Mother of Darkwaters: Book one of the Vessel series (33 page)

   Tamara sighs within her frustration.

  
You're one confused puppy.

   She opens the overnight bag Jennifer gave to her. The cheerleader reaches in and returns with a bottle of fingernail polish remover. Reaching back into the bag, Tamara Hillary Stilliard grabs her blue-sparkly nail polish. She grins guiltily.

   “What do you think?”, Mandie asks while sitting across the table from Tamara.

   Tamara swallows, takes a drink of Mt. Dew, and nods her head.

   “It's really good. Who taught you how to cook?”

   “I taught myself. Had to,” Mandie's tone reflects a hint of sadness.

   “What do you mean? Rich people don't usually cook for themselves,” the blond counters her claim.

   Mandie cuts the lasagna on her plate with a fork, “My parents died when I was younger. And I hate not doing things for myself.”

   “I'm sorry,” Tamara consoles, “That must have been really hard.”

   Mandie shakes her head with the fork of lasagna approaching her swollen lips, “Don't be. It was a lifetime ago.”

   The two girls sit in silence for a few minutes. Mandie decides to break the awkward growing tension.

   “No secrets. What's on your mind?”

   Tamara sighs regretfully.

   “We need to talk,” the cheerleader opens the dialogue between them. When she receives Mandie's permission within her green eyes, Tamara lays everything out in the open.

   “This complicates my life,” she begins, “I have a boyfriend and you're supposed...”

   Mandie finishes when Tamara struggles to say the words, “I'm expected to be a Tamara's Submissive in the morning.”

   “Yeah,” Tamara confirms while staring at her lasagna lying on the plate in front of her.

   “Tamara,” Mandie quietly speaks, “I am not here to complicate your life. Our roles at school will not change. I fully understand the social-pecking order.”

  Mandie rolls her eyes playfully as Tamara looks up.

  “As for Jason Deveraux,” Mandie continues, “I cannot tell you how you should feel. Nor would I. But I will say that if you choose to walk away from what we have started, then I will have no ill feelings towards you. I am not like that. I’m not made that way.”

   Tamara begins to speak, but Mandie interrupts her before she can use her lying tongue to let her down easily.

   “Tamara Stilliard,” Mandie gazes deeply into the cheerleader's brown eyes, “You have given me more than I could have ever hoped for. You confirmed my assessment of myself was true. And that is something even a rich girl can't purchase. To pay someone to do what you did naturally would be faked and leave me unfulfilled. And I still wouldn't know. But because of our time together, I do know.”

   “Dammit, Mandie,” Tamara scolds, “Why do you have to do that?”

   “Do what?”, Mandie responds, “You mean not lie to you?”

   “Yeah,” Tamara's tone carries a touch of defeat within it.

   Her life's social responsibilities cause her to defy what is in front of her, “So you won't be angry if you see me with Jason, or if you have to park on Submissive's Row?”

   Mandie smiles comfortingly to release Tamara of her guilt, “No, Tamara. We both have our roles to play in this life. We each must figure out what those will be. You can't choose who I will be, what I will do, or where I will go in this life. And I can't do any such thing for you.”

   Tamara sits against the chair's backing as she marvels after the woman's words. The girl with dark hair has done it again.  

   “You're either the coolest person I've ever met, Mandie with an i-e,” Tamara speaks, “Or you really
are
crazy. I can’t figure out which.”

   The cheerleader pauses before arching both brows, “You sure you're okay with this?”

   “Yes. I expected your life to continue as is,” Mandie answers while watching the girl across the table taking another bite of her lasagna.

   “But I do need to say something else.”

   Tamara nods.

   “Your blood covenant is broken,” Mandie confidently reveals.

Chapter 7

   When Tomorrow Comes

   “
Living dead girl... ooh - ah!
,” Rob Zombie's song begins its hypnotic driving beat. Julianna closes her eyes. With her arms raised above her head, Julianna's wrists crisscross one another. The girl's full hips sway back and forth like a cobra hypnotized by its enslaving oboe. She spins one full circle and opens her eyes with a smile. Her arms slowly lower down in front of her as they weave in and out with each other.

   “I'm not used to your generation's choice in music,” Martha speaks over the library's loud volume. The red hair woman grins. Her granddaughter lives. And she must admit, although not her first choice in what she would consider to be music, there is a bittersweet irony to the song's lyrics.

   “It's not my generation,” Julianna corrects, “But I like it.”

   Julianna's white full body cleaning outfit matches the cleaners and Martha's own uniform. She looks up the ladder's runs before making her climb. When she reaches the top, she begins dusting the highest bookshelf.

   “You've become quite the expert at this,” Martha speaks loudly.

   “I oughta be,” Julianna answers with the same loud volume to her voice, “I've had enough practice.” She doesn't notice her gram's brief smile as she moves the feather duster to the bindings on the books within her reach.

   Martha, Julianna, and the carefully hand-picked cleaning crew finish their day with dusting, window cleaning, vacuuming, mopping, and some laundry. After Martha calls Frank to escort the cleaning crew out of the house, she and her granddaughter strip off their uniforms.

   “Your schooling is coming along splendidly,” Martha reports, “Your tests scores were great. You're on your way to being a senior.”

   “Really?”, Julianna answers with excitement.

   “Yes,” Martha responds delightedly.

   “Radio off!”, Julianna hollers out. The room drops into silence when her command is recognized by the library's voice detection system. She grabs her grams with a big hug.

   “Thank you.”

   “You did all the work, dear.”

   “I couldn't have done it without you, grams,” Julianna says as she takes a step back, “They're your test scores, too.”

   “No dear,” Martha counters, “You old grams couldn't turn out scores like that.”

   “You’re not old,” Julianna lovingly criticizes Martha's last statement, “Stop saying that.”

   “Come on. Let's get a bite to eat,” Martha silently yields to her granddaughter's request as she begins to walk.

   “That's what I thought,” Julianna claims victory as she follows her grams down the staircase leading into her bedroom.

   “Careful dear. Pride doesn't suit you.”

   “Sure it does,” Julianna answers, “You're just not looking.”

   Martha grins as she steps off of the staircase into her granddaughter's room. She makes a left and heads for the kitchen area. Her boastful granddaughter tails close behind.

   “I do have a lot on my plate right now,” Tamara explains, “But part of that is you. And the fastest way to get scraped off into the garbage is to lie to me. If you don't want to tell me something, just say that. I can handle it. I'm a big girl. But don't lie to me.”

   Mandie looks down at her plate of lasagna and nods.

   “I'm sorry. I'm just not used to being around people like you. Everyone I know is always going out of their way to please me.”

  Tamara reaches across the table and gently nudges Mandie's chin with her long fingers. The girl with black hair looks at her.

   “You call me on everything,” Mandie explains, “And I don't always know how to react to you.”

   Tamara releases Mandie's chin when she is confident that the girl will keep eye contact with her.

   “That's your problem, Mandie. You need to stop reacting and start being who you are.”

   The bleach blond girl continues, “I don't need you to say something you
think
I want to hear. I need you to say something which – how did you put it – is real.”

   Tamara pauses. Her brows lift slightly, “Just like you did whenever you knew I wasn't going to stop just because you were begging me to.”

   The cheerleader points her fork at Mandie, “Now
that
was real.”

   Mandie grins with embarrassment. She adores Tamara with her green eyes.

   “Spill it,” Tamara stabs a piece of cut lasagna with her fork, “Tell me why my blood covenant is broken with my friends, how you know about it, and why I am now tied to you.”

   “As I recall,” Tamara continues, “You weren't there. And I know for a fact you and I didn't perform any ritual. So what gives?”

   The nervous look dancing across Mandie's face is absolutely priceless. Tamara could care-a-less if the woman sitting across from her ever answers the questions or not. She isn't really interested in all of that spell stuff anyway. But Mandie could most definitely keep that precious look on her face all night. It's cute. It's adorable. And the princess wears it well. It sure beats a frilly dress any day of the week.

   Mandie drops her fork in her plate as she sits back against her chair. She claps her hands slowly.

   “You are so much more than I could have ever hoped for, Tamara Hillary Stilliard.”

   Tamara watches curiously.

   “No more lies,” Mandie promises. She slightly tilts her head to the right. Her eyes take in Tamara's short blond hair before returning to Tamara's brown eyes.

   “You are so beautiful,” Mandie comments.

   “You're not too bad yourself, Mandie with an i-e,” Tamara's eyes lower their stare as she lingers well below Mandie's chin. She sighs while forcing her eyes upward again.

   “
You
broke the covenant when you gave yourself to me,” Mandie finally answers the cheerleader's question.

   Tamara's head retreats, “In the bedroom? That doesn’t make any sense. We didn’t even go that far. And I slept with Jason and didn't lose my blood covenant.”

   “No. Remember the first time you kissed me?”, Mandie questions.

   “Yeah. It was right after you got up after I carved on you. You wanted more.”

   Tamara pauses for a moment, “You sure you're not from a mental institution or something?”

  Mandie shakes her head with a smile.

  “That kiss was only the action to what you were feeling,” Mandie explains further, “You might have thought you were mocking me. But that wasn’t the feeling that was driving you.”

   “Oh yeah. And what was the feeling? Because I am pretty sure I know. I was there.”

   “Love – you begin falling in love, Tamara,” Mandie answers.

   “That’s ridiculous. We barely spoke.”

   “Maybe,” Mandie continues, “How do you explain taking care of me when you were done?”

   “Don’t you mean whenever
you
were done?”

   “Sure. When I was done. Why did you take care of me?”

   “That had nothing to do with love. I felt sorry for you. You were draped over the bathtub. It was heartbreaking. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you…”

   Mandie silences.

   “..What kind of person would just leave you like that? I mean, really. Who would do something like that?”

   Mandie lifts her left brow slightly.

   “You looked so pathetic and helpless. I wanted to protect you and…”

   Tamara abruptly stops her rambling. Worry flashes within her dark brown eyes. Her head retreats slightly. She drops her fork on her plate.

   Mandie watches with expectant eyes.

   “Crap.”

   “You were saying?”

   “Oh gawd,” Tamara says the words as she lifts both of her hands to cover her face, “Oh no. This can’t be happening right now.”

   “When you fell in
love
with me, Tamara,” Mandie spills out the truth as directed, “You did so completely.”

   Tamara looks up through her fingers.

   “Your love is for real. You cast a bonding spell, far greater, than any pathetic blood covenant.”

   Tamara lowers her hands with pleading eyes. Out of all of the insanity that has taken place since her time here in this horrid farmhouse, this news is tougher than anything else she has come to understand.

   “No more lies,” Mandie says with a wink, “Any more questions, my beautiful artist?”

   Tamara looks down at her plate. She stares at her food as she ponders the girl's words. She can feel Mandie's watchful gaze upon her, but there is nothing for her to counter with. Not without lying. The cheerleader, finally, raises her brown eyes. They are soft and pure with their intentions.

   “Well that sucks,” Tamara admits, “That ritual hurt like hell.”

   Mandie grins with eyes that adore, “You’re not a canvas.”

   “Apparently,” Tamara agrees with a hint of defeat in her tone. She picks up her fork and stabs her food. She takes another bite. The girl finishes off her plate and gulps down her Mountain Dew in silence. She is grateful that Mandie has decided to give her her space by not pushing. Whenever she finishes her plate, she looks up and watches Mandie port the last of her lasagna into her mouth.

   “How do you?,” Tamara's nervous voice breaks in mid-sentence.

   Mandie slowly swallows her food and takes a small sip of her drink. Her eyes remain fixated on the anxious cheerleader.

   “How do you?”, Tamara shakes her head, “Never mind.”

   Mandie stands up and slowly walks around the small table. She twirls her pointing right index finger. Tamara obeys by turning her chair to face her. Mandie hikes her expensive dress and climbs on Tamara's lap. Her small hands lovingly cup each side of the cheerleader's long cheeks. She leans in and gently kisses Tamara on the lips before leaning back to view her beautiful brown eyes.

   “I know you have your life to go back to,” Mandie says while nearing Tamara's lips once again.