Ye Olde Witches Brew Magazine
Embracing the Vintage Witch

It was the year 1887. The cool crisp autumn was filled with magic, just a hint of frost
In the air. I was twenty-three years old. The last of the harvest was upon us, a time my
Father had called Samhain. I felt invigorated for the first time since my father's death in the spring. My house keeper had been busy baking breads and delectable dishes for the
Season, the last few days.
"Tilley whatever will we do with all this food?" I said laughing.
"Sorry Miss," she said bowing her head. "It's hard habit to break. Having done this
For your father after all these years."
"I know. It's alright...really. What we don't eat we'll send down to the church."
Tilley smiled. "Will you be having dinner at midnight?"
"Yes, I believe so. Father would be disappointed if we didn't." Tilley curtsied and
Scurried off.
I sat before the fireplace, sipping on a rum punch enjoying the quiet solitude within the
Darkened walls of the stately mansion on Grant Street. My thoughts turned to the weeks
before his death. He'd died amongst rumors of witchcraft and hedonistic rites being performed within our garden walls. His character tarnished, leaving me shunned
by the high society of the city. It was all because some nosy person had peered over the
high stone walls to see him in the garden, naked performing a ritual honoring his
ancestors one full moon night.
I had never followed his teachings very well nor had I paid much heed to the Christian
teachings of my mother. Father had said that someday I would find my calling. As I sat
alone in my empty home I felt abandoned by both father's Goddess and mother's God,
lost in a sea of nothingness.
I sat watching the flames dance upon the log intertwining like impassioned lovers. I
sipped another rum and punch, his teaching about Samhain suddenly flowing through my
mind. I began to pace about the room hearing his words.
"Child, it is one of the most spiritual Sabbats, when the veil between the living and the
dead is at its thinnest point. Always remember to honor your ancestors on this night."
I ran to the door grabbing my cloak, calling to Tilley I'd be back soon. The full moon rose low over the tree tops, a large orange orb on eastern horizon. A chilly autumn

wind had begun to blow gently caressing the trees lining the streets of Denver, whispering secrets on the night air. The leaves rustled under my skirts as I hurried to the cemetery hoping to catch a glimpse of my father one more time.
As I neared the cemetery I slowed my pace, that curious nervous, scared excited feeling rising from the pit of my stomach. I took several deeps breaths and stopped in the
shadows next to the cemetery gates. Suddenly I was afraid to enter the graveyard in the
still of the night. An owl hooted from the limbs of the cottonwood bough above me. I
stood deathly still watching out into the sea of tombstones.
The night grew long as I kept my vigil, I grew cold and weary. I had the odd sensation
of being watched, a twig snapped in the distance and I bolted from the shadows. I ran up
the street until I was out of breath, but continued to walk briskly towards home, greedily
gulping in the night air.
Several blocks from home the sound of music drifted upon wind, I followed its
melody, mesmerized by its rhythm. I found myself on the garden patio of the Hill
mansion peering into the ballroom. Inside a gala was being held for a visiting Viscount
from Europe. An orchestra played a lively waltz. Couples danced about the chandelier lit room, laughing, swirling in time to the music. I closed my eyes, lost all track of time as my body swayed to the rhythm of the music. Once again I had the feeling of being
watched. I opened my eyes, looking about the ballroom when I say him watching from
across the room, his eyes beconing me. He was tall, with shoulder length hair, as black
as coal with a touch of silver at the temples, his skin was the color of ivory. He smiled
disarmingly and raised his glass of champagne to me as he motioned for me to come in.
My heart raced, I stumbled, knocking over a flower pot in my haste to get away.
As I ran up the steps to my front door I stopped, slowly turning, looking back up the
street. I was sure someone had followed me, though I saw no one, I could not shake the
feeling. The clock struck midnight as I opened the front door, I slammed it shut, locking
it behind me and peered out into the street.
"There you are, Miss," Tilley greeted me.
"Tilley you gave me a start."
"Sorry, Miss," she said. "Dinner is ready."
"Yes, yes, I'll be right there," I said, still trying to caught my breath. I looked back
out into the night, I could feel hungry, greedy eyes watching from the darkness.

In the days that followed the city buzzed with gossip about the gala at the Hill mansion and the eccentric viscount Roger St James. My house keeper returned from shopping with the latest gossip. She spoke of his peculiar habits, "sleeping all his day away, never being seen before dusk and staying up all night carousing. He fancies himself quite the ladies man, a different woman on his arm every night." Tilley lowered her voice to a low whisper, "They say he's been seen leaving the red light district several nights in a row."
"Oh, no," I laughed feigning shock.
"Don't make light, Miss. This one's a rogue for sure."
The days were growing colder, there was a hint of snow in the night air, a rainbow had encompassed the moon the eve before, a sure sign. I was as restless as my grey stallion

pawing and snorting at his paddock. I pulled the pins from my long auburn locks letting
it fall freely about my waist. I put on my riding skirt, and coat and pulled on my riding
boots. I ran to the stables feeling wild and carefree, Poco raised his head, nickering when
he saw me. I quickly fastened the leather bridle about his head and swung onto his sleek
back. I scandalously stradeled my horse like a man, riding through the streets, laughing
at the mock horror of Denver's finest as they whispered about my unseemly behavior.
I headed Poco out onto the open plains east of town, giving him his head, we ran like
the wind, the warm autumn sun upon our backs. As the afternoon sun began to wane I
headed Poco back towards the city. By the time we rounded the corner into our
neighborhood the chilly evening wind was starting to kick up, lights were being turned
on in the homes that lined the streets. A paper blew across the street in front of us, Poco
snorted and side stepped away from it. I reined him in, rubbing his massive neck, softly
talking to him.
"Many a man would have been unseated by that," a British accent floated on the wind.
"You are an excellent horsewoman," he added.
"Thank you," I said, still quieting my horse.
He walked out of the shadows talking hold of Poco's reins. "I meant that every bit a
compliment. I am Viscount, Roger St. James." He removed his hat and bowed ever so
slightly.
I smiled, I couldn't help myself, he was every bit as charming as I'd heard. "I am
Lacey Templeton," I said offering my hand. He gallantly kissed my leathered glove.
"Why did you not come into the party the other night when I beckoned to you?"
I smiled not used to someone being so blunt in this town. "Viscount, I am never
invited to those parties."
He smiled back, his ice blue ice penetrating my very soul. "So I'm told. We'll see
what we can do about that."
I laughed trying kick Poco on but he would not release my reins. "May I call on you,
Miss Templeton?"
I paused looking into his beautiful eyes, my breath catching in my throat. "Yes," I
replied. "Yes, you may."
He smiled that radiant, heart breaking smile of his. "Good I will call tomorrow eve at
seven." And he was gone. I rode home wondering if the conversation had been in real or
just in my head.
The next night the door buzzer sounded promptly at seven. Roger Saint. James sat in
my parlor waiting to call on me. I wanted to rush down the stairs to greet him but Tilley
said it was not lady like and should make him wait. Nearly half and hour later I entered
the parlor, offering my hand to the Viscount. He kissed my hand and I swooned, his
presence made me giddy and tongue tied like a school girl. He laughed genuinely
pleased with my nativity and willingness to experience everything in life. We talked
easily, laughed, held hands and shared our first kisses until nearly dawn. I went to bed as the sun rose in the eastern sky, dreaming of Roger Saint James, my stomach full of
butterflies with thoughts of our first kiss. From that night on we were constant companions.

Throughout the remainder of the fall, the winter and into the spring I accompanied Roger to whatever party was thrown in his honor. Denver society was scandalized to
have Lacey Templeton among them once again. Anyone who dared to refuse me into
their homes or was over heard saying an unkind word was noted his man servant's book
to be forever held in the Viscount's disfavor.
With each party I became more confident, I expressed my views on the Dawes Act and
women's rights. I was well read, quoted from Shakespeare and Robert Louis
Stephenson. Roger swelled with pride as I grew out of my shy, reclusive ways.
Shortly after the holidays our relationship became more serious. The night was frigid,
the wind howling, as the first snow of the new year began to fall. Roger suggested we
stay in, he was tired of the endless parties and wanted to spend some time with me alone.
As usual he toyed with his food, sipping his wine. After dinner we settled back before
The fireplace drinking wine, snuggling lazily in each other arms. I was happier than I'd
ever been. I was in love with Roger Saint James.
As the night wore on his kisses grew more intense, more urgent, his hands roaming
freely about my body. We wound up in my bed chamber. His fingers nimbly undoing
my buttons, he threw my clothes about the room with careless abandon. He pushed me
back unto the bed, kissing me hard, then pulled away looking deep into my eyes.
"I have something to tell you, love," his voice was husky with desire. "You have
stirred something inside me that I can not control."
I reached playfully for his neck, trying to kiss him. He grabbed my hands tightly,
pinning them above my head and kissed me once more, I felt the urgency of his
manhood.
"Lacey...Lacey, I am a vampire." His stare was intent I thought his blue eyes would
penetrate to my very soul.
I squealed with delight, like a young girl. "I love you, Roger." I pulled him closer,
baring my neck. I gasped as his fangs cut deep with my flesh, moaning with ecstasy as
he sucked my life force, felt his manhood take my maiden hood. Throughout the long
winter nights I withered under his weight, like a wanton, joyously making love to my
knight of the darkness.
Winter turned to spring; the flowers began to peek out from their hibernation. Summer
came and Roger announced he had eyes for no one but me and intended to marry me.
Denver society was once again buzzing with gossip.
By the end of summer I became ill and Roger never left my side. The doctors said
they could find nothing wrong with me yet I was growing weaker by the day. Both Roger
and I knew it was his nightly feeding on me. He said it was time for me to make some
decisions, to put my affairs in order.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" he asked one more time.
"More than anything, my love, need you ask?" I coughed, gasping for breath. "How
long do I have?"
"You decide when you want me to turn you. He tried to smile, visibly shaken by my
weakened state. "But don't wait too long I can not bear seeing you in such pain."
I took his hand in mine, caressing his long fingers, as always admiring his ring of

garnet and onyx. "I want to arise of Samhain night," I said, smiling the most radiant smile I could muster. Roger kissed me gently, pulling me into his arms.
The next few weeks I made arrangements for Tilley to live in the mansion, I left money enough for her to live out her life in comfort and at her death my home was to be placed in the hands of a caretaker. I wired my money to accounts in New York, had what belongings I could not bear to part with packed and shipped back east. I gave my
stallion to Roger to care for until he turned me. Lastly in purchased my coffin, picked out my tombstone and made arrangements to be buried in the family plot.
Tilley doted over me, never giving up hope I'd get well. She had watched my mother
die, my father and now me. I could not offer her any words of comfort. I
was dying and whether I let Roger make me a vampire or not, I would soon be dead.
At last October 30th arrived, Roger arrived just after dusk. He looked sad but at the
same time an air of excitement lay just below the surface. I had been awake since dawn,
I was exhausted but I had not wanted to miss one moment of my last day as a living
creature. The evening hours ticked by slowly as I instructed Roger to lay out my best
riding outfit and boots for me to be buried in. I gave him the letters I'd written to my
father's lawyer and Tilley, asking her to light a single white candle after dark to be placed
in the window to guide the dead on their journey, along with my wishes to be buried
quietly in the morning. He assured me his man servant would be there shortly after
sunrise to deliver the letters and make sure my wishes would be carried out.
At long last Roger took me in his arms, held me tightly for a brief moment, I looked up
at him and smiled, nodding my head. It was time. He took me swiftly. I felt his fangs
pierce deeply into my vein. He drained me nearly to the point of death then pierced the
vein in his own wrist instructing me to drink. I drank greedily and at last he pushed me
away. I watched as if paralyzed as he loving cleaned the blood from my mouth and neck,
dressed me in a fresh gown and changed the bedding. He threw it all in the fireplace
watching the flames engulf the last moments of my life. As the grey light of dawn awoke he hurriedly wrote a note to Tilley that I had died in the wee hours of the morning. He would not be at the burial, he could not bear to watch me lowered into the cold, black earth. He told her his man servant would be there soon to carry out my wishes. He kissed me one more time and simply said, "Sleep."

The moon hovered on the horizon on Samhain night as I awakened from my slumber,
a newly made vampire. I walked from grave dusting off the dirt from my gown. Out of
the corner of my eye I caught the glimpse of a shadowy figure heading towards me, his
hand raised in greeting. The breath caught in my throat, I waved back and he was gone.
"Father," I called, "Father, wait!" But he had already slipped behind the veil of the
dead and I was the undead belonging to neither the world of the dead or the living.
Roger whistled to me from the hill where he waited with Poco and his fiery stallion. I
ran to him, he wrapped a velvet cloak about my shoulders and kissed me long, hard, his
lips warm and plump from feeding. He handed me the reins.
"We must hurry, we have a long ride ahead of us." I smiled, listening and seeing the
world for the first time as a vampire. I mounted Poco quickly, Roger swung up into his saddle with ease.

He leaned over gently taking my left hand in his. "One more thing..." he said placing a delicate ring of garnet and onyx on my finger. "To life everlasting, my heart."
My senses were reeling wildly. To be born a vampire on this night, my maker declaring his undying love for me, it was more than I'd ever dared to dream. I smiled radiantly at him, lovingly caressing the ring. "To life everlasting, my love." We headed our horses out of town towards plains and raced like the wind into the night.

By Midnight Rhain

I am a writer, my tales woven in the darker realms of horror, fantasy, some mystery and poetry. I graduated from Colorado State University with a B.A. in Technical Journalism. I have been
published in several poetry anthologies, newspaper articles, online magazines, penned short stories, ghost collaborated a children's novel and was a featured writer for 'Salon Magazine.'
I am currently working on a horror novel and a collection of short stories.

I am of the old ways, my beliefs rooted in the path of the ancient ones. I am of Scottish, Irish, Welsh and English heritage. I developed a keen interest in the occult at the age of 15,
beginning my studies of the craft when I was 17. I have been a Solitary Practitioner for most of my life. Recently, I have begun a new journey in my quest for knowledge pursuing my life
long dream of becoming a High Priestess.

contact info:
Nanncy J. Steward
P.O. Box 149
Fort Collins, CO 80522
njsteward@hotmail.com
970-221-3264

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