I flopped to the couch. Karson sat beside me. Close, but not close enough.
The mantel place held a picture of an elderly lady with the same warm brown eyes shared by BJ and Vanessa. I assumed it was BJ’s grandmother. A raw cut amethyst crystal glinted pleasantly on the other end of the shelf. The house was older but meticulously clean. With dark hardwood floors and soft yellow walls.
Vanessa brought out tea in a floral green pot with matching dainty teacups. I took a cup gratefully.
Albert took a loud slurp on his and settled back into an armchair.
“What do you know about the waters, Amy?”
“Bob told me a story about a boy who claimed they had healed him but no one believed him. He said the boy fled and died in the mountains.”
He nodded and took an audible breath, as if he were preparing himself for a stage production. He leaned forward, his eyes lit with an uncharacteristic odd excitement and spoke in deep, drawling voice.
“The story of the boy is partly true. The water the boy found buried deep in the cave had been well known for years to the Native American people for its special powers. Injuries would heal faster. People who drank it became stronger. Quicker. For them, it was sacred water, a gift from the spirits. The waters gave them the edge in fierce battles. They swore never to tell anyone other than their own people about it. It remained a secret for hundreds, maybe thousands, of years.” He paused and straightened. “The boy who fled to the mountains didn’t die. He was taken in by the Natives, and treated as one of their own. Helived as a part of their tribe for years. He fell in love with the Chief’s daughter, Hialeah, and they were to be married.” He took a sip of tea and swallowed audibly. “The boy wanted the best for his bride-to-be, he snuck into town to find her a gift. Despite the years, one of the world’s most powerful witches, Salam Crowe, recognized him. Salam convinced the boy to show him where the sacred waters lie, telling him if he showed him where they were, he could spell the waters, and make him and his new bride immortal. So that when the battles raged between the natives and the settlers, she would be always be safe. Wanting that for the love of his life, he agreed. He said he would show Salam as long as it was just Salam who came, and no one else. But the witches had been persecuted for years, relatives burned alive on stakes, for no reason other than that they were born a witch, and Salam wanted to convert as many witches to immortals as he could. He wanted to build an almighty coven. They planned their spell to fall on the next full moon. When the Native Americans finally learned of the boy’s betrayal they arrived to fight, but it was too late. The spell was already being cast and some of the witches had drunk from the waters already. A great battle ensued. The witches used magic and their newfound strength. Many Native Americans lost their lives that night.”
Albert shook his head at the thought. “In the battle, the young man who had betrayed his people fought hard for them, but he was severely injured; stabbed by one of the witches he’d led there. Hialeah managed to grab some spelled water and gave it to him as the battle raged around them. She was crouched over him, feeding him the water when a sword pierced her back. It drove into her heart and she died instantly. The spelled water worked, and he survived. Shattered at the loss, and engulfed by rage, he fought hard against the witches; killing quite a few and driving the rest away. He saved many lives, but the Chief, devastated at the death of his daughter, banished him forever. Itis said it is her spirit who roams the woods and she kills anyone who dares enter.” Albert leaned back and took another sip his tea.
“What happened to the boy?” I asked.
“No one knows. Stories of an immortal man killing witches mercilessly from all over the world have emerged from time to time. But no one knows if it was him, or someone else.”
“Oh, I of all people, am the one that is well enough versed to be judge, jury and executioner of your kind.”
Was it Karson? A chill crawled over my skin. No, I dismissed the thought, he said he was born a vampire, it can’t be him.
“Someone else—perhaps one of the immortal witches?” I suggested.
He rested his tea down on a worn wooden side table and nodded. “Maybe, but there were more than just witches who drank from the waters.” Albert’s thin hands clasped together in a low praying motion. He leaned forward onto his elbows. “Rumours of the battle spread quickly. A small group of townsfolk flocked to the site. The natives fought hard to keep them out, but with the help of a few immortal witches, and without the boy, they never stood a chance. Many died, the rest fled.”
“Why didn’t the natives just drink from the water and become immortal too?” I asked, unable to comprehend why such a simple solution would be overlooked.
“They believed it was a sin against the spirits, that they would be punished if they drank from the water now that it was tainted.”
I frowned. His words were almost incomprehensible to my ears. In a world full of suffering, I couldn’t understand why the waters would not be utilized. “Are you telling me waters that can make us all immortal and cure almost anything are just sitting inthe mountains? No wonder Jefferson and Cole were desperate to get in.”
Albert took another loud slurp of tea and settled his cup on the table. “No, not quite. You see, not long after the first battle Salam was killed, his head was removed and sat on a pole outside the cave as a warning to others. The spell lost its powers upon his death, the waters no longer worked.”
“Who killed him?”
He looked out the window speculatively. “We don’t know, some say the boy, some say the natives, some say it was another immortal. It could have been the witches themselves.”
Vanessa handed out homemade chocolate chip cookies. I took one, I wasn’t hungry, but I needed the energy. I took a bite and the cookie melted in my mouth, filing it with a burst of chocolate and sugar. I stifled a sigh of pleasure.
Albert shook his head at the offer of the cookie. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some paper and a little old fashioned tin box. He opened the box, pulled out tobacco, placed it in the paper and began to roll it in his fingers.
“The story goes on, Amy.” This time his voice sounded different, gone was the eagerness. Something dire rolled in his eyes. “As it turns out, the Native Americans were right, those who drank from the waters did pay a price. Those who consumed it became infertile, nature’s way of balancing the odds, I guess. The witches cast a spell so that the women may once again bear children. Everything seemed alright for a while, but as the children got a little older, some still only toddlers, they were prone to uncontrollable violence, with a strength that couldn’t be matched by grown adults. Tantrums or childhood fights meant death for anyone not already spelled by the water, and even for some that were. It was said the children were cursed, they were the reincarnation of the devil himself. Their eyes would glow, and their anger couldn’t be controlled. They wereruthless beasts with a primal urge to kill, with teeth like fangs and a taste for human blood.”
Now I knew how Karson had come to be, he was the son of a woman and a man who drank from the waters. A whispering cold shivered through my body. I forced myself not to look at him, not to give away his secret, although I noticed Albert glanced at him with a dark look.
BJ sat forward. “What, like vampires?” His voice was hoarse, his eyes fixed suspiciously on Karson.
Albert nodded. “Yes, they are where all the Hollywood tales originated from. The people revolted and whole families, including the children, were hunted and slaughtered with the help of the witches, without mercy.”
The story hit at my heart, as horrible as anything I’d ever heard. To hunt and kill children. Christ. I sat back, recoiling at the thought of what Karson must have been through.
The cookie seemed to lodge in my throat. I caught his look out of the corner of my eye. His face was blank, but his eyes were tortured whirlpools.
I swallowed. “Those poor kids, how many survived?”
