by Kristie Cook
I was starting to feel like an alien, learning the ways of a whole new world.
We appeared next to Rina and Solomon in a small area that must have been a holding chamber and had been empty until we arrived. The room reminded me a little of the green rooms when I did television interviews, though the stone walls indicated the building pre-dated television by millennia. The chilly air—no fire in these grates—might have caused a mage or a Norman to shiver, but no one here noticed. Mom sent Owen out to see if all the council members had arrived.
I stepped over to the single window and was surprised to see a whole village outside below us. We were at the top of a hill, at one end of a main road that ended with a pier jutting out over the sea. Between here and the beach, people bustled in and out of an eclectic collection of shops and other buildings lining each side of the road, many with brightly colored awnings, others blank and austere. The rooftops of houses—some steep and pointed, some flat, and others rounded, all in various shades from white to blue to fuchsia—spread out beyond them.
“Where are we?” I wondered aloud. We had to still be on the Amadis Island since it was shielded—we could only flash within shields, but not through them.
“The Council Hall in the island village,” Tristan said from right behind me. “All those people out there are Amadis.”
“You mean . . . witches and wizards and vampires and everything?” I asked with awe.
“Yes, your very characters.”
Of course, they weren’t the exact characters in the books I’d written about witches, werewolves, vampires, and various other supernaturals. I thought I’d been writing all fiction, not knowing these creatures actually existed, but my fiction came somewhat close to reality, which I’d learned only a few days ago. Seeing the people out there—my people, the Amadis—was like seeing my characters come to life.
“I want to go meet them,” I said, momentarily forgetting the whole reason we stood at this particular window in the first place.
Tristan chuckled. “You’ll meet some today, don’t worry.”
Of course. The council members themselves weren’t exactly human. The cold-water effect of this realization doused my enthusiasm. How can I possibly concentrate on my task now? I’d be too distracted, overcome with excitement of meeting real-life creatures I’d been so fascinated with since I was a kid. My stomach fluttered with anxiety—I was doomed for failure.
“Tristan,” Rina said from the other side of the room, and we both turned toward her. “I have just learned some of our members have been delayed with . . . a situation. You may take Alexis into the village to orient her.”
“Alexis!” Why did she seem to be yelling my name all morning? I tilted my head, acknowledging her. “Please practice listening while in the village. It will give you the confidence you need before going into the meeting.”
I nodded as Tristan took my hand. He led me out of the large, stone building and down a path to the main road through town. As we meandered through the business district, I gaped with amazement at everything, keeping Tristan quite amused. The many shops sold a wide variety of goods. In one window, dried herbs hung from the ceiling and shelves contained jars of other reagents, some unidentifiable and others I wished I hadn’t been able to identify (lizard eyeballs!), for the mages. Others displayed bottles of thick, red liquid with pretty labels similar to wine bottles, but instead of “pinot noir,” “cabernet,” or “merlot,” they advertised “O+” and “B-’—donated blood for the vamps. Live animals roamed one window display, imitating a pet shop, but these weren’t pets. Rather, chickens, rats, and hogs waited to be selected for were-creatures’ meals. One shop sold wands and another enchanted armor for the warriors. People, dressed in a variety of fashions, present-day and not, frequently appeared and disappeared, flashing around the village.
I couldn’t help but wonder what my fellow fantasy authors would think if they ever saw this place. Many had described similar villages in their works, but what would they do if they actually saw it in person? Probably be like me . . . ambling about with their mouths hanging open.
“Are they scared of you?” I whispered to Tristan at one point, as we walked down a residential street by ourselves. “Everybody bows their heads, and no one looks us in the eye.”
“Maybe,” he said with a chuckle, “but that’s not why they do it. You’re royalty, my love. We both are. They do it out of respect.”
“Oh, right. I wish they wouldn’t. It makes me feel . . . weird. I thought this would be the last place I’d feel unusual, surrounded by all these mythical creatures that aren’t really mythical.”
He slid his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. “Stop worrying about what everyone else thinks.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve been beautiful and you forever. You’re used to it.”
“And you’ve been beautiful and you forever, too. Your forever is shorter than mine, but you should be used to it by now.”
“I’ve only been beautiful and royalty for a few days, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.” In fact, every time I caught my reflection in the mirror since the Ang’dora, I had to stop for a moment, making sure it was really me. So I stayed away from mirrors as much as possible. It was too much to accept.
Tristan kissed the top of my head. “You’ve become self-conscious on me again. You remind me of when I first met you.”
I remembered how uncomfortable I’d been with him, torn between wanting him to know the real me and trying to be “normal” because I thought he was. It felt like several lifetimes ago.
“Sorry. I just feel so out of place here,” I said as I contemplated the odd assortment of houses lining the street.
Some were painted in vibrant colors or with wild patterns, and others appeared to be from the ancient Greek era, perfectly preserved. The mish-mash looked as though houses from Whoville were picked up by a tornado and randomly dropped into a neighborhood of Parthenon-like buildings. Various odors carried on the air, some pleasant, some not so much, making me wonder what kinds of concoctions were being created in some of the more eccentric homes. A few people were outside—one cutting herbs from a garden, another walking a pet tarantula the size of my head on a leash, making me shudder—and they all inclined their heads as we passed by.
“I’m the alien but they all treat me like . . .” A weirdo.
“Royalty?” Tristan finished for me.
I sighed. “Yeah. At this rate, I’ll be ready to get back to normal life sooner than I thought. At least in the normal world, I know how to behave, what to do.”
He gave me a squeeze. “We’ll be leaving soon enough, I’m sure. But first you have a lot to learn. You need to train. Have you been practicing at all, or just gawking?”
“Pretty much just gawking,” I admitted, and then I frowned. I hated listening to people’s thoughts, and it felt especially intrusive when the people close by thought they were in the privacy of their own homes. At least on the main street, people would be thinking fewer intimate thoughts and more about their business at hand. “Let’s go back downtown, or whatever you call it, so I can be with more people.”
As we walked, I pushed my cloud out to people we passed long enough to hear a brief thought, then quickly pulled the cloud in as soon as I’d succeeded. I kept to only one person at a time, afraid I’d lose control if I tried more. Fortunately, what I heard was mostly mundane, except . . .
“Can’t stop thinking of him as Seth. Look at him, walking around as though he owns the place, his hands all over the real royalty, as though he owns her. He’s such a traitor. He’ll be the downfall of the Amadis.”
As we walked by, the man—I picked up the thought he was a were-animal of some sort—inclined his blond head like everyone else, and hurried past us.
“Wow, he’s not quite a fan of yours,” I muttered to Tristan. “He thinks you’re a traitor.”
“Yes,” Tristan said with a hint of steel in his voice, “there are some who think
I shouldn’t be here . . . and especially shouldn’t be with you.”
Before I could say what those people could physically do to themselves, my brain rattled with an agitation that exceeded my own. Somehow my mind followed the disturbance to pick up the disjointed thoughts.
“This meeting . . . a farce! . . . What to believe! . . . Another daughter? . . . And the boy?... Martin ruling?... Is it possible? . . . Tristan—a traitor!... Something needs to be done. . .the Amadis . . . Decimated!”
I peered over my shoulder, sensing the owner of such mental chaos behind me, but no one was there. Whoever had been so upset had disappeared.
My own mind spun. The fragmented thoughts made no sense. Were his thoughts really so disjointed, or did the telepathy cut in and out like a poor cell phone signal? Did he mean my future daughter? And Dorian? Who was Martin? And, most importantly, how many people thought Tristan would betray us, and how could they possibly still believe that after everything he’d done for the Amadis?
I opened my mouth to tell Tristan what I heard, but he cut me off. “Rina’s asking for our return.”
“She told you? But not me?”
Tristan shrugged, took my hand, and led me back to the big, white building at the top of the hill, the Council Hall. I wondered briefly why Rina had only spoken to Tristan as if I was inferior, but by the time we entered the little room in the council building to wait with Mom and Rina, my mind had returned to the commotion I’d heard.
The man had mentioned the meeting being a farce, but didn’t specify which meeting. The council meeting that was about to begin or another one? Thinking he might possibly be a council member, I knew I needed to gather my wits and courage and do a damn good job of “listening” for Rina. Something was definitely going on.
“You can’t go in there!” Owen’s bark came from the other side of the door, pulling me out of my internal thoughts.
“Owen, I am your mother. You let me in right now,” commanded a stern female voice. The door burst open. “Sophia!”
“Sorry,” Owen muttered, following the woman in.
Mom grinned widely. “It’s okay, Owen. I doubt your mother is trying anything sneaky with us.”
The woman slid out of her leather jacket and tossed it to Owen as she strode over to Mom and embraced her. She wore black leather from head to toe—a bustier, pants, and combat boots—and though her build was slight, the confident way she moved and held herself would make a bully cower. She appeared to be in her mid- to late-thirties, but she had to be nearly three times older: Owen appeared to be twenty-five, but was actually sixty-eight, and this woman, apparently, had given birth to him. With shoulder-length, straight hair the same shade of blond as Owen’s and eyes the same sapphire blue, the resemblance was obvious.
“I know I’m breaking protocol, but I couldn’t wait a minute longer to see you or to meet Alexis,” she said, already advancing on me. She didn’t wait for introductions. “Ah, yes, you are as beautiful as I’ve heard. Hello, Alexis, I am Charlotte Allbright.”
It took me a moment to recover from her straightforwardness. “Uh, nice to meet you, Ms. Allbright.”
She laughed. “You can call me Charlotte or Char.”
“Or Charred or Charcoal,” Mom said.
“You’ll never let me live that one down, will you?” Charlotte gave Mom a mischievous smile at some private joke.
“Alexis, this is Owen’s mother, as you’ve figured out,” Mom said. “And, I have to admit, a long-time friend of mine.”
“I apologize for my son’s irresponsibility while he was supposed to be protecting you. Sometimes I wonder why Sophia insists on him having the job. He should really—”
“Oh, no, please don’t blame him,” I quickly interrupted. “That was totally my fault. Owen’s great at his job—when I let him do it.”
Charlotte eyed me. “Hmm . . . well, I suppose I can understand, if you’re anything like your mother.”
“Worse,” Mom muttered. I tilted my head in question. “Charlotte has been my protector from time to time, and she thinks I’m hard-headed and rebellious.”
“Of course you are! I wouldn’t love you if you weren’t,” Charlotte said with a laugh.
Mom shrugged. “So, maybe I am.”
“You think I’m hard-headed and rebellious, worse than you?” I wasn’t sure what I thought about that.
“Of course you are. And I wouldn’t love you if you weren’t,” Tristan said from behind me as he placed his hands on my hips. Mom and Charlotte chuckled.
“Alexis, we will have our hands full with you,” Mom said.
I frowned. Charlotte placed her hands on each side of my face and looked me directly in the eye, an impish gleam in hers.
“These are admirable traits, Alexis. There are dark days ahead, and we’ll need your spunk and spirit. Martin says we all need to be prepared, especially you.” With that cryptic message—there was that name Martin again—she planted a kiss on my forehead. What did she mean by dark days ahead? And why especially me? I didn’t get a chance to ask as she turned away. “I suppose I should let Owen kick me out. I’ll see you soon. We have some catching up to do, Sophia.”
Charlotte held her arm out to Owen, and he took her elbow, pretending to forcefully escort her out of the room. She hooked her boot around the door, pulling it shut behind them.
“She’s a handful herself,” I muttered, and her laugh echoed from another part of the building.
Mom laughed, too. “Yes, she is. But she’s a great friend to me, a powerful warlock, and an excellent addition to the council.”
“She’s on the council?” I asked. She acted as though she hadn’t seen Mom for a long time, but Mom had been at the island for nearly a week. She and Rina returned before us so they could debrief the council on the recent events in the Florida Keys—my Ang’dora, Tristan’s escape, the Daemoni’s attack . . . and everything else.
“She is now. Martin, her husband, took Stefan’s place, but Char is a new addition. She’s been fighting in the Middle East and returned last night,” Mom explained. “Rina will swear her in this morning.”
So Martin was Char’s husband and Owen’s dad, and their family was apparently close to ours. Which made everything I’d already “heard” today much more confusing. This meeting may or may not be a farce, but it seemed as though it would certainly be intense, just as Tristan had predicted. I pressed my hands against my stomach, which twisted and turned with anxiety over Rina’s request.
“We’re ready to begin,” announced a low, booming voice.
Solomon stood at the door, beckoning all of us. I tried not to stare at him, but it was nearly impossible. After all, he was a real, live (or real, dead?) vampire. Now that I knew what to watch for, I realized he did look like a vamp, something I hadn’t noticed the other times I’d seen him. His complexion was an exotic ash color—the vampire paleness of someone who’d originally been dark-skinned. His features were broad and beautiful, his hair in cornrows, the front pulled back into a ponytail, and he had an accent I was sure originated somewhere in the Caribbean. He smiled at us, and his fangs were short, barely longer than a Norman’s eyeteeth, much less threatening than Vanessa’s and the other vampires’ fangs had been.
Solomon wasn’t the first vampire I’d seen in person, but he was the first good one I knew. Yet, as he continued smiling, my stomach tightened more with fear.
Rina joined him at the door, winding her arm with his. Mom stepped behind her, and Tristan and I stood behind Mom. Tristan took my hand as Owen led us through the door and down a short hallway. Seeing Mom alone between Solomon and Rina and Tristan and me made my heart ache for her. She’d given up any chance for a real mate—one who could handle her love and passion—to stay with me in the normal world. She’d had a handful of Norman boyfriends throughout my childhood, but none could give her true companionship. Even if she could have revealed her true identity, they would have never understood . . . and never survived.
We stopped at a
doorway as Owen stepped inside and announced the matriarch’s entry. Wood scraped against stone—the sound of people rising to their feet—and then silence reigned. Rina and Solomon led us inside. Pillars lined the long sides of the rectangular room and on the walls at each end hung a large, ornate cross centered between two angels. But not peaceful, praying angels or cute cherubs—these angels brandished swords, daggers, and other weapons, their expressions fierce and their muscles large and defined, as if tensed for a fight.
At the center of the room stood a giant, round, wooden table with throne-like seats surrounding it. In front of all but five chairs stood an Amadis council member, their heads bowed. Rina and Solomon led us to the empty seats. Solomon sat on Rina’s left and Mom on her right. Mom and Tristan indicated I was to sit between them. Owen stood behind me. I felt as though I sat at King Arthur’s Round Table right in the middle of Athena’s temple.
As soon as the five of us took our seats, everyone else sat down, too.
Rina launched the meeting with a prayer, followed by swearing Charlotte in as “the second’s chosen confidante.” I’d gone through the Ang’dora and also had Tristan by my side, so Mom no longer needed to give me her full-time attention and protection. She would become a more permanent fixture on the council and, apparently, had chosen Char to be her personal advisor. Rina then introduced me to the council and Tristan officially as a member of the royal family. As soon as she said this, the room temperature seemed to drop a degree or two while the air thickened. I thought I’d imagined it until—
“Ms. Katerina,” murmured a man across the table from me. Well, not a man. A vampire, with dark, shoulder-length hair swept back from his lovely face, and an accent that rolled the “r” in a way that would make most women’s thighs tense.
“Yes, Armand?”
“Are you sure—”
Rina didn’t let him finish. “I am aware of your feelings. You have made them clear to me. And yes, I am sure. Do not forget we have given you a second chance.”
Armand pursed his lips and stared at the wooden table. Rina had effectively silenced him. The tension remained in the air, however, and I had a feeling Armand wasn’t the only one who had an issue with Tristan and his place at the table or in the family. Whoever I’d heard in the village was definitely one of these people at this table. I scanned the unfamiliar faces until my eyes landed on one I had seen before—the first guy, the blond Were, who had called Tristan a traitor. His dark eyes narrowed at me for a brief moment. It was time I went to work.
