Awakened: A House of Night Novel

by P. C. Cast

  “Let’s go home,” Stevie Rae said, sliding her arm around Rephaim’s totally, completely human waist.

  “Sounds good to me,” Zoey said, taking Stark’s hand.

  “Sounds like we got us a bunch of cleaning to do to me,” Kramisha muttered as they started to walk away.

  “The Vampyre High Council will hear of this,” Neferet called after them.

  Zoey paused long enough to yell back over her shoulder, “Yeah, well, we won’t be hard to reach. We have internet and everything. Plus, a bunch of us will be back because we’ll be taking classes. This is still our school, even if it isn’t our home.”

  “Oh, great. It’s like we’re being bussed in from the fucking projects,” Aphrodite said.

  “What are the projects?” Rephaim asked Stevie Rae.

  She beamed a smile up at him and said, “It means we’re comin’ from a totally different place that some people don’t think is so great.”

  “I’m hoping for urban renewal,” Aphrodite grumbled.

  Rephaim knew his expression was a huge question mark when Stevie Rae laughed and hugged him. “Don’t worry. We’ll have plenty of time for me to explain this modern stuff. For now all you need to know is that we’re together and that Aphrodite usually isn’t very nice.”

  Stevie Rae stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, and Rephaim let her taste and touch drown out the voices of his past and the haunting memory of the wind under his wings …

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Neferet

  She held herself under the strictest of control and allowed Zoey and her pathetic group of friends to leave the House of Night even though she wanted so very much to loose Darkness on them and crush them into nothingness.

  Instead, carefully, secretly, she inhaled, absorbing the threads of Darkness that scuttled about her, slithering deliciously from shadow to shadow. When she felt strong and confident and in control again, she addressed her minions, those who remained at her House of Night.

  “Rejoice, fledglings and vampyres! Nyx’s appearance this night was a sign of her favor. The Goddess spoke of choice and gifts and life paths. Sadly, we see that Zoey Redbird and her friends have chosen to take a path that leads away from us and, therefore, away from Nyx. But we will stay through this test and persevere, praying to our merciful Goddess that those misguided fledglings choose to return to us.” Neferet could see doubt in some of her listeners’ eyes. With a barely discernable motion, she waved just her fingers, pointing the long, red tips of her sharpened nails toward the doubters—the naysayers. Darkness responded, targeting them, clinging to them, causing their minds to be muddled through the confusion of twinges of seemingly sourceless pain and doubt and fear. “Now let each of us retire to our cloistered chambers, each to light a candle the color of the element we feel closest to. I believe that Nyx will hear these elementally channeled prayers, and she will ease us through this time of suffering and strife.”

  “Neferet, what of the fledgling’s body? Should we not continue to hold vigil?” Dragon Lankford asked.

  She was careful to keep the disdain from her voice. “You are right to remind me, Sword Master. Those of you who honored Jack with purple spirit candles, throw them on the pyre as you leave. The Sons of Erebus Warriors will hold vigil over the poor fledgling’s body for the remainder of the night.” And in that way I will be rid of both the power of the spirit candles as the flames consume them, and the annoying presence of too many Warriors, Neferet thought.

  “As you wish, Priestess,” Dragon said, bowing to her.

  She barely spared him a glance. “Now I must seclude myself. I believe Nyx’s message to me was multilayered. Some of it she whispered to my heart, and she has given me pause. Now I must pray and meditate.”

  “What Nyx said disturbed you?”

  Neferet had already begun to hurry away from the prying eyes of the House of Night when Lenobia’s voice stopped her. I should have known she did not remain because she was snared by my trap, Neferet acknowledged silently to herself. She remains to turn the captor into the captive.

  Neferet regarded the Horse Mistress. With one flick of her fingertip, she sent Darkness in her direction, and was then surprised as well as concerned to see Lenobia’s gaze darting around her as if she could actually see the seeking threads.

  “Yes, what Nyx said did, indeed, disturb me,” Neferet spoke abruptly, pulling everyone’s attention from the Horse Mistress back to her. “I could tell that the Goddess is deeply worried about our House of Night. You heard her speak of a split in our world—and that has happened. She was warning me. I only wish I could have found the means to keep it from happening.”

  “But she forgave Rephaim. Could we not have—”

  “The Goddess did forgive the creature. But does that mean we must suffer him in our midst?” Gracefully, she swept her arm toward Dragon Lankford, who was standing miserably by the head of the fledgling’s pyre. “Our Son of Erebus made the right choice. Sadly, too many young fledglings were led astray by Zoey and Stevie Rae and their tainted words. As Nyx herself said this night, forgiveness is a gift that must be earned. Let us hope for Zoey’s sake she continues to have the Goddess’s good will, but after her actions here I am afraid for her.” While her people were gazing between her and the pitiful, guilty spectacle the Sword Master made, Neferet stroked the air, pulling from the shadows more and more threads of Darkness. Then, with a flicking motion, she threw them out at the crowd, suppressing her smile of satisfaction when the groans and confused, pain-filled gasps reached her ears. “Depart—go to your rooms, pray and rest. This evening has been entirely too taxing for all of us. I leave you now, and as the Goddess said, I wish you to blessed be.”

  Neferet swept from the center of the courtyard, whispering under her breath to the ancient force around her, “He will be there! He will be awaiting me!” She gathered her power so that she felt swollen, throbbing with the rhythm of Darkness, and then gave herself to it, letting it pick up her newly immortal body and carry her on the colorless wings of death and pain and despair.

  But before she could reach the Mayo, and the opulent penthouse where she knew, she was certain Kalona would be awaiting her, Neferet felt a great shifting in the powers that carried her.

  The cold reached her first. Neferet wasn’t certain if she commanded the powers to cease and allow her to halt, or whether the coldness froze them; either way, she found herself spewed out onto the middle of the intersection of Peoria and 11th Street. The Tsi Sgili picked herself up and looked around her, trying to get her bearings. The graveyard to her left drew her attention, and not simply because it housed the rotting remains of humans, which amused her. She sensed something approaching from within it. With one movement Neferet snagged a retreating thread of Darkness, hooked into it, and forced it to lift her over the spiked iron fence that surrounded the graveyard.

  Whatever it was, she could feel it coming toward her, calling to her, and Neferet ran, darting ghostlike between the aging gravestones and crumbling monuments that humans found so soothing. Until finally she came to the centermost part of it, where four wide, paved pathways converged to form a circle where an American flag hung, the single illumination in the graveyard—except for him.

  Of course Neferet recognized him. She’d caught glimpses of the white bull before, but he’d never fully materialized and appeared to her.

  Neferet was stuck speechless at his perfection. His coat was a luminous white. Like a magnificent pearl it glowed—coaxing, alluring, compelling. She swept off the concealing shirt the pubescent Stark had given her, baring herself to the bull’s consuming black gaze. Then Neferet sank gracefully to her knees.

  You bared yourself to Nyx. Now you bare yourself to me? Are you that free with yourself, Queen of the Tsi Sgili?

  His voice resonated darkly in her mind, sending shivers of anticipation throughout her body.

  “I didn’t bare myself to her. You, above all else, know that. The Goddess and I have parted ways. I am no long
er mortal, and do not desire to subjugate myself to any other female.”

  The mammoth white bull strode forward, causing the ground to shake under his great cloven hooves. His nose did not quite touch her delicate skin, but he inhaled her scent and then his cold breath released, surrounding Neferet, caressing her most sensitive places, awakening her most secret desires.

  So instead of subjugation to a goddess you choose to chase after a fallen immortal male?

  Neferet’s gaze met the bull’s black, bottomless eyes. “Kalona is nothing to me. I was going to him to exact my revenge for the oath he broke. It is my right to do so.”

  He broke no oath. It did not bind him. Kalona’s soul is no longer fully immortal—he has foolishly given a piece of it away.

  “Truly? How very interesting…” Neferet’s body hummed with excitement at the news.

  I see that you are still infatuated with the thought of using him.

  Neferet lifted her chin and shook back her long auburn hair. “I am not infatuated with Kalona. I only wish to harness and use his powers.”

  You are truly a magnificent, heartless creature. The bull’s tongue snaked out. He licked Neferet’s naked flesh, causing her to gasp in exquisite pain as her body trembled with excitement. It has been more than a century since I have had such a willing follower. The idea seems suddenly appealing.

  Neferet stayed on her knees before him. Slowly, gently, she reached out and touched him. His coat was frigid as ice, but slick like water.

  Neferet felt his body shiver in anticipation. Ah, his voice resonated through her mind, and entered her soul, making her head dizzy with the power of it. I’d forgotten how surprising touch can be when it is not forced. It is not often that I am surprised, and I find myself wanting to show you such a favor in return.

  “I would willingly accept any favor Darkness would do for me.”

  The bull’s knowing chuckle rumbled through her mind. Yes, I do believe I would like to gift you with something.

  “A gift?” she said breathlessly, loving the irony that Darkness Incarnate’s words so clearly mirrored those of Nyx. “What is it?”

  Would it give you pleasure to know that I could create for you a Vessel, to take Kalona’s place? He would be yours to command—yours to use as an absolute weapon.

  “Would he be powerful?” Neferet’s breathing had increased.

  If the sacrifice is deserving, he would be very powerful.

  “I would sacrifice anything or anyone to Darkness,” Neferet said. “Tell me what you desire for the creation of this creature, and I will give it to you.”

  To create the Vessel, I must have the lifeblood of a woman who has ancient ties to the earth, passed to her through generation upon generation of matriarchs. The stronger, purer, older the woman, the more perfect the Vessel.

  “Human or vampyre?” Neferet asked.

  Human—they are more thoroughly tied to the earth, as their bodies return to the earth so much more quickly than do vampyres’.

  Neferet smiled. “I know exactly who would be the perfect sacrifice. If you take me to her tonight, I will give her blood to you.”

  The bull’s black eyes glinted with what Neferet thought might be amusement. Then he bent his huge forelegs, making his back accessible to her. I am intrigued by your offer, my heartless one. Show me the sacrifice.

  “You wish for me to ride you?”

  With no hesitation, Neferet rose and walked around to the side of his smooth, slick back. Though he was on his knees, she was still going to have to struggle to mount him. Then she felt the familiar thrill of the power of Darkness. Weightlessly, it lifted her so that she was astride his massive back.

  Picture in your mind the place you wish for me to take you—the place where your sacrifice can be found—and I will take you there.

  Neferet lay forward, wrapping her arms around his huge neck, and she began picturing lavender fields and a lovely little cottage made of Oklahoma stone with a welcoming wooden porch and large, revealing windows …

  Linda Heffer

  Linda hated to admit it, but all these years her mother had been right. “John Heffer is a su-li.” She said aloud the Cherokee word for “buzzard,” which is what her mother had called John the first night they’d met. “Well, he’s also a lying, cheating jerk—but a jerk with zero dollars in his savings and checking account,” she said smugly. “Because I drained them today, right after I caught him with the church secretary bent over his office desk!”

  Her hands tightened on the steering wheel of their Intrepid and she flicked on her brights as she replayed the terrible scene over in her mind. She’d thought it would be a nice surprise to make him a special lunch and bring it to him at his office. John had been working so many late hours—putting in so much overtime. But even after all those hours at work he still kept up so much volunteer time at church … Linda pressed her lips together.

  Well, now she knew what he’d really been doing! Or rather, who he’d really been doing!

  She should have known. All the signs were there—he’d stopped paying attention to her, stopped coming home, lost ten pounds, and even bleached his teeth!

  He’d try to talk her back. She knew he would. He’d even tried to get her from running out of his office, but it’d been pretty darn hard to chase her with his pants around his ankles.

  “The worst part is that he won’t want me back because he loves me. He’ll want me back so he doesn’t look bad.” Linda bit her lip and blinked hard, refusing to cry. “No,” she admitted aloud to herself. “The worst part is that John never loved me. He just wanted to look like the perfect family man, so he needed me. Our family was never anything close to perfect—anything close to happy.” My mother had been right. Zoey had been right, too.

  Thinking of Zoey was what finally tipped the tears over to spill down her cheeks. Linda missed Zoey. Of her three children, she’d been closest to Zoey. She smiled through her tears, remembering how she and Zoey used to have geekends where they’d curl up on the couch together, eat lots of junk food, and watch either the Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter movies, or even sometimes Star Wars. How long had it been since they’d done that? Years. Would they ever again? Linda hiccupped a little sob. Could they now that Zoey was at the House of Night?

  Would Zoey even want to see her again?

  She’d never forgive herself if she’d let John irreparably mess up her relationship with Zoey.

  That was one reason she’d gotten in the car, in the middle of the night, and headed to her mother’s house. Linda wanted to talk to her mother about Zoey—about mending her relationship with Zoey.

  Linda also wanted to lean on her mother’s strength. She wanted help to stand firm and not let John talk her into a reconciliation.

  But mostly, Linda just wanted her mother.

  It didn’t matter that she was a grown woman with children of her own. She still needed her mother’s arms to hold her, and her mother’s voice to reassure her that everything really would be all right—that she’d made the right decision.

  Linda was so deep in thought that she almost missed the turnoff to her mother’s house. She braked hard and just made the right turn. Then she slowed the car so that it wouldn’t spin out on the dirt road that led between lavender fields to her mother’s house. It’d been more than a year since she’d been here, but it hadn’t changed—and Linda was thankful for that. It made her feel safe and normal again.

  Her mother’s porch light was on, and so was one lamp light inside. Linda smiled as she parked and got out of the car. It was probably that 1920s brass mermaid lamp her mother liked to read by late at night—only it wouldn’t be late to Sylvia Redbird. Four in the morning would be early for her, and just about getting up time.

  Linda was just going to tap on the windowpane of the door before opening it when she saw the note written on lavender-scented paper and taped on the door. Her mother’s distinctive handwriting said:

  Linda darling, I felt you might be coming, b
ut I couldn’t be sure when you would actually arrive, so I went ahead and took some soaps and sachets and things to the powwow in Tahlequah. I’ll be back tomorrow. As always, please make yourself at home. I hope you’re here when I return. I love you.

  Linda sighed. Trying not to feel disappointed and annoyed at her mother, she went inside. “It’s really not her fault. She’d be here if I hadn’t stopped coming by.” She was used to her mother’s weird way of knowing whenever she was going to have a visitor. “Looks like her radar still works.”

  For a moment she stood in the middle of the living room, trying to decide what to do. Maybe she should go back to Broken Arrow. Maybe John would leave her alone for a while—or at least long enough for her to get an attorney and get him served with papers.

  But she’d broken her rule about no overnights during the week, and the kids were at friends’ houses. She didn’t have to go back. Linda sighed again, and this time with her inhaled breath she took in the scents of her mother’s home: lavender, vanilla, and sage—real scents from real herbs and hand-poured soy candles, so unlike the PlugIns John insisted she use instead of “those sooty candles and those dirty old plants.” And that decided her. Linda marched into her mother’s kitchen and went straight to the little, but well stocked wine rack and pulled out a nice red. She was going to drink an entire bottle of wine and read one of her mother’s romance novels, and then stagger up to the guest loft, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it. Tomorrow her mother would give her an herbal tea concoction to get rid of her hangover, and she’d also help her figure out how to get her life back on the right track—a track that didn’t include John Heffer and did include her Zoey.

  “Heffer, what a stupid name,” Linda said, pouring herself a glass of wine and taking a long, slow drink. “That name is one of the first things I’m going to get rid of!” She was looking through her mother’s bookshelf, trying to decide between reading something sexy by Kresley Cole, Gena Showalter, or Jennifer Crusie’s latest, Maybe This Time. That was it—the great title decided her because maybe this time she’d do the right thing. Linda was just settling down in her mother’s chair when someone knocked on the door three times.