Soulmate

by L. J. Smith

  “All right, but—” Before her mother could finish the sentence a horn honked outside.

  “That’s Chess. I’d better run.” Hannah gulped down the dregs of her orange juice and dashed into her bedroom to grab her backpack. She hesitated a split second by the wastebasket, then shook her head.

  No. There was no reason to take the black rose ring with her. It was his, and she didn’t want to be reminded of him.

  She slung the backpack over her shoulder, yelled goodbye to her mother, and hurried outside.

  Chess’s car was parked in the driveway. As Hannah started toward it she had an odd impression. She seemed to see a figure standing behind the car—a tall figure, face turned toward her. But her eyes were dazzled by the sun and at that instant she involuntarily blinked. When she could see again, there was nothing in that spot except a little swirl of dust.

  “You’re late,” Chess said when Hannah got in the car. Chess, whose real name was Catherine Clovis, was petite and pretty, with dark hair cut in a cap to frame her face. But just now her slanted green cat eyes and Mona Lisa smile reminded Hannah too much of Ket. It was disconcerting; she had to glance down to make sure Chess wasn’t wearing a deerskin outfit.

  “You okay?” Now Chess was looking at her with concern.

  “Yeah.” Hannah sank back against the upholstery, blinking. “I think I need to get my eyes checked, though.” She glanced at the spot where the phantom figure had been—nothing. And Chess was just Chess: smart, savvy, and faintly exotic, like an orchid blooming in the badlands.

  “Well, you can do it when we go shopping this weekend,” Chess said. She slanted Hannah a glance. “We must go shopping. Next week’s your birthday and I need something new to wear.”

  Hannah grinned in spite of herself. “Maybe a new necklace,” she muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I wonder what happened to Ket, she thought. Even if Hana died young, at least Ket must have grown up. I wonder if she married Ran, the guy who wanted to “mate” her?

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Chess said.

  “Yeah. Sorry; I’m a little brain-dead. I didn’t sleep well last night.” Her plan for Chess was exactly the same as for her mother. Tell her everything—in a little while. When she was less upset about it.

  Chess was putting an arm around her, steering skillfully with the other. “Hey, we’ve got to get you in shape, kid. I mean, first it’s your birthday, then graduation. Isn’t that psychologist doing anything to help?”

  Hannah muttered, “Maybe too much.”

  • • •

  That night, she was restless again. The school day had passed uneventfully. Hannah and her mother had had dinner peacefully. But after her mother went out to a meeting with some local rockhounds, Hannah found herself wandering around the house, too wound up to read or watch TV, too distracted to go anywhere.

  Maybe I need some air, she thought—and then she caught herself and gave a self-mocking grin.

  Sure. Air. When what you’re really thinking is that he just might be out there. Admit it.

  She admitted it. Not that she thought Thierry was very likely to be hanging around her backyard, considering what she’d said to him.

  And why should you want to talk to him? she demanded of herself. He may not be completely and totally and pointlessly evil, but he’s still no boy scout.

  But she couldn’t shake a vague feeling of wanting to go outside. At last she went out on the porch, telling herself that she’d spend five minutes here and then go back inside.

  It was another beautiful night, but Hannah couldn’t enjoy it. Everything reminded her too much of him. She could feel herself softening toward him, weakening. He had looked so stricken, so devastated, when she told him to go away. . . .

  “Am I interrupting?”

  Hannah started. She wheeled toward the voice.

  Standing on the other side of the porch was a tall girl. She looked a year or so older than Hannah, and she had long hair, very long hair, so black that it seemed to reflect moonlight like a raven’s wing. She was extraordinarily beautiful—and Hannah recognized her.

  She’s the one from my vision. That flash of a girl telling me that Thierry was cunning. She’s the one who warned me about him.

  And she’s the figure I saw behind Chess’s car this morning. She must have been watching me then.

  “I’m sorry if I scared you,” the girl said now, smiling. “You looked so far away, and I didn’t mean to startle you. But I’d really like to talk to you if you have a few minutes.”

  “I . . .” Hannah felt strangely tongue-tied. Something about the girl made her uncomfortable, in a way that went beyond the dreamlike weirdness of recognizing somebody she’d never seen in her present life.

  But she’s your friend, she told herself. She’s helped you in the past; she probably wants to help you again now. You should be grateful to her.

  “Sure,” Hannah said. “We can talk.” She added somewhat awkwardly, “I remember you.”

  “Wonderful. Do you really? That makes everything so much easier.”

  Hannah nodded. And told herself again that this girl was her friend, and nobody to be hostile to or wary of.

  “Well . . .” The girl glanced around the porch, where there was clearly no place to sit. “Ah . . .”

  Hannah was embarrassed, as if the girl had asked, “Do you entertain all your visitors outside?” She turned around and opened the back door. “Come on in. We can sit down.”

  “Thank you,” the girl said and smiled.

  In the bright fluorescent lights of the kitchen, she was even more beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful. Exquisite features, skin like silk. Lips that made Hannah think of adjectives like full and ripe. And eyes that were like nothing Hannah had ever seen before.

  They were large, almond-shaped, heavy-lashed, and luminous. But it wasn’t just that. Every time Hannah looked, they seemed to be a different color. They changed from honey to mahogany to jungle-leaf green to larkspur purple to misty blue. It was amazing.

  “If you remember me, then you must know what I’m here about,” the girl said. She rested an elbow on the kitchen table and propped her chin on her fist.

  Hannah said one word. “Thierry.”

  “Yes. From the way you say that, maybe you don’t need my advice after all.” The girl had an extraordinary voice as well; low and pleasant, with a faint husky throb in it.

  Hannah lifted her shoulders. “Well, there’s still a lot I don’t know about him—but I don’t need anybody to tell me that he’s dangerous. And I’ve already told him to go away.”

  “Have you really? How remarkably brave of you.”

  Hannah blinked. She hadn’t thought of it as being so brave.

  “I mean, you do realize how powerful he is? He’s a Lord of the Night World, the head of all the made vampires. He could”—the girl snapped her fingers—“call out a hundred little vampires and werewolves. Not to mention his connection with the witches in Las Vegas.”

  “What are you trying to say? That I shouldn’t have told him to go away? I don’t care how many monsters he can call out,” Hannah said sharply.

  “No. Of course you don’t. Like I said, you’re brave.” The girl regarded her with eyes the deep purple of bittersweet nightshade. “I just want you to realize what he’s capable of. He could have this whole county wiped out. He can be very cruel and very childish—if he doesn’t get what he wants he’ll simply go into a rage.”

  “And does he do that a lot—go into rages?”

  “All the time, unfortunately.”

  I don’t believe you.

  The thought came to Hannah suddenly. She didn’t know where it came from, but she couldn’t ignore it. There was something about this girl that bothered her, something that felt like a greasy stone held between the fingers. That felt like a lie.

  “Who are you?” she said directly. When the girl’s eyes—now burnt sienna—lifted to hers this time, she held them. “I mea
n, why are you so interested in me? Why are you even here, in Montana, where I am? Is it just a coincidence?”

  “Of course not. I came because I knew that he was about to find you again. I’m interested in you because—well, I’ve known Thierry since his childhood, before he became a vampire, and I feel a certain obligation to stop him.” She smiled, meeting Hannah’s steady gaze easily. “And my name . . . is Maya.”

  She said the last words slowly, and she seemed to be watching Hannah for a reaction. But the name didn’t mean anything to Hannah. And Hannah simply couldn’t figure out whether this girl called Maya was lying or not.

  “I know you’ve warned me about Thierry before,” Hannah said, trying to gather her thoughts. “But I don’t remember anything about it except you telling me. I don’t even know what you are—I mean, are you somebody who’s been reincarnated like me? Or are you . . . ?” She left the question open-ended. As a matter of fact, she knew Maya wasn’t human; no human was so eerily beautiful or supernaturally graceful. If Maya claimed she was, Hannah would know for sure it was a deception.

  “I’m a vampire,” Maya said calmly and without hesitation. “I lived with Thierry’s tribe in the days when you lived with the Three Rivers clan. In fact, I’m the one who actually made him into a vampire. I shouldn’t have done it; I should have realized he was one of those people who couldn’t handle it. But I didn’t know he’d go crazy and become . . . what he is.” She looked off into the distance. “I suppose that’s why I feel responsible for him,” she finished softly. Then she looked back at Hannah. “Any other questions?”

  “Hundreds,” Hannah said. “About the Night World, and about what’s happened to me in past lives—”

  “And I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to answer most of them. There are rules against talking about the Night World—and anyway, it’s safer for you not to know. As for your past lives, well, you don’t really want to know what he’s done to you each time, do you? It’s too gruesome.” She leaned forward, looking at Hannah earnestly. “What you should do now is put the past behind you and forget about all this. Try to have a happy future.”

  It was exactly what Hannah had decided to do earlier. So why did she feel like bristling now? She weighed different responses and finally said, “If he wants to kill me so much, why didn’t he just do it last night? Instead of talking to me.”

  “Oh, my dear child.” The tone was slightly patronizing, but seemed genuinely pitying. “He wants you to love him first, and then he kills you. I know, it’s sick, it’s twisted, but it’s the way he is. He seems to think it has to be that way, since it was that way the first time. He’s obsessed.”

  Hannah was silent. Nothing inside her stood up to say that this was a lie. And the idea that Thierry was obsessed certainly rang true. At last she said slowly, “Thank you for coming to warn me. I do appreciate it.”

  “No, you don’t,” Maya said. “I wouldn’t either if someone came to tell me things I didn’t want to hear. But maybe someday you will thank me.” She stood. “I hope we won’t have to meet again.”

  Hannah walked her to the back door and let her out.

  On the porch, Maya turned. “He really is insane, you know,” she said. “You’ll probably begin to have doubts again. But he’s obsessive and unstable, just like any stalker; and he’s really capable of anything. Don’t be fooled.”

  “I don’t think I’m ever going to see him again,” Hannah said, unreasonably annoyed. “So it’s going to be kind of hard to fool me.”

  Maya smiled, nodded, then did the disappearing act. Just as Thierry had, she turned and simply melted into the night.

  Hannah stared out into the darkness for a minute or so. Then she went back into the kitchen and called Paul Winfield’s number.

  She got his answering machine. “Hi, this is Hannah, and I got your message about making another appointment. I was wondering if we could maybe do it tomorrow—or anyway some time over the weekend. And . . .” She hesitated, wondering if it was something she should say in person, then shrugged. Might as well give him time to prepare. “And I’d like to do another regression. There are some things I want to figure out.”

  She felt better after she hung up. One way or another, she would get at the truth.

  She headed into her bedroom with a faint, grim smile.

  And stopped dead on the threshold.

  Thierry was sitting on her bed.

  For a moment Hannah stood frozen. Then she said sharply, “What are you doing here?” At the same time, she glanced around the room to see how he had gotten in. The windows were shut and only opened from inside.

  He must have walked in while I was in the kitchen talking with Maya.

  “I had to see you,” Thierry said. He looked—strange. His dark eyes seemed hot somehow, as if he were burning inside. His face was tense and grim.

  “I told you to keep away from me.” Hannah kept fear out of her voice—but she was scared. There was a sort of electricity in the air, but it wasn’t a good electricity. It was purely dangerous.

  “I know you did, and I tried. But I can’t stay away, Hannah. I just can’t. It makes me . . . crazy.”

  And with that, he stood up.

  Hannah’s heart seemed to jump into her throat and stay there, pounding hard. She fought to keep her face calm.

  He’s fast, a little voice in her head seemed to say, and with relief she recognized the dark wind voice, the cool voice of reason. There’s no point in running from him, because he can catch you in a second.

  “You have to understand,” Thierry was saying. “Please try to understand. I need you. We were meant to be together. Without you, I’m nothing.”

  He took a step toward her. His eyes were black and fathomless, and Hannah could almost feel their heat. Obsessed, yes, she thought. Maya was right. He may put on a good front, but underneath he’s just plain crazy. Like any stalker.

  “Say you understand,” Thierry said. He reached a pleading hand toward her.

  “I understand,” Hannah said grimly. “And I still want you to go away.”

  “I can’t. I have to make sure we’ll be together, the way we were meant to be. And there’s only one way to do that.”

  There was something different about his mouth. Two delicate fangs were protruding, indenting his lower lip.

  Hannah felt a cold fist close over her heart.

  “You have to join the Night World, Hannah. You have to become like me. I promise you, once it’s over, you’ll be happy.”

  “Happy?” A wave of sickening revulsion swept over Hannah. “As a monster like you? I was happy before you ever showed up. I’d be happy if you’d just keep out of my life forever. I—”

  Stop talking! The cool wind voice was screaming at her, but Hannah was too overwrought to listen.

  “You’re disgusting. I hate you. And nothing can ever make me love you ag—”

  She didn’t get to finish. In one swift movement, he was in front of her. And then he grabbed her.

  CHAPTER 9

  You’ll change your mind,” Thierry said.

  An instant later everything was chaos. Thierry had one hand in her hair, twisting her head to the side, exposing her neck. His other arm was keeping both her arms trapped against her body. Hannah was twisting, struggling—and it wasn’t doing any good. He was unbelievably strong.

  She felt the warmth of breath on her neck . . . and then the sharpness of teeth.

  “Don’t fight.” Thierry’s muffled voice came to her. “You’ll only make it hurt worse.”

  Hannah fought. And it did hurt. The pain of having blood drawn out against her will was like nothing she’d ever felt. It was as if her soul was being pulled out of her body, a pain that radiated down her neck and through her left shoulder and arm. It turned her vision gray and made her feel light-headed.

  “I—hate—you,” she got out. She tried to reach for him with her mind, to see if she could hurt him that way . . . but it was like running up against an obsidian wal
l. She could feel nothing of Thierry in the contact, just smooth black hardness.

  Forget about that, the cool wind voice said. And don’t faint; you’ve got to stay conscious. Think about your room. You need wood; you need a weapon. Where . . . ?

  The desk.

  Even as she thought it, Thierry’s grip on her was shifting. He was forcing her to turn so she faced away from him, still holding her in an iron grip with one arm. She had no idea what he was doing with the other arm until he spoke again.

  “I have to give you back something for what I took.”

  And then the other arm was in front of Hannah, wrist pressing to her mouth. She still didn’t really understand—she was dazed with pain and loss of blood—until she felt warm liquid trickling into her mouth and tasted a strange exotic taste.

  Oh, God—no. It’s his blood. You’re drinking vampire blood.

  She tried not to swallow, but the liquid kept flowing in, choking her. It didn’t taste at all like blood. It was rich and wild and burned slightly—and she could almost feel it changing her.

  You’ve got to stop this, the cool wind voice told her. Now.

  With a violent wrench that almost dislocated her shoulder, Hannah got one arm free. Then she started to fight hard, not because she wanted to get away, but because she wanted to keep Thierry occupied in holding her. While they were struggling, she surreptitiously reached out with her free hand.

  I can’t feel it. She threw her body back and forth, trying to get Thierry to move closer to the desk. Just a little farther . . . there. There!

  Her fingers were on her desk. She stomped on Thierry’s foot to keep him distracted. She heard a snarl of pain and Thierry shook her, but her fingers kept groping across the desk until they found something smooth and long, with a pointed graphite end.

  A pencil.

  Hannah curled her fingers, gathering the pencil into her fist. She was gasping with effort, which meant more of the strange blood was flowing into her mouth.

  Now think. Visualize his hand. Picture the pencil going right in, all the way through. And now strike.