Revelation

by Tanith Frost

  Shit. I should’ve known that would come back to haunt me. At the time, I hoped I hadn’t slaughtered another clan-mate. Now I sort of wish I had, even if it meant another charge against me.

  “It wasn’t personal,” I gasp. I’m not going to pass out from lack of breath, but it does make conversation difficult.

  “You’re personal,” he says, looking deep into my eyes. “I didn’t really believe it when I heard what you were. But now…”

  And there it is—the truth of my situation, the reason the crowd in the courtroom was practically baying for my blood. It was because I’d attacked an elder and had previously killed a respected member of the clan. It was because they wanted Miranda to prove herself impartial and strong enough to finish anyone who threatened the clan from within or without. But it was also this power, this insult to the pure darkness that should sustain us. Even if they couldn’t feel it in me directly, they knew what I was and what I’d done to invite werewolf energy into myself. Viktor made sure of that, and Hector here likely isn’t the only vampire who hates me for it. If Miranda had protected me, they’d have turned on her, too.

  “She did fight us,” Fernando muses, though he doesn’t sound as eager as his companion.

  “That she did.”

  I draw in a wheezing breath. “I surrender.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  I grit my teeth and glare hard into his eyes. All I need is a little wiggle room. “Then do it,” I tell him. “Release me to oblivion if that’s what you’re planning. Make it quick.”

  Hector glances at the needle and frowns. “If you wanted that kind of mercy, you shouldn’t have broken out. Nando, you have that stake on you?”

  “Yeah, and the gun.”

  “Gun’s too loud. This way we just have to keep her from screaming.” The malice in Hector is overwhelming. I force my fire to recede, but it’s too late.

  A stake will still be relatively quick but far from painless. He wants to see me suffer, and once I’m gone, there will be no evidence of how they finished me off.

  I’m guessing most of the clan would call them heroes even if they knew.

  I look to Fernando. “Don’t.”

  His pale eyes are wide, his lips tight. But he reaches behind him and pulls out a long, tapered stake.

  “Good lad.” Hector caps the needle and slips it into his pocket before he takes the stake. “Unzip your coat, Missy, then hands behind your head.”

  I comply, though it’s hard to make my muscles obey. Neither of the vampires is touching me now, and I don’t want them to decide they need to remedy that situation.

  Hector presses the stake between my breasts, taking careful aim. I glance at Fernando. He stands between me and the living room at the back of the house, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. There’s not a shred of sympathy in him; I think he just wants to get this over with. But there’s uncertainty in his posture. Hesitation. I can work with that.

  Hector turns his body sideways and aims again, preparing for a blow strong enough to shatter my breastbone and pierce my heart.

  My hands drop to the edge of the table behind me as I pivot my weight back, draw my knees to my abdomen, and kick out with both feet. I can’t send Hector flying in a space this cramped, but I throw off his balance. He stumbles toward the front door, and I shove past Fernando, who hesitates for just a second too long before he grabs at me.

  The back door will be locked, too. I race through the still-dark living room toward the big picture window and throw myself at it. The glass, already cracked and weakened, shatters against my weight, and I roll to my feet as I hit the long, dead grass in the yard. The fence is just a few strides away. I vault over it into the yard behind mine, haul the straps of my backpack higher on my shoulders, and race around the house to the next street over.

  And then I loop back toward the scene of the crime. I slow as soon as I think my pursuers have fallen behind, blending with the shadows, avoiding streetlights.

  Our house doesn’t have a garage, but the one at the end of the row does, tucked in behind the house. I never asked Daniel how he charmed the old woman who owns it into letting him park there. His well-hidden gift for changing people’s thoughts can’t have come into it; that’s an emergency measure, and one he doesn’t use often or lightly. Money might have come into the arrangement, but I suspect personal charm played a big part as well. Humans tend to remember little about vampires once we’re out of their sight, but in the moment, Daniel would have quickly figured out what he needed to show her to get what he wanted. If Mrs. Price was the sort to let the kind, polite young neighbour park in the garage she wasn’t using anyway, I have no doubt he’d have become just that.

  It’s all about necessity. That nice young fellow needed somewhere to leave his baby when he went on cross-country trips to hunt down and brutally slaughter enemies.

  God, but I miss him.

  The wooden door of the garage is locked, but the smaller of the two keys on Daniel’s ring fits. The door, a single panel covered in flaking paint, swings upward, squeaking slightly as it goes.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” I murmur as I pull aside the white sheet that covers the black Challenger, then slip into the driver’s seat. It’s an older car—Daniel got it used a few years back—but it’s in top form. When I press down on the clutch and start the engine, the gas gauge shows a nearly full tank.

  I haven’t needed to drive a stick shift since I was alive, and I’m trying to remember how to do it properly when Henrik steps into the path of the headlights.

  He should really know better by now.

  Handbrake off. First gear. Gas, slow clutch release.

  The car lurches forward, and Henrik dives out of the way.

  I blow through the first two stop signs I come to, less worried about human police than I am about stalling out before I lose the vampires who will be following as soon as they’ve reached their vehicle. I have no choice but to stop when I hit a red light on Topsail Road, though, and I wince as the car jerks to a halt. But muscle memory soon takes over, and the car purrs contentedly beneath me as I make my way back to Imogen’s house. At the next stoplight, I pull the necklace from my pocket and clasp the chain around my neck.

  I won’t be staying at Imogen’s for long. If this little adventure has done anything beyond securing me a ride, it’s confirmed that I need to get the hell off this island.

  And I’m certain now of where I need to go.

  2

  “I think it’s the most foolish idea I’ve ever heard.” Genevieve folds her manicured hands on the table and leans forward, her auburn hair falling over one dark-green eye. It does nothing to cut the intensity of her gaze. “If they bothered to have someone watching your house last night, you can be damned sure they’re keeping an eye on the ferry terminal and the airports by now. And even if you get off the island…” She shakes her head. “Tempest, Aviva. Do you have any concept of what you’d be walking into?”

  I glare back at her, ignoring Jia and Hannabelle, who occupy the other two chairs at Imogen’s kitchen table. “I have allies outside the clan who might help me get off the island.”

  Genevieve’s lips narrow. She knows I’m talking about werewolves, and she doesn’t have to tell me what she thinks of that alliance. Neither she nor Hannabelle has asked me about my fire, though they must know that little secret by now. It seems that politely ignoring the elephant in the room is the best I can hope for even from those who still seem to like me.

  “As for the rest,” I continue, “what are my alternatives? Stay here and wait for my own clan to hunt me down and finish me off? Scurry away and hide out in some other clan’s territory, hoping they’ll take me in?” I fold my arms across my chest. “Fine. Maybe I could survive that way. What’s your plan for when Tempest comes knocking and Maelstrom has no idea what to expect?”

  Genevieve’s lips tighten further. I’m not sure how much more of this conversation she can take before her pretty face actual
ly collapses in on itself.

  The kettle clicks on the counter. Neither of us turns to watch as Hannabelle crosses the room and pours boiling water into the white teapot, though we’re as aware of her movements as we are of the wind howling outside the house, the freezing rain ticking against the window, and the warning growls rising from beneath the living room sofa as Hannabelle passes too close to Imogen’s cat.

  Not much escapes the notice of creatures whose senses are as acute as ours, especially when things get intense.

  “She’s right,” Jia says. It’s hard to tell who she’s talking to at first as she’s looking down at her hands. Then she turns to Genevieve, her dark eyes bright and focused. “That’s not to say you’re wrong. The odds of Aviva making it into Tempest, finding out anything useful, and actually getting back out in time to help our cause are next to zero.”

  Genevieve scowls at her. “Then how exactly is she right?”

  “She’s right about the fact that we’re all fucked when Tempest figures out what happened to Viktor and decides it’s time to take a more direct approach.” Jia runs her fingers through her chin-length black hair, leaving a few strands of her bangs sticking out. “If they succeed in taking over Maelstrom’s territory, what becomes of vampires like me? Most of Maelstrom’s Agonites came here fleeing clans like Tempest, where vampires with little void power were mocked, abused, enslaved, or exterminated as wastes of resources that were better spent on stronger clan members.”

  Genevieve winces at that. She’s not an Agonite herself—in fact, she’s a powerful old vampire. But she, like Hannabelle and several others, spent decades removed from clan society because they had trouble adapting to various aspects of the world and therefore presented a security risk. Viktor referred to them as drains on clan resources, too.

  “We’re just beginning to make real progress here,” Jia adds, seeming to speak more to herself than to Genevieve. “If Maelstrom falls, so do we. And so do you. So does anyone Lachlan decides is weak, untrustworthy, useless, troublesome—”

  “I know,” Genevieve says. “Believe me, we all know.”

  Hannabelle leans back against the counter. “Lachlan—is that their high elder?”

  I’m glad she asked so I didn’t have to reveal my ignorance of even this basic fact about the clan I’ve told them I plan to spy on.

  “Unless something has changed drastically, he’s officially their only elder,” Jia says. “Rules with an iron fist. I’ve never met him, and I’ve heard enough stories from those who escaped his territory that I never want to.”

  Hannabelle sets the teapot and four cups on the table. No milk or sugar for us. She sits, carefully adjusting her prosthetic leg beneath her, probably crossing her legs at the ankle. Hannabelle’s come a long way in terms of accepting herself and the modern world since we met, but there’s something quiet and proper about her even when she’s dressed as casually as she is now—brand new yoga pants, baggy sweatshirt, the tight spirals of her hair piled on top of her head. “I suppose we’d better help Aviva formulate a plan, then. You said her odds are next to nothing.”

  “You’re no help,” Genevieve mutters as she accepts the tea Hannabelle offers her.

  Hannabelle pours another cup and passes it to me. “I’m simply waiting to hear all of the information before I make any declarations about how stupid the idea is.”

  I slump back in my chair. “Help me out, Jia. Tell me there’s a way to get me in and out of there in one piece.”

  Genevieve narrows her eyes at me over the edge of her teacup. I force my mind to go blank save for my focus on Jia as she pulls a woefully thin sheaf of papers from the bag at her feet. Whatever Genevieve’s suspicious about, I’m not about to let her go digging around in my thoughts for answers if I can prevent it.

  “This is everything Xavier was able to find for you. It’s not much. Any files of much importance are well protected in Maelstrom’s computer system, or—”

  “Or under a giant bird.” Hannabelle shudders.

  Jia gives her an odd look. “Sure. Anyway, the Agonites keep our own records of what we learn from vampires who join us, but we haven’t had anyone come from Tempest for decades. Either they’re getting better at choosing humans who will become more powerful vampires when they’re turned, or better at taking care of potential deserters. It’s not like they were flooding out before, anyway. Most vampires who swear loyalty there seem content to stay.” She slides the papers toward me.

  “Long story short?” I ask.

  Jia takes a sip of her scalding hot tea and the void pulses in her, noticeable in the moment when her finely tuned reaction to pain allows her to draw on it more fully. “It’s rare for vampires to move permanently from one clan to another, but it happens. Rarer still for them to go anywhere with the kind of attitude Tempest has toward outsiders. You’ll need to go in expecting to find yourself at the bottom of the heap. Tell them you were banished—it’s the most plausible reason for leaving a clan. Offer your services wherever they need you. Choosing an alias will be essential.” Jia sets her cup down and waves off Hannabelle’s offer to refill it. “I should be going. The thing is, Aviva, that the bottom of the heap’s going to be a difficult position to gather information from unless the whole clan is mobilizing for an invasion.”

  “Which they could be.”

  Jia stands and puts her coat on. “I won’t say we can hope for that, but at least you might be able to tell us if they are. That is, if they don’t execute or imprison you straight away.”

  “Right. Great.” I rest my forehead in my hands.

  She squeezes my shoulder tight. “No one would blame you for not going, no matter what happens in the end. If you do, though, there are a few maps there that might be of interest to you.” She pauses. “I hope we’ll see each other again.”

  A cold gust of wind blows over us as she opens the door. I have goosebumps even after she’s closed it behind her.

  I can still feel Genevieve watching me. Slowly and deliberately I let an image form front and centre in my mind—a fist, clenched fingers pointed upward, middle finger slowly extending.

  “Well, then,” she mutters.

  “Prying is a dirty trick.” I look up at her. “Just ask me.”

  “I simply didn’t want to do it in front of Jia. We hardly know her.” Genevieve flips her hair back over one shoulder. “Fine, then. Tell me why you’re really going.”

  “For fuck’s sake. Saving Maelstrom isn’t enough?”

  Hannabelle answers for me. “No.”

  Genevieve and I both turn to her, surprised. She sips her tea primly. “One doesn’t need to be a mind reader to see that this goes deeper than thwarting Tempest’s plans. You’re grasping at straws, desperate for a way to get in there even if you have little chance of success on that front. This is about Daniel, isn’t it?”

  My mouth goes dry, and I take a long gulp of tea to buy myself a few seconds before I have to answer. “Would it be wrong if I hoped to find him while I was there?”

  The two older vampires exchange a glance. I hate when they do that. They might not always have been friends, but spending decades cooped up in an old house together means they understand each other on a level that goes right over my head.

  “Hope is fine,” Genevieve says, her voice gentler than it was before. “My concern is what happens if that hope is dashed, especially if it’s all that’s driving you.”

  “It’s not my only reason for going.” My fingers tighten around my mug. “But Bethany said they hadn’t executed everyone. I have to believe—”

  Genevieve’s eyes turn sharp. “There. You have to believe. Your hope, your belief that Daniel is there waiting to be set free is what’s driving you to risk everything by going to Tempest instead of fleeing elsewhere as any sane vampire would in your position.”

  “So what?” My voice is rising. I don’t care. “It’s not like rescue missions are unheard of. Someone went to get Lucille after she was captured.”

 
“And you saw what happened to her.” Genevieve looks down at her hands. “They broke her mind. She didn’t even recognize her allies when they came for her.” When she looks back up, her eyes shine with emotion I didn’t know she was capable of. “You met her after she’d had decades to lose herself in her fantasy world. You weren’t there for the nights she spent terrified that they would come for her again. You didn’t hear what they...” She presses her lips together and pours two more cups of tea.

  Hannabelle nods. “Lucille saved me in a lot of ways. I’m glad she survived. I miss her now that she’s gone. But I understood when she said she wished they’d left her to—”

  “Don’t.” Headlights flash through the window, and I shove my chair back, glad for a reason to step away from the table. It’s only Imogen. No cause for alarm. Still, I don’t return to my seat. “Daniel’s strong. He won’t break, no matter what they do to him.”

  Yet I can’t help thinking of Penelope, an Agonite who held on to her mind through unbearable torture because she’d learned to use pain to make her strong. Our bodies heal so readily. I can’t imagine what she went through that left her as twisted and physically broken as she is now.

  Even if I find Daniel, what will have become of him?

  I sigh. “I let him go alone. I pushed him away because I thought we’d both be safer that way.” I turn and glare over my shoulder at Genevieve. “On your advice, come to think of it.”

  She doesn’t look the slightest bit remorseful. “Good advice, darling. If you’d gone with him and they’d spotted any kind of connection, they would have used it against you. And they would have known. You were never good at hiding what was between you.”

  “You might find him,” Hannabelle says, “but there may not be any way to bring back the same vampire who left the island. What of your mission, then?”