All Just Glass dos-7

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  At last, what he had said earlier sank in. Kristopher and Nikolas had come to save her, despite knowing she had chosen her death. Would they have avenged her even though she had been willing to give up her life? Would they have either slaughtered or been slaughtered by those she had once called family?

  Worse, Nikolas and Kristopher had allies—not just Nissa, but powerful figures like Kaleo. Even if the twins respected her decision, Kaleo had made it clear that Sarah had his protection, yet he was far less likely to care what choice she had made. Would he have joined the fight?

  How many bodies would have joined hers on the floor?

  She had thought she was doing the right thing. Was Nikolas correct that she had just been doing the easy thing? As he had pointed out, once she was dead, she didn’t have to make the hard decisions anymore.

  “What was Kristopher’s opinion?” she asked softly. Nikolas had made it clear that his decisions after her death would not be affected by how she chose to die. Kristopher claimed to love her. What would he have done?

  “He argued that we are not your keepers, and that no matter how much we want to hold on to you, whether or not you continue with this life has to be your decision.” Nikolas shook his head. “Ultimately, it is your choice to make, no matter which side of that argument each of us is on. If Jerome had not told us what you were doing, we would not have known. There will be plenty of other moments we will not know about. We will protect you, even from yourself, when we can, but the final decision to live must be yours.”

  The words cut deeply. She had grown up among absolutes and duty, but Kristopher had introduced her to doubt, and decisions, and therefore freedom. He represented the opposite of all she had been raised to obey without question, so it should not have surprised her that he had been the one to argue for her right to make a decision that now horrified her.

  Nikolas, on the other hand, had always been more black and white.

  “And if, someday when you aren’t there, I decide not to live?” she asked.

  Nikolas shrugged, his gaze going distant. “Kristopher will forgive you,” he said. “He will mourn for you. He may choose to avenge you even if your death is by your own plan, and I will follow whichever path he takes. But unlike my brother, I do not forgive easily.”

  Perhaps Nikolas’s approval should not have meant so much to Sarah, but the words ate at her, feeding the shame she already felt for—

  Oh, no.

  “Zachary,” she said as the last moments of the fight came back to her. “I—”

  “He’ll be fine,” Nikolas said swiftly, in a flat tone absent all judgment. “You didn’t kill anyone; we didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Sarah?”

  Kristopher’s groggy voice shocked her from her thoughts.

  She reached for him and helped him sit up. She could tell the exact moment when disorientation broke in favor of memory, because his fear spiked.

  “We couldn’t let you do it,” he said.

  “I know,” she answered, her voice breathy through her tight throat.

  She tried to help Kristopher stand, and then stumbled as a wave of dizziness nearly took her legs out from under her. Nikolas tried to catch them both, and all three of them ended up back on the floor.

  “You two both need sleep,” Nikolas suggested. “Sarah, I know you slept a couple of hours earlier, but it’s well after dawn now, and healing took a lot of energy.”

  Nikolas insisted on helping them up the stairs; Sarah was so tired she couldn’t even focus her thoughts enough to transport herself, and Kristopher couldn’t seem to take a step without stumbling over air. Christine looped an arm around Sarah’s waist and helped her stay standing long enough to wash her cousin’s blood from her skin before she fell into bed. Sarah vaguely recalled her having been in the room earlier, before Nikolas sent her away so she would not be a distraction.

  “You should rest, too,” Sarah said to Nikolas when it became obvious that he was walking them to their rooms but was not planning on sleeping himself.

  “I’ll hunt first,” he answered, reminding Sarah that while she and Kristopher had been injured, he was the one who had been drained of power. Remembering how much of Nikolas’s energy she had siphoned off to heal Kristopher, Sarah was surprised he was still rational. Was his self-control really so much better than hers?

  She would have killed Zachary.

  He had looked at her, and seen her as Sarah, and called her cousin. Zachary Vida, who never hesitated, had paused, unable to drive his blade into her heart. And in return, she had nearly torn his throat out. If she had had any hope that he might trust her before, how could he possibly forgive her now? She could live, but after what had happened, how could she ever convince any of her once kin that she was anything but the monster they assumed her to be?

  Their problems were insurmountable. The Rights of Kin would have them hunted as long as witches lived. Their normal lives could not resume as long as the Vida line drew breath, but Sarah would not let her new allies destroy her mother, sister, cousins and other kin.

  She didn’t know what to do.

  The first step of living this life, though, was learning how to survive. She had tried to ignore her new blood instead of facing it. If she had listened to Nikolas and Kristopher and—much as she hated to admit it—Kaleo in the first place, maybe she could have ended the earlier fight by running, instead of creating the disaster she had.

  She needed to learn how to hunt without killing. There were vampires at SingleEarth who never killed, and Kristopher had gone fifty years without taking a life … though Nikolas had once strongly implied that the self-control she had seen in him came only at the cost of human life, and that he did not know how to live without death.

  She shuddered and tried to shove that thought from her mind. Such doubts would help nothing.

  For now, the power she had taken from her cousin and then from Nikolas was sustaining her, but there would be other nights. She needed to know how to be. She had never before had choices about who she was and how she wanted to live. All of her life had been dedicated to her duty as a Vida.

  As she closed her eyes to sleep, she wondered: was there anything more to her now?

  CHAPTER 13

  SATURDAY, 9:32 A.M.

  ADIA HADN’T HAD a lot of trouble packing to move to the safe house. After all, she didn’t have a piece of sentimental memorabilia that didn’t in some way involve Sarah.

  She tried to sleep after they settled in, but managed less than an hour before she succumbed to the compulsive need to look up her latest contact. Sleeping would mean letting herself be still, which would mean thinking. While she was working and focused on the next steps, she could avoid thinking about the big picture and the overall goal. The oversized binder took up most of the kitchen counter as Adia leaned over it, balanced on a stool.

  She had already decided that once she was in charge, all the information was going to be entered into a database, searchable by known characteristics.

  Such a system would have made it much easier to find Jerome. Searching by name wasn’t effective, since even if he had given his real name at the coffee shop, the book wasn’t arranged in alphabetical order. Many vampires weren’t known by name, or else were known by several names, so they were arranged by lineage instead. That was why they needed a searchable database.

  Dominique had objected on the premise that technology was unreliable and easier to interfere with, but Adia suspected that it was more because Dominique hadn’t grown up with computers and didn’t trust new things. She was more technophobic than the eighty-year-old woman Adia occasionally handed change to in the subway station.

  At last, Adia found Jerome. She smirked at the well-lit color photograph that went with the entry. Though the book held many sketches, there were few photos, because most vampires were smart enough not to get themselves caught on film. This one, however, had smiled for the camera. Stretched out in casual jeans and a T-shirt, with one arm draped over the
back of a leather couch the color of good coffee beans, he looked as friendly and welcoming as he had at the Makeshift.

  She read the typed entry.

  Jerome. Kendra’s line, changed by Daryl. Rarely outright aggressive, and not known as a frequent killer, but information is difficult to confirm, because he is known for using guile in place of physical assault. No known circuit for hosting, but a frequent guest at circuits owned by a variety of vampires of Kendra’s and Katama’s lines. Jerome does not seem to possess a strong drive toward leadership or power among his own kind but is better described as a game player or information gatherer. He has a wide net of contacts. He seems to court human companions but has no known bloodbonds.

  Further down the page, another line had been added in tight, nervous handwriting, as if an afterthought.

  Suspected in the death of Frederick Kallison.

  There were no more details about that, as if the one line should have been self-explanatory. From the description of Jerome, it sounded like previous hunters had had a chance to observe him pretty closely but had decided he was not dangerous enough to be a worthwhile primary target. If he frequented Kendra’s circuit, then hunters had probably encountered him while he was surrounded by much more worthwhile prey.

  Then there was that last line.

  The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Frederick Kallison had probably been a hunter, or he would not have been mentioned by name. Perhaps he had disappeared while hunting this vampire, or perhaps it had been known that Jerome had targeted him for some reason. It would be useful to know if Jerome was the type to focus on and stalk particular prey, or if he tended to be dangerous only when cornered. She wondered why the information had been left out.

  There wasn’t a note about who had recorded this page, though it was old enough to have been included in the mass of entries Dominique had typed when she had reorganized the book. The handwritten note must have been added after that, so someone in Adia’s generation probably knew more.

  Her nerves were strung so tight she jumped when Jay appeared in the doorway to the tiny kitchen.

  “Sorry,” the Marinitch said, pausing in the doorway, probably because there was little space to come further forward. “Do you have a minute?”

  Their safe house was actually an apartment beneath a gourmet food and wine store owned by one of Dominique’s associates. Its size would have been luxurious for one person or perfectly comfortable for two, but it was a little cramped with the four of them—her, Zachary, Michael and Jay—living there. She was indescribably glad Dominique had decided to stay elsewhere.

  “What can I do for you, Jay?” Adia asked.

  “I fear I may be more of a hindrance than a help in this fight,” Jay commented. Adia had a moment to think cynically, Just like a Marinitch, reliable as a sparrow, before Jay frowned and said, “You are in charge of this hunt, and I will abide by your decisions. But I think my skills may be put to better use elsewhere.”

  Adia tried to force herself to think rationally. Jay wasn’t the only one second-guessing himself lately, and he didn’t have the advantage of rigorous Vida training to help him focus past such doubts. “Your input when we had Heather helped us discover the vampire I am in the process of identifying. I think he will prove to be a valuable lead. If your concern is that your fighting skills are not as keen as your other magic, then—”

  “That is not my worry,” he interrupted. “I can hold my own. However, I know Dominique and Zachary are better than I am. I feel my presence is weakening them. Zachary spends far too much of his attention trying to keep his mind blocked from me, and Dominique has consciously avoided me since she realized my talents. I have been focusing my magic on healing my arm, and it should be fine in another few hours. After that, I would suggest that you assign me elsewhere, so I will not be a distraction to two of our best fighters.”

  Adia had tried to avoid the issue Jay had just bought to the forefront. She rolled her shoulders, trying to release some of the tension in her neck, before saying, “Maybe you do unsettle Zachary and Dominique. You unsettle me. But none of us is going to let something like that get in the way when it comes to a fight.

  “Dominique is trying to give us more independence while she does other work. She is still the matriarch of our line and has obligations beyond the Rights of Kin. If she thought she needed to be here, she would be. And Zachary is here. No matter what he does to keep you out of his head, in a fight he’ll be glad to have you at his back.”

  Jay nodded, though slowly. “You know them both better than I do, so you’re probably right. But I thought I could avoid the problem and still be useful by accompanying Michael to New York. I might be able to pick up on information his contacts would not intentionally share.”

  Adia considered the suggestion. Jay’s talents made him especially useful for information gathering, and given the kinds of contacts Michael had implied he would talk to, she wouldn’t mind having another witch watching over his shoulder—especially one with the ability to tell a truth from a lie or glean information Michael’s contacts might not intend to share. She would discuss it with Michael when he returned.

  Apparently content that he had said all he needed to on the subject, Jay gestured toward the book Adia still had open. “Is that the vampire you found?”

  “Yes,” Adia answered. “His name is Jerome. The shop seemed to be serving as a kind of mingling place for a bunch of bloodbonds, but it says here he doesn’t have any of his own, so I gather he’s a bit of a spider. One of Nikolas’s bonds, named Matt, came in to speak with him while I was there, so he is definitely linked to our targets.” On the off chance Jay would know about something Adia only vaguely recognized, she asked, “Do you happen to know who Frederick Kallison is?”

  Jay paused to think, his gaze going distant. “I don’t know,” he said before twisting to call to the next room, “Zachary?”

  Zachary, who had stepped out of the bedroom an instant before, frowned at Jay before crossing the small living room and asking, “Yes?”

  Adia posed the question. “Do you recognize the name Frederick Kallison? It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”

  It was interesting to watch the play of emotions across Jay’s face while Zachary’s remained externally calm. Jay turned his head to look at Adia, keeping his face hidden from Zachary, but his expression was pained as Zachary said, “It should sound familiar.” Zachary’s voice was soft. Adia would not have been aware of how strong a reaction he had had to the name if not for Jay’s expression. “Frederick Kallison was involved with a Vida before he died. With Dominique. He disappeared. I was only five, so I don’t remember it very well, but she …” He shook his head. “Dominique and Jacqueline used to be very close, more like Dominique was an older sister instead of an aunt. After Frederick died, the two of them couldn’t talk except to fight. Jacqueline would scream and yell and Dominique would just get quiet and tell her she was being reckless and needed to start settling down. Dominique stopped coming over eventually, and let her father set her up with a hunter he thought was acceptable—your father—like she didn’t even care anymore who she was with once Frederick was gone. Jacqueline started going out and staying out for days or weeks until … well, until someone carried her body home.”

  He spoke calmly, almost as if the people he described were distant, unimportant figures to him. Adia watched with morbid fascination the contrast between Zachary’s poise and Jay’s struggle not to let Zachary see how useless that poise was. He might claim he barely remembered it, but if Jay’s reaction was any indication, Zachary not only remembered it, but recalled it with the fear only a child was truly capable of.

  It was as if in the past day, she had seen layers to Zachary that she hadn’t even known existed. Somewhere inside, he was in fact as vulnerable as a real person.

  No wonder having an empath in the house made him so nervous.

  “How did that name come up, anyway?” Zachary asked, almost too casually.


  Hoping the subject of a target to hunt would be more settling for him, Adia said, “I was looking up my contact from that bookstore, a vamp named Jerome.”

  Zachary nodded tightly. “I’ve heard of him,” he said. “My impression is that everyone knows him but very few people like him, and he pretends to have more influence than he does. I doubt he’ll be helpful. And—” He hesitated, and his controlled expression cracked, showing for an instant the fear beneath. “And I’m not sure he’s worth mentioning to Dominique,” he said. “She’s already dealing with losing Sarah. Do you really want to flash in front of her the creature who killed her first love?”

  Zachary’s reaction was so unnerving Adia didn’t know how to respond. The fact was Jerome was the only contact they still had, and Zachary and Dominique were just going to have to deal with it. On the other hand, the concept of her having to tell Zachary and Dominique to suck it up was terrifying. These people were the ones Adia looked to for strength, especially now. They weren’t allowed to be shaken by a page in a book.

  Zachary jumped visibly when the door opened, admitting Michael, whose arms were laden with a bag full of groceries.

  “I brought food,” Michael said when neither Vida spoke for a moment. “There’s one more bag in the car if someone can grab it. Zachary, good to see you up, even if I’m not sure you should be. You’re still pale as a sheet.”

  Either Michael was oblivious to the emotion lingering in the room, or he chose to ignore it. Either way, Adia appreciated the interruption.

  She decided she wouldn’t mention Jerome to Dominique—or to Zachary again—if she could find a way around doing so, but she couldn’t ignore the only useful contact she had.

  Zachary was fraying; he kept lying down and getting up within minutes, as if he couldn’t stop his body long enough to sleep. Michael hid behind a cavalier joviality that was driving her crazy, but when he had to be still, he seemed dazed and unfocused.