First Chapter Madness - Slave to Blood

This is the book I hate. Do you want to read it?

When my publisher showed off a premade cover, the story immediately popped into my head. Had I kept Slave to Blood simple, it might have worked, but I tried to get a little too clever and ended up handing in something that I was absolutely not happy with. My question for you guys is whether you would like me to serialize this novella after I finish with Salem.

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.”