“Extracurricular?” Did she just ask that aloud? God, she’d never been this nosy.
“I’ve, uh, signed up for a special kind of workout program.”
Eve could see his wheels turning in the glimmer of his eyes. He wanted to say more, but hesitated. Something inside her itched to probe deeper. “You mean at the gym or something?”
His eyes measured hers before he said, “I guess you could say that. Anyway, it’s just going to be taking up a lot of my time from here on out.”
She left it at that.
When they exited the classroom and pushed through the heavy double doors of the hall into the high-noon sun, Eve walked straight to the wrought-iron bench she’d always stopped by after class. It was tucked beneath a eucalyptus tree and offered a perfect view of CBU’s campus. The grassy, tree-flecked courtyard was too large to see from one side to the other clearly. L-shaped gothic-columned buildings lined the outskirts. A cathedral tower that rivaled the elegance of Notre Dame’s stood strong in the center—a perfect place for college students to gather and study or relax and make out.
Dante sat beside Eve as he usually did, but today he didn’t pull the schedule out of his backpack. He didn’t ask about tutoring classes or her next lesson on muses. Today he sat reflectively, his eyes following hers around the courtyard.
They were seated too much like lovers for Eve’s taste. She scooted over, deciding to grab the Dasani out of her bag and earn some breathing room. Her fingers skimmed over something hard, tucked into the bottom corner. She frowned, puzzled. She pulled out a long, narrow box wrapped in brown paper with her name and address scribbled on the front. How did she miss it in the stack of mail she’d picked up yesterday?
Dante cleared his throat, breaking the silence hanging between them. “In the lesson back there, what did you mean when you said the Sirens would be cursed with knowledge of the past? You made it sound like the past was something foreign to their victims.”
“Uh-huh.” She turned the package over in her hand.
“But everyone remembers where they came from.”
That question wasn’t what she was expecting. Did she not explain it well enough in class? “The Sirens knew the trials everyone has faced since the first generation of Cain.”
“I thought I was well-versed in biblical studies, but I’m not sure I follow you,” he said, spreading his arms over the back of the bench, getting comfortable. “You’re saying everyone’s lineage can be traced back to Cain and Abel?”
Eve tore open the side corner of the package. “Exactly. But not just family lineage. Your own line.”
“As in . . . reincarnation?’ ”
“Yup. Some people believe past lives travel all the way back to Cain and Abel. That we’ve always been descendants of either the good or the evil brother. It doesn’t mean we’re destined to do good or bad our whole lives, generation after generation that we’re reborn on this earth—it just means we have an inherent tendency to exhibit certain traits. Who we meet in our lives and how we chose to live day by day influences who we become. The Sirens were able to see all of that, in everyone. What we’re all capable of.”
“Nature versus nurture,” he said, finally understanding. “You said ‘some people believe’ . . . what about you? What do you believe?”
As the last scrap of paper fell away from the box in her hands, Eve realized what it was. She hadn’t seen the familiar red crushed velvet necklace box since she was a girl—in her mother’s dresser drawer. Eve carefully unhinged the box, hardly catching the hitch in her throat when she laid eyes upon her mother’s amulet necklace nestled into an ocean blue velvet pillow.
Delicate silver chain hooked onto a tiny screw lid. Silver encrusted casing. Black onyx set into the center of the gothic design.
It was the necklace her mother received from her father as a Valentine’s gift when Eve was a baby—or so she was told. A necklace her mother wore every day of her life. She downright refused to take it off, no matter the occasion or how many times Eve begged to play dress-up with it.
“What’s the matter?” Dante asked. “What is it?”
“It’s my mother’s necklace,” Eve said, her voice breathy and light.
“It’s a beauty. Looks really old.”
“It’s an amulet, said to protect the wearer against harm.” Her brows pulled together as she tried to unscrew the top to peer inside. It must’ve been stripped from years of non-use because it didn’t budge.
Confusion set in. Her mother had been wearing the amulet when the therian attacked her. Some amulet of protection, Eve scoffed, and turned the stunning piece of jewelry around in her palm. It was beautiful. Flawless. With simple, elegant lines in the silver and deep, endless color in the onyx. It was so tempting to try it on. But something inside her felt like it was wrong. What happened to the amulet after her mother passed? Eve couldn’t remember. Who had sent it? And how could she have overlooked the package when she picked up the mail?
Lost in thought and more tempted than ever to try on her deceased mother’s necklace, Eve slowly unclasped the dainty silver lock. Reached around her neck. Fastened it together.
As the necklace settled on her skin, finding its natural place on the center of her chest, frigid gusts of wind blew through the courtyard, rousing leaves and students alike. Trees shook, rumbling overhead. Leaves twirled violently in the sudden wind. Students studying in the sun were sent flying after their papers as they tumbled and danced over the courtyard lawn. Thin layers of clouds were suddenly painted across the sky. Like a heavenly artist decided last minute that the painting of CBU was incomplete without strokes of white.
Chills scattered over Eve’s body as a warm flush spread from her chest down her shoulders, then her arms. Her heartbeat slowed, pounding in her chest, pairing with each slow inhale . . . and exhale.
Dante sat straight, watching the freak blast of winter weather scatter students to classes.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said, eyeing the increasing cloud cover with concern. “Have you eaten lunch?”
She shook her head, unable to formulate words under the circumstances, and brought the amulet forward to examine it. Tunnel vision focused her gaze on the deep black of the onyx and nothing else. She swam in its midnight depths, drowning. Even Dante’s words sounded muffled and very far away.
“Eve,” Dante said louder, with more determination. “Let’s get out of here and get you something to eat. I hear there’s a great place that’s not too far and you’re looking a little pale.”
She nodded, blinking fast, and realized too late that something didn’t feel right. Her chest was buzzing, warm and tingly. She was light-headed. A little dizzy. Could it be her imagination? That everyone else seemed suddenly chilled, bundling into their jackets while Eve was heating up?
She reached around, tried to unclasp the necklace. It wouldn’t unhook. She dropped the end and readjusted her fingers, trying to pull from a different angle. Wouldn’t give at all.
Winds picked up. Wispy white clouds darkened to an ominous gray.
Eve yanked a little harder on the chain. Damn it. For being so delicate, the thing had a mighty hold. She knew she shouldn’t have put it on. Now she couldn’t get it off.
As the first drops of rain fell on Eve’s shoulders, and a large gust of wind knocked over her bag, she snapped out of the daze that had come over her. She put the velvet box into her bag, then slung it over her shoulder. Maybe grabbing a quick bite to eat would bring some blood back to her brain and take away the dizziness. Maybe a solid meal would give her the strength she needed to figure out what was really going on and who’d sent the necklace to her after all these years.
“A quick bite wouldn’t hurt, I guess, but I’m driving.” Eve headed to Ruan’s Tahoe parked in the closest parking lot, with Dante in tow, the necklace radiating soft waves of warmth through her. “And I can’t stay lon
g. I have an appointment to make before nightfall.”
“So do I.”
“Gotta get your workout in?” She let the question hang between them, giving Dante a chance to speak what was on his mind.
A small quirk teased the corners of his lips, his true plans left unspoken.
Eve had a really bad feeling about what had happened in the courtyard—her mother’s necklace, the eerie change in weather, and the way her body was responding to it. For the first time in Eve’s life, she wished for the power to see the future. Maybe then she’d know how to explain the feeling that something terrible was about to happen to her . . .
Chapter Eleven
“Ingrid Carmello, revered vampire elder, was found drained and floating in the bay early this morning. Vamp authorities arrived on scene, took the elder’s body to a private facility, and wiped the memories of the fishermen who recovered her. If you have any information related to Ingrid’s death, please contact Sergeant Stakeman at Crimson Bay PD: Secret Vamp Victim’s Unit.”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I agreed to this,” Ruan mumbled, squinting at the slant of his own handwriting dead-smack in the middle of a page of ancient scroll. Yet here he was, trying to figure out what the hell he had to do with any of this. “Manent optima coelo.” He uttered the words slowly. Deliberately. As if each syllable deserved its own breath. “The best things await us in heaven,” Ruan said, when the translation of the passage hit him. “But you already knew what it meant.”
“It’s Latin,” Eve said, nodding. “Take a look at the rest.”
The few pages in question had been taken away from the Crimson Council meeting for private examination under Slade and Dylan’s watchful eye—the only reason the Crimson Council let it out of their sight. Little did they know, it was the only way Ruan would’ve examined the scrolls at all. He wasn’t about to make a spectacle in front of everyone. If he did, in fact, discover something in the pages that might somehow incriminate or associate him with those cursed death shades, he sure as hell didn’t want a crowd.
He hadn’t heard of death shades before the Crimson Council meeting . . . but only remembering a quarter of your extended life—a hundred years, to be exact—tended to put a damper on being able to say anything with 100 percent confidence.
Dylan had laid out the pages over his old desk in ReVamp’s back office, where she probably figured he’d be most comfortable. Considering Ruan hadn’t been back to work in a month, her instincts were off base. He could cut the tension between them with the blade on his belt.
She backed away from his shoulder, giving him much-needed breathing room to examine the remainder of the writing. Good thing, too. The pressure in the room was making his mind crawl.
“Slade and I have been working on deciphering the scrolls for weeks. I did some research on reading them, and I know the top and bottom references, here,” Dylan said, turning to the bottom scroll and tapping her finger over the two parts, “are related. But as long as we don’t know what that jumble of letters means, we can’t make sense of when or where that passage is going to happen. The rest of the scrolls are written in Valcish and might as well be destroyed, for all the good that does us. That’s where we could really use your insight.”
She was treading lightly, trying not to demand his help. Even though her intentions were transparent, Ruan appreciated the gesture. He eyed the letters carefully:
gtw drh sos aiv xkqgal—jzvv gyvumww sycoxhb kcmv hki wpxc bwijqg chdwex . . . lnm gqi lc evv toj jx bzpp gvpqnifaxp lby wdtoaxg sqwppgcujvw qxl hts fezu etu.
His eyes naturally scanned to the top of the page. To the passage reading, place of horror, time will come, elders will fall, all will succumb.
“We need you to help with as much as you can,” she continued. “Especially the part that’s in your handwriting.”
Ruan took a deep breath and chastised himself for agreeing to come here and look over these old scraps of paper. Why would the scrolls be in his handwriting? He’d never held the pages in his hands before. At least not that he could remember. And he sure as hell wouldn’t have helped write them. Yet here he was. Staring at ancient scrolls, scrawled in his own slanted hand.
“Can you make out anything, Ruan, or are we wasting time here?” Slade leaned against the far wall that had been repainted a hideous shade of dried-blood brown. Ruan never would’ve let that color choice slide. Then again, since he’d left, Slade had been allowed to do whatever the hell he wanted with ReVamp. “You’ve had enough time to come to a conclusion. How ‘bout you loosen up and tell us what you’re thinking.”
Ruan eyed Slade carefully from his Docs to his leather pants. From his trench coat to the weapons around his belt. Shifter hadn’t changed much in a month. He was cockier, though, if that was possible, with his chin held higher than normal and a fuck-you frown on his mouth. Ruan figured Slade’s unwavering confidence had everything to do with the fact that only a month ago, Ruan thought he was madly in love with Dylan. Caused quite the friction between him and the therian-turned-vamp.
In the end, though, Dylan had chosen Slade over him as her life partner. Good choice, too, seeing as Ruan would’ve dumped Dylan like yesterday’s news once he set his eyes on Eve.
It’s not that Dylan wasn’t beautiful—she was drop-dead gorgeous, with glowing amber curls and wide, sky-blue eyes. And it’s not because she wasn’t smart and couldn’t challenge him like he needed—her IQ was probably higher than any vamp within a hundred-mile radius.
It’s just that once he met Eve, and caught sight of something familiar behind her eyes, he knew in his heart that there was no other woman for him. A part of him—a lonely part deep inside his soul—sparked to life. It was like he’d been dead before meeting her. A walking shadow. A burnt-out bulb. Though there was no way he could’ve known it. Every other woman he’d met in his life paled in comparison. Her brilliance had bewitched his soul from the start. There could be no other match for him. Ever.
“You’ve gotta be able to give us something.” Slade stalked over, and leaned across the desk. He turned the scrap of dirtied paper over again, and pointed to the bottom of the scroll. His offensive stance was pressing. The six-foot-something Assassin had a hard glare in his eye and a tick in his jaw. Ruan had a fleeting thought to toss the hybrid sucker back. “The page in your handwriting has to do with the section Dylan and I have been studying; you can’t deny it.”
At least they agreed on something. “The council seems to think so. It’s not a coincidence that these are the only two pages they gave us.” Ruan turned back to examine the first page, the one completely scribbled in Latin.
“Which means someone knows more than they’re telling us,” Slade mumbled.
“Right.”
Dylan leaned closer to Ruan, her mahogany curls falling over her shoulder, her velvet voice soft. “I’m sorry about the way you found out about this. You have to believe I had no idea what was going on.” He wanted to believe her. She was the most honest person he knew. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, be used again by anyone, inside or outside their haven. “Do you know what the letters mean?” It was more than a question. It was a helpless plea.
Sighing, Ruan tried harder. He traced his calloused fingers over the letters, one by one, his mind running through a myriad of explanations. “It’s a cipher.”
“What do you mean?” Dylan asked, her brows pinched tight.
“An algorithm used as an encryption with a key to unlock the message.”
“Can you break it?” Hope elevated her voice.
Damn, Ruan hated to be the one to burst her bubble. “Without the key, a complex cipher is unbreakable.”
“It’s a jumble of letters that no one but you knows how to figure out, Ruan.” Slade said. “I’d say the situation is already complex.”
“There are different kinds of ciphers,” Ruan explained, trying to keep his cool when all he wanted to do was s
torm out of the office and crawl into his bed, leaving people on the council to clean up this mess. It was after nightfall and Eve would be home from work soon. Damn, he couldn’t wait to lift her into his arms and carry her to bed. How quick could he sum this up and skip out? “Shift ciphers and Caesar ciphers are simple ones that shift every letter of your hidden message by a certain number. A Shift cipher moves letters of the alphabet over, where A = B, and B = C. It’s like creating a second alphabet.”
Slade’s red eyes stared into the distance as if he was writing the shifted alphabet on the white board in his brain. “You mean like the games newborn vamps play when they want to send secret codes to their vamp buddies, like where to find their spiked blood stash?”
Ruan hated to admit it, but under the tension-riddled circumstances, Slade’s humor was a mild stress reliever. Eyes rolling and fighting the smile pulling at his lips, Ruan backed up to take in the entire scroll.
In the dim yellow lights of Ruan’s old office, the smudges on the scrolls were shadowed, worn, and impenetrable. Smoke damage had tinted the entire sheet a dark gray. Singed edges made the paper curl so much so that Dylan had to hold down the corners with a stapler and a black rose paperweight.
Ruan squashed down the twinging pulse in his neck with his thumb—the damn twitch always acted up when he felt something was askew.
He brushed his hand across the bottom of the scroll and the passage Dylan and Slade discovered. When he pulled his hand back, the hair on his arms stood on end. There was much more to the writing on these pieces of scroll than they were seeing. Like Evil itself had printed the words. “Right, Slade. Just like newborn vamp play. Although considering you’ve only embraced your vampire blood the last month or so, you’re still newborn yourself. Want a blood-dipped pacifier? I might have one stashed somewhere.” He pulled open a drawer and rummaged around.
Vamped Up Page 8
