Indigo Vamporium Page 2

  Snatching it out of his hand, I glower, “He gave it to me. Get your own damn messages and clues.”

  Reappearing in my bedroom, I throw myself onto the bed to stare at the drab gloom. They gave us lethe, the potion of forgetfulness. I don't know whether to be grateful or angry.

  I have a soul deep feeling my redemption is here, somewhere at the tip of Africa where lost secrets lie waiting for discovery in Davy Jones locker on the ocean floor.

  It makes sense to hide it where diving is impossible and predators are numerous. But there's more here, I can feel it pulsing through me like a physical heartbeat reaching me from a siamese twin. There's also a great darkness shifting between the realms here. It keeps me on edge, paranoid, and hyper aware.

  Ellindt comes into my room, filling it instantly with her perfume. It was made uniquely for our womenfolk by a sage we've forgotten... thanks to the lethe probably. It infiltrates male cerebellum, locking it intuitively inside the thick fatty tissue encasing the left and right hemispheres of the brain, sinking tentacles of ownership right into the subconscious.

  “What do you want?” I grumble, refusing to move.

  “Is it true? Darise said we were given the potion of forgetfulness and made teenagers again. Why?”

  The ache in her tone drastically twists my heart, and I sit up, looking into her tearful eyes.

  Swallowing the thick lump now in mine at the sight of my twin in distress, I lift my arm. She slides immediately into the invitation, hiding her head and leaving her tears to trace a hot trail on my shoulder while I hug her to me.

  “I don't know why. He said it was so we could find love, to find a human young enough to offer us redemption.”

  How many times have they done this to us? And more importantly, why? If it takes me a decade I'll get to the bottom of this. I refuse to ever let us be their victims again. He did it to have power over us, I'm sure of it.

  “Are we so hateful and cold that they need to strip us of our memories?” she murmurs miserably.

  “No, we're not.” I shake my head, kissing her forehead, “Venix sucks. I need to find a way to get rid of him as our warden. He's callous and cruel.”

  “Shhh!” urges Jowendrhan as he slinks into my bedroom, scooting like SWAT tracking a terrorist. “He'll hear you.”

  “I don't give a damn if he hears me,” I say loudly.

  Darise lurches in the doorway, folding his arms and looking arrogantly at me. “That's why he's hardest on you. It pays to kiss ass.”

  Impaling him with my glare, I scowl, indicating he shut up for Ellindt's sake.

  He points an accusing finger at me, “It's your attitude. You refuse to conform, and you're stronger than all of us put together.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” I challenge, and Ellie sits up, wiping her vulnerable blue eyes.

  Gushy and subdued, she whispers to him, “Your pride will see you fall. One day you will serve us, and you'll wonder why. I can tell you why, when we needed you, you abandoned us. Instead of protecting us you side with the one who picks our hearts open with a savage's hunger. Darise mark my words, one day you will regret this.”

  Ellindt just cursed our oldest brother.

  Heck, this isn't good. She has no clue she's more powerful than any male, what she says comes to pass.

  Half angel, a powerful vampress, when she curses you it's written in the book of spiritual transgressions, it's cast in stone as surely as it's scarred into the akashic records.

  Darise stands straight, his black eyes growing so dark they look infinite, “We'll see about that.”

  Abandoning us when he vanishes, I look at my sister and younger brother, giving Ellie another big hug, “Ignore him, he's an ass.”

  “The world has enough asses and not enough angels. He should choose to be an angel, a liberating light, but instead he scorns his own family of light,” she says.

  “So darkness awaits,” I nod, understanding her logic as if it's my own. We're twins right down to the bone.

  “When he has what he loves more than himself, he'll lose it.” She gives me a determined nod, clutching my hand tightly in her own.

  She's so dainty and perfect, I don't understand why she hasn't found love yet.

  Jo flops onto the end of my bed, jostling us, “Ellie, be nice.”

  She looks at him, squeezing my hand tighter with inner turmoil, “I don't make the rules Jowendrhan, I just see what you guys are too blind to see. The ether vibrates with every action, and he has a shadow following him because he's so selfish. One day that shadow will swallow him, blind him to himself, and make him live eternity in regret.”

  I think back to Venix. I'm tall for my age, already 6' 2. The seven inches he has on me burns my hide. One day I'll be as big as he is, and when that day comes I'm going to hand his ass to him on a shattered platter.

  Chapter 3

  Tasmin:

  After trotting down the short road to the beach, I navigate the uneven gap onto the wide stretch of sand.

  I know this time I'm too early for any of them. I won't get caught out twice. The sky is barely tingeing coral with the new dawn and the wind coasting off the ocean is so chilling it scalds my lungs. Without a doubt, I'm too early for surfers or varsity guys.

  Inhaling deeply, freedom and excitement ignite in my chest. Touching my toes in a long stretch, I then do a few leg lunges and side twists to limber up.

  Ready, I pick my way carefully over the soft sand to get to where the water has hardened the ocean grains with high tide.

  Shells catch my eye as I walk watching my feet. Ripples stay in the sand from a previous tide and it looks like Neptune was doodling it with a quill while we slept.

  Smiling at the thought, I stare out at the ocean, listening to the early morning bird chatter from the shrub lining the boundary of the beach. I'm just about to start running when I spy a loner a good distance up the strand. It's male, dressed in dark clothing.

  This is not good. He could be a hungover drunk, or a vagrant who sleeps on the beach. Either way no one is here, and me running right across his path now seems foolish and dangerous. I'm alone. I didn't even bring my phone. A deserted beach is the perfect place to commit a crime.

  Narrowing my gaze, I study him. Sneaking back up the incline so I am behind him and won't catch his eye if he glances this way, I struggle over the mounds of soft sand. It's laborious walking up here because my feet sink into drifts with every step.

  He's riveted to the mesmerizing motion of waves rushing up the gentle incline, frothing and foaming, fizzing when they recede again. The effervescence leaves behind the clutter of conical shells with snails still wriggling within.

  Sometimes I sit down there just to watch how they pucker to my skin when I pick them up and prod the slimy gray insides with a finger. At least, I did, until I found out a lot of them can be deadly.

  It's fresh and crisp this morning, the saline scent sharp with every inhalation. Getting stealthily closer, I'm still trying to gauge if this dude is a threat or not.

  I do not need this. I got up at sparrow fart to run down here and typically someone has to ruin it for me.

  He moves, and I freeze.

  Standing, brushing the sand off his jeans, he strolls right down to the waves while glaring moodily out to sea. Shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets, he hunches his shoulders to stare at his shoes for a long while. He's tall. If he was a threat I probably couldn't out-muscle or outrun him. When he lifts his head I get a clear view of his face.

  It's that guy from yesterday!

  His mouth is twisted in grief, his eyes screwed up and his chin flexing like he's chewing his cheek or something. Dropping to his haunches he picks up a shell, twirling it around in his fingers while balancing in a crouch. Lost in faraway thought, I can tell he's not even looking at the shell.

  He looks so miserable and sad.

  Slumping back into a sitting position he wipes at his eyes, kneading the heels of his hands into them, resting his elbow
s on his knees and leaning his head into his palms as if in complete despair.

  Now I feel just awful for intruding on his private time. He probably came down here to think, to get out and be alone with his problems.

  He's just sitting there like brittle driftwood washed up and stranded. His sorrow is so obvious my heart kinks and aches, instantly uncomfortable in my chest.

  I wish I could go and sit with him and give his hand a squeeze. He's too young to have such sadness in his heart.

  Maybe his girl broke up with him?

  I dunno. What I do know is I'm not going to embarrass him by letting him know I witnessed this. Turning, I quickly and quietly retrace my steps.

  Poor guy.

  Pausing when I reach the tall bushes at the entrance to Noordhoek beach, I look back down the white expanse to his solitary form.

  In disbelief I watch him strip his clothes off and go running into the ocean at full throttle, diving into the waves and disappearing.

  Heck! Oh blast, don't tell me he's trying to commit suicide or something?

  I knew I should have brought my phone.

  Panicked, I go sprinting back.

  I can't swim in there! My swimming sucks badly in strong currents. I'm a shallow water swimmer and am in no way equipped to rescue anyone.

  He's going to freeze to death out there.

  Scanning the swells I wait for a silhouetted head to pop up in the shiny shadows. The sea still looks black and foreboding.

  He's either stark raving mad or desperate.

  When I can't see him, worry springs tears into my eyes. My gut is knotting and my hands are beginning to shake from cold and stress.

  Pacing back and forth, searching, I almost cough on a choking breath when I see arms swimming in the round motion of an athlete slicing through the water.

  He is seriously far out and I only spied him because he broke the gloss of a swell.

  Crikey Taz. He's probably a swimmer and does this every morning. You're freaking out for nothing.

  Now he's going to think I'm a creepy perv. If he sees me here he's going to assume I get my jollies catching naked swimmers having a private swim in their birthday suit.

  Which I do not want to see anyhow!

  He's not drowning, he's in control. He's probably too far away to see me if I walk back along the shrub line where the darkness of my clothes won't stick out the way it does while I'm standing here highlighted by sun bleached beach.

  Scarpering, I run up to the greenery of the fynbos, looking back, still a little worried.

  He's okay. Get out of here before he sees you.

  My heart feels bruised and my eyes sting from the brisk cold of predawn breath, but I turn away so I'm not caught being a stalking voyeur. He's going to think I'm disturbed if he sees me out here this early pawing around his discarded clothes.

  He might even think I have itchy fingers and am a closet kleptomaniac.

  Ugh!

  The more I think about it the worse it sounds.

  Back in the entrance between the sparse big shrubs, I look back, hoping he's going to be okay out there. He could get hypothermia and cramp up, unable to swim back.

  Anxiety clenches my innards and my conscience won't let me go. Looking around, I decide to climb up onto the huge boulders to the right of the entrance. They go quite a way, leading out into the ocean. Waves smack into them and send spray high up into the air. The rocks are dark and set up tight to the mountain coming down from Chapman's Peak.

  Maybe if I sit there he won't notice me. At least then I'll be too far away to see any details but can make sure he makes it to shore safe and sound.

  It's going to be damp and chilly, but what choice do I have?

  Clambering, I monkey up the boulder to the flat jagged top. It's deeply creviced and pooling frigid saltwater. Picking my way carefully, I wish I'd brought something warmer to wear.

  Sitting like a yogi, I fold my arms and watch him swim. He holds his breath like a diver because he disappears for ages before resurfacing yards away. He's fearless.

  The rock face behind me is so cold this is like sitting in a morgue, and the endless smashing of waves sending water confetti into every gust wafting my way isn't helping either.

  Covered in goosebumps, I wonder how he's still okay out there. He's not even wearing a wetsuit, he's stark naked. Checking my wristwatch, I time him. He's been out for fifteen minutes.

  After half an hour he finally heads in, shaking the water out of his hair with an arrogant flick, strutting up to his clothes, not appearing in the least bit affected by the cryogenic frostiness of winter water. He's not rubbing his arms or curling his shoulders in.

  What a freak.

  He's just damn lucky. The currents are strong here which means he must be an incredibly potent swimmer. He should become a lifeguard if that's how he swims on a regular basis. Plus he's obviously completely immune to cold.

  Maybe he got hot swimming? It's still exercise.

  Yeah, maybe I'm frozen from sitting here in damp shade on a refrigerated rock.

  Well he's safe. I'd better vanish before he comes this way.

  Standing, briskly rubbing my arms, I hurry across the rocks and boost myself down, looking his way once more to check he hasn't collapsed.

  Where did he go?

  He was there a second ago!

  Running out so I can get a good view of the deserted beach, I can't see him anywhere. His clothes are gone and so is he.

  That's just weird.

  If I hurry I can still get a run in before the surfers hit the beach. That way I can double check to see where his footprints lead.

  Heading down the beach in a flat out sprint, I slow when I reach the spot where his clothes were. There are no footprints leading up to the shrubbery at the top of the incline. The only impressions I can see in the sand are my own.

  It's like I imagined the whole thing.

  Did I?

  Scowling, I look up and down, back and forth.

  It's completely deserted. I'm losing my mind, that, or the dude can fly.

  Staring up, I check the sky. Not a bird, not a cloud, nothing.

  Weird. Just freaky. I'm pretty sure that wasn't my imagination.

  Unsettled, the strangeness of my morning circles my soul like a starving velociraptor, leaving me jogging in an introspective trance.

  *

  Seithe:

  Flopping onto my bed I fold my hands behind my head and stare at the ceiling.

  “Where were you?”

  I wish Jowendrhan would stop pestering me. I'm only older than him by two years, but sometimes those two years feel like decades.

  “I went for a swim,” I say in a flat tone, keeping my focus on the ceiling light.

  “Did you see anything magical?” he asks, sitting next to my ankles at the end of the bed.

  “Nope.” He punches me hard in the thigh, paralyzing it with instant numb. “What the hell, Jo!”

  Snapping upright I swat him just as hard in the shoulder.

  Folding into himself, gripping the point of impact, his eyes glower silver at me. “You could've told me so I could come too.”

  He's in more pain than I am and it satisfies me. He should know better than to give me a dead leg. Skewering him with a glare, I punch his other arm with a raised knuckle so it hurts more. That gets him off my bed, standing halfway between me and the door for safety.

  “I wanted to be alone,” is all I say in answer.

  He doesn't need to know I'm messed up inside, unwilling to believe Venix that mom died a long time ago. My grief is raw and seeping, it hurts so much at times I find simple breathing a challenge.

  I never have privacy because my brothers and sister never learned to knock. The only way to be alone is to vanish and not tell them when or where I am going.

  Jowendrhan's bottom lip protrudes and I'm sent on an instant guilt trip. He's just a kid. I'm supposed to look out for him, I promised mom.

  Sighing, I sit up, meetin
g his molten emotional stare with my own. “Fine, you wanna go to the beach and look for creatures? Let's go.”

  Moving at true speed I flash off my bed, grab his arm, and pull us both through space, back to the beach.

  Staggering to catch his balance, he sucks his breath in, looking up and down the strand with fear. “Seithe! You can't do that! What if someone saw us?”

  “What if they did? They'd never believe it.”

  “That's just stupid and reckless. Venix is gonna have a freaking aneurism over this,” he says.

  “Then don't tell him, dipshit.”

  “I don't have to! He'll know. He always knows,” says Jo.

  “What do you care? It's my problem, not yours.”

  Rubbing his arm where I punched him, he looks too young and slight in his oversized jeans and team shirt. He's a fan of the Yankees, but now we're in the wrong country. I doubt these savages even know what baseball is.

  Laughing, I shake my head, staring back at the infinite ocean. “Don't sweat it. I'll handle Venix.”

  He nudges me hard, “Isn't that the same chick you bumped into yesterday?”

  Following his stare I inspect the babe running toward us, earphones in her ears and staring at the sand instead of where she's going. Same as yesterday. “She just zones out, doesn't she? It must be nice to shut out the world like that.”

  “It's her, isn't it?”

  I nod to Jo, “Yup, it's her.”

  He elbows me again, “Surfers!”

  “We need to get boards,” I mumble, watching the crew running down to the surf and jogging toward us, some still suiting up.

  The first three reach us, giving us friendly smiles, saying, “Howzit.”

  I nod to the dude with sun streaked dark blond hair, and to the scruffy chap right behind him. “Hello,” I say in return, watching them wistfully.

  The third guy stops, leaving the other two ahead of him to go splashing into the bracing sea.

  “You're not from around here. Where ya guys from?” he asks.

  “Venezuela,” is all I say, playing it safe with the information. Our mom was Venezuelan and we share her honeyed complexion, brown hair and eyes. When we don't look like dad, that is.