Dark Requiem (The Darkling Trilogy, Book 3) (21 page)

As I stood there I came to
another realisation. In the end, Master John and his father had
broken me. They had won. The anger pulsed again, building against
my throat. I knew it would be near enough impossible for me to
resist the urge to kill. But a new thought occurred to me. This
time I wouldn’t take the life of an innocent. I would go back to
Mississippi and find Master John’s descendants and slaughter them
all. Cut off the evil and wipe his seed from the face of the
Earth.

Yes.

I headed south. I may not
be able to wipe him out of my memory, but I would wipe the Earth
clean of him and the evil that had blighted my mortal and immortal
life.

I moved into the ether,
slipping in and out of the shadows as I moved out of New York, the
rage keeping pace with me.

***

New York 1973

The Holbert’s had been in
debt before the civil war and had been one of the many families to
lose their land and home when the war ended. I lost track of them
when they moved out of Mississippi to begin again elsewhere. But I
still had not expected to find one of Master John’s descendants in
New York. And I suppose I would always imagine them in one of those
old, grand mansions of the south which would forever be an
embodiment of slavery and the stain it had placed on America’s
past.

Instead I waited on the
sidewalk on the other side of the road from an elegant brownstone
building, the anger that swarmed within as palpable as the heat
shimmering off the sidewalk.

A short while later, the
door opened and a white man in a suit stepped out of the house. His
name was Howard Holbert. He moved down the stairs and onto the
sidewalk. I did not intend to approach him when I set out for his
home, only find out as much about him and the rest of the Holberts
as I could. But before I knew it I had crossed the road and was
running up behind him.

“
Mr Holbert.” My voice had
a hint of a tremor in it.

“
Yes,” he said; his tone
sharp as he turned to face me.

His face softened in
appreciation when he saw me, his mouth curling into a smile of
pleasure, his blue eyes—the same shade as Master John’s—warming a
degree as he took me in. That was the only physical similarity he
shared with Master John. He appeared to be in his forties and was
tall and stocky, his hair still thick, dark and curly, a heavy
moustache covering his upper lip.

His thoughts washed over
me, leering thoughts of the kind I heard whenever I was before most
males. His smile widened, and the fear that was slithering beneath
at being caught in those cold blue eyes, was difficult to suppress.
Anger immediately surged, almost snaking to the surface. It would
have seen the heat-baked pavement splattered with blood, but there
were simply too many people in sight, the pain the sun wreaked
almost making it impossible to speak, let alone act.

“
Hello. What can I do for
you?” he said.

“
I...I’m a student of
historical studies at the nearby university.”

“
A student? Of history?”
He thought he had hidden his shock extremely well. But it hung
around his words, the patronising turn of his lips, and screamed at
me through his thoughts. “Well, how impressive. It is not often I
come across someone with brains as well as exceptional
beauty.”

His gaze lingered on my
lips.

“
I hoped to speak to you
today regarding one of your ancestors, John Holbert,” I said. “Or,
as he was known to so many, Master John. He was once the owner of
many slaves on his plantation in Mississippi.”

His face turned completely
blank for a few moments, even his thoughts retreated slightly and
he was no longer staring intently at me as if he would devour me
with his eyes alone.

“
I’m afraid you caught me
at a bad time, Miss...”

“
Wentworth.” Even saying
that name brought pinpricks of pain, but it was the only surname I
wanted to use, although I'd never had any legal claim to
it.

“
Miss Wentworth,” he said.
“I’m afraid I cannot help you with whatever assignment you have.
Good day.”

He moved down the
sidewalk, leaving me staring after him in confusion. I was by his
side moments later.

“
You do know who I’m
speaking of,” I said.

He stopped and faced me,
meaning to tell me firmly once more he could not help me with my
assignment. Instead he found himself momentarily silent, his eyes
drawn to the soft mound of my breasts, which had carefully been
covered by a white shirt. His wet his lips before his gaze returned
to mine.

“
Yes, I do know the man
you speak of.”

I was surprised he had
decided to admit this, because it was becoming clearer from his
thoughts that he did not want to acknowledge the fact that his
family had owned and abused slaves. He found it
unpalatable.

“
You are right,” he said.
“He was a slaveholder who lived in the eighteen hundreds. He was a
hard master and was known to drive many a slave to their death
through overwork. But, thankfully, his brother soon took over the
running of the Holbert plantation and things greatly improved for
everyone. I do believe Peter Holbert was described by his slaves as
the best master a slave could have. So much so that many of the
Holbert slaves actually lamented the end of slavery, they were so
well cared for by the Holberts.”

That wasn’t entirely true.
Peter Holbert and his sons were fair men and did not have the
sadistic tendencies of Master John or the sexual perversions that
saw him make his way to the slave quarters night after night to act
out his every depraved fantasy. But they were still
slaveholders.

Howard’s gaze
surreptitiously darted to my breasts again, his thoughts filling
with crude images as he tried to imagine what I looked like beneath
the layers of clothing I wore despite the heat of the day. But all
he could do was smile and imagine what he wished he could
do.

That was when an epiphany
took place, one that lit up my world and the darkness that had
shrouded it for so long. In the eighteen hundreds, white men,
whether they were your master or not, could do much more than
imagine. They could do as they pleased with you and your body and
there was nothing, and no one, to protect you.

I looked up at Howard, who
sweated in the morning heat, an ingratiating smile on his lips
whilst he tried unsuccessfully to keep his eyes on my
face.

Was he a sadist like
Master John? No. Did he mistreat Negroes? No, he treated Negroes he
came across as if they were human beings simply because he saw
himself as a man of distinguished breeding and manners.

If he had been raised to
believe it was acceptable to treat blacks the way Master John had
done, would he have? Most probably, though I can’t imagine there
are that many men as sadistic as Master John. And the point was
that he hadn’t been raised to think that way. The epiphany
continued to resound through me. Master John and his father were
dead now, and had been for over a century. They could not hurt me.
Neither could their descendants.

Things in America were a
long way from how I wanted them to be. But I had seen progress with
my own eyes. America was slowly reshaping itself. I had to make a
choice. I could change with it, or be left behind.

There was not much I could
do to right my wrongs. I couldn’t take back the many murders at my
hands. But there was one I could begin to make amends
to.

I had to go and see
Avery.

Even the thought of seeing
him again quickened my heart. It was selfish of me, so selfish, but
I felt alive for the first time in decades. I was desperate to see
him, had been for so, so long.

“
Are you all right, my
dear? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

Howard placed his hand on
my upper arm where it rested, ever so lightly, against the side of
my breast. That anger flared within, but, for the first time, fear
was not pushing it forward. And without that fear, the anger melted
into mild irritation. I moved my arm and he released it
immediately.

“
I’m fine, thank you,” I
said.

“
Well, look. If this
research you’re doing is so important to you, I’ll try and see what
I can find out about the family history. I will be at home tomorrow
morning. You’re welcome to come and see me so we can discuss
it.”

“
No, thank you. You’ve
been a great help.”

I moved away before he
could say more and was soon lost amongst the other passersby on the
street, my steps light, hope in my heart for the first time in
decades.

I was going to see
Avery.

***

California 1973

They say it never rains in
Southern California. I suppose it was the reason why I decided to
buy a home there, another mansion to add to the many homes I had
around the world. It may not have been raining the day I moved in,
but there were grey clouds overhead in the form of the neighbours
who objected to a coloured person moving into their all-white
neighbourhood. Although there was nothing they could do about it, I
saw their contempt every time I laid eyes on them, in their gazes
which were as narrow as their minds.

It was silent and dark in
the house as night marched steadily towards dawn. I stood at the
window of one of the living areas looking out on a sea of baby blue
eyes. It was the reason I had chosen this mansion, the field of
flowers the colour of his eyes. I often stared at it, remembering
looking out on the field of Queen Anne’s lace in Louisiana with
Avery at my side. Those memories, the love I’d had the privilege of
basking in for so many years, were the only light in an otherwise
dark world, especially on this night.

Simon entered a while
later.

He was a tall, well-built
man with a deep caramel complexion and a soft, yet proud
face.

“
Well, what happened?” he
drawled.

I felt myself bristle. I
moved away from the window and seated myself in one of the chairs.
He pulled up a chair opposite me and sat down.

He smiled. “He didn’t want
to know, did he? I did warn you.”

I don’t know if I was
merely imagining it, but he seemed to be mocking me.

“
Ah, Luna. You should have
listened to me.” He leaned forward and placed his hand against my
face, stroking my cheek in a tainted caress. “There’s nothing for
you in Louisiana. Everything you need is right here.”

He stared intently at me.
I stayed absolutely still, for I had seen the intention in his mind
and wondered if he would actually dare.

He leaned in for a
kiss.

I punched him in the
chest, not holding back at all. He went flying across the room, hit
a wooden coffee table and crashed into a wall.

He tried to sit up and
cried out before groaning in pain. I got to my feet and moved
toward him. He was on his back, his face twisted in pain. He
appeared to be finding it difficult to breathe and I was sure I had
broken a few ribs. I leaned over him, fighting to rein in my
anger.

“
Do you remember who I am
to you? Do you remember what I can do? You filthy dog! If it wasn’t
for the fact that my blood runs through your veins I would snap
your feeble little neck!”

“
Luna...I—”

“
Shut. Up.”

I straightened, desperate
to inflict more pain, but I already knew I had gone far enough. I
moved away and out of the room.

In my bedroom I could hear
him calling me.

“
Luna... I think I’m
seriously hurt. Luna!”

I remained at the window
looking out on the sea of baby blue eyes turned a deep indigo under
the meagre light of the moon.

I would heal Simon, but
for now I wanted him to suffer. It was the one thing I despised
about all my descendants. They were all so pampered, so weak. I had
seen slaves with much worse wounds in the fields working from sunup
till sundown and they hadn’t dared utter a word of complaint, let
alone make as much noise as Simon was making.

I moved from the window to
the mirror to gaze at my reflection.

Hatred. It was all I felt
whenever I looked at my reflection. Hatred and self-loathing. It
was stupid to think Avery would want to see me after all I had done
when I didn’t even want to have to look at myself.

Simon’s cries had grown
quieter, each word uttered with increasing difficulty. Perhaps he
really was seriously hurt. I sighed, trying to muster some empathy
for the pain he must be in. I only felt that weariness and a
coldness that seemed to have been a part of me for so long. I
remembered looking at Avery’s memories of Auria and how hard and
cold she had been. I could see that in myself now. And like her,
there wasn’t very much I actually took pleasure in. Only Avery; and
he was truly lost to me.

My thoughts returned to
Simon. I had better go and see to him. I should really have wiped
his memory of me and sent him home long before now. He was immature
and in love with the thought of becoming an immortal. But he was
perhaps the only person in the entire world who could stand to be
near me.