by Keary Taylor
I’m not sure where I’m going. I wander through town. Every shop is closed. Fred’s. The grocery store. The school is shut down. When I find the church at the end of Main Street with its lights glowing and several cars parked outside, my heart drops slightly.
There are footprints all over in the deepening snow. And there is a sign out front that says “Shelter and Food.”
Their pipes must not have frozen yet, and they’re staying warm enough. My curiosity gets the best of me. I park on the side of the road and climb out.
My boots sink deeply into the snow and I can’t help but think it looks almost gray. Like there’s ash mixed into it. I glance up at the skies just before I reach the grand front doors.
The clouds still swirl above the town. It’s a terrible sight. Terrifying. And the snow just keeps falling from the sky.
Placing my hand on the door, I pull, and let myself in.
The pews have all been moved to the sides of the chapel, and the center of the room is filled with cots. Extension cords run all over the place and I see space heaters plugged in everywhere. It’s warm inside, enough to get away with only wearing a jacket.
About a dozen people are strewn about the building that I can see. They lie on the cots. They talk quietly to one another. No eyes turn to me as the door was quiet and my entrance quick as to not let any heat out.
Off to the side, I see a doorway open up into a kitchen.
And there, helping serve up what looks to be a stew, is Luke.
He smiles at an older black woman as he hands her the bowl. She says something and it must be a joke, because he laughs in response. He hands another bowl to a little boy next, still talking to the woman.
Sheriff McCoy is a good man. He’s brave. Just taking this job was a risk. He told me once he got the position because Jasmine killed his predecessor. Here he is, ever at risk. Most everyone has left, but he’s here, taking care of the people of Silent Bend in a way I cannot.
I’m startled when a hand rests on my shoulder, and I look to find Mayor Jackson staring at me with dark eyes.
“Alivia, I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced yet,” he says with darkness and wariness. “I’m Leonard Jackson.”
I accept the hand he extends and shake it. “Alivia Ryan, but I suppose you know that.”
“I do,” he says with a nod. “Sheriff McCoy has been keeping me updated on…things.”
“Oh,” is all I can come up with. His presence, meeting him, has caught me off guard.
His eyes grow sad, distant. And he takes a small, half a step away from me. “I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened to my wife nearly three months ago. Luke doesn’t know much, not really anything. But I have to ask you, because I’ve heard how allegiances have shifted. Was it a member of your House who turned my wife?”
And I see it there. The sorrow and grief this man has gone through. I can only imagine. Seeing her seemingly dead, only to have her wake up with a Debt she can’t fight or refuse. “I promise you, it wasn’t my House. There is some kind of…hidden, secret war going on. Someone has been building, well, the best I can describe it as is an army. Jasmine’s House has been attacked several times. And…”
I falter, not wanting to cause him more pain by confessing the truth.
“Please,” he says, his eyes begging me. “I need to know.”
I swallow hard, turning my eyes to the innocent people around us. “One of my members confirmed your wife was among those who attacked Jasmine’s House. She can’t help it. I think you know that, but…”
I look back at Mayor Jackson. His eyes have grown distant. He nods his head and squeezes them shut for a moment. “Things have gotten out of control, ever since you arrived in this town, Alivia.” When he opens his eyes, they are cold and hard. They penetrate me to my core. “New attacks. Ian Ward no longer keeping the streets clear. And now, nature turning against our town. Your father should have died a long time ago and then Silent Bend and my wife would have been safe.”
He spits his last few words out, and then just turns and walks away.
I stand there, stunned.
Numb.
I deserve everything he just said. I did cause all these things in this town. Maybe not the attacks, that was in motion the moment I arrived, and I don’t see the connection to me. But the others. Ian no longer hunting vampires, because he is one. The curse storm.
I swallow once. Blink three times. I scan the small crowd before me once more. And turn to leave these poor people alone.
A small skiff of snow covers the Jeep when I climb back in. I pull back onto the road, the Hanging Tree in my rearview mirror. I drive. Past the businesses again. Past homes. Past the turnoff for the Conrath Estate.
And I slow when I get toward the outskirts, at a dirt road turnoff.
The road that leads to Ian’s house.
Don’t think.
Don’t feel.
Yet I can’t seem to make the car leave.
I will keep my promise to Elle. I won’t say a word about Ian being a vampire. I won’t mention his family. Not his crazy, bitchy grandmother. Not his sweet sister. Not his dead, cheating mother, or his vampire father.
Don’t think.
Movement down the road draws my attention and a startled ache forms in my chest.
There’s a lone figure down the road a little ways, trudging through the snow. Her tiny, frail frame holds a stick, feeling for obstacles in her way.
Daphne.
Finally, I move the car forward and head in her direction. The snow on the road gets thicker and deeper the further from town I get, where Samuel has not plowed as much. Yet, I know once the borders of Silent Bend end, so does the snow.
“What are you doing out here in the snow?” I ask as I pull to a stop beside her, rolling down my window. The frigid air hits me like a punch in the face.
A smile comes to her boney face, reaching her empty eye sockets behind those sunglasses. “My, my. Would that be the long lost Alivia Ryan?”
“It would, indeed. Now get in before you freeze to death.” I reach across the passenger seat and push the door open. “I’ll give you a ride.”
She reaches out a searching hand, feeling around in the air for a moment before making contact with the open door. Carefully yet clumsily, she climbs into the seat, bringing in a load of snow with her tattered boots.
“Oh, that feels nice,” she says as I roll up the window and blast the heat. She still smiles that smile that is almost too wide for her face. Her frail frame doesn’t shake, though, despite the negative temperatures I just rescued her from.
“Can I drive you home?” I offer. I feel like a terrible Samaritan, not offering to take her home with me. So many have fled, their homes unable to withstand mother nature. But just now, my home is far from safe for her.
“That would be very kind of you,” she says with a little nod as she holds her hands up to the heater. “Crazy weather, huh?”
“Daphne, why were you walking out there? Where were you headed?” I haven’t started driving yet, because I don’t know where I’m supposed to be going, or where she lives.
She hesitates in answering. And this small, tiny moment, makes me wonder if what she’s going to say next is going to be a lie.
“I was headed to check on a friend. Haven’t been able to get ahold of her since day before yester, got worried. But the snow got too deep,” she says. “Thought I’d best turn back.”
“You shouldn’t have risked going out,” I can’t help but chide her. “Where do you live?”
“Go about half a mile down the road and turn on Willabee Road,” she says.
I start driving.
“I hear you’ve made some new friends as of late,” she says, making conversation.
But it makes my blood run chill.
This is never, ever going to end.
“Where’d you hear that from?” I ask.
“It’s a small town. Word gets ‘round.”
My li
ps form into a thin line and I concentrate on the road ahead.
“I think it’s great,” she continues. “It’s easy to feel alone in these small little towns. Everyone needs someone.”
I look over at her, her empty, sightless sockets turned out the front window. “Do you have someone?”
“Oh,” she says, waving a hand. “I’ve got friends all over.”
Yet I’ve only ever seen her alone.
I see the sign for Willabee Road and turn onto it. “How far down this?”
“It’s the little white house ‘bout a mile down with the red barn behind it,” she says. “Daddy left it to me. That’s why I moved into it last summer. He passed away.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say as the Jeep plows through the thick snow. I look for her footprints from when she left earlier, but don’t see them. The falling snow has already buried them.
Daphne nods. “It was his time. Least, that’s what he kept sayin.”
We take the rest of the ride in comfortable silence and when I see the little white house, and it is indeed very little, I pull up as close to the house as I can manage.
It’s tiny. Rundown looking. The porch is sagging badly. But then again, since she can’t see, I suppose Daphne doesn’t mind what it looks like, so long as everything inside works.
“You warm enough in there?” I ask.
“Oh yes,” she nods in the affirmative. “Got a nice little wood burner that keeps things toasty.”
And I do see a constant stream of smoke rising from the chimney.
“Let me walk you inside,” I say as I’m about to open my door.
“No,” she says, almost a little too sharply. It startles me, actually. “No,” she says again, this time calmer. “I’ve gotten ‘long on my own just fine for years. I can make it to my own front door. Thank you for the ride, Alivia.”
I can’t help but feel sick, leaving her here like this. But what other choice do I have? “You’re welcome. Stay warm and safe.”
She climbs out, turning back for a moment. “You, too, my dear. You, too.”
She closes the door, and I watch until she waves to me from inside, just before she closes her rickety looking front door.
Pulling back on the road, I slowly make my way back. I glance at the clock when I get onto the main road. Eleven o’clock.
Less than eight hours until dark.
Less than eight hours until the King will likely arrive.
“I WILL DO WHATEVER I can to protect you,” I say as I try to swallow the lump in my throat. “You have my word.”
My House members stare back at me. We have gathered in the library and suddenly, we feel so few. Six vampires. One unknown. One spy who’s motives I feel are shifting. And me. Nine is nothing.
They each wear their best. Lillian in a spectacular gown. Anna in an intimidating leather jacket and serious boots. Samuel, Markov, and Nial—all in suits. Cameron in a button up shirt and jeans, that’s as nice as he gets.
And I wear a black gown that Lillian made me. It hugs and curves my body. It has a sweetheart neckline and lace that stretches up over my collarbones to a severe collar. It’s intimidating and regal and perfect.
“Don’t worry about us,” Samuel says, crooking a smile in one corner of his mouth—it isn’t entirely convincing. “We’re all already dead. It’s you who’s guaranteed not coming out of this alive.”
“Samuel,” Lillian hisses. The look on her face is quite displeased.
But each of their eyes turns to me. Samuel is right. They have all already died. Except for maybe Rath. But they’ve already come to this crossroads. They’ve already come back from the great unknown.
And right now, I’m feeling a little jealous of that fact.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Nial asks. “To wait?”
I swallow hard. I once offered myself up to them. I told Jasmine I wanted every one of them to drain me dry. It was a distraction then. A decoy for what I was really trying to do. But now… These people. They are my family.
“I’m sure,” I say, nodding. “I won’t put any of you at risk in any way. I fear if the King comes and I am already dead, he may not appreciate that. I won’t risk his anger toward any of you.”
Lillian stands and crosses the room to me. I rise to not quite her height.
She takes my hands. Her dark eyes, so dark they are nearly black, hold mine, and I see in her what Ian doubted. Loyalty.
“You are a beautiful person, Alivia. Jasmine never would have done for us what you have. And in sacrifice, I know every one of us can see that you, you, were born to do this. You were born to lead the Southern House.”
Markov steps forward, holding my eyes. Lillian lets go of my hands and makes room for him. Never looking away, he drops to one knee before me, taking one of my hands in his.
“I’ve lived a long life,” he says. “And I know how rare it is to find a leader worth following. Alivia Ryan Conrath, I pledge my fealty to you and your House.”
He presses a gentle kiss to my hand, holding it almost in reverence.
Samuel kneels next to Markov. My heart leaps into my throat as I feel this heavy weight anchoring us all together. It is something that will change everything.
He takes my hand in his. “I’ve heard stories of Elijah and loyalty and trust. I watched my father do his best. And I watched Jasmine wreck everything the House could have been. I’ve seen a lot. But I’ve never pledged allegiance to anything. I don’t have my brother by my side, and for both of us, that’s a first. I know you understand what it means when I tell you, I pledge my fealty. Unconditionally.”
I nod to him, fighting back the tears at the back of my eyes.
My eyes shift to Nial, who walks forward. He takes both my hands in his, holding my eyes solidly. He’s quiet for a moment, as if he ponders what to say. “You gave me a family when I thought I would never experience that word again. You are my blood, Alivia, and I, yours.”
“You are my brother,” I say to him quietly.
“You know I am with you.” I look up and see Anna. Her eyes burn with intensity. And her staying, it means something, because she could survive out on her own just fine.
“And I have no idea what the hell fealty means, but it sounds awesome, so I’m that too,” Cameron says. My eyes shift over to him and a smile crooks on my lips. He holds up his fist and I know it counts for everything when I fist-bump him.
My eyes slide back to Rath, who stands by the door, hands folded over his lap.
“And you’re sure I cannot convince you to leave?” I ask. It’s a weight that sinks in my heart, burning a hole through it before dropping into the acid of my stomach.
“My place has always been with this family,” Rath says. His eyes fix on mine. Deep and soulful. “That does not change because of the presence of a King.”
I stare at him far too long. But finally, I can just nod. And feel eternally grateful.
Lastly, my eyes shift to Raheem.
He stands in the corner. He winds a bit of leather round and round his wrist. His black eyes watch my Houses confessional and his expression is complicated. I look at him, for a long time. He doesn’t say anything.
Finally, his eyes meet mine. And there’s everything there. So much that is so complicated. But it’s only there for a moment before he pulls off the wall and walks out of the room.
“Be watchful,” I say to my House members. I swallow hard. So much will happen tonight. So much will change.
They each give me a nod and I follow after Raheem.
He walks into the ballroom, the heels of his boots snapping across the marble. I follow silently behind him.
He stops before the gigantic glass doors that open up onto the veranda. He places his hands on the glass, and leans his forehead against it.
“I know I’m not her,” I say. My voice seems very small in this enormous space. Yet, it echoes, like a ghost taunting me. Reiterating what I cannot truly be sure of. “Does it change anything
if I am not her?”
Raheem doesn’t look back at me. He stands there against the glass, his shoulders stiff. I see his fingers curl against the glass, as if he is in pain, trying to grasp onto anything that will anchor him to reality.
“You have never known Sevan,” he says through what I am sure are clenched teeth. “You do not remember her, who you may be. So you do not know how very like her you really are.”
My heels echo off the walls as I slowly take one step at a time. “And if I am not her, does that change anything?”
I stop just three steps behind him. The breath catches in my chest, and my heart beats with the speed of a hummingbird. I know he can hear every flutter of it.
“Do you wish things could be different if you aren’t?” he asks quietly.
And slowly, one controlled motion at a time, he turns toward me, first looking over his shoulder, and then fully facing me.
I see so much longing there. But it’s carefully guarded. There is so much fear, so many forbidden feelings. And our human desires apparently cannot be bridled even when we rise from the dead. Raheem cannot rein it in, and I know…I feel…
Do I wish things could be different? Do I wish I could touch Raheem without fear of the wrath of King Cyrus, should I be his wife? Do I wish I could see how his lips taste, if they taste of spices and history and the desert?
An ache deep inside of me tells me yes.
But love is deep and lust unsure.
“I wish many things could be different,” I finally answer honestly.
Raheem takes two steps forward, our bodies only a breath away. He raises his hand slowly, his fingers hovering a breath away from my face.
“I’ve had gypsies and queens as lovers,” he says as he studies my face. The hint of a red glow ignites in his eyes. “I’ve refused Maria of Antioch and kissed the princess of Siberia. Yet none of them have held me enchanted and captive as you have.”
Finally, he lets his thumb rest against my bottom lip. It parts my lips open just a fraction and my hot breath comes out wistful.
“But even if you are not Sevan,” he says mournfully as he lets his thumb slide from my lip, “I cannot leave the King’s service after so long. As I once said, saying anything, doing anything, when it comes to you, will only get me killed.”