Black bird a nevermore d.., p.1
Black Bird: A Nevermore Duet, page 1
BLACK BIRD
H.B. EllioTT
… For Edgar Allan Poe …
For without your immortal words,
I’d still be unfortunately sane.
DISCLAIMER:
This story contains violence, gore, graphic situations, explicit sexual situations, profanity, and substance abuse. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
Black Bird contains lines from Edgar Allan Poe’s, The Raven, as well as other quotes from his various works, as they pertain to parts of this story. I do not claim ownership, nor do I intend to imply Poe’s words as my own.
PLAYLIST:
“Zerospace” - Kidneythieves - (Ch. 1)
“Sick and Twisted Affair” - My Darkest Days (Ch. 8)
“Bad Decisions” - Bad Omens - (Ch. 10)
“Vampire Heart” - H.I.M. - (Ch. 11)
“Apologize” - OneRepublic (Original Version) - (Ch. 12)
“Always” - Saliva - (Ch.12)
“Habits” - Rain Paris (Rock Version) - (Ch. 13)
“Bow” (Slowed) - Reyn Hartley - (Ch. 15)
“Hear Me Now” - Framing Hanley - (Ch. 22)
“Like A Villain” - Bad Omens - (Ch. 24)
“Sick Like Me” - In This Moment - (Ch. 26)
“Erase My Scars” - Evans Blue - (Ch. 30)
“In Flames” - Digital Daggers - (Ch. 32)
“Come Join the Murder” - The White Buffalo & The Forest Rangers - (Ch. 37)
“If I Was Your Vampire” - Marilyn Manson - (Ch. 40)
FIND THE BLACK BIRD PLAYLIST ON SPOTIFY!
(You’re welcome.)
CHAPTER 1
NIGHT LIFE
She’d never quit smoking. Even when the job she’d just landed … the one she’d dreamed of … gave her more than enough knowledge about the harm it did her body. But as she clinked her lighter shut and pulled in the taste of menthol, Sarah St. James couldn’t help but notice how many others around the smoke-filled club were doing the same. In the six years that she’d lived in Boston, she’d never been here before. Although, she was preoccupied with stockpiling degrees after leaving her native Seattle, so she never had much time for the night life. She’d had one goal in moving here alone: school up and nail down that bio-chem spot at EverLife—and she’d done it. It had taken her obsession with the study of blood, countless hours bent over books, laptops, microscopes, and beakers … and a few exhausting crash courses on giving a kick-ass interview that finally yielded the opportunity she needed most. Now, they were celebrating. The only other person in her life that knew this wasn’t just a celebration of her grueling journey to get this job was Wren Vintorri; Sarah’s short-fused and immaculately talented best friend.
While Wren’s red and blonde locks bounced back and forth beside her as she danced with a pale arm raised, Sarah scanned the dimly lit establishment and bobbed her head to the sound of industrial metal playing around her. People danced suggestively in the space of the floor where they stood, others were practically making a spectacle of screwing each other behind thin veils of curtains that covered booths in alcoves along the walls surrounding them. A long bar stretched around the corner near the entrance to the club and extended out toward the dance floor, a single barkeep tending to its patrons. Aside from the smell of smoke and the watered-down bourbon in her glass, she could have sworn she caught the hint of another scent—one she knew well. Blood … somewhere. Sarah sipped her drink and leaned into Wren’s side.
“What did you say the name of this place was?” Her voice was barely audible over the music.
“Black Bird! Isn’t it great?” Wren called, lowering her drink from the air and sipping at it while she continued to move with the beat. Sarah glanced down at the tattoo on her wrist … a small raven and the word “Nevermore.” It was one of the many she had covering the expanse of her arms. “Knock it back, bitch! You’ve barely tasted the whiskey with all the water in that cup!”
“I don’t really want it. You know this isn’t my scene.” The melting ice rattled against the glass as she wiggled it, giving the drink a grimacing look before choking it down.
“Why? Because there’s no live band? No buzz of a tattoo gun while you read another boring ass book in my chair?” Wren gave her a knowing smile and finished her drink. “I’m off tonight and we’re supposed to be celebrating!” Her tawny eyes flickered toward the entrance before rolling toward the back of her skull. Sarah tracked the source of her sudden irritation and turned toward the front door in time to see her fiancé, Brent Stratford, easing through it. He did nothing to hide the distaste for the club from his closely shaved face, his light gray suit an unwelcome smudge of color in the throng of grunge and goth. “Well … there goes all our fun,” Wren said, snatching Sarah’s glass from her hand. “I’ll go get us a beer.”
Wren had never liked Sarah’s distinguished beau. Had never approved of her dating the son of a cocky, pompous-ass senator that reeked of money and utter bullshit. Sarah had sworn that Brent was different. While he did grow up wealthy, he had made his money after busting his ass at Harvard and earning himself a spot at one of the most prestigious law firms in Boston. She’d met Brent two years ago while volunteering at a blood drive campaign during his father’s run for office. They were, without a doubt, the most opposite looking couple and there had been a real stink in the press when he’d asked her to marry him last year. One of Sarah’s favorite lines in the tabloids was: “Trick or Treat! —Conrad’s heir is off the market. Brent Stratford falls under the spell of Boston’s dark side.” The news of their engagement took any privacy off the table after that. For months following the announcement, Sarah had been tailed and photographed at every turn. All the world was itching to see the “witch” that sank her claws into the Stratford family.
She knew how it looked. She and Wren had grown fond of cackling about the stereotype that plagued them. The damaged little goth girl, covered in tattoos … always had a cigarette in her mouth and coffee in her hand. Hair and makeup matching the eternally black polish on her fingernails. That’s all the world would ever see, and it was fine by them. Brent had been attracted to Sarah for completely different reasons, anyway. Sarah had a brilliant mind and always engaged him in stimulating conversation that had nothing to do with politics or courtrooms. He often told her that she was his escape from reality, although since they’d been engaged, he seemed more eager to show her off. She wasn’t sure where that left them these days and tried her best not to show it as she smiled at him while he shrugged through bodies and smoke toward her. Brent glanced up as he approached, drawing his brows together at the sight of scantily clad dancers in cages that hung from the ceiling.
“What is this place?” He frowned, brushing off his suit jacket and leaning in to kiss her cheek. Pointed stares followed his movements as he pulled back, and Sarah took notice of them. He was definitely out of place here. She leaned in and pulled her long, jet-black hair behind her ear.
“Wren picked it. Wanted to change it up a bit. I’m still trying to get a feel for it, myself.” She brought her cigarette back to her lips and dragged, her deep burgundy lipstick staining the butt. Brent slid his hands into his pockets and looked around.
“Shouldn’t be too hard, it looks like your apartment.” He smirked.
“Wanna dance?”
“How does anybody dance to this shit?” He flicked his sandy blonde hair over his brow, his green eyes flashing in the smoky strobes.
“What’s the matter, Brent? Not the stagnant, rich-boy piano bar you were hoping for?” Wren mused, shouldering past him and handing Sarah a bottle of an ale she couldn’t pronounce. It took a tremendous effort not to smile at the remark, so Sarah turned away, pressing the mouth of the bottle to her lips and drinking greedily.
A large, studded door in the back corner of the club slammed shut and a dark figure angrily pushed past two bouncers standing before it. One of them tried to talk to the man, but he threw the hood up on his black jacket and forcefully made his way alongside the back wall and then past the many curtained off spots, where the obvious happenings of trysts and God knows what else were going on. Sarah’s eyes trailed after him, though she wasn’t sure exactly why. The hooded stranger made it to the end of the bar, his back now facing her as she turned back toward her company, and he waved over the bartender. Wren and Brent’s bickering was drowned out while she fixed her eyes on the back of his hood. It was as if he could sense her watching him in the crowded bar and she winced when he turned his head and directed his attention to her. She couldn’t see his face in clear detail, only the dark scruff of his chin and his tattooed hands as he lit a cigarette. The barkeep slid him a double of amber whiskey and he drank it down, slamming the glass back to the bar and storming out of the entrance without giving her a second thought.
Brent’s cell phone started ringing, breaking her concentration and earning her attention. He turned away and pressed a fingertip to his other ear to block out the noise as he yelled into the receiver. Sarah watched the entrance beyond him, but the lone stranger never re-emerged. A heartbeat later, Brent pocketed his phone and turned toward her.
“I’ve got a client I need to meet on the other side of the city. Why don’t you come with? I can take you out to dinner.” He fastened the button on his suit.
“Brent, I don’t want to sit in on whatever it is you have going on with a client. God knows how long that’s gonna take. I’m staying,” Sarah drawled, dropping her cigarette to the floor and snuffing it out with t he toe of her combat boot.
“You said you weren’t sure if you liked this place anyway.”
“Yeah, well I changed my mind,” she replied, turning her beer up and swallowing hard.
“Suit yourself. Congratulations, babe.” And with that, he kissed her forehead and scurried off to the door. Part of her felt relieved and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.
“One day you’re gonna wake up and be married to that prick, Sarah. Then you’re gonna wish you listened to me.” Wren pointed her beer toward the direction he’d left. “I really hope he’s at least good in bed. About the only nice thing I can say about him is that you could bounce a quarter off that tight ass, but that’s probably because he spends every day clenching it together around the silver spoon that’s in it.”
“He’s a good guy, Wren.”
“Yeah … so good you check out tall, dark and handsome over there by the bar while you’re standing next to Mr. Wonderful?” Wren smirked, taking another pull from her beer.
“Christ.” Sarah’s eyes rolled back as she flanked her friend into the gyrating floor of dancers. Her fingers splayed over the stone of the pendant she always wore. It was warm to the touch, as if in warning, and she tucked it beneath her shirt. Wren raised her bottle and interjected herself between two heavily pierced guys who were more than happy to accommodate her. Sarah raised a palm, rejecting any invitation and moved casually to rest against an empty spot on the back wall. Her eyes occasionally found the guarded door, her curiosity getting the best of her every time she looked over. Something about this place seemed off, but at the same time familiar and beckoning. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that, either. She stayed put and watched the redhead in the plaid skirt and tried to keep her mind on the reason she moved to Boston in the first place.
He was going to lose his shit. It had been four days since he’d requested a meeting with the coven leader and sitting in this room … this fucking room that had the scent of the last four souls that she’d tricked into saddling up with her was starting to take its toll on his sanity. Tapping his tattooed fingers on the leather arm of the chair in front of a huge ebony desk, Athan Kane bounced his knee in impatience. The door behind him finally opened and in she walked, her long blonde hair swishing against the leather corset laced at her back. Her heels clacked across the dark marble floor as she passed his chair and rounded her desk. He hated that damned sound. Hated the way she smelled and the rage he could barely manage to damper at the sound of her voice.
“Evening, Athan. Sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, taking a seat in her ornate chair across from him. Her smug tone suggested she was anything but sorry.
“I’m sure,” he replied, leaning back in his seat. She chuckled through her nose.
“What do you want? I’m a bit busy.”
He raised his brows at that remark.
“That you are. I thought we had an agreement, Dahlia.” He turned the silver ring on his thumb.
“If you’re talking about the body count, I’ll remind you that I’m not responsible for all of them.”
“Maybe not, but you’re responsible for the coven that’s piling them up.”
“And do you forget that the coven you’re speaking of still includes you? You have a responsibility to us, too. You don’t want us feeding on humans, then hold up your end.” She crossed her pale arms across the desk.
“I can’t control the supply and manage to keep the veil up to conceal us if you can’t keep these numbers down. Find another way.”
“What way? You want us to start feeding on livestock? Go back to medieval methods? Those methods included a great many humans, Athan. We didn’t hide back then. How long would you say you’d deign to survive feeding off a fucking chicken?”
Athan’s chair scooted back as he abruptly raised from it and pressed his palms to the desk. “This is why I wanted nothing more to do with this fucking cult. You still think because we’re immortal that we’re above eating a chicken, Dahlia? In all these centuries, you still don’t have a shred of humanity. I can count on one hand how many cannibalistic cases I’ve come across in the past twenty years. They don’t eat each other. Why the fuck should we?”
“Humanity? Athan, we’re not human. And while you might harbor your guilt with every mark you ink on your skin, neither are you. And we wouldn’t feed on them if we had a steady supply coming in from EverLife. We give them plenty of money. Black Bird is thriving. So, you tell me why our blood bank doesn’t match what we’re putting out? Truth is, we’re not above eating a chicken, or feeding off a horse if we have to … but we shouldn’t have to. And you mark my words, little soldier … if I don’t start seeing blood bags lining up in that storage facility in the next few weeks … I’ll cut our funding to EverLife, and our deal is off.” Dahlia stood, a cruel smirk gracing her red lips.
“I can’t help it if disease becomes an issue. You pull that deal and I’ll promise you something in return … and you can bet your blown out ass, Dahlia, that I’ll keep it.” She huffed a laugh as her eyes rolled.
“You wanna kill me, Kane?”
“I fucking will, and I’ll enjoy every second of it.”
“Oh, I bet. I’d say you’d miss me, pet … but you seem happy with your new puppy.” Her white teeth gleamed, and her elongated canines slid further out.
“Rhaena is a good person, and she ain’t got a damn thing to do with this. You owe your discretion to her just as much as you owe it to me.”
“I don’t owe you shit. You’re two hundred and twenty-seven years old this year, Athan. You still have seventy-three years left before you fulfill your debt to me for leaving this place. I let you live your lonely little life … you cover our asses and supply the plasma. It’s very simple. Replenish the stock and fuck whatever doggy you want. We’ll stop littering Boston with bodies. Nobody ever said there wouldn’t be obstacles. That was never part of the deal … so I don’t really see how it’s my fucking problem.” Dahlia leaned over her desk and winked, her wicked mouth a breath away from his. “Now get out.”
Athan growled under his breath, baring his teeth at the monster that held the keys to his freedom, and then pushed off the desk to storm out the door. As he began turning the handle, Dahlia cut him one last time.
“I know that look, Kane. I wonder how long you’ll hold out this time before you end up with another tattoo. I’m willing to bet this club that it won’t be a cluck-cluck.”
He didn’t have to look at her to know the sinister smile that she was wearing on her flawless face. He ground his teeth and jerked the door open, cursing impressively as he stormed down the dark hallway. The club was raging beyond the large door, and he pushed past Dahlia’s little guard dogs standing on either side. The larger one to his left, Decclan, used to be the only thing he had close to a friend in this coven—while he’d spent his ten years shackled to Dahlia’s side …and her bed. Decclan hadn’t supported his decision to make a deal with the Devil and leave Black Bird to go live across the city in an apartment alone. In Athan’s eyes, that had been the end of their camaraderie. No one that lived among the damned gave a shit about human life. Even though every one of them started out as such.
Athan hated the taste of human blood. To be fair, he hated the taste of any blood. He never wanted this life … this dark existence. Surviving off the dwindling supply of the blood bank at EverLife was the smartest and most effective way of sparing humans and keeping them aloof of the presence of vampires among them—but one could only feed on a bag so long before an insatiable need for taking a life drove them purely insane. It would be beyond his control if he got to that point and there would be no stopping it. For every mortal he killed in his two hundred years, he honored them in two ways: keeping something that they had on their person when he robbed them of their souls, and tattooing something significant about them on his body so that he’d never forget their sacrifice. It was the only way he let himself live this long.
The bargain for his freedom to be released from the blood oath—the tether that bound him to this coven and that beautiful bitch … he’d made it an offer no one could refuse. Strike a deal with the CEO at EverLife … pay them for a supply of plasma, and work under the cover of a detective at Boston’s 12th precinct, taking unexplained cases and covering up all evidence that the supernatural dwelled within this city. He’d do it until the year he lived to be three hundred years old, and then she’d free him. At first, it seemed easy. What was over half a century compared to an eternity in this hell? But as the years passed, Athan realized how hollow he had become. Just an empty shell of a being that shouldn’t be here. One that should never have been.
