I finally got around to updating the chapters and editing the site for my series. It's still a work in progress, but I like how it's coming so far.

A couple of book covers

I've been playing around online on canva.com and this is what I came up with. I'm probably going to make a dozen more, at least.

Chapter 5

CURSES AND BLESSINGS

The previous day:

“They go by many names, as they have throughout all history: Gods, Spirits, Demons, Dalkhu. Most people today call them Watchers, while some witches prefer to call them by what is believed to be their original names: Dayyani, meaning Underworld Judges… or, you know, just Judges.” Liam swallowed, his throat dry. He reached for the glass of water sitting on a small, rounded tall table beside him, on the stage. He was unused to the microphone curling around his ear and sliding across his cheek and therefore all too aware of the small contraption. The lights shining on him were uncomfortable as well. He was sweating a little and his hands were shaking. The spotlight was not where he wanted to be.

The rush of cold water through his throat felt refreshing. He wet his lips looking over the crowd. He distinguished no faces as the light was on him and it made it hard to see his audience clearly. The tickets to his lecture had sold out in just a couple of days and he was speaking in front of two hundred souls. Never, in his wildest dreams, would he have imagined his book to become a bestseller. It was the very first time he was speaking in public.

The book was not set on bringing to light all the secrets witches possessed about their own kind and their talents, for they were a very secretive bunch. Instead it was filled with historical facts, theories and interviews Liam had gathered over the past six years of his life. The novelty it presented however was a more personal view - that of someone who had been born into a family of witches and raised among them. Never having known his father, Liam had been raised by his mother and his maternal grandmother, both of them very capable witches.

Liam dared speak about everything he had learned from them and had even published pictures of their Grimoirs, something no one had ever done before. Grimoirs were rare since only powerful witches created and passed them on and many chose to burn them rather than risk having them fall into foreign hands, but Liam had inherited his family’s and had shared parts of it. Naturally only those pages that he was certain would prove to be useless and harmless for the most part. His book was well written and well documented and, therefore, it proved to be a huge success.

“Ancient civilizations sometimes divided them into separate categories, believing some to be gods and others demons, but there is a consensus now about the Watchers not being a part of any of those categories, instead pertaining to the same type of beings. We still do not know what they are or why and how they are able to touch this world through the people we call witches. We do not even know if they are entirely a part of this world or not. In my book I do enumerate and explain in detail those hypotheses that have been proposed over time and that remain standing in the face of scrutiny. Any one of them could be true, or none.”

_____________________________________________________________________

364 BC:

Kishargal's beautiful features were distorted by horror and disbelief. Wide mahogany eyes were fixed on the lifeless body of her beloved Gibil as he was being carried inside the house by the monster she knew only by the name he himself had given her - Anshar. The scenery in front of the woman changed as the strength in her knees disappeared and she collapsed on the ground. The pain caused by the impact on her knees and palms didn't register above the shock of what she was witnessing. Her Gibil was no more. She breathed in the air coming from him to confirm it. No words were uttered for such a spell and no doubt remained that there was no more life in her husband's body. Her eyes welled with salty tears that trickled down her cheeks with abandon.

Anshar had her precisely where and how he wanted her: scared, vulnerable and aware of the lengths he was willing to go to to get his way. No respect for life or for what she wanted or loved. He wanted the woman to fear him and to understand there was no way to escape his grasp. He saw the horror in her eyes, the sadness and despair, but sought to see resignation and surrender shining through. The vampire had yet to witness them in those precious brown eyes that he liked to gaze into.

Anshar relaxed his arms and Gibil's corpse fell to the ground with a horrendous thud. Kishargal gasped and her nails scratched the ground, causing blood to erupt from the tips of her fingers as her fists clenched and she released a guttural moan filled with anguish. She shut her eyes tightly causing more tears to flow onto her flushed cheeks. So much pain was building on top of more pain and despair and she could almost see it catching fire as it transitioned to an anger like nothing she had felt before. Anshar was seeing it too and, although it was not what he was expecting and hoping for, it intrigued him. Every small distortion in her face he swallowed with lusting eyes. He wasn't smiling nor taunting. His expression was firm and cold as if to make her understand that it was the end of the line. She had put up a fair struggle, but he always won. Always.

Inside Kishargal there was no battle. No longer could she hear the voices of her mother and grandmother or those of the older witches - all of them warning her against abusing her powers or surrendering to the urge to use them. Kishargal was a Kashaptu, a frighteningly powerful witch. She had always been much more capable than the others and held enough raw power to overshadow the rest of the witches she knew effortlessly. Always haunted by the Gods - Anunnaki - and lured by the irresistible chants of magic, she had learned to fight against it and even went as far as to shun magic away from her life. From the moment she had fallen in love with Gibil, magic had been completely repressed in her and she had never regretted that decision. There was no escaping the Anunnaki's voices, the nightmares and the terrible headaches, but she had learned to accept them as part of her life. Each person had their own torment and that had to be hers.

There was nothing holding her back anymore and the only person she had loved with all her being was laying on the ground in front of her, never to whisper sweet words or caress her hair again. In that moment she realized that Gibil had been nothing less than her anchor to sanity. Kishargal’s breathing was shallow, soft sobs escaping her - instead of the expected pleas for mercy or shouts of pain. They were still loud, being the only source of noise disturbing the air inside the house. Eyes snapped open and she found the blue eyes of the monster who was the cause of the pain clouding every bit of reason inside her. “Edimmu.” - A word used by Sumerians for an evil spirit, a demon. It was all she managed to whisper through gritted teeth. The air seemed to catch fire around the witch as it filled with energy. The voices of the Anunnaki were easily drowning every other noise, even Anshar’s blasphemous laugh in front of her pain, and their chant was only growing louder with each second. Be they the Gods they were believed to be, spirits or demons themselves, the witch surrendered to their greedy chants. Kishargal’s skin began to tingle until it too seemed to burn as if flames were dancing on it with fury. She saw Anshar for what he was. She had always known he wasn't human, but now she was seeing why. The foreign energy inside of him called out to her as familiar and unpleasant as all the others: man and demon in one body. That wasn't all - the young witch saw no edge, no separation at all. Possession by demons was extremely rare, but not unheard of and it lasted a short time before the human eventually died.

It wasn't logic or reason driving her, so none of it made any difference anyway. She only had one thought: drawing out the evil spirit, claiming it into her own body. It was going to kill Anshar and kill her as well. It didn’t feel like a sacrifice, giving up her life. It was an opportunity to escape an existence without Gibil and exact revenge upon his killer. Her Gods were all too willing to cooperate with her, although she had never cared nor really knew whether they had any choice in the matter. The witch screamed on the inside. She thought she was screaming out loud as well, but her own voice didn’t reach her ears. It drowned among the screams of the other Gods and demons.

Anshar did hear Kishargal's scream. Even he could feel the air stirring with something he had never before experienced. His eyes revelled in the sight of Kishargal's pain that transformed into raw, untameable anger right before him.. Why was it that she looked beautiful to him even knowing that every fiber of her being wanted him to suffer and die? The power in those eyes, the passion and determination to not give into him only made him lust more. The scent of her blood filled the air more with every second as the adrenaline coursing through her veins only added to her flavor. His tongue danced behind his lips, against the sharp tips of his fangs. He had tasted her before and was going to taste her again until she had no more drops of blood to spill. It wasn't love, he knew that much. It had never been love with him, but desire was so much more empowering and intoxicating.

The muscles in his legs tensed and he was prepared to move towards the woman. He knew she was a witch, but she had faced their troublesome kind before without any lasting or particularly memorable damage. He was immortal and was no stranger to pain and that meant no witch had any weapons to use against him. Slow him down temporarily, perhaps, but their necks snapped just as easily as that of any other human. Anshar didn't get the chance to move from his spot however. The pain wasn't gradual, instead it hit him like a stone wall, from all directions, from outside as well as from inside. It it felt like being pulled apart in all directions at once. It burned and tore at the very core of his being. He had never experienced anything even remotely resembling such physical torment and there was no coherent thought forming. He felt his back colliding with the ground. The pain turned from burning hot to ice. Cold he didn't mind, but this was different, as if his very soul, if there was such a thing, was being frozen and stabbed at the same time. Panic, for the first time in his nine hundred years of being alive. The witch was doing it and the only thought he was able to form before it all went dark was that it was going to be over soon and, despite the pain, he was going to be alive to get his own revenge.

That wasn’t going to be the case. Kishargal felt the spell end, the noises died down. She felt the energy entering her body unwillingly, causing pain and chaos inside of her, her own energy colliding with the invader. She was weak as she collapsed on her elbows, barely holding her head up, looking at Gibil's body no more than a foot in front of her. She gathered whatever strength she had and crawled closer to him. Leaning her back against the cold wall, Kishargal pulled Gibil's head onto her lap. Her left hand fell gingerly on his light brown hair. The feeling was blissfully familiar. She gently closed his eyes, brushed her index finger over his lips and then allowed the hand to fall limply by her side. It wouldn't be long. She knew she hadn't been able to completely pull the demon out of Anshar, but a part of it was inside of her and it was probably killing her with each passing second. She just had to close her eyes and surrender to the weakness. It was going to be a short sleep that would transition into a painless death. It didn’t come to pass like that.

A dream. Kishargal knew it was a dream. She was seeing herself looking back at her. Her eyes were sad, but they also held a glimmer of hope. She was telling herself the spell had neither failed nor succeeded in killing Anshar. A hand was resting on her belly. She was going to have to carry the weight of it all. Who was she talking about? The baby, of course. The Kishargal she was staring at was pregnant. "Shi"... the breath of life. The child had saved Kishargal's life taking the demon into herself. A little girl - Gibil’s and hers. Anshar was not dead, simply unable to wake up - not without the missing part of Alla Xul that had taken refuge inside her unborn child whose energy hadn’t conflicted with the demon.

Then Kishargal’s reflection disappeared and all that was left was knowledge. The line of the Shi was born that very moment. Every first child of the Shi was going to, upon birth, become the next Shi, the symbol for it etched on her skin as a birthmark. What that child meant, the risk of her being born, was something Kishargal chose to embrace. No power on Earth was going to make the witch endanger her unborn child and the last remaining connection she had with the love of her life. Tho whole world be damned.

Her eyes opened with all the knowledge of the dream and salty tears overflowed onto her cheeks, replacing the ones that had already dried up. She was numb and yet determined at the same time as she placed Gibil's head back onto the ground as gently as if she didn't want to wake him from his sleep. No one had come. No one had heard the commotion. Kishargal realized she needed help. The young Kashaptu stumbled outside her house with her left hand protectively resting on her belly as if expecting some unseen threat. Her eyes were met with a horrible sight: bodies strewn everywhere. Every home and alley was the same: dead villagers who seemed to have collapsed without warning or even signs of physical distress on their faces. There was no animal or human alive as far as Kishargal could see and she instantly realized what was the cause of it all. Consumed by anger and despair, in order to exact her revenge on Anshar, she had fed on the life force of every living organism around her. That was where all the power for the spell had come from.

Present day:

Amelia wasn’t used to being afraid. Life in New York was not boring and crime was not at a negligible level, but it was something that had been bound to the news on the television and in the papers. That had changed the night of her attack. The brunette had an extra hint of nervousness to every step. It was dark when she usually left work and the apartment she lived in was close enough that there was no need for a car or any other type of transportation.

Lexi had acted as a bodyguard for the last week ever since the attack, but she did have her own job and it called for her to be elsewhere sometimes, not babysitting her friend. Besides, it had been an attack, probably an unfortunate accident and no permanent damage had resulted from it. That was Cats’ influence right there. Her friend, even though she had received a big scare with Amelia having been attacked, still somehow managed to see the good parts about a situation, as opposed to Lexi who had simply become overbearingly protective. It was lucky that Cats’ aunt, Angela, didn’t know about the attack, otherwise the witch would have joined hands with Lexi in this.

The walk home was nice, even with the cold of late autumn in the air. The neighborhood was quiet and not a lot of crime happened. She looked down at her wristwatch for a second but didn’t get the chance to read the hour as someone slightly bumped into her while rushing past her. The sidewalk was not only not crowded, but it was almost deserted, so Amelia had half a mind to say something, but looking up at the man she realized he was kind of wobbling and holding his head between his hands. She said nothing, instead slowed her pace a little. He passed the entrance to the alley between buildings that Amelia was supposed to cross to get home. He seemed to have slowed down his pace as well, but was quite a distance away. She was just being paranoid, but completely justified seeing as how her attack was rather recent in her memory still.

The brunette rounded to corner. It was a long walk between buildings, so she sped up a little, even though it was deserted. A noise coming from behind caused her heart to start racing. She didn’t turn around right away, nor did she have time to decide to give into her paranoia and turn to look. She was grabbed by the hand and whipped around, her body suddenly pressed against one of the cold walls, a pair of hands pinning her back by the shoulders with enough force to cause pain. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her eyes widened in surprise, mouth open still. The blonde, curly hair she recognized as belonging to the one who had bumped into her minutes earlier. His forehead was glistening with sweat, his expression betraying pain. He was tall, hunching to keep his face almost to her own height. “What are you?” He spoke through gritted teeth.

The previous day:

“No one has yet been able to understand why magic can only be used by women. It’s not always genetically inherited either and no pattern has, to this day, been discovered.” The lies travelled to his audience disguised as factual truth. Even as he spoke those words, he felt them - the Watchers. He heard their foreign whispers and sometimes caught a glimpse of the shining, formless mist of one. Fortunately for him, it was a good day - a quiet day, but most weren’t like that. With all the training in meditation and control his grandmother had taught him, it was getting harder and harder to maintain a stable link to sanity. Liam Howell was a being that wasn’t supposed to exist - a male witch, an Anzillu, an abomination. He had been eighteen when the nightmares had started, much older than it usually happened for female witches. Half a year later the whispers had begun. They had intensified with each passing day until the uncontrolled surges of magic had also started. It had been odd for him to see the look of fear in his mother and grandmother’s eyes looking at him. It had taken some time for the two to get used to the idea. Resigned would be a better choice for it, actually.

Sure, there were myths around about such other Anzillus having existed throughout history. His grandmother had heard stories about them, hushed, timid rumors, but no one seemed to recall the last time anyone had witnessed such a being. There seemed to be a consensus among the few who knew about them: Anzillus grew far too powerful and mentally unstable in a very short amount of time and it always led them to self-destruct, causing disaster around them. In short, Liam knew what he was in for. He wasn’t in denial, neither was he depressively resigned. He just saw it as nothing more or less than the card he had been dealt.

A wave of nausea swept over him as the Watchers increased the intensity of their whispers. Three were surrounding him now, their transparent, indistinguishable forms obscuring his view on all sides. He went on with his well practiced speech nevertheless, focusing on nothing else but the sound of his voice. He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes in an unconscious effort to eliminate any visual stimuli that might interfere with his concentration. He went on to talk about how most witches were weak, barely even considered worthy of such a title by those who belonged to covens. It was well-enough known that covens only accepted those very gifted within their midsts. It didn’t mean that all powerful witches belonged to such organizations, but it did mean that all those who did were well above average in magical talent.

As abruptly as the voices had intensified, they died down to the almost rhythmical, subdued volume Liam was more accustomed to. He subtly wiped the beads of sweat above his upper lip with his hand before bringing it up to pass his fingers in his short, blonde curls. He had the habit of doing that whenever he felt nervous.

By the end of his speech Liam had grown comfortable enough to not dread the signing session that would follow. He still had two more interviews planned for that day so he was far from being able to relax, yet, for the first time in many years, it felt like he was not Liam Howell the abomination, but just another normal human being reaping the fruits of his labor.

Present day:

The Watchers weren’t screaming, they were howling and he could feel their excitement, anger, outrage. A flurry of emotions that Liam could barely decipher. He knew he wasn’t losing it the way he was bound to eventually do. It had to be her. Something about her was making all hin inner and outer demons explode with different reactions. The headache had followed him all through the day and it hadn’t been one of the quiet days, yet this was still way out of what he normally went through even in his worst moments. It was terrifyingly similar to losing control completely.

He tried to walk passed her, mind dizzy and holding his head as if that actually helped against the pounding migraine… of sorts. It hadn’t helped. The Watchers were urging him towards her. He felt almost powerless as his steps were diverted. He almost ran after her. He pinned her against the wall and felt new waves of emotion wash over him, none of it belonging to him. Some were outraged, while others approved. He didn’t know how he knew. Perhaps he was going mad. Who said it had to be gradual? For all anyone knew, it could happen suddenly.

Liam didn’t know he was hurting her. He knew she was scared, it made sense. The silencing spell left him effortlessly to wrap around her throat. It almost made him smile with pleasure as that small release of magic caused a glimmer of relief among all the tension. She tried to scream, but nothing came out, of course.

“What are you?” Liam spoke through gritted teeth. His voice came out low because of the pain. He just wanted some of the noise to stop. Just for one second, just enough for him to breathe. He started gasping with renewed tension and he squeezed on her shoulders with even more force. Nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

“I...” Of course the girl would be unable to answer him anyway, not that he had any illusions he was making sense of that there was an actual answer. The words came out instinctively almost, as if spoken through him, not by him. Foreign, low and it sounded like a long “ksaa” to a human’s ears, but there were tones and nuances to it. Liam tried to “see” the girl’s nature through that spoken spell. She was human. Tainted somehow, but human. Why then did the Watchers torment him so?

There was one voice that whispered in his ear, low and angry. How was it that it broke through all the noise and screams of the other voices? Once the word was out, the voices joined in unison, chanting the same word. At first Liam thought they were saying ”she”, but the Watchers didn’t speak English, not any language Liam knew. Sometimes they used ancient and very ancient languages, but seldom. No, they were chanting what sounded like “shi”.

“What is a Shi?” Liam spoke and all the Watchers stopped screaming. A monotonous humming of that one word took the place of all the noise, but the tension was still there. He broke the silencing spell. The girl screamed and again the Watchers went wild. The pain hit him like a brick wall and he collapsed to the ground. Just before losing consciousness he heard her heels clicking rapidly away from him. At least he would finally get some peace and quiet.

Chapter 4

AFTERMATH

Lexi rushed inside the hospital room, the door slowly sliding to a close behind her. She approached the bed and the blonde sitting next to it. “How in hell did this happen?” She almost roared, eyes not leaving Amelia’s sleeping form lying on the hospital bed. She looked peaceful, but her neck was bandaged and an IV bag was dripping medicine at a steady rate.

Brown eyes turned to the blonde girl, concern and anger both twisting Lexi’s expression as she questioned Cats. “Shh, lower your voice, Lexi. She needs rest to recover.” The blonde spoke in hushed tones. Amelia had received a blood transfusion and was being hydrated and sedated at the same time, but the sedatives weren’t strong - as the doctor had explained - so the brunette could still wake up from too much noise.

Lexi clenched her teeth and moved across the room to grab a chair. She sat on the opposite side of the hospital bed from where Cats was. Not having had time to change, she was still in her hunting clothes. Of course she had left her weapons at the entrance of the hospital, as was required. With those clothes yet without the weapons she almost felt naked and awkward. Her long, dark brown hair was  braided and tied in a bun. Having long hair during a hunt was not practical. She wore no makeup and neither did she need it. Her creole skin, testimony to her father’s African descent, was flawless, yet her beautiful features were distorted by a deep frown. “Well?...” She didn’t whisper, but kept her voice low and filled with latent anger.

Cats’ eyes were big and a light blue in color. Her blond curls messy and her attire equally disheveled. She had been awakened in the middle of the night by a phone call and had thrown something on herself to replace her pajamas and then had rushed over to the hospital without further delay.

“The attacker… it was a vampire.” It was stating the obvious because the bandage on her neck pretty much made that glaringly clear. “She lost a lot of blood, but they gave her a transfusion. At least they found her in time...” Cats was holding Amelia’s hand as she spoke. Lexi was doing the same on the other side. The blonde rubbed her tired eyes with her free hand, sighed and then looked over at her friend. “I’m afraid that’s all I know. It was an anonymous call and she was found in an alley near the hospital. It’s lucky she was so close and they gave her the blood transfusion immediately… otherwise… she wouldn’t have made it.” The last part got out as a choked whisper because those were words Cats didn’t dare usher at a normal volume.

Catherine Lambert - or Cats as her friends called her - was a photographer. She had majored in architecture, but  found photography to be much more to her liking, although she was a person who switched passions often enough anyway. One other minor detail - Catherine was also a witch. Quite capable according to her aunt, yet it was something that the blonde seemed intent on pushing into the background of her life. Plagued by the usual nightmares, haunted by the Watchers, or the Dayyani - as her aunt called them, Cats liked focusing on everything in her life that was unrelated to magic.

She lost control often when it came to using magic. Angela, her aunt, insisted that it was simply a matter of practicing and learning to control it, but it frightened Cats a lot more than she was saying. It had been that way ever since the signs had started, when she was just a child living next-door to Amelia. The two had befriended when they were both seven years old. Amelia moving to New York had meant a very sweet and long awaited reunion for the two. And then Cats introduced her to Lexi and the three became inseparable. Different characters, passions and even different natures, the three formed a whole.

Cats was the witch - kind, optimistic, forgetful and bubbly. Lexi was a Sharur - confident, strong, protective and short-tempered. Amelia was the human - great with computers and cakes, curious, loyal and smart.

Lexi’s jaws clenched and she closed her eyes against the rising anger. She hadn’t been there to help her friend. For all the good it did her to be and work as a Sharur, she couldn’t save everyone. Besides, the Sharur were severely understaffed for a city as overrun by the supernaturals as New York was.

A Sharur was born as a human, often from Sharur parents. They were people trained in combat and weapons from a very young age, taught about weaknesses, their own and those of the other supernaturals. When they were considered ready, if ever, they underwent a ritual called the Alhalsu. It was performed by witches, usually three - sometimes more, sometimes just one sufficed. The spell for the ritual was a very well guarded secret and it also involved drinking vampire blood. Those undergoing the Alhalsu suffered unimaginable pain as their bodies transformed. If they survived the process and if their minds remained intact after that, they became Sharur. Survival didn’t depend solely on physical strength and no one knew what determined who died and who made it through. The mortality rate had decreased with time as the conditions for being considered apt to undergo the Alhalsu had become harsher. Those born from Sharur parents seemed to have better chances of survival so it was thought that genes played some part in it.

Lexi had been born from Sharur parents. Her father was one of the Elders of New York, but she had been a twin. The Alhalsu had claimed her sister, Brianna, the stronger and more talented of the two, leaving Lexi scarred and changed - it wasn’t visible to those who didn’t know her well, yet blaring obvious to those who did. The scars seemed to have faded considerably ever since meeting Cats and then Amelia, but she remained forever changed for those who had known her before. Perhaps it was one of the many things she loved about Mills and Cats: they didn’t look at her like she was damaged, with that unspoken expectation for her to “get better” somehow. Some changes simply were permanent - like becoming a Sharur was.

“Lexi, stop it.” Cats could read her like an open book. Not that it was a difficult thing to do in those moments. “She’s going to be fine… she is fine. It could have been much worse… fortunately it wasn’t.” She bit down on her bottom lip. Cats knew her friend hated feeling helpless or failing to protect someone. Failing in general, actually, since Lexi was a very competitive woman, but she imagined it was especially tough on her feeling, as absurd as unjustified as it was, that she had failed one of her best friends. Cats felt it too, to some degree. It wasn’t a witch’s job to protect humans and police the supernaturals, but she was a witch after all - a damn powerful one according to her aunt. What good had it ever done? The Watchers hadn’t alerted her to her friend being in danger, neither was there any spell that would protect her from all potential dangers. Not even healing with magic was a possibility.

“I know.” Lexi finally spoke, exhaling with resignation. Some of the anger was dissipating - she focused on the fact that Amelia was going to make a full recovery after all. “I’m still going to find the bastard who did this to her.” Cats nodded with a faint smile. She was still unable to care much about who had harmed Amelia or why. All she cared about was seeing Amelia recovered.

__________________________________________________________________

It was a little after sunrise when Amelia’s eyes fluttered open. A soft moan escaped her lips as she tried to shift but found her body unusually stiff and felt a stab of pain coming from her  neck area. The hospital smell invaded her nose - she knew it well enough with all the time she had spent with Cats in one, keeping her company when her friend’s mother was battling cancer.

There was white everywhere. She looked down at her right hand, pinned down by a sleeping Catherine and stabbed by the IV needle. Her head hurt, mostly behind the eyes and her face felt flushed for some reason. Looking to the left, Lexi was sleeping in a fetal position, all rolled up in an armchair in the corner. Her thoughts were hazy, but she remembered most of the events that had led to her being in a hospital room.

Amelia shuddered, taking her free hand up to the bandages on her neck. A chill invaded her body, contrasting with the flush of heat she could still feel on her face. The realization hit her: she had nearly died. In fact, in those last moments before losing consciousness, she was certain she was to never wake up again. The memory of sharp fangs against her neck, the pain, the helplessness against the vampire’s stony grip… the smell of wet earth and trees. Then she thought about his cold fingers wrapped around her neck, probably wanting to strangle her. Why wasn’t she dead, after all? How had she ended up in a hospital, alive? She struggled to remember anything beyond that last memory of being a step away from having her neck snapped. There was something more that she couldn’t remember. Either it had really happened it or she had dreamed it - his hand had released its grip on her. Had he changed his mind or had someone else intervened? It proved futile trying to make the fog lift from her mind in those moments.

Soft moaning came from Cats, her face contorting while asleep. No doubt she’s having one of her nightmares. Amelia thought with the hint of a smile on her dry lips. Lexi shifted a little next and it drew Amelia’s attention her way. That can’t be too comfortable. Of course her friends hadn’t left her side at all. At least there was no sign of Angela, Cats’ aunt. She was a maternal figure and quite overprotective of the girls, even of Lexi. And if anyone could take care of herself, that was Lexi.

A sudden and loud moan came from Cats. It startled Amelia who had been staring up at the ceiling and Lexi’s feet fell from the chair with a thud uncharacteristic of the grace and reflexes of a Sharur. No doubt the assault on her enhanced hearing had been bigger than on a human. Cats looked up, startled and half-confused from her nightmare. Lexi was on her feet and by Amelia’s side before she was able to blink.

“Oh no, did I drink too much again?” Amelia asked with a pleading grin, while looking from one girl to the other. Cats assaulted her with a hug, despite timid protests because of the pain in her arm caused by the IV needle and the one in her neck. Soon Lexi joined in, softer and more reserved. “I’m okay, you guys. Some oxygen would be good though… anytime now… no hurry” It felt good. It felt wonderful and she swallowed back the tears.

The three talked. Amelia told them everything she remembered. They scolded her repeatedly, they ranted about the whole thing, they laughed and they even cried. Nurses came and went. The doctor saw her and promised she would be discharged soon and that she was perfectly okay. The police came too and took her statement. Amelia had no doubt about the location where the attack had taken place in, but they were saying she had been found in an alley very close to the hospital. And as the result of an anonymous phone call, no less.

Someone had carried her all the way there, for some reason. But who? Who other than the man who had attacked her in the first place? First he had tried to strangle her, then he had carried her closer to the hospital and made the anonymous phone call. Or maybe someone else had witnessed the attack and had stopped her aggressor, taking her to the hospital afterwards. Then again such a person would have no reason to make an anonymous call instead of taking her all the way to the hospital. They studied all the scenarios, but it was more a matter of passing the time than conviction that their theorizing would lead to anything concrete.

Amelia was finally discharged and her friends took her home. Of course a sleepover was a must so the three girls fell asleep on Amelia’s bed, while the host was left to stare up at the ceiling of her room, visible only because of the light coming in through the windows from the streetlamp just outside it.

Sleep eluded her, understandably so. She kept going back to the attack, trying to remember more details about it. At least her attacker’s face. It had been dark and his face had been bloody. Besides she hadn’t even gotten a good look at him. Still she was certain she’d be able to recognize him should they meet again - something she truly hoped wouldn’t happen. This wasn’t a matter of justice or revenge for what she had been through, this was a matter of self-preservation. The vampire had been hurt and had lost a lot of blood… he had probably just given in to bloodlust. That didn’t justify his attempt to kill her after the attack. Perhaps he thought about leaving no witnesses. Why then had he changed his mind?

Amelia gently rolled off the bed, making her way to the window. Perhaps some fresh, cold, night would help clear her thoughts and help her sleep better.

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He saw her drawing the curtains away from the window. Her silhouette was softly lit by the streetlamp on the sidewalk, just outside, long black hair falling around her shoulders in soft curls. She opened her window, resting her palms against the windowsill. He stood hidden by the shadow of a tree across the street from her apartment building. Her colors were vibrant to his vampire sight, defying the limitations of the night. The memory of her vanilla scent flooded his nose. She was too far away from him to catch any scent coming from her.

Egil knew what she was, of course. She probably didn’t. He should have killed her when he had had her in his embrace, or later, when he had encircled her neck with his fingers. One sudden move was all it would have taken for her fragile human neck to snap. It still wasn’t too late for him to end her life. One human life - she didn’t matter.

Egil recoiled from the memory of how her blood tasted. It almost drove him into a trance just thinking about it. Such power. She was a beautiful, young woman, but that had played no part in his decision to allow her to live. No, Amelia was alive because of the treacherous beast inside of himself that longed for what she could bring forth - the potential in her blood. She was a means to an end. The last time he hadn’t hesitated in snapping the woman’s neck, but that had been more than five hundred years previously.

A beautiful young woman - no older than sixteen - with flaming red hair and blue eyes like the summer sky. Milky white skin and a voice like honey - none of her assets had been enough to save her. As soon as her taste had registered, Egil had made his decision. He had drank her dry with no remorse, leaving behind only the beautiful carcass of a Shi. He knew the curse would simply jump into another unfortunate soul, but allowing her to live had been something beyond contemplation.

Now he was looking at a Shi again. The Shi, for only one was alive at any one time. The temptation to use her blood for what it was meant to do was dangerous. He hadn’t even been aware of it growing over the years until he had been faced with the choice again. She was the key to damnation - not just his, but possible the world as they knew it. Yet he turned around and left - she would live one more day.

New characters in chapter 3

These two characters appear in chapter 3 of the book.

Amelia Reinhart

A 27 year old human. Yes, her image is Nina Dobrev because I’ve grown to like her and she fits the character very well. The only differences would be that Amelia has fairer skin (despite how much I adore Nina’s skintone). She’s one of the protagonists of the book, so keep an eye on her.

Karla Holt

A 21 year old witch. Although she can’t actually do any magic, she has the extremely rare gift of visions and she’s a valuable asset. Her image is Cintia Dicker.

The first vampire and the vampires of the First Generation

Anshar

This is how I picture Anshar, from the first chapter in the Diamonds of the Past story. He's the first vampire and the only truly immortal one. Anshar died and became a vampire at the human age of 32 and is currently, in my story, 3293 years. There is a lot more to come about him, but I don't want to give out any information before it comes out in the story. I just think that it's important to also have a visual reference for a character, but feel free to picture them differently. This is David Gandy's image that I'm using.

Caiden Thorne (Egil)

This is Egil, a 3129 year old vampire. The first one Anshar ever turned and that one no one knows about for reasons that will become clear as the story progresses. The world however knows him as Caiden Thorne, a 780 year old vampire. Now I know that, upon seeing Ian Somerhalder as my mental image for Egil your mind might snap to Damon, but I assure you that this should not be the case. I can't help but use him since he's been my Egil ever since I saw him in the movie Pulse. That being said, more information will become clear as the story progresses and I want to spoil nothing for you.

Erik Vaughn (Aram)

I know Aram is barely mentioned for now. He is also one of Anshar's creation and that makes him a First Generation vampire. As far as he and his other blood siblings know, he is the oldest turned vampire and Anshar's first creation. The actor I picture him as is Christopher Mason, but with a lot more polished look. His hair is usually tightly pulled back in a low ponytail and he's an elegant dresser. Aram is 2806 as a vampire and he was turned at the age of 25.

Addien Maness (Livia)

Livia, or Addien as she is currently called, is the third vampire of the First Generation. A beautiful Roman treasure, she was turned by Anshar after having become his lover. She was 24 and has been a vampire for 2655 years. Gemma Arterton portrays her very well. She's very sensual and sexual, but also envious and needs attention.

Kane Trapp (Solon)

Solon was discovered and turned a year after Livia. He is the fourth of the First Generation. While Solon isn't a man of many spoken words, when he does speak, his siblings are all ears. He might not be the oldest or in charge of their group, but he is a great strategist. One of the most elitist of the vampires, he is passionate about supernaturals, especially vampires, being the ruling species. Henry Cavill is what inspires my image of Solon. He's 2654 years old as a vampire and was turned when he was 36.

Valentine Waters (Valerius)

Valerius is the fifth, two years younger than Solon. He was turned when he was 28. Valerius is and has always been a puppeteer when it comes to humans. He enjoys still trying to pass for a human and intricate deception. While he might come off as a womanizer, immature and playful, he is a great strategist and could rival Solon if it wasn't for his hotheadedness. Unlike Solon, however, he doesn't hate humans, instead he enjoys them even though he's still not one to consider them equals.

Lana Wells (Charis)

Charis is the youngest of the First Generation, turned at the young age of nineteen, after having been kept a prisoner and tortured for three years. She has always been and still is a kind soul, someone who tries to be level headed and find a way to make things work. She strives for her siblings to get along and works toward a peaceful co-existence with the humans. She is not at all naive or stupid and she is well aware that it's not something she can achieve, but she tries to minimize damage in any way she can. I picture her as Amy Rossum, but I have yet to find a face I am completely pleased with. She is a mature person, yet still holds the innocence that her human years reflect, while her big eyes tell stories of suffering, hope and wisdom. Her hair is a lot lighter in color, almost blond and it's naturally curly.