literature

Rough Draft Ch.1 DEMON'S BLOOD

Deviation Actions

CandaceIsVampire's avatar
Published:
1.6K Views

Literature Text

I opened my eyes to darkness, knowing straight away that it would be one of those nights. The only light came from the glowing red numbers of the digital clock on my bedside table, but I didn't need to see to know that someone was right here in the room with me. The strange extra sense I'd had for as long as I could remember told me that he was alone, waiting patiently at my doorway. A ghost with manners? There was a first time for everything, I suppose.
Of course, 'ghost' wasn't the 'politically correct' name, and I'd been told off more times than I could count for calling them that. Sure, a lot of the spirits (or entities or whatever they wanted to call themselves) I saw really were people who had once been alive, existing now in some separate realm for one reason or another. But I'd met some that truly didn't know who- or what- they were. It was as though they'd popped out of thin air.


The mysterious man at my doorway, however, knew exactly what he was and what he was doing. A feeling of urgency tugged at me as he stood there, waiting for me to acknowledge him. Either he hadn't been dead for long or he really was one polite gho... spirit.
I looked longingly at my clock and sighed. 2:12 in the morning. Maybe not so polite after all.
A lifetime of experience told me that he wouldn't go away if I ignored him. I'd tried that, but they always won in the end. My stubbornness couldn't outlast their... well, their death. I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes, knowing that I wouldn't be going back to sleep now even if I could. The man stayed where he was, but as my eyes adjusted I could make out his features. He wasn't young, but he wasn't exactly old either. Probably the age my father would be if he were around. A hat hid most of his face and he donned a long trench coat, making him seem more ominous than anything. I'd had my share of nasty spirits though, and this man wasn't one of them.


I sighed again, "Are you just going to stand there all night, or are you going to tell what you want?"
"So you can see me," a deep, slightly accented voice reached my ears, "may I enter?"
I raised my eyebrows, "sure. Usually your kind doesn't ask for permission."
"It would be impertinent to enter a lady's room without permission."
I scoffed, "I'm not really what you'd call a lady. What do you want?"
The man stepped over the threshold cautiously, as though he expected to be blown to bits. Well, I'd seen stranger things I guess. He pulled off his hat respectfully and shoved it into one of the many pockets on his brown leather coat. His appearance became more defined as I watched, so that even in the darkness of my bedroom I could see silvery stubble across his jaw. It didn't surprise me. Some spirits looked so lifelike that when I was younger I had thought them to be real people. Until I realised that no one else could see them.
"Charles Kingston," he had reached my bedside and now stood with a hand outstretched before me, "A pleasure to meet you."
I blinked, "Uh... you know how this works right? You're... you're dead. I can't touch you."
Charles looked affronted, "of course I know that. I was merely showing courtesy. Would it have hurt to humour an old man?"
I sighed inwardly. This was going to take longer than I thought. Sometimes all spirits wanted was someone to tell their story to. Someone to listen to their tales of woe and lost love. Then there were the ones who had some task they need me to complete for them. I had a feeling this man was one of the latter.
Not wanting to offend him any further, I extended my own hand politely. My hand met only cold air, but he seemed satisfied.
"Samantha Whelks," I introduced myself, "just call me Sam for short."
His hand returned to his side, "I know who you are, Miss Whelks. This is not an unplanned meeting."
"Just Sam, please," I let my own hand fall to the bed, suddenly weary, "what do you need me for?"
"To be perfectly honest, I expected your house to be better guarded," he ignored my question and strode to my dresser, peering at his hazy reflection in the mirror, "There were no protection spells, no wards to stop me entering."
I laughed, and then quickly stifled myself when Charles gave me a stern 'no-nonsense' kind of glare.
"Spells? Wards? Like... as in a witch spell? Sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. I'm not a witch."
"I know exactly who and, to some extent, what you are Miss Whelks," his voice was slightly annoyed, and a breeze ruffled my curtains as energy escaped him, "I have watched you for some time. I am not mistaken."
"Wait, you what?" My own annoyance rose. Who did he think he was? What gave him the right to invade my privacy? Then I reminded myself that he was a spirit, and that was what they did. Invaded my life. I still needed a second or two to calm myself before continuing. I swallowed, "you watched me? Why?"
"Because you carry witch blood," he waved his hand as if it were obvious, making anger swirl in my veins again, "we must protect our own."
"Witch's don't exist," I argued, "It's a myth, like vampires and werewolves."
"And yet here you are, talking to a ghost."
I opened my mouth to argue, but fell short, "so all witch's can talk to ghosts?"
Charles shook his head, his features blurring a little as he did so, "Not quite, but that's not the only thing you are capable of, correct?"


Huh. I wrapped my arms around my knees, feeling a little chilled. I'd always been different. Odd things had always happened around me. But a witch? I guess it explained a lot. And it wasn't as though I was unfamiliar with the supernatural. He was right; I was talking to a spirit for god's sake.
"I thought as much," Charles said somewhat smugly, moving away from my dresser to examine the contents of my open wardrobe, "at least one of your parents was a witch."
I perked up, "you know my parents? How? Who were they? Are they still alive?"
Charles held up one hand to silence me, "I will give you the information you need- after you help me."
"How do I know that you know anything?" I protested, "You could be making this witch thing up to trick me."
"What would I gain from tricking you? I am here for your help. Aside from that, I have a feeling that being half a witch would explain a great deal of things, would it not?"
"Yes," I answered begrudgingly, "Could you get out of my clothes?"
He stepped back, peering at me with his eyebrows raised, "I have upset you?"
"What do you think? You come here in the middle of the night claiming that you have information on my parents and that I'm some sort of witch."
"My apologies, Miss Whelks. I assumed you would have already known."
My hands clenched at my blankets as I tried to control the anger that always bubbled beneath the surface of my skin. A bottle of hairspray on my dresser wobbled and then flew across the room to hit the wall with a dull thunk, rolling under my bed after landing on the floor. My bedside lamp began to flicker on and off. I closed my eyes and tried to breath. Count down from ten, Sam, slowly.
When I opened my eyes, my bedside lamp was still on but no longer flickering. Nothing else had been dislodged from its place or been hurled in all directions. Charles was staring at me, eyes wide.
"Shut up," I grumbled though he hadn't spoken, pushing the blankets from my body and sliding around until my feet hit the soft carpet.
"It's worse than I thought, Miss Whelks. You must contact my people immediately."
"I'll do no such thing. I have it under control," I strode out of my room towards the bathroom, knowing that he would follow. God forbid he would give up so easily.
I stood in front of the bathroom sink, staring at my reflection. My green eyes appeared too bright and my skin looked too pale, as though I was running a high fever. I wasn't concerned though, it was merely a result of my... power. I shoved my auburn hair off the back of my neck and into a messy bun, ignoring the tangles as they caught at my fingers. Stupid ghost. I would never get back to sleep now, not with the feel of power running through my veins. Witch? It sounded ridiculous, and yet it didn't surprise me. I'd always been this way; it made sense that I was something... different.


I felt better after washing my face with cold water, wiping a wet hand over the back of my neck as well. He was just a ghost. I shouldn't let him rile me up that way. It was too dangerous. Bad things happened when my emotions got the best of me.
I sighed again. I knew he was behind me. I also knew that this wouldn't go away. I turned to him, finding his gray eyes crinkled with concern.
"Are you alright, Miss Whelks?" he fiddled with his long coat cautiously, as though he'd done something wrong. Had he? I wasn't sure.
"I'm fine," I muttered, folding my arms over my chest and feeling grateful that I'd slept in proper pajamas and not just underwear like I did when it was hot, "and I told you to call me Sam. You still haven't told me what you want me to do."
Charles straightened, "I need you to get my cat."
I gaped at him, not even able to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, "Your cat? That's what this is about? You want me to get your cat?"
He looked offended, "he's not just a cat. He's my familiar. You know, about familiars, don't you?"
I blinked in answer and he continued, "A witch who reaches a certain level of power needs a familiar to store some of that power. Before I died I managed to put a lot of my power and essence into Max, so that it could be passed on. However, things didn't go entirely to plan."
"What happened?"
Charles looked somewhat sheepish, "he is at an animal shelter. They took him after I died. I didn't think they would get him so quickly, and I hadn't had time to leave instructions with my coven."
"So what's the big deal?" I asked, feeling nonplussed as I leaned against the cool surface of the bathroom counter, "the cat is at a shelter. So what?"
He made a sound of exasperation, "so, Miss Whelks, if somebody... unsavoury... found out that a powerful witch's familiar was available... Well in the wrong hands it would be quite disastrous."
"I see," I said thoughtfully, and his expression changed to one of relief, "but why me? Why not some other witch?"
"Only you can see me," he replied, "That particular gift is not common among my- our- kind. If I had another choice..."
I waved him into silence, "Yeah, yeah. I've heard that before. I'm the last resort," I glared at him, knowing that I was going to help him whether I liked it or not, "Fine. I'll rescue the stupid cat."
"That is all I ask, Miss Whelks," he replied, and vanished before I could say another word.
I hate it when they do that.
  

©All writing published by the screen name CandaceIsVampire is original writing and has been created by the author Candace Farrugia. Anyone who publishes it without permission or claims it as their own work is violating copyright law.


Rough draft of the first chapter for Demon's Blood. Feedback is appreciated.
© 2010 - 2024 CandaceIsVampire
Comments40
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
The-2nd-Philosopher's avatar
Seems like an interesting story