by Holly Hook
“Welcome,” the doorman says. “You may enter. Mingling begins shortly, and they serve dinner at one-thirty. The vote will take place at three.”
The hunters enter before we do, which is brave, and then we file into the Convening.
The convention center has a large entry hall, with digital screens announcing upcoming comic cons and expos. Roped-off lines hold more people waiting to get into the main area. Another Trueblood coven waits to get inside, and I spot two non-Truebloods among them, taking up the rear of the dozen. At least, the two men lack the copper rings in their eyes. Nightsides or human servants? I can't tell, but not everyone here being a Trueblood is reassuring. As much as I hate the High Council, I appreciate their efforts to coexist with society.
If the Originator wins, that could change tonight.
The other coven enters the event ahead of us, moving through the turnstiles, and we get in line to enter the Convening.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
My heart thumps as I take up the back of the line, and Riley takes the lead. Though he's near, he feels so far away.
And Stanley stands between me and him, eyeing his back.
And one by one, we enter through the doorway and the turnstile.
The convention center opens up with its vast floors and high ceiling, and I'm shocked at how quiet everything is. I've seen expos and comic cons before, and they're always super crowded with flashy colors, with barely enough room to move or browse any of the booths. But instead of women carrying bags of merchandise and well-done costumes everywhere, the space has turned into a large ballroom.
They’ve roped off half the enormous room and shoved all the food stalls and plastic chairs aside. The other half, our half, now sports rows of black carpets and long tables decked out with cream tablecloths and glassware. Already, Truebloods sit and socialize with one another in low, refined voices, and socialites flutter from table to table, shaking hands and nodding heads. The women all wear elegant dresses as if this is a once-in-a-lifetime event, and every man is wearing a suit or a getup with a fancy vest, the way Walton often does.
I see copper-flecked eyes everywhere and perfect beauty, even among the Truebloods who got turned in middle age and beyond. Even the few who look elderly rock that wise look and move with as much grace as their “younger” counterparts. Dozens are already here, relaxing and laughing with old friends, and the atmosphere has a warm, almost welcoming feel. It's not what I expected. I don't see many teenagers at all, or even people in their lower twenties. Most of these Truebloods must have stopped aging at thirty, unless they got turned later, and are senior members of their covens.
And then there's us, standing there and surveying the scene like the new kids at school.
I scan the area for any sign of people my age, or heck, even other Nightsides who won't be hostile when we get close. Servers in gray uniforms and bow ties, both male and female, walk around the area, but they all smell human and carry trays of glasses. And in those glasses is a thick red liquid. Blood. The humans here know they're in the lion's den. A woman stops at a long table of Trueblood couples, smiles, and places the glasses down on the table with a gloved hand.
“This isn't so bad,” I say to Walton.
A Trueblood man wraps his hand around the server’s waist. He pulls the server onto his lap, and she doesn't put up a fight as he flashes his fangs and sinks them into the side of her neck.
I hear the squick sound from here as he laps up her blood, which carries the scent of Ceasar salad mixed with sweetness. And she just smiles and endures it. My heart races. I see traces of scars on her neck when I look closer. Lots of white dots. Not her first rodeo, then. Then he releases her a moment later, and she stands, not daring to touch the seeping bite marks on her skin.
“Yes,” Walton says. “This isn't so bad. They don't kill their human familiars, and if the familiars perform well enough, they get to join the coven. Eventually.”
The woman walks back to a side area where a bunch of fancy room dividers stand, probably to refill her tray with blood goblets. But the reminder we're among killers hangs. I've attacked plenty of animals, so I shouldn't let this gross me out, but Miranda might suffer some shock. And I let Miranda cringe.
These familiars could be appetizers, and we could be the main course. Would these Truebloods feed on us? We have no scent to most of them and probably wouldn't taste good, but they might do it to remind the Nightsides of their power over us.
We all slowly move away from the door as Riley motions us forward. In watching the scene, I almost forgot about him, and that's a good thing. Miranda isn't his girlfriend.
“Okay, everyone. Do not make fools out of the Johnson coven.” Riley puffs out his chest and glares at us. “Remember your place.”
And he leads us to a long table near the end of the area. At least we get to sit and blend in.
Servers bring us glasses, but the last thing I want to do is drink as my stomach is heaving with nerves. Now that I'm sitting here, I can see over the other tables and to a large podium set up on the other side of the room. Wooden stands and leather chairs wait for the High Council, and a banner reading the Convening for this year hangs on the wall. All the fancy lamps and spotlights set up there tell me that's where the action is going to take place. Human workers walk around the periphery, checking spotlight wires and rows of folding chairs ready to get placed at a moments' notice.
“I see a few other Nightsides here, but not many,” Lily says, appearing at the end of our table. “A few other hunters are coming in, but there aren't many of us.”
I don't look at her too eagerly. Lily is just here, talking to our table. Mike and Ella have gone off to talk to a trio of older men, probably also hunters, near another table. None of them sit. The hunters are on full alert tonight.
Lily shakes a bit. She's nervous, and the youngest hunter here. A pair of Truebloods stare at her as they walk past, and I realize it's the two ladies from the front door. Some must suspect that something's up. Yikes.
But I'm the newest Nightside here, and the nervous girl. “Do you want to sit with us?” I ask in Miranda's quiet tone.
“Hunters do not sit with Truebloods or Nightsides, Miranda,” Riley snaps at me.
“I'm sorry, sir.” Yikes. Is this normal treatment in other covens? But I don't want to just sit here. Already, Walton rises, motioning for Daeshawn to follow. He leaves his glass of blood behind, barely touched, and then Stanley and Trish make themselves scarce, too. We've just come here to secure our seats until the vote. We're to walk around and prove to the Truebloods we're not dangerous.
I get up, but Walton has vanished. So it'll make sense for me to make rounds around here with Lily. We're both the same age, and me hanging with Lily won’t raise eyebrows.
Riley nods to me.
And I get it. Now's the time to feel out the happenings.
Not just among the Truebloods, but among the Nightsides, too.
Lily and I slowly walk in silence, and I keep my hand out of my shirt pocket in case someone wants a shake. Lily has no pockets on her green dress, and I smell no weapons hidden underneath. Weapons are forbidden at these events. The hunters are only here to observe and report back to their guilds, and nothing more.
“Excuse me.” A woman sweeps in front of me and Lily, stopping us.
I jump because Miranda is nervous. This woman has jet-black hair, all natural, and narrow eyes that show zero mercy. The copper rings in them are redder than I’d like.
“Which coven are you from?” she asks, nostrils flaring.
She's hungry, and despite Lily standing here with me, she's focused on me. I'm scentless probably, so this woman knows I must be a Nightside.
“The new Johnson coven,” I state. “Riley Johnson is my master.”
Her eyes turn to slits. “He has a poor choice of company, then. Someone so young should not run a coven.”
I don't know what to say. I expected some hostility, but not the in-your-face type. No matter w
hat I say, I'll fail. If I defend Riley, I'll be stepping out of my place. And if I don't, he'll look weak.
“He took me in,” I say, frowning. “He's been an excellent master so far.”
“What do you do at the Johnson mansion?” she asks.
She's rude, not even telling me her name. The pressure builds in me, but I keep it in my chest and in reserve. I've practiced, but one slip will reveal that Riley's not the true master. “I've been doing some cooking, and I sweep the floors and make sure the laundry gets folded.”
“And does Riley Johnson have any Truebloods to his name? Any heirs?” She flashes her fangs. This woman is hungry and I fear she'll go after Lily to get to me. But Lily stays beside me, silent with her head raised.
“He said he was planning to bring more in, but he had to settle into his new role first,” I say, praying for Riley's backup. I must get this woman away from me and Lily. She's anti-Nightside for sure.
“Ah. And who is this lovely lady?”
Riley's right behind me. Thank God.
“Ah. Riley Johnson,” she says, spitting his last name. “The heir of Dominic Beaumont.”
Riley doesn't react to this hostile creature. “And you are?”
“Zaza Scotelli. Scotelli coven,” she says proudly. “We have been together for fifteen centuries. And you?”
“We are new, but I have learned a lot about keeping control,” Riley says. Then I notice him glaring at me from the side and I back away, as Riley said Nightsides should when two Truebloods are talking. Lily does the same and tries to blend into the background, but a Trueblood man bumps into her from behind, eager to get in on the conversation.
“So you're Riley Johnson? You're the youngest master in recent history.” The man draws his hand from his pocket and offers it to Riley for a friendly shake. “It must be a lot, taking on a coven without the help of any other Truebloods.”
At least this Trueblood is friendly, and Zaza backs away. Riley shakes his hand and nods to me. “Check the schedule and report back to me,” he orders. “I want to know whether the dinner begins at one or one-thirty.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, not missing how he's looking at the podiums on the other side of the room, and at the closed side door I've only just noticed. Riley wants me to spy in that area, and also to get away from any hostiles crawling around here.
Lily and I leave Riley to the snakes, which I hate doing. I walk across the room, to where the Convening billboard is hanging above the semi-circle of podiums. I cross the empty floor, ready to hold rows of chairs. I haven't seen the High Council enter the room yet, and Lily walks behind me like she's tagging along and trying to hide from the small army of Truebloods.
“Where are we going?” she whispers.
“Riley thinks that area is important,” I say. I imagine the High Council hanging out in some side room until it's time to come out and announce our fates. They must not want to mingle with all these common Truebloods. That, I don't mind, because Stella and her goons probably scare the other Truebloods, too.
The area by the podium is empty except for a human servant in a gray uniform, marking down the schedule I now realize hangs under the word Convening. It's stupid work, because every Trueblood and Nightside can see the print clearly from across the convention center, but I'm getting the idea the Convening is a match to see who can win the Most Domineering award. Who has the best servants and slaves?
And most of all, who has the most control?
I walk up to stand in the semi-circle of podiums, eyeing the schedule as the servant woman finishes writing, in meticulous detail, the schedule for the night. She hurries off, leaving me and Lily standing there, though Lily waits like she's not sure what to do, and she stands back from me like I'm not her friend, but some acquaintance she follows around at a party.
“I guess I'm supposed to listen,” I say, focusing on my hunger.
I think of the blood glasses back at the tables that smell sweet, and my stomach obeys and my senses sharpen. Snippets of conversations meet my ears. Business deals. Truebloods ordering human and Nightside servants to bring their glasses. One Trueblood woman bragging about the size of her coven and how she brings in a human servant every year. Even hunters gathered in their own groups and commenting on the crowd. But I have to get my senses away from that, and make sure that the High Council, wherever they are, don't realize Lily and I are standing here.
They must be close, if Riley wanted me over here.
And we need to know our chances of handing Stanley to them. I've rehearsed the plan in my head so many times I know it by heart. We have a gift for you. The first Nightside has been plotting against the Convening and against Truebloods for some time, and here he is. Stanley, would you stand up?
Of course, Riley will get that line, and I'll just be there to make sure Stanley doesn't run away. And I'll also be there to force a confession. If the Originator isn't him, then he'll probably know who it is, and either way, we'll hand the High Council their man.
“Hear anything?” Lily asks, bringing me back to reality.
I shake my head. “Nervous. Sorry.” I keep my words down to a hiss.
Then I turn my listening to the side door that's just behind the semi-circle of podiums, and I tune out the rest of the Convening.
There's someone back there, all right. Faint, clicking footsteps betray Stella's pointed boots. They have that same little squeak with each step I hadn't realized I heard at the mansion.
“...tonight,” she says. “Best to let the business deals settle early.”
“And what about the after-vote mingling?” a man asks. I match his voice to Ursala, the guy with the dreadlocks. His words are as smooth as honey, and I imagine him leading thousands of women to their demise with that voice alone.
“Not this year,” Stella says. She and the other High Council members are maybe twenty feet away from the side door, and the shuffling of couch cushions tells me they're in a lounge of some sort. Other footsteps pacing around the room alert me to over four Truebloods.
And a bit of prodding also alerts me to their mental bunkers. They're up tonight with all these Nightsides in the building.
I close my eyes, pretending that I'm looking at the schedule since the rest of the Convening can just see my back. I can't linger here long or the Truebloods will see me and get suspicious. And that'll be bad for Riley and the other Nightsides of our new coven.
And I prod further.
The mental walls of the High Council are thick, but this time, I sense cracks in the bricks. The cracks form with distraction and then seal up again, but they're there, and for a split second, I can sense the electrical impulses of their minds just beyond.
The High Councils' mental barriers can break. Like with Dominic, we just need distraction, and maybe injury. And I must see them to do anything about it. Right now, I can’t tell who is who.
But what Stella speaks next yanks me from my meditative state.
“Dominic's heir does not respect the Nightside Prophecy,” Stella says. “And that is, um, very odd considering that his father knew of it before anyone else. Was he not warned?”
“Riley is young,” another man says. “Perhaps he does not know, and he only spent a few years with his father.” I've never heard this man before.
“He should know of it,” another woman says, and her voice makes me shudder. If Stella is the head of Rich Kid Academy, this other woman is the owner of that school and every other money-grubbing college in the industry. “The company he keeps tells me he does not care about the danger posed by keeping so many Nightsides. His father kept one in modern times, and he lost control of the one he had. Riley will have learned his tactics from the way his father ran the exiled Beaumont coven.”
“So sad,” Ursala says. “Riley has potential.”
Sweat breaks out. They're arguing our fates. As I listen, Lily paces, unaware of what I can hear. I keep my posture neutral, but my heart is pounding.
The domineering woman, wi
th words like bricks, clears her throat. “But if the Nightside Prophecy will come to pass, then that double-dominant Nightside will rise through a weak point. This new coven could be that weak point, unfortunately.”
“Double-dominant?” one man asks.
“With two copies of the Nightside mutation. It's never happened in all of history, as the mutation is so rare among humans. You have a lot to learn from being on the High Council,” Ursala tells the guy, his voice smiling. “There are rumors of a double-dominant among the new coven. No other Nightside could have driven out Dominic Beaumont and eliminated his closest confidantes alone.”
“That was according to an anonymous source,” Stella says. “We cannot be too careful, especially with the Originator on the loose. The Originator could be the double-dominant Nightside himself. And Riley is in a difficult position.”
“What do you propose we do?” the newbie asks.
The boss woman, probably the head of the High Council, lets a pause drag out.
“We must eliminate the threat. I've done my best to alter the coming vote and cut some deals with the covens. They understand that we cannot risk Trueblood society and the order we've built.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I cannot rush back through the Convening. With all these covens around us, and the place getting progressively more crowded, any wrong move will raise suspicion that I've heard of the plan.
The new Johnson coven must be the only ones in the dark about what will happen tonight.
We can't win. It's rigged. And all to weed out the double-dominant Nightside among us.
Could I really have two copies of the mutation? Something that's never happened in all of history? Dad had one for certain, but what about Mom? Does she carry the gene, too? But she touched no Truebloods, unlike Dad, who fought one back in high school. Riley was careful never to have contact with her.