"Oh child, you are a storm waiting to burst,"
He paced the floor like an agitated lion in its cage. His teeth grit and lips pinched, fingers flicking across his thigh.
Was he nervous, angry, or unsure?
All but one fit the situation as another strained cry leaked from behind the alabaster wall. Trying to pinpoint which emotion it was, only made him pace faster.
When would it be over?
Hard as it was to stay still, it was far more difficult for him not to throw open the doors and rush to her side.
She was in pain, and it was because of him and his selfish desire for her body.
Behind the walls and doors, silence fell. It was weighted and came with a sense of foreboding. It made his throat swell and his heart hammer when sharp but controlled footsteps grew in intensity from the room hidden behind the closed doors.
Catching the eye of the woman who held more than just his life in her hands, his heart sunk deep. Travelling beyond his stomach and into his feet when she stepped out into the corridor. The doors closed so quickly behind her, that he didn't even catch a glimpse of the room behind.
Like her body was starched to be as stiff as the collar around his neck, she stood tall like a statue. Unmoving, to the point he was sure that she was not breathing until her lips parted to shatter his world.
It was a girl.
A newborn, baby girl.
This meant both mother and child would be sent away to some far-off village on the coast, away from prying eyes.
A scandal would surely come if anyone found out that he'd broken tradition, and fathered a girl.
His mouth relaxing enough to speak, his tongue fell slack when she told him to be quiet and vacate the hallway.
Easier was how she worded it. It would be easier if he didn't watch any of them. It was all good and well in theory, but when was it put into practice? It sent a sharp and agonising pain through his chest.
To be forever separated from his wife, and to never see his daughter?
The idea was too much for him.
He loved his wife and daughter.
So dearly, that when the carriage that carried them away was no more than a dot on the horizon, he stepped off the battlements.
Plunging down to his eternal rest was a sweeter punishment than having to live without his soul mate, and pretend their precious girl did not exist.
Had he been a stronger man, he may have tried harder to break down the strict rules of having a daughter. Fought against the shame it would have brought to their family, and removed the stigma of baring a female child.
All in place because Brentwood only fathered boys.
Their centuries-long bloodline only ever saw the births of men, the women having to marry into their prestigious families.
A powerful family, with ties to the first pagans and Wiccans with physically manifesting powers.
They were always, without fail, born male in the Brentwood family.
Until the afternoon Effie was born.
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Living west of the island was difficult at times. The salt winds that sliced across the lands before falling into the valleys that separated one side of the island from the other, was just the tip of its difficulties.
A small saving grace was the cottage they had to call home was in better condition than the rest of the village. Excluding the grand manor house at the top of the hill, theirs was almost palatial.
It was also horribly cliche.
With its white decorative fence and honeysuckle that curled like a lover around the small red door; while some of its unruly branches partially blinded the cross-hatched windows, it was fairytale perfect.
And that was as far as the fairy tale.
Fingers long since pruned, numb and sudded up with so much soap that she had no grip, Effie was only an hour into her day.
With a mother who worked in the kitchens of the manor upon the hill, the housekeeping fell to Effie to take charge of. That morning happened to be the day to wash the bedsheets.
Normally Saturday was the day to wash the bedding, to have it all fresh and ready for Sunday. It meant a night of sleeping with roughly spun sacks, but come Sunday it was always worth it when wrapped in the soft linen spreads gifted to them by the Lord of the land.
The change in schedule was down to the man departing her mother's room. A handsome fellow as he was, he also appeared seedy and Effie did not trust him. Especially not when he left a small backpack full of gold coins.
Healthy was the only way to describe the amount the man would leave after each visit. It was certainly more than her mother earned in a month in the kitchens.
Confident it was more than her mother could count sitting on the table, Effie snuck a coin or two once the man left.
Never once asking who he was, or why he visited, Effie knew it was not just for talking like her mother once fabled.
From her earliest memory, Effie knew the man was a frequent guest in her mother's bed, she just didn't understand in what sense at the time.
Now at the ripe age of seventeen, it was no mystery of what her mother's 'talks' were. The thought of it made Effie's skin hot and her chest flutter, before the inside of her thighs ached at her own sordid memory.
It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but it was strange. Effie's body knew what it wanted, and how to get it, but Effie's mind screamed blind panic and told her not to speak with him again when they passed in the village square.
Effie couldn't bring herself to meet his eye again.
Not after their intense and deep staring contest as they silently prayed and hoped that the busybody snooping in the tavern's cellar, would not turn the corner and stumble upon them. Head down in her wrinkled hands Effie cried out mournfully.
Everything was going amazingly up until that point when panic set in. She no longer felt the heat of carnal desire, but a lingering burn of impending embarrassment.
Sitting back on the small backless stool, Effie dried both hands on the apron tied at her waist. Lamenting over the pitiful experience that was almost her first time, would not help with the housework, and there was still much to be done.
Slopping the thoroughly scrubbed sheets into the metal tub, Effie kicked it across to the mangle. Feeding the sheets through the rollers of the machine, Effie wrapped the apron around the handle to reduce the stress on the skin of her palms.
From her position, Effie had an unobstructed view into the neighbouring cottage living room. Already familiar with its layout from regularly visiting as a child, it took some time to realise what she was looking at.
Towel wrapped at the narrow hips, a half smile curved up the thin lips before they split to reveal the teeth, and a smirk.
Effie was unabashedly checking out her neighbour.
True, it was not the first time Effie witnessed him in the flesh, but it was not very becoming to be caught being a peeping Tom for the second time.
Coming to some sense Effie covered her eyes, the hand cupping one side of her face to shield his view of the deep crimson that painted her cheeks.
No doubt he would find cause and reason to reference Effie's accidental peeping and would leave her red-faced at the thought of it all over again, while reminding Effie of the first time she witnessed him naked.
Coming down to terrible timing, it was a near exact setup that left them both red-faced and unable to meet each other's eye for a good day or two.
Having been out in the garden on the first occasion to hang washing on the line, Effie glanced up at the sound of sloshing water and came eye to eye with Jean through the window.
One downward glance and an awkward smile Effie had literally kicked a bucket as she staggered back, just as Jean fell out the metal tub.
Though both embarrassed by the incident, Jean found the solution to his embarrassment in mercilessly teasing Effie about it for a week.
At the time Effie was still prudish and naive to the bodily exchanges a man and woman could undertake, so Jean's comments were often lost in meaning, but left her feeling flushed and uncomfortable.
Shaking off the impure thoughts Effie continued to crank the old mangle. Feeding the sheets back and forth to squeeze out as much moisture before they would be pegged to the line.
One eye turned to the window again and there was relief in finding Jean was not visible. Relaxing a little more with the absence of his gaze and smirk, Effie turned focus to the small wooden sundial just outside the window.
With the sky clear for once, and the early morning sun already bright, the shadow should have been cast on the old contraption so the time could be told.
Oddly, there was nothing.
The old carved numerals showed no sign of sun or shade on its old and weathered face. Brows creased in a deep frown Effie leant toward the cross-hatched glass, ignoring the little smears that speckled it. She looked up and down the small garden, then back at the sundial.
Still, there was nothing.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
No longer fascinated by the sundial, Effie felt her chest pinch when a flicker of movement drew her attention to the neighbouring garden.
Tall and bright the sunflowers swayed side to side in a gentle breeze. Their thick stalks, and large petals seemed to shiver in excitement as they danced with the playful wind they'd been graced with that day.
Tongue pinched between the teeth Effie looked down at the Impatiens that grew in neat rows around the house. They were still, and most alarmingly, another flower sprouted from among the Impatiens stalks.
Rhododendron.
Recognising the flower head Effie's brow furrowed deeper.
"Beware," she whispered quietly, her voice eaten up by fear when another unknown voice filled the room.
Profound and sultry it rasped. "And caution."
The speaker finished Effie's sentence, and within their voice uttered a silent command that Effie be still and not do anything irrational.
Body becoming tense Effie held tight to the mangle handle as if it would somehow offer comfort and support.
Sensing that the person wished for Effie to turn and face them, a quick gulp of air set her lungs breathing again, and allowed her to move.
Carefully Effie met the man who was circling the kitchen table, eyes wide in alarm at the casualness of his movements. All she could do was watch.
Gliding a white-gloved hand across the smooth surface of the table he lifted it at the edge to inspect the soft looking fabric for dust.
After a few seconds, a sound like he was impressed parted his mouth which made Effie look upon his face.
Features sharp like they were carved fresh from marble that morning, he was handsome and gentlemanly in appearance. By the expensive looking tailored suit and the gold diamond-encrusted cane that hung over his arm, it spoke volumes of his suspected wealth.
Keeping watch on the man as he inspected the kitchen of the cottage Effie made slow and unassuming steps toward the fireplace, fingers itching for the iron poker that balanced against the coal bucket.
Having something in hand would make Effie feel a little safer, particularly since the man pulled a knife from the block by the stove.
Turning it left and right so that it caught the light Effie watched as a vague smile swept across his mouth.
"Leave it." He ordered, calmly.
Stopping dead Effie's eyes grew wider when the man dropped the knife back in the slot of the wooden block, purposefully, so that it made a metallic thud.
Eyes like aqua baring down on Effie both feet became rooted to the spot.
Whether it was the way the man was looking her up and down, or just the blazing stare he possessed, Effie found her want and will to retrieve the poker bleed out of her.
A satisfied smile, though tinged with disappointment, broke the man's vague visage. "Can't say I am at all pleased with you," he announced quite suddenly, a finger and thumb running together thoughtfully.
Taken back by the comment it sent her mind and mouth into a splutter.
Though in truth it left her speechless.
Who was this man?
Why was he in her house?
A slow undecipherable smile edged across his mouth, large brows that only seemed to accentuate the almost unearthly blue of his eyes dropping a fraction, he sighed gently. "You're seventeen, correct?" He quizzed, sharply.
She nodded, tongue still slack and speechless, it was all she could do.
He too returned a nod of the head, though it was evident something about her reply pleased him.
One by one he started to pluck off each finger of his gloves until both were set in the pocket at the front of his suit jacket. The large hands placed behind his back as the broad shoulders were drawn back. It made him appear taller, and his already large frame bigger.
"I suspect your mother never told you, for want of keeping you safe," Speaking gently, but somehow sharply he clucked his tongue when Effie returned a vacant and dumb stare.
What had her mother not told her?
The man's eyes rolled slightly like he was exasperated already.
"It can not be kept from you much longer, not now you're of age. Your lack of knowledge is not desirable, and you need to be somewhat informed." He spoke like a teacher, a well educated silver spoon fed teacher.
It was irritating for some reason, as Effie felt as though he was dumbing down his speech to be sure she understood.
"Knowledge of what?" Finally finding her tongue, and its sharp edge, Effie baulked when the man gave a sharp eye her way.
"You're Brentwood, Effie. One that should never have been born."
Brentwood?
That was impossible!
Also, how did he know her name?
The Brentwood family was not new to Effie, everyone knew it. Everyone also knew that only boys were born in the Brentwood family.
Starting to suspect the man was some kind of lunatic Effie made to reach for the iron poker, it wasn't far, if she dashed, she would have it in hand before he could leave the kitchen.
That was the plan at least. Except, it did not go as Effie thought it would.
Effie felt it, before she witnessed it.
The room filled with a static like energy, before a bright and brilliant flash of lightning, daggered the fire poker and sent it spinning across the room.
Only the sharp ring of metal was heard for a few seconds as Effie's outstretched hand hung empty in the air.
From the corner of an eye, the handle of the cane flashed, and finally made Effie pay closer attention to it.
It was shaped like a snake's head. Its jowls open as if ready to strike, the eyes were made of onyx, and its two front, and very sharp teeth looked to be made of either glass or diamond.
Almost lazily pointing at the cane, the man curved one brow upward. The other quickly joined the first when Effie clapped a hand to cover her mouth and hide the scream that made her leap out.
Like it was alive the snakehead flickered out a ruby forked tongue before its mouth closed and its aggressive appearance calmed.
Hand forming a fist it pressed over the panicked thumping in Effie's chest, mouth dry she swallowed over and over in an attempt to wet it.
Question after question whipped back and forth in her mind, but each one was dragged into the abyss like fog that settled in her head.
Nothing was making much sense.
Wanting to wake up and discover it was a very lucid dream was how Effie wanted it to be, but the man stood and baring a look of some contempt at her, was of flesh and blood.
Wishing that her mother was present, Effie gave a fleeting eye to the door, willing for the woman to come sweeping through. Not expecting her mother to come in and be her knight in shining armour, Effie just wanted her comforting and safe embrace.
The man cleared his throat, the cane once more hung over his arm. "I wish I could indulge your naiveness, Effie." He spoke, sounding genuine of his regret at her situation, a situation she did not understand or even have much information about "But they will not be patient for you, if anything, as you are now, you're most desirable to them."
Holding up a hand to keep him from saying anything more, Effie shook her head back and forth.
"Who are you?" she stuttered. "Who are 'they'?"
Finally asking two of the most prominent questions that had been at the front of her mind, a silence spread between them.
In Particular, he appeared awkward in the questions, or at least one of them.
Again clearing his throat, he straightened the tie around his sharply starched collar.
"The Brentwood's are those who seek you out. They want you dead." Answering stiffly, he again cleared his throat but said nothing more.
So, according to the strange man Effie was a Brentwood, and they wanted her dead. No closer to understanding the situation, Effie noticed the man was still holding out on answering the first question surrounding his identity.
"Who are you?" Prompting him again, Effie noticed how his mouth pinched, but his gaze became warm as his lips relaxed into a sincere smile.
"I am Ezra Smith, a Dominus within the Magicae Council," introducing himself smartly, and humbly, he stroked a finger down the sharp ridge of his nose before letting it fall to his chin "And I have been sent to be your guardian."
Appearing to trip at the final part of the explanation Effie's brow furrowed, it was not what he'd wanted to say.
Nevertheless, Effie at least had a name and a brief idea of what led the man to be standing in her home. Though Ezra's presence was unwelcome, as was the news and apparent revelation he brought, Effie was somewhat appreciative of his arrival.
If any of what Ezra said was true, it looked like being unable to look Nyle in the eye, and being caught perving on her neighbour were now the least of her woes. It was a thought that was most welcome, though no less troubling.
Levelling a look on the man who called himself Ezra, a frown turned down one side of Effie's mouth.
Lips reluctant to part and let free the newer more relevant questions, Effie took in a deep breath to fight off the anxious claws that were trying to snare her lungs.
"Why do they want me dead?"
At the question, Ezra's expression became pitiful and sad like he was staring into the eyes of a dying animal who was pleading for a mercy kill.
It placed Effie even more on edge, and made her want to retract the question or tell him that he did not need to answer.
"How much do you know about Brentwood's?" Answering with a question of his own, it filled Effie with a small relief "I know they're a powerful family, with strong political ties."
What little Effie knew about them was learnt through word of mouth. Her mother strictly forbade talk of them. Something which never used to make much sense to Effie, was now starting to.Ezra smiled, pitifully, again.
"Do you know the story of the last Siren?" He asked gently, Effie nodded.
The Last Siren was no children's tale. It was cold and brutal, the treatment of the siren at the hands of her captor's nothing short of barbaric. It was a story to be told around a campfire at night, not small children being tucked into bed.
Ezra nodded, her answer apparently pleasing though it didn't change the bitter look in his eyes that came with bringing up the tale of the last Siren.
"It isn't just a story. It happened." Curt and frank with the topic Ezra inclined his head to Effie "The curse the Siren cast before she died, is real." Voice low and bristling with some unknown emotion Ezra's mouth flicked up into a smile "And she is standing right in front of me."
Like words were kind of key.
A rude, unwelcome, intrusive key, Effie felt something snap in her chest.
It wasn't painful, and it didn't cause her concern. More so, it felt relieving for it to have broken open like it had been suppressed for far too long.
A smile that was nothing short of dark humour curled back Ezra's lips when Effie inhaled sharply and trilled loudly and melodically in place of her words. "You're a Siren, Effie." He announced smoothly.
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Curled up among the tattered fabrics the Siren wailed into the darkness of her prison. Body torn and weak, it was no longer the home of the child forced to grow in her womb.
Outside the doors, they were jubilant of the baby boy born that night. He was powerful, they could sense it. Forgetting the mother who was struggling for breath, the four men stood around the cradle as the full moon poured silver threads of light upon the newborn's crown.
"Damn you!" The Siren cried, mustering all her energy and breath.
They paid her no mind, her purpose was fulfilled.
"What shall we call him?" One hooded man asked the others.
"Michaelis." One answered
"God-like? Befitting." Another responded.
All four looked upon the small boy cradled in blankets of spider silk. He was silent, happy in his slumber.
"You mortal vermin," the Siren cried again, two sharp thuds of flesh hitting wood, they guessed she was by the door, pounding on it "Hear me when I speak, for I shall be the death of your bloodline..."
The words finally hooked their attention, all four of the cloaked men turned to the door in time to see the Siren's fingers curl around the bars.
"When a girl is born to any of you or your kin, she will bare my hate and my wrath," a smile curled back the scaled skin of her lips to bare the sharp teeth behind them "And she will wash her hands in your blood, and feast on your flesh."
Each word rattled like the bone rune's of a wise woman. Falling at the final word, the Siren used her last breath to laugh at them. Menacing and cold the message was unmistakable, the Siren used her final moments to see to it that she would be avenged.
All at once the four men felt their blood run cold.
Would it work?
Would the Siren's fury plague their bloodline, and lay it to ruin at the birth of a daughter?
Beneath the full moon, all four men felt the weight and repercussion of their misdeeds.
Having inflicted pain on the mythical being of mysterious power and beauty, they'd sent her to an agonising death, and bearing a murderous grudge.