Le Femme Sorciere
Sampson wandered through the darkened streets of Paris, hyper-aware of the shadows that slid past him at each turn. At one corner a prostitute offered him her wares, but it took only a flash of his teeth to make her reconsider. He smiled, amused at how Paris had managed to retain its seedy underbelly even after all these years.
“Some things will never change.”
His reverie was quickly cut short by a stabbing pain in his side that sent tendrils of fire radiating across his abdomen. Sampson cursed and clutched at his stomach, fingers searching through the expensive silk shirt he wore to find some sort of injury. As usual though there were no outward signs of the pain, and no discernible cause.
“Best to let le femme sorciere deal with it.”
He continued on, hand still clutching his throbbing side. A few more turns and he arrived at the French court of Michael. From the outside the building appeared to simply be an old, ornate town house. However Sampson knew that especially with vampires, outward appearances were often deceiving. He was met at the door by two stoic guards, both blood-bound humans.
“I am here to see le femme sorciere,” he said simply. The guards looked at each other and a brief communication passed between the two.
“He is expecting you,” the one to the left of the door said. Sampson didn’t need to ask how he knew; blood-bound humans were open books to their masters. Anything they knew he knew, and he could easily whisper into their minds as he pleased. The guards opened the large wooden door and let Sampson pass into the house, shutting it solidly after him.
“Sampson, welcome!” A musical voice floated down from the upper floor, drawing Sampson’s eyes up to the balcony.
“Ah Michael, thank you for having me. You’re doing well I hope?”
“Yes indeed, Paris is lovely this time of year. Please, join me.” Sampson made his way up the grand staircase to meet his host. Michael stood a head taller than himself, and was the epitome of dark beauty. His eyes were golden yellow and shone like two moons from beneath the dark cloud of his mahogany brown hair. He smiled revealing two perfectly pointed teeth, the mark of his kind.
“So my friend, tell me what has brought you here.” He clapped a hand on Sampson’s shoulder and the two strolled through the upper floor.
“Well…I’m not really sure. The pain started several months ago, after I fed on a young woman from Rome. Since then it has haunted me after every feeding and sometimes for no reason at all. At first I thought poison, but now…I’m afraid I may be cursed.” Absentmindedly his hand sprung to his side again though the pain did not return.
“The Nightingale will be able to help you,” he said with absolute confidence. “She is very skilled.”
“Indeed, I have heard as such. The French court calls her le femme sorciere, a name usually reserved for their own magicians. So for a foreigner to be given that title…”
“Yes, her fame has spread far and wide. I can hardly keep her to myself anymore.” Something in Michael’s voice suggested that statement held much more desperation than he intended, but Sampson said nothing.
The two men soon arrived at a door that was simply marked with a fleur de lis. Michael knocked softly and a quiet voice responded from within.
“Come in.” Michael opened the door and ushered his friend in. Sampson took in the room wide-eyed, surprised at the number of candles that burned on every available surface. Sweet-smelling herbs and various charms hung from the ceiling, and vines wound their way across the beams. Michael’s voice stirred him from his reverie.
“Sampson, may I introduce the lady Orla. She is the one you know as le femme sorciere.”
Sampson turned to find his friend standing next to a young woman, a child even. His shock quickly turned to anger as the pain in his side rose again with a vengeance.
“What foolishness is this Michael? Bringing me to some child for assistance?!” Sampson knew the moment the words left his mouth that he had made a mistake. Michael’s expression immediately turned dark, his eyes narrowing dangerously. At his age there was much he could do without even moving, and Sampson could feel a threatening charge in the air.
“Old friend,” he growled, “le femme sorciere is not just some child as you so callously suggested. Her own power is beyond what you can even conceive. That notwithstanding, I do not take kindly to visitors insulting my lady.”
“Hush now Michael,” the girl said placing a calming hand on his arm. “The poor fellow is in pain and frightened, it is no wonder he would lash out even so foolishly. Such a small transgression is hardly worth your anger.” The air eased and Michael seemed to relax, casting a favoring gaze to his female companion.
“Ah mi amour, you are right. Forgive me Sampson; I am simply a overly testy when it comes to my little nightingale.” He flopped comfortably into a nearby chair, exuding the sense of a predator at rest.
“No problem my friend,” Sampson said nervously and descended into a chair himself.
Orla ignored her seat and instead walked over to greet him. She looked young, but there was an ethereal, old-world beauty that showed her to be far beyond his initial assumption.
“Many pardons my lady.”
“Think nothing of it Sampson, an animal will strike in desperation, even against those it should fear. You have been carrying this pain for some time yes?” Her mesmerizing grey-blue eyes looked deep into his person, seeming to touch the very soul within.
“Yes my lady, I feasted on er…bit a Roman girl.” Orla smiled wryly at his slip of tongue.
“She is used to our language Sampson,” Michael said with a chuckle. “You needn’t worry about offending her in that way.”
“Ah yes well…I bit the Roman girl and since then have felt pain when I feed. At first I thought it was poison but now…”
“A curse,” Orla whispered, her eyes glowing like the full moon. “The child was the daughter of a wealthy family; they paid someone to curse you for killing their little girl.” Her gaze seemed to rest on his face and pass through him at the same time. After a moment she shook her head and stepped back to where Michael stood.
“Orla is gifted with strong sight,” the elder vampire said. “Past, present, and future are all under her command.”
“Please Michael, I do hate it so when you exaggerate my abilities,” Orla said but she smiled. “I can help you Sampson, but it will not be easy and painless. I daresay the family was justified in their cursing, so that will make this more difficult. Are you willing to do as I say, whatever it takes?”
Sampson stared at Orla, taking in everything around him in his search for an answer. Here was a girl, albeit a powerful one at the side of a great vampire, but still a girl asking him to obey. It was the pain in his side that finally made the decision for him.
“Yes my lady.”
“Good. Michael, would you entertain him for a bit while I get things ready?”
“Of course mi amour,” he said rising from his seat. The two shared a moment before Orla stepped into the other room, and Sampson was shocked to hear Orla call Michael by his first name. No one called “The French Knight” by anything other than his epithet or Michael. Shaking his head in disbelief Sampson closed his eyes and relaxed against the chair waiting.
~
Sampson awoke suddenly; unaware he had even been asleep. For a moment he was disoriented by the glowing light that surrounded him and the multitude of smells.
“Ah, you’re awake my friend. I was just coming to rouse you.” Michael leaned against the door frame leisurely, sipping a small glass of dark liquid. “Orla is ready for you.”
Sampson nodded and rose, still slightly confused but willing to follow Michael. The two passed through the doorway and entered into a smaller room that was dark except for the moonlight that came in from the balcony. Orla stood in the center and had changed into a long flowing white dress whose skirt billowed out around her.
“She will not speak except for that which is required in the ritual. The power is on her now.”
Sampson noticed that there was a pentacle drawn on the floor which his nose told him was drawn in blood. Perhaps the same liquid that had been in Michael’s glass, though no victim was in sight. Then he caught sight of a bandage on Orla’s right wrist and the blood made sense: an offering.
She motioned for him to come closer and he joined her in the center, stepping gingerly across the blood lines. Once there he felt a power overtake him and the pain in his side raged. Orla turned to him, eyes glowing like the moon again and placed a hand on the afflicted side. Her fingers pushed aside his shirt and brushed the skin before the palm came to rest flat.
She drew her hand away slowly, and with it came a silvery glow. The light seemed to be attached to her fingertips, and yet it fought against the pull. The air grew thin and a low wail pierced the silence of the night. The pain was excruciating, and Sampson found himself falling to his knees.
When Orla had extracted the whole of the glow, it shifted and formed into the likeness of a young woman. Her eyes were dark holes, and her mouth opened wide into a howl. In his delirium Sampson could hear some semblance of words coming out of her wail.
“Una maledizione per una vita,” she moaned, “A curse for a life!”
Orla was chanting under her breath, eyes never leaving the specter.
“Hecate, great dark Crone I call you now. Open your doors, release your hounds…”
Another howl was heard, but this time from beyond the confines of the room. It echoed through Sampson, shaking him to the core. All he could see now was the glowing face of the girl and the descending darkness.
“Now Sampson…speak, repent, banish her!” Orla turned to him wild-eyed and he felt moved from the depths of his soul.
“Lady…lady I am sorry. Please, forgive me now and rest.” He shook as he yelled, and tears coursed down his cheek. He could feel all the pain and sorrow of her death weighing down upon him, the horror of her demise and the pain of her family. Then suddenly, it lifted. The frightening howl came again and a darkness whisked the glow away into the night air.
“Perdonato, forgiven,” a whisper came to his ear before the room returned to normal.
~
Early the next evening Sampson sat with his hosts in the house’s sun room. They had all slept the day away, both he and Orla were exhausted from the night’s magic. She sat comfortably next to Michael on a large plush sofa, wrapped loosely in a silk shawl.
“I cannot thank you enough my lady for freeing me of this curse.” Again his hand strayed to his side, but for the first time in months there was no pain. “Truly, you have given me my life back.”
“You are welcome Sampson, but my actions were as much for you as they were for that girl. When her parents cursed you they trapped their daughter within that act, denying her the chance to move on. In breaking that vengeful connection I freed not only you, but her as well.”
Sampson nodded, still somewhat in awe of Orla. Michael said nothing but a small knowing smile played across his lips.
“Indeed. Well thank you both for your help and hospitality.” With the pleasantries finished, Sampson bade goodbye to his hosts and made his way back into the dark Parisian night. Turning back once he saw Orla standing out on the balcony, her frame light by the waning moon. Somewhere behind her was Michael, unseen but for the glimmer of his fangs in the light. Sampson shook his head, still not sure what to make of the whole experience but quite ready to test out his new health.
“Perhaps my lady awaits,” he said with a chuckle to the night, heading back to the prostitute’s alley.
[All characters and story lines are property of Ms. Elise/The Vessel and its creator, please do not use or reproduce!]
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