The People v. Eleanor Warwick

Carmadie

1837

He had many friends in life.

He owned a company. He treated his employees well. He ran a charity. Thousands had food to eat and shelter over their heads because of him.

Yet, his wife and four children were alone at his graveside as they laid Harold Crane to rest. As far as the city was concerned, Harold was a fraud.

Despite his sterling public reputation, he was secretly a multiple murderer. No one cried for him when he hanged. No one came to pay their respects when he was buried.

None but his family.

Sandy wrapped her arm around her eldest daughter’s neck as the girl leaned against her, tears in her eyes. The younger Crane girl held Sandy’s hand. She guessed the child was too young to understand that daddy was gone and wasn’t coming back. She just stared at the grave, expressionless.

The boys stood stoically to the side; hands clasped in front of them. Sandy was glad to see them being so strong for their sisters, and for her.

A priest droned on about qualities Harold possessed and made definitive statements regarding the whereabouts of his immortal soul. The setting summer sun cast the grave in an orange glow. The warm air was stale and uncomfortable, but none of them seemed to notice. The clergyman wiped his brow as he finished his duties and left the cemetery as quickly as possible.

As they stood near the headstone of their late patriarch, Sandy sensed the presence of someone else in the area.

Looking over her shoulder, a man in a dark suit came into view. Flanked by large men and his wife, he walked slowly toward them. Sandy’s eyes narrowed and flared. The man was not welcome. He was the one that had sent her world crashing down around her.

“Nicolas. Aaron.”

Her sons looked up. Her eldest spoke. “Yes, mother?”

“Take your sisters to the carriage. I’ll be along in a moment.”

“Yes, mother.”

Sandy attempted to move toward the man, to prevent him from getting any closer to her husband’s final resting place. However, she didn’t get far before she reached the length of her arm. Looking down, she found her youngest had not released her hand.

The child stared up at her with terror in her eyes. Her grip had not only held, but also tightened to the point that her knuckles were white.

Fighting off the urge to weep, Sandy realized that she had misjudged the girl. She knew full well that her father was gone forever. Now her mother was about to walk away, and she refused to let it happen. Crouching down, Sandy did her best to offer a happy smile.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Mommy will be right back. Okay?”

The child only stared at her, the grip not loosening in the slightest.

“I need you to go with your brothers now. I promise you I will be there in just a few minutes.” Aaron stepped up beside his little sister and took her other hand. The hold on Sandy’s hand slacked but did not release. “Everything is going to be all right. I’ll be right over here. You’ll be able to see me the whole time.”

Finally, the girl seemed satisfied that her mother would be coming back and let go of her hand. Sandy smiled and kissed her daughter on the cheek. “Good girl.”

As the children scurried away, Sandy rose and turned to the new arrival. By the time she came around to face him, her pleasant smile was gone. She glared forward with a sneer forming on her face. The man stayed back and waited for her to come to him. He removed his hat as she grew close.

“Sandy,” he said politely. A hard slap across his face was what he received in return. His companions moved toward the woman and his wife came to his side, but he waved them off.

“You don’t get to call me that anymore,” she answered with a cool, but venomous voice.

“As you wish,” Martin Warwick nodded, rubbing the side of his face, “Cassandra.”

“Why, Martin?” she asked, her eyes welling. “How could you do this to us? You know Harold was not a necromancer.”

“What I know or don’t know about Harold seems irrelevant now, wouldn’t you say?” Martin spoke coolly, without a hint of regret. “You should focus more on yourself and, of course, the children.”

Sandy’s eyes flared with intensity, and she lunged forward, seizing Martin by the jacket. Pulling herself close, Sandy glared into his eyes. Within seconds, Martin’s minions grabbed her by the arms and roughly pulled her away from their employer.

“If you go near them, I will kill you!” she shouted.

Louise Warwick straightened her husband’s attire, sparing a worried glance to her former friend. She looked to Martin with wide, pleading eyes. With a slight nod, Martin looked to his men. “Release her at once. She’s mourning her husband, for God’s sake. Show some respect.”

The muscle obeyed and returned to his side. Sandy dusted off her long sleeves and looked to her children. Of course, they were all watching. They all saw them manhandle her. That was fine. She was just grateful they had not tried to intervene.

“It was not a threat, Sandy.” She returned her gaze to the Warwicks. Louise took point. She displayed far more displeasure with the current situation than her husband did. “It’s a warning.”

Anger and pain clashed within her. Martin was a decent enough man, or so she always thought, but Louise was her friend, a confidante and sister. Sandy grew up cooking and cleaning for her father and brother. When she married Harold, she fell into an elegant world she knew nothing about. Louise had been her guide. Given their husbands’ close relationship, the two spent a great deal of time together.

“Of what?” Sandy asked, her voice cracking slightly.

“Of everyone. Necromancy has tainted your House. People are not going to tolerate its continued existence.”

“Logistically speaking, you can’t afford it anyway,” Martin added.

Sandy chuckled mirthlessly. “So, we just fade away then?”

“It would be best,” Louise answered. “For you and the children.”

Turning away from them, Sandy stared at what was left of her family. They had a life in Carmadie. They had friends and a lifestyle to which they were accustomed. They didn’t deserve to have all of that ripped away from them.

Yet, she had no doubt that the danger they could face was very real. A tear ran down her cheek as she reluctantly acknowledged what she had to do. Without a word, Sandy walked toward the awaiting carriage.

“Sandy!” Against her better judgment, she looked over her shoulder. Louise produced an envelope and offered it to her. “You won’t have access to any of Harold’s money. Please take this.”

Louise swallowed nervously as she locked eyes with Sandy. The intensity in her expression was like nothing she had seen from her before.

“I would not take your hand if I were drowning,” Sandy spat.

The envelope lowered as Cassandra resumed her pace. Louise watched her leave with a sunken expression. Martin stepped up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I still believe it would be safer to eliminate them.”

“No,” Louise answered sternly. “Please. Just let her go.”

“Of course, my love. Anything for you. Harold’s prophecy, though…”

“It was hardly a prophecy. House Warwick will not burn.”

Warm winds tossed Sandy’s copper hair about as she paced toward her children. She stared forward but heard every word the Warwicks spoke. In fact, she imagined they wanted her to. They sought to taunt her with the idea that Harold promised retribution and there was nothing she could do to achieve it.

Perhaps they were right. Taking care of her children was her first priority, but if the House of Warwick thought that there would be no vengeance for her husband’s murder, they were sadly, sadly mistaken.

Philadelphia

1884

Daniel glanced around cautiously.

The street was busy for that time of night. His fellow Philadelphians went about their business. Yet, he felt as though every single one of them was watching him. He flipped up his collar to protect against the chilly February winds, and to try and hide his face. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he skulked down the street.

Rounding a nearby corner, he spotted her. He’d seen her many times. She was a lovely creature. Her dark hair was back in a tail, which hung over her shoulder. Her top was scandalously tight, with a few buttons undone. A fanciful scarf rested across her shoulders. She stood under a streetlamp and eyed passersby, flashing a pretty and somewhat suggestive smile.

This was as far as Daniel had gotten before. He always seemed to lose his nerve. Steeling himself, he approached.

The woman saw him coming and grinned. “Hi, baby. You lookin’ for some company?”

Daniel’s voice cracked a tad when he spoke. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, sweetie. Don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old.”

“Sorry, ma- . Sorry.”

The woman flashed him an amused smile. “You know it will cost you fifteen dollars.”

Reaching into his pocket, Daniel pulled out a handful of bills. He counted out the requested amount and handed it over. The prostitute took the cash and tucked it into her shirt.

Daniel took the end of her silky scarf when she offered it. With a seductive gaze, she used the garment to lead him into the dark building the outside of which she loitered.

The heavy wooden door creaked loudly. The darkness of the room took Daniel aback. The streetlamps outside provided little resistance to the thick darkness within. He thought about asking the concubine if they could have some light. After all, he was paying fifteen dollars for her body. He wanted to see it. Instead, he remained silent, far too nervous to demand anything.

In a matter of seconds, his concern about whether or not he could see a naked woman for the first time was the furthest thing from his mind. The door slammed hard and powerful arms grabbed him. Daniel struggled as his arms were pinned back, but the large figure accosting him was surprisingly strong.

The prostitute turned to him with a complete lack of surprise on her face. “Okay. I got you one. Where’s my money?”

“Hey!” Daniel shouted. “What’s going on here?”

Another figure emerged from the darkness and sent Daniel’s head snapping to the side with a hard strike across the jaw. “Shut up, boy.”

Shaking his head in an attempt to regain his focus, Daniel looked up into the face of his attacker. He gasped as the menacing man in front of him stared down with inhuman eyes. The orbs were so dark that it almost seemed as if his sockets were empty. Daniel wanted to shout for help but was stunned into silence.

“I said, where’s my money?” the woman asked again. “I brought you exactly what you asked for: One youngster.”

“You sell yourself short, whore.” A cool voice from the shadows drew everyone’s attention. The shuffling of weary feet followed a single metallic clack. The sequence continued until an old woman stepped into what little light bled into the room. A cane helped her move as she slowly paced forward. “It seems you have brought me two.”

Just as the prostitute realized what the elderly woman meant, the demon who had struck her would-be customer seized her by the arm.

“No!” The demon spun her around and clapped his hand over her mouth. She screamed futilely into his palm as she bucked wildly. Despite her violent struggles, his freakishly strong grip held.

The old woman approached Daniel and looked him over with sunken brown eyes. “Yes. You will do nicely.”

The young man’s bleeding lip trembled. “Please. Wh-what do you want with me?”

“Shh. Don’t spend your last few moments of life whimpering.” Reaching out with her decrepit hand, the old woman opened her hand wide. A bloody symbol was carved into her palm. She presses it into Daniel’s chest.

For a moment, the dark room went silent, as nothing appeared to happen. The old woman hung her head, muttering strange words. The quiet was shattered when the youngster suddenly gasped loudly.

The prostitute screamed in vain as agony twisted Daniel’s face. He tried to shout out, but only a painful groan escaped. The young man’s body convulsed and he desperately struggled against the henchman’s hold, but it got him nowhere.

The pain appeared to be mutual. The old woman grimaced as she held her palm in place. Within moments, veins began to slither down her fingers and across her hand. Like tiny worms moving under her skin, they flowed up into her arm.

Eyes wide in horror, the prostitute watched Daniel’s body stop moving and begin to wither like a dying plant. The elderly woman’s head thrashed about wildly, her pale gray hair slowly changing color.

The demon stepped back as the unfortunate young fellow crumbled into dust. He held up his large hands as dirt slipped through his fingers. Covering her face with both hands, the woman stumbled backward. She gasped deeply and struggled to catch her breath. Her hand shaking, she reached into her coat pocket and lifted out a small mirror.

Brushing her once-again copper hair out of her face, Sandy looked upon a face she hadn’t seen in decades. Poking her cheek and running a finger across her lips, she could hardly believe how well her spell worked.

She might have appeared even younger than she was when Harold was killed. It had taken years upon years, but she had finally found a way to extend her life considerably.

Muffled blubbering interrupted her admiration of her spell. Sandy looked to the young prostitute. Her large brown eyes ran over with tears. She had given up fighting and just stared at her captor.

Sandy gathered herself and stepped toward her. With a wave of her hand, the demon released the young woman’s mouth, seizing her other arm instead.

“Please,” she pleaded weakly. “Don’t kill me.”

“My apologies, but I have much to do, and I need plenty of time to do it.” She grabbed the woman’s dress and ripped it open, baring the prostitute’s chest. Opening her palm again, Sandy reached out for her next victim.

“Please! No! I have children!”

Sandy froze, her hand inches away. Her expression softened as she stared into the girl’s watery eyes.

“Please.” The victim sensed an opening and pressed. “I have two boys.”

A sorrow the prostitute did not expect took Sandy’s face. Her palm closed slightly but did not pull away. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I had two boys and two girls. I had to give them up. It was for their own good. They would be all grown now. Provided they still live.”

“Why did you give them up?”

“My husband was murdered. My ability to provide for them was taken away.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t tell you this for your sympathy.” The prostitute’s brows arched at the sudden bitterness in the woman’s voice. When Sandy returned her eyes to her’s, they were hard and pitiless. “I told you so you would realize that being a mother spares you nothing.”

Before the prostitute could resume her begging, Sandy pressed down with her palm and began the process anew.

New Orleans

1966

The Big Easy.

A colorful whirlwind of sight and sound. A city where one could acquire any earthly pleasure worth enjoying for the right price. Where a handsome young man would find no lack of companionship.

One such young man strutted down Bourbon Street like he owned the place. Lovely women passing him on the street were all smiles for the fine black man in the fine black suit. His white scarf and fedora capped off an outfit of the highest quality. He acknowledged the attention he received with grins and winks, but never slowed his pace. There would be time for pleasure later, but business had to come first.

Turning off the boisterous avenue, he headed down a darker side street. Reaching a metal staircase, he climbed it to the third floor of an unimpressive apartment building. The white paint on the door he reached was chipped and cracked. Without knocking, he simply twisted the knob and entered.

The domicile was large, but bare. There was clearly no effort put into decoration. It hardly surprised him. The lighting was low, but the colorful flashes from outside helped. The woman he sought stood across the room. She didn’t spare him a look as she watered a table of small plants. Removing his hat, he stepped further into the apartment.

“You were a little harder to find this time,” he said casually. “You didn’t like San Francisco?”

“Too sunny,” she answered without looking away from her plants.

“Yeah. I think that’s what people complain about California the most; the weather’s too good.”

“I assume you have not come all this way to discuss such trivialities.”

“Not at all, Miss Crane. I- .”

“Mrs.”

“Sorry. Mrs. Crane. I’ve got good news and bad news from Carmadie. You strike me as a bad news first kinda gal, so I’ll start there. House Warwick is as strong as ever. Maybe even more so. Herschel Warwick is in charge now and he’s a powerful one. His wife, Olympia, might even be better.”

Sandy sat her watering can down but kept her back to him. “And the good news?”

“Word is they workin’ on some kind of agreement with the vamps. It’s still years away, but these treaties, or whatever, would allow the bloodsuckers to do their thing. In exchange, the vamps agree to avoid feeding in certain areas and on certain people, you see.”

Finally, Sandy turned to face him. “I do not care about vampires.”

“Here’s the thing, though. They got the influence to make this happen, but a lot of people are really unhappy about it. House Warwick is gonna end up makin’ plenty of enemies.”

“I see. Hardly seems like a fatal misstep.”

“You been out of the culture for a long time, Mrs. Crane. That’s exactly the kind of thing that could get the whole town down on ya.”

“I suppose I’ll have to take your word for that.”

“If you would,” he said with a nod. “Now that you got what you want, I believe I’m owed somethin’. Teach me how you do it.”

“Of course,” she answered, stepping toward him, “but first, I want assurances that my continued existence remains a secret.”

“You have my word.”

“I don’t want your word.” The man narrowed his eyes as Sandy produced a small blade. “I want your blood.”

With a reluctant sigh, he offered his open palm. A quick slash of the knife cut a red line across his hand. Clenching and unclenching his fist, blood began to run out and drip to the floor. Taking him by the bloody hand, Sandy allowed her energies to flow into his wound.

“Do you swear that you will never so much as speak my name once you leave here?”

“I swear by my blood,” he answered in a practiced manner, “may it boil in my veins should I break my oath.”

Satisfied, Sandy released his hand revealing the wound healed. “Good. Follow me.”

She led the way through an alcove and approached a bolted door. “Are you sure you want to live forever, Mr. Durbin? Immortality is not as glamorous as it may seem. The longer you live, the more bodies you leave in your wake.”

Avery Durbin smiled. “Good thing I’m not a paragon of virtue or nothin’.”

Unbolting the door, Sandy swung it open. Durbin stepped inside to find a man duct taped to a chair. He wore expensive clothes and smelled as if he’d been there for a while.

The tape wrapped around his mouth and eyes. When he heard them enter, his head popped up and he tried in vain to say something. Muffled grunts were all that were audible.

“How long’s this guy been around?”

“A few days. They provide the same rejuvenation regardless of their physical wellbeing. It allows you to stockpile.”

“Where do ya find them?”

“Well, it turns out that now-a-days all a lady has to do is enter certain establishments and ‘gentlemen’ like this one will be more than willing to follow you anywhere.”

“Must make things easy.”

“Indeed.” She turned to him, producing her knife again. It was still wet with his blood. “I’m going to need your hand again.”

Carmadie

Two years ago...

“Lady.”

Sandy’s eyes fluttered open. She glanced around the cabin of the eighteen-wheeler that had carried her for the last several hours. The driver stood outside the open passenger-side door. “We’re here.”

“Thank you.” Pulling her coat closed to brace against the cold, she slid off the seat, accepting the driver’s offered hand. Hopping down onto the pavement, Sandy took a few steps away, her eyes wide.

The famous skyline of Carmadie spread out before her. From the parking lot on the Ferrytown side of the Parkman, she beheld the city of her birth with her own eyes for the first time in a century. The driver clearing his throat interrupted her nostalgia. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a roll of bills.

Taking the cash, the driver quickly shoved it into his back pocket. “Best of luck, ma’am.” Without waiting for a response, he hurried back to his cab and drove away.

Sandy produced a wool cap and pulled it down over her ears. Reaching into her shoulder bag, she lifted out a small white mouse. Cradling it in her hand, she stroked the animal’s soft fur with a thumb. “Welcome to Carmadie, Grace. We’ve got work to do.”