Chosen (Page 44)
Frey's body jerks beside me and I'm instantly awake.
David is standing over us. "Hey. It's ten o'clock. Why don't you two get a room?"
Frey pulls his arm out from under my head, and we stumble to our feet.
David has gotten dressed. He has a jacket over his arm and keys in his hand.
"Where do you think you're going?" I ask. "You can't drive in your condition."
He frowns. "I feel fine. I'm going out for a drink. And I'm walking. Stop acting like my mother."
I look at Frey. If David talks with Tracey or Miranda, our story is blown. After tonight it may not matter, but I can only deal with one crisis at a time. Frey studies me, reads my expression like he used to read my thoughts. He straightens his shirt, draws his fingers through his hair, turns to David. "Would you like some company?"
I expect it; still his words produce a flare of panic. I wanted Frey with me. But he's not part of the vampire community. His presence would not be tolerated at best, met with violence at worst.
Once again, Frey is there to help me. He only needs to keep David occupied another few hours. After that, I'll deal with the fallout. If I'm still around.
David doesn't look thrilled with the idea. "I don't need a babysitter."
"Actually, I thought maybe you could tell me a little about Broncos' number four and that last trip to the Super Bowl."
David's brows lift. "You were a fan?"
"Never missed a game. Started following you when you played for Notre Dame."
Frey is not only resourceful, but smart. He couldn't have played David better. Mentioning his alma mater melts David's resistance like butter on a hot griddle.
"There's a great little sports bar about a block from here. Even has an old jersey of mine on the wall. Owner played for the Broncos the same time I did. I'll give him a call and have him come down to meet us."
He pulls his cell phone from a pocket and moves a few feet away to make the call. Gives Frey a chance to bend his face close to my ear.
"You'll be all right. Just remember what we talked about. You are the Chosen One. You are strong and fast. You have a good mind and a good heart. I'll be waiting for you at the cottage."
I don't want him to leave. I don't want either of us to leave the safe cocoon this place has become. I want to hold on to him with every ounce of strength. I want to stay in his arms until midnight is past. I want time to explore the possibilities.
My eyes must betray how desperately I want him to stay. His arms encircle me. He presses his body against mine. "Show them who you are. They'll follow you once they know. We'll have time."
David's voice breaks the spell. "What do you think Lance would say if he walked in right now?"
Frey and I step apart. If Lance walked in right now, he'd be dead before he could say anything. "It's not what you think."
David claps Frey on the back. "Frankly, I'm glad she's seeing someone else. I never liked that scrawny model." He turns to me. "Ready to go?"
"You two go. I've been here for three days. I think I'm ready to sleep in my own bed."
David looks surprised but only for a moment. He's already ushering his new best friend out, chatting like they've known each other forever.
He does remember to pause and throw a "Lock up when you leave, okay?" back over his shoulder.
If I didn't have to preserve my energy for what's coming, the brush-off might be insulting.
* * * *
This time when i pull into Avery's driveway, the gate is open. The guard who steps out to greet me is vampire. He doesn't ask my name, bows his head slightly and says, "Ms. Strong. They are waiting for you in the library."
Once again, the house is staged for a party. Every window blazes light. More limos than before line the turnaround. This time, a uniformed driver stands beside each car. When they see the Jag, they come to attention. Waiting for the guest of honor, no doubt. One of them separates from the pack, approaches the car, opens my door and extends a hand. He, too, is vampire.
I let him park the Jag and head for the house. Another vampire opens the door before I can ring or knock. Like the host who admitted Frey and me last night, he is in a tuxedo. Unlike the host, he is smiling and sycophantic in the way he bows and ushers me inside.
It's an effort to keep fear out of my thoughts. When I open my mind, I hear the murmur of a dozen voices rustling like leaves in a gale. Some speak in English, others in languages I don't recognize. I understand, though. It's a part of a vampire's genetic makeup, the ability to communicate across language barriers.
Like Frey and his book.
I wish he were here.
The conversation is banal. Talk of the trip over or musings about how pricey real estate is in Southern California. I could be eavesdropping on a group of CEOs called to headquarters for a board meeting.
The library is off to the left of the living room. There are people in the living room, too. Guests of those who await me now. They see me pass and grow quiet.
It is with some trepidation that I approach the closed doors. This was Avery's sanctuary and the first place I fed as a vampire. The voices I hear come from this room.
The door opens before I put a hand to it. It is Judith Williams. She is dressed in a long robe of black silk. Her hair is pulled back from her face. She does not look as smug today or as confident. Perhaps she has been reprimanded for what happened after the party the other evening.
She motions with a sweeping hand. "They are ready."
"They," not "we." I smile as she passes by.
I'm not sure what to expect. A few days ago, my thoughts had been on David and getting him safely away. I hardly noticed the vampires in attendance. What I do remember was a fleeting glance at vampires in costumes of varied colors and styles. A colorful blanketed figure that reminded me of an African tribal dancer, a vampire in an Arabian burnoose, a high-necked coat of white linen on a vampire of Chinese descent.
Here, the dress reflects the tenor of their conversation-the heads of the thirteen tribes have donned business attire. Well-tailored suits representing the very best of the world's couturiers. I am suddenly self-conscious in my jeans. I chose what I am wearing because if I must fight, I need to be wearing what I am most comfortable in. I had not meant to trivialize the situation. The eyes that are watching seem to acknowledge my intention. There is no judgment in the way they look at me.
There is one empty chair. The one behind Avery's desk. His chair. One of the tribal heads stands again and motions that I should take it.
When I am seated, the same vampire begins the introductions. He is Amardad from Persia, the ancient name for Iran. Then he presents each of the others in turn. They stand, bow slightly, touch their hands to their chest in greeting much as Culebra did a few days before. I listen and watch, opening my thoughts only in acknowledgment. These are the very oldest of the vampires from around the world. They have exotic names like Alexi and Cheng-Li and Dhakwan, Dato and Naruaki and Melisizwe and Bayani and Chael. Names that suggest power.
And less exotic names like Miguel and Joshua Turnbull, the vampire from Denver, the only one to allow a smile to touch his lips. There are two women among them. A beautiful West Indian whose name, Rani, I'm told, means queen and Brianna, an Australian.
The faces behind the names are ageless and old. They are devoid of expression as they look at me, allowing not a glimmer of thought or emotion to escape. The history of the world could be concealed behind those perfect, empty faces.
When introductions are concluded, Joshua Turnbull takes over. He rises, bows his head in my direction. His attitude here is far more deferential than when we were together in Denver.
He begins to speak, telepathically, so all can understand.
This is the Council of Thirteen. Gathered together as we have since the beginning to anoint the Chosen One. We come from all parts of the world. Some of you have made the journey before. Some of us are newly appointed to our positions, the result of having lost one of our own to the second death.
He pauses, points to the woman Brianna. This one lost her friend and mentor, the ancient one we called Aiden, by the hand of a Revenger. We mourn his passing.
He looks at me. I lost a friend, as well. Avery, in whose house we gather today. Some would say he brought about his own destruction by a careless and unnecessary act of violence against a human who bore him no harm. Still, he is gone and deserving of our respect. We take a moment to honor our fallen comrades.
Turnbull's eyes are on me as the circle pays final respects. I hadn't known before this moment that Avery had been one of the thirteen. It suddenly becomes more likely that Turnbull will be the one to make the challenge. If Judith has convinced him that I am responsible for Williams' death as well, it is more than likely.
Turnbull waits until the others raise their heads and look to him to continue.
As it is written in the Grimoire, we meet on this occasion to determine the future of the vampire community. We place this terrible burden on the shoulders of one. One who is marked as Chosen. A vampire of particular cunning and strength. A vampire who possesses extraordinary abilities.
Anna Strong was so marked. She is unharmed by fire. She is canny in ways we are not. She has strength and courage. Avery saw it from the first moment. He was not wise in the way he chose to teach her our ways. He paid for that mistake. But he brought her to our attention, and we are here today because of him.
The vampire known as Chael stands. He is slight of stature, dark-skinned, with eyes that are hard and black as flint.
Is it true that she is responsible for Avery's death? And also that of our friend Warren Williams?
I stand, too, to defend myself.
Turnbull stops me with a message sent solely to me. You will not speak. I am appointed to defend you. You may have an opportunity later. But I will answer for you now. This is the way.
His eyes narrow, as if asking me to acquiesce to his request. He is somber and respectful and despite my natural inclination to forge ahead, I do give in. I am out of my element here. I can always revert to the impulsive, imprudent and immature side of my nature later.
I sit back down.
He addresses Chael. Avery was my good friend. I loved him as a brother. But he had a flaw. He felt it necessary to exercise complete control over everyone within his sphere of influence. He attempted to control Anna Strong. He kidnapped her human partner, bled him almost to the point of death. He burned her home. He committed acts that could have brought unwanted and harmful attention to the vampire community. Anna Strong staked him in defense of her life. The act, while regrettable, was justifiable.
I'm surprised to hear him defending me. And surprised that he knew the story. Well, most of it. He didn't mention how Avery came back and attempted to kill me a second time. It's possible he doesn't know. Where did he get his information? From Warren Williams?
Warren Williams.
It's not over yet.
Chael accepts Turnbull's pronouncement. About Avery. And what of Warren Williams? Our newly turned sister, his widow, tells us their relationship was contentious. She tells us Anna Strong was the last to see him alive.
I wait, tension bunching my shoulders. Turnbull isn't jumping to my defense this time. When at last he speaks, it is quietly and with great sorrow.
Warren Williams was a man who was able to navigate both the human and vampire worlds and be a friend to both. He defended the human community in his role as law officer-and did so for two hundred years. As a vampire, he worked tirelessly as head of the Watchers.
We may never know how he met his end. It is true, Anna Strong was with him shortly before his death. I can say no more than that. There are no witnesses and no evidence to prove guilt or innocence.
Chael's dead eyes flash. How is it then that she is allowed to stand unchallenged as the Chosen?
Turnbull turns to face me. She is not. A challenge has been issued. She is called to defend her innocence in the way proscribed in the Grimoire. Anna Strong, do you accept the challenge?
My thoughts whip out to him. Don't I get the chance to defend myself against the charges first? I had nothing to do with Williams' death. It was at the hand of another.
Is this other a vampire?
A sorcerer.
Do you have proof? Witnesses?
I shake my head. I killed the one responsible. I think of Lance, of his betrayal. There is one other who knows the truth. But I don't know where he is. Give me time to find him.
Turnbull shakes his head. This must be decided on the day of the becoming. It is written.
Fuck it is written. I lean toward him, fists clenched. I am not guilty.
Then you will survive the challenge. That, too, is written.
I knew this was coming. I tried to prepare. But reality crushes me under the sudden weight of fear.
Because of some ancient book and two thousand years of vampire folklore, I may be dead before dawn.