Page 71 of Good Vampires Go to Heaven

“That’s not for you to say.”

“Quite the religious zealot, are you?” He chucked her under the chin playfully, an attempt to veer away from his painful revelations, she was sure.

He got up to help some vangels refill the coffeemaker and then went off somewhere, probably the bathroom to check his eyes in the mirror. Regina didn’t have the energy to get up herself. She yawned and thought about going into one of the bedrooms to lie down for a while, but it was only six p.m., and she doubted she’d be able to sleep.

Many of the vangels were not having that problem. Some had already gone to their beds, while others slept on couches or the floor as the TV hummed on. They were wise to rest when they could. Fighting took a lot out of a man, or woman, physically and emotionally.

Zeb came back and poured himself another cup of coffee. She put a hand over her cup to indicate she wanted no more. He sat down again and said, “Yep. They’re blue.” He seemed pleased at that. “And I think my hair is coming in blond.”

“No, it’s not.” His hair was brown, normally. “And you don’t have to be blond to be a vangel, anyhow. There are brown-haired and black-haired Vikings and redheads, too, for that matter.” She put a hand to her own mop which was still damp from her shower, but was probably frizzing up already. She would braid it when she got a chance.

“Your turn now, Regina.”

“For what?”

“Tell me your story.”

She waved a hand airily. “My life was not nearly as interesting.”

“Hah! Interesting is not how I would describe mine.” He jabbed her shoulder with a forefinger and prodded, “C’mon. Spill. How does one get to be a witch?”

“You don’t get to be a witch, you’re born that way. Usually. You either have the gift, or don’t.”

She could see his skepticism at the word “gift.” She couldn’t take offense. Most people felt that way.

“My mother was a witch, and my grandmother before her. But, despite our serving the people, we lived apart from them. In a hut somewhere in the woods. Also, despite the villagers and even upper classes coming to us for help, medicinal or otherwise, they feared us. They burned my mother’s hut down, with her in it, for some infraction, real or otherwise, doesn’t matter. I just managed to get away.”

“Oh, Regina.”

“Don’t pity me,” she said, pride rearing its head. She hated people pitying her. “I built up my own business, and I managed to defend myself better than my mother had.”

“What business?”

“There are good witches as well as bad, you know?”

“Were you a good witch?”

She shrugged. “In the beginning, I was. I dealt in healing herbs, spells to help people overcome some problem, even acting as midwife on occasion. But there was no money in that, I realized over time. And as I grew up and realized how the people used me, I also saw how separate I was from them. I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but I was desperately lonely. So, I set a goal for myself. I would amass a vast amount of coins, enough to buy a home for myself in the Saxon lands, where I was not known. Nothing fancy. A farmstead where I could raise some sheep. But to accumulate that kind of wealth, I needed to expand my business. That’s when I became a black witch, dealing in potions that killed, curses that caused harm, draughts to abort babies, that kind of stuff. My last black act involved giving a young jarl a potion to kill his conniving relatives, but instead he killed the whole party, women and children included.”

“And that’s when Michael rescued you?”

“Well, rescue isn’t quite how I’d describe it. But, yes, he gave me a second chance.”

“You’re an attractive woman, Regina. Wasn’t it dangerous living out in the woods, alone? Didn’t men bother you?”

“They did, in the beginning. The first time I was raped, I couldn’t fight back. I had no skills or weapons. I hadn’t perfected my talents yet. The second time I was raped, I killed the bastard. After that, I became proficient with knives, and no one bothered me. In that way.”

“Ah, Regina! How old were you?”

“The first time? Fourteen. And don’t you dare spout some pity pap at me. It happened. I’m over it.”

He smiled, and she realized she was being overly vehement.

“And you’re still fighting against the restrictions of your life. Then, it was the restrictions placed on a witch. Today, the restrictions on a female vangel.”

She was going to argue, but he was right. “I think I’ll go get my clothes out of the dryer and lie down for a while. Things seem to be quiet outside. Will you call me if . . . when . . . the Lucies return?”

“I will,” he said, then added, “It was good talking to you, Regina.”