Birthed Vow Read online

  His smile cracked wide open. “That’s fantastic, Sis. I never doubted you’d go far. You’ve got that Ryan fire in you.” His eyes twinkled.

  I looked down at my drink, wondering how best to transition the conversation to where I wanted it to go. Because there was another reason why I needed to see Frank tonight. After my last fight with Nik, I’d been giving a lot of thought to our relationship. I’d decided that it was high time I introduced him to my brother. Sure, it would be hard keeping the fact Nik was a vampire hidden. But he’d been hiding it from his colleagues for years. We could make it work. Nik was important to me, and I could no longer keep our relationship behind closed doors.

  When I looked back up, Frank’s smile had slid from his face. “What’s wrong? You look like you have some bad news to tell me.”

  I hastily brightened up my expression. “Not bad. Not bad at all. Just… news. Good news, really good.” Nervous laughter escaped my lips. Man, I was making a hash of this. Agota and Frank were both looking at me like I’d completely lost my mind. And I was beginning to wonder if they were right. Why couldn’t I just behave normally? Announce it in a completely normal way…

  “I’ve met someone.” I blurted out, feeling heat rise up my cheeks.

  Agota’s eyes widened, and she gave me a knowing smile. She knew Nik well and had been urging me to tell Frank since the beginning.

  “Who?” His eyes were laden with suspicion.

  “He’s really nice. He’s a doctor - he treated me when I got attacked.”

  Frank’s suspicious look deepened. He looked at Agota, clocking her expression. “Wait a minute. You knew about this? And you didn’t tell me?”

  Agota’s mouth opened and closed a few times before settling on, “it wasn’t mine to tell.”

  Huffing at her, he narrowed his eyes at me. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

  “It was very new, and I didn’t want to tell you until I felt it was heading in a serious direction.”

  “And now it is heading in that direction.” It was a statement rather than a question. He stayed silent for a few moments, and I wondered what he was thinking. Frank was more than just my older brother. For years he’d been my best friend and also my surrogate father - he was very protective over me, and I had no idea how he would take this. It was the first time I’d had a serious boyfriend. Sure, there’d been flings and dates. But nobody I felt strongly enough about that I wanted to introduce him to my family. This would’ve been hard if it was any man… but a vampire… I tried to cast the thought from my mind, worried about how the emotion would play out on my face and conscious of how easily Frank could read me.

  His voice broke my thoughts. “Go on then, tell me more. What’s his name?”

  “His name’s Nik, Doctor Nikhil Chetty. He’s from India originally but he’s lived here for years. You’ll really like him. He’s a proper gentleman. And he’s wanted to meet you for ages. But I didn’t feel it was the right time yet. I was hoping…” I paused, assessing his reaction. “I was hoping we could all go out for a drink maybe?”

  “He should come round for dinner.”

  I felt my face blanch. “Dinner is tricky for Nik. He’s got a couple of severe food allergies, so he finds it safest to never eat away from home.” This was a lie I’d pre-prepared. I was confident it was fool proof… Until Frank followed up with, “maybe we could go round to his for dinner then. What’s his cooking like?”

  “Um, it’s excellent, but I don’t want to put pressure on him. He works such long shifts at the hospital…” my voice trailed off. Maybe this could work? It would make Nik look normal. Because he was normal - aside from being a vampire. And if Frank met him on his home turf, he’d be more likely to trust him. “You know what, let me ask him.”

  Frank’s body relaxed. I could see that this idea was allaying his suspicions. “Who knows maybe this doctor of yours can give me some magical healing elixir that will get me well again.”

  “That healing elixir is called ‘time’ - Doctor Jaczynski already told you that.”

  His eyes saddened and my heart went out to him. I hated seeing Frank like this. I hated seeing what the Spirit Realm and Hugh Beaufort had done to him. Seeing him like this made me more determined than ever to stop them.

  8

  As the days passed, I began to dread my daily etiquette and elocution lessons with Madame Fouchet. The accent was the hardest part for me to get right. And the etiquette lessons weren’t much easier. But most challenging of all was the woman herself. She was moody and unpredictable, doling out cane-whip corporal punishments on a whim. Surely this kind of abuse should be illegal? I could’ve used magic against her. But I’d been told she was the best in the business, and if I wanted to succeed at my mission, I needed her help, however difficult she was to work with.

  Every evening I practised what she’d taught me, doing the accent over and over again while standing in front of the mirror. But it didn’t feel like I was getting any better.

  A week after we’d started, my patience wore out. “I don’t understand what the point of all this extra cutlery is. Why can’t I just use a simple knife and fork for every meal except dessert?” I threw the tiny tongs of frustration and the tiny fork of futility down on the table. In horror, I watched as the fork bounced, hit the porcelain table vase, and chipped it. My teacher was going to go ballistic!

  My hands flew to my face as my head whipped up to meet her glare. “Oh God! Madame Fouchet, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  Her eyes blazed as she put her hands on her hips and rounded on me, cutting me off. “You didn’t mean? Or you didn’t think?”

  “I… I…” My mouth opened and closed as I flailed for a response.

  She didn’t give me enough time to give one. “You don’t think, do you? You never do, you just stomp your way through life, like a bull in a china shop.” Her hand was in front of her face and her finger was waggling in my direction. I’d never seen her this angry before.

  Time to grovel. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’m sure I can do a repair spell and…”

  “Things never look the same after a repair spell. That vase is irreplaceable.” She flung one hand in the air.

  And that’s when I saw it. She’d unwittingly caught her locket when she threw her hand up and it now lay open at her neck. Inside was a photo. My eyes narrowed, zoning in on the image, but I couldn’t quite see it.

  And now it was too late. Her gaze followed mine and she blushed, closing the locket with lightning speed.

  She took a deep breath, aware that her composure had descended beneath a dignified level. Lowering her voice, she smoothed her skirt down. “Forget the vase.” She paused, considering her words carefully before returning to my original question. “The point dear, is to ensure that your guest wants for nothing during the meal. It may seem extravagant and frivolous to you, but etiquette is a considerate concession to comfort.”

  It wasn’t lost on me that she’d chosen to change the topic at precisely the moment I’d caught sight of the photo inside that locket. I stored the detail in my brain for later, playing along with her diversionary tactic for now. “By the time I’ve worked out which implement to use, my food will be cold.”

  “You eat too quickly anyway.” She snapped. “Anything that slows down your gobbling can only be a good thing.”

  So, we were back at moody again? Man, she was hard work. I glared at her, crossing my arms. It wasn’t my fault I was always starving whenever I sat down for a meal. I had a fast metabolism.

  She sighed. “Perhaps we should leave this for today and move onto dancing.”

  I groaned. The dancing sessions were even worse. Who knew that all joy and spontaneity could be sucked out of something I’d previously found so much fun. I was starting to wonder if I could ever enjoy dancing again after what I’d suffered here. But I sensed that I’d complained enough for the time being. So, I wordlessly followed my teacher into the drawing room, trying my best not to l
ook like I was on my way to the morgue to identify a body.

  Madame Fouchet waved her hands and muttered an incantation. Music filled the air - at least, it was what passed for music in the Spirit Realm. It wasn’t what I would ever enjoy or choose to listen to. A cacophonous mish mash of military marching band and basic folk music with a disconcerting cross rhythm that made it impossible for me to know which beat I should be following. Whoever had invented this type of music in the distant annals of time, I sure hoped they’d been sentenced to a long and dreary afterlife in hell - preferably locked up in a dungeon where this played on a loop.

  Madame Fouchet signalled the start of the lesson by tapping her cane on the floor. Her blue eyes shone with expectation.

  I knew what I was supposed to do. The trouble was it was one thing for my mind to know and quite another for my body to obey. I’d never thought of my body as being obstinate before - perhaps it objected to the music and who could blame it.

  Straightening my back, I pointed my right foot and slid it across the floor, twirling as I imagined another dancer crossing me to twirl and face my back.

  Madame Fouchet clapped, and the music stopped. “No, no, no. You’re still turning the wrong way. The dance should be symmetrical. I will act as your partner, that way it’ll be easier for you to see what I’m talking about.” She floated over with the grace of a swan and positioned herself facing me. “We’ll start from the beginning.” She cast the spell again and the music resumed.

  I took a deep breath and calmed my nerves before pointing my foot again. This time I was careful to turn the right way and when I cast my gaze to the side, I saw that she was smiling. She was actually smiling! Finally, I was getting something right! But the minute I had this thought, my concentration slipped, and I turned the wrong way the second time. It was like my body had a mind of its own. Worse still, I stepped on Madame Fouchet’s foot.

  She howled and bent over, hopping on one foot. “You stamp with the weight of an elephant.”

  “Muscle weighs more than fat.” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks grow warm.

  “What’s wrong with you? We’ve been over this so many times.” Her face went red, and she screwed her eyes up as she balled her fists.

  Not the cane, please not the cane! I silently implored, taking a slow step backwards.

  She narrowed her eyes, crossed her arms, and cocked her head to the side. “You don’t want to be here, do you?”

  I blushed. “I do… erm, I mean. I understand this is an important part of the process. It’s just…”

  “What?”

  “I still don’t see the point of all this nonsense. I understand what you said about the extra cutlery being a considerate gesture but what about the dancing? The ridiculous oomph-pah-pah music…. the silly, unnatural dance steps… I get that I have to fit in with high society and all but why do they do this? Do they seriously enjoy it? How could anyone enjoy it?”

  She nodded, considering my question as her eyes took on a faraway glaze. She stayed silent for a long time, so long that I began to fidget and feel awkward.

  What was she thinking about?

  “You don’t have to enjoy it, you merely have to do it - the same as all the other aristocrats who live there do.” Her fingers moved to her locket and tapped it. She seemed to be considering something important as she pursed her lips. Finally, I could see she’d made her decision. She turned to me, and her tone was hesitant. “My time in the Spirit Realm was not without its challenges.” She smiled sadly. Then she walked closer to me. Facing me, she opened her locket and leaned forward. “It may surprise you to know that my mother was black.”

  There, inside her locket was a small grainy photo of a beautiful, fair-skinned black woman. She had the same long neck and high cheekbones as Madame Fouchet.

  I resisted the urge to drop my jaw open - that would result in a cane smack for sure. But I couldn’t deny I was surprised. There was no hint of her ancestry in her pale skin, straight hair and piercing blue eyes.

  “She had a white father and black mother. When she married a white French spirit wizard, my features came out white enough to ‘pass’.” She spat out the last word as if it disgusted her. “When my powers manifested at teenage, she sent me to the Spirit Realm to live with my father. The Realm was already in the grip of a new wave of patriotic nationalism, stirred up by the right wing government. My mother couldn’t come with me as she was human.” She paused, biting her lip before continuing. “You’re aware that the older aristocracy often have vampire consorts but are you aware how they are fed?” She didn’t wait for me to respond. “Darker skinned peasant spirit witches are forced to offer blood sacrifices to the vampires of the aristocracy.” Her tone was laden with bitterness.

  I rubbed my forehead, shaking my head as I looked at the ground. “I did know that, yes.” Then I realised there was one thing she might not know about me. “Did you know I spent time at Beaufort Heights? I was abducted and forced to be one of his pets.”

  “Yes. I knew.”

  After what I’d seen at Beaufort Heights, the white supremacy of the Spirit Realm didn’t surprise me. It was the same system - only with witches instead of humans. Which led to me asking, “why don’t they use magic to escape?”

  “Some of them do - that’s why we have so many spirit witch immigrants in the Arcane Realm. But for many there are too many things keeping them there. Things like family, community, or mental bondage. Some of them even believe it’s an honour to give their blood to vampires - it’s their sacred duty. Yet the aristocrats have no such duty.” She pursed her lips, her eyes flooding with darkness. “When you’ve been raised to believe you are inferior, it’s very hard to break that mentality and dream of more for your life.”

  I nodded, understanding more than she realised. I’d never understand what it was like to live life as a black or brown person. But I did understand what it was like to be born into a culture where you were viewed as inferior at birth. I’d experienced the injustices of the British class system. At Beaufort Heights I’d entered a world of unimaginable wealth and privilege. At first it was terrifying, then confusing, then seductive. That was how Beaufort groomed so many young white girls into staying with him. He prayed on their low self-esteem, showering them with gifts that to him cost next to nothing. I’d never experienced such luxury and the working class girl inside me refused to believe I deserved it. It was exotic and intoxicating. I almost lost myself to the allure of that lifestyle. But even the brief access I’d had to it was only possible because I was white. If I’d been born black Beaufort wouldn’t have wanted me to sire his child… he would’ve wanted me as a blood slave. The thought of that sent a wave of disgust and rage coursing through me.

  She stiffened her upper lip. “Father taught me from a young age that etiquette and elocution were the best ways to survive. People see what they want to see. And when they see a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl who speaks and acts like she’s a member of high society, that’s what they believe her to be.” Her features twisted with the painful memory. “But every so often I’d be reminded that I was living a lie. I’d have to stand by and watch as black spirit witches were dehumanised. My silence made me complicit in their suffering.” Her eyes darkened. “That’s why you have to succeed at this mission. Once the Sanguirife is out, the vile practice of vampire sacrifices can be stamped out once and for all. He is the one keeping the practice going. He and all his high priests who live off the blood and sweat of spirit witch peasants.”

  I’d never seen such light in her eyes or heard such passion in her voice. I was finally seeing the real her. This was why she was so moody. She wasn’t unstable - she was desperate to succeed, desperate to see the Spirit Realm fall. I was her most important project ever, her life’s work. I understood her drive because it was the same as mine. She was a revolutionary. Her method of fighting may have been different from mine, but it was just as valid and just as powerful. And, in realising we had more in common than I thought, my heart
softened towards her.

  But it was one thing to believe in the cause and another thing to master the lessons. Because even after the heart-to-heart, I was no better at any of it. My accent was as bad as it had been on day one. I ended lessons for the day feeling more despondent than ever.

  How was I ever going to bring down the Spirit Realm when I couldn’t even master the accent or etiquette?

  9

  Outside a light drizzle of rain marked my denim jacket as I walked away from Madame Fouchet’s house. Brother Mateo matched my steps, keeping pace beside me. The conversation I’d had with her had been illuminating. Her origins explained a lot about why she was the way she was. But it had also reminded me just how many people would suffer if I failed. The pressure on my shoulders felt even heavier. And, after a week, I felt no more ready for the mission than I had been when our training had begun.

  Brother Mateo disturbed my brooding. “Trionaide, it is time we had a training session.”

  I felt my mouth turn down at the corners. “Do we have to? I’m really tired.”

  “Why do you assume it will be a burden? It might be fun.”

  I stopped walking and looked at him, raising my eyebrows as I cocked my head to the side. “Fun?” Everything I’d learnt about Brother Mateo so far was completely removed from anything even approaching fun.

  He sniffed. “It is imperative you practice your psychometry.”

  “Why?”

  “Interpreting energy from objects is but a small part. If you become skilled at it, you can read people and places. You can even read the future of an object’s owner, providing they’ve recently touched the object. This is an important skill for a spy in the Spirit Realm, wouldn’t you agree?”