Unraveling Mordecai by Marisa Maichel (types of ebook readers txt) 📕

I think I’m a seed that’s meant to bear only one fruit, and that’s you. I mean, you and David,” he said, glancing back at my brother.
Satira shook her head. “A man who can’t produce any seeds is a man who does not deserve to live.”
“Mother!” Mom shouted. “What about me? None of my babies lived until I became a vampire.”
Satira merely shook her head again. “When I was human, I was a midwife. I helped deliver babies of the royal court. I nursed them and bathed them. When I married Balthazar, I knew I would have lots of little ones, but I only produced you and your sisters.”
“Are my sisters and I not enough?”
“What’s the point of having lots of babies if I do not produce at least one son?”
“Old-fashioned old buzzard,” Louis muttered. “Do you know that some women choose not to have babies at all? And that’s okay. I mean, it’s their decision.”
I was surprised to hear something so feministic coming out of his mouth.
“I was forced to have a baby,” Sarah said, and we all looked at her. “Lady, I was raped. I got pregnant, and I couldn’t abort him due to family values. So I was forced to have a C-section, because I’m too small down there to have a safe birth. I’m still his mother, but part of me wishes he’d been born to somebody else…Marina, maybe. She’s a better mother than I ever could be.”
“Mouthy girl,” Satira said. She turned and crossed her arms, then grinned over her shoulder. “I see the Major Arcana,” she said. “The Lovers. Eilief is the Hierophant. Krauvas is the Magician.”
“You know Krauvas?” I interrupted.
“Shush, boy. And yes, I know Krauvas. He and I used to date. My daughter is the Mother.”
“There is no Major Arcana called the Mother,” Sarah interrupted this time. “I know. I’ve been studying the cards.”
“Soren is the Hanged Man,” Satira continued. “Mordecai is Justice.”
“What’s she talking about?” I asked.
“She’s comparing us to tarot cards, specifically the Major Arcana,” Sarah said. Then she turned to Satira. “Why don’t you just tell us what you want and get it over with?”
“Don’t be rude, Sarah,” I warned.
“She’s right to be rude,” Mother said. “My mother never wants anything to do with any of us unless she wants something. What is it this time? Money? Wine?”
“I have an offer to make,” Satira said.
Silence. And then. “No. No freaking way.”
“Don’t listen to her, kids,” Dad said. “She is a master of the dark arts. She’d twist a knife in your back as soon as you turn it.”
“Is resurrection really such a bad thing?” Satira asked.
“Lady, we don’t know what the fuck you’re babbling about,” Louis snapped.
“Yes, resurrection is normally considered black magic,” Dad said.
“Unless you mean the resurrection of Jesus Christ,” Sarah added.
“No, girl, I don’t mean the resurrection of Jesus Christ. I mean the resurrection of Sadie and Faolan.”
“She’s lying,” Father said. “Don’t listen to her. Magic always has a price. What do you want, Satira? And no bullshit this time.”
“I want the souls of Reese and Selena,” Satira said.
It all happened in a flash. Mother turned and slugged her own mother, and Satira was on the ground, holding a fat lip.
“You’re not taking my children!” Mother cried.
“What’s so bad about taking their souls?” David asked. It was the first time he’d spoken up.
“They will still be alive, but they won’t be themselves,” Father said. “What makes them them will cease to exist. They will become vampire zombies.”
“Cool,” Louis said. Uncle Soren whacked him on the back of the head. “I mean, not cool. I mean, that’s something I didn’t know about, and I know everything.”
He was sadly mistaken in that regard. Uncle Soren made to hit Louis again, but this time he flinched, and Uncle Soren backed off.
Satira picked herself up off the ground, still holding her left cheek. Huh. I had not seen Mother hit her cheek, only her mouth. But pain can travel sometimes, so maybe that was it. Then a girl appeared, and Uncle Soren let out a whoop.
The girl looked amazingly like Mitra. Same hairstyle and shade, same sharp features and almond-shaped brown eyes, same thin body type with small breasts and a cute butt. She wore a faded white t-shirt that referenced Wonder Woman, pale blue jeans, and military-style boots. She carried a backpack around her back and a brown crossbody purse.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a wand. She handed it to Satira, who said, “Thank you, Cholena.” Satira turned to us. “I believe you’re all familiar with the child of Mitra Dearwood and Katonah Wolfe?”
“The child of Mitra…” Uncle Soren began. He stared at the girl, who glared back.
“You killed my mother.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement. Her voice was soft and dainty, slightly high-pitched. It was different from Mitra’s big booming alto voice.
“So is your last name Dearwood or Wolfe?” Louis asked.
“It’s hyphenated,” Cholena replied. “Which one of you is Soren?”
“That would be me,” Uncle Soren said. “I loved your mother, Cholena, and she loved me. She was torn between her vows to your father and her unconditional love for me.”
Her features softened, and she started to approach him. Chirag, one of our guards, made a move to stop her, but Uncle Soren told Chirag to let her approach him.
She slowly approached him, and it struck me how tiny she was, especially compared to him. She was shorter than Sarah, and thinner than Mitra. I could almost see her ribs through her shirt.
She looked at all of us, her eyes lingering on Sarah, who stared back icily. I wondered if she had lady-loving inclinations. And then she kicked Uncle Soren in the crotch.
He fell over, clutching his privates, cursing her out loud.
“You’re responsible for my mom’s death, pencil-dick, so I feel plenty justified,” Cholena said.
“Fucking bitch,” he cursed. She stomped on his hand, cracking the bones. I heard him cry out again, and then he grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her to the ground. She landed on her back, and he dragged her, so she was level with him.
He grabbed her head and started to twist it, and I shouted, “Uncle Soren, think of who she is!”
He growled, but he stopped trying to snap her neck at least.
He grabbed her by the throat and held her up off the ground by three feet. “Try that again and I won’t be so merciful, girl.”
He dropped her onto the ground where she lay, coughing.
I predicted that these two would be crazy about each other in a matter of days.
“She’s just like Mitra, isn’t she?” Satira gloated. “Strong and powerful. The Ancient Feminine is incredibly pleased with the Dearwood women.”
“How did you meet her?” I asked.
“Through a friend. Quite a coincidence, really.”
“You’re not telling the whole story.”
“Oh, the whole story will eventually come out. But not today. What do you think of her, Soren?”
Uncle Soren grumbled under his breath about impertinent women and ancient witches who annoyed the daylights out of him.
“Why are you really here, Satira?” Father asked.
“I told you. Marina, your sister and I miss you dearly. Do you think you could-“
“No. I chose Catholicism, and you chose witchcraft. Do not try to tempt me.”
“But your children, the unborn ones, they still have a choice, and so do Reese and Selena.”
“Stay away from my children,” Mom growled. “Leave now.”
“Satira, get off my property,” Father warned. Satira sighed dramatically and shrugged.
“As you wish.”
She turned around and left, Cholena following close behind.
“Bitch,” Father muttered. “Marina, why did you bring her here?”
Mother blushed. “I thought she’d changed.”
“Well, obviously she hasn’t. Please, be more careful whom you bring around our son.”
“Just a minute, Mordecai-“
“Please don’t fight,” I begged my parents. “I didn’t even know she was still alive until today. I don’t know anything about your side of the family, Mom. Do you really have a sister? How many siblings do you have?”
“Five, all sisters,” Mom said. “Two of them are dead and one of them lives with Satira. The other two, I don’t know about.”

 

CHAPTER TWO – ONE, TWO PREGNANCIES

We didn’t see Satira again for several days. By then, Cholena had made a regular presence at the edge of Father’s property. She was usually carving wood or sketching in a drawing pad or writing in a composition book.
I figured she was keeping an eye on us, possibly intimidating my uncle on purpose. Sarah divided her time between Father and Mother’s houses, bringing a set of clothes each time. She was more tired, hungrier, and thirstier. What was even odder, was that she began to have strange cravings similar to mine. She would only eat rare beef or sometimes even eat raw hamburger. I asked her to stop, but she glared at me.
I began to have my own suspicions. We’d been down this path before, where I’d thought Sarah was pregnant, but I was wrong. This time, I was more certain.
Meanwhile, everyone got along with David swimmingly except for Uncle Soren. He acted like he didn’t exist, even outright ignoring him during question-and-answer time. Father made an announce of the “appearance of a child” on the vampire news.
Not everyone had taken the news that vampires were real and alive well. I still got death threats daily. But we had also begun a new project: the first vampire TV station, dedicated solely to the supernatural and paranormal. It was stationed in Trenton, the capital city of New Jersey. Father needed to be gone for days at a time to take care of it-or Uncle Soren. This time, though, we all went.

The driver pulled up to the station building. Across the street were religious protestors-it looked like Westboro Baptist Church members. I showed my ID and was led to a makeup room. A man with caramel skin and silver eyeliner introduced himself as Jimmy, and he said he would do my makeup and hair.
“How long have you been growing out your hair?” he asked, picking up a brush that I recognized as a Mason Pearson brush.
“It’s been long since I was fourteen,” I told him. “The white tips are a trait of our family. Even Louis has white tips, and he’s the only one who doesn’t have yellow eyes. Emerson eyes, some call them.”
“Whatever you call them, they’re beautiful,” Jimmy complimented. “Now, how much makeup do you usually wear?”
“I used to wear eyeliner and black lipstick,” I said. “But I stopped doing that except for special occasions a few years ago. Now I usually go au naturel. I also used to wear earrings.”
“I can see the scars,” Jimmy said, examining my face. “You’ve got a nice complexion. Small pores. What kind of blood do you drink, human or animal?”
“Human,” I responded.
“That explains it. Animal drinkers usually rot from the inside out unless they have human blood every now and then. It’s a slow death.”
“My father always said that animal drinkers were an abomination.”
Jimmy laughed. “I’m an animal drinker.”
Well, that was embarrassing. For me, I mean.
“But you say that animal drinkers rot?”
“Eventually, but it takes years and years,” Jimmy said. “I think I’ve got time.”
“You could always drink bagged blood.”
“Tried it. Hated it. Okay, is your hair naturally straight, or do you straighten it? I’m thinking a low ponytail. Is that okay with you?”
I answered his questions and consented to the ponytail. He fixed my hair up and used a black elastic to keep it tied together. Then he applied a thin layer of foundation and powder, and then lined my eyes in