by P. C. Cast
Chapter Thirty-four
When we landed at the Venice airport I'd only been awake about a nanosecond. I swear I slept the entire way, and the only dream I'd had had been about me and that giant beaver from the weird sleep medicine commercials playing Scrabble (which I don't play) and me winning like a bazillion pairs of designer shoes from him (and he doesn't really have feet). The dream had been odd, but harmless, and I'd slept like a kid on summer vacation. Most of the rest of my gang were wiping tears from their eyes and blowing their noses. What the heck is wrong with everyone? I asked Stark as we taxied to our gate. Sometime during the flight he'd moved to the seat right across the aisle from me. He jerked his chin over his shoulder at everyone behind us, including Heath, who was even looking kinda misty-eyed. They just got done watching Milk. It made them all bawl like babies. Hey, that's a good movie. And it's super-sad, too, I said.
Yeah, I saw it when it came out, but I wanted to keep my manly calm, so I decided to move up here and read. He lifted the book in his lap, which I noticed was called My Losing Season by a guy named Pat Conroy. You really do read, don't you? Yep. I really do. A losing season? How come he wrote about that? You really want to know? Yeah, of course I do, I said. He wrote the book to show that suffering can be a source of strength. Huh, I said, not so brilliantly and book-smartish. He's my favorite author, Stark said, a little shyly. I'll have to check him out. He doesn't write chick books, Stark said. That's a terrible ste reo type! I began, and was getting ready to launch into my lecture about the misogynistic (a word I learned from Damien while we read The Scarlet Letter in lit class) idea that manly books are for guys and frilly, pointless, fluffy books are for girls when the plane gave a little lurch and came to a halt.
We all kinda gawked around at each other, not sure what to do, but in just a second or so the door to the cockpit opened and the vampyre copilot stepped out with a smile. Welcome to Venetia, she said. I know at least one of you has special needs, so we've pulled directly into our private hangar. I could hear the Twins snickering about Stark being special needs/special services, but we ignored them. Erce is meeting you here. She will be your escort to San Clemente Island. Be sure you take all your carry-ons off with you, and blessed be. Then she moved to the front door and, with a few flips of some levers, opened the plane. There was some noise, and then she said, You may deplane. Let me go first, I told Stark, who was already on his feet, his book zipped into his backpack and slung over his shoulder. I want to be sure there really isn't any sun out there to fry you.
Stark was going to argue with me, but Darius brushed past both of us with a quick, Stay here. I'll let you know if all is safe. He's being Warrior-like, Aphrodite said, walking down the aisle ahead of everyone else who had to stay back behind her rolling Betsey Johnson luggage. I like it when he gets all testosteroney, but I wish he'd remember to carry my bag. He needs his hands free in case he has to defend you, Stark told her, with the you moron part of the sentence left out but implied. She narrowed her eyes at him, but Darius popped back into the plane. All is well here. So we turned, sheeplike, and filed down the aisle to the door. The vampyre standing at the bottom of the stairs leading from the plane was tall and regal- looking, and as dark as Lenobia was fair, but she still definitely reminded me of our Horse Mistress.
Erce had that calm way about her that Lenobia had, too. I decided it must have something to do with their affinity for horses. They're calm and wise because horses, who are the coolest animals in the world besides cats, choose people who are soothing and smart. I am Erce. Merry meet, Zoey. Her dark eyes found me instantly, even though I was coming down the stairs behind Stark and Darius. Merry meet, I said to her. Then her gaze went to Stark. I saw her eyes widen as she took in his red tattooing of intricately decorated arrows on either side of the crescent in the middle of his forehead. This is Stark, I said, needing to break what was becoming an awkward silence. Merry meet, Stark, she said. Merry meet, he replied automatically, even though he sounded strained. I understood how he felt, but I was getting used to vamps and fledglings staring at my weird tattoos. Stark, I have taken care to be certain our boat has curtains drawn and windows blackened, though sunset is within the hour and it has been snowing on and off all day, so what sun is still shining is rather wan.
Her voice was musical and nice to listen to, so nice that it took me a moment to actually hear what she was saying. Boat? I said. How does he get to the boat? Well, it's right there, Zo. Heath, who was sliding down the stairs with his feet up and his hands on the cold, slick rail, jerked his chin toward the side of the hangar. Cut out of the floor at one edge of the building was a large rectangular dock with a big door that reminded me of a garage closed at one end. At the other was a slick-looking black wooden boat. The top front was glass, and I could see two tall vampyres standing there by the dash. Behind them shiny wooden stairs led down into what must be the passenger area. I say must be because, even though there were windows along the side of the boat, they were, indeed, completely covered. If the sun's behind clouds, I can stand it, Stark said. So it's true that sunlight isn't simply uncomfortable for you? It will literally burn you? I could hear the curiosity in her voice, and it didn't sound pushy or oh-my-god-you're-such-a-freak. She sounded honestly concerned. Direct sunlight would kill me, Stark said matter-of-factly. Setting or indirect sun would be anywhere from very dangerous to uncomfortable. Interesting, she mused. I guess interesting's one way to look at it. I mostly think of it as annoying and inconvenient, Stark said. Are we going to have time to shop before the High Council meeting? Aphrodite asked. Ah, you must be Aphrodite. Yes, merry meet, whatever. So can we shop? I'm afraid you won't have time. It will take half an hour to get to the island, then I will get you settled and, most importantly, brief you on the rules of the Council. Actually, we must be going now. She started to shepherd us to the boat. Are they letting me speak before them, or am I not good enough now that I'm just a human? Aphrodite said. The rule about humans has nothing to do with them not being good enough to speak before the Council, Erce said as we moved from the wharf-like part of the hangar and boarded the boat, stepping down into a dark, luxurious cabin.
Consorts have long been allowed in the Council Chamber because of their importance to their vampyres. She paused here to smile at Heath, who was totally, obviously human. They are not allowed to speak before the High Council because humans do not have a say in intimate vampyre policies and issues. Heath sighed dramatically, smooshed himself next to me and, ignoring Stark, who was sitting on the other side of me, draped his arm possessively around my shoulders. I'm going to elbow the crap out of you if you don't put your arm down and act right, I whispered. Heath grinned sheepishly and moved his arm, though he didn't unsmoosh from me. So does that mean I can attend the almighty Council Meeting, but I have to shut up like the blood donor over there? Aphrodite asked. You they have made an exception for. You may attend, and you may speak, but you'll have to follow all the other rules of the Council. Which means no shopping right now, Aphrodite said. That is what it means, Erce said. I was impressed by her patience. Lenobia would probably have snapped Aphrodite's head off before then for her smart-alecky attitude.
Can all the rest of us come to the Council Meeting, too? Oh, hi and merry meet, I'm Jack, he said. You are all invited to meet before the Council. And what about Neferet and Kalona? Are they there also? I asked. Yes, though Neferet now calls herself Nyx Incarnate, and Kalona says his true name is Erebus. That's a lie, I said. Erce's smile was grim. That, my young and unusual fledgling, is exactly why you are here. We didn't say much more during the rest of the trip. The motor of the boat had kicked up and it was loud and more than a little disorienting inside the shrouded boat. It lurched a lot, and I was busy concentrating on not puking up my guts. The speed of the boat slowed, along with the tempo of the watery rolling and lurching, signaling our arrival at the island, when Darius's voice carried above the engine noise. Zoey! He and Aphrodite were sitting in one of the seats two rows behind me and I had to swi
vel around in my chair to see him.
Stark turned around with me, so both of us got to our feet at the same time. Aphrodite! What's wrong? I hurried over to her. She was holding her head in her hands as if she was afraid it was on the verge of exploding. Darius was looking helpless. He kept touching one of her shoulders, murmuring stuff I couldn't hear to her, and trying to get her to look at him. Oh, Goddess! My head is killing me. What the fuck? Is she having a vision? Erce said, coming up behind me. I don't know. Probably, I said. I got on my knees in front of Aphrodite and tried to get her to meet my eyes. Aphrodite, it's Zoey. Tell me what you're seeing.
I'm too hot. Too damn hot! Aphrodite was saying. Her face had become flushed and sweaty, even though it was actually cool in the boat. With wide, panicked eyes she stared around, though my guess was that she wasn't seeing the inside of the expensive little boat. Aphrodite, talk to me! What is your vision showing? She did look at me then, and I realized that her eyes were clear and not filled with the painful blood that had started coming with each of her visions. I'm not seeing anything. She gulped air, still fanning her sweating face. It's not a vision: It's Stevie Rae and our damn Imprint. Some-thing's happening to her. Something really, really bad.