The Turned

by A A Mize

  Sophie had only peeked into his study before, but she hadn’t gotten a good look at it that night. Now, as she passed through it, the room seemed so very much like Rowan. There were walls lined with books and small paintings. The desk was obviously an antique, old and scarred from years of use but still beautiful in its ornate craftsmanship. A small couch sat along the wall between the door and a big window with dark curtains pulled tight.

  Sophie’s hand clenched into a fist when she saw the couch remembering that not long ago Yvette had stayed the night.

  “Be careful out there. Don’t talk to anyone and if lights on the street start to go out—” Rowan stopped, noting the look of concern on Sophie’s face. “Just call me.” He finished before remembering that they hadn’t exchanged numbers. “Where’s your phone?” he almost demanded, holding out a slender hand until she placed her smart phone in it. He quickly added himself as a contact and returned the phone before striding from the room without another word.

  Sophie stood still, almost in shock, as she heard Rowan descend the stairs and leave the house. The silence that followed him made her ears ring, but all she could do was stare at her hands, phone in one and envelope in the other. Again, Rowan’s behavior toward her had changed and she was stuck in another loop of wondering if he really cared, or if he just needed her to run his errands for him.

  There was no time to think about it. She left the study, collected Rowan’s bike, and began her trek across the Quarter to Artashir’s bar. But not before almost killing herself by hitting a break in the pavement she didn’t see. For a moment she had sat on the sidewalk removing bits of debris from her bleeding palms, passersby asking if she was alright. Of course, it was minor, but it was embarrassing. It didn’t take long for her to realize that although Rowan was trying to be helpful in lending her the bicycle, it was more trouble than it was worth.

  She turned the corner and stood up on the pedals, letting the momentum carry her down the dark street. The neon lights that had illuminated the small bar the last time she had been there were turned off, allowing shadows from the buildings around it to plunge the doorway into total darkness. Sophie kept her eyes on the door as she locked up Rowan’s bike. A couple of men could be seen walking her way, faceless figures in the dark, feeding the uneasy feeling in her stomach.

  “What’re you doin’ around here, missy?” The condescending voice behind her caught her off guard, making her jump. She swung around to face Artashir’s bouncer, who was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes shining mischievously. He was obviously proud of himself for frightening her.

  “I was just bringing something to Artashir,” she replied, resisting the urge to step back. This man, like Artashir, did nothing to hide his fangs. But whereas Artashir was a great hulking lion of a man, this creature that stood before her was more like a snake. “From Rowan,” she added, hoping his name would stop the bouncer from looking at her like a piece of meat.

  It seemed to work. His grin faded, and he stopped his descent on her, mere inches from her face. Disdain flashed in his eyes and his grin turned into a grimace. The bouncer huffed through his thin nose, eying Sophie again, this time as a piece of trash.

  “Fine. Go on in.” The bouncer said, shrinking back into the shadows, his attentions turned to the men that had just passed. Sophie wondered if he was going to feed from them. She quickly entered the little bar, suddenly far more anxious about being outside with the creepy bouncer than inside with Artashir.

  “Artashir?” Sophie called into the empty space, her voice coming out barely above a whisper. Realizing her tone, she cleared her throat and called to him again, “Artashir?”

  She closed the door behind her, plunging herself into darkness. Sophie grasped the strap of her messenger bag more tightly, needing something, anything, to keep her from running away. She had met Artashir before a couple of times before and although his size was impressive, intimidating even, she couldn’t say she felt any sort of threat from him. Still, he was a stranger and she couldn’t help but become anxious when approaching strangers.

  Across the gloomy bar, Sophie could hear someone stirring in the back room, the movement seemed slight but the beads in the doorway clacked together as if a hand drew across them. Sophie paused, then forced another step forward as a dark form appeared from the other side, yellow eyes glowing from the shadows.

  “What do you want?” a voice grumbled, the eyes blinked, but no move was made for the figure to emerge from the back room. The beads shuttered at his voice and Sophie didn’t have to see his face to know it was Artashir.

  “Rowan sent me. He said that a formal statement was needed from you about what happened last night,” Sophie stammered, pulling the manila envelope from her bag with shaky hands.

  “Why didn’t he come himself?” Artashir’s eyes narrowed and Sophie could tell he was suspicious of her, although she wasn’t certain why. The energy in the room felt heavier with his gaze, as if a great weight was suddenly dropped on her shoulders.

  “He had to work tonight, and he needed to feed before going in. It was unavoidable, but he sends his regards,” Sophie said. She shifted her weight nervously, her hand still extended, offering the papers but unwilling to move any closer.

  The seconds that passed seemed an eternity but when Artashir finally stepped out of his back room, Sophie could feel a noticeable shift in the air. It seemed lighter, more relaxed and she found her shoulders no longer felt the heavy weight of tension. A look of confusion must have crossed her face because as he took the envelope from her, he spoke.

  “I’m an empath,” he stated plainly, golden eyes scanning the papers Rowan had sent to him. When Sophie’s look of confusion deepened, Artashir only sighed heavily and set a glass on the bar for her. “Rowan hasn’t explained much to you, has he?”

  “No. He hasn’t.”

  The beads in his dreads clacking as he shook his head, but Sophie was certain she saw a faint smile curve the corners of his lips. With a sideways glance, he looked her up and down and poured some Amaretto and Coke into the glass. “You smell like you like sweets,” was his only explanation.

  “I smell like I like sweets?”

  “Turned have an excellent sense of smell. We can smell your blood without spilling a drop. Helps when we hunt. Or make drinks. So, I’m right? About the sweets?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Thanks,” Sophie said, thrown off by the casual conversation. Slowly, she slipped up onto a barstool and took a sip. “He’s given me a basic rundown of abilities, but he hasn’t gone too in depth about it. I guess there’s too much to say and too much I can’t know.”

  It had been a two-sided coin, getting close to Rowan and Matthias. On one hand, they were mysterious and there was always in intrigue with that sort. The more she came to know them, know about the Turned, the more she felt she was in on some big secret and that somehow, she shared it with them. The secret was big, but it was also the other side of that coin. Because of what they were, because of their secret, her life would never quite merge with theirs. It was confusing to think she had a strong tie to them because of it, and yet she was just as far away from really connecting with them.

  “I don’t think it’s that. Our abilities aren’t necessarily guarded information, but not much is known about them. The Elders keep a master list of abilities but no one outside of them knows the extent of what we’re capable of. He probably didn’t get too in depth because it’s always annoyed him that we can’t even know what abilities are available to us and talking about it ticks him off,” Artashir laughed. “Anyway, I’m sure he told you that some are easy and can be learned by just about anyone, some are incredibly difficult, and some things we just know naturally. Born with it. Rowan is a mind reader. He didn’t have to try for it, just happened that way. I’m an empath. I can’t read your mind, but I can tell how you feel. Feel it, smell it in the air. I can alter how you feel, too.”

  Sophie nodded slowly in understanding. It made sense now, as to why she could p
hysically feel the atmosphere change around him sometimes. “And Matthias? What’s his ability?”

  Artashir leaned against the bar, scratching his short beard in contemplation. “Matthias is a special one. He was born able to shape-shift, but he was...well, he was shit at it. It’s not often that we’re bad at what we’re born as, but Matthias was the worst I’ve ever seen. Got stuck in the form of a cat for a week once. Never shifted again after that. Can’t say I blame him. Turns out he was damn good at something far more difficult. And dangerous,” he explained, his tone growing darker.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Matthias can put a physical strain on other people’s brains. It’s like he reaches out with his mind and crushes it. I don’t guess you saw Azazel’s body? He was bleeding from his ears, nose, eyes, and mouth. His brain was basically Jell-O.” Astashir rubbed the back of his neck.

  Sophie didn’t know how to respond. Her hand tightened around her glass. She could still clearly remember the night that Matthias had returned home in terrible shape, claiming that someone had attacked him. It was difficult to imagine that Matthias was capable of such a thing, but Artashir had no reason to lie.

  “How is Rowan?” Artashir asked, changing the subject.

  “Not good. He’s very cold to the touch and I can tell he’s exhausted.”

  “What color are his eyes?”

  “What?”

  “His eyes. What color are they?” Artashir repeated, pointing to his own golden orbs.

  “Well...this might sound crazy, but I could almost swear they looked a little gray earlier.”

  Artashir stood back away from her, his hands still rooted firmly on the bar. The man shook his head and Sophie could tell he was concerned. “He needs to feed. In a bad way.”

  “Why? What’s wrong?” Sophie asked, a pit of unease growing in her stomach.

  “Our eyes turn colors sometimes. Red when we’re angry and gray when we’ve not fed enough. The lighter gray they are, the closer to death. I don’t like that he has gone so long. Someone out there is after him, and Matthias, too. If they catch Rowan off guard while he’s in this state, he won’t stand much of a chance.”

  Artashir was worried for his Leader and as Sophie watched the man as he filled out the paperwork, she realized there was nothing to be afraid of. Artashir was a kind soul down deep and she was glad she had the chance to meet with him one-on-one.

  It didn’t take him long to finish the paperwork and after he gave it one final glance over, he slipped it back into the envelope and showed Sophie to the door.

  “Take this straight home and lock the doors. Whoever is out there might see you as a way to get to Rowan. Keep your head down, and don’t talk to anyone,” he warned, opening the door for her. “You can deliver it for Rowan after the sun rises, but it’s not safe for you to set foot outside before then.”

  Sophie took a tentative step outside, eyes scanning the area for the bouncer only to realize that not only was he gone, but so was Rowan’s bicycle.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sophie groaned. “Someone stole Rowan’s bike.”

  “Useless bouncer,” Artashir mumbled under his breath, looking around for the snakelike man. “People ’round here get crafty with those bike locks.” He shook his great head, beads clacking, and for a moment, Sophie thought she saw a smile play on the man’s lips. He was amused.

  “Yeah, so I’ve heard,” Sophie replied dryly.

  “C’mon. I’ll walk you home.”

  39

  Closing time finally came to the little Thai restaurant just outside of the Quarter, but work had been far from over. The kitchen staff under Rowan knew he kept a meticulous kitchen and cleaning was a nightly routine for them. He would likely never set foot in that kitchen again but he wanted it to be perfect when he left.

  Rowan leaned back against the stove, drying his hands on a dish towel before tossing it into the laundry bin. He took a deep breath, viewing the neatly cleaned kitchen before him with satisfaction. The others that worked with him waited patiently for him to dismiss them, as they did every night. He finally gave a wave of his hand and the room breathed again, humans talking to one another, funneling toward the door.

  Rowan removed his chef’s hat and placed it on a hook, nimble fingers pulling his hair from its bun and retying it closer to the nape of his neck. Taking one last look at the kitchen, Rowan picked up the bag of food he had set aside for Sophie and turned to leave when a figure caught his eye in the doorway.

  “Yvette,” he froze, completely unprepared to see her again. Immediately, she took hold of his mind and he dropped Sophie’s food.

  “Hello, my dearest Rowan,” she replied, the twinkle in her eyes and sly smirk giving away her amusement at his reaction. Her honey blonde hair fell across her bare shoulders in soft, perfect curls. Ruby-red lips matched the hue of her slinky backless dress. Long, elegant legs took a step toward him and he instinctively took a step back, right into the counter.

  “Get out,” he demanded, but his voice was not convincing. There was no rage in his heart to force her out and although he had a small meal before work, it hadn’t been enough to strengthen him. The long night and his need for more sustenance had weakened his countenance. Not that he had much of a chance against her when he was stronger.

  “You don’t really want that. Stop pretending,” she cooed, pressing herself against him. A painted red fingernail dragged down his lips, throat, to the first button of his chef’s coat. He was speechless, teeth gritted, hands gripping the edge of the countertop.

  “I always loved it when you wore these coats,” she continued.

  “Why are you here? Why can’t you leave me in peace?” Rowan looked up to the ceiling, hoping the break from her form would help him retake control of himself. Instead, he felt her pop open the first button and visions of them together came flooding back. Her teeth on his neck. The sharing of their blood. It was what gave her the power over him and he regretted it.

  “I want you to be mine again, Rowan. Don’t you remember how you used to love me? We traveled the world together. You saved me from what I was,” she replied, kissing his neck.

  He could feel the smile in her voice and he knew she was relishing making him squirm. Another button undone, and she stopped, sliding her fingers under the chain of his necklace.

  “What is this, then?” Yvette asked, pulling the pendant away from his chest. “I don’t recall seeing this before.”

  “That is none of your concern. And don’t pretend to be here because you want me back. You might want something I have, but you will never want me,” he said bitterly.

  Yvette watched his face, using her influence to force him to look at her. She let the pendant slip from her grasp, eyes narrowing. “Why must you be so cynical, Rowan? I’ve always loved you. From the moment I laid eyes on you. Don’t you remember? You loved me back then, too. If I recall correctly, you were quite taken by my beauty...and my rebellious nature.” She smirked, her fangs grazing her lip.

  “I remember. But you aren’t the same person anymore. The girl I loved is long gone. So, tell me, what do you want?”

  “I want to come home, Rowan. My vengeance is complete. The descendants of the men who hurt me are all dead and their fortunes are mine. I want to come home to you. I have money and freedom from my bitter past. We can do whatever we want. We can stay in New Orleans, or we can go back to my place in New York. You could run a nice, big territory there and we can live happily for the rest of eternity,” she explained sweetly, brushing a loose strand of hair from his face, just as Sophie had done when he showed her what it was like to be Turned.

  Rowan grabbed Yvette’s wrist, the surprise in her eyes mirrored what he felt in his heart. Somehow, thinking of the simple gesture from Sophie helped him beat Yvette.

  “Don’t be so cruel, my love. Let me come home, Rowan,” she pleaded, tears filling her pale blue eyes.

  The sight of her tears brought memories rushing back of a time when
she was his lover and it rent his heart in two, although a part of him deep down knew it was all a ruse to get him to pity her. The power she held over him was overbearing and he found himself unable to refuse her, again. Wordlessly, he wiped away a tear, as if his hand moved on its own accord.

  “Fine. I’ll allow it. For now. Don’t make me regret it.” Whose words were those? They didn’t belong to him, did they?

  The smile on her face confirmed as much but it seemed as though the words came from thin air and not from his mouth. She kissed his lips, taking a sweet bite at his lip ring before retreating from him. “Thank you, Rowan, my love, my beloved one. I’ll be around later with my things. I will be better. I’ll make us better.” Yvette blew him one more kiss and departed the kitchen.

  Rowan shook all over once she left and he could physically feel her hold on him recede as she walked away. What had he done? He had allowed her to return to his home after what she had done to Sophie. How could he ever explain it to her now? Anger and disappointment at his own weakness took over and he struck out at the brick wall, black blood trickled from his hand into the new crack he had made in the bricks. The bones of his hand cracked and popped and he knew he had broken a few. It hardly mattered. It would heal soon enough, but what about Sophie? He was powerless against Yvette. No matter how much he hated that fact, there was nothing he could do to change it. Sophie had to leave. He had to keep her safe, even if that meant she had to leave earlier than he anticipated.

  Wrapping his hand with a clean dishtowel, Rowan pulled out his cell phone and called Matthias.

  “Yo?” the voice came from the other end.

  “Matthias, I need you and Sophie to meet me under the Singing Oak in City Park in an hour. I fear there is some bad news.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Rowan replied bitterly, looking at the splotches of black blood dotting the surface of the white dishtowel. “I need to feed first, and then I’ll be on the way. Don’t tell Sophie the nature of this meeting. I don’t want her to worry.”