Race for the Blood

Carmen Ballenger sat on an old kitchen stool in the basement of her house in Chance and waited.
She set spells in motion while she was in prison and now it was time to harvest the blood. The right kind of lifeblood for beauty was very hard to find. But it was available again and she meant to have it all.
No mistakes this time.
She kept her eye on the water bag, it had bizarre symbols and evil cantos burned onto the leather. It looked ancient...and frightening.
Like it knew what was going on.
Kellie also tried to keep her eyes on it, but Carmen just smiled, the little blood it contained belonged to her and only she knew its secrets.
The water bag seemed to be about a third full, and Carmen looked at it with longing eyes.
Her daughter Kellie also sat on a small stool and worried the hem of her short black skirt. She was in trouble and she knew it. She hadn’t meant to let Bert understand what was going on yesterday. When Carmen told her to go back to Bert again she didn’t want to. But Carmen wanted to know how much the law knew. She did all the right things, and Bert was glad to take her back, but she got carried away with anticipation and her concentration slipped and next day he realized what was happening.
Without the blood Carmen provided in the past, Kellie’s appearance was deteriorating. She tried to make the formula herself while Carmen was incarcerated. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get the right kind of blood or the proper proportions. It was always wrong. So, although it kept her alive, it couldn’t keep her young. She didn’t have the glow of youth she had five years ago.
She used to have the right amount of bulging in the bra to catch any male eye that was wandering. It served her well in the past, but now the bulges were sagging, and it didn‘t look good anymore.
Her mother was not looking so attractive either. Her appearance had deteriorated and she was old now. Gone were the rosy cheeks, bright eyes and thick curly black hair. Her body aged significantly in the past five years. She also anticipated her drink, to the point she was salivating and it was dribbling down the side of her chin.
A small sound came from the dark corner by the old furnace, four eyes turned to look at the figure laying on the floor.
Mike McKay opened his eyes. His blond hair looked greasy, dirt smudged his cheek and side. His arms, tied behind his back, were stinging and pinging from lack of circulation and his neck hurt as his head was tilted awkwardly.
Now everything came back to him. The phone call on his cell phone telling him to go to the old Ballenger place. He figured something was wrong, there were no lights on in the old house.
He remembered going inside and starting up the stairs because he spotted a small light in one of the back bedrooms on the second floor. He reached the landing for the upstairs steps and looked into the mirror on the hall wall in time to see a figure with a frying pan behind him.
Obviously he hadn’t been fast enough to avoid the hit on his head.
Now he looked around and saw the two women sitting around a lit candle on the other side of the basement.
He tried to call to them but the tape on his mouth just let sounds escape. He tried to move his head to attract their attention, but they ignored him.
Who were these two old women?
He looked, but in the dim glow of the candle they didn’t look familiar and he couldn’t understand why they wouldn’t look at him. He kept wiggling around trying to ease the pins and needles, at least his arms would feel better if he was lying on his front.
When the women finally looked at him they looked at each other and both of them got up and came and stood over him.
Scared the shit out of him!
They each grabbed an arm and pulled him up and sat him against the wall. That felt much better.
Why were they doing this?