Marina

The look on Catriona’s face said it all, but Marina still felt the urge to ask, “What do you think?”

“This is the most beautiful place I have ever seen.” Catriona moved around the penthouse suite, reaching out to touch some of the ornamental pieces on display before pulling her hand back as though burned.

“You won’t break anything,” Marina laughed. “And even if you do, everything can be replaced.”

Catriona moved over to the large windows and looked out at the place she had called home for far too long, the place she would be leaving behind to embark on a new chapter. She turned and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes to stop the room from spinning. “I’m a wee bit tipsy.”

“You deserve to be. You are celebrating a new job.”

“Aye. I’ve gone and taken a job I know nothing about from a woman I hardly know. My da would kill me if he knew. He always said I was reckless.”

Throwing her heels aside, Marina sat on the couch and stretched her legs out onto an ottoman, wiggling her toes as pins and needles set in. “I probably should tell you more about me, but I’m afraid I’ll scare you off.”

Staggering slightly, Catriona made her way to the couch and sat down heavily. “Go ahead and tell me; I can take it.”

Marina could feel the girl’s eyes boring a hole through her, seeing everything tucked away inside, finding the cabinet of dark secrets to which only a select few had access. How much to tell and how much to keep locked away? Pondering the question in her head for a moment, Marina settled on ripping off the Band-aid in a single pull. “I bathe in blood to stay young.”

Closing her eyes and scrunching her nose, Catriona looked as though she had just stepped in shit. “So, it’s not Oil of Olay, then?” she chuckled.

“I…”

“My being in such close proximity to that book of yours doesn’t surprise me,” Catriona interrupted. “This city shows me things, mostly bad.”

“Like me with my throat cut?”

“Aye, like that. But it has also shown me the threeness.”

Tucking her legs under her body, Marina scooted in closer to the girl, giving her a little nudge as she noticed the effects of the Guinness beginning to kick in. “Tell me about that,” she whispered.

“About what?”

‘The threeness.”

“Ach. It’s a Celtic thing that’s not so easy to explain.”

“Try me.”

“When I was a wee girl, and I started seeing things, the people in my town started calling me the Morrigan.” Catriona stared off into space, eyes blinking slowly. “The Morrigan was a goddess who could foretell the future, but she was also a warrior who helped deliver victory to those she chose to touch.” She closed her eyes and fell silent.

“Catriona…Catriona, wake up.”

“I’m awake, you old cow. Sorry, I didn’t…I’m trying to think how to explain it is all.”

She wanted to slap the girl out of her impending slumber, but Marina patiently watched as Catriona swayed, head lolling back before snapping to attention.

“I was just me, of course, but the Irish would talk about the Morrigan as being three sisters who would wash the bloodied battle clothes of those destined to die. I think we might be the sisters.”

“Who?”

“Me, you, and the lady in the journal. What did you say her name was again?”

“Elizabeth Bathory.”

“Yes. Me, you, and Elizabeth. The threeness.” Catriona turned to face Marina, eyes drooping. “I need to come with you to wash your bloodstained clothes because I believe you are fated to die. It’s my purpose.”

None of what Catriona had said made any sense. It all sounded like the ramblings of a drunkard, but Marina could feel the truth of it nibble away in the deepest recesses of her mind. The beep of her smartphone brought her back to earth. Picking it up, she read the message from James, sent a response, and then turned the phone off.

“Can I go to bed now?” Catriona mumbled.

“Of course you can.” Marina stood and helped the girl to her feet. She put her arm around Catriona and guided her to the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. Once she was settled, Marina climbed in beside her and propped herself up on her elbow, the shallow breathing of her guest calming her nerves. “Goodnight, my sweet Morrigan.”

“Lady Marina,” Catriona whispered.

“I’m here.”

“Will you read to me some more in the morning?”

“Of course. Now, sleep.”

***

Marina awoke to the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of bacon sizzling in the pan. Rolling over, she grabbed her phone off the bedside table and turned it on, groaning when she saw that it was not yet 8 a.m. The thought of rolling over and going back to sleep was appealing, but seeing Catriona again was higher on the list of priorities. She was unsure whether the poor girl would remember anything from the night before, so another heart to heart might be necessary before Bethany and James arrived.

She opened the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out a hairband, which she used to put her flowing locks in a ponytail. With one final stretch, she climbed out of bed and made her way through to the living area, where she found Catriona dancing to music playing quietly on her phone. “Good morning,” Marina called, causing the girl to jump.

Catriona spun around, somehow managing not to spill a drop of her coffee as she did so. “Good sweet Jesus, you scared me.” A look of panic spread across her face. “Did I wake you?”

“Not directly. I blame the coffee and bacon. Can you pour me a cup?”

“How do you take it?”

“Black, please.”

Marina sat in the breakfast nook just off the kitchen and watched Catriona work. She moved gracefully, finding what she needed with an economy of movement that made her look as though she had spent her entire life in that kitchen.

Placing the coffee on the table, Catriona said, “Breakfast is about to be served. Can I get you some bacon and eggs?”

Feeling her stomach flip, Marina shook her head. “It’s a little early for me just yet. I’m good with the coffee. Make your plate and then come sit with me.”

“Shall I grab the journal, too?” Catriona asked, nodding in the direction of the book. “You did promise to read to me some more this morning.”

“Wait, you remember that?”

Catriona threw her head back and laughed. “I do. You forget I’m a sturdy lass. I’d lose my Irish card if I couldn’t handle a few pints of Guinness. I was more tired than drunk. I don’t get a lot of free time.”

“Then, by all means, bring me the journal, and I shall read some more.”

They sat and talked as Catriona ate breakfast, wolfing down bacon and eggs as though it was the first meal she had eaten in years. “That’s some good bacon, Miss MacCarthy.”

“I told you last night to call me Marina.”

“You did, but that was a social setting. I am in your employ now. It’ll be Miss MacCarthy from here on out.” Catriona grabbed the dirty dishes and washed them up before wiping her hands dry on a dishtowel and retrieving the journal. Sitting back down at the booth, she slid the book across the table. “Where are Bethany and James?” she asked.

“They share a room just down the hall. We have time before they get here.”

“So, they’re a couple then? It’s none of my business; it’s just that I heard you mention to James about you having some relationship with Bethany.”

“What is it they say on Facebook? It’s complicated.”

Catriona nodded as she averted her eyes. “It’s just that, well, I’m not into that at all. Don’t get me wrong, I like sex, but…”

Marina smiled warmly. “Relax. That’s not part of your job description. What you did this morning with coffee and breakfast, that is what I need from you, as well as telling me the things that you see and dream.”

Visibly relaxing, Catriona said, “That I can do. What about the whole bathing thing? What’s my part in that?”

“James takes care of the finer details. I would like you to be there when I bathe, tell me what you see, what you feel.”

“I might not see or feel anything.”

“I think you will. My home has, how can I put this delicately, a bit of history. We have a long drive back to New Orleans today. I’ll tell you about my home, my family, and how the journal fits into all of it on the way.”

“I would like that.”

“Good, then it’s settled.” Marina flipped open the journal and began to read.

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James

James slammed his phone down on the bedside table, pulled back the covers, and planted his feet on the floor. Smoothing back his hair, he made to stand, but the hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Where are you going, mister? I thought we were taking a break before round two.”

The urge to crawl back under the covers was strong, but his servitude pulled him. Turning to look at Bethany, he reached out and placed a hand on her face. He could feel himself stirring again as she placed her cheek against his palm before grabbing it and putting it on her breast. “You’re not making this easy,” he sighed.

“It’s our night off,” Bethany pouted.

James stood and picked his clothes off the floor and dressed quickly. “You should know that time off doesn’t really exist in our world.”

“What does she have you doing now?”

“I need to go pick up some stuff at that Irish pub we were at earlier. It seems Madame has taken a shine to that lass.”

Bethany sat up in bed, worry lines forming across her brow. “What did she say?”

“It looks like Catriona will be coming back to New Orleans with us tomorrow.”

“Permanently? What does that mean for me? You don’t think she would…”

James slipped on his jacket and climbed onto the bed. “Relax. The Irish girl is just another one of her playthings; plus, you know I’d never let anything bad happen to you.”

Bethany smiled demurely. “Looks like I have a bodyguard, too. Make sure you come back to bed as soon as you finish. I’ll be waiting.”

Planting a kiss on her forehead, James got up and headed for the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The doors to the private penthouse elevator slid closed, the reflection from the polished steel making it look as though James stood in front of a funhouse mirror. He checked his watch, tapping the face nervously as the seconds ticked away. As soon as the doors slid open, James bounded out and strode purposefully across the lobby, blowing wordlessly past the smiling hostess at the entrance to the hotel lounge.

He arrived at the booth with less than a minute to spare, trying to look casual even though his heart was hammering. “Good evening, Madame, Miss,” James said, bowing ever so slightly as he spoke.

Marina raised a finger as she finished reading a passage from the journal, and the Irish girl swayed as though touched by a gentle breeze. James scanned the bar while he waited and thought about dropping a wad of bills in the pianist’s tip jar and requesting that he shut the fuck up.

Grinding his thumb against his temple, he tried to push down the anger that he could feel rising to the surface. A short fuse was an issue that has plagued him from his teenage years. James had mostly been able to keep it in check, but it all came undone one fateful night when he had walked in on his stepfather abusing his mother. A red mist had descended, years of bottled anger coming uncorked in a brutal beating. A pair of options were all he had left after that night: spend time in jail or sign up for the military. He chose the latter.

The army proved to be the perfect decision. Initially, James had struggled with being told what to do, but he soon found that discipline and a strict routine were what he needed to thrive and become a functioning adult. The anger never left, but it was now easier to keep in check. Plus, his boss seemed to take joy in the moments when he uncaged that fury in his role as protector.

He would have remained in the military for life had it not been for a chance meeting with his now boss. During a weekend on leave in New Orleans, he had taken a trip to the French Quarter, choosing to leave his friends behind to visit an upscale jazz club. The place was packed, and while the crowd focused on the band, he could not take his eyes off the redhead in the corner. When she caught him looking and flashed a smile, the rush of blood to his head had thrummed in his ears and blocked out the sound of the music.

James never believed in hypnosis until that moment, and when a fight broke out, and the drunken combatants had begun to stumble in her direction, he had felt his body move before his brain registered the potential for violence. He had taken the men down as though in a dream, swearing he could hear her voice in his head, urging him to hurt them. When it was all over, and the club had settled back into its normal groove, she had invited him to sit with her and act as her bodyguard for the night.

That one night had turned into a decade of service, his place in the military mysteriously ending when he received an honorable discharge that he had neither requested nor deserved. Even when James had learned of his new job description, he felt compelled to stay by her side and make sure to meet her every need, no matter the cruelty involved.

James now had more money than he could ever have dreamed of, as well as a nice home in New Orleans. Most of his time, though, was spent at the MacCarthy estate, acting as a bodyguard, caretaker, and provider of what the Madame referred to as treats.

Most days, James enjoyed his work, grim as it was, but there were times when he resented being on constant call. He had never expected to fall for Bethany, but he had, and he hated when their moments alone together were interrupted. He was well aware that he was sharing her with his boss, which was beginning to gnaw at his insides the more he thought about it.

“Earth to James,” Marina said, snapping her fingers.

Breaking out of his thoughts, James gave his head a little shake. “Sorry, Madame. I’m still trying to wake up.”

“I’m surprised Bethany allows you to sleep at all. She’s quite ferocious once she gets started,” Marina said with a smirk.

James ignored the barb and maintained a professional air, even as his stomach churned. “You have a task for me?”

Marina pouted like a child that had just been refused a treat. “Always so serious.” She slid a silver key and a folded check across the table. “The entrance to her place is at the back of the bar. In and out with as little drama as possible. Message me as soon as you are done.”

Scooping the items off the table, James said, “Anything else, Madame?”

“Not unless you and Bethany care to join me upon your return.”

James felt the heat rising in his face, a mixture of embarrassment and anger, the latter emotion coming as a surprise. “I won’t be long,” he said as he turned away from the booth, his boss’ laughter ringing in his ears.

***

His knuckles turned white, the bones threatening to break the skin as he gripped the steering wheel and looked for a place to park on Main Steet. After a few round trips, he eventually spied one, pulling in quickly, ignoring the blinker of the car coming from the opposite direction.

By the time James stepped out of his car, the other vehicle’s driver had pulled level, his window down. The man appeared as though he was about to let loose a torrent of abuse, but one look at James’ build and angry expression made him think better of it. He hit the gas and sped off down the street and out of sight.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, James headed in the direction of the stairs that led down to the riverfront area. It was going on midnight, but the streets were still bustling. He watched as a group headed towards him, led by a cloaked figure carrying an old lantern. As they brushed by, he heard the group leader talk about ghosts in an overly theatrical spooky voice, his audience looking on wide-eyed as he regaled them with tales of the supernatural.

James smiled as he watched them go, wondering what they would think of the story he had to tell. The same people who believed in disembodied spirits rattling chains and walking through walls would likely have a hard time swallowing the tale of a woman who looked half her age because she bathed in the blood from bodies that he happily provided.

After a few more minutes, he found the stairs and headed down, coming out in the alley that was home to the curiosity shop they had visited earlier. The store sat in darkness now, giving the items in the window a creepy authenticity that they lacked in the glare of daylight. As he passed, he tried to avoid the stare of a male doll dressed in Victorian wear, it’s small glass eyes twinkling despite the lack of light. The doll seemed to follow his progress as he passed, an illusion that sent a shiver down his spine.

James exhaled as he reached the end of the alley, where a man leaned against the wall, vomiting loudly. Stepping over a snaking river of bile, James turned the corner and found some relief in the lights that lined the street. He was annoyed at himself for feeling spooked, but he took a moment to regain his composure before moving on and stepping into the Irish pub.

The bar was filled to brimming, a band in the corner belting out an Irish tune that the crowd sang along with in an off-key cacophony. James put his head down and pushed his way through the throng, heading to the battered brown door marked “Employees Only” at the rear end of the bar. With a quick glance around, he pulled a key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock.

“Oy, what are you up to?” a gruff voice called out.

James turned in time to see the bar owner stride in his direction, a crowbar clenched in his chubby fist. “I’m here to collect Catriona’s stuff.”

“Oh. And who the fuck might you be?”

Glaring down at the man, who barely reached chest level, James took a step forward, knocking him off balance. It was the slightest contact, but enough to make the man step back, a look of fear on his face as he tripped over the outstretched legs of a patron. As he pinwheeled his arms for balance, James reached out and plucked the crowbar out of his grasp with his left hand before deftly tossing it into his right.

The man hit the ground hard, a grunt escaping as his tailbone contacted the hardwood floor. Going down on his haunches, James gripped the man by his tie and pulled him in close. “You, I assume, are George, correct?”

The bar owner tried to push himself away, but James turned his wrist and wrapped the tie around his hand, watching as George’s face flushed the shade of beetroot. James saw a man at a nearby table stand and begin to move towards him from the corner of his eye. Without taking his eyes off George, he pointed the crowbar at the advancing customer and said, “Sit back down and mind your fucking business.”

He hoisted George to his feet, released the tie, and gave the bar owner a couple of light taps on the cheek. “Here’s the deal, Georgie boy. Catriona is giving her notice as of right this second. I am going to collect her stuff and be out of your thinning fucking hair in a couple of minutes. You can allow that to happen, or you can allow shit to go horribly wrong. What’s your choice?”

The bar owner nervously adjusted his tie before wiping the seat of his threadbare pants. “Where are you taking her? I promised her dad I would look after her.”

“None of your business, but you can let her old man know that she has made a life for herself, far away from you. Can you do that?”

George nodded, drops of sweat falling from his forehead onto his shirt.

“Good man. Now, pour me a pint of lager and wait right here for me.”

James turned and opened the door without waiting for a response, flicking on a light switch that revealed a set of rickety wooden stairs. He bounded up them two at a time and opened another door at the top, revealing a spartan living space. Pulling the string on the overhead light, James shuddered as cockroaches fled along the floorboards and in behind a rusted stove.

The room looked more like a prison cell than a place to call home. An oak dresser, its handles missing, stood in the corner, the drawers all partially opened, pieces of clothing peeking out. A pair of suitcases sat beside the dresser, wedged between the furniture and the cracked plaster wall. James pulled them out, dropped them on the sagging mattress in the middle of the room, and flipped them open. He then pulled out the drawers and dumped the meager contents into the first suitcase, which he zipped closed.

An alarm clock and a few ornaments sat on top of the dresser. He grabbed those, wrapped them in a blanket that sat on the mattress, and laid them gently inside the other suitcase. Scanning the room, he noticed some more pieces of clothing draped across a clothes rack that sat beside a moldy shower stall. James snatched them up and folded them over his arm as he went around the room and pulled off photographs pinned to the wall, taking care not to damage them more than they already were.

With both suitcases filled, he headed back to the stairs, stopping to take one more look around the space. Satisfied that he had everything, James headed back down to the bar, where he dropped the suitcases and closed the door behind him, dropping the key back into his pants pocket.

George stood in the same spot where he had fallen just a few moments earlier. He gripped a pint of beer in his hand, his other hand sitting underneath the glass in an attempt to hold it steady.

Snatching the beer, James downed it in one and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “That’s not a bad pint, George. Thank you for your cooperation.” James reached inside his jacket and pulled out a check, which was folded in half. “You can take the price of the beer out of that,” he said, flipping the slip of paper at George. “I think you’ll find it’s more than enough.”

George flapped at the check, finally snatching it out of the air at the third attempt. His eyes went wide when he opened it and saw the amount.

“Like I said, more than enough.” James picked up the suitcases and brushed past the bar owner, pausing for a moment on the way past to say, “I was never here.”

Weaving through the crowd, arms held aloft to avoid hitting anyone with the suitcases, James made it back to the street and jogged around the corner and into the alley. The vomiting man now lay on the ground, steam rising from his crotch area, the smell of piss and vomit hanging heavy in the air. James puffed out his cheeks and held his breath as he made for the stairs back up to the main thoroughfare, turning his head away from the shop window as he blew past.

Minutes later, with the suitcases safely in the back of the SUV, James leaned against the vehicle and sent a text to his boss, letting her know he had Catriona’s stuff. The response was quick, “Good. We shall leave tomorrow at noon. I need you and Bethany in my suite at 9 a.m.”

James got behind the wheel of the car and sat for a moment, looking back down the street the way he had come. A creeping sense of unease shimmered through his body. He was ready to hit the road now and leave Savannah in the rearview. It was a place similar to New Orleans in many ways, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were taking something rotten back home. Whether that was the Irish girl or the journal remained to be seen, but he vowed to keep an eye on both as he pulled a U-turn and headed back to the hotel.

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In the years following the end of my blood treatments, the fits I had previously endured lessened. My blood lust did not, and I came to revel in the displays of cruelty perpetrated by my father and his guards.

Sometimes, they would torture peasants for some perceived slight, but other times, their punishments were put on as a show of sorts. My father would bring together other nobles of the region and put on a sumptuous banquet. The men would gorge themselves with food and wine while the women congregated in another part of our estate. Rather than being sent to sit with the nobility wives, my father would make me sit with the men.

They disgusted me. By the end of the meal, a layer of spills and stains would cover their finery, and they would become emboldened. They would talk of affairs with their slaves, leering at me as they regaled the table with their tales of debauchery. By the time the entertainment began, some would stroke my hair or whisper horrid things in my ear, the fetid stench of their breath nauseating me.

The entertainment consisted of violent acts against men and women plucked from the surrounding area. The guests at my father’s events were encouraged to cut the villagers, creating wounds not designed to kill but rather to induce pain and torment. The screams of the tortured did nothing but drive the men to more heinous acts of violence. I saw beheadings, disembowelments, and flesh flayed from the body and fed to the dogs. These images should have haunted me as a child, but instead, I found myself enthralled by the suffering. I once asked my father why he didn’t torture the people held in our jail, but he laughed and said that his guests demanded innocent blood.

It was at one of these events that I was to meet my future husband. I was still a girl, no more than ten years old, but my father saw fit to arrange a wedding with Ferenc Nadasny, a nobleman of the region. It was a decision made out of political needs and one in which I had no say. Ferenc would remain my husband for many years, but I never felt anything but distaste for the man. Sex was nothing more than a function for adding to the Bathory line, so I allowed him to take me whenever he wished, which, thankfully, was not often. My marriage to Ferenc has little bearing on my story, so I will waste no more time talking of it.

When a gentleman named Ladislaus came to attend one of my father’s banquets, things changed for me. I’m sure that when I take my last breath, which will be soon, it will be his face I see before darkness takes me.

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Marina

Her entire body trembling, Marina closed the journal and fought to hold back tears of joy. “I knew it was real.” Stroking the cover of the book, Marina allowed her emotions to take over. She slumped over and cried.

Unsure of how to react, Catriona downed the rest of her drink and moved out of the booth. “I think I should go, perhaps.”

Lifting her head, Marina wiped away her tears, a broad smile on her face. “You don’t seem convinced that leaving is the right thing to do.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Catriona said, glancing in the direction of the exit.

“Please, sit with me. I can explain some things to you. Not all, not just yet, but enough to make you stay.”

Startled, Catriona jumped as the server brushed past her and placed another pint of Guinness on the table.

“He will continue to bring them until you tell him to stop,” Marina said.

Everything felt off, as though the world had tilted a few degrees in a direction it should not go. For Catriona, though, the feeling was that things were finally right for the first time in her life. Her jeans were worn and smudged with stains, now forever part of the fabric, her T-shirt thin to the point of being almost sheer. She did not belong in a place as austere as the hotel lounge, yet she felt at home. As she sat, she wondered if the location or the woman sitting beside her helped give rise to that feeling.

“Fifty-three,” Marina said as Catriona slid towards her once more.

“Excuse me.”

“You were off in your guess. I am fifty-three years old.”

Looking Marina up and down, Catriona shook her head. “How is that possible?”

“Hmm.” Marina shifted in her seat, a pained expression on her face. “That is where things become rather tricky. There is more of a story to tell before we get to that part, assuming you are willing to hear it all.”

Dipping her finger into the head of the Guinness, Catriona drew a four-leaf clover before licking the foam from the tip. “I’m still here,” she said sheepishly.

“Yes, you are. Before we talk about me, I want to know more about you. How did you end up here? What is your story?”

Casting a quick glance at the journal, Catriona drummed her fingers against her glass before lifting it and taking a small sip. “I don’t know who the woman in that book is, but I already feel a kinship with her.”

“How so?”

“My da was not at all pleased to have a girl. The doctor had told him and my ma that they would have a boy, so imagine their surprise when I popped out.” Catriona sighed heavily, staring into the dark beer as though looking for answers. “He was cruel from the start and would hit me at any opportunity, cursing me as the blows rained down.”

“Your mother didn’t intervene?”

“Jesus, no. She was terrified of him, especially after becoming barren after giving birth to me. No chance of having the boy that might settle him down.”

“Did he hit her, too?”

“I’d hear him yell and rage, and then it would go quiet. My ma never had a mark on her that I could see, so I can’t be entirely sure. She covered for him with me, though, even when the seizures began.” Catriona smiled, but the sadness remained in her eyes. “She told the doctor that I had fallen off the changing table and bumped my head when I was a wee one.”

“And they believed her?”

“You have to understand; we lived in a small town in Ireland, and everyone thought my da was the salt of the earth. Certainly not a man to hit a child. They blamed my ma for the brain injury that caused my seizures. That was when the sight began.”

Marina leaned forward and grabbed hold of Catriona’s hand. “I need to know more about that. Tell me what you see.”

“It’s hard to explain.” Chewing on her bottom lip, Catriona seemed lost in thought for a moment before continuing to talk. “The things I see are like waking dreams. I’ll get a look at someone and immediately know what their problems are or what their future might hold. It’s not always a clear picture, but fuzzy, like when you are trying to look through a rain-streaked window. Do you know what I mean?”

Marina thought about her hotel room window view the previous night, how the falling rain had partially obscured her view of the waterfront. “I do understand.”

“I don’t tell many people what I see. They either don’t believe me or spend the rest of their time fretting about something out of their control. I learned at a young age that it’s best to keep my mouth shut.” Catriona pulled her hand free and reached for her beer, refusing to make eye contact.

“You saw something with me, didn’t you?” Marina nudged the girl, almost causing her to drop the beer glass. “You can tell me. I can take it.”

“That’s what they all say,” Catriona said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She flinched as Marina moved and placed a hand on her neck, pulling her in close. Eyes brimming with tears, she said, “I don’t think you want to know.”

“I do.”

“Blood. I saw you drenched in blood, your throat torn wide open. Years from now, though. You looked much older.”

The warmth seemed to escape the cramped confines of the booth as the words flew from Catriona’s lips. Marina shuddered but tried to disguise her discomfort with a smile. She reached out and touched the journal, the leather like snakeskin against the tips of her fingers. “Did you see who cut me?” she finally asked.

“There’s something I can’t explain. I…” Catriona stopped, her eyes shifting to the bar, where she could see the bartender looking their way as he poured another pint.

“Tell me.”

“It’s the first time that I have felt as though I was present in what I was seeing. I’m quite sure that I am in the room when it happens.”

Marina touched her neck, absentmindedly running her fingers across her throat. “Are you telling me that it was you who cut me in your vision?”

Pursing her lips, Catriona shook her head, slowly at first, but soon more forcefully. “No. There are some things you need to understand about what I see.”

“Such as?”

“They are not always accurate.” She closed her eyes, hoping to see the right words emerge from the darkness. “I saw you die, but the blood might represent an illness rather than an act of violence. Perhaps the gash in your neck represents throat cancer. That’s what I mean.”

Marina laughed. “Well, that’s far more reassuring, but it does tell me something.”

“What’s that?”

“It tells me that you are coming back to New Orleans with me.”

The server placed another pint on the table and strode away without a backward glance. Catriona watched him go, a million thoughts racing through her mind. “If I were to come, what would you expect from me? I’ve been a slave at that pub for long enough. I don’t want to trade one bad situation in for another, thank you very much.”

Dodging the question, Marina said, “You never did tell me how you ended up here in Savannah.”

“And you’ve still told me nothing about your life,” Catriona snapped, the alcohol providing a shot of courage.

“True, but I will tell you all. I promise. Listen, Catriona, the position is yours if you want it, but think of this as a job interview. A touch more personal, yes, but I am genuinely interested in getting to know you.”

As much as she wanted to refuse, Catriona felt comforted by the words. A warm glow sat in her belly, warming her entire body. She felt at home for once and at ease for the first time in her life. She sighed and continued to talk. “There’s not a lot to tell. I got pregnant when I was twenty. It was my first time doing anything with a fella, so I didn’t know anything about protection. I tried to hide it, but my da found out. There was hell to pay. After all, I had disgraced a good Catholic family, or at least that’s how my da saw it.”

“What about your mother?”

“Oh, there was a lot of wailing and hand wringing, but I think she was excited about the prospect of a grandbaby, at least until my da talked her out of the idea.” Balling her fists, Catriona fought to control her anger. “They came to me as a team and told me it would be a good idea for me to give up the baby for adoption. I was having none of it and told them so. My da said to me that if I wasn’t going to give up the little one, then I wasn’t welcome under his roof.”

“What about the father of the baby?”

Catriona grunted loudly. “Useless as tits on a bull, that one. He left town as soon as he found out. I was stuck. Nowhere to go, so I told them that I would do the adoption thing. I figured it would buy me some time to save money and get a place of my own when the baby came.” She lowered her head and placed a hand on her belly. “The wee one never did get to come, though.”

“What happened?” Marina asked softly.

“One of my seizures. I was in the shower when it hit. I fell out of the tub and went down hard on the linoleum. I knew as soon as I hit that I was in trouble.” Catriona picked up the glass but thought better about taking a drink. She placed it back on the table and gently pushed it away. “By the time the seizure passed, and I was able to stand, my legs were covered in blood. The ambulance came, but they were too late to save my baby.”

Marina reached over and put an arm around Catriona’s shoulder, feeling her initially resist before relenting and accepting the hug. Whispering soothing words, she pulled the girl in close and placed her head against her chest. Catriona wept, great wracking sobs that sent tears spilling onto Marina’s silk blouse. “I’m going to make sure you never hurt again. You are coming home with me.”

“It’s not that simple,” Catriona cried.

“It is that simple. We are driving back to New Orleans tomorrow. You stay here with me tonight and then get in the car tomorrow and never look back.”

“George won’t allow it. He told my da that he would look after me when I came here after losing the baby. I needed to get away from the sympathetic stares of the people in my wee town. George owed my da a favor and took me in. He’s like a jailer now, keeping an eye on my every move. He won’t feckin’ let me leave with all my stuff in tow.”

Without saying a word, Marina pulled out her smartphone and furiously jabbed at the screen. “We’ll see about that.”

“What are you doing?”

Marina held a finger to her lips, hushing the girl before speaking into the phone. “James, come down to the lobby bar. I have a job for you.” She furrowed her brow as she listened to the response. “I don’t give a damn that it’s your night off. We have a situation. Get your ass here in ten minutes.” With that, she closed the connection and slammed the phone down on the table.

“I don’t want you to make a fuss.”

“Don’t you worry. James will handle this. Do you want a bite to eat while we wait?”

Catriona shook her head, her eyes drifting back to the journal in the middle of the table. “Could you maybe read to me some more?”

“You feel it, don’t you?”

Catriona nodded, her heart fluttering as Marina flipped open the journal.

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Elizabeth

I am cold, so very cold!!

My beloved guard does all he can to keep the castle fires stoked, yet I feel the bones in my hands turn to ice. I fear that my time is coming, that death is reaching out to me, and that I may not have time to tell my story. I must do whatever I can to write my confession, and while I do not believe that God will have mercy on my soul, perhaps He will spare me from the pits of Hell so that I may someday return home.

With so much to tell, I am unsure where I should begin, so it is perhaps best that I go back to my childhood, as that is where I first learned that there was power in cruelty.

I was a sickly child, with headaches and fits that would cause me to foam at the mouth while my body refused to work. As nobles, my family had ready access to mages and men of medicine, all brought in to treat my sickness. Some believed that I harbored a demon inside, a wicked creature trying to tear itself loose from my fleshly bonds. They would smear blood on my lips and grind the bones of the dead into the blood, creating a soupy gruel that they would feed to me in hopes of quelling the devil inside. That I felt better after these treatments showed me that blood was a valuable commodity.

My father, George, would watch as I writhed in agony, seeing that I would finally become calm once given access to blood. I remember him coming to me after a fit of mania and wiping away the blood that had escaped my lips as I hissed in agony. He stroked my hair and called me a warrior, told me that greatness was my destiny. He spoke of my conquering worlds, but he also said that the blood treatments had to stop, as losing the demon that lived inside me would turn me into a woman good for nothing but spitting out children.

I believed him, yet I still craved blood.

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Marina

Murphy’s Pub interior lies in permanent gloom, the oak-paneled walls sucking all the light from the low-watt bulbs recessed into the timber beams overhead. Marina and her assistants sit in the far corner of the establishment, away from the last of the lunchtime crowd packed near the front door.

The glass case sat in the middle of the table, the top unlatched and open. Marina reached inside and removed the journal, gently caressing the raised letter on the front. Lifting the book to her face, she closed her eyes as she breathed in the leather. “This is the real thing,” she sighed.

“It looks like something you would get at Office Depot,” James said as he looked down the length of the bar and tried to get the attention of the server.

Gently placing the journal back in its case, Marina latched it up and dropped it back in the brown paper bag, which she kept by her side, against the wall and away from potential grabbing hands. “It’s real.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the group, with Bethany and James suddenly interested in all the Irish artifacts lining the shelves and walls along the length of the pub. They had both been in service to Marina long enough to know when to question her and when to let her be.

Just as James was about to run off to search for a server, a young man arrived at their table. “Good afternoon, everyone. My name is Brian, and I will be your server today. Can I get you started with a beverage?”

Sliding across her bench seat, Marina moved closer to Brian and said, “Let me see your hand.” Looking confused, he held out his right hand, palm up, and angled it in Marina’s direction. Handing over a one hundred dollar bill, Marina clasped his fingers into a fist and said, “You will not be our server today. I want Catriona, please.”

Brian quickly pulled his hand away as though burned and took a quick peek at the denomination of the bill in his hand. “I’ll send her right over,” he said, shuffling off quickly and tucking the money into his pocket.

“What was that about?” James asked.

“I told you already; I have one more item that I want to pick up.”

The dark-haired girl arrived at the table, her brow knitted in concern. “I’m not sure what you said to Brian, but I’m going to catch hell for working in this section.”

“Relax,” Marina said. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Sighing heavily, Catriona pulled a notepad and pen out of her apron pocket. “What can I get you then?”

Nervous and on edge at the start, Catriona began to relax with each visit to the table. Marina took more of a background role, allowing her assistants to do most of the talking, all designed to put the girl at ease.

When Marina finally asked for the check, Catriona looked a little disappointed. “Are you sure there is nothing else I can get you?”

Motioning for Bethany and James to leave, Marina waited until they were out of sight. “You have been wonderful, but I do need to be getting back to my hotel. I do, though, have a question for you.”

“Okay.”

“Are you happy in this job?”

Turning to look at the old man behind the bar, who was glaring over in their direction, Catriona gave a little shake of her head. “No,” she replied quietly.

“Then why stay in it?”

“I’m not here legally. The man who runs this place is a friend of my dad’s from his days in Ireland. He pays me under the table, but he makes my life miserable in the process.”

Marina took the girl’s hand in her own, feeling the blood rush through the veins under her delicate skin. She shuddered a little as she spoke. “I can change your life in a heartbeat. All you need do is ask.”

“How could you do that then?”

“You know the big hotel at the end of River Street, the one with the big M out front.”

Catriona nodded. “Sure, I do.”

“Well, that hotel is mine, as are countless more across the country. I could get you a job in any one of them, no questions asked, but I would sooner have you come live with me and be my assistant.”

The girl’s eyes went wide, a flush rising in her cheeks. “It looks as though you already have plenty of help. I assumed that the people with you worked for you.”

“See, you are observant. I like that. Listen, Catriona, I have several people who assist me in my daily life, but I can always use someone as smart as you. I like to surround myself with smart, pretty things. I believe you would fit right in.”

“I, uh, I don’t know.”

Adding a generous tip, Marina signed the bill and handed it back to Catriona. “I understand your reluctance. How about you come and meet me tonight at my hotel, and we can talk more there?”

Glancing around the bar, Catriona seemed to weigh her options before saying, “Yes. I can do that, I suppose.”

“Excellent. I’ll be in the lobby bar at eight if that suits.”

“Yes. Yes, that is fine.”

Marina grabbed up her paper bag, stood, and placed a hand on Catriona’s shoulder. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

***

The pianist’s voice drifted across the lounge to the spot where Marina sat, a glass of red wine in her hand. Swirling the alcohol, she watched as the dim lighting overhead caught the wine, creating a kaleidoscopic effect that she found to be almost hypnotic.

It was still early enough in the evening for the hotel lounge to be relatively free from guests. Yet, Marina had already had to fend off a tipsy businessman-type who she had spied slipping his wedding ring into his pocket before making his move. She had let the man down gently enough, but given her druthers, she would sooner have torn him to ribbons and taught him a lesson in the perils of philandering.

A small ripple of applause filled the air as the pianist finished his latest song and announced that he was taking a short break. The absence of music did not last long, as the sound of smooth jazz soon filtered through the sound system overhead. Closing her eyes, Marina allowed the music to wash over her in mellow waves. She laid her head back in the booth, the soft brown leather conforming to her shape and holding her in a soothing embrace.

Her surroundings’ ambient sound began to slip away as Marina blocked out the world and imagined fountains of blood streaming down behind her eyelids, the taste of old pennies filling her mouth as the crimson flow seeped past her lips. Her heart thumped in her chest as it pumped more and more blood into her imaginary world. Marina moaned as she felt the viscous fluid slide under her clothes and down her body, slipping between her breasts and coursing a lazy trail down to her belly.

“Miss MacCarthy.”

The voice broke through the wall of blood, disrupting the flow and pulling Marina out of her meditative state. Opening her eyes, she blinked furiously, trying to re-adapt to the real world. She pulled herself upright and turned to see Catriona standing by the booth, a look of concern etched on her face.

“I am so sorry. Did I wake you?” Catriona asked.

Sliding across the leather seat, Marina patted the space beside her. “No. I was…I was elsewhere for a moment. Please, have a seat.”

Pausing to glance around the lounge for a moment, Catriona finally slid into the booth, maintaining a safe distance between herself and Marina.

“I don’t bite,” Marina said.

The woman smiled nervously, the corners of her mouth twitching as they moved upward. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You don’t trust me at all, yet here you are. I knew you were a curious one the moment I set eyes on you,” Marina said, lifting her wine glass and taking a sip, never once taking her eyes off Catriona.

Catriona shrugged, picking at a napkin sitting on the table. “You scare me and intrigue me, all at the same time.”

Continuing to stare her guest down, Marina motioned for the server and said, “What can I get you to drink?”

“I don’t suppose a place as fancy as this would have Guinness.”

“You would suppose wrong,” Marina replied, ordering the beer and another glass of wine for herself.

The women sat in silence until the drinks arrived. Raising her glass and moving it in Catriona’s direction, Marina said, “Slainte.”

“Slainte.” Catriona chugged down half of the beer in a single gulp, licking away the foamy mustache from her top lip in an almost seductive way. Placing the pint glass on the napkin, she turned to face Marina, seemingly emboldened by the beverage. “So, why am I here?”

“You tell me.”

“Are we to play games then, Miss MacCarthy? You asked me here.”

“Call me Marina.” Running her middle finger slowly around the rim of her glass, Marina took a moment to take in the woman sitting by her side. She wore her black hair short and tucked it behind her ears, which were free from jewelry, although Marina could see holes for earrings. She wore no make-up, but her pale skin shone, as though illuminated by her emerald eyes, which blazed brightly, even in the dimly lit space. “You are a beautiful woman, Catriona, but I see something more underneath.”

“Oh, you do? What do you see?”

“Magic.”

Flinching at the word, Catriona reached out for her glass and almost knocked it over. Finally getting a grip, she lifted it and downed the rest of the Guinness.

“Can I get you another?” Marina asked with a smirk.

“Please.”

“So tell me, why did you make as though to bless yourself when we first met today?”

“I don’t know what—”

“Of course you know. You covered it quite well, but I can tell you were going to do it.”

Catriona waited until the server took her empty glass and replaced it with a full pint. She frowned for a moment, wondering how it could have come so quickly. With a shake of her head, she lifted the glass and took a sip. “I see things sometimes.”

“Magic,” Marina whispered.

“I don’t know if I would call it magic. My old gran called it sealladh, which is essentially the Gaelic word for sight. She had it strong. I only get glimpses now and again. It’s stronger in places like Savannah. Old places with blood in the cobbles.”

“Interesting.” Marina fought to control her emotions, but she could feel every nerve end in her body tingling. Balling her fists in her lap, she smiled coolly. “Let me ask you something. Forget about what you saw when we met, just for a moment. Look at me now and tell me how old you think I am. I want to know why you believe me to be the age you guess.”

The soft tinkling of piano keys filled the air again as the pianist began his next set. Catriona moved closer to Marina, her eyes unblinking as they took in every detail. “Your hair is naturally red, not from some bottle. I see no sign of gray. Your skin is smooth and free from wrinkles. You wear make-up, but you do so to accentuate your beauty rather than hide blemishes or lines. Your hands are perfectly manicured and have the look of someone who has never had to work hard.” Catriona turned and looked around the lounge. “No hard work, yet you are a woman of wealth, which leads me to believe that you are from money rather than being self-made. Your eyes are what throw me off. They have seen things that no one in their late twenties should have seen.”

“The eyes are the window to the soul,” Marina said, annoyed that her voice carried a slight tremor.

“So, how close did I get?”

Ignoring the question, Marina reached under the table, removed the journal from the bag, and placed it on the table. “What do you see here?” she asked, pushing the book in Catriona’s direction.

Catriona picked up the journal and leafed quickly through it, pausing for a moment to stare at the blank pages. Placing it back on the table, she closed her eyes and put her right hand on the cover. “Power,” she said quietly.

“What did you say?”

“There is strength within these pages. Something buried deep.”

“Would you like to see?” Marina asked excitedly.

“Yes.”

“Give me your hand.”

A jolt of electricity passed between them as Marina reached out and took Catriona’s hand. She caressed the smooth skin with the tip of a sharpened fingernail, tracing along the lifeline on the palm before moving up to the meat of her thumb. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t think I should, but yes.” Catriona hissed as the fingernail pierced the flesh of her thumb. A small droplet of blood bubbled up from the wound. “What are you doing?”

Marina pressed the woman’s thumb onto the journal’s cover without saying a word, moving it around the letter inscribed on the front. Squeezing as she guided the digit, blood seeped out and quickly disappeared, as though sucked in by the leather. Marina reached out with her free hand and grabbed a napkin, which she wrapped around Catriona’s thumb as she moved it away from the book. “Open it,” she panted.

As Catriona flipped open the journal, they both watched as words began to appear on the previously empty page, as though scribbled by some invisible hand. Fear gripped her, but she found the courage to reach out and begin turning the pages, looking on in horror as the words continued to fill the book.

Heads turned to look in their direction as Marina yelled, “She speaks.”

The words continued to flow, written in a language unfamiliar to Catriona. “Who?”

“Elizabeth.”

Confused, Catriona shook her head and pushed the book across the table. “Who is Elizabeth, and what language is that?”

“Hungarian. Let me read to you.”

Throwing back another huge chug of Guinness, Catriona sat back and listened as Marina read from the journal.

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Chapter One

Marina

The clouds hung low in the sky, stubbornly refusing to lift despite the torrential load they dumped on the Savannah riverfront. Marina peered out the window of her hotel room, face pressed close to the glass, her breath fogging it up with each exhale. Stepping back, Marina reached out her finger, the tip of which revealed specks of dried blood, and traced the letters EB into the condensation.

“Your bath is ready, ma’am,” a voice called from behind her.

Marina tilted her head slightly and smiled as she examined her inscription on the windowpane. “Soon,” she whispered, wiping away the last traces of the lettering.

“Ma’am?”

Marina turned away from the window with a sigh, pulling the hair tie loose and allowing her long red locks to fall to her shoulder. Green eyes blazing, she glared at the young naked woman standing at the bathroom door. “I did hear you the first time, Bethany.”

“My apologies, ma’am,” Bethany said, dropping her head, her cheeks aflame.

“Look at me.” Marina felt gooseflesh prickle her skin as the woman kept her head down and began to tremble. Striding forward, she placed a hand under Bethany’s chin and raised her head until they were face to face. “Look at me,” Marina said, this time more gently.

Tears pooled in Bethany’s pale blue eyes as her skin returned to its milky hue, the shame of a few seconds before fleeing under the weight of her mistress’ touch.

“So pretty,” Marina sighed, deftly wiping away the first teardrop that fell. “Are you afraid of me?”

Bethany nodded as she tried to avert her gaze once more.

“I asked you to look at me.” Marina waited until the slender woman held her gaze. “Why do you fear me? Don’t I treat you well enough?”

“You are…you are so very kind, ma’am,” Bethany stammered.

Pulling her in close, Marina wrapped her arms around the woman’s naked body. She could feel the hammering of Bethany’s heart against her chest, could almost hear the blood course through her veins. Stroking the woman’s short auburn hair, she looked into the bathroom and smiled at the sight of the blood streaming down the pristine white tiles. “Are you afraid that I will do to you what I did to that filthy whore?”

The woman sobbed, her warm breath leaching through the soft satin of Marina’s robe and tickling the flesh beneath. “Yes,” she finally managed to say.

“Oh, you poor thing. I could no more hurt you than I could hurt a child. Would you care to join me while I bathe? Would that soothe your soul?”

Pulling away from the embrace, Bethany looked at her mistress and beamed, her fear washed away with a few simple words. “May I? Please?”

Slipping out of the robe and letting it fall to the floor, Marina walked into the bathroom, daintily stepping over the dead body and torn entrails that littered the floor. She reached out her hand to Bethany and said, “Come.”

Steam rose from the bathtub, the smell of copper battling its way through the jasmine-scented candles that provided the light. Stepping into the tub, Marina slid down into the rose-colored water, spreading her legs to make room for Bethany to sit in front of her. She closed her eyes and allowed her hands to wander over the smooth flesh of her assistant. “The water is perfect. Just the way I like it. You did drain her of every drop?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good girl. Now, lay back and relax. Let me take care of you.” Marina felt Bethany’s body shudder as she slid her hand down her body and between her legs. “That’s my good girl.”

***

Marina awoke to the sound of a vacuum cleaner blaring from behind her closed bedroom doors. The heavy drapes blocked out all the light, making it impossible to tell what time it was. Reaching across the king-sized bed, she grabbed for the alarm clock and turned it in her direction. The red numbers showed that it was a little after nine a.m., later than Marina usually slept.

Cursing, she slipped out of bed, crossed the room quickly, and threw open the doors. A small crew of men, all dressed in black, buzzed around the bathroom entrance, dumping bloodied rags and body parts into large plastic tubs. One man stood apart from the rest, watching the others work, an antique watch in his hand. She smiled as he tapped his foot in agitation. “Good morning, James.”

Straightening up to his full height, he turned, adjusting the lapels of his pinstripe suit. “Good morning to you, Madame MacCarthy. I hope my men did not rouse you from your sleep.”

“They did, dear James, but I should have been awake hours ago. How are you this morning?”

His dark eyes clouded over as he watched his men clean. “I’ll be better when this lot get finished. That was quite the mess you made, if you do not mind my saying.”

Marina threw her head back and laughed, placing a hand on James’ shoulder. “This one was a fighter. It’s not easy maintaining this level of beauty when you have to work so hard to put your subjects down.”

“I’ve told you, Madame, I can bring them to you in a less agitated state. It would make both our lives easier.”

She leaned in close, brushing a lock of black hair behind his ear. “And I told you, James, that I like it when they struggle.” Flicking her tongue against his earlobe, she hoped to elicit a reaction, but her driver and minder remained as stoic as ever.

“They won’t be much longer. Bethany is downstairs creating a bit of a distraction so that we can remove this…offal without causing a scene.”

Stepping daintily between the plastic tubs, Marina headed to the bathroom and peered inside. When the men saw her, they all stopped what they were doing and hung their heads, refusing to make eye contact with the woman who paid their wages. “Very nice work, gentlemen. You will all have a nice bonus coming your way. Please, do not mind me.” They went back to work but still refused to raise their heads as Marina returned to James’ side.

“You are happy with the job?” James asked, eyebrows raised.

“You worry too much, James.”

“It’s my job to worry. The hotel is busy, and I do not want to draw any unwanted attention.”

“Let them look. This is MY hotel.” Moving behind James and placing her hands on his shoulders, Marina slowly turned him around in a circle. “Look at this beautiful penthouse, dear James. I have spared no expense to make this my home away from home. That I also had to buy this damnable hotel to make it happen is neither here nor there.”

James sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “Yes, Madame, and we will have your home looking as good as new in no time at all. In the meantime, would you like me to fetch you some breakfast?”

“No, I shall grab a bite on my way to the store.”

“Shall I prepare the car?” James asked, plucking the keys out of his jacket pocket.

Moving over to the window, Marina drew back the curtains and squinted as bright sunlight poured into the room. She looked down at the riverfront, watching the early morning tourists go about their business. Clapping her hands excitedly, she turned to face James. “That won’t be necessary. I think I shall walk.”

***

She couldn’t tell if it was her form-fitting pants or her ability to gracefully navigate the cobbled streets of the riverfront in high heels that caused heads to turn, but Marina liked the attention either way. She added a little extra wiggle to her walk as she strode purposefully down the street, enjoying the feel of the eyes following her every step.

She intended to head directly to the shop and then eat, but the smell of freshly brewed coffee floated to her across the rain-soaked cobbles, drawing her away from her destination. Marina quickly perused the chalkboard outside the coffee shop and then stepped inside, the smell of coffee beans and freshly-baked pastries making her stomach growl.

“How may I help you, my dear?”

Marina delivered her best smile to the old man hunched over behind the counter. “A large cup of black coffee, please.” She watched as he shuffled over to the coffee pot and poured the hot brew into a styrofoam cup, blinking wildly as the steam wafted up into his face.

“Here you go. Can I get you anything else?”

Sucking on her bottom lip, Marina peered inside the glass display. “They all look so good. What would you recommend?”

“We don’t have anything as sweet as you, my dear, but I am partial to a Crueller Crimson Delight,” the old man said, pointing at a stack of donuts with a finger stained brown from nicotine.

“What makes those so special?”

The old man looked around the small shop before quietly replying, “It’s the secret ingredient.”

Placing a hand to her chest, Marina let out a little gasp, playing into the theater that the shop owner created. “Whatever could it be?”

Pulling one of the donuts out with a pair of tongs, the old man held it up in the air and yelled, “BLOOD!!” Dropping the dessert into a paper bag, he handed it over with a raspy chuckle. “I’m joking, dear. It is plain old jelly is all.”

Placing her coffee on the counter, Marina opened the bag and held it up to her nose, sniffing exaggeratedly. “I’m not so sure,” she said, winking at the server. “I think I might smell some blood in there.”

The old man roared with laughter, clutching his ample belly as his joy turned into a wracking cough. Catching his breath, he managed to say, “Oh, you are a breath of fresh air. Your order is on the house.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. You have brightened my morning.” Reaching into her purse, Marina removed a hundred dollar bill, which she slid across the counter.

The old man blinked at the crisp bill. “I don’t think I have enough to make change, my dear.”

Scooping up her coffee, Marina blew a kiss and headed for the door. “Keep the change.” Heading across the cobbled street, she made her way to a bench down by the river. She sat down, stretching her long legs out and resting her feet on the metal railing that ran the length of the street.

Marina sat for a while, savoring her coffee and donut while the world went on around her. Looking back the way she had come, she spied James trying to blend into the surroundings and failing miserably. Marina was more than capable of handling herself, but she did enjoy having a strong man around to look after her. It made her feel safe and protected. Raising her styrofoam cup, she toasted James as he tried to duck into a crowd of people watching a busker mangle his way through an old Rolling Stones tune.

Dropping her trash in the garbage can beside the bench, Marina stood and walked briskly down the street. The crowds of tourists thinned and the cobbled streets became grimier with each step. She hopped onto the sidewalk and watched as shadows moved behind the frosted glass of an old Irish pub. Marina stopped short just as the door to the pub swung open and a dark-haired girl placed a sign outside that announced the lunch special for the day.

The girl jumped when she saw Marina standing there. “Sweet Lord Jesus, you scared me to death,” she said in a thick Irish brogue.

“Good morning to you, too,” Marina said, smiling broadly.

Head bowed, the girl wiped her hands on her apron and laughed. “I do beg your pardon. I’m not at my most polite when I’m scared.”

Stepping closer, Marina could smell her perfume, although it battled with the scent of stale beer and cigarettes that clung to the girl’s clothes. “There’s no need to be afraid of little old me.”

Looking up and making eye contact, the server made a strangled sound and took a little step backward. She raised her right hand and made as if to create the sign of the cross, but caught herself and brushed away some chalk dust instead. “I’d best be getting back,” she mumbled.

“What’s the special for today?” Marina asked, nodding towards the sign, which faced away from her.

“Corned beef and cabbage.”

Before Marina could reply, a gruff voice sounded out from inside the pub. “Catriona, get your lazy arse in here and help me finish setting up. We’ll have a shower of greedy bastards here in no time at all.”

“Coming, Dad,” Catriona called back. “I really need to go.”

Marina smiled at the girl and held out her hand. “It was a pleasure, Catriona. My associates and I may well come by later to partake of your food. I trust you will be working?”

The server reached out and quickly shook Marina’s hand before pulling away as though scalded. “I’ll be here.” With that, she turned away and bolted back inside.

Marina watched her go, her lithe form sliding gracefully between tables and chairs like that of a cat. She wanted to follow her, snatch the girl up, and take her home, but she knew more important business needed her attention. “Until later,” she said with a sigh.

Pulling herself away from the bar entrance, Marina reached the end of the street and turned into an alleyway that ended in a brick wall. It would have been easy to miss, but the light from a small shop window near the back of the alley showed it to be more than just a dead-end.

As she closed in on the shop, Marina felt her pulse begin to quicken. Fighting to control her emotions, she pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside the shop. It was a cramped space, filled to brimming with all manner of oddities and curiosities. A stuffed raven stared at her from a shelf to her right, its black, beady eyes trying to reach inside her body to locate her soul. To her left, a bookshelf held powders and potions in an array of colorful bottles, each coated in a fine patina of dust. Gaudy trinkets and books of all shapes and sizes sat on the sales counter, behind which sat an obese man who was either dead or asleep, a copy of Fortean Times spread open across his ample belly.

Stepping up to the counter, Marina rapped her knuckles on the surface and yelled, “Hello.”

The shopkeeper jerked awake, snatching the magazine out of the air before it fell to the ground. Wiping away a trail of drool that had made its way onto his grey goatee, he scowled at Marina before getting a good look at her. Once he did, his annoyed countenance turned to one of boyish delight. Brushing his comb-over back into place, he smiled, revealing a row of yellowed, misshapen teeth. “Welcome to Art’s Odds and Ends. I am Art Bowles, the proprietor,” he said with a formal bow. “How may I assist you today?”

Running her finger along the books’ spines lined up on the counter, Marina tried to discern the titles, but most were in Latin or nothing more than a series of letters and symbols that made no sense. The book that she was after was not in the pile. “My assistant called you about a journal that I am led to believe is in your possession.”

Art lifted himself out of the chair with a groan, his face turning a bright shade of red from the physical exertion. “Miss MacCarthy, I presume?”

“Indeed.”

Reaching under the counter, Art produced a pair of white gloves that he forced onto his pudgy hands. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”

Marina took some time to browse the items on display as the shopkeeper disappeared through a door leading to the back of the shop. The collection of wares was nothing more than voodoo nonsense and unnaturally weathered artifacts sold to tourists visiting Savannah and looking to embrace its darker side. Marina could feel the evil underbelly of the city in her bones, but none of it existed in the shop. That alone made her feel as though she may be on a fool’s errand.

“Here we go,” Art called out as he squeezed sideways through the rear door.

Her heart racing again, Marina watched as he placed a glass case on the counter. Inside was a leather-bound journal as black as pitch. The only splash of color on the exterior was a bright red, raised letter “B.” The pages’ ragged edges were as yellowed and dulled as Art’s teeth, but they spoke to her through the glass. She could feel the power radiate from the book, the glass case doing little to block it from escaping. “May I hold it, please?”

Pulling the case closer to his body, Art drummed his fingers on the counter, the ends of his white gloves turning grey against the dust. “Well, that depends.”

“Depends on what, might I ask?”

“Look around you, lady. I have many valuable items on display that you are free to touch and examine as you wish. They are nothing compared to this…this glorious historical document.”

Marina fumed and fought to control her anger. “What you have, sir, is a collection of tat masquerading as occult artifacts. How you came into possession of that piece is quite beyond me,” she said, jabbing a finger in the direction of the journal.

The man’s eyes darted from side to side as he pulled the glass case even closer to his body. “You are quite rude, certainly not what I was expecting based on my conversation with your assistant. I thought that this might be a professional transaction, but it appears I was mistaken.”

The shop door opened, and they both turned to look at the new customer. James sauntered in and gently closed the door behind him. “Good morning,” he called out, his voice booming in the small space.

“Good morning to you, sir,” Art replied, returning his gaze to Marina. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Simply browsing again. Please, finish your business with the lady. I can wait.”

“Yes, let us finish our business,” Marina said. “How much for the journal?”

For a moment, it appeared as though Art was going to remain silent, but the salesman in him won out. A smile returned to his face as he launched into his pitch. “The journal that you see before you once belonged to the blood countess, Elizabeth Bathory. Legend says that she was a cruel, evil woman, torturing her slaves and bathing in their blood so as to maintain her beauty.”

“I know the story,” Marina interrupted. “How much do you want?”

“The journal has been verified as being from the time period in which she lived, so you need to understand that I cannot let this out of my possession for a paltry sum.”

James sidled up to the counter and said, “May I see it?”

Sensing a bidding war brewing, Art loosed his grip on the glass case and slid it into the middle of the counter. “Perfectly preserved, as you can clearly see.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, James removed a pair of reading glasses and slipped them on. He leaned in closer, moving his head from side to side as he examined the book. “I’ll give you twenty-five for it.”

With a little gasp, Art replied, “Twenty-five thousand dollars is a princely sum and exactly what I had in mind, unless, of course, the lady wishes to make a better offer.”

James threw back his head and laughed loudly, removing his glasses and wiping an imaginary tear away from his eye. “Oh, oh, that’s funny.”

“I fail to see the humor here, sir.”

“I must say that I agree with the man,” Marina said. “Why are you laughing?”

Shaking his head and raising a finger, James put away his glasses and pulled out his smartphone. Quickly scanning the screen, he opened the camera app and tapped on the image that he wanted. “This is why,” he said, placing the phone on the counter.

Art and Marina leaned in closer to see the image displayed on the screen. Marina smiled as she saw the color drain from the shopkeeper’s face.

“Shall I zoom in on the price tag?” James asked. Dragging his thumb and index finger across the screen, he zoomed in on the journal and the white tag dangling beside the raised letter “B.” The image blurred a little, but it remained clear enough to read the twenty-five dollar price scribbled on the label.

“How did…” Art mumbled.

“I don’t like to see a lady get ripped off. I’m sure you understand.”

“But…”

“I snapped this picture while I was here yesterday, right before you got the inquiring call about the journal. So, here is what is going to happen. The lady will pay you twenty dollars for the book and another five for the case.” James turned to Marina and said, “Assuming you don’t want to make a better offer.”

“That sounds more than fair. Do you agree, Mr. Bowles?” Marina asked.

His grip on the glass case tightened, his knuckles turning white under the pressure. He looked like a man about to bolt, but with a slump of his shoulders, Art loosened his grip on the book. “Call it thirty, and you have a deal.”

James flashed out a hand and grabbed Marina’s arm as she reached into her purse. “I said twenty-five. Not a dollar more, not a dollar less.”

Sweat broke out on the overweight shopkeeper’s brow, and he began to fidget nervously. Taking off the gloves, he tried to retain an air of confidence and control, but his trembling hands told the truth. “The case itself is worth…”

James slammed the palms of his hands down on the counter, the force sending a small display of skull earrings crashing to the ground. “You either take the twenty-five dollars, or I come around this counter and take that thing out of your fat fucking hands and give you nothing. Deal or no deal, Mr. Bowles?”

Art took a backward step and almost fell over his chair. He managed to right himself just in time, gripping the arm of the seat for support. “It’s yours. It’s not even real, for crying out loud. Just some shitty journal made to look old.”

Tossing money on the counter, Art grabbed the glass case. “Are you going to give the lady a bag?”

Reaching under the counter, Art pulled out a brown paper bag with the store name and logo printed on the front. “Take it and go.”

Marina held the bag open, allowing James to drop their purchase inside. As they headed for the door, Marina stopped and turned around to face Art. “Just so you know, if he hadn’t shown up, I’d have paid your asking price. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

As they stepped outside, the shop door closed, blocking the stream of obscenities pouring from Art’s mouth. “I could have handled that on my own,” Marina said, snatching the bag out of James’ hand.

“What can I say? I was bored. You wouldn’t really have paid what he was asking, right?”

“I would have paid whatever he asked.”

“I looked at it yesterday. It’s a blank journal.”

Marina patted the paper bag. “It is for now.”

With a shrug, James looked along River Street and said, “What now, boss?”

“Call Bethany and tell her to meet us at the Irish pub for lunch. I have one more item that I want to pick up before we head home to New Orleans.”

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