The Inheritance

Seventeenth century Massachusetts. A time of expansion . . . and repression. As children, she and Gwyneth Pitkin were inseparable. In their awkward teens, they found solace in each other’s company as they attempted to sort out and cope with the events, beliefs and prejudices of their era. As young women, they both came to recognize that their feelings for each other were deeper than two women were permitted to have. Combined with the fact that they had both managed to stave off marital commitments far longer than their contemporaries, the village had begun to gossip. Abigail didn’t care. Having been orphaned at birth and knowing nothing about her birth parents, she always felt like an outsider anyway. It wasn’t just her behavior that set her off from the villagers, but her appearance as well. Darker featured with blacker eyes than anyone she knew, she had heard the whispers about her gypsy heritage.

Raised by an elderly local Pastor and his barren wife, she had always rejected their Christian teachings. Something unspoken inside of Abigail knew this way of thinking and living could never apply to her. Both of them were cold and uncaring, mostly ignoring her except when they were attempting to, as they’d say, "beat the Devil out of her". Still, Abigail came and went as she pleased, and now well into their senior years, the couple had learned it was easier to just let her be.

About the only person other than Gwyneth that Abigail felt any kind of connection to was an old woman who lived on the outskirts of the town, but Abigail didn’t even know her name back then. There were rumors that the old woman had killed her husband while she was still a new bride, but the local magistrate had deemed the it an accident and no charges were brought against her. Almost fifty years later though, the talk persisted.

Abigail had seen her only a handful of times while growing up. Infrequently, the woman would come into town to stock up and order supplies she needed. It was well known that the inheritance of her deceased husband’s wealth kept her comfortable. She lived alone on the modest farm except for the men she hired from overseas to work it. In this way, she had everything she needed to enable her to live a very untroubled life that most of the local towns women were jealous of, despite their Christian teachings that envy was one of the seven deadlies.

On one such rare occasion, the Pastor’s wife had been in the General Store when the old woman’s horse drawn cart pulled into town. Abigail’s young eyes immediately met and locked onto the woman’s as the local folk stopped to watch and whisper. The young child was sure she saw recognition in those old eyes that were as dark as her own. Drawn to her like a kindred spirit, she had started to approach the woman [to do just that], only to suddenly have her arm grabbed by the Pastor’s wife and be practically dragged away. But Abigail continued to stare at the old woman even while being reprimanded and told that "Tis bad enough for the men folk to deal business with her, but no God fearing woman should give her the right time of day!"

Gwyneth was the only child in that stifling town who had befriended her. Had it not been for the prestigious position a Pastor held in those days, Gwyneth’s parents would have surely forbid their association. Not that it would have mattered. For from the first day they met in Sunday School, each instinctively knew they were destined to be together forever.

Abigail had arrived later than the other children had that day. Not at all becoming for the daughter of the Pastor himself, even if she was adopted! But she so preferred letting the breeze caress her while sitting on the cool, sweet grass, gazing at the clouds overhead and learning the songs of the birds. Much more than sitting on a hard, wooden chair in a musty room, staring at a blackboard, learning the words to prayers and fear-filled morals to Biblical stories that meant nothing to her.

As she reluctantly walked down the aisle to find a seat that first day, the other children giggled as they took up more than their fair share of space on the benches to prevent Abigail from sitting next to them. Only Gwyneth held her place, refusing to push over, motioning for the Black Lamb of the community to sit next to her with a welcoming smile. It would be the only time Abigail could remember Gwyneth not caving in to social pressure. In the instant that the two girls sat side by side, their friendship . . . and their destiny . . . was sealed for all eternity.

Many years later, just one week short of Abigail’s twenty-third birthday, the two young women sat atop a large hill secluded by trees. This was their favorite place. From up here, they could see the village below without the villagers seeing them. No one could approach without the girls seeing them first; it gave them enough time to disengage from behavior they knew people would disapprove of and assume a pretentious, pious manner. They had learned early in their lives not to display affection for one another publicly.

Gwyneth sat with her back against one of the Weeping Willow trees, lovingly stroking Abigail’s forehead while the latter rested her head in her companion’s lap with her eyes closed. These were the special moments that had taught the two about spiritual love.

Gwyneth looked up through the leaves to the sky and sighed. "I do so wish it could always be like this."

"It can."

"Do you not believe in fulfilling your obligations?"

"Only one. To love you for all time."

The blond faked a scowl. "Tis an obligation to love me then!" The woman’s tonal inflection carried more of her mother’s Irish brogue than her father’s English accent. This was often the case.

A small smile curled one corner of Abigail’s lips. "Tis a life sentence my soul serves willingly."

Gwyneth smiled and bent forward to give Abigail a soft kiss on her mouth, wisps of her blond hair tickling Abigail’s face. Even with her long hair tied tautly back under the white headpiece that was customary for the era, Gwyneth’s thick mane always managed to liberate itself by the middle of the day. "You almost make me believe life could be as you see it."

"It can." she repeated.

The blue eyed woman became somber as she sighed again. "Tis not what my parents say."

Abigail opened her eyes and sat up to face her friend. She knew what course their conversation was taking and the heading was always disastrous. "Have your parents started discussing nuptials again?"

Gwyneth nodded. "And more. I did not know how to tell you this, but they have arranged for an older gentleman newly from England to travel here to finalize my dowry."

"Refuse!"

"Gwyneth laid her hand alongside Abigail’s face. "I wish I had your strength and courage, Abbey. You have the fighting spirit of a wolf, while my heart beats timid as a lamb’s."

"You cannot agree to such a union!"

"Tis little choice for a woman such as myself. I must eventually take a husband to care for me. Mother also keeps reminding me of my obligation to the Lord to bear children."

"To the Devil with the Lord!"

"Abbey! Speak no more blasphemy!"

"If the Lord wants you to marry and bear children, let Him wed you himself and sire them!"

"What of a woman’s duty to do the Lord’s work?"

"Tis enough women like your mother to labor such chore. One less shan’t be missed."

"And who shall take care of me?"

"Tis a task I be willing to bear."

Gwyneth chuckled. "And how shall you do this?"

"Was to be a surprise of my own. I have managed to secure a small fortune. Tis enough for us to travel. Perhaps to Boston. We could earn our own way."

"As harlots!" Gwyneth snickered.

Abigail shook her head and laughed. "Nay, as shopkeepers! You love to sew and have an eye for fabric. We can clothe the well-to-do of the community."

"And how have you acquired such immediate wealth? Do not tell me my beloved has resorted to thievery!?"

"Nay! Nay! Do you remember the crate left for me by my birth parents?"

"The one the Reverend has kept sealed and stored in his barn?"

"Aye, the same. I opened it last week."

Gwyneth gasped. "Abigail! That was to remain sealed until your twenty-third birthday!"

"The Reverend has no intention of giving it to me. I overheard he and his wife discussing it when they thought I was asleep late one night. The miserable heifer convinced him it must contain the work of Satan. They plan to set it afire . . . unopened . . . on my birthday as an offering to their God. So I removed its contents and buried most of them upon this very hill."

"Tis indeed very curious. What secrets were harbored?"

Abigail became excited. "A treasure, my love! Jewelry, gold and silver pieces! Enough for us to live out a comfortable and secure life well away from the eyes and ears of those who wish to keep us apart!"

"Thy parents must have been rich! Nothing more was inside?"

"Except for a very large, old book. Probably a family history."

"Oh, Abigail! Tis such good news! Now you truly have a family of your own to learn about!"

Abigail shook her head. "Nay. The book is secured with a lock even I cannot outsmart. I think it has something to do with a curious passage that is on the front cover."

"Do you remember what it said?"

"Indeed, because of its oddity, I have written it down." She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and began to read:

"Before the first feed, grant passage not.
After the blood, done is the deed.
Knowledge gained when thy blood boils hot,
A legacy fulfilled when turned twenty-three."

Gwyneth raised a hand to her throat as her eyes widened. "That truly sounds unholy! Perhaps the Pastor’s wife is right in her thinking."

Abigail laughed again as she replaced the paper into her pocket. "You think too much like a Christian."

"But what shall you do when the Reverend learns of your indiscretion?"

"He shan’t, for I have filled the crate with stones and wood of equal weight to what was inside and have resealed it just as before. The Reverend shall be none the wiser of my actions. The only thing he and his wife shall burn is worthless fodder. Tis my property, not theirs and I shall not have them imposing their will on it as they have tried to do to me."

"But what of the stones? Surely they shall be exposed amongst the ashes?"

Abigail shrugged. "They know not the contents. They shall merely think my parents as mad as they already do me."

Gwyneth laughed and hugged Abigail. "There be times when I think my beloved’s wit and manner would be better suited had she been born a man! But let us speak no more of marriage and dubious bounty lest we soil such a bonny day. I have prepared a basket for our afternoon supper."

Abigail leaned back and sighed as she watched Gwyneth lay everything out. "I am not hungry, Gwyneth, but let that fact not stop you from partaking."

Concern registered in the woman’s blue eyes and she brushed back a few strands of Abigail’s almost jet-black hair. "You have not been looking too well for almost a fortnight and I have overheard the Pastor’s wife speak that you have hardly consumed anything in almost as much time."

This was very true. Outside of occasional red fruit or wine, Abigail hadn’t had much desire for food at all.

"Forgive me, beloved, for I know you to be an excellent cook, but even now I find myself unable to tolerate so much as the aroma of your fine preparations."

"Very well." Gwyneth agreed, closing the wicker basket. "Then we shall simply feast on each other."

And she threw herself on top of Abigail and kissed her until both girls giggled uncontrollably.

When Abigail reluctantly returned home later that evening, she spied a horse drawn carriage outside as three raised voices came from behind the door. One of them was foreign to her, but the words traveled clear enough.

"The child has a right to know her legacy!"

"Tis the legacy of the Devil thou speaketh of!"

"Ye have seen this before. Let her come with me this very night! She needs to learn the ways of her kind. She shall die otherwise . . . as her mother did before her."

"Tis better to sleep in the lap of the Lord than be awake in the hand of the Devil!"

"I shall not watch this happen again! The death of my one and only child was your fault, Reverend . . . all the pious talk she listened to and believed!"

"She remained pure to the word of the Lord to the end and now walks freely in His Kingdom. Thou should find comfort in that knowledge."

"I shall be comforted only by the survival of my sole granddaughter."

"Tis best you leave, for she is sure to arrive back home shortly."

"Aye, but be assured, gentlefolks . . . this matter is not settled."

As hurried steps approached the door, Abigail ran to the side of the house so as not to be seen. She was shocked to see the reclusive old woman get into her cart and ride off.

Abigail could not believe her eyes! The same woman the good Reverend and his righteous wife had socially and publicly ostracized had been in her own home! And who could they be talking about?

By the time Abigail returned to the house, the elderly couple had taken to their beds and fallen asleep. Abigail took to her own as well in the hope that sleep would provide refreshing answers to the day’s problems, but upon waking that next morning, the questions still remained.

To make matters worse for the next two days, Gwyneth had not paid a visit. This was not like her. Abigail would have called upon her instead to appease her concern, but her lack of appetite and the weakness, which had recently come over her, was becoming worse. It took all of her strength to walk the distance to the hill she and Gwyneth called their own.

From up here, everything else seemed to melt away. For a time, the strange feelings and thoughts that had been rumbling inside of her were quieted. At some point she must have fallen asleep, for the next thing she knew, a soft, familiar kiss was upon her brow. Abigail opened her eyes to find Gwyneth lying beside her.

"Gwen, where have you been for the last two days?" she asked as she sat up.

The fair skinned woman wore a strange expression. "In the abyss of Hades itself."

"What strange manner of speech be this?"

Gwyneth wrapped her arms around Abigail tightly. This was a discernible tremble in her despite the warm weather. "Tis bad news for thee and me."

Abigail pushed the woman away to look into her eyes. "What be this bad news you warn me of?"

The woman heaved a heavy sigh to summon up courage. "I am to wed in five days."

"This cannot be!"

"If that not be bad enough," she continued, "Tis made worse to think that my wedding night is on your birthday." Gwyneth broke into full tears. "To give myself to a man I care nothing about is truly a deed from Hell, but to lie down and allow him to strip away my purity on the most sacred day of the year . . . my beloved’s day of birth . . . tis beyond the most evil thought I can conjure!"

The two women held each other as Abigail’s mind settled on the idea of losing her one true love. Eventually, Gwyneth calmed down enough for Abigail to wipe away the deluge of sadness from her eyes.

"You must make a decision, Gwen! To become imprisoned by the standards your parents would condemn you to, or take the reins of your own destiny and remain free!"

Gwyneth shook her head solemnly. "I cannot. You know this to be true. My parents would then be condemned to the ridicule of the community I seek to escape from. But I have made another decision. I wish to give you something now which I had planned to gift you on your birthday."

She put her arms around Abigail again and placed her lips at the woman’s ear. "If bed with a husband I must," she whispered, "Then it shall be done. But my wedding present shall be to thee, not he. I wish to give you, my beloved Abigail, the only dowry I have truly had which is mine alone to give. I shall give myself willingly to a man only after I lie with the woman I have always loved and taste forbidden carnal knowledge."

Abigail pulled back with shock and stared at her. "Gwen! Do you know what you be saying!?"

The blond placed her hands on either side of Abigail’s face and looked deeply into her eyes. "I can fulfill my obligation to a husband only after I have let my one and only true love deflower me."

Abigail shook her head. "You do not mean this!"

"Verily, for there has always been this one thing which has never gone [on] betwixt us. I wish it so now, for you be the first, the last and the only love I shall ever have."

Gwyneth reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a wedding band. Lifting Abigail’s left hand, she placed the oversized ring on the woman’s appropriate finger and kissed it.

"This is to become the symbol of the marital covenant betwixt my husband and myself. I wish for you to wear it as I give myself freely. Every time I see this upon his finger in the future, I shall remember the bond betwixt thee and me, and I can close my eyes and imagine tis you upon me in our lover’s embrace."

Abigail said nothing . . . at first. There was a strange hunger swelling inside of her, but it had little to do with passion of the romantic kind. "Gwyneth . . . I do so love you, but . . ."

"Sh-h-h-! Say no more, my sweetness!" she interrupted by placing a finger against Abigail’s lips. "I have thought long and hard on this . . . and of us. And of this precious moment."

And Gwyneth kissed her. More fervently than ever before in their young lives . . . and in a way Abigail didn’t think Gwyneth knew existed. Abigail responded in kind, aroused by the fact that she was free to explore her love’s body in ways she never ventured to before. No, not just free . . . encouraged . . . begged onward by Gwyneth herself.

Abigail would always remember their nakedness pressed together under the tree that day. How she kissed the entire length of Gwyneth’s body until stopping atop the tuft of golden, soft hair that Gwyneth had guarded from men her entire life and was now Abigail’s alone to savor.

It felt so natural to be there! Stroking with her tongue . . . the warm, musky moisture from between Gwyneth’s legs urging her on . . . the woman’s moans of pleasure letting Abigail know when the time was right for the picking of that one-time ripe fruit.

And Abigail’s fingers were inside. The taut membrane yielded quickly as Gwyneth gasped and proclaimed her undying love and devotion for Abigail. It was truly a wondrous and precious moment of love’s most rare gift.

But then something else happened, too. As Abigail slowly withdrew her hand from between Gwyneth’s legs, the speckling of virgin blood upon her fingers hypnotized her. Suddenly, nothing else, not even Gwyneth’s loving words, seemed to be of any importance. A new kind of hunger rushed forward until Abigail felt all reason slip from her mind. There was a drive . . . a mindless, primitive reflex that forced her to dive back between Gwyneth’s legs, her tongue lapping up the treasure found in each and every drop of blood, searching for more. The fevered pace of Abigail’s mouth pushed Gwyneth into orgasmic explosions, but it was not the woman’s pleasure that urged Abigail on.

The dark featured woman lifted her head. The salty juice on her mouth tasted unusually sweet, and Abigail slid her tongue along her lips to catch it all. That’s when she felt them. The unusually long, sharp points of her own teeth. She slid her tongue past them again to make sure. There was no mistake. Fangs!

Abigail sat up quickly and covered her mouth with her own hand.

"My sweet." Gwyneth questioned dreamily, "What is it?"

Abigail turned away.

"Is something wrong, Abbey?"

Abigail turned back to look at her. It was as if all her senses had been raised to new heights. Ah, how sweet smelling the young woman was! Her hunger told her there was still much more to be consumed. She considered questioning these new urges, but it was too late. She belonged to them.

Abigail bent back over her lover’s body and started kissing her neck, slowly stretching herself over the blond until she laid completely on top of her.

"Yes, my beloved!" Gwyneth swooned as she ran her hands over Abigail’s body. "Never stop again."

As if overtaken by some fledgling instinct, Abigail opened her mouth, exposing the new fangs . . . plunging them. How easily they slid through the soft, pale skin with no resistance! Gwyneth groaned and clutched at Abigail as the teeth sank in deeper, finding the throbbing, engorged artery which gave up its bounty so readily.

The deliciously hot fluid spurted into Abigail’s mouth, its salty sweetness flowing over her tongue and draining into the back of her throat. She swallowed. Not just willingly, but with ferocity. Gulping the life giving energy with a frenzy . . . sucking up additional quantities through the access she had created as Gwyneth moaned with pleasure and dug her nails deep into Abigail’s back.

Gwyneth’s body began to arch and fall in rhythm to the pulsing of her blood as it filled Abigail’s mouth, and the brunette found herself moving to the dance on top of the blond. Their hips subtly ground together to the beat of Gwyneth’s heart. It was the only sound now in Abigail’s ears and her own seemed to pick up the pace and match it. No longer two separate entities, they merged into one, until it became impossible to know who led and who followed, their bodies moving as one, striving toward a mutual point, timed with the flow of blood from Gwyneth’s neck.

The blonde's moans added a secondary cadence as the intensity increased and the world drifted off to a place only remotely and vaguely remembered by Abigail. As warmth flowed down into her, another was beginning to build upward. Abigail was no longer conscious of her emotions, thoughts or earthly concerns. Pure libidinal need dominated now and she cared for nothing else but carrying out its deed to an unknown end. For her, Gwyneth had been reduced to nothing more than a servant to her desire, a mere inconsequential object to be used, consumed and tossed aside without a second thought or moment of remorseful regret.

Abigail no longer considered her own physical substance, for mortal senses served no purpose here. Something inside of her seemed to be spiraling uncontrollably, as if attempting to build enough momentum with which to escape from the confines of her own flesh. She no longer even contemplated herself as human!

But human she was, and Abigail felt the unexpected rush of her own orgasm as Gwyneth climaxed once again, the blonde's involuntary sobs of pleasure sounding not unlike whimpering sobs of pain. As the eruption in Gwyneth settled down into quivers of sexual aftershocks, Abigail felt her own essence slam back into the body she had temporarily forgotten existed. Suddenly, she stopped and pulled her teeth from the blonde's neck. Despite the pleasure of satiation, some other new instinct was telling her she must. She had no sooner raised her head than the fangs were gone as quickly as they had come. Looking down at the wounds she had inflicted, she was surprised to find them already beginning to clot. Rolling off Gwyneth, Abigail stared up at the sky as if in a state of shock, listening to Gwyneth’s exhausted breathing.

Gwyneth opened her eyes. She seemed none the worse for the experience, then put her hand to her neck and sat up. "Abbey, why did you stop?"

"Gwyneth! I know not what spell has taken me over!"

Abigail got up and quickly dressed, but it was a moment or two before Gwyneth did the same. As the black eyed young woman sat back down on the grass, she drew her knees up and hugged them, rocking. Gwyneth sat beside her.

"I know not why my love looks so distressed." the blond comforted as she ran a hand down Abigail’s back. "I gave myself most willingly and the experience was more pleasurable than I had dared imagine. No man shall ever be capable of giving me what you have this day."

Abigail stared at her with disbelief. Could Gwyneth be so ignorant of what had just happened? "Gwen, do you not know I have done?"

Gwyneth smiled. "Made me fall all the more in love? Enslaved my soul?"

Abigail shook her head. "How of health?"

"Never better . . . very refreshed and more alive than ever." She laid her hand alongside Abigail’s face. "As are you, my love, for I see your swarthy color has returned to your cheeks."

Gwyneth spoke the truth. In fact, Abigail felt stronger and healthier than ever. Just that morning, she could hardly pull herself from her own bed. This was strange. As strange as the fogginess that seemed to float in Gwyneth’s eyes like a sleepwalker. Another new instinct was telling her to seek out the old woman.

"My love, wouldst thou accompany me somewhere?"

"Simply will it."

Abigail got to her feet and held a hand out to Gwyneth. Before they left, she remembered the book. She didn’t know why, but she had a feeling it played a vital role in all that was going on.

Fortunately, the Pastor and his wife were not home, probably out doing some charity work. That meant the carriage was gone, so Abigail retrieved the book from the hiding spot in her room and saddled up one of the horses. All during this time, Gwyneth said nothing, but as Abigail mounted and reached down to Gwyneth, the young woman’s eyes seemed to be clearing. She looked around as if confused. Abigail could sense fear.

"Abbey," she began slowly. "What is going on?"

"Come withe, my love." she cooed. "Tis someone I believe can explain all this."

How easily she lifted Gwyneth’s body with a single hand and hoisted her into the saddle! It was as if the young woman weighed no more than a handful of feathers. Things were getting stranger all the time.

Gwyneth said little else as she sat in front of Abigail on the three-mile ride outside of town. As they arrived at the old woman’s farm, its mistress walked onto the porch and watched the two young women dismount.

"I have need for information, old woman!" Abigail shouted.

"And a good day to you too, Miss Bedford." It was a gentle reminder that Abigail had lost her manners.

"I apologize for the roughness in my demeanor. Tis much that has happened this day which defied my reason and stripped me of social pretense."

"I am sure there has." the old woman said slowly. "Come inside, children. There are fresh squeezed cider and newly baked breads waiting."

She walked up to Abigail and looked her squarely in the eyes. "I am sure thy appetite has returned with a vengeance." she said low.

How right she was, but how could she know that? As Gwyneth followed the old woman into the house, Abigail turned back to her horse for the book.

Inside, the old woman had already started serving. The table was set as if the company had been anticipated. On a plate in the center of the table sat a variety of freshly baked breads and sweets along with newly churned butter and a variety of ripe fruit.

The hostess looked over at the object Abigail was carrying. "Pray, what have ye there, child?"

Abigail unfolded the linen from around the book and placed it on the table. The old woman straightened and wiped her hands across the apron she wore. "I see ye have discovered thy inheritance in spite of the Reverend’s schemes."

"You know of this?"

"Aye. Was my own two hands which did the packing into the crate."

"How can that be? I was told it was left to me by kin!"

"Verily child, for we share the same blood. The woman who was your birth mother was my own daughter."

Abigail shook her head. "Tis not possible, for I was orphaned at birth! Told that no kin existed!"

"Sit, child. You have much to learn. Tis time for truth to have its turn at ye."

Abigail pulled a wooden chair from under the table and fell into it. The old woman continued.

"Your parents did not willingly abandon ye. Your mother died five days after giving birth to ye, but was not the circumstance of your being born which was responsible. Your father was completely devoted to her, so in love, that her death caused him inconsolable grief and physical distress great enough so that he himself died shortly thereafter. The Pastor and his wife had offered to take care of ye. I agreed, as I was not only grieving for my daughter, but tending to your father during that time and could not take on the added care required for a newborn. The Pastor’s wife had always wanted a child, but I guess their God never saw fit to grant her one." She sighed. "Anyway, after your father died and I was ready to bear the task of raising ye, I discovered that the two of them had decided they wanted to keep ye permanently."

"But thou art my grandmother! Surely they did not have that right over blood kin?"

"Aye, tis true, but I began to consider their words. I believed that at least with them, you would have a proper rearing within the bosom of a community I have come to have little use for. So I agreed . . . with the understanding that shortly before the age of twenty-three, you would be told of me so that you could learn the truth of your legacy."

She sighed again and leaned back. "But neither the Pastor nor his wife wish to hold up their end of the bargain anymore. I should have expected this from them!"

"Why not? Neither has ever held any regard for me."

"Tis your immortal soul they car about, nothing more. They made you a crusade, believing they could keep ye from they rightful inheritance . . . and destiny." The old woman reached over and touched the bite mark on Gwyneth’s neck. "Tis apparent they be wrong."

"Do you know about this deed, too?"

"The old woman nodded slowly. "Aye."

Abigail bolted up from her chair. "Tell me it all! I am going mad to think that some demon has overtaken me!"

"Tis no demon of thine own making, child." She responded cryptically while occupying the chair across her at the table. "You have heard the talk of a gypsy bloodline?"

"Aye. Many times, but the Pastor refuses to comment."

"Then let me tell you of it from the beginning." she began. "In the Motherland many generations ago, there existed a small tribe of gypsies. They were not a bad lot, but life was always hard. Often just getting enough to feed them all was impossible. They traveled constantly, but during one brutal winter, they were forced to settle for a while outside a small village. They tried to find honest work, but no one hires a gypsy out of ignorance, for most people believe a gypsy will rob whenever the opportunity presents itself. No coin could be earned through the peddling of wares either, as the severe storm kept people beside their fires. Wild game was nearly impossible to come by. The children were starving, the old folk were dying and the elders became desperate. Even bartering serving no fruitful purpose.

"One night, the young men got together and decided to raid a nearby farm for a few chickens and stored crops from the past harvest. Their intention was to take just enough for their people to get by for a few weeks until the weather broke and were intending to pay it back through free work. They did just that. They did not know at the time the farm belonged to a local Shaman. Something went wrong. The farmer’s son caught them. He had turned twenty-three that same day. A fight broke out and somehow the young man was killed. The gypsies took the livestock and brought it back to the wagons, but the farmer found out where they were and braved the weather that night. He called a curse down on the entire band, one that would follow all their descendants from that day forward. Tis all recorded in the book. Have ye not read it?"

"I cannot get past the lock."

"You can now."

"How?"

"Take the two points which meet to the side of the lock and pull."

"I have tried that."

"It takes unnatural strength which you have now."

"Abigail did as she was instructed. Suddenly, the crude metal bands sprung open. The pages were liberated.

"They are now free for ye to read."

"Why have I been able to do what I was not before?"

"Because you have turned twenty-three this day and fulfilled thy destiny."

"But my birthday shan’t be for another five days!"

"Nay. Your birthday is today. The Pastor and his wife created a new day for you. Another scheme of theirs to try to fool the fates. They chose to mark the day they first acquired you as your new day of birth."

Abigail’s head was spinning. "My mind feels as if it is being seared by the fires of Purgatory itself! None of this explains what has happened today, though!"

"Let me finish the story and you shall see. The Shaman’s curse was brought down upon the heads of the gypsies in a way that would serve to be a reminder for all eternity of their guilty deed. Because his son was twenty-three, this day would mark the beginning of the curse in all to come. Because of the blood spilled and the flesh eaten, an invocation was brought down to mark this as well. So that no one would ever forget, no one would ever die. So it passed that for every blood descendant of that cursed tribe of gypsies, upon each and every twenty-third birthday, so would begin the yearly need to take the blood of another . . . or die resisting."

Abigail’s dark eyes went wild. "Tis superstition and cannot be true!"

"You have felt the boiling blood." She motioned toward Gwyneth. "And you know how satisfied and well feeling the body is afterward."

Abigail sat back in her chair. "Tis how it shall always be? To forever become an animal and lust after the blood of another?"

"Forever, in a way."

"Nay! I shall take my own life before I let such evil exist in me!"

"Do not speak such ill reason!" Gwyneth finally spoke.

Abigail turned to her. "I cannot be a part of this. I could have killed you today!"

"But you did not." the old woman reminded her. "And unless you want to, you will not kill anyone. A voice inside knew when to stop. Besides, this curse be not entirely evil, for you have bestowed upon thy young friend a gift many men have sought since the beginning of time. Like thyself, you have granted her eternal youth!"

"That be nothing but a myth. No such a thing exists."

"Aye, it exists."

Abigail thought about it for a long while before she spoke again. "And every time I commit this unholy deed, I give this . . . this . . . gift to my victim?"

"Nay. Tis only seems to happen during the first feed."

"And what of Gwyneth? Is she, too, now cursed this way?"

"She is not of your blood. She shan’t have a desire to feed."

"And what of death? Is there no way to ever be freed?"

The old woman shook her head. "As I have said, you both have been bestowed with eternal youth. Neither of you shall ever know illness or old age, but are still mortal in one way. Thee and she can still take thine own lives or have them taken by either another or through circumstance. Tis more difficult than for most though because of the great strength and keen senses you will soon develop . . . and speed and agility. This be a curse only if ye choose to see it that way."

"But what of this feeding you speak of?"

"Aye." the old woman said sadly. "There is the rub to all this! While I believe your friend will have none of the urges, you, my dear granddaughter, must fulfill them every year on thy birthday. But fear not, for none of thy victims shall remember the deed provided you leave shortly after the bloodlust has been satisfied. I know not much about this curse outside of what little your grandfather had said to me, but I believe this all to be so."

"My grandfather." Abigail repeated. "Tis through his bloodline that I and this thing come?"

"Aye."

"And what of his fate?"

"Alas, he died a long time ago, before thine own mother was born."

"How! How did he die?"

The old woman closed her eyes for a moment as memories flooded her mind. "He took his own life. He could not accept what had been gifted him." She leaned across the table and held Abigail’s hand. "That is why tis so important ye learn to embrace this! I do not wish to see happen to you what happened to your grandfather and to your mother. They did not understand it. They feared it, believing their God had abandoned or punished them. But tis much about this thing that is good."

"Tell me of my grandfather . . . and of my mother."

The old woman walked over to the hearth and placed a kettle over the small fire. "First I shall make us all some tea. Tis a long story and shall take some time."

It was on that day that Abigail learned about the inheritance.

Having only been married a few months, the new bride had noticed her husband’s recent loss of appetite and vigor, but when she questioned him about it, he assured her there was nothing to be concerned about. Not long after, he told his wife that he needed to go away for a few days. She didn’t think anything was odd about that as his business often took him away from her, but as his health seemed to be worsening, she asked him to put off his plans until after his twenty-third birthday which would be in a few days. He was adamant that his going away was necessary and that he would be fine upon his return. Indeed, when he arrived back home several days later, he looked healthier than she had ever seen him look and possessed such strength and vitality, she had almost believed his ill health never existed.

But his guilt was too powerful to contain. Some weeks later, he sat his wife down and told her all about the curse that had been placed on his family. He confessed to her that he had gone away to satisfy his bloodlust for fear that it would consume his reason and he would be forced to satisfy it with her. He also told her how he wished for them to never have children, for they would be as cursed as he was. It was too late, though, for she had planned to surprise him with her announcement that she was already expecting their first child.

He became enraged; when he started smashing things in the house and cursing his ancestors, she became frightened and ran from the house. He followed her into the barn where he confronted her. He begged her to spare their unborn child's soul by taking its mortal life. She was naturally appalled by the idea and instead suggested to him that perhaps his mind was not sound, that such a thing could not be true and that in time, he would see that such a curse did not ever exist.

He grabbed her and started screaming, beseeching her to understand how real it all was and had been for centuries. She would not listen. He turned away from her. That’s when it happened. When he turned back to face her, his eyes had turned to golden fire and he bared his teeth. She jumped back as he hissed and lunged. She tried to avoid him, but he was lightening quick. His fangs sank into the side of her neck, but as it was not bloodlust he sought to satisfy, he had barely consumed a mouthful of her blood when he pushed her to the ground away from him.

When she regained her senses and looked up at him, he was back to his normal appearance. He began to sob, talking about how he had surely cursed their unborn child by his deed. He fell to his knees before her, imploring her for forgiveness and pleading with her to take his life as an offering to God. They talked for a long while until she finally had him calmed down enough so that they could go back to the house and get ready for bed.

It was several hours later when she awoke to the sound of frightened animals and flickering light. As she jumped from her bed and ran to the window, she could see that the barn was on fire. She called to her husband who had fallen asleep beside her and was alarmed to find him no longer there. On his pillow instead was a brief letter telling her that he loved her, but could not endure the torture in his soul any longer, and how he hoped God would spare his child from the curse through his sacrificial act. The letter also instructed her to tell everyone he had gone to the barn in the middle of the night to do some work, as he often did when he had difficulty sleeping, and had let the horses out into the corral so that he could do needed repairs. She could lead everyone to surmise that he must have fallen asleep and the lantern accidentally set fire to the straw.

She ran screaming out of the house and headed toward the barn calling out his name, but the flames had engulfed the entire structure. Neighbors had seen the fire and were already attempting to put it out, but soon gave up as nothing more could be done.

Several months later, Abigail’s mother was born. She was raised with full knowledge of the curse, but sought refuge in the teachings of the Bible and the Church. The Pastor was none other than the same Reverend who would someday raise Abigail. Told of the curse by Abigail’s mother, the Pastor had convinced the young woman that it was the taking of blood that caused each child to bear the burden of their sinful parents. When she finally married and became pregnant, she was determined not to fulfill her family’s legacy by giving in to those urges.

Into her final month of pregnancy, she was about to turn the age of twenty-three. The needs of the curse were powerful and despite her growing physical weakness, she read the Scriptures day and night. Abigail was born a week before her own mother’s birthday. Her mother died several days later. It was at this point that the Pastor and his wife began tending to her child.

Later that evening, sitting around a small fire in their secret place, the dark eyed woman flipped through the old book while Gwyneth tended the wood.

"Have you learned much more in reading?" the blond questioned over the crackling of the flames.

Abigail shrugged her shoulders and closed the book. "Tis difficult to learn much of anything from it, having been written over several generations with bits and pieces added as something new about the curse was uncovered. The only thing I know for certain, is that this unholy deed of my ancestors has turned me into a beast!"

Gwyneth chuckled lightly as she worked the fire. "Nay, beloved, for I could never love one who was."

"I speak the truth, Gwyneth. My grandmother believes I should be thankful for what my kinsmen have given to me, but I never shall! You would be better off to let this fire burn my memory from your mind."

The blond looked up, her expression serious, almost angry. "Never."

"Go back to your parents this night and tell them you will accept this Englishman’s proposal in earnest." Abigail insisted, "Then do just that!"

"We are forever bonded by this thing, Abigail. That truth shan’t be purged by all the fires in Hell. Even after I am married, my heart will belong only to you."

Abigail became angrier. "I wish I had never learned about this evil! I curse those who have cursed me!"

With that, she threw the book into the flames.

"Abigail!" Gwyneth screamed and quickly grabbed a stick with which to push the book out of the fire. With the hem of her dress, she slapped at the blue flames licking and dancing around the edges of the pages until they were extinguished. Charred and smoldering, the book was safe and the fair skinned woman opened it for inspection.

"Some has been scorched, but tis still readable. Why did you do such a foolish thing, Abigail?"

Abigail crossed her arms. "I want it nowhere near me!"

"That shan’t change the truth of the day’s events."

"If you were a reasonable woman, you would toss it back onto the fire as kindling!"

Gwyneth wrapped the book in the linen. "Then I shall keep it until reasoning returns to your mind. Much has tortured your already tormented soul today, but I have faith you will rise above it as you have always done."

Abigail shook her head. "How can you be so accepting of all this? I have damned us both!"

"None of this be your fault. Things are no different today than yesterday. Tis only all the tomorrows I would choose to change."

"You do not see all this as unholy?"

"The only thing I see as unholy is my impending marriage. My feelings for you have not changed and they never shall."

Abigail sighed and paused. "What wouldst thou say to the idea of my going away?" she asked quietly.

Gwyneth had gone back to tending the wood. She didn’t look up as she hesitated. "I would not wish for it," she said low, "But I can understand the need to. Once I am wed, things are sure to become more difficult . . . for both of us."

"Oh, Gwyneth! How I wish you would come with me and cast off this nonsense about marriage!"

But Abigail understood Gwyneth’s position. No matter how strong the bond of their love was, the ties of family and social obligations, at least for Gwyneth, were stronger.

It was on that hill that the two women made love again, but this time was different, for no bloodlust demanded satisfaction. Over and over, the two women proclaimed their love for one another as if saying it just the right way would change the reality of their lives. Unable to say goodbye, Abigail asked Gwyneth to leave first and not look back. She knew as the blond walked back toward the village that this would be their last meeting for a while.

Gwyneth’s wedding day came too quickly and the entire town turned out for the celebration. For Abigail, it was a day for grieving. She could not bear to attend the service at church, so instead spied nearby as the bride and groom made their departure and headed for the waiting carriage.

Gwyneth was beautiful! Her lace dress had come from England years before and it fit snugly in all the right places to show off her young, firm body. Had it been on any other day, it would surely have been viewed as improper. While watching the tossing of traditional rice onto the newly wedded couple as they climbed into the buckboard, Abigail’s stomach churned and her heart seemed to cease beating. Dizziness claimed her and she clutched at one of the trees to steady herself. She momentarily closed her eyes against the thoughts being conjured of this man touching Gwyneth, of his opportunity to make her body familiar to his hands and eyes, of taking Gwyneth in ways she never could. But most of all, at the idea that her beloved would be hers no more.

As the groom gripped the reins and signaled to the horses with a snap, the wind rustled the leaves of the tree Abigail was standing against and Gwyneth suddenly looked around until her eyes settled on the cluster of branches that hid Abigail. The dark eyed woman attempted to conceal herself more by bending down into the high grass, but it was as if Gwyneth could still detect her in some way, for her blue eyes were locked onto the exact spot Abigail crouched in. It made sense. Abigail herself had recently noticed that her own five senses were becoming keener. She guessed the same thing was happening to Gwyneth. Abigail waited until the wagon pulled away and disappeared behind the bend before standing back up.

That evening, she made up her mind to leave. Digging up her treasure from the hill and gathering the rest of her worldly possessions, she packed them into several saddlebags and hid them in the hayloft. She would wait until the next morning when the Pastor and his wife were scheduled to visit a neighboring town to help its local Reverend set up a new parish. She would visit her newly discovered grandmother one last time before heading west. The plan seemed simple enough, but the curse, with all its consequences, had still not finished with her.

Sitting in the old woman’s kitchen the next day, Abigail told her of her plans. The woman stood and walked over to the cupboard where she opened a door and pulled out a bag. Setting it on the table in front of Abigail, she resumed her seat across from her.

"I’ve known this day would come. Pick it up, girl! Tis another part of thine inheritance."

Abigail did as she was instructed and looked inside. The bag contained several deeds to property here and abroad along with what she quickly estimated to be almost a thousand pounds in British currency.

"What be this that you give to me?"

"It rightfully belongs to you. Your kin have acquired much wealth through the years. Living forever tis bound to do that. You will find legal ownership to properties all over the world along with documents from several barristers who be holding additional assets and information in trust for you. When my time comes, you will also be provided with the deed to this very house."

"Tis a great deal of wealth!"

"Aye, but not all of it. You will find that inheritances such as this become commonplace after enough time has passed."

"But what of you?"

"I’ve more than enough to keep me comfortable and secure. Your grandfather was a cunning young businessman, as his father before him."

"I know not what to say! Mere gratitude pales and seems ill fitting."

"Words need not attempt what the heart clearly expresses. I wish ye well on the journeys ahead. When shall you be leaving?"

"Tonight."

The old woman raised an eyebrow. "A curious time for a young woman to be leaving, even with someone possessing the skills you have. There no doubt be a reason for this late departure?"

"I have left word for Gwyneth that I am here. Tis my hope she will choose to see me one last time before I go."

The old woman clicked her tongue and shook her head slowly. "Dear granddaughter! She be a married woman now! Tis best to leave such affairs betwixt her and her new husband! Stirring up a hornet’s next can be a painful experience."

Abigail’s resolve was strong. "The bond betwixt us cannot keep her away. I know this to be true. My only regret is that I have not gotten the chance to know you better."

The woman's dark eyes softened. "No regrets, girl. I have watched you grow into a fine young woman all through these years. The time to leave is upon you and tis best ye do. The burning times were not long ago and its memory lingers like any tired fire. I have no wish to see those embers rekindled with you as its bellows. Tis surely what would happen if you remained in this town."

"I shall never forget your kindness."

"Sweet granddaughter!" the woman laughed, "Go with my blessings! The world and the future are in thy hands."

As they hugged, a knock came at the door. The old woman walked over to let the visitor in.

"Come in, girl. You have been expected."

Abigail’s heart began to race, but as Gwyneth walked through the door and lifted her head to look at them, Abigail and her grandmother stared in horror. One side of the fair skinned woman’s face was swollen and bruised. Her lips were blistered and split with dried blood in the corners of her mouth and on the edges of her nostrils.

Abigail stood slowly and furrowed her brows. "What demon has done this?"

Gwyneth’s eyes immediately began to well with tears. "Please hurry, Abbey! You must leave here quickly for my husband is consumed by the evil of Satan himself this day! He comes for you!"

"What madness do you speak?"

"Oh, Abigail! After he had taken me on our wedding night, he accused me of having been soiled! He has accused my parents of knowingly pawning off damaged goods and the disgrace has left me to his dealings with their blessing! When I refused to tell him who was responsible for cheating him out of the dowry of my virginity, he beat me into a daze from whence your name fled from my lips! He has made a promise to come after you and balance the deed!"

The old woman took Abigail by the arm. "Come, dear granddaughter! Time must not be wasted! We must get your horse packed and send ye off with the swiftness of the angels!"

Abigail walked over to Gwyneth and placed a hand on her face.

"You mustn’t look at me." the blond pleaded as she tried to turn away. "I have shamed myself and my kin by my confession and have brought dishonor upon you and yours as well."

"You could never do all that." Abigail soothed. "For my love for you is stronger than ever and shall always be so. This I have vowed and desire no release from its bind."

Gwyneth hugged her. "Oh, Abigail. How I wish I would have heeded your words, for your tongue has always spoken the same language as my own heart."

Abigail lifted the woman’s chin and stared into her crystal blue eyes. Flashes of the beating shot across her vision. "I shall kill him for what he has done . . . I swear it!"

"Let there be no more talk of violence," the old woman interjected, "for thanks to the Pastor, her husband is sure to eventually look for you here."

"Come withe, beloved!" Abigail begged Gwyneth. "Leave with me! Let us bequeath these mistakes to those who created them!"

Gwyneth wiped away her tears, her eyes widening as she considered the idea. "Yes! Yes, I shall!"

"Then let us be gone swiftly!" Abigail urged, pulling Gwyneth from the house.

As the three women stepped off the porch and headed for the barn, a horse was quickly making its way toward the farm. Too late. Its rider had seen them.

"Gwyneth!" the male voice ordered, "Mark thy place!"

The blond stopped dead in her tracks and froze with fear. "Dear Lord!" her voice cried with fear. "He has found me sooner than I expected!" She turned quickly to Abigail. "Be gone, beloved! Mount your stallion and fly before he gets any closer!"

"Nay." the brunette responded slowly. "I shall hold my place for the likes of him. I have done so all my life and will not change now."

He was a tall man with a hearty build and rugged complexion. His eyes locked onto Gwyneth, who stepped behind Abigail as he dismounted, and he walked towards them without bothering to hitch his horse.

As he slowly approached, his chest heaved rapidly. It was impossible to tell if it was due to the exhaustion of the ride or his rising rage.

He stopped a mere ten feet in front of them, his hands at his sides, his fists already clenched with anger. "Aye!" his voice boomed, "I was told ye might be here!" He looked at Abigail. His expression showed his contempt. "Thou art a demon! I was warned of thy unnatural ways and how ye hath infected my bride with thy sickness! But I shall put a stop to it here and now!"

The old woman held up her hand. "Sir, take thy business elsewhere this day, for I shalt not have you attacking my own kin on my own property."

"Hold your tongue, old woman!" he exploded. "I’ve come for satisfaction and satisfaction I shall have before I leave here! What better place to do battle with the unholy than where such soullessness was spawned?!"

"Please, Daniel!" Gwyneth begged.

"Be still, harlot of Satan’s whore, or I shall be forced to beat the wages of sin out of ye again!"

It was all Abigail could take. "Thou shalt not touch her anymore!" She snarled. "Neither in nor out of that wretched marital bed!"

He laughed at her. "Brave words! Especially since it is thee I have come for."

"What do you intend to do? Beat sin out of me, too?"

"Not right away. First I shall take from thee what thou hast stolen, thus denying me [from] my bride on my wedding night."

"And what be that?" She teased him.

"Thy virtue."

Abigail chuckled. "From a demon?"

"I will have from you the only kind I am told ye have left."

He grabbed Abigail by the arm and started leading her toward the barn as the other two women tried to stop him. His determination and strength was too powerful though, and with an unexpected shove, Abigail found herself thrown onto the hay-laden floor of the barn. When she looked up, she saw him place the wooden beam across the doors to keep anyone out. Pounding fists and pleading voices seemed to drift away as Abigail watched him approach her.

"Aye!" he smiled victoriously. "You are comely enough to will any man into desire for ye. This shall be easy pickings. Since you have deprived me of my lawful wife’s chastity, I shall take thine in payment!"

Abigail tried to get to her feet, but he was suddenly on top of her. She felt his hands tear at her dress, seeking to bare her breasts until he changed his mind and pulled the hem up to her waist instead. It was when she felt him undoing his own garb to release himself that the anger in her turned to rage. Right behind it, the strange hunger began to grow inside her once again.

As he lay on top of her attempting penetration, he was oblivious that her dark eyes had turned amber. Abigail’s arms, which had been pinned beneath her body, were suddenly free. He didn’t take notice of the low growl coming from underneath.

Her arms sprang up and she grabbed his head. The flush of desire in his face quickly paled as he looked into her eyes. As she opened her mouth, he tried desperately to get free of her, but it was too late. He was now as helpless as she herself had been just moments before. As he raised his hands against her, she slapped them off to the side with such force, the breaking of bone echoed in the rafters. She lunged for his throat. The teeth sank in deeply as he screamed for his God to intervene on his behalf. She savored the beginning flow of his blood into her mouth.

She swallowed. He struggled. She bit harder. He stopped making any sound. Soon, the fight ceased, too. Her instincts were once again warning her that she should stop, but her anger over what he had tried to do to her along with what he had done to Gwyneth wouldn’t obey.

It wasn’t long before she rolled him off and stood. He lay motionless. Abigail wiped her blood stained mouth with the back of her hands and took a few steps back from the body in disbelief. By the time she had reached the door and thrown the wooden beam to one side to let the two women in, she was back to her normal appearance.

They entered the barn cautiously. The old woman went directly over to the prostrate man and placed a hand on his chest. "He is dead." she informed them.

Gwyneth looked at Abigail with horror. "Dear Lord, Abbey! What have you done?"

The brunette was still dazed. "I know not what has caused this! I only remember that I wished to stop him from his actions!"

"Tis no matter." the old woman said dryly as she walked back over to them. "He reaped what he came here to sow. Tis a strange blessing, but a blessing just the same."

Abigail turned to Gwyneth. "Leave with me . . . now!"

The blond shook her head. "How can I? Tis the matter of my dead husband to contend with!"

"But you cared nothing for him!"

"Tis only my sense of obligation I be thinking about."

"She is right." the old woman agreed. "For both of you to leave now would surely set the hounds loose until you were both branded with blind justice."

"Then what other choice have I but to confess?"

The old woman thought about it. "His death can be easily explained as an accident. The wild animals in the woods would do similar damage to a man, especially to one not accustomed to their ways in a country still foreign to him. Gwyneth shall have to stay behind and play the grievous widow, but my dear granddaughter, you shall go about thy original plan to leave. In that, nothing has changed. In fact, tis more necessary now."

Abigail looked at Gwyneth. "My love . . . you agree to this?"

The blond was staring at the dead man. "I know not what to say! Everything has happened so fast!"

The old woman took Abigail’s arm gently. "She is upset. In time, these wounds will heal and you can be reunited. She will come to know that what has happened this day has freed her and she will bear ye no ill feelings."

"But how much time?"

The old woman smiled. "What difference will it make? The both of ye have all of eternity."

Those words continued to haunt Abigail for more years than she cared to remember. As she packed up her things and left that day after helping to move the man’s body into the woods, something inside Abigail knew she would never see Gwyneth again. As much as the woman hated being married, the violent demise of her husband by Abigail’s own hands was something Abigail herself had trouble with. How could she expect that the two of them could make a life together when those same hands that would caress Gwyneth had blood on them?