Marek (Buried Lore Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

before speaking. ‘Do not come any closer
you filthy piece!’ he commanded.
    Jean
said nothing, still smiling, his shadow large across
the wall behind him. I was not sure which Jean liked more: to feed on his
victims or to play with their minds.
    The
woman I held had calmed to some degree. She realised her struggles were useless against my strength and was now fascinated with the
other intruder who had engaged her husband. Even though she was trembling with
fear, a fact that strangely made me anxious, I had to wait for Jean. It was
best to do our feeding simultaneously in these situations so that the victims
did not witness the fates of their loved ones and draw attention with their
screams.
    ‘How
do you do, sir?’ asked Jean breaking the silence, and in a low voice that sent
chills up the spine of the woman.
    ‘Get
out of here!’ he yelled.
    ‘Why?’
he asked provocatively. ‘We have only just met.’
    ‘Is
it money you want? Well, you’ll get nothing from me!’
    ‘Oh,
that’s disappointing. Everyone usually likes me,’ said Jean with the fake
melancholy of a child.
    In
the next instance the man produced a sword from beneath his bed. ‘Stay back!’
But Jean didn’t. Instead he laughed and stepped closer, goading.
    The
sword entered Jean’s side.
    ‘Oh,
dear,’ said Jean. ‘I only wanted a few coin to feed my starving family.’ He
twisted and fell on the floor with the exaggerated grace of a street actor.
    The
man stood up tentatively and prodded Jean with the tip of the sword to see if
there was life. When there was no reaction he turned the sword to me. As he
lunged, a strong hand gripped his arm. Like a bolt of light from the sky, Jean
bit down on the man’s neck. The man’s arms flailed and his sword fell with a
loud clang as Jean drew blood. Jean’s mouth was red and dripping from his
victim’s ruptured vein, and his lids were closed in rapture. Already his side
wound was sealing itself. Jean was well practised at
treating himself and his appetite would restore his health almost immediately.
    I
too acted quickly as the woman’s eyes were now wide with terror. The woman’s
neck was soft and her skin still youthful, and, when I broke the skin, her
blood burst into my mouth. I was one with her for a moment and saw what she
saw: a privileged life, kindly kin, playing with siblings, weaving tapestries,
ceremonious dinners, but none of the cruelty that Jean described. I hoped he
was right about the man. When there was nothing more to drink we wrapped their
lifeless bodies in bed linen.
    Jean
took the gold coins from the man’s purse and wandered around the room filling
his jacket with silver.
    As
we commenced to leave, a small girl of around four years stood at the entrance.
I looked at Jean and his expression lacked surprise.
    ‘You
knew about the child didn’t you?’ I accused.
    ‘Oh,
Zola.’ he said with a condescending sigh. ‘Why must you always think so ill of
me?’
    ‘You
know you cannot have her. She is too innocent.’
    ‘Hmm,’
he said. ‘But what is to become of her? What sort of life could she have
without parents to guide her?’
    I
ignored his comments and picked up the child. She protested but with my hands I
closed her eyes putting her into a deep sleep on my shoulder. Jean followed me
to a church carrying the linen bundles. I placed the sleeping child on the
front steps. In a while the church bells would toll and the doors will open.
She would be safe and the memories erased of what she saw in her parents’
bedroom.
    We
buried the bodies deep in the forest and as we walked back to the castle I felt
a subtle change in the air. I could not picture him but I sensed one of our
own.
    ‘He
is coming,’ I said to Jean, unable to hide the resentment that flashed across
his face.

 
    Marek

 
    There were moments when I set out
that I doubted my motivation and good sense, that I should take the word of a
hag over the advice of my father. Why the need to find out the truth?