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Ivory held the end of the candle stick holder, gripping it with all her strength [I'd mention white knuckles instead of just saying "with all her strength". Think it's more evocative] as she pointed it at the tall woman. “Who are you, really?” she asked curiously.

“I told you, I’m Lavira,” she answered with a smirk. Her foot lifted as she took another step closer. “Sweetheart, please put down that down, you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Why are you in here?” Ivory asked, keeping her eyes on her. The woman was unnaturally tall, [See my last review regarding "to be" in descriptions] with the bluest eyes in the world and hair so red, you’d [Me? The reader? Not a fan of using "you" in this way, even in creative prose] think it was on fire half the time. Her body cried to be held, such physique even had Ivory’s father going mad over her. [Okay, THIS is a good description! Very good!] But the woman wasn’t just another female her father brought home to pass time, [Are these Ivory's thoughts? It'd be very icky for me to think of my dad bringing girls home "to pass the time"] she was different, she had a motive. Ivory knew Lavira wasn’t here to be sugar daddy’s girl, she was here for something else.

It was precisely that reason which had Ivory following her down to the basement of the Westchester family mansion. The basement was off limits, it was filled with antique pieces, some which were priceless to the family and not just any woman was allowed down there. [Split this sentence up a bit, it's a tad on the long side]

“For the Glass Vase, of course,” she answered matter-of-factly. After looking around the twenty acre property, Lavira was sure it would be in the basement somewhere. [Uh-oh. We're getting the thoughts of more than one person? Third-person omniscient is dangerous, be careful]

“Glass Vase?”

“You have it don’t you? The Glass Vase which holds the first key.”

Biting her lip, she quickly shook her head. “There’s nothing here,” she lied. But she knew what Lavira was talking about. Last week her Grandmother passed away, leaving a magnificent glass vase under Ivory’s name.

“You’re lying,” Lavira hissed. “The vase is here and if you don’t tell me, I’ll have to do something bad, not just to you, but to your entire family.”

Slowly, her heart thumped, beating like a drum. No one had ever dared to blackmail the daughter of Sebastian [Delicious name] Westchester before. Ivory couldn’t say anything, she was under the woman’s influence and even if she wanted to take an action to hurt her, she couldn’t. Compared to her, she had no power. There was an animalistic trait to the woman that beckoned [Not sure if I'd use the word "beckoned". Something like "summoned" feels more fitting here] the upmost fear in Ivory, a sensation that she never felt before, something tearing and deep. As if there was a knife pointed directly at her and if she dared to take one step forward, the blade would pierce through her chest and cut her open.

“It’s not here. It’s broken,” Ivory confessed.

Lavira’s face twisted and she snarled, “How is that even possible? The vase cannot be broken!”

“Well, I broke it.” She instinctively took a step back, afraid the woman would pounce on her. “We put the vase in the main hall, I ran into it a few days ago and it shattered.”

“You bitch! My life is on the line because of that!” Lavira launched herself at her. With outstretched fingers and long red painted nails, she looked like a tigress. So vicious, even her clenched teeth look as if they had fangs, so sharp and deadly that Ivory didn’t have a clue what to do. Paralyzed, she dropped the candle holder and watched helplessly as the woman dove towards her.

***


Numbness was all she felt. From her toes to the tip of her fingers, sat [Not my choice word here] an uncomfortable feeling. Of course, half of that was because she was tied to a chair with a cloth gag digging into the corners of her lips. Her thick Harry Potter glasses sat lopsided across her nose and made her itchy. She desperately wanted to fix them but her hands were constricted behind the chair with a thick rope. Her feet, which were tied to each leg of the chair, were beginning to burn and even if she couldn’t see them, she knew they were probably turning purple. She didn’t know where she was. It seemed like a very expensive hotel room with a large crimson door and a nice view of the clock tower from outside the city of London. She sniffed, sucking in a scent of cologne; it smelled nice…probably as expensive as a one night stay in this hotel room.

She was beyond fear at this point. Whatever happened next was in the hands of God and there wasn’t much she could do in her state. With all that being said, she sat still, waiting for whatever it was.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, there was a sound. The clicking of the front door as it opened. Slowly, she lifted her eyes, as fear came knocking back into her. If Lavira were to show up again, she wasn’t so sure what she would do. She would beg for forgiveness maybe give her money or give her anything to save her life and her family.

Damn, I knew she was witch from the first day Dad brought her home. [Switching to first person? I would put this into quotes or something. Very, very invasive. Add "she thought" to the end, or something like that]

Heels clanked as Lavira walked in wearing a mini red dress that matched the exact hue of her hair. She looked upset, angry at most but she kept her equanimity. Behind her, someone else revealed himself. He was shorter than Lavira and completely outlandish. White, snow-like [Snow-like meaning cold and puffy and with a tendency to melt? If you're only using "snow" here to mean "white", I'd get rid of the "snow-like" bit completely] hair frizzled over his head like a mad man, [I'm getting a very strong image of an old mad scientist right now] but his face was handsome. In fact, he looked only a few years older than her. Maybe he was twenty…or twenty one. But age wasn’t the strange thing about him, nor was it his albino hair. It was his eyes; they were gray and stood out like a cat’s. He wore these thin rectangular glasses which he took off quickly, giving her a deeper glance ["Deeper glance" feels like an oxymoron. A glance is supposed to be quick; a "deep" glance is something not of this universe] at his inhuman eyes.

“Well, well,” he said with a sinister smile. “What do we have here?” [Classic villain intro words]

She eyed the man up and down. His dark colored suit [Suite = set of rooms, suit = article of clothing] and collared shirt made him look like a count. As he widened his lips, showing his teeth she flinched, catching a glimpse of what looked like sharp canines. [Count-like, with fangs... Having a real trouble thinking this not a vampire] They were barely visible unless looked at carefully and Ivory was an artist, she had a gift for seeing things no one else could see.

“She’s just a kid,” he muttered, grazing [Not sure how this verb is supposed to work here] his eyes up and down her body.

Even if fear was long gone, even if all she felt was numbness and uncertainty she questioned who these people were and what they wanted from her.

“Ivory Westchester,” Lavira spat. “She’s the one who broke the Glass Vase.” The woman was fuming with anger, her cheeks were flushed red and it looked like she was on the verge of attacking Ivory just one more time.

The stranger leaned in front of Ivory, bucking his hands on his knees as he met her eyes. “Ivory, my dear, what have you done to the vase?”

When she didn’t move or reply, he carefully lifted his hand and untied the cloth from behind her head. Pushing up her glasses and sliding the long silk cloth from out her mouth, he gave her warm smile. “Tell me dear, what did you do?”

“I broke it. It’s shattered,” Ivory growled. “Now let me go!”

His jaw hardened and his cloudy eyes crackled as if there was lightning behind them. “The Vase cannot be broken.”

“Well, it is!”

“No,” he replied, squaring his shoulders and standing up straight.

“Crosse,” Lavira moaned. “What’s going on?”

“The Vase is just an object, the power it holds can neither be destroyed, nor is it impossible for it to perish. The key must have been transferred…”

“Transferred?” Lavira asked, puzzled.

He snapped his long fingers and gave a curve to his lips. “Precisely, the key must have absorbed itself in another form.” He turned to face Lavira. “Do you remember, thirteen hundred years ago, the Glass Vase used to be a Spear? That was before the spear burned and the key was transferred to the next safest object, a vase.”

Lavira’s expression suddenly brightened. “So the power or the key, it still exists?”

Crosse turned his head toward Ivory. “But of course.” His scarlet lips curved and she swore she could hear thunder cackle behind him. “Shall I test to see if it’s here?”

Lavira lifted a brow and followed his gaze towards Ivory. “Are you saying…she holds the key?”

Crosse walked back towards Ivory and lowered himself. ["Lowered himself" is too vague] His cold fingers pushed back her tangled brown hair and there was a shocking vibration that shook itself against her skin as he touched her.

“Ah. Yes.” His eyes melted as he stared into her. “It’s amazing how much power the first key can hold.”

Lavira tapped her lip. “But…if the magic is in her…that means she controls it, right?”

He snapped his head towards her. “Of course, that’s why I have to kill her and transfer the power into me.”

“What!” Ivory shouted. “You can’t. You can’t just kill me! I have a family, I have a life! There are still things I have to do!” [Hmm... Maybe it's just me, but this doesn't sound like a person about to die] Tears began to violently ["Violently" is the last word I would associate with tears] pour out of her eyes and unhealthy sobs choked at her throat. “Please, you can’t kill me, I beg you!” [That's more like it] She didn’t have a clue what these people were talking about but if her life was on the line. [This sentence ends kind of in the middle of nowhere. "...but if her life was on the line", then what?] Well, she could only plead to be saved.

His expression didn’t change. The lust of power still overlapped any sympathy he could have, or could ever muster. “Think of yourself as a martyr, or an offering,” he suggested, coldly. [I would use a synonym for "said" here instead. By saying "suggested" after, well, having Crosse suggest something, you're repeating what you've already said] “If you valued your life you shouldn’t have broken the vase in the first place. At least you'll be doing me some good.”

“B-but I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was so important, I was careless!”

“That doesn’t matter now, does it?” He reached behind him and pulled out a golden pocket watch. “What time suits you, my dear? I’ll let you have your say, although, I can only give you an hour at most.”

“No time! There’s no time that suits my death right now,” she cried between her snivels. Her eyes were stricken with thick droplets of tears.

“Just get this over with,” Lavira pointed out, agitated, “Crosse, just kill her.”

“Well, there’s no point in letting you suffer. I feel bad enough already,” he whispered, although his attempt at pity was unmistakably forged. He swept his tongue over his straight white teeth and leaned in, slowly unbuttoning Ivory’s checked shirt. A rush of cold air touched her chest as he revealed the tender skin of her collar bone. [Hoooooot]

With a shaking voice, she asked, “What are you doing?” Was this man a pervert? Who were these people? What in the world had they been talking about? She felt as if she was part of bad nightmare, something crazy and unreal that she wanted to pinch herself awake and forget. Yet Crosse continued to lean in, his lips slowly parting and his sharp teeth inches away from her. Cold breaths touched her skin and she trembled unwillingly.

“Forgive me, this might hurt,” he apologized. [Again, here you're just re-iterating the fact that he apologized, it's already obvious from the "forgive me" part. I'd just use "said"] “In order to take the key, I’ll have to eat your heart.” [....not hot]