The Rainmaker (Saga of the Chosen Book 2)

by Petra Landon

  The suspicions had been piling up for Nandini, even before Roman Durovic had come to meet her with a garbled tale of a dead Wizard with multiple families left in her wake. The story, strange as it was, had rung true for Nandini, much as she wanted to discount anything from Roman Durovic. He’d been circumspect, holding things back, the blue eyes attempting to communicate silently what he couldn’t say aloud. She had understood that he was wary of being overheard, as he should be, for her mother surrounded herself with her faithful Blutsaugers. Their meeting had taken place in a downtown hotel. Her mother had not accompanied Nandini to it, but her guards had been in the next room and patrolling the corridors. Nandini had heard Roman out, without giving anything away, keeping her rising suspicions about the enigmatic Wizard who was her mother to herself. For one, she did not trust Roman Durovic. Not as far as she could throw him. His actions had made it impossible. For another, she was confident that the guards with the inhuman hearing would report every word of the conversation verbatim to her mother. And Nandini was wary. When the time came to confront her mother, she’d do it herself rather than let the Vampires forewarn her. Her mother had been happy to see her, once Nandini had made her way back to the mansion in the woods, traveling through the rattling road in the dark. But curiously, the Wizard had refrained from asking any questions about SivoTar’s unexpected guest, a singular lack of curiosity that had only strengthened Nandini’s wariness and sense of unease.

  The stairs ended in a narrow windowless corridor. At the other end, blocking the wall, was a barrel, like the ones used to age wine. To its side was a battered door, rusty at the edges. Nandini cocked her head. Her hearing, while not as good as the Clan, was better than a human, a quality inherited from her snake. Albeit, she did better with vibrations than using her ears to catch clues. Her mother, as was her increasing wont, had gathered all her guards in the smallish room at the top of the mansion for their daily briefing. Nandini had guessed for a while now that the room was sound-proofed, since her snake could hear no murmurs of conversation from within. She had bided her time today, waiting for her mother to shut herself in the room with the guards. Nandini was resolved to finally explore the suspicious activity below stairs.

  She tested the door gingerly. It was heavy, and despite its rickety appearance, very sturdy. And it was locked. A large padlock hung through the bolt. Her eyes wandered up and down the door, scrutinizing it carefully, looking for a way in. Although flush against the floor, there was a gap at the top of the door, one wide enough for her to slip through. Nandini wasted no time. She stripped efficiently to bundle her clothes together and stuff them into the wine barrel. Next, she turned her eyes to the faint light floating through the top of the doorway and stretched languidly. Bones crushed and skin tightened in a macabre dance for just a few minutes until a long, golden-skinned snake with dark brown speckles unrolled itself off the floor to slither up the door with practiced ease. It was a tight squeeze, but Nandini made it to the other side of the door. A vast room with more wine caskets met her eyes. There was a small window cut high into the wall with a view of the forest floor outside. Through this wandered a thin stream of moonlight. But Nandini didn’t need the light; her snake could see in the dark. She stretched again, the macabre dance reversing itself to leave a slim, toned girl of medium height in its place.

  A hulking figure stood half-upright by the wall, across the only window in the room. The figure’s face was upturned, angled towards the moonlight, as if reaching for the only warmth in the room. Nandini approached cautiously. Bright hair matted with something dark and sticky obscured a strong face with beautiful bones. Sensing her approach, the head turned, one eye opening to survey her. The eye burned brightly, the beautiful face marked by bruises.

  “The Princess finally deigns to visit my dreams” he said whimsically, the bright eye squinting to look at her. His voice came out in a hoarse whisper.

  It was Roman Durovic. A stunned Nandini could only stare at the bruised man unsteady on his feet, his tall body held up by chains. Shackles pinned his feet to the wall, while his hands were chained to either side with cuffs, leaving him hunched over. It forced him to half-stand and half-lean against the wall behind, his head lolling forward to rest on his neck.

  “Yet, she refuses to hear anything I say.” The bright eye wandered over her. She was silhouetted by the light from the window.

  “Roman” Nandini whispered, her voice disbelieving.

  The eye perked up as the man attempted to straighten his head. “She talks to me” he muttered under his breath. “Now, when I’ve been punished enough!”

  Nandini’s stunned eyes took in the bedraggled man she had seen only a few days ago. A vibrant man; the sun-kissed good looks and easy charm he deployed with devastating success seemed to always give him a larger-than-life presence. To see him thus, chained to a wall with his badly beaten body hunched over in this dank, dirty room with a sliver of moonlight to keep him company, jolted Nandini to her core. Through the consternation and concern, a thread of anger licked at her. Whatever his faults, Roman Durovic did not deserve to be chained like an animal or beaten to an inch of his life, and certainly not after he had come to meet her in good faith, for Nandini suspected that Roman had never made it back after his meeting with her.

  “Who did this to you?” she demanded fiercely, both rage and alarm flickering in her.

  He shook his head slowly, as if the very act was painful. “So many questions, Princess. Why waste precious time so tediously? Let a drowning man enjoy his last sight of you.”

  There was a light in the bright eye that served to remind Nandini that she posed without a stitch of clothing in the moonlight. Despite the dim light, he could probably process that clothes were missing from the girl he called Princess in such a whimsical tone. She shook her head once, a practiced shake that had her long hair cascading down to cover her upper body. Nudity did not faze Nandini, not when she had slithered with her Kabila in her snake form, from back when she could first take it.

  She reached out to touch his face gently. “Roman” she said again, trying to get him to react to her presence with more awareness. Nandini was conscious that time was running out.

  His cheek felt warm under her touch, but he jerked his head away from her.

  “What the hell” he muttered. “Why’re you feeling me up? I’m filthy.”

  “Roman.” She removed her hand. “Who did this to you?” she asked again, less fiercely.

  The second eye, badly bruised, attempted to open. Nandini felt her heart lurch, the sensation so unfamiliar and yet powerful that for a moment it blindsided her.

  “Come to crow, Princess?” There was unmistakable amusement in the hoarse tones, but surprisingly no rancor. It was his caustic comment that had her rushing into speech.

  “No.” She shook her head vehemently. “My mother’s guards?” she questioned.

  He sighed softly. “If it’s the Undead that follow you, then yes.”

  “They’re not my entourage” she retorted. “They follow my mother. She says I need protection.” Her words faltered as she said the last.

  “You sure do” he said cryptically to study her in silence. “I would’ve given them a good account of myself, except they made sure to knock me out before they locked me here.”

  Suddenly, everything seemed to rush in at Nandini. Her mother’s curious explanations, inexplicable actions, the general evasiveness, her pact with the Clan and Nandini’s suspicions tied together with the strange story this man had attempted to tell her three days earlier, all seemed to lead to one inevitable conclusion. To see him like this, while he bantered with her in his usual manner, just served to emphasize her mother’s guilt to Nandini.

  Alone, amidst strangers she could not trust, Nandini reached for the only familiar person in her orbit, even as a jumble of emotions roiled within her. Inching forward, she held on to his shoulder.

  “My God, Roman” she said softly, trying to keep her rising alarm at bay. “I d
on’t understand what’s going on here.”

  She half-expected him to jerk away, like before, but this time, he seemed content to let her hold him.

  “Can’t hug back, Princess” he said matter-of-factly. “My hands are a little busy.”

  Reminded thus of his dire circumstances, she stepped back to examine the handcuffs that bound his arms.

  “Can you …?” She waved at his hands.

  “No, I’ve tried.” He shook his head. “There’s Vampire magic binding it together.”

  He glanced around him. “Where are we?”

  “The cellar of a house in the woods, about two hours from the hotel we met in.”

  “Your mother?” he prompted.

  “She’s upstairs with her Blutsauger entourage.”

  His body straightened, his mind pondering furiously.

  “They can’t hear us” she assured him, understanding immediately what concerned him. “But I don’t know how long she’ll be in there.”

  Roman shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from it.

  “I’m going to try.” Nandini reached for his handcuffs. A cloud of black fear was starting to unfurl in the pit of her stomach. Full blown panic was not far behind. She had to do something to get Roman and herself far away from this place, before her mother sent the Blutsaugers after them.

  “Are you trying to free me, Princess?” he inquired.

  “Yes. And stop calling me that.”

  He ignored her directive to focus on his own question.

  “Are you sure, Princess? I haven’t been entirely upfront with you before.”

  “Yes” she hissed, struggling with his handcuffs. “You lied to me before, but you don’t deserve this.”

  “In that case, Princess, you should leave now. You can’t get caught with me. That would serve no purpose.”

  She turned her eyes on him. “I’m not leaving you here” she said fiercely. “You’re here because of me.”

  “No, I’m not.” He shook his head. “I’ll tell you all about it, when we’re clear.”

  “I won’t leave you” she reiterated stubbornly.

  “Princess” he tried again, a note of cajolery in the voice.

  “No.”

  “If you get caught in here with me, neither of us will be able to get away” he reminded her, using logic where persuasion had failed. “This way, you’re free to fight another day.”

  “I’ve a cell with me” she told him, excitement coloring her voice. “There’s no service in the house but there’re spots in the wood where it works. I can send a message to your friends …”

  Nandini was starting to realize that even if she managed to free him, there was no place to hide him or time to get him away before her mother’s guards came after them. He was a First One, though she didn’t know how powerful. In any case, in his current state, she doubted he would be a match for a small army of Vampires.

  “Yes” he said promptly. Roman cursed under his breath. Why hadn’t he thought about that, instead of spending precious minutes trying to persuade her to leave him. Because the guilt from his previous betrayal ate at him, his inner voice reminded him.

  “Go online and search for the Northern California Consortium, headquartered in San Francisco. It’s the front for the local Wyr Pack.”

  Nandini looked taken aback by his words. She had expected Roman to send word to his people for assistance, not the Wyrs. He was Setik, a First One.

  “Call the number listed online and ask to speak to Raoul Merceau. He’s the Alpha Protector. Leave him a message and make sure you leave your name — the Alpha knows who you are. Tell them you have information about me.”

  “The Wyrs are your friends?” she asked tentatively.

  “The Alpha is, and he knows what’s going on here. Don’t talk to anyone else and be wary of the Clan listening in.”

  Roman paused. Merceau was a paranoid bastard, like all the Wyrs he knew. “If the Alpha is suspicious of what you say, remind him that it was I who sorted out your sister’s locket when no one else could.”

  “My sister?” Nandini whispered.

  “Half” he said with a crooked smile. “She’s been waiting to meet you all this while.”

  Nandini tried to process everything he’d just told her.

  “I don’t know the address of this house” she said uncertainly.

  “Use your phone GPS to get a generic location. The Alpha will do the rest.”

  Nandini nodded, unaccountably relieved that help was on hand and only a phone call away. Thanks to her daily ramblings, she knew the woods surrounding the house like the back of her hand. Giving her zealous guards the slip to make a phone call should be easy enough.

  “Now go” he said urgently. “Much as I’d love to continue this, your mother is dangerous.”

  Nandini fought not to flush at the note in his voice, sending him a searing glance in the darkness. He seemed to catch it, for he chuckled softly in response. She strode towards the door, conscious of his eyes on her as she changed into her snake. The snake raised its hood to glance once at the bound man watching her silently before slithering for the door.

  “Be careful, Princess.” His words floated in the air towards her as she swarmed over the door.

  “It’s time, child.” The man’s voice was somber.

  As he glanced into the wise eyes, a crushing weight seemed to settle over his chest. No, his mind screamed silently. He wasn’t ready to let go yet. But he stayed silent, knowing that protests would make the final parting that much more difficult for the man.

  “You’ll be fine, child. I’ve taught you everything I know.” The man’s gentle assurance and the look in his eyes made it clear that he had heard the mute protest.

  “I’m not ready yet, Papa” he blurted out. “Don’t leave me!”

  The man’s eyes saddened inexplicably. “My work here is finished, child. I wish I had more time with you, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  “Please, Papa” the boy sobbed, finally giving in to his grief and sorrow. “Not yet” he pleaded.

  “Remember what I taught you and do not fear. I will always be with you in spirit. Keep yourself safe, child.”

  As the man’s voice faded away, a stab of mingled grief, pain and despair seared through him to leave the boy railing against the unfairness of fate. Raoul gasped awake with the abruptness of a predator to stare blankly at the familiar walls of his bedroom. He could still feel the searing emotions from the nightmare.

  He rolled off the bed to stride to the bay windows. The view at night rivalled the one during the day. The Bay Bridge sparkled, the LEDs making it shimmer over the water. That had been no nightmare, or even a dream, Raoul knew. It had been a vision, similar to the images of the witchling sobbing in Hawk’s arms at the foot of Coit Tower. He’d shoved the images away to the furthest recesses of his mind, fearful that his mind was playing tricks on him again. But Russian Hill had proved one thing to him. He was far from losing his grip on reality. Had he been, he’d have tumbled across the cliff he had been set up to fall off. He was fine. More than fine. Perhaps, even stronger than before, when the blue-eyed witch had done a number on him. He would always carry the scars from those ten months with him, but he was at peace with that. The cage had proved to him conclusively that he was no longer that boy. So, this time, Raoul was able to contemplate the images in his vision with a clearer head.

  He’d seen this particular vision once before, he recalled. Months ago, after his confrontation with Anderson at the local Registry. The man in the vision was a stranger. Yet, the boy’s emotions — fear, anxiety, hopelessness and sorrow — had seared him until he could feel it in his bones. Had he suddenly and inexplicably acquired the ability to sense and absorb emotions, the same ability he suspected caused the witchling her nightmares? His eyes took in the vista while his mind pondered the puzzle. No, he decided, the emotions were too intense, the fear like a taste of bitterness on his tongue. There had to be another explanation.
Plus, unlike the witchling, he lacked the magic in him to sense a Chosen’s emotions.

  But one thing he was sure of. This was connected to the searing flashes of the witchling in Hawk’s arms. These two sets of waking visions could not be a coincidence. The night his discovery of Azevedo as the witchling’s father had led to a showdown between them, he’d been more circumspect during the confrontation while the witchling had been more intrepid than before. He’d lashed out with his tongue, keeping his distance lest he intimidate her like before. And she … He paused as the memories washed over him. She had gone toe to toe with him until remorse had stopped her in her tracks. She had a soft heart, the witchling. After, she had turned away from him. But this time, she made it clear that she was only walking away to clear her head. When she had returned hours later to apologize, he’d been blindsided by the vision of her in Hawk’s arms. Her contrition and remorse had been what had saved him from a furious bout of jealousy, the likes of which he had never experienced before. If those images had been true, perhaps this too was not a figment of his imagination.