Integrity: Book One of the Destine Series

by Laurie D'Ghent

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  Galia couldn't come soon enough, as far as Integrity was concerned. She always looked forward to her visits, of course, but today was the day that Galia had promised some answers. Answers that Integrity had been yearning for ever since she was first brought to Westmarch. Answers she thought she would never receive.

  When Galia brought breakfast, Integrity didn't uncover the food, even though she could smell the delicate scent of the cinnamon french toast. “So, what do you have to tell me?” she dived in.

  Galia sighed, then sat down, knowing this would not be brief. “What do you want to know?” She sounded utterly resigned.

  Still afraid that Galia would change her mind, she started with the biggest question. “Why am I here?”

  Galia shook her head slightly. “You would start with a question I can't answer, wouldn't you?”

  Integrity felt her stomach twist uncomfortably. “What do you mean? You can't tell me, or you won't?”

  “Can't.” Galia shrugged listlessly. “I spent the majority of last night trying my utmost to find out things about you.” She looked perplexed, maybe even frustrated. “No one knows anything about you, not even the guards outside this very room.”

  “Well, I am a secret. You can't honestly expect everyone to know about me. You just didn't ask the right people.”

  Galia made a gentle gesture for Integrity to calm herself. “I asked those I had access to, and they are generally the best source of information in Westmarch. Those who fade into the background hear far more than they ever should.”

  “You mean the servants?”

  Galia nodded mutely. “The servants do not even know you exist, much less that you are here. I am the only one privy to that information.”

  Integrity wrinkled her forehead. “Why would I be such a big secret that even the help wouldn't know about me?”

  “I do not know. That is what is so disturbing.” Galia paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts, then continued, “I thought that your guards would know more, but they seem as uninformed as the rest of us. I cannot tell you for what purpose you have been brought here, nor why your existence is so private.”

  “But why would they want me?” Integrity asked. Galia shrugged, and Integrity's frustration mounted. “Well, what can you tell me, then?”

  “I can only tell what I know, and since I know nothing of you or your place here, I will speak of Westmarch and its inhabitants.” She slowly slid her hands together, as though brushing crumbs from her palms. She kept her eyes studiously away from Integrity.

  “Westmarch was built many, many years ago, commissioned by the royal family. It was meant to be a safe harbor for our kind from the world, a place where we did not have to hide what we are.” Integrity opened her mouth to interrupt, but Galia held up one hand, making eye contact for the first time. “Please, wait until I have finished. This is hard for me, as it is. I have every reason to believe that you have no right to know any of this.” Integrity closed her mouth and Galia continued. “Our people have lived here for many hundreds of years since then, undisturbed by your government.”

  Unable to help herself, Integrity asked, “Why hasn't my government come down on you?”

  Galia looked slightly perturbed, but answered, “Your government does not know the location of Westmarch because they choose not to.” Glancing at Integrity, she saw her confusion. “You've heard of your Area 51?” After Integrity nodded, Galia said, “We are somewhat like that, except the government wants to deny our existence so much that we have no military outposts in the vicinity. We do not exist, as far as they are concerned.”

  Integrity felt uncomfortable, as though she were in the wrong place at the wrong time, seeing things she had never wanted to see. This is what you wanted, so suck it up! she chastised herself.

  “As I was saying,” Galia pressed on, “Westmarch has been here for longer than many can remember. Any of our kind are welcome here at any time, for as long as they like.” She came to a stumbling halt and fell silent.

  Filled with a morbid curiosity, Integrity gently prodded, “Why do you lump yourself in with the people that made you a slave?”

  Galia frowned, an expression that did not detract from her innocent beauty in the least. “This is the hardest part.” Looking pleadingly at Integrity, she said, “I am torn. Half of me feels that you have the right to know about us, the other half fears that I am committing the gravest treachery.”

  Feeling like a doormat, Integrity blurted out, “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.” She had to physically restrain herself; she wanted so badly to hit herself in the head. Why did you say that? You're finally getting answers!

  Galia studied Integrity for what felt like an eternity, indecision on her face. Finally, she let her gaze drift vaguely to the wall behind Integrity. Softly, she said, “I made this decision last night. It would be pointless to go back now.” She rubbed her eyes tiredly. “I suppose the best place to start would be with my own history, how I came to Westmarch.

  “I grew up in a small village in England, born to a wealthy family. I remember very little of my life there.”

  Integrity interrupted once more. “Why don't you have an accent? I've noticed you say weird things once or twice, but not like you were from Europe.”

  Galia smiled sadly. “I've spent far too many years in this country to remember much of anything about my homeland, including the way people there speak. “ Her gaze faded as though she were looking a great distance. “I'm still not fully sure of what happened to me, of who changed me.” Integrity shivered, that sick feeling of learning what she never wanted to know washing over her once again. “All I know is that my life was suddenly, drastically changed. Food no longer had any taste, I could not satisfy my hunger, my thirst with anything I could find. My inner clock seemed to have turned on its head, making day night and night day. I had a very real problem with anger.” Galia looked at her hands, seeming to be ashamed. “I didn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't return home, knowing that I was severely changed, but not knowing how or why. Desperate to escape those who might recognize me, I bartered my way onto a ship coming to the Americas.

  “I hid myself from the world, unable to apply for work. I found those around me to be . . . flat, featureless, identical. I could not connect with anyone, nor did I have any desire to do so. All I wanted was to be left alone. I began to think of death as a release, something to be sought after.” Looking at Integrity once more, forcing her eyes to focus, she asked, “Is any of this making sense?”

  Integrity shook her head. “I don't understand any of this. None of it makes sense.”

  “What is confusing?”

  The words seemed to pour from Integrity's mouth. “How did you 'barter' your way onto a ship? Are there even passenger ships anymore? Why didn't you get a flight? Why couldn't you go home?”

  Galia held up a hand to stop her. “I apologize. I will try to be more clear from here on.” She gave Integrity a small smile. “If you will permit me to continue, it may soften the blow of the things I will tell you. Do you trust me?” Integrity nodded, still uncertain that any of her questions would be answered. “While I was in America, living on the fringes of society, a man found me.” Galia was choosing her words carefully now. “This man recognized my condition and offered his assistance. In exchange he required that I become his personal servant.” Galia shrugged nonchalantly. “I accepted, desperate for help, for answers. Much as I am sure you feel now.” Integrity nodded encouragingly. “The man took me everywhere with him for many years. I kept his house for him, ran errands, did anything that he required of me. He was a good and fair master, never asking what would be improper.” Galia paused once more. “I imagined that I had fallen in love with him.” Pain and regret laced her voice, evident to even a casual observer. Refocusing on her task, Galia straightened from the slump she had fallen into. “Eventually he brought me here, to Westmarch.” Her teeth clenched. “He left me here, like an old fruit r
ind. He no longer had any use for me, and he made it explicitly clear. I have been here ever since, serving the household in whatever capacity was needed. I am now a head supervisor of the staff here.”

  When Galia did not continue, Integrity hazarded a question. “How old were you when you came to America? You must have been young.”

  Galia looked at Integrity cautiously. “A more apt question would be what age I am now.”

  Integrity waited for a moment, then said, “Well? How old are you?”

  “I was 19 years when I was changed. I have been what I am for more than 200 years.”

  Integrity snorted. “You want me to believe that you're two-hundred and nineteen years old? Yeah, right.”

  “I'm older than that, Integrity.”

  Integrity could feel tears of frustration building up behind her eyes. “So, what, you're a zombie? Undead?” She could hear how hysterical she sounded, but she didn't care. “Come on, Galia! I'm not an idiot!”

  Unexpectedly, Galia laughed. Before Integrity could say anything, she said, “I apologize. I am not laughing at you.” She laughed again, covered her mouth with one delicate hand.

  “What's so funny, then?” Integrity swallowed hard, angry that her first reaction to stress was to cry. I will not cry, I will not cry! she told herself.

  “Do I look like a zombie to you?” Galia's eyes were sparkling in mirth. “Do I have skin falling off, detached limbs, a bad odor?”

  The tension broken, Integrity smiled. “No, you don't reek or look like you're rotting.” She laughed. “I wasn't serious, anyway. There's no such thing as zombies.”

  The smile melted from Galia's face. “No, I don't suppose zombies exist.” She paused. “Do you believe in anything else . . . supernatural?”

  Confused at the direction the conversation was taking, Integrity said, “No, not really. No Big Foot, no aliens, no boogeymen.” When Galia frowned, Integrity's stomach clenched. “Why?”

  Galia tucked her hair behind one ear. “Some things are real, Integrity.” She spoke softly.

  Integrity's head spun for a moment. “And I suppose you're one of these things?” Her voice was barely audible. Galia nodded silently. “And what would that be?” Her voice betrayed the fact that she didn't really want to know the answer.

  “Everyone at Westmarch, everyone but you, is a vampire.” She watched in concern as Integrity turned pasty white. “Integrity, are you well?”

  Staggered, Integrity stumbled over her words. “Yeah, I, um, I'm good. I should probably eat something n-now. See you l-later?” She watched Galia in fear, worried that the girl wouldn't leave.

  Her face becoming a blank mask, Galia stood fluidly and dropped a curtsy. “Yes, miss.” She floated from the room silently, leaving Integrity staring at the closed door for longer than she cared to admit.

  “Galia's crazy,” she said aloud, needing to hear the words for herself. “Nuts. Psycho.” She shivered involuntarily, then moved one of the heavy armchairs to block the door, knowing it would be ineffective if anyone wanted to enter. She was trapped here, in a cage, forced to wait and bank on the mercies of the freaks around her . . .

  Chapter Seven

  In the light of day, when her fears seemed even more ridiculous, Integrity still felt an uncomfortable amount of indecision. In her mind, she couldn't honestly believe that vampires were not only real, but were all congregated here at Westmarch. What she felt in her heart was an entirely different matter. She felt smothering fear pressing on her chest whenever she thought about the things that Galia had said.

  Her feelings toward Galia wavered from pity to disgust. Integrity's only solution to the things Galia had said was that the girl was insane, at the very least. Her detailed account of how she became a “vampire” just added strength to Integrity's diagnoses of dementia. That Galia believed what she said was true was indisputable. It was equally indisputable that what she said was impossible.

  It didn't take Ben long at all to pick up on Integrity's preoccupation the next time he came to her room. “Where are you today?” he gently teased.

  Integrity flushed and dropped her eyes. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

  The pair were sitting on the floor, their backs propped against Integrity's mattress. Ben set down the sandwich he was eating and turned his body to face her. “Whatever it is, you may as well tell me. You know I'll just drag it out of you, anyway.” His easy grin caused her heart rate to increase.

  “Are you threatening to torture me?” she replied. “I'm simply terrified,” she teased.

  “You should be,” he replied seriously, playing along. “I know more ways to get information from people than I care to think about.”

  “Hmm, and what would those ways be?”

  He wrinkled his brow in mock severity. “Aren't you scared of me? You really should be.”

  Integrity laughed. “Absolutely petrified. But I still want to know how you're going to extract the details from me.”

  “I could always throw you out the window.” He was dragging her to her feet and they were staggering toward the window.

  “Ben! Stop!” Despite the instinctual tug of fear she felt, she couldn't help but laugh again. “If you throw me out a fourth story window, there won't be anything left of me to get information from.”

  “Drat!” He snapped his fingers dramatically, sweeping his arm down through the air. “You've foiled my evil scheme! Now how will I ever conquer the world?” He laughed maniacally.

  “Shhh!” Integrity looked toward the door. “The guards will hear you.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he whispered loudly, then laughed evilly once more, quieter.

  “Much better.” Integrity sat down on the wide ledge at the base of the window.

  “I guess you'll just have to tell me what's eating you up, without torture,” he sighed, then sat down on the ledge as well. Integrity couldn't help but notice that he was sitting closer than he absolutely had to, and she thrilled at the thought.

  “It's not important,” she demurred. “Just something Galia said.”

  “Uh-oh, teenage girl problems. Let me guess, it was about a boy.” He turned and whispered into her ear, “Me, by any chance?” His breath, minty and cool, tickled and she shivered involuntarily.

  “No, it's not about you.” She bumped his shoulder with her own, hoping that she wasn't blushing as much as she thought she was.

  “So what, then?”

  Integrity shook her head, looking at him. “You're not going to give up, are you?”

  “Nope,” he said, obviously pleased with himself.

  Integrity frowned. “Galia just said some really weird stuff to me the other day. I can't shake it.”

  “What did she say?” Ben sounded mystified.

  “It was really nuts.” Integrity laughed nervously. “It's nothing. It was probably a joke.”

  To Integrity's amazement, Ben slipped her hand into his own, interlocking their fingers. Her breath audibly caught, and she prayed silently that he hadn't heard. “It's really bugging you. Tell me. I promise I won't laugh.”

  How did he know that I was worried he'd laugh at my fears? she wondered, swallowing repeatedly in an effort to get control over her voice. I hope my hand isn't sweaty. “Well, I asked Galia about Westmarch, and she . . . well,” she hesitated, then continued in a rush, “she said that she's a vampire.”

  Ben's fingers tensed reflexively, then relaxed almost immediately. “Vampires? Wow.” He sat silent for a moment, then raised his concerned gaze to meet her own. “What should we do? Galia needs help.”

  Relieved that Ben seemed to think Galia was mental, too, Integrity relaxed marginally. “What do you mean, 'we'? You're not even supposed to be here.” She hoped that the joke would ease the tension, but it didn't. “So you think she's crazy?” she asked tentatively.

  “Don't tell me you think she was telling the truth!” Ben clasped her hand between both of his own. His hands felt warm, comforting.

  Integrity swallowed again, s
haking her head vehemently. “No, no! Of course I don't believe in vampires! I just wanted to make sure that we were on the same page.”

  Ben lightly chafed her hand between his own. “I don't know what else to think.” He sounded remorseful. “Unless it really was a joke?”

  “I don't think it was.” Why do I feel like I'm telling someone their loved one just died in a car accident? And why can't I just relax and quit thinking about the fact that a really hot guy is holding my hand? She felt the blood rush to her face again. Am I ever going to quit blushing around him?

  “So, what do we do?”

  Stymied, Integrity shrugged. “I don't know if there's anything we can do. We're both prisoners.” Recalling part of the conversation she had held with Galia, Integrity suddenly said, “Galia thought that you were in on all of this. She said she didn't know why you hadn't told me about all the 'vampires' before.”

  Ben whistled. “She's really out there. I thought her losing it was something that had just happened, that it was close to the surface, but she thinks I'm informed.” He shook his head in amazement. “What else did she tell you?”

  Integrity thought for a moment. “Nothing, really. She said that she was over 200 years old, and that everyone here is a vampire but me.”

  Ben cracked a small smile. “So I'm a vampire? Maybe I have all new means of torture at my disposal.”

  Integrity smiled back, weakly. “It does make me wonder, though. Why are all these people here, in a castle in the middle of the woods?”

  “I haven't been here much longer than you, and I'm still clueless. The only thing I can figure is that they're some sort of cult, but I don't know why they are out here all by themselves. I don't think they're doing anything illegal. Although, I am careful to avoid all purple Kool-Aid.” He wiggled his eyebrows, and Integrity laughed. “It just occurred to me,” he continued, back to being serious, “do you think she's dangerous? Maybe--”