30. Marked
30
MARKED
SAYAH
A few weeks later, as I’m driving to work down a farmland highway, the rising sun silhouettes the mountains but in a glorious burnt yellow color. Late in May now, all the green is starting to poke through the brown of the winter, and even though it’s starting to warm up, I still have the heat on because I hate being cold. The car smells of the heat, and my little Febreze air fresheners make the cacophony of smells swirl around me. At the same time, I listen to my morning radio show.
I love this drive to and from work as it’s my only time to myself when I do not have to cater to all of Gauge’s needs, and I can let my mind wander.
The radio hosts are my favorite, and I’m listening to their weekly episode of War of the Roses—a show where the cheated spouse is sneakily calling the cheater via the host with free roses to see whom they send the free flowers to—when they’re interrupted with a special news bulletin.
“We interrupt this regular programming to bring you breaking news,” comes a news anchor woman’s formal voice. “A dangerous and possibly armed criminal has escaped from Kit Carson Correctional Facility and is believed to be hiding in the Denver area .
“Chaco Dominguez was serving a life sentence in prison for violently murdering his four stepchildren. Mr. Dominguez has spent most of his life in and out of prison, serving time for violent acts against women and children. Before the murder of his stepchildren, Dominguez had been released after serving time for attempting to murder his sister after brutally raping her and her fifteen-year-old son. Dominguez is considered armed and dangerous, and we strongly caution all residents of the Denver area to stay alert. If anyone has any information on Dominguez's whereabouts, call the nine-news hotline or nine-one-one. We will post updates on our Facebook page as they come in.”
The first thing that comes to my mind is those idiots in Las Vegas and Dom killing them for attempting to rape Anna. This man murdered his own children and raped and tried to murder his sister and her son. This is the type of man who deserves to die, and he’s out and about, doing gods know what to gods know who.
Throughout my day at work, I research during my downtime, trying to focus on my daily grind—but this situation bristles me to my core, and I’m bound to kill two birds with one stone.
Literally.
I google Chaco Dominguez’s mugshot to find the stories about his crimes and his episode on my favorite true crime podcast, Sword and Scale , which is fueling the fire. Barely getting any of my work done, I formulate my entire plan while feigning a productive employee, ending the day by printing a map of the Denver area he is suspected to be in.
The minute I arrive home, I consult my grimoires, searching for the locator spell I’d seen in passing.
Gathering the color of candles I need and a few other ingredients, I sit in my living room in the candlelight and place the map and picture on the floor. Sprinkling some charcoal dust on the map, I hover my hand above the map and close my eyes.
In complete concentration, I summon Lilith.
“Dark goddess of death and madness, guide me to the one who shatters societal norms and embodies sickness itself. Illuminate his whereabouts, so together, we may deliver him unto you and purge the world of his insatiable malevolence.”
My vision goes black, drinking the light around me.
There are suddenly flashes of light, like spider silk, spindling a nightmare.
A dusty, dingy hotel room with two twin beds adorned in red floral print from the ‘80s. A heavy-set Mexican man with a thick Spanish accent is sitting before a rickety round table, snorting a line of cocaine. When he leans back up after snorting the line, I can see he has a thick black handlebar mustache, and his eyes are as hard and cold as night itself.
Two sickly-looking men are with him, speaking in Spanish, and while I do understand the language, I can’t make out what they’re saying.
The vision splinters, and when I open my eyes again, I’m back in my house, on my living room floor, sitting before my lit candles.
A sinister circle of charcoal dust marks the area around the hotel.
Before blowing out the candles, I take a photo of the map with the circle and plug it into Google Maps.
Dom is going to be at the house later. It has been a habit lately for him to come to my house when he gets off so we can at least see each other for a few moments.
Like ships in the night.
When my head hits the pillow, I’m so worked up with anticipation and rage I can hardly get my mind to shut off.
Sleep interlaces with my mind when I feel the bed shift, Dom climbing into bed beside me. It’s still dark in my room, so it must be early. I curl up to him, and he kisses my head.
“Hey,” I whisper into the darkness, his scent of Earth and cedar and maybe a little sweat surrounding him.
“Hi, beautiful,” he answers sleepily.
I snuggle up to his warm chest and feel that immediate comfort as he wraps me in his strong arms. Counting the breaths coming from his chest, I know he’s tired, but the anticipation of telling him my plan is eating away at me.
I have to tell him.
“I have someone for you,” I blurt out and feel him crane his neck to see me.
“You have s omeone for me?” His voice is stern.
“For you to kill.”
Silence.
Is this okay?
“Oh, you do, do you?” he deadpans.
Maybe he’s hesitant to have me be involved in the killer part of his world.
“I did a locator spell on him,” I hedge. “He’s a bad man, Dom. He’s wanted for extremely violent crimes. I know where he is, and I want you to kill him.”
The muscles in his arm tense, and I feel him go ridged in my touch.
“So, you’re like my pimp now? Except instead of finding people for me to fuck, you find people for me to kill?” I can hear that mocking smile.
I punch him. “Dom, I’m dead ass. You have a duty to kill this man.”
“A duty? Wow, Sayah, you’re really getting into this.”
“Dom. I’ve thought about this. You need human blood to sustain. And there are bad people in this world. Might as well kill two birds with one stone. No pun intended.”
“It was a good pun, though,” he says, pulling me closer. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Nope,” I answer, my tone edged with sass.
“I love you so much. I am so lucky to have such a beautiful and caring witch as a girlfriend who helps me be the best vampire I can be.”
I laugh. “I love you too. But I’m serious. I will help you in any way I can. You live, they die. Sounds like a good plan to me.”
“Me too, babe. Me too. I’m gonna get some sleep now. I’m tired.”
“You should switch to the day shift now. Now that you can go in the sun.”
“I’m already two steps ahead of you.”
I look up at his face, only a suggestion of shadows and planes because of the dusky dawn glow in the room, but his eyes are almost dark black. I can always tell how hungry he is by the color of his eyes, and the last time I’d seen him, they were a mud brown. “Really?”
“Yes. I start next week.”
“Oh, that makes my heart so happy. So. When can we go over our plan?”
His weight shifts; his muscles tense. “Our plan?”
“Yeah. To get this guy I found?”
“You’re not having anything to do with it,” he retorts, his tone imperious. “You’re ruled by three-fold. I can’t have that coming back on you.”
“Dom, it won’t. And you need me. I have to help you find him.”
“You said you found him already. Say, you’re not coming.”
“I am. I don’t have to go inside. But I want to come with you when you do it.”
This time his weight shifts, and he sits up a bit. “Why? Why do you have to come with me when I go to kill someone? Sayah, I don’t want you to ever see that side of me.”
“I get that. I do. But I don’t want anything to happen to you. I want to put a protection spell on you.”
“Then do, but you’re not coming. That’s final.”
“Oh.” This time, I shift my weight and turn my back to him. “Final, huh?”
“Sayah, don’t do that. I don’t want you to see that side of me.” There’s a compunction in his voice and that weighted sadness that had left him when he found the sun comes back again.
I know that’s a side of him he isn’t proud of and doesn’t want to show me. But someday, he will have to.
“Dom,” I say softly, turning back around. “I know it’s a side of you that you don’t want me to see. But you are my love, and I love every part of you. Including the killer part. I’ll see that side of you one day.”
“No, you won’t,” he says quickly, defensively.
“Not directed at me. But I am bound to see you in your natural state. We’re linked now. ”
“How are we linked?”
Even though I don’t feel we’re soul mates, I still feel drawn to him. We’re not endgame, but we definitely have an epic middle chapter. A sudden sadness pings in my chest when he doesn’t recognize the thing that pulls us together.
But he’s a vampire, and I’m supposed to be drawn to him. He’s not drawn to me.
“Never mind,” I speak defensively now.
Bristling even more, every muscle in my body tenses.
This is the first time he’s pissing me off.
“Sayah.” He pulls me to him as close as he can. “I feel that too. I’m sorry. I’ve been working all night, and I’m tired. I feel the bond we have. I’ll show you that side of me when the time comes. But that time isn’t now, okay?”
Realizing this is a battle I’m bound to lose, I kiss him and let him drift off to sleep.
A s dusk approaches the following evening, after Derek has picked up Gauge, Dom and I sit at the dining room table reviewing our plan. It’s Friday night, and he doesn’t have to work this weekend.
The sun's golden rays delicately lend the room a safe, serene look, a dark juxtaposition for the pernicious things we’re planning.
“So this is the motel,” I say, pulling the address up on his phone in Google Maps.
He leans into me and peers at the map.
“All right, I’ll probably leave my phone in the car when I arrive. I don’t want to let them know I’m coming.”
There’s a sinister softness in the inflections of his voice that gives me chills.
“Yes, and be careful. It looks like this motel is a run-down crack motel in the ghetto of Denver.”
He gives me a crooked smile, and his eyes are striking in the ochre color of the sunset. They’re muddy brown, tinged with black. He needs to feed soon.
“I’ll be careful, my love,” he answers, tucking a loose hair behind my ear.
“All right. One more quick thing before you go,” I state, hopping out of the chair and bounding to the spell cabinet.
I gather my purple altar cloth, lavender incense, white candle, and the most enormous black tourmaline crystal.
Assembling the candle and incense atop the purple cloth, I close my eyes and blow, lighting the candle as I do with my breath. I use the flame to light the incense.
Dom’s looking at me with a coruscating gaze, disarming me. Still, I continue meditatively, smudging his aura and the crystals with the inchoate smoke.
“Gods of strength and power, protect this man on his journey. Usher him through the danger with the grit of light and cunning. Element of Earth, keep his feet protected on the ground. Element of air, surround him in purity and protection. Element of water, wash away the negative energy. And element of fire, burn away the evil.” As I speak the last of the spell, I slide the tourmaline through the fire’s flame. “So mote it be.” I hand him the crystal and say, “Keep this in your pocket for protection, okay?”
He takes the black rock and slides it into his pocket. “I’ll text you as much as I can.”
Nodding, I hug him and walk him to the door.
“I love you,” he says, taking my lips.
“Love you,” I respond through the lip lock. “Be safe.”
I watch as he descends the front stoop and embarks on his journey to feed.
A nxiety strangulates me an hour later while I wait for the text that it’s been done. Everything from:
What if they know what he is, and they staked him with silver?
What if they have Nightshade?
What if he was decapitated?
How else can Vampires die?
Pacing my house for the hundredth time, I recheck the phone.
Still waiting for new messages.
The message screen is pulled up on my phone while I wait for the little bubbles to show that he’s texting. The last message is up, saying:
I’m about to go inside. I love you.
Now, I wait for what seems like hours for him to let me know he’s okay.
These are dangerous criminals that he’s going up against.
But he’s a vampire. A killer. With strength and wit and an ability to lull people into calmness. He’s seemingly unassailable.
I shouldn’t be this worried about him.
As the time ticks by, my heart races faster and faster.
Was the protection spell I did good enough?
Can you protect vampires with magick?
Of course, you can. I answer my own thoughts resolutely. I protect him from the sun with his necklace.
Maybe I didn’t do a strong enough one. Maybe I should’ve spelled some more jewelry, a ring or something.
Time itself has stopped. I don’t know why I’m so worried about him anyway; he always does this.
Doesn’t he?
The nerves within me feel as though they’re mush. Every muscle is tense, and there’s a tingling sensation in my arms that I can’t shake. Every time I look at the phone, seeing no new messages burns me, dissonance in contention with conviction, reason frayed with doubt.
When my phone rings, it’s like an elixir for my burns, a soothing agent to calm the serrated nerves the last hour and a half have caused.
Dom’s name flashes on the screen.
Pressing the green answer button, I say, “Hey. You okay? It’s been so long.”
“I’m good,” he says, though the tension in his voice reminds me of a doused star. “I’ll be there soon. I wanted to tell you I’m all right.”
Feeling that my insides are as thin as a drum, I can sense that whatever it is, he doesn’t want to talk about it over the phone.
It must be what he feels after he kills someone.
I let it go for now, knowing it’s more than that.
“All right. Drive safe. I’m proud of you.”
Silence.
Remembering what he said about sometimes taking on the personality of the person he kills, I figure these rigid and severe vibes I’m getting are from the man he killed and not from him himself.
“I love you?” I say, questioning in my tone.
“Love you.”
And the line goes quiet.
W hen I see his black Mercedes pull up into the driveway, I feel like a constellation of lacerations held together by stitches of uneasiness and fear. It’s taking everything I have to hold those stitches of myself together.
In the time that I’d waited for him, so many things have gone through my mind.
More vampires. A siren. He’s been bitten by a formweaver.
What scares me the most is that he was bitten by a formweaver.
I run up to the car as he clambers out and check him for bites.
He’s wearing all black, so I can’t see well, but I can tell that he’s covered in blood. It’s all over his skin, his face, his neck. He hugs me, and I examine his neck, arms, and anywhere I can. Judging by the desolate look in his eyes, something beyond anything I know has gone wrong.
“Oh my gods,” I exclaim. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“Let’s get inside,” he says, raking his hands through his hair. “I don’t want anyone to see us.”
“Who would see us?”
He doesn’t answer and pulls me by the hand.
When we’re safely inside, he shuts the door and deadbolts it.
“Dom, what?—”
“He’s dead. I drained his blood and two of his cronies that were with him.”
His eyes are green again, meaning he at least got his fill of human blood.
“Well, that’s good?—”
“They were trackers, Sayah.”
“Trackers? What are trackers?”
“They work for the warlocks that spell the grimspawn,” he says, and his tone is edged as sharply as a knife. “From what I know, grimspawns and warlocks need each other to thrive. When warlocks create more grimspawns, they create trackers who are marked, people who must go through a series of tests to be spelled by the warlock. They have to endure a life of unbelievable crime and murder to desiccate their soul enough for the warlock to become one with theirs. As they commit their crimes, their mark gets darker and darker until it’s all the way filled in. The more heinous the crime, the quicker the mark darkens.”
“Why would anyone want to be a grimspawn?”
“They don’t want it, Sayah. They are chosen by the warlocks and spelled to believe that’s what they want. It’s like our veilweaving spell, but much worse.”
“So, Chaco Dominguez was a tracker? ”
“Worse. His mark was all the way dark. Meaning his next crime was going to turn him into one.”
“So? The world has one less grimspawn.”
“No, that’s not it, Sayah.”
There’s a terror in his eyes that I’ve never seen before. And to see terror in the eyes of a killer unnerves me more than anything I could have ever imagined.
“Because he was marked and I killed him, it means the mark was transferred to me. I am now marked.”
He pulls up his sleeve and shows me the crescent moon mark that looks like a branding, the skin raised from the surface of his flesh. I graze it with my fingertips, not comprehending what the mark truly means.
The disorientation must have been spilling out of my eyes, for he covers the mark up and turns to me.
“We can figure out a way to spell it off of you,” I say and go to the cabinet and grab a grimoire.
“Sayah.” He grabs my arm and leads me to the couch. “There’s no way to spell this off. It’s the magick of a warlock, a power unlike any you’ve ever seen. The warlock that spelled this mark will not stop until I am hers.”
“Hers? How do you know this warlock is a she?”
“As soon as the mark appeared, when Chaco was dead and drained, I saw her. In a flash of my mind. But I saw her as clear as day.”
“There has to be a way. What if we track the warlock and kill her?”
“I don’t know of a way to kill a warlock, Sayah.”
“Drain her of her blood!”
“They’re protected by magick.”
“So I’ll spell your blood and hide you from her.”
“I don’t think it works that way, my love.”
I assume an injured air. Anger is rising like bile in my throat.
What the hell are we supposed to do now?
“What does this mean?”
“Well,” he goes on blithely, his dark brows drawing together in contemplation as he looks at the blood on his pants. “Driving home, I had nothing but time to think. My entire life, when we had to fight these things, I have never come across one that was a vampire first. Yes, they drink blood and eat people, but they are driven by this mark to lose their minds to the warlock in control. They feed on people, and sometimes, they can become the people that they feed on if they?—”
“If they what?”
“If they eat enough of them.” His gaze remains anchored on me. “They were trying to get to us because they wanted vampire blood. Consuming the blood of a vampire would make them immortal and, therefore, make the warlock connected to the grimspawn immortal. It’s why they spell grimspawns in the first place—to do their dirty work so they can live forever and not have to do the killing.”
“So . . .”
“So whatever warlock spelled this mark now has a vampire who is marked; it’s basically like hitting the jackpot. She’s not gonna wanna let me go.”
“And what will happen to you?”
“I’ll be spelled to her forever. Doing her bidding. Basically, she’s my sire now, and whatever she wants me to do, I have to do. Be that killing people, eating them—whatever she desires. I’ll lose my mind and be a walking zombie. Living forever to eat and consume blood for her.”
“What are we going to do?” I waiver. I’m lost in a dizzy dissonance, a dark and nefarious maze, not knowing which way is out. “This is all my fault.”
A hot, raw pain plunges me into darkness. I just found him. I love him. And now I’m going to lose him forever.
“Shh, it’s not your fault,” he says softly, pulling me down to lay on his chest.
Tears seep from my eyes at all the broken possibilities that shatter at my feet. I don’t want to lose him. And because this is a world I know nothing about, I don’t know how much time I have left with him .
“If I hadn’t meddled and tried to find someone for you to kill, you wouldn’t be in this predicament.”
“You were only trying to help. You couldn’t have known, nobody could have.”
“How much time do we have until . . . “
“Until I become a mindless zombie?” He smiles limpidly, though fear laces his tone. “I have no idea. I have to call my mom.”
“Do you think she’ll know of anything to do?”
“She’s our best bet,” he replies. “It looks like we’ll be traveling to New York sooner than I had thought.”
Going to New York with a coven full of vampires to talk to a witch-vampire hybrid about her son who was marked to become a grimspawn—nothing to bat an eyelash at.