nightrise

by Nell Stark

  She was watching me closely, expecting a reaction of horror or disgust or both, but I ruthlessly schooled my expression. “I’m so very sorry.”

  “I am the only one to blame.”

  Despite having heard only a fraction of the full story, I doubted that. But I wasn’t about to argue with her—not when we barely knew each other.

  “I fled Argentina then and traveled to England in an attempt to find Helen. She had owned property there at one time, but I could find no trace of her and had no way of discovering where she had gone. After a decade, I stopped looking. After two, I finally returned home, only to find that Hector had taken control of my family’s property and had merged our assets with those of the Vargas family. What’s more, he had indentured my remaining relatives. They were little better than slaves.

  “Hector was powerful and far more experienced than I. When he almost caught me attempting to free them, I fled to these mountains to regroup and plan. One day, I was unwise enough to attempt to feed from Miguel’s grandfather, Rudolpho, who was gathering herbs in the nearby forest. The curanderos of this region are very powerful, and he was able to subdue me. Eventually, I told him my story and he pledged to help me—a promise he fulfilled, though not as I expected.”

  She stopped speaking then and looked over my shoulder. Olivia was stirring. As we watched, she raised herself up on one elbow, eyes wide. “Alexa?”

  I moved to her bedside and knelt so she didn’t have to crane her neck. “Hey, Liv. How are you feeling?”

  “A little out of it. Shoulder hurts a bit.”

  I smoothed her dark hair back from her forehead and reached down to squeeze her hand. “You’re doing great. You’re going to be just fine. Miguel took the bullet out.”

  “What did he give me?”

  “Passion flower extract,” said Solana. “A natural sedative. You should feel completely alert within a few hours.”

  The anxiety drained from her face, and she relaxed into the blankets. “Thank you.”

  “Can you fall back to sleep?” I asked.

  “I might.” Olivia opened her eyes just a sliver, as though her lids were heavy. “You’ll fill me in later?”

  I brushed my knuckles across her forehead. “Promise. You rest.”

  When her breathing became even, I returned to the hearth. Solana held out a steaming cup of liquid to me. “Maté tea. A stimulant, though not quite as strong as coffee.”

  I took a tentative sip, then another. It tasted like a stronger, more pungent form of green tea. I looked up at the plants hanging from the ceiling, wondering which one this was. “You seem to know quite a bit about these herbs.”

  She raised her own cup to her mouth and breathed in the steam before drinking. “Miguel and his ancestors have taught me well.”

  A sudden hunch pushed my heartbeat into overdrive and I looked up again, squinting into the dark rafters. “Did they give you the flower? Is it here?”

  Solana’s silence was as good as an affirmative. “Tell me,” I said. “I’ll keep your secret. I swear it.” I was a hair’s breadth from begging, but my pride had long since ceased to matter.

  “Yes,” she finally said. “They gave it to me, and it is nearby.” She held up her hand. “Let me finish my story, and you will have your answers.

  “When I had secured a promise from Rudolpho to help me free my family from Hector’s tyranny, I expected him to help me raise an army. Instead, he took me on a perilous journey to the shore of the lake beneath the volcano’s summit. We camped there for several days, until the full moon. As it rose, a plant emerged from the ground within minutes. It flowered once the moon was free of the horizon. Miguel’s grandfather pulled it from the ground, broke off its roots, and commanded me to eat it.”

  I was barely breathing. “What happened? What did it do to you?”

  “I fell into a coma for several days,” Solana said. “When I woke, I was terribly thirsty, but I could bear the sunlight.”

  “My God,” I whispered. “It reversed your transition.”

  “Yes. Every full moon since that day, I have eaten the roots. I’ve been able to walk under the sun for almost seventy years.”

  My euphoria burst. If Solana needed the roots every month, none would be left over for Valentine. “What about the stem and the petals—do they have any of the same properties?”

  “They do, to a minor extent. Miguel uses them to create poultices for several of the ailing members of his community.”

  “But can they do what the roots are capable of?”

  Solana’s face was troubled as she shook her head. “I don’t believe so. Miguel will be able to tell us for certain. Perhaps he can think of a way to extend or duplicate the active ingredient in the roots.”

  I nodded slowly, fighting not to lose hope. Solana shouldn’t have to give up the flower, but to have come so far—to have actually found the object of my search only to be thwarted by its singular nature—seemed cruel beyond measure. Still, Solana had not said that she would withhold the flower from me, and her willingness to help seemed genuine. There had to be a way to save Valentine without damning Solana. I refused to believe anything else.

  “Then maybe it’s time to have a talk with Miguel.”

  Chapter Nine

  While Solana went to find Miguel and fill him in on our discussion, I retrieved my pack from her car and changed into proper clothes. The night was clear and cool, and the darkness rivaled that of Telassar. In the absence of light pollution, the sky was salted with stars in such abundance that it would not have been difficult to pick out familiar constellations if I had known what to look for. This hemisphere was utterly foreign to me, and without the comforting anchor of Polaris pointing north, I felt strangely adrift.

  A smear of light near the western lip of the canyon’s edge heralded the arrival of the waxing moon. It would be full in five days. We didn’t have much time, and I had to consider what I would do if Solana ultimately refused to let me take the flower’s root to Valentine. Just how far was I willing to go? Even if I could somehow get to the flower first and steal it away, would I be capable of risking Solana’s soul to save Val’s?

  I shrugged the pack over my shoulders and began the walk back to the ruins. No. If we couldn’t come up with a solution, I would have to go back to square one—to wait until Karma’s contacts discovered another of the flower’s locations. Despair threatened at the corners of my brain like storm clouds on the horizon, and I quickened my pace in response. There had to be something we could do, but even if this was a dead end, I had far from exhausted all of the search possibilities. I needed to be patient.

  When I slipped inside the stone chamber, Miguel and Solana were conversing quietly near the hearth and Olivia was propped up against several pillows eating soup from a ceramic bowl. I set the pack in the corner and crouched next to her.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She tried to raise her left hand and grimaced. “Sore. But my head feels a lot clearer. I guess passion flower extract is potent.”

  Guilt reverberated in my chest. “Olivia, I am so sorry.”

  She set down her spoon and gripped my hand. “Shut up. I knew the risks. And you warned me, remember?”

  “Even so, I should have been able to protect you.”

  “It was an accident. I really believe that. And I’ll be fine.” She glanced over to Solana and Miguel, who were still deep in conversation. “So what did you find out?”

  I brought her up to speed quickly. “If we can’t figure out a solution,” I concluded, “I think we’re going to have to start over.”

  Olivia frowned. “Even supposing we do find a way, if this flower is so delicate, how do we preserve it with enough time to get it to Val?”

  I hadn’t thought of that possible complication and was just about to tell her so when Solana joined us. “Miguel has an idea, but his proposal is risky on several levels.”

  “Tell us.”

  “The day after tomorrow, you, Miguel, an
d I will ascend the mountain to the place where the flower blooms. When it does, Miguel will harvest the stem and petals as usual, but he will implant the root under your skin.”

  My panther sprang into action at Solana’s pronouncement, and I clutched a fistful of blankets for purchase as I mentally held her off. Olivia’s spoon clattered in the bowl as she pushed herself upright.

  “He’s going to do what?” she said.

  “Miguel has told me that the flower will flourish until the next full moon if it is nourished with blood. He believes that by planting the roots beneath your skin, he will accomplish two things: the flower will survive, and your blood will absorb its properties.”

  “Its healing properties?” When she nodded, elation swept over me. “So all I’d have to do is convince Valentine to drink from me?”

  “Yes. But while the roots are inside you, you would have to keep yourself from shifting. Your transformation would destroy the flower.”

  My panther snarled, but I silently reminded her that we had endured much worse. “What about you? How will you get what you need?”

  “For years, Miguel has been encouraging me to test whether I truly need the flower every month. It may be necessary, but we have no way of knowing until I stop taking it.”

  My head spun with all the possibilities. “And you’re willing to do that?” I couldn’t help but feel suspicious. “For someone you’ve never even met? Why?”

  She looked at me steadily. “I can never repay my debt to Miguel’s grandfather, but there are ways in which I can honor his memory. For years, I’ve protected this village and helped its inhabitants to develop and thrive. Now I have the chance to do for your Valentine what Rudolpho did for me.”

  “I will always be in your debt,” I said, awed by the magnitude of her gift.

  She waved away my words. “That’s not what I want. But I do wish to return with you to New York.”

  “Because of Helen?”

  To my surprise, she flushed and looked away. “In part. But also because I have been a hermit too long. Battle lines have been drawn and a conflict is imminent. If there was ever a time for me to return to the world, it is now.”

  For a while, all was silent as I reflected on her reasoning and she brewed tea over the fire. But soon enough, my thoughts spiraled back to the flower and its properties.

  “Does Miguel think the roots’ effects on my blood will be temporary?” I asked. “Or will having the flower inside me for a few days change my blood permanently?”

  As Solana conferred with Miguel, Olivia grasped my shoulder. “I don’t know about this. That plan is sketchy, and the word ‘blood’ has come up too many times.”

  “My blood regenerates when I transform. I’m not worried about losing a little.”

  “That makes one of—”

  Solana’s exclamation—a string of Spanish words that seemed to be invoking a saint—cut Olivia off. She hurried toward us. “Miguel believes that your Were physiology might magnify the effects of the flower.”

  “Magnify it how?”

  “One of two ways. Because your blood already bestows some measure of regenerative ability to a vampire, it’s possible that when the flower’s essence enters your vessels it will transform your circulatory system. In that case, Valentine would be able to keep her soul with a steady infusion of your blood.

  “The other possibility is that the combination will affect her circulatory system. In that case she could become permanently ensouled—beyond the risk of transforming back into a full vampire.”

  Unable to believe what I was hearing, I leaned back against the wall. There was a chance that this strange procedure could change Valentine forever? If her bloodlust became an indulgence rather than a necessity, she would never again have to feel guilt about feeding from me.

  Firmly, I reined in my hyperbolic thoughts. “Is there also a possibility that this might fail? That the roots might not survive even on my blood, or that Valentine won’t be affected at all?”

  Solana nodded. “Miguel knows nothing for certain. He is extrapolating possibilities based on his understanding of the flower.”

  “I still don’t like this,” Olivia murmured. “Too many variables. But I know you’re going to do it anyway.”

  “You’re right.” Standing, I met Solana’s eyes. “When do we leave?”

  *

  For the second time since we had left Solana’s Jeep at the base of one of the trailheads leading up to the lake, the trail led us over rocks so steep they had to be climbed. Pitons—metal pins used by rock climbers—had been driven into cracks in the rock faces to assist our ascent. Solana had said this was the least popular hiking trail, and I could understand why. She scrambled up nimbly and I followed her, Miguel bringing up the rear. Olivia had refused to remain in the village, choosing instead to stay with the car and within radio distance.

  I crested the last rock to find Solana waiting just over the lip. She handed me a canteen and I drank deeply. The shadows were growing as dusk fell; Miguel had switched on his headlamp, and I felt fortunate that my eyes could adjust so completely to the darkness.

  “Not far now,” Solana said. “A kilometer or so.”

  I unclipped the radio from my belt. “Olivia, do you read?”

  “Loud and clear. Still no hikers behind you. Are you there?”

  “Getting close. I’ll call again when we’ve reached the spot.”

  As she signed off, I reached down to help Miguel over the lip of the cliff. This part of the trail was much more reasonable—a switchback rather than a sheer climb. Ahead of me, Solana moved confidently. The trail must have been as familiar to her as my daily walk to Washington Square.

  Not for the first time, I wondered whether her trip to New York would result in some kind of confrontation with Helen. Was Solana planning to see her? Did Helen even know she was still alive—that in her panic so many decades ago, she had made a mistake by leaving? I tried to imagine how I would feel if I were in Solana’s place. It wasn’t difficult. Valentine had almost pulled a Romeo when she had believed me dead at her hands, but what if she had left instead? I couldn’t imagine a reality in which I wasn’t inexorably drawn to Val. What had changed in the intervening decades to make Solana keep her distance from Helen, even after she learned where to find her?

  After a series of switches, we scrabbled up one final vertiginous ascent before emerging onto a narrow ridge. Below us, the surface of the crater lake gleamed in the dying light, its waters as dark as an oil slick. The trail continued along the ridge toward the summit, but Solana led us away into a cluster of pockmarked boulders. She pointed, and as I peered over her shoulder, I saw that the rocks formed a rough circle. In the middle, the earth lay fallow. Not so much as a strand of alpine grass grew.

  “It will bloom there,” she said.

  Miguel squeezed into the clearing and removed several items from a small woven bag: a knife, a trowel, and several small jars. He called to Solana, and as they conversed, I scouted around the periphery of the rocks to get the lay of the land. When the full moon rose, I would shift and hunt as was my biological imperative. But instead of remaining on four legs until moonset, I would return to my human form and rejoin Solana and Miguel. He would harvest the flower and implant the roots, at which point we would immediately return to the car. Miguel would drive us to Fiambala, where a chartered plane waited to take us to Buenos Aires. If all went well, we would be in New York within twenty-four hours.

  My panther was the wild card. I had no way of knowing how she would react to the flower’s invasion of my body and how difficult it would be to hold her in check. Just the thought of our long return flight was enough to spike my anxiety, and I focused on taking deep, steadying breaths.

  “Are you all right?” Solana asked. It was a measure of my preoccupation that I hadn’t heard her approach.

  “A little anxious.”

  She nodded. In silence, we watched Miguel make his preparations as night fell over the Andes. Beh
ind the doors of my mind, the panther paced incessantly, eager to be free. With Constantine’s help, I had gotten better at managing these hours just before moonrise when her agitation was greatest and my patience was thin. But tonight, my trepidation about what the next few hours might bring made me restless and jittery.

  “You never told me the end of your story,” I said to Solana, hoping to distract myself. “Did you ever have your revenge on Hector?”

  She settled to the ground with her back to stone still warm from the sun, and I did the same. “I did. But first, I remained with Rudolpho for many months, readjusting to life in the sunlight and learning about the village and its customs. The Tear of Isis is at the heart of its healing culture; Miguel’s family has been the flower’s guardians since time immemorial. I swore to him that I would protect his people for as many generations as I lived, and he pledged that his family would sustain me.”

  “Do the villagers have many enemies?”

  “Not any longer,” Solana said. “But before solar energy arrived, firewood became scarce in this area—particularly on the Chilean side of the mountain. There were raids and skirmishes for control of forested terrain.” Her smile was tight and fleeting. “We always prevailed.”

  I had no doubt that she could be a formidable weapon. “Did they help you to free your family?”

  “No. It was my responsibility alone. I used my ability to move in the sunlight to infiltrate Hector’s household, and then I killed him. My younger sister and several cousins returned to the village with me and lived out their lives in peace.”

  As happy an ending as possible, under the circumstances. But before I could respond, an electric charge shot through me, as though I had touched a live wire. I was on my feet without having consciously moved. From the ground, Solana regarded me warily.

  “Soon.” I choked out the word as my panther gathered herself. The western horizon was growing lighter each passing second, the moon calling to my blood as she called to the tides. Solana joined Miguel in the middle of the clearing while I stood poised at the edge.