Mirage

by Kristi Cook

  “You’re cold.” He took my hands, rubbing them between his own. “Let’s get to chapel, and then I’ll talk.”

  “You bet you will,” I shot back.

  Minutes later, we settled ourselves into a pew near the altar. Aidan had lit the sconces along the walls—telekinetically, of course—and a warm, soft light filled the chapel.

  “You want my scarf?” He unwound it from his neck and held it out to me.

  I took it, not because I was cold but because I loved that striped scarf. It held his scent, and I loved to snuggle into it.

  “Thanks,” I said, draping it around my neck. “Okay, now tell me why you went to the Tribunal.”

  “I didn’t have much choice. Luc insisted, as did Mrs. Girard. I guess you could say I was ordered there. They just wanted to see me, to check on my condition. It’s not something they’ve seen before.”

  “And?”

  “And that’s it. I wasn’t in any trouble or anything like that. It was just a … well, an informational visit. With Luc as my escort.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that but decided to keep my opinion to myself. “How did you get to Paris?” I asked instead.

  “We flew.”

  My eyes grew wide with surprise. Flew?

  He reached for one end of the scarf and wound it around my neck. “Yeah, commercial airliner. Nighttime flight,” he added, seeing my confusion. “How did you think we traveled across the ocean?”

  “I have no idea.” An image of Aidan flying like a bat flooded my consciousness. I had to admit, it was kind of funny.

  “Well, we can move faster than the human eye can see, but we can’t walk on water,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “Yeah, whatever. Okay, so you flew. Commercial. And they just talked to you, that’s all?”

  “They examined me, asked about the serum. That’s about it. They’re supportive of my work, you know. They’re not opposed to a cure, to offering a choice to those who may not have had one when they were turned.”

  “I’m glad to hear they’re sensible.” Yeah, right.

  “Well, I’m not sure I’d call them sensible,” he said, obviously missing my sarcasm. “I have a feeling that Isa would be happy to cure vampires she deems unworthy without their consent. Anyway, the trip wasn’t a total waste of time. Luc found this.” He dug into his bag and produced a book—a very old book, by the look of it.

  “What is it?” I asked, running my fingers across the ragged, split leather cover. There were words etched in gold—in a strange-looking alphabet that I didn’t recognize.

  “It’s Serbian,” he said, lifting the cover and flipping to a spot near the back where a folded piece of paper was tucked inside. “But Luc translated this section for me.”

  He unfolded the page, which was filled with a precise, slanted script. The word Sâbbat immediately jumped out at me.

  “He found something about Sâbbats?” My heart was pounding now, my hands shaking as I reached for the page.

  Aidan nodded. “He did, indeed. Sâbbats, and their male counterparts, the Megvédio, or Protectorate.”

  “The what?”

  He tapped the page. “Read it.”

  There exists an ancient legend of the Sâbbat, a name that is rarely spoken aloud, for it is feared that doing so establishes a connection between the minds of the two—vampire and slayer. The Sâbbat is a hunter of vampires, a slayer—a female, born on a Saturday. Only three exist at any given time, a child of the order born to replace the deceased. It is a blood legacy, passed from mother to firstborn daughter, lying dormant for generations until triggered by necessity.

  As she approaches her eighteenth year, the Sâbbat discovers her purpose, becoming possessed of a hatred for the vampire and a burning desire to hunt and destroy. She is brave, fierce, and dauntless. Her weapon is a stake made from the wood of the hawthorn tree, trimmed in size and sharpened to a deadly point. She takes the mark of the Sâbbat on the wrist of her dominant hand.

  At the time of self-discovery, her male counterpart, the Megvéd, reveals himself to her and offers his protection. He is strong, fearless, and cunning. He possesses no powers equal to the Sâbbat’s—he offers only assistance and companionship. Unlike the rare Sâbbat, the Megvédio are more plentiful in number, aware of their status at a young age. Their status, too, is a blood legacy, conferred from second-born son to second-born son. Like the Sâbbat, the Megvéd bears an identifying mark.

  Only the rare Megvéd finds his Sâbbat, on account of her scarcity at any given time. Thus, it is considered a great honor. Their bond is strong, psychologically and psychically. He becomes her mate in every sense, their mission singular—to rid the earth of vampires.

  It has been suggested that the Sâbbat is often born with a face that will attract a certain vampire—the face of a lover, or that of a beloved family member, a sister or mother. In this way, the vampire shall be drawn in for the kill.

  In such an instance, the vampire in question will be exceptionally dangerous, infamous, or influential, thus posing a greater threat to humankind. Therefore, one might assume that any given Sâbbat might be born with the specific purpose of destroying a particular vampire, though of course her proclivities would assure that she would destroy a great number of other vampires as well.

  I had to pause there, to let that sink in. I mean, the whole protector thing was bad enough, but if I was reading this right, then it was saying that I was not just meant to kill vampires but to kill Aidan specifically. Any other vampires I managed to off in the process would be considered collateral damage. But my true target? The guy I loved.

  And my protector, whoever he was … I supposed his mission was to make sure I did it. Nice. I reached a hand to my temple, feeling dizzy all of a sudden.

  “You okay?” Aidan asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” I lied, feeling sick to my stomach. My hands shaking, I looked back down at the page and continued to read.

  It is also believed that the fate of the Megvéd is irrevocably tied to that of his Sâbbat. If she fails in her quest, and her blood runs through a vampire’s veins, the Megvéd’s life is extinguished.

  Beyond these facts, very little is known of the Sâbbat and her Megvéd. There are no known written records detailing either her methods or her history, and the legend remains shrouded in much secrecy and speculation.

  That was it. I glanced up at Aidan, not quite sure whether I should laugh or cry. “Luc’s sure that’s what it says?” I tapped the book’s cover, trying not to sneeze as dust wafted up toward my nose. “I mean, you’re sure he didn’t mess up the translation or anything?”

  He shook his head. “Luc is fluent in all Slavic languages, even long-dead ones. That’s what it says.”

  “Well, don’t I get a protector then?” I asked, my voice laced with sarcasm. “Where’s my Megvéd, or however the heck you say it?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “Ah, but you’re not eighteen yet.”

  “It said ‘as soon as she makes her self-discovery.’ Been there, done that. I’ve already killed three vamps, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember all right. You’re brave, fierce, and dauntless, just as it says.” The admiration in his voice nearly stole away my breath.

  “Anyway,” I said, “didn’t you the notice the wording? It said ‘as she approaches her eighteenth year.’ That’s pretty vague. So maybe sixteen, seventeen was close enough.”

  “Maybe,” he conceded.

  “And what’s the deal with that whole ‘mate’ thing? That’s just creepy. This isn’t the Dark Ages. I get to choose my own mate, thank you very much.”

  His lips curved into a smile. “You don’t have to convince me.”

  “And all that stuff about bearing a ‘mark.’” I shook my head. “I don’t have any birthmarks or anything.”

  “Well, actually you’ve got a little mark here”—Aidan patted a spot on the back of his own neck, near his hairline—“nothing much, really. Just a few tiny red
spots or something.”

  “On the back of my neck? You’ve noticed that?” I asked in amazement.

  “Yeah, I spend a fair amount of time hovering around your neck, obsessing over it.” He cleared his throat. “Just a peril of the condition, I suppose.”

  Something stirred inside me. His teeth. My neck. I swallowed hard, tamping down the sudden, pressing need. It was my turn to clear my throat uncomfortably. “That’s just what’s left of a stork bite I had when I was a baby.” My hand rose to the spot in question, my fingers probing but feeling nothing. “Wait, you don’t think that’s what they meant?”

  “I have no idea. Probably not, though. I think those are pretty common, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, I think so.” I slumped against the pew’s wooden back. “Wow, we’re like the blind leading the blind here. For every answer we uncover, we find a half a dozen more questions. You think Mrs. Girard knows anything about this? She said something before about meeting others like me.”

  “She says she’s encountered several Sâbbats over the years, but she’s always gotten the hell away from them as fast as she could, without stopping to question them. All I can do is take her word for it. She’s never mentioned the Megvédio before. You could go talk to her, I guess.”

  “I guess,” I said, unconvinced. Truthfully, I didn’t really trust her any more than I’d trusted Blackwell.

  “I thought you’d be happy to see the ‘same face’ theory explained. I guess that eliminates the whole reincarnation thing.”

  “Thank God,” I breathed. It was bad enough that I looked like Isabel. The idea that maybe I was her, reincarnated? I didn’t even want to think about it.

  Aidan reached up to rub his jaw. “It still doesn’t make a lot of sense, though. I just don’t see how I fit the criteria—dangerous, infamous, or influential. I’m none of those.”

  I shrugged. “I hope that when my protector dude shows up, he brings me a manual. Sâbbat for Dummies, or something like that.”

  “So long as you don’t pledge him your troth in gratitude.”

  “My what? Never mind. Why do you keep looking at your watch?” He’d glanced down at it three times in the past five minutes or so.

  “I’m supposed to meet Jack and Dr. Byrne at the lab. Was supposed to,” he corrected. “Five minutes ago.”

  “Go, then. It’s okay—I told Sophie I’d study with her this afternoon, anyway.” I reached for the book, tucking the translated page back inside. “Can I keep this?”

  “Of course. It’s yours.”

  “You’re not going to inject more serum into yourself, are you? Just when you’re finally well again?” I studied his face. His color had returned to normal, the dark smudges beneath his eyes a bit less prominent than before.

  He reached for my hand, lacing his fingers through mine. “Not today. Today we’re just working on some stuff. But hopefully by the weekend—”

  “Just go.” I snatched my hand away. Instantly, I regretted it—he looked as if I’d just punched him in the gut. “I’m sorry. It just scares me, is all.”

  “I’m frightened too,” he said softly. “Mostly afraid that I won’t perfect the cure till it’s too late, till you’ve moved on. Grown up. Forgotten me.”

  “I promise that’s not—”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Vi.” His voice was sharp now. “Seriously, I don’t expect you to wait around forever. As I said, there are two ways this thing can end: I find my cure and find it fast, or you destroy me and end this, once and for all.”

  I shook my head. “There are other options, Aidan. Anyway, do you honestly think I could destroy you?”

  “Who knows what you might be capable of, given time. We still don’t know enough about any of this stuff.” He picked up the book and flipped through the pages. “Maybe your Megvéd will have your answers for you. Maybe he can—”

  “Ugh, just go,” I interrupted, refusing to listen to more. “Seriously, I don’t want to talk about this now.” I stood, taking back the book before making my way to the chapel’s aisle. “I’m going to go call Patsy and have a little chat about the importance of always carrying an EpiPen. Especially on the golf course.”

  “Sounds like a good idea,” he said, joining me in the aisle. “Maybe I’ll walk you back after practice tonight?”

  I nodded. “Sure. I’ll wait for you.”

  He leaned forward, pressing his lips gently to mine. “Oh, and when you talk to Patsy, don’t forget to ask her about Tyler’s underwear. They’re his favorite pair, remember?”

  I rolled my eyes. “How could I forget? Worn and comfy.”

  He slung his bag over one shoulder, grinning now. “Apparently.”

  With a laugh, I unzipped my bag, stuffing the ancient book inside. When I looked back up again, Aidan was gone.

  “I hate it when you do that!” I called out, my voice echoing in the empty space.

  18 ~ Four out of Five Dentists Surveyed …

  You want to try one more time?” Dr. Byrne—Matthew—asked, and I nodded.

  This was our last session before Thanksgiving break. I needed to get it right this time. My head was pounding from the effort—a throbbing ache just above my eyebrows.

  I’d managed to replay the same part of the vision I’d seen before, right up to where Patsy grabbed the golf cart for support, but nothing further. Which terrified me. What if I was blocked from seeing it because subconsciously I knew I was going to see something awful?

  He laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, Violet. I’ll talk you through it.”

  “I know. Just … let me catch my breath for a second.” I was actually sweating, despite the fact that he kept his office on the chilly side.

  “Sure, take your time.” He lowered himself into the chair beside mine. For a moment, we simply sat there in companionable silence. Finally he turned toward me. “You know, it doesn’t always work. Trying to go forward, I mean. It’s not exactly the same as a replay. I’ve only been able to do it a couple of times, and I’ve had a lot more practice than you.”

  I sighed, realizing it was probably hopeless. There was so much I still didn’t understand about my visions, so much I couldn’t control. “Hey, that reminds me—have you ever had a vision where you were kind of sucked under, having a hard time getting back out of it? Almost like there was a band around your chest or something, making it hard to breathe?” It had only happened one time—last spring, just before Julius’s attack. It had totally freaked me out, and no one had been able to explain it.

  “Just once, and it scared the hell out of me. I’d seen something where … well, let’s just say that one of the possible outcomes meant lights-out for me. Anyway, I assume it had something to do with the fact that, in that particular vision, I was the one in danger, and the danger was imminent.”

  “So … why the reaction? Any theories?”

  He shrugged. “Not really. How about you?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. Anyway, I guess you managed to stop whatever you had seen from happening.”

  “Sure did. I assume you did too—you know, since you’re sitting here in my office now.”

  “Yeah, but mine was a little different.” Because I hadn’t seen anything that had threatened me, specifically. Unless … unless Julius had been lying, telling Blackwell what he wanted to hear but never intending to turn me over to him after I’d destroyed Aidan.

  Maybe Blackwell knew Julius was lying; maybe that’s why he sent Jenna into the fray to save the day. Of course, that still didn’t explain why he would sacrifice himself—

  “You ready to try again?” Matthew asked.

  I nodded. “I’m ready.”

  For fifteen minutes, he talked me through it. It was the same as always—the ticking clock and his voice, almost hypnotizing. Each time, I’d fall back into the vision, and each time it stopped at exactly the same place.

  “You want to call it a day?” he offered, glancing down at his watch.
>
  I reached up to rub my temples. “Anxious to get rid of me, Dr. Byrne?”

  “Hey, it’s Matthew, remember? And not at all. We can do this all day, if you want. You sure you’re okay?” He stood over me now, his brows drawn.

  “I’m fine—just a little headachy. Anyway, I want to try one more thing, if you don’t mind.” The holidays were coming up, which meant winter. Which meant I needed to be one hundred percent sure that what I’d seen on my first day back—Aidan going after Whitney—had been a dream, and not a vision.

  I’d give it one last try, and then I’d put it to rest. Because this one was different. I’d been able to recall all the others, each and every vision I’d had since school started—all but this one. One last attempt, and then I’d be sure.

  “You want to tell me about it?” he asked. “Some details, maybe? I could guide you—”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Seriously, Violet. You know it works better when you tell me what we’re dealing with.”

  “I know, but … not this time, okay?”

  His eyes seemed to darken a hue. “Why do I get the feeling that this has something to do with Aidan? If you’re sensing some sort of danger, seeing something that—”

  “I told you, I’m not in any danger with him. Seriously, you spend almost as much time with him as I do. Probably more. Have you ever felt in any way threatened by him?”

  He regarded me coolly. “No. But like I said before, it’s not the same.”

  “It is the same,” I said stubbornly.

  He leaned toward me, his voice a harsh whisper now. “For Christ’s sake, Violet, he’s a vampire. How can you even …” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Just … never mind.”

  What had he meant to say? Trust him? Touch him? Kiss him?

  “He trusts you,” I said at last. “He thinks you’re some kind of genius. Did you see what happened to him the last time he injected the serum that you’ve been working on with him? I swear, it almost killed him. Who knows what kind of damage it’s done, and he’s still messing around with it, injecting it into himself like he’s some sort of lab rat.”