Alicia Bonnie sat on the floor next to her thirteen-year-old daughter, teaching her the properties of Majik involving fire. The child tried to put the fire out once, and failed. She tried again, and again, but still failed.
“No, Anne,” her mother corrected gently. “Pull your fingers straight down, not tilted sideways,” she demonstrated the motion again. “Now, relax, and try again.” Anne tried to copy the motion again over the fire, and the flames went out. “I did it!” the girl exclaimed. “Did you see that? I put them out, mum!”
Her mother smiled, “Good job, Anne. Now,” she challenged. “Light the fire again,” She watched with pride as the child, face screwed up in concentration, pulled her fingers up and turned the dark logs in the fireplace into a bright, cheery blaze. The single mother and girl child spent many a night like this, living alone in a small boarding room above a tavern in the coast town of Charleston, South Carolina. Alicia Bonnie had raised Anne by herself, fully self-sufficient and needing help from no one else to support the two.
Then there was a bang at the door to their tavern room, and Alicia quickly extinguished the flames and hid her daughter in the crawlspace behind the grate, before lighting the fire back to hide her. The door slammed open and flew against the opposite wall as a tall, leering man with pale skin and dark eyes strode into the room and seized Alicia by the throat. “Where is it?” he hissed menacingly. “I know it’s here.”
“What?” Alicia’s mother choked out through his death grip on her throat.
“That child!” he snarled, making Anne jump where she crouched, watching. “That Dhampyre you had! Where is it?!” Anne watched fearfully in her hiding place as the man beat her mother. Suddenly Alicia cried out. “You would kill your own child?”
Anne felt a cold chill run down her back. That evil man was her father. He struck Alicia hard across the face and she fell to the bed as a loud crack resounded throughout the room. The man then turned the room upside down, looking for Anne. Anne held her breath in anticipation as he suddenly looked straight at the fireplace. Finding nothing, he stormed out, leaving her mother behind on the bed. Anne heard his footsteps retreat farther down the hallway, and then the door to the upstairs portion of the tavern was slammed shut. Anne gave the man sufficient time to be far away from her before she extinguished the fire and crawled out from behind the grate to run to her mother. “Mum!” Anne cried out as she placed her head against her mother’s chest, listening. Alicia was barely breathing, and there was hardly proof of her faint heartbeat. Alicia stirred slightly, and spoke, her voice barely audible, “Anne, listen to me,” she swallowed heavily before continuing. “Get the tin under the bed, and put it in my coat on the hook...leave a few coins for the Father...to buy my coffin...”
Anne shook her head, “No...Mum, don’t leave me,” she pleaded.
Alicia took another uneven breath, “I must...”
“No!” Anne took her mother’s hand desperately. Her mother couldn’t leave yet. Anne was thirteen. She had never lived on her own before. There had never been any need to; they had always lived in the tavern, using Alicia’s earnings as a barmaid to pay for their room, food, and what few belongings that they had. Anne fought back tears begging her mother to stay with her. Alicia took another breath and whispered, “Go to Jones...he’ll help you...,” she took one last, jagged breath, “Be careful...Anne...”
Then Alicia Bonnie was gone. Anne sat in a stunned silence on the floor by the bed. Her mother was dead. Anne closed her mother’s eyes as the tears began to fall. She collapsed on the side of the bed, burying her head in her hands and sobbing. What was she supposed to do now?
Remembering her mother’s final instructions, Anne bent down next to the bed and pushed aside the edge of the blanket, revealing a small metal box. This box contained what few valuable items that they owned: a necklace from Anne’s grandfather to her mother, an old Bible, a leather-bound spell book, and a few small coins. Anne stuffed the box into her mother’s coat and then--after a moment’s hesitation--pulled it out again. She took out two of the coins and laid them on the bed, following her mother’s wishes for a coffin. Father Ducheine, the priest Alicia had spoken of, would be along soon for their nightly prayer meetings, and would help Anne bury her mother. Anne stuffed the tin box back into the coat and put it on. The coat was old and dirty from so many years of use. Even despite Alicia’s petite size, the coat was still a little big for an underfed thirteen-year-old. She buried her face in the soft, worn leather and breathed in her mother’s scent, a combination of the smoke from the tavern and the lavender perfume Alicia always wore behind her ears. Anne started crying again. After all thirteen years of her life with her mother by her side, what was Anne supposed to do to survive without her? She had never been without her mother’s help, and now she was completely alone.
There were footsteps in the hall, and Anne feared momentarily that that horrid man may have com back, when Father Ducheine stood in the doorway and let out a small exclamation of shock before calling down the hall to the rest of the tavern, “Alicia’s dead!” There was a collective shuffling of chairs from below, and the entire tavern scrambled up the stairs to help their favorite barmaid. The first patron to enter the room Mark Jones, a first mate originally hailing from Singapore, but recently discharged from the British Royal Navy for drinking on watch. When he saw Anne crying on the floor by her mother, he rushed over and took the frail girl in his arms, trying to console her as his own eyes began to tear up. He nodded to the four patrons standing in the doorway, and the came in as well. The four of them, along with Mark and Anne, stood silently around the bed as Father Ducheine said a mournful prayer over Alicia’s body. Mark picked Anne up and carried her downstairs to the church, so the Father could call some of Alicia’s friends and coworkers in to dress the body for burial. The men from the tavern formed a search party for Alicia’s murderer, using the fearful description Anne had given them, but found nothing. It was as though the killer had simply vanished off of the face of the earth. After the local British officer had been notified, wanted posters were up within a week, with a description of the man and a reward of five hundred crowns offered for his arrest. They also turned up noting. The posters were eventually torn down. Alicia was buried, forgotten, and, after about a year or so, so was her daughter. Anne ran away from the convent she had been living in for a ship heading to St. Kitts, where she hoped to find work as a barmaid and forget the nightmares that had plagued her since her mother’s death.
Oh lord she's back, 
I do believe I've been held out on over here! Let the mighty penguins of the north smite thee woman! 
Gender:
Points: 890
Reviews: 42