to Russia to get married was so that I could not stop the ceremony. But he made one fatal mistake, not staying in Russia. He thought he could hide away in the country with you and disappear from my site. Ha! But that fool. As long as he is in England, he will never escape my watch."
         All of this information was too much for Felicity's simple mind to take in.
         "But, but, that's impossible. And why would you care so much about where he is, and who he marries?!"
         "Because," Isabella answered coolly," we are practically family, your husband and I. The blood that runs through our veins are very much alike. And very much different than the blood that runs through yours."
         Felicity shook her head in shock.
         "Impossible. How can he be so much different than I? We are both humble humans that live day to day like any other humble humans. His only difference is the kindness he has always shown me!" but even as she spoke these words, doubt began to fill her mind. She was suddenly struck with the memory of when they first met; the same uneasy feeling that she had around the guards and Madame Isabella was there when she met Kougra. And his eyes; dark but tinted with red and gold. She had pushed those unnerving thoughts out of her head when she came to love Kougra, and never thought to ask him about where he was from or his background.
         Dismay replaced the doubt. Was Madame Isabella right? Was Kougra really so much different than she? Was he something other than human?
And if so, what was he?
         "A monster."
Felicity was pulled from her reflections as Madame Isabella spoke.
         "Pardon?" she questioned politely.
         "A monster," Isabella repeated. "You were obviously trying to decipher my meaning of what he is, and my answer is a monster."
         Felicity's brow furrowed in confusion. "But how can that be? He is the kindest person I know. He is not a monster!" she exclaimed passionately.
         Madame Isabella merely chuckled. "He may not appear to be one on the outside, but on the inside-" she chuckled again-"he is a cold, bloodthirsty demon. Just like myself, and of course every other descendant of the Stregoni bloodline."
         Felicity fumbled with her fingers, trying to fight back the tears welling up in her eyes.
         Could Madame Isabella speak the truth? Was her dear husband really a terrible monster? And the Stregoni bloodline; where had she heard that name before?
         "Please, Madame, elaborate; what do you mean by 'monster?'" This was a reasonable question to ask, but Madame Isabella's eyes seemed to burn with a rage with such fiery intensity that Felicity was concerned her skirts would catch fire.
         Madame Isabella stood, and Felicity could fully see the extent of her grace and beauty. She was tall, lean, and stood with an air of royalty. Her Robin's-egg blue, satin dress was slightly off the shoulder showing her ivory skin underneath. The skirts of her dress flowed around her like a waterfall of jewel-toned water. Her long black hair flowed down her back in the same fashion, though more like a waterfall of Midnight sky.
She walked in front of Felicity, her eyes a now a fierce ruby hue that inspired such a fear in the poor girl that she was very near fainting.
         "Shall I demonstrate?" Madame Isabella asked, the malice in her voice, once carefully hidden with politeness, now shone through.
         One white hand reached down to Felicity's corset and lifted her out of the seat by the collar of her dress. She stood, suspended a few inches above the Oriental rug, Madame Isabella's long, slender fingers clutched tightly around her collar. Felicity did not know how to respond, so she did not, and just gazed into Madame Isabella's blood-red eyes in terror.
         Madame Isabella pulled back her lips in a menacing smile; showing her suddenly razor sharp canine teeth. Felicity's eyes widened in shock, and she opened her mouth to scream but no sound came.
         "How far are you willing to go to save your beloved's life?" her voice was thick with menace and threats, but Felicity could only focus on her teeth.
         After Felicity failed to respond, Isabella released her iron grasp on Felicity's collar, making her land hard on the floor. She looked up into Madame Isabella's cruel eyes, pulled out of her trance as she hit the ground.
         "Wh-what?"
Madame Isabella sighed in impatience.
         "How far would you go to save his life, and your own?"
Felicity barely had to think on that question; "For his life, to the ends of the Earth and back. For my own, not nearly as far."
Madame Isabella nodded then stretched her lips back into another terrible smile.
         "And what say you to traveling further?"
         "How far?" Felicity hesitated.
         Madame Isabella laughed. This laugh was not the polite giggle Felicity had heard before, nor the irritated chuckle. But this laugh was thunderous and beautiful. It was like the clear notes of a Piano Forte echoing throughout the room. The laugh would have been lovely if not for the wickedness inside it. Like a black thread, the malice wove through the sound and contorted it until no real joy was left in it; only utter hatred and sadism.
         "Further than I believe you are willing to go, you hopeless little girl." She laughed again.
         "How far?" Felicity challenged.
         "Ha! To Hell and back."
         Silence rang in the room; louder than Madame Isabella's maniacal laughter. The silence was heavy and intense and threatened to crush Felicity with it's weight. But, just by observation on Felicity's part, Madame Isabella could never be crushed by it. She was much too strong.
         "What?"
         Madame Isabella chuckled darkly. Felicity saw now the true nature of the restlessness she had seen it Madame Isabella's eyes earlier; she wasn't restless, she was mad.
         "You silly girl! Intertwining your fate with that of demons! Ha! As if you would stand a chance against us! As if you could ever be Kougra's soul mate! If you had been smart and stayed in Russia, he would have outlived you by decades!"
         These words struck Felicity hard.
         "Just tell me what I must do to save us!" she screamed.
Madame Isabella's eyes widened, but the wicked smile did not leave her face.
         "Exactly as I said before."
         "And-and how will I do that?" Felicity stammered, dumbstruck by her outburst.
         "You will join us of course." Madame Isabella stated in a-matter-of-fact tone.
         "Join who?"
         "Why, the Stregoni of course."
And Madame Isabella's smile widened; her gleaming fangs glittering in the light flooding in from the bay window.
         "Stregoni?" Felicity whispered.
         "Yes. Of course! And I know just where to put you."
         "Put me?"
Madame Isabella chuckled. "In my army of course!" And her laughter roared once more throughout the room.
         This statement took some time to sink in to Felicity's mind.
         Her army? How could that be? Only men were in the army! She voiced her concerns.
         "Well," Isabella spoke like she was talking to a child; chiding and pleasing. But Felicity had witnessed enough of her to recognize the sadistic pleasure behind her facade.          "The Captain of my fifth division had a bit of an accident." Felicity took it that what ever happened to the captain was no accident. "So you will be taking her place." Again, she could not fully absorb Madame Isabella's words.
         "Her?" Felicity asked, wondering if she heard correctly.
         "Yes. All of the Captains of my divisions are women."
Felicity stared in astonishment. But staring wasn't a very good idea at the moment. Every time she looked at Madame Isabella's face she was mesmerized by those blood-red eyes and her long, sharp, gleaming fangs...
         Suddenly, realization struck Felicity with such an excruciating force she felt as though she would lose consciousness.
         Madame Isabella was a vampire...

         Felicity tried to scream but no sound came.
         It was like her nightmares all over again.
         When she was a child, her grandfather would tell her of stories about him and a group of other men who would travel many miles over land and sea to come to the terrified call of remote villages where mysterious murders and disappearances would occur. They would find a trail of blood into a dark forest or bits and pieces of a body strewn around a room.
         They were called many names by the village people, but the name that they were famous for was The Mortal Angels. They were called such because they would rid the villages of the monsters that haunted them; they were like angels sent to the people to protect them. They kept secret what they were killing all that time; but of course Felicity's grandfather had told her.
         She was a young girl. How much harm could it do?
         But he had no idea.
         Her dreams were often starred by beautiful beings with glistening fangs and blood-stained lips; of mangled and decapitated bodies scattered around the room; of those gorgeous lips pressed against her skin, only to drain her of her life....
         "No!" she screamed. "Get away form me you demon!"
         She jumped up and ran toward the door, but Madame Isabella appeared before her; her eyes burning with a sickening pleasure, like a cat cornering a helpless mouse.
She pushed Felicity down onto her back and stepped on her hand. Felicity could feel the bones cracking. She screamed.
         "Hush," Madame Isabella scolded and removed her foot from Felicity's broken hand. She bent down next to Felicity who clutched her mangled hand to her breast. Madame Isabella stroked her cheek and patted her head.
         "Don't scream, dear. There is no reason for that. Your fate is inevitable. Unless, of course, you'd rather die then save your dear husband."
         When she worded it that way, Felicity could not see how she could refuse. Felicity stood, but Isabella stayed seated.
         Felicity cringed with the pain radiating from her hand. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and burned her flushed skin. Madame Isabella stood gracefully and wiped away Felicity's tears with one long, pale finger.
         "Shh, shh. Don't cry. Just tell me now: Will you join the Stregoni family and be the captain of my fifth division? Or will you give me the pleasure of killing you here and now?" Madame Isabella's lips turned up into a mischievous grin.
         Felicity was filled with a hatred she had never felt before.
         "No. I will not give you that pleasure. But let me speak to Kougra before..." she trailed off. Her grandfather had never told her what occurs when one becomes a-- she couldn't even bring herself to think the word.
         "Of course." Madame Isabella spoke stolidly. She would have truly enjoyed killing Felicity; especially considering this meeting cut into her relaxation time.