Visci (Soul Cavern Series Book 2)

by Venessa Giunta

  He gave her his most welcoming smile and stood. “Good evening, Carolyn. Lovely to see you, as always.”

  The little incline of her head reminded him of her as a young woman, when he’d been a child. He’d always admired her.

  “Good evening, Claude.”

  “What brings you here? I admit that I hadn’t expected you for another day or two.”

  “I wanted to sit down with you and get a report on…the state of the city, I suppose.”

  “Right now? Tonight?” He certainly hadn’t anticipated this intense interest in her new role. Perhaps he’d underestimated her disinterest.

  She moved to the front of the chair and sat, leaning back as if she were more comfortable here, in Claude’s sitting room, than anywhere else. “Yes. Of course, I don’t expect a presentation of all details of all business. But an overview.”

  Ah yes, he had underestimated her. Indeed.

  Salas’s distinctly not-sharp knock came. Claude bid him enter, ignoring the fact that Carolyn watched him the entire time he watched Salas roll the coffee service into the room.

  When the manservant came around to where they sat, Carolyn said, “Hello, Salas.”

  Had he been a lesser man, Claude would have taken issue with the deep bow his man gave her. But Claude was not a lesser man. Salas showed this level of respect to her for him, for Claude.

  “Good evening, my lady,” he said as he arranged the coffee cups on the service tray.

  She chuckled. “I am no longer your lady.”

  He glanced at her as he raised the ceramic pot. “You will always be my lady, your highness.”

  Carolyn smiled, not at all flustered or self-conscious about his words. “Thank you, Salas.”

  “My lady.”

  They all remained silent as Salas poured, the gentle sound of liquid the only one in the room. When he’d finished, he looked to Carolyn. “Please enjoy the sweets and coffee, my lady.” He turned to Claude. “Will you require anything else, sire?”

  “No, Salas. You may go.”

  “Thank you, sire.” And he did go. Silently.

  Claude stood, went to the cart, and lifted both saucered cups. He extended one to Carolyn. “Sugar? Cream?” He hated these formalities with everything in his being, but they were required.

  “Thank you, no. Black is fine.”

  No sugar. How strange. In the past, she’d often used all of what was available. What other things had changed about her?

  “A sweet?” He offered the plate of cookies and tiny pastries for her inspection.

  “Again, no. But they look lovely. Thank you.”

  Claude added sugar to his own cup and sat back down. “I’m afraid I will not be much help to you with your interest in what is happening here in Atlanta. I only arrived a few weeks prior to Emilia’s…death. And, to be honest, I hadn’t bothered trying to get involved in the workings of this city.” He set his cup down and spread his hands. “I hadn’t planned to stay. Only passing through.”

  Carolyn nodded, but he knew her well enough to assume that she didn’t believe him. Or perhaps only partially believed him. “I see. Who would you have me speak with, then?”

  “I only know a few of those here, but I will make inquiries.” This was true. Mostly. He did have some idea of what had been happening. He’d been noting goings on in the city for several years, since he’d moved Trieste’s lab here. But he didn’t know who Emilia had kept in her confidence. That was something he’d been working on.

  “Thank you.” Now she set her own cup down, having only taken a sip or two of the very good Ethiopian blend coffee. “What have you heard of hybrids going missing?” Her emerald eyes sharpened as she waited for his reply.

  “Missing?” he repeated. “I admit that I know nothing along those lines. I imagine it has to do with the growing problems between full bloods and hybrids”—he was careful to use her term—“all around the globe. I’ve heard many, many stories the last few years.”

  She didn’t respond at once, only watched him. There was a slight pulse in a vein along her forehead that he recognized as her being under stress.

  “You’ve been gone for…a long while,” he said. “Where did you hear about hybrids going missing?”

  She leaned back against the leather. “It would surprise you how many come to me now that I’ve returned.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded and wondered if this would prove problematic. He hadn’t expected Carolyn to embrace the role she’d been given. He thought that she would have continued in her desire to be separate from them, but rule in name. His plans would likely need to shift a bit.

  “You’ll give me the contact information of someone I might speak with about the goings on here in Atlanta?”

  He inclined his head. “Of course.” He should have added some sort of honorific, but he had trouble bringing himself to adopt one with her. He never had when they’d been growing up, and even as adults, over the centuries, he hadn’t felt the need to use one. But now she was back in a position of power, and he should. Even if only to underscore his respect for her new position. But still, he didn’t.

  “I would also like to see where Emilia lived and worked.”

  He snapped his gaze to her. “That is…unusual. Why do you wish that?”

  Her expression had relaxed, and she looked both amused and in control. Claude didn’t like that expression at all.

  “Does it matter why I wish it, Claude?” The tic on her forehead had gone, and she folded her hands over her middle.

  “No. Of course, it is within your rights to access anything Emilia worked on.” He inclined his head. “For the city.”

  Her gaze narrowed but only slightly, and she stood. “I’d like to see where she worked now, if you don’t mind.”

  This power play was most unexpected. Perhaps that was how it was with Carolyn now. She was not doing things he thought she would do. He would need to reevaluate.

  He also rose. “As you wish, of course. Give me a moment, and I will get the key to her office.”

  They hadn’t spoken for most of the walk and the elevator ride down to the lower level. As Claude led her through the lush anteroom and into Emilia’s private office space, he said, “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  “No,” Carolyn said as she moved past him and into the room, her feet silent on the deep, wine-colored carpet.

  Her pace slowed as she surveyed the room: the modern, glass-topped desk in the center, wooden cabinets along the back wall, the old European furnishings. She approached the desk and surprised him by dropping into the chair behind it.

  Carolyn laid her hands flat on the surface and looked over to where he remained, near the entrance. “Where is the computer?”

  “In a lab, one flight up.”

  “Why?”

  “You can’t imagine Emilia shared her passwords with anyone, yes? We are trying to get into it. Probably for the same reason you’re asking where it is.” He smiled and hoped it looked sincere. He wasn’t lying. Not much, at least. It was in a lab. But the lab working on it was two floors up, not one. And it was his people working on it. He needed Carolyn with him for his plan to succeed though, so he would be as honest as he could.

  “I see. I would like it,” she said.

  Claude nodded.

  “Before you break into it.”

  “Before? You plan to get into it yourself?”

  “Do you forget who I am? What I’ve done?”

  Ahh. Claude had forgotten. In the early days of computers, when shoes were tall and collars impossibly wide, Carolyn had been involved with…several of the men behind their development. Claude had always suspected she’d had more of a hand in that industry than was widely known.

  “Things are different now,” he said. “Computers are different.”

  She nodded, as if he were a child. “I know. And I would like Emilia’s computer.”

  He tilted his head. “You don’t trust me?”

  She laughed. “Should
I trust you?”

  “I have always been on your side, Carolyn.”

  Claude couldn’t decide whether her lack of response meant she believed him or didn’t believe him. She opened the drawers of the desk, looking through items, folders, papers. Then she looked up at him again.

  “Are you going to get the computer?”

  She actually meant to send him on an errand. And he couldn’t think of a way to get out of it. So he gave her a short bow and stepped out of the room.

  Salas stood outside the door, tapping on his phone.

  “What are you doing?” Claude’s tone was sharper than he intended, but he didn’t care.

  “I received a text from the lab.” His voice was measured and soft. “They need another subject.”

  Claude frowned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “All right. Handle it. But first, stay here until I return. I want to know if she leaves this room.” Claude didn’t wait for an answer but strode down the hall.

  He had a damn computer to fetch.

  Chapter Eight: Jenny

  Jenny stood as still as possible and watched her best friend. Mecca didn’t seem able to meet her eyes; instead, she looked toward the floor, somewhere in the vicinity of the bed behind Jenny.

  She knew others of her kind, other Visci, had kidnapped Mecca, but Jenny didn’t realize that Mecca knew they were Visci. And she’d said they hadn’t physically hurt her. Jenny didn’t discount the trauma Mecca must have felt just by being taken though. What should she do?

  “How many people have you killed for their blood?” Mecca asked, finally looking at her. Anger shone out from her eyes.

  “What? None! Jesus, Mecca—”

  “Isn’t that how you live? By blood?” Her tone had gone nasty, dark. Cruel.

  Jenny had known this conversation would be weird, but this was getting crazy. “I don’t need to kill anyone to live. Do you?”

  Mecca broke their shared gaze and shoved past her, hobbling, but steady enough to ram into her arm.

  “I can’t fucking believe you’re one of them!” She grabbed her duffel bag and tried to hike it onto her shoulder, but her bad leg threw her off balance, and she tottered.

  Jenny rushed forward and steadied her. Mecca pushed her away, shifting the duffel to her hand. “Get off me!”

  “I’m not on you, Mecca.” Jenny stepped back. “Jesus, overreact much?”

  Mecca spun. “Overreact? Do you know what they did to me?”

  “No! I don’t know what they did to you because you won’t tell me!” She stared hard at Mecca, who didn’t respond, only looked back, tightness around her eyes. Jenny sighed and turned to the bed. She dropped onto it and looked up. “Can we please remember that we’re best friends and that we can tell each other anything?”

  Mecca curled her lip. “Can we?”

  “Yes,” Jenny said, ignoring the attitude. “I think we can. We both had big secrets, but they’re out in the open now. I think the only reason we wouldn’t be able to talk is by choice. So what’s your choice? Do you want to trust me? Do you want me to trust you?”

  “I can’t trust Visci.”

  “Christ, Mec, you know I’m the exact same person I was ten minutes ago, right? The same person I’ve always been?”

  Mecca said nothing, still standing there holding her duffel in one hand.

  “You are too, aren’t you? You being Jivaja—someone who could kill me in a moment—shouldn’t change who you are to me, should it?” That thought sent a chill down her spine. She hadn’t really equated what Noor did in London to what Mecca could do. Not really. The truth of her own words hit her like a sucker-punch to the gut, but she tried to keep it off her face.

  Mecca’s bag hit the floor with a muted thud.

  She had said the Visci hadn’t hurt her, yes, but Jenny couldn’t stop thinking about what they might have done. The venom in Mecca’s voice had been acidic, brutal. That sort of reaction never came from nothing.

  Jenny wasn’t sure that venom was gone yet.

  Mecca approached. “I have a problem now.”

  Jenny had been wrong. The venom was gone, replaced by such a cold, flat tone that she wasn’t sure how to interpret it. “What’s that?” She had no idea where this was going.

  “I’ve sworn to kill any Visci I find.” Mecca stared at her, eyes hard and flinty.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. “So, what? You’re going to kill me? Suck the life right out of my body here in the bedroom we’ve had dozens of sleepovers in?”

  Mecca’s expression remained stony for a moment. But then the struggle that must have been raging inside her slid across her face and through her eyes.

  Fear, anger, pain, uncertainty.

  She finally said, “No. Of course not.” She all but threw herself onto the bed beside Jenny. “I don’t understand any of this. I don’t know what I should do.” She met Jenny’s gaze, her eyes, the color of very strong tea, now earnest. “But they’re horrible, the other Visci. They murder people. How do I tell the difference?”

  “Is there ever a way to tell the difference between good people and bad people?”

  Neither of them had an answer.

  Mecca stared at her for a long moment before she pulled herself to standing, balancing on one leg. She took out her phone.

  “What are you doing?” Jenny asked, standing too.

  “Calling an Uber. I can’t stay here.”

  Mecca’s words punched her right in the gut. “What? No.”

  Mecca didn’t respond, but tapped her phone screen. “Six minutes.” She grabbed her duffel and limped to the corner where she’d tossed her crutches.

  Jenny only stared after her, watching as Mecca struggled with holding the duffel and using her crutches. She tried holding it in her hand as she grasped her right crutch, but the weight threw her off balance. She slung it over her shoulder, but when she leaned forward to move, the duffel tumbled and almost knocked the crutch from under her.

  Moving to help steady her, Jenny said, “Oh, give me that. I think you’re being stupid to just leave, but I will not let you fall down the stairs because you’re on crutches and are too stubborn to ask for help.” She took the duffel, as Mecca gave her a look.

  They said nothing as Mecca led down the stairs, one step at an excruciatingly slow time. When they got to the bottom, Jenny said, “Please don’t go.”

  Mecca didn’t quite meet her eyes. “I can’t stay here. You don’t understand.”

  “So explain it to me!” Jenny stepped toward her, but Mecca shuffled back.

  “Don’t. We can talk about this another time. But I can’t do it now.”

  “Mec—”

  “Jenny, seriously.” Now Mecca met her gaze with fierce eyes. “Don’t.”

  A dark blue, pristinely clean sedan pulled up outside and gave a short honk. Mecca’s gaze hadn’t left her, and Jenny struggled with her need for Mecca to stay. Finally, she sighed and opened the door, gesturing Mecca through.

  Chapter Nine: Mecca

  She’d held it together for the entire Uber ride. Will met her at the spot Jenny had picked her up. She’d had to text him because she obviously couldn’t carry her stupid duffel bag up to her stupid dorm because of the stupid crutches.

  Now, sitting safely on her bed in her quiet room—

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Will asked.

  “No.”

  He sat beside her on the bed. “Did you have a fight?”

  Mecca looked at him sidelong. “Didn’t I just say I don’t want to tell you what happened?”

  He gave her that lopsided grin of his. “Yes.”

  Will confused her. Some days, she didn’t care whether he was around or not. Some days, she missed him when he was gone. Though, admittedly that wasn’t often, because he wasn’t gone often. Ever since what had happened in the woods, Will had stuck right by her side. He hadn’t given her a good answer as to why, but Mecca realized, to her surprise, that she didn’t really care why. She just cared that he stay
ed.

  Mecca heaved a sigh, not sure whether she even wanted to tell him, let alone figuring out where to start. “We kind of had a fight. Not really. Well, sort of.”

  He didn’t say anything, only waited.

  “She’s Visci.”

  “Oh.”

  She jerked her gaze up to him. Was that surprise or nonchalance? She couldn’t tell.

  “This puts a crimp in the ‘kill all Visci’ plan, doesn’t it?”

  Was he being a smart ass? She couldn’t tell that either. She shimmied back until she came to the wall her bed was against. Her leg ached, and she stretched it out in front of her. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”

  “You’ll have to at least think about it though.” He turned sideways to look at her. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be—”

  “Aren’t you?” she asked. “Angry? They held you for…decades. Doesn’t that piss you off?”

  “It did, in the beginning, yes. I had a very short fuse and would clobber anyone human who looked at me the wrong way.”

  Clobber, she thought. Who uses that anymore?

  “But I got things from them too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you think I would have lived long enough to see the internet? Wireless technology? Gene therapy? Would I have even survived the Spanish Flu?”

  “So you forgive them because you can cruise porn for free?”

  “What? No.”

  Will looked aghast, and Mecca laughed. She couldn’t help it.

  With a shake of his head, he continued. “No. I don’t forgive them. But I don’t carry that anger around anymore. I wouldn’t be who I am without those years. And I never would have met you.”

  Scenes from every rom-com she’d ever seen flashed through her head. He wasn’t looking at her wistfully, no doe eyes. She really didn’t understand him.

  “Okay, well, they didn’t do any of that for me.” She narrowed her eyes. “And don’t you dare say that it was because I didn’t let them do what they wanted to do to me.”