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I snicker. “Like a vampire?”
Cash nods.
The tip of my tongue darts out and licks my pasty lips. It’s futile because all moisture has left my mouth. It feels as if I had been running a marathon on a hot summer’s day. I need a drink. Tasting like dirt or not, I lean over, reach around him and help myself to a glass of cognac.
“Not so fast.” Cash takes the glass from my hand and looks at Jake. “Can you get her a glass of rum?”
“It’s fine, I can drink that.” I nod towards the glass.
“No, you can’t. That is a special cognac. The ashes from where they buried her remains were rubbed into the oak barrels that it was stored in.”
“Dear God.” Instead of spewing vomit everywhere, I swallow the stomach acid as it floods my mouth. When I feel that it’s safe to talk, a plethora of colorful words fly out of my mouth. Looking accusingly at Cash, I say, “And you called me gross?! Why would anyone do that?”
Mickle spoke. “It was in her spell book, and I quote, ‘Only the chosen one will taste the earth from where she lays.’ In order to find the one to break the curse her ashes needed to be rubbed in barrels and left for 500 years. You’re not the first to drink it, but the only one who spit it out.”
I take the glass of rum from Jake and sip it slowly. A thought occurs to me. “If her spell book told you about the cognac, did it also tell you how the curse could be broken?”
“No. Well at least not like you would think,” Ivan said.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“She left a clue as to where to look,” Jake answered. “We have been searching through the ages, and finally have found the missing clue.”
Not feeling good as to where this was leading, I ask, “Which is me?”
All five men nod.
A nervous giggle escapes past my lips as I shake my head. “I don’t want it; I don’t want to be the clue. I’m 35 years old, living in my younger sister’s spare bedroom. What could I possibly have to offer to save the world?”
Mickle darts his eyes to Peter, who looks at Jake. Jake in turn looks at Ivan, who says. “Before we get to that. Is there anything you want to know?”
I sit there for a second, playing everything over in my mind. As a million thoughts race through my mind, a few stand out.
I nod. “Yes, there is.”
“Go ahead.” Cash urged me on.
“What was her name, my grandmother?”
“Lilith Alexandria Blake,” Mickle replied.
“That’s my middle names,” I say, barely above a whisper.
“Aye.” Mickle stands, walks over to the fireplace and gazes into the flames. “From the day she was burned, every baby girl born that was a direct descendant of hers, carried at least one of her names. I made sure of it...”
“Why? Why a girl? Why not a boy?” I frown, something is bugging me, but I just can’t pinpoint it yet.
He shrugged. “She hated men. A man is who told the prosecutors that she was a witch. It was only natural that she would bestow her powers, the very same powers that will destroy her, with a little help, onto the first-born girl child that would be the age she wanted to become, 600 years to the day of her death.”
I gulped, loudly. I knew because everyone looked at me. “How old did she want to be?”
He glanced at me; his eyes glowing like a cat’s in the dark. “She wanted to be thirty-six again...”
I stand up and start to pace the room. “I knew something was wrong with me. Always did. From the weird chanting that came from nowhere to seeing things that weren’t there. Are you sure it’s me? Wait.” I stop for a second and look at him. “When’s the anniversary of her death?”
“The next blood moon. A fortnight from now,” Peter said.
I gape at him. “Which is?!”
