For years The Court looked for her, but with Espee’s help, her pursuers never found her. Espee’s skill for hiding from the formal Bloodlines was extraordinary and sometimes it even seemed supernatural. Before Clara knew it, five years went by in a blink of an eye. Espee was a dedicated leader, and did her best to protect any and all Foundlings she ran into. She also detected Clara’s formal education right away and placed her in charge of gathering and chronicling any information they discovered about any of the Bloodlines. It was a job she would come to love, but one night, she had to leave her new family and set out.
“Where do you think you are going?” Espee crossed her arms and leaned against the door of their abandoned warehouse.
“I go to check on my son,” Clara did not look up as she continued to pack a small bag.
“You need to let go of him,” Espee softened her gaze. “There is nothing you can hope to do for him, he is still a slave.”
“I know,” Clara looked into Espee’s eyes with solid determination. “You have never been a mother Espee, so you would never understand how a child, no matter how old is always in its mother’s heart. I have to go check on him, even if it means dying for him again.”
“Clara I don’t agree,” Espee picked up a bag that she had been hiding just outside the door, “But I can’t let you go alone either.”
“So you will be coming too?”
“Yes, me and Claude,” Espee smiled, “and what makes you think I never had any children?”
“Child, do you not remember me?”
“Young miss, I am afraid I do not,” Luther was not sure what to make of this young and attractive black woman extending a hand out to him. He wasn’t even sure what had happened, what had he done? He was in dry a well now, and the top was barred closed. Two nights ago, Luther had been coming in from the day’s work in the cotton fields. He remembered thinking that he had a good life, his owner mister Conner was a good man. He rarely whipped or beat any of his slaves, and he even had a doctor that would come by once a month to check on him and the other slaves. He had been sold nearly 15 year ago, after his old owner mister Johnson went missing.
All he could remember is that he was putting away the horses, when a voice called out to him. When he turned around to see who it was, a man attacked him. He remembered the pain on his neck and the massive strength the man possessed, but little else. When he woke back up it was still dark, but there was something different to him. He could see everything around him as clearly as if it were a cloudy day, he could smell everything. He stood back up and was hit by the worst pain he had ever known. He cried out loud enough that the master’s son Stephen ran over to see what had happened. Luther jumped on him and bit into his throat. The boy screamed horrifically! Luther could not stop himself, the boy was only ten, he wanted to stop, but just couldn’t resist the warm delicious blood. He squeezed Stephen with so much force that he could feel the small boy’s bones snapping under his grasp.
The sound of a rifle blast filled the night air, but it was too late, young Stephen was dead in Luther’s arms. The shot hit Luther in the back but it might as well have been a mosquito bite to him now, “Luther please stop!” Mary Connor, the master’s daughter was paralyzed in fear as Luther turned around and she spotted the blood dripping from his mouth. She got off another shot before Luther was on her. The small boy had not been enough to sate his thirst. Mary’s blood was delicious and he drank deeply from it, drank until she too was crushed and dead.
“He is quite strong,” a voice called out from the darkness. Luther looked up as his senses returned and the gravity of what he had just done began to sink in. “Are you sure we should kill him?”
“My Lord,” Luther watched as Martin Johnson and another man who spoke with a strange accent walked into his view. “You have been tasked with catching her, and if we use him, we can draw her out.”
“You’re quite right Quentin,” Martin walked over to Luther. “She will be in the area any day now looking for him.”
“All we need to do is leave a bread trail and then we will have her,” Quentin picked up Luther by the neck and began guiding him along. For some reason he was extremely calm, he had not fear or desire to resist. They guided him into the well and tossed him in. Now there was another slave calling down to him.
“I did a terrible thing miss,” Luther looked away from her. “I will be punished soon for it and I can not say that I do not deserve it.”
“Luther it was not your fault,” Clara called down to him. “You have to come with me.”