by Roh Morgon
The telephone.
Leaning over to the nightstand, I yank the receiver from its cradle.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, Miss Martin. Lady Dăneşti requests that you be available to meet with her at six o’clock. Do you need anything?” The voice belongs to Karen, Alina’s secretary, or servant, or whatever she is.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand. It’s 5:04.
“No, I’m fine. Tell her I’ll be ready.”
The line clicks into silence.
Studying the receiver, I try to recall the last time I spoke on a phone, and to whom. And then I remember.
It was to Danny, telling him Sandy wasn’t coming back to him.
Another moment of heartache in my life—one that seems to be defined by continual loss—and what little shred of hope I held last night dissolves beneath its heavy weight. I climb wearily from the bed and head to the shower.
We step outside into the damp chill of the November night as tendrils of fog creep through the surrounding trees. The dark-haired Chosen ahead of me slows his stride and nods to Isaac standing on the covered porch that surrounds the house. The other one behind me pauses, then follows us down the back steps. Apparently they think I’m worth two guards, but I can’t imagine why.
Our little procession passes through a gate into a large ornamental garden bordered by twenty-foot-tall hedges. Shorter hedges define gardens within the garden—roses grouped into different colors, hanging pots surrounding a birdbath, even an area devoted to unusual rocks. Small spotlights scatter light and shadow, providing accents throughout the landscape.
White pebbles crunch on the softly lit path beneath our feet as we wind our way through the maze of mini-gardens. The sound of running water accompanies us, growing louder the farther into the garden we go. When we walk through the opening in a wall of towering Italian cypresses, a huge fountain comes into view.
Playful stone cherubs, frozen in mid-frolic, splash and spit water upon one another around the pool forming its base. Soft pink-and-green lights cast an otherworldly glow upon the scene, which becomes even more surreal when one of the figures actually moves.
It’s Alina. She’s sitting on a large rock in the center of the pool, a book in her hands. Looking up at us, she closes it and stands, then gracefully steps onto the fountain’s edge and down to the ground.
Both guards bow as she approaches.
“Mr. Isaac said he’ll be right up there.” The dark-haired Chosen gestures toward the house. Isaac, now on a second-floor balcony, tips his head in acknowledgement. “We’ll be waiting just outside if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Sean. But that’s not necessary. You may return to the house.”
“Yes, ma’am.” With another bow, both guards spin on their heels and leave.
Alina, her petite figure accented by a lavender blouse and ivory slacks, strolls over to me and stops.
“Do you like poetry?” She tips her head as she looks up at me.
“I’ve never taken the time to study it.”
“You should. It can provide a wonderful balm for the broken heart or tortured soul. Even better is to write it.” She hands me the slender, leather-bound volume.
No title or author is printed on the cover, and when I open it, the pages are filled with a tiny, elegant handwriting. I slowly turn them, stopping at one with a bent corner.
The Chosen Lament
To love is to live
To see the world through another’s eyes
To feel the world through another’s joy.
But when time steals that love from you
And the world grows dark
And filled with pain,
Then perhaps it is better not to love at all.
“Did you write this?” I ask, shaken by my selection.
“Yes. That is a rather morose piece. But writing it helped me during a particularly bleak period of my life.”
She makes no move to take the book, so I turn to another bent corner. This handwriting is different, and a bolt of anguish lances through me as I recognize it.
Oh Sweet Carpaţii
Oh sweet Carpaţii
With your cool gentle breezes
And star-dusted skies
Rocky peaks mantled
In shimmering silken snow
Made bright by moon’s rise
Green velveteen flanks
Laced with crystal streams rushing
Trees dance, the wind sighs
Oh sweet Carpaţii
With your cool gentle breezes
And star-dusted skies
I long for your kiss
Your stone arms holding me tight
Safe from bright sun’s rise
~ CN
I stare at the words on the page, his words, written in his precise hand, and find myself unable to breathe, unable to move. My throat tightens as I once again fight back the cursed bloodtears. When I feel under control, I look up at Alina.
“Nicolas wrote that for me when we first came to America. I missed my Carpathian mountains and Romanian homeland so much. That is one of the reasons he chose Colorado Springs as his base, because of the mountains there.”
She reaches out for the book and I hand it to her.
“I want you to know that I understand your situation better than you might think. Nicolas and I were very close and I know how much he loved you. We… we’ve shared much through the years, he and I.” Grief lines her face. “I do miss him and our long talks about both the past and the future. Did you know I was his first?”
Absorbing her words, I blink back my shock. Another ex?
Alina frowns, looking puzzled, and then she laughs.
“Oh, no, my dear. It’s not what you think. Nicolas has always been more like a guardian to me. We’ve never been romantically involved.”
I’m sure she can see the relief on my face. I don’t seem to fare too well with Nicolas’s ex-mates, and am glad Alina’s not one.
Her smile fades.
“I met him the night… the night Tepes and his men stormed our castle and killed my father. When they attacked, I hid in the granary, crouching inside a half-empty bag of wheat, and listened to the servants scream as each one died…” She touches her lips, her expression grim.
How awful. I wonder about the rest of her family.
“Your mother?”
“It was just my father and me—my mother had died a few years before. In retrospect, it was a blessing, because at least she didn’t have to suffer through the horror of that night…” Alina takes a deep breath.
“One of the raiders—Nicolas—found me, and though Tepes had ordered everyone killed, Nicolas warned me to stay quiet and did not reveal my presence. I did not know at the time—for I was unaware of The Chosen—but disobeying orders and lying to his Maker is almost impossible for an immature Chosen. Nicolas was strong, even then, and less ruled by bloodlust than the others.”
Alina falls silent, her fingers tracing a pattern over and over on the cover of her book. I yearn to hear more, to catch a glimpse of Nicolas in his youth and likely filled with even more passion than he has now.
“Did he tell you why he didn’t… ?”
“Kill me? He said it was because he was sick of Tepes and the endless slaughter, and that I was too beautiful to suffer such a violent end.”
“But you said you were his first…”
“Yes. The next night several soldiers—human—discovered me hiding in the ruins of my home. I fought them off the best I could, until I was stabbed in the side. I lay there, bleeding, as one of them climbed on top of me…” Her breath catches and she stares down at the ground.
“And then suddenly, his weight was gone, and I heard the soldiers screaming. The handsome young man who’d spared me the night before had saved me once again. Or so I thought before I lost consciousness.
“I don’t remember much after that. Nicolas later told me that I was dying, and the only way he knew to save me w
as to give me his blood, something forbidden for one so young to do. But he said when he held his arm to my mouth and I began to drink, he succumbed to the bloodlust and fed on me, nearly killing me. He stopped himself—which is extremely difficult for young Chosen—and gave me his blood once more, then departed before the thirst could take over again.
“I woke the next day, weak and very ill. Nicolas showed up after nightfall with food for me, but I was unable to keep it down. After staying with me most of the night, he left just before dawn. This went on for several evenings, and each time he brought food, and each time my body refused it. He finally broke down and confessed what had happened, that he’d saved me with his blood, but now feared that I was dying because of it, and that the only way to keep me alive was to give me more. He told me it would make me like him, but that seemed a far better choice than death.”
Only one thought rings through my head.
“What about… what about a lifespark? I thought we had to have that to finalize the Change.”
Because if that was another lie—if he lied to me about that—my search for Nicolas ends.
Right here, right now.
“Ah, well. That was not so difficult. He brought me the Tepes filth who had raped my handmaid and the cook in the kitchen near my hiding place. I’d listened as he brutalized and then killed them. I had little trouble returning the favor.”
I can’t help but shudder again at the vivid scene she’s painted, yet at the same time, feel a profound sense of relief.
Alina wanders back to the fountain, saying no more.
“Do you ever wish you’d chosen differently?” I ask. The sadness in her voice, and her poetry, makes me think so.
“Oh, no. No. Nicolas not only delivered me from death, he gave me the tools to eventually exact my revenge. And I’ve had a good life, even with all of the pain and regrets that can accompany a Chosen existence.” She looks at me curiously. “How do you feel about becoming a Chosen, now that you’ve completed the Change?”
“It’s not a Choice I would’ve made had I been offered it originally.”
“Hmm. Perhaps someday you’ll wonder why you ever felt that way. You have many years ahead of you to learn new things, form new relationships, and experience new lands. Trust me, the benefits far outweigh the cost.”
Maybe for her. She had no family to leave behind.
“But don’t you ever get tired of it all?” I ask. “The hunger, the need to feed on people? The killing?”
Alina studies me, a frown creasing her face.
“I can see you’ve learned little of Chosen life, or the customs of our lineage. We are not in the habit of killing our donors. In fact, they become secondary family to us. We provide for them, they provide for us. Those in my circle have been with me for generations.”
She paints a pretty picture, but I wonder if she knows how it really is for those in the rank and file—the ones who aren’t rich and powerful Elders.
“Well, all I know is what I’ve seen in the clubs, and most of it isn’t what I’d call family oriented.”
“No, probably not. As with human society, there are always some who prefer a more sordid life. But killing those we feed upon is not allowed. That is one of the distinguishing features of our lineage. Or was until Éva took over. Now, I’m not so sure where we’re headed, and it worries me.” Alina shakes her head. “But this is not what I wished to speak with you about. Come, sit down with me.”
She pats the edge of the fountain beside her. I take a seat on the cold stone, hoping she has good news for me about Nicolas.
“Your confidence has grown since the last time we met in Colorado. You seem more sure of yourself, in spite of your current situation. I can only attribute this to you making the final transition and your innate grasp of what it means to be a member of the most elite species in the world.”
She makes it sounds like an honor. I’ve never viewed it as anything more than a curse.
“I do believe that you are better prepared to take your place by Nicolas’s side. It’s a pity it didn’t happen sooner.” Her voice is so low I can barely hear her over the gurgle of the cascading water behind us. “That being said, I have spoken with the acquaintance I mentioned.”
A thousand needles prickle my skin as I hold my breath, waiting for her to continue.
“He has agreed to meet with you.” Her gaze hardens. “But I’ll permit it only under one condition.”
Of course. There are always conditions.
“Go on.” My gut twists as anticipation dissolves into dread.
“That you tell him as much about your initial Change as you can recall. Everything—when, where, how the attack occurred, as well as the details of your prior human life.”
I swallow and turn away to stare across the garden.
Andrea.
“This is the only way I can justify allowing you to stay in Chosen territory. We need to find out who your Maker is, and whether or not there are any more like you. Do you understand?”
If I refuse, then it looks like I’m hiding something, and the only conclusion they’ll reach is that I’m protecting my Maker.
And then they’ll want answers I don’t have. I can’t imagine how many ways a Chosen can be tortured. Or for how long.
Forever, if they want.
A shudder ripples through me.
I reluctantly nod, then glance at Alina. Her narrowed eyes indicate she missed none of my reaction. She stands and looks down at me, her expression closed.
“Then it’s settled. You will meet with him tomorrow night.”
CHAPTER 58
A knock on my door startles me to sharp awareness. I glance at the clock on the nightstand, surprised to see that it’s already midnight. Several hours have passed since I returned from the meeting with Alina and lay down to stare at the ceiling, lost in my thoughts.
“Just a minute.” I climb from the bed and glance in the mirror to smooth my hair. I wasn’t asleep, but wasn’t really all here, either. Shaking the fuzziness from my brain, I walk out into the sitting room.
“Come in.”
One of the bodyguards from earlier—Sean, I think—carries in my suitcases and sets them in the middle of the floor. The other guard follows with my things from the hotel closet. He drapes them over the sofa, then heads back out the door, Sean on his heels.
The lock clicks before I can even ask about my car.
Since it appears I might be here awhile, I take my suitcases into the bedroom and begin unpacking. As I refold my things and tuck them into dresser drawers, I wonder who packed them.
It’s a bit discomfiting to think about how many hands have pawed through my underwear.
Nothing seems to be missing, though, and as I add the clothing from the plastic garbage bag to the dresser, I feel relieved to be reunited with all of my belongings.
Except, of course, the little black BMW. But hopefully they brought it with my suitcases, and it’s sitting safely somewhere inside the gates.
I don’t need my keys—several spares are hidden in the underbody. The wallet and cell phone aren’t really a problem, either. I have other IDs and cash squirreled away within the car as well as in several locations around the state. It’s just a matter of finding the car and then I can get the hell out of here if necessary. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.
And that Taz isn’t the one they send after me.
A chill ripples across my skin. The cold, empty look on his face as he passed by me in the waiting room isn’t anything I ever want to see again. I think back on what he said in the bar.
We will hunt you down if you run. That’s what we do, and we’re very good at it.
Redd’s voice echoes in my head.
We’re Hunters. We kill them. No questions asked.
I better make damn sure I have a good head start.
On that happy note, I grab one of the books I’d bought at one of San Francisco’s many eclectic bookstores and settle into bed for a long night
of reading.
THURSDAY
CHAPTER 59
I glance at the clock again as I make another circuit around the room. 8:01 PM. I’ve been awake for three hours, showered and ready to go for the last two-and-a-half. Reading is out of the question—the only thing I can do is pace while waiting to be summoned.
Alina said I would meet with him tonight. Whoever he is. She called him a “mutual acquaintance.”
Mutual with whom? Nicolas? Is this mysterious acquaintance even a Chosen?
The same questions chase each other around and around in my head, matching the pattern I’m wearing into the carpet beneath my feet. Anxiety-triggered hunger is making the wait even more unbearable. It’s been five nights since I last fed—the night Taz smashed me against the hill.
I suppress a growl and keep walking.
As much as I’m anticipating it, I nearly jump out of my skin when a knock sounds on my door a little after nine.
“Come in.”
Sean enters, his expression impassive.
“Lady Dăneşti would like to know if you are ready.”
“Yes.” I resist adding that I’ve been ready for hours. I’m sure making me wait for something I’m bound to be anxious about is just part of The Game.
I straighten my sweater and follow Sean through the door. We make our way up the stairs, but instead of heading to Alina’s office, Sean leads me out the front door and down the steps to a waiting Mercedes limousine, its windows as black as its paint. He opens the rear door, revealing Alina sitting on the far side. As usual, she looks stunning, her linen jacket and slacks in a dusky rose complementing the violet of her eyes. She smiles and gestures to the seat beside her, and I climb in, noting that the partition between driver and passenger compartments is up. The Mercedes pulls out into the street and toward the nighttime traffic of downtown San Francisco as I settle into the luxurious, ivory-toned leather.