Visci (Soul Cavern Series Book 2)

by Venessa Giunta

  Will didn’t meet her gaze.

  Mecca sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty.”

  He turned toward her. “This is going to change you. I want you to be sure.”

  Her heart pounded in her ears. “Hayden changed me when he attacked me in the parking lot. Emilia changed me when she kidnapped me from campus.” Mecca heard her voice rising in pitch but couldn’t control it. “If she had left me alone, I’d be worrying about midterms right now.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m already changed.”

  Will didn’t answer at once but didn’t look away either, his eyes bright as he held her gaze. Finally, he sighed. “All right. Let’s get it over with.”

  The bar was a dive. Let’s get that right. Hazy smoke hung above her head, grey in the dim light of the room. All the scents you’d expect to be in the air—stale beer, grimy sweat, and the sour smell of desperation—had made an appearance.

  The man stood right where Will said he’d be, alongside the bar. Smoothing her top again to cut her nerves, she set out with her best saunter in his direction. She’d only gotten halfway there when he stood and pushed through the crowd, moving away from her. She cursed under her breath and followed, trying not to be obvious.

  He disappeared into the men’s room.

  “Dammit.” Of fucking course.

  Mecca changed direction and found a spot near a pillar where she could see the bathroom door. Bodies crowded in around her, the scent of beer and aftershave heavy in her nose.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” The voice came from over her shoulder. When she glanced back, a man at least twice her age—maybe three times—shifted his gaze from her ass to her eyes.

  Gross. “No, thanks. I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” She returned her attention to the bathroom door. It hadn’t opened.

  “He lets you out in that?” The guy smirked, his thick lips curling up into a leering grin.

  “Seriously, if that’s your best line, you need to fast forward into the current century.”

  He scowled. “Bitch.”

  “Yeah. Now go on.”

  He groused under his breath but went away. She was glad he hadn’t made a scene. She didn’t want that sort of attention.

  When she brought her own attention back to the bathroom, the men’s door was swinging shut and a tall figure slipped into the crowd. As she watched him move away and toward the door, she recognized his walk. She looked back at the bathroom door. It remained closed.

  “Oh no. No, no, no.” Mecca rushed after the retreating figure, shoving her way through the crowded bar. Her leg throbbed. She stopped treating it carefully, limping as she rushed to follow.

  She broke through the crowd and out the door into the cold night air. Her breath steamed in front of her, and cool air iced her lungs.

  “Dad!”

  He turned, and her heart sank. It was him.

  “Mecca.” He looked up and down the street. “What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like a hooker?” He hurried to her.

  “You killed him, didn’t you?” She barely kept her voice a whisper. Past his shoulder, she saw Will jogging toward them from the car.

  The wide-eyed, open mouthed expression on her father’s face would have been funny if the situation weren’t so dire. The shift from surprise to anguish happened so quickly, Mecca almost didn’t track it.

  He took a step toward her and reached out a hand. “Mecca, I’m glad—”

  Moving out of his reach, she said, “Why were you even here? How did you know who he—” She looked from her dad to Will, who’d just made it to them, and back to her dad.

  Things clicked into place. Only one reason he’d be here. Why he’d kill the Visci in the bathroom.

  “Claude?” She stared at Will, who lifted one shoulder but gave a single nod of agreement. She looked into her dad’s eyes. “You’re working for him.”

  He kept her gaze but didn’t respond.

  “That’s why Claude’s left me alone, because you took my place. You’re his assassin.”

  The defeat on her father’s face, in his posture, left her confused. She wanted to hug him. She couldn’t. But she wanted to. He was still a liar, though. And a killer.

  “It’s the only way for you to live your life safely,” he said, his voice quiet, resigned.

  She scoffed and shook her head. How did he not get it? “I’ll never be safe as long as he’s alive. Neither will you or Gramps or Uncle Ken.”

  “I’m not worried about us. You’re the one who’s important.”

  “I can’t believe you’re killing for him.” She gave an exasperated snort. “I don’t know why I can’t believe it,” she said, only half under her breath.

  “What were you doing in there?” He took a step forward, reached out and fingered the strap of her camisole. “And looking like that?”

  She jerked away. “It’s not your business what I’m doing. Or how I dress.”

  “Mecca, come on,” he said. “Can we talk? Please?”

  “No.” The word came out louder than she’d intended, but she was so angry.

  “I think we need to move this off the street,” Will said, stepping between them.

  “No,” Mecca said, getting her tone under control. “We’re done here.” She gathered her anger and leveled her gaze at her father. “I will kill him.” She didn’t bother to name who she spoke about. Her dad would get it. “And every one of them I can find.” The thought of Jenny came to her, but she locked it away. “You can warn him or not. I don’t care. But as long as you’re his pawn, I don’t ever want to see or speak to you.”

  She spun on her heel and winced as sharp electric pulses arced up her leg. But she didn’t stumble. There was that.

  When Will opened the driver’s side door, she was already sitting in the passenger seat, fuming. She didn’t look up as he slid in.

  “You shouldn’t be so angry at him.”

  “Please just start the car. I’m freezing.”

  The motor hummed to life, and Mecca pointed all the heater vents toward her. She thanked the car gods that the engine was still warm.

  “He said he had information you needed to know.”

  “I don’t care. Wait. You were talking to him?” Anxiety spiked through her gut. What would she do if Will took her dad’s side? The thought freaked her out more than she wanted to admit.

  “He told me as I left after you. That’s all he said.” He touched her elbow. “He’s only trying to protect you.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I only want you to help me keep my promise. I want to kill them all.”

  “All of them?”

  When she looked at him, she could tell he hadn’t pushed the thought of Jenny aside. “Shut up and drive, would you?”

  As Mecca parked in the dorm lot, her phone buzzed. She glanced at it as she got out, the ache in her leg much more pronounced than it’d been earlier. She’d definitely overdone it. Not that she’d ever admit that, though.

  Dad: I’m sorry. Please call me. There’s something you *need* to know.

  “Jesus,” she said under her breath as she turned off the screen and shoved the phone in her pocket. They took two steps from the car, and she stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Will asked.

  She grabbed onto his shoulder for balance and pulled her shoes off one after the other. “Nothing. Just need to get these off.” The asphalt chilled the bottoms of her feet.

  He narrowed his eyes at her as she straightened. “How is your leg?”

  “It’s fine.” It really wasn’t. The throb had gotten worse and worse during the ride home.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if you do or not. Let’s go.”

  The hall was relatively quiet as they made their way down. Rock music blare from behind one door. A tall blond guy, towel wrapped around his waist, came out of the men’s shower at the end of the hall. Mecca ignored it all.

  When they got to the room,
her dorm-mate, Josie, sat on her bed with two books and a bunch of papers spread around her. She looked up as Mecca limped in, shoes in one hand, keys in the other.

  Josie tilted her head a bit as she looked Mecca’s outfit up and down. Finally, she said, “You okay?”

  Mecca nodded and threw the shoes into her closet. Will followed in behind.

  Josie scrambled out of her academic nest and looked at him. “Hey, can you give us a minute?”

  Will didn’t hesitate. “Yes. No problem. I want to get something from the snack machine, anyway.”

  He wasn’t going to get anything from the snack machine. He hated junk food. But she watched him go and close the door behind him. When she looked back to Josie, her friend stared back with an expression that told Mecca they were going to have The Talk.

  “I didn’t mind Will crashing here for a couple days, especially right after you got out of the hospital,” she began.

  Mecca dropped onto her own bed and sighed. Here it comes.

  “But, Mec, he can’t stay here.”

  “I know.”

  “He’s a nice guy and all, and I get that you like him—”

  “What?” Her toes curled, and she wrinkled her nose as heat flushed her skin. “I don’t like him. Not like that.”

  Josie rolled her eyes. “Right. Okay, whatever. That doesn’t actually matter. What matters is that he can’t stay.”

  “Fine.”

  “The room isn’t even big enough.”

  Mecca pulled herself up with the foot of the bed frame and went to her closet. “I said fine. We’ll be out tomorrow.” She grabbed a duffel from the floor and tossed it on her bed.

  “What do you mean ‘we’?”

  “Exactly what I said.” She started throwing clothes into the bag. “We’ll find somewhere else to stay. You can have the room to yourself, since it’s so small.” Mecca understood she was being melodramatic and unreasonable, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop what came out of her mouth right now. She didn’t have the energy to try.

  Josie sighed this time and shook her head. “That is not what I meant at all, and you know it.”

  Mecca lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

  “So you don’t like him ‘like that’”—she even did the air quotes; Mecca saw it out of the corner of her eye—“but you’re moving out because he can’t stay here. Yet you don’t like him.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Josie grabbed Mecca’s arm and turned her until Mecca had to meet her friend’s gaze. The green eyes staring at her had an intensity she’d never seen in them before. “Well, tell me. I want to understand whatever it is you’re going through.”

  Tears burned her eyes, and she clenched her jaw. God, she hated this… Angry one second, crying the next.

  She blinked back her tears and stared at Josie, trying to get control of her emotions.

  Josie had lent Mecca her car when Mecca had escaped from Emilia. She had asked no questions when Mecca had begged her not to. Mecca wanted to share with her so very badly. Josie had been her best friend on campus since Jenny had gone to an Ivy League college in the northeast and on to London this semester.

  But telling her roommate would only put her in danger. Mecca did not want that. So she shook her head and steadied her voice. “I can’t.”

  Josie glared at her for a long moment and then shook her own head. “No. You can. You just won’t. I don’t know what your deal is, but I don’t understand you anymore.” She returned to her bed and crawled back among her notes.

  Mecca hung her head, all the fight drained out of her.

  “Go do what you want,” Josie said, her voice thick. “But he can’t be here anymore.”

  Mecca looked at the mess of the duffel, fabric spilling out. Then she left the room.

  Chapter Twelve: Claude

  The girl laid on the bed, studying him as he buttoned his shirt. Claude ignored her. He ran a finger over his lips and found blood, so he slid his handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped his mouth. He’d moved the girl into the compound a few days after Mecca had killed Emilia. It was easier to keep her on hand.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said, her voice low.

  Claude paused for only a moment before he turned and gave her a smile. She still stared at him with fearful eyes, but as he approached, smiling, her expression shifted slowly, becoming tentatively hopeful. Her hand fluttered to the place at her neck. His place.

  “That is lovely, my dear. We will need to make sure you’re perfectly healthy. I will send my doctor to you.”

  “You’re happy?” She sat up, the fabric slipping to reveal a tanned breast.

  He dropped to sit beside her and laid his hand on her sheet-covered thigh. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be happy?”

  A relieved sigh slipped from her lips. “Thank God. I was worried.”

  He patted her leg and stood. “Nothing to worry about, my lovely. Now, I must run, as I am late for a meeting. I will take care of everything. Do not worry.”

  He left her smiling behind him.

  Salas met him in the hall.

  “Get Trieste. She’s with child.”

  Salas nodded solemnly. If he had questions as to why Trieste should see the girl, he didn’t ask. Claude doubted he had questions. Claude would never tolerate a half-breed child. They waited for the lift.

  “Your video call with Carolyn Barron is in ten minutes. I’ve set up your laptop in the sitting room.”

  “Very good.”

  Salas left him at the door to his rooms.

  He’d been true to his word. The laptop was ready for him at his writing table, flanked by a cup of tea. It would have honey and not sugar, of course. He settled into his seat, woke the computer, and had just taken a sip of the slightly cooled tea when Carolyn Barron rang.

  “Good afternoon,” he said after the video call connected.

  “Hello, Claude.” She sat in a modern-looking kitchen, with stainless steel appliances and marble counter tops. “Thank you for taking my call.”

  He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “It is my pleasure my queen.”

  Carolyn waved a hand. “That is unnecessary.”

  “As you say. Have you found the information you were looking for on Emilia’s computer?”

  The slight pause before she spoke interested him, but Claude wasn’t sure what it meant.

  “Yes, things are on course. But I have a question for you.”

  He nodded. “Go on, please.”

  “I want to know who controls the police department. Who’s calling the shots?”

  “I believe it was Emilia herself.”

  “Certainly someone has taken over.”

  He watched her carefully. “Yes, I imagine so.”

  “I’m surprised that you don’t know who it is, Claude.”

  “Things have been chaotic since Emilia…” He let the sentence trail.

  “Indeed,” she said, her eyes narrow. “You have your finger on the pulse of any city you’re in. Particularly when in a position as you are now.”

  She was digging. “I assure you, my queen, my lack of knowledge is only because of the circumstance. You wish me to find this out for you?”

  “I do.”

  “Very well. I shall discover what I can.”

  “Quickly, please, Claude.”

  “As you wish, my queen.”

  She gave him a curt nod and closed the call.

  Chapter Thirteen: Jenny

  “He looks much younger than I expected,” Jenny said, as she stepped over to where her mom sat in front of her laptop in the kitchen.

  “Yes. His family has the gift of youth. Some bloodlines have that. It is both a blessing and a curse.”

  “How old is he?”

  “We are the same age.”

  “Wow. He looks like he’s in high school.” And her mom looked like a soccer mom in her early thirties, though her real age numbered in the hundreds.

  “Yeah. But I wanted you to see
him so you recognize him. Just in case…”

  “In case? You think he might, what? Try to do something to me?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. He is hard to anticipate. But at least you know what he looks like now.”

  Jenny nodded, still not sure what she would do with that information. “Do you believe Claude is running the police department?”

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

  “But he wouldn’t tell you if he was.”

  “No. He’ll deflect, redirect.”

  “You don’t expect to get a real answer out of him, do you?”

  Her mom smiled at her. “The rule to dealing with Visci, especially those with power, is ‘don’t trust, and always verify.’”

  Jenny nodded, considering. She tilted her head toward the computer. “So you’re going to talk to the Council?”

  “I want to get with them individually. If I’m going to come back in, I need to understand the field I’m entering.”

  She’d never seen her mom’s eyes so bright and full of life—excitement, even. Definitely not since her dad died, but maybe even before.

  “You’ve missed it, haven’t you?”

  Her mother looked startled for a moment and considered this before answering. “I suppose a part of me has missed it, yes.” She reached out and squeezed Jenny’s forearm. “But I would make the same decision. I was so much happier when I wasn’t around”—she waved a hand toward the computer—“all this.”

  Jenny nodded as her phone buzzed in her pocket.

  Helen: See you at 1.

  Jenny texted back, “Looking forward to it!” To her mom, she said, “I have lunch plans and after, I’m going to visit Mecca for a bit, but I can stay around for a while, if you want.” She’d been surprised that Mecca had reached out to her. Surprised, but relieved.

  “I’ve been trying to give you space, so I haven’t asked til now. Have you and Mecca talked about…things?”