Lilah by Gemma Liviero

he did not agree with all
of them. He had sometimes aired his thoughts in our private counsel, but
fortunately not to the others. He had loyalty and discretion and would not risk
unsettling the coven with his views.
    ‘And you know there are always those witches
too weak of mind to leave and too weak to stay.’
    ‘You must consider another option for this one.
She is worth saving for something else.’
    Something about this comment alarmed me. Perhaps the potential to interfere with my decisions.
    ‘You mean for breeding? As your wife perhaps?’
    He did not expect this turn of conversation and
I saw slight regret for the suggestion. He forced a laugh. ‘No. I have my hands
full. I was thinking more as yours.’ Though I was not convinced of his
sincerity with such a statement for he did not meet my look. ‘She is much
different from the others; more…attentive.’
    There were still thoughts that he didn’t say
out loud. I left him there to seek Lilah in her room. Servants passed me in the
halls with their heads down as was customary. This castle had been home to the
strigoi now for two centuries. The slaves who had placed
stone upon stone were rewarded by living to the end of their human years and their generations had continued to serve us.
    The castle was far from everything. A haven for
witches who had escaped persecution and to whom had been given the gifts of
eternal life. These witches were known as the reborn. There were many of the
elders here also, some currently in the ground; those from the early years,
once forced to live in underground caves to hide from those humans who hunted
them. After several hundred years of hiding our kind became legend only. With
skill and disguise in the last few hundred years we were able to walk the earth
without fear.
    Our coven had three floors plus the basement,
oak-panelled hallways leading to many hidden passageways, and rooms full of
oriental tapestries and treasures stolen from the vaults of royalty and
merchants. On a day of mist the castle was hidden except for the spires that
reached into the clouds from their dome caps. The gargoyles at the front were
built in honour of our ancestors who did not have the skills or knowledge to
wear the skin of humans. Some had made it through, dug up from sleeping crypts
to emerge as new again, while others fell victim to forest animals without the
safety of a burial chamber, their bones scattered across the lands and an
endless darkness for their souls. I shuddered when I thought how close it came
to be my prison had I not uncovered, centuries ago, the ancient witch speak writings of rebirthing: disguising in the stolen form of humans while we
replenished and grew in number. We safely returned to the ancient traditions of
burial to replenish our youth and such body stealing became unnecessary and
later banned from practice.
    The coven was passed to me centuries ago and it
had become a strigoi safe house.  Hapless travellers sometimes stumbled
upon our home after weeks in the Black Forest, thinking they had found
sanctuary only to find that they had reached their end. They were taken by one
of us as quickly as the wolves pounce on their prey: blooded and their bodies
burnt to ash. Although some of these had committed no human crimes it was
impossible to release them. Even the innocent had to be sacrificed in this
instance. The task of transporting them elsewhere and removing their most
recent memories was simple, but we could not erase their instinct or their
sense of purpose. It is the nature of humans to return to complete a journey.
    In certain cases where memories were erased
many returned to their undertaking, experiencing feelings of familiarity
without ever understanding why.
    Lilah was given one of our best chambers. Just
by the choice, it was clear that Gabriel thought her important enough. Her bed
was large with tall shaped pillars and a cream lace coverlet. A thick fur rug
lay in front of a fire. The girl sat by the