Chapter Twenty-Four
Portia's concern for my well-being and the fact that we were lying together in this circle of protection, prompted me to answer her previous question.
"His name is Damien Cummings," I whispered softly into her mind, telling her the name of my father.
"How come his name is different than yours?" she asked aloud.
"My mom changed ours so it would be harder for him to find us."
Confused emotion emanated from her, and I easily picked up on what was troubling her.
"Vance is my real name. And I'll always be a Mangum. I'll never take my old name back again." I'd been a Mangum for so long that it was the Cummings name that seemed totally foreign to me now.
"Where'd your mom get the name?"
Memories of my mom and me together filtered through my mind, and the sharp pang of missing her grew stronger.
"We passed through a small town in Oklahoma once, called Mangum. We were only there for a couple of days, but Mom was charmed by it. The people were so down to earth and very kind to us. Someday she hoped we could live somewhere just like that. I think changing our name to Mangum was a way of reminding herself that places full of good people still exist."
"What a beautiful memory," she said, her voice sounding reflective.
"Yes," I agreed.
"You must really miss her."
"I do, but I understand why she did what she did. I owe her my life. If she hadn't run with me, who knows what kind of disgusting creature I'd be now."
"She'd be so proud of you if she could see you. You're such a good, determined man."
Portia had such and idealized view of me. It made me nervous sometimes. I didn't want to fail her expectations of me in any way. "Let's get some sleep," I said, not wanting to continue on with the current subject. "You need your rest."
"I'm not going to break, you know. You don't need to baby me," she replied with a small smile.
"Well, get used to it, because I'm not going to stop anytime soon," I mumbled into her hair.
---
"Good morning, sleepyhead," I spoke into Portia's head when I finally heard her stir back into consciousness. I'd been keeping tabs on her throughout the morning, waiting for her to wake up. "Or should I say afternoon?"
"Afternoon? What time is it?" She sounded completely perplexed.
"It's noon." I responded with a laugh. "I'm upstairs. Milly's feeding me lunch."
It only took a moment for her to appear, and I couldn't help raking my gaze over her. She was complete perfection. Even first thing in the morning, she glowed as if she were a super model. It didn't matter if her hair wasn't combed, or if she didn't have her makeup on. Her beauty ran soul deep.
"Well, someone was tired!" Milly teased.
"Sorry," she apologized. "I think it was that dark basement. I had no idea what time it was."
"That's just fine," Milly replied. "Vance said to let you rest because you tossed and turned all night."
"I did?" She stared at me, obviously unaware of what had transpired during the night.
"You had your dream again," I told her in between bites of my sandwich.
"Really? I don't remember." Her brow furrowed and I could tell she was wracking her brain, trying to remember.
"It was a little different this time, though."
"How so?"
"You were running toward something in the fog, not away from it."
"Hmm. That's interesting. Was I calling for you?"
I nodded.
She paused to consider this information for a moment before giving a shrug. "Well, thanks for helping me out again," she said.
"It's always my pleasure." That was the truth. I loved helping her, however I could. Standing, I went to give her a hug, enjoying the feel of her back in my arms. I'd missed her during the morning while I was at school.
Milly placed another sandwich on the table. "Come and eat, Lollipop," she said, using her pet name for Portia.
"Thanks, Grandma. I'm sorry I wasted half of the day away. I know you have things you wanted me to help with."
"Don't worry about it. I worked on my project in here this morning and actually got everything done already."
"I've got to go, baby," I interrupted, hating that I had to leave. I leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek.
"Already?" She sounded totally bummed.
"Half a day, and then I'm all yours." I smiled reassuringly. "And you get to come back to school tomorrow."
"Who'd have ever thought I'd be excited about that?" she laughed, following me to the door.
Unable to resist hugging her one more time, I placed another kiss on her cheek. She sighed heavily as I released her, and I felt her stare on me as I drove away.
Well settled in one of my classes, I was working on my assignment when a jolt of trepidation passed through me. Instantly recognizing this as Portia's emotion and not my own, I slipped into her head to see if she was all right, surprised by the conversation I interrupted.
"Do I need a key?" Portia asked.
"There is no key. It was destroyed. You're never to open the lock and read the book," Milly said.
Portia's confusion washed over me. "Okay. But I thought you wanted me to read it."
Milly spoke again. "You'll touch the center of the cover, and its contents will be revealed to you. Never, ever, read directly from the text. This can initiate hidden spells and dark magic you're not aware of. Many a witch and warlock have been drawn into the dark arts by doing such a thing."
What the hell? I thought to myself. She's showing Portia the History of Black Magic? I trusted Milly implicitly, but I questioned this. I didn't want Portia to be corrupted with the knowledge of the dark side of things. She was so pure and innocent. I hated that her involvement with me was the catalyst that was making it necessary to expose her to all these things.
"Whenever you're ready, simply place your hand in the very center of the cover," Milly instructed her, and I felt Portia trying to ready herself against whatever she might see.
The second she placed her hand on the book, both of us were sucked into the vision; information flooding our minds, racing at incredible speeds, yet totally understandable. Feeling my fingers curl around the edge of my desk, I gripped it tightly as tried to process everything flashing before my eyes. The rest of the room faded away as I found myself observing dark and horrific sights. Spells were reworked and mutilated, removing the purity of the magic from them and replacing it with something evil. Pleas of loved ones went unheeded, all in favor of immersing themselves further in extreme power. Greed began to overtake the witches and warlocks, leaving them all thirsting for more and more.
Time marched before my eyes, revealing era after era of wicked abominations to the craft. Horrifying images of curses, mutilations, and death—sickening images that could turn even the most iron of stomachs. Instinctively, I tried to pull back from what I was seeing, not wanting to be sucked into the depravity of it all, but I was firmly linked through Portia.
Witches and warlocks evolved with the dark magic too. As their power became stronger, they transformed, sprouting furrowed brows with small horn-like bumps, teeth that resembled fangs, nails that took on a claw-like appearance, and haunting, blood-red eyes. It amazed me to find that even though they could switch back and forth between their normal and demonic features, they often chose to show the demon inside them—inciting fearful reactions in those they would encounter as they reveled in their corruptions.
And the blood—I couldn't get over all the blood they were drinking—slaughtering their own kind as they sucked away their life forces and their very power, all in an effort to make themselves stronger. The blood exchanges turned their victims into the same creatures they were themselves. Once their captive made the conversion, they found their demon blood polluted, so they moved on looking for someone new to feed upon. They grew stronger with each feeding, and some of the more powerful ones could actually shape-shift into animals, or even other people.
The demonic societies searched for and preyed on the especially gifted, since these individuals supplied more power in their blood. There would be a feeding frenzy on these people, often taking them to the brink of death before bringing them back again to build a new, fresh blood supply.
On and on it continued—every generation stronger and worse than the previous, the sickening depravity of it all even too much for me to handle.
Something in Portia changed, shifting while she viewed the images. I felt my own bloodlust rise as her craving for a taste of the blood flowed through me, an unquenchable thirst and longing. A loud moan escaped her—she wanted a drink, now.
Her bloodlust centered on an image of me dancing in her mind, and I watched, horrified, as she zeroed in on the pulsating blood in my veins. She wanted only one thing, and that was to drink from me.
"Portia! Let go of the book!" I ordered her. Stumbling from my chair, I glanced toward my teacher who was staring at me curiously along with most of my class.
"I'm sick," I offered, not really able to focus on them because I couldn't quite pull free of Portia's grasp. Not waiting for a reply, I raced from my classroom once more. I wasn't lying, what was happening right now was making me feel desperately ill.
Trying to see through the visions tearing at my mind, I hurried down the hall, needing to get back to Milly's.
"No! Portia! No! No!" Milly screamed, finally managing to get through. The second Portia released the book the connection with the vision broke for me too, and I sagged against the wall in relief, taking a moment to catch my breath. I could hear Portia panting as well, the two us feeling like we'd just run a marathon.
"I'm on my way!" I spoke, but she didn't reply as I hurried to my bike.
"What was that?" she asked, and I thought she was speaking to Milly so I didn't answer, my own head still pounding with adrenaline.
"I'm sorry," Milly's voice reappeared. "I've never seen a reaction like this before. I'd have never done it if I thought there was a possibility." She sounded terribly upset.
"It's all right. I'm all right," Portia replied, and I knew she was trying to comfort her grandma. The tremors were still shaking both of us. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Milly answered. "Everything was fine, normal even. All of a sudden, you grabbed the book and started shaking and moaning. I tried to get the book away from you, but I couldn't. Your grip was too powerful. Even magic didn't help. You couldn't hear me."
"Give me a second," Portia answered in a whisper, trying to calm herself.
There was no speaking for several long minutes, only the sound of her breathing. I continued speeding my way through town, relief pouring through me when Milly's house came into view. Parking in the driveway, I jumped off and ran inside.
"Are you okay?" Milly asked, finally breaking the long silence.
"I was thirsty," Portia replied, a sadness in her voice. "I needed a drink. I just wanted a small one, but felt like I couldn't help myself."
"More precisely, she wanted a drink from me," I said, entering the basement at that exact moment.
Guilt flooded through her at the sound of my voice, and she wouldn't look at me. She covered her face with her hands and started sobbing hysterically. That threatened to tear my heart to pieces.
"Baby, it's okay." Moving to her side, I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her tightly. "You were being confused by the magic. I know you'd never hurt me."
Surprise flooded through me when she shoved me away, and I didn't try to mask the hurt it caused. I went to comfort her again, and she raised a hand, gesturing for me to stop.
"I can still hear the power racing in your blood. It's as if I can smell it or something, and it makes me thirsty," she confessed, tears still leaking from her eyes. "You need to stay there. Something has changed. Things are different between us."
"No. Nothing has changed. The effect of the book hasn't worn off yet, that's all."
The desire for a taste of my blood flooded her senses again, and she turned from me, feelings of despair oozing from her.
"Why did I react differently than you expected?" she asked Milly, searching for answers.
"I don't know," Milly replied, looking truly out of sorts. "I've honestly never seen anything like it."
"I think I might have an explanation," I spoke up. "Portia is linked to me. The bond between us is strong and she's been able to experience my emotions. I think the residual pull of the dark magic in me may have caused this intense reaction. As soon as her thoughts turned dark, I started having the cravings too. That's how I knew she was in trouble. My cravings didn't become as intense, but having had them before, I recognized them right away."
This time I wasn't taking no for an answer. Portia struggled against me as I pulled her back into my embrace, winding my arms tightly around her so she couldn't escape. I didn't care how guilty she felt, or what she thought she wanted to do to me. She was my girl, and I loved her. I trusted her too; and I wasn't going to let her start shunning me because she was afraid all of a sudden. Eventually she gave up, grabbing my shirt in her fists as she buried her face against me and wept again.
Zeroing in on my pulse, I could hear her thoughts, her mouth watering; but I knew the sensation would pass for her eventually. She needed to know she could trust herself.
"Well, whatever is happening here, we definitely need to figure it out," Milly said, watching the two of us carefully. "This isn't good, by any means."
"I think we may have seriously underestimated how strong Portia's powers really are," I said over the top of her head, continuing to hold her tightly, even though she'd quit struggling. "It's strange for an apprentice witch to have such instant and strong reactions to magic. I think she's something special."
"She's a natural at it, for sure," Milly agreed, giving a shake of her head before shrugging. I knew she was as baffled as Portia and me. "I was proud she was so good at everything. It never occurred to me she might be overpowered. Perhaps she's the one who's causing such a hard reaction to your binding spell. Maybe she overreacts to all magical influences."
"Great," Portia said brokenly between sobs. "Now I'm a dysfunctional witch too."
"No, not dysfunctional, just different," Milly rushed to explain. "We need to study you a bit more, I think. Your powers are very mature and strong for your age."
"But not right now. Let's get you to bed and see if you can get some rest," I said, hoping that maybe resting would allow her to regain control of herself.
"I've been asleep all day," she complained, still refusing to lift her head and look at me.
"That's all right," I replied, wishing with all my might I could somehow wipe her fears away and make everything in her world right, again. "You've had a pretty traumatic event. It's okay to take time to recover from it."
She didn't reply, so I decided to take matters into my own hands—literally. I scooped her light frame into my arms and carried her upstairs to the guestroom, placing her gently on the bed.
"Don't leave me," she said so softly when I released her, I barely heard. She still wouldn't make eye contact with me.
"I wouldn't dream of it." Sitting on the bed, I carefully stroked her hair away from where it was sticking to her tear stained face. She wasn't ready to speak, so I stayed silent while she stared at the ceiling.
Milly came into the room several minutes later, holding a steaming cup of tea in her hands—no doubt one of her special herbal concoctions. Her face was still strained and I knew she felt guilty for showing Portia the book. It wasn't her fault, either. No one could've known she would react differently.
"Here, Lollipop. Drink this. It'll help calm your nerves," she said, offering it.
Portia sat and took the cup. The aroma of the soothing chamomile filled the air around us, and she drank the tea down, quickly. I took the cup from her, setting it on the nightstand, and she snuggled down into the pillows. Her mind was still buzzing with action, but I felt her start to relax as I continued to stroke her. I was more than content to be next to her.
"Your father's recruiting," she said, breaking the silence.
"Yes," I agreed softly, not surprised by the subject.
"And he wants you so he can feed himself and his coven," she added, worry lines creasing her forehead.
"Yes." There was no point in denying it. It was the truth.
"He's going to find you this time." She faced me now, her eyes searching mine.
"I know," I replied steadily. I'd already come to the same conclusions.
"What then? Will he try to kill you?" she asked fearfully.
"No. He'll try to turn me into one of them." I continued to run my hands over her in a soothing fashion, hoping it would soften the blow.
"How do you know for sure?" Panic rippled through her and it didn't take a genius to figure out she was comparing me to the monsters she'd just witnessed.
A big sigh escaped me. "When I was young, he had a nickname for me. He called me his 'little protégé.' I think he's planning on grooming me to take his place."
"You have to run!" she insisted, bolting upright.
I shook my head. "I won't leave you."
"Vance. It'll mean nothing if he finds you and makes you like him. You have to go," she pleaded.
"No!" I shouted, my answer coming out harsher than I'd intended.
Kneeling in front of me, she placed her hands on the sides of my face, her eyes boring into mine. Desperation rolled off her in giant waves. "Vance, please! I'll even come with you. We can run away together! We'll get married and go somewhere he'll never find us."
She had no idea how tempting her offer was to me, not so I could protect myself, but so I would know she was out of the line of fire.
"Portia, I'd love nothing more than to run away and take you as my wife, but we'd always be running. I want to have a life with you—a real life, one full of love, laughter, and someday children too. If I don't face him, we'll never be able to have that. He's always been able to find me somehow. Sometimes faster than others, but I'm always looking over my shoulder, waiting for him to reappear. It's time for me to make a stand now."
"And if you lose?" she asked, fear apparent in her eyes.
"I don't plan on losing," I replied stubbornly, refusing to even give it credence as a viable possibility.
"Things don't always go the way we plan, Vance! I'd rather live a life on the run than have you gone completely!"
"You're going to have to trust me, Portia," I responded quietly, searching her beautiful eyes. I saw what I wanted to—the trust I asked for—even though it was difficult for her.
Dropping her hands, she sunk back into the pile of pillows. "I don't like this," she sighed. "I've had the tiniest exposure to dark magic today, and it almost consumed me. I can't allow that to happen to you."
Taking her hand in mine, I massaged her fingers, trying to help relax her some more.
"I love that you care so much. But I managed to escape his influence once before. I'm banking on being able to do that again. I'm stronger than I was then."
"Well, I hope you're right, Vance. I can't live without you. You know that, don't you?" She stared at me, tears threatening to spill again.
Stretching out alongside her, I gathered her into my arms. "I'll never leave you, Portia, and that's a promise. Please try to understand me."