by Kristi Cook
“Well, there’s no telling what they did to him. You’ve got to expect that he’ll be somehow damaged. For a while, at least.”
I reached up to rub my temples, fighting off a headache. “Yeah, I know. It’s just that we don’t have that much time. Together,” I clarified. “You know, before they send him off to do his Dauphin thing, or whatever.”
“Well, spring break starts next week. Maybe the time away will do him some good.”
“I hope so,” I said on a sigh. Truthfully, I was worried about the trip now. Worried that seeing Whitney would somehow set him back, sending him into a spiraling depression; that Lupe would react badly to his presence; that Aidan and Matthew staying together was a really, really bad idea. There were at least a half dozen things I was worried about, and yet I was excited, too. Talk about crazy.
“You look a little pale,” Matthew said, pushing off his desk and circling around to his chair. “Headache?”
“Yeah. I took something when I got up, but it isn’t helping much.”
“We don’t have to do any training today,” he offered.
“Thanks. I’m feeling a little run-down.”
His dark eyes flooded with concern. “Yeah? Have you seen the nurse? Maybe she can give you some vitamins or something.”
I fought back a smile. “I don’t think vitamins are going to help. But thanks. For the suggestion, I mean.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “Are you up for trying something new today?”
“Depends.” I sat up straight, eyeing him curiously. “What did you have in mind?”
“Just testing out our psychic connection. Your birthday’s coming up, after all.”
“Nine more days,” I said with a nod.
“So maybe the bond is strengthening? For starters, I can feel your headache.”
“You can?”
“Yeah, I can. Right here”—he rubbed the same spot on his temples that I’d been rubbing just a few minutes ago—“but worse on the left side. Kind of a pulsing throb.”
He was right. Gooseflesh rose on my skin. “Okay, that’s weird.”
“Right? And I think I’m more in tune with your emotional state, too. Take yesterday, for example. I’m standing there teaching a class, and suddenly for no reason, I feel . . . frustration. For no reason whatsoever.”
“What time? Do you remember?”
“It was the beginning of fourth period. Maybe one-ish?” One fifteen?”
“I was at MoMA then, sitting outside with Aidan. Frustrated that he was all doom and gloom, when fifteen minutes earlier he’d been laughing and joking.”
“Well, I guess that explains it. It was fleeting, though.”
“Yeah, I got over it pretty fast.” We’d stood there in the cold kissing for a good ten minutes before we’d gone back inside and found our group. I hoped Matthew hadn’t felt that.
“So it seems pretty one-sided, doesn’t it? I’m seeing your visions, feeling your pain, and experiencing some of your emotions. But on your end . . . nothing?”
I closed my eyes, searching my instincts, looking for something—a feeling, a sensation—that wasn’t entirely mine. I came up blank. “Not that I’ve noticed. But I don’t know. I’ve been a little preoccupied lately. Maybe I’m just missing it?”
“Well, we can test it. You turn around and close your eyes, okay? Tell me if you feel anything.”
With a nod, I started to turn my chair around before stopping and turning back to face him. “Wait, what are you going to do?”
“If I told you, it would defeat the purpose of the exercise.”
“Yeah, right. Just . . . you know, don’t do anything crazy, okay?” I was feeling suddenly unsettled.
“Hey, you’ve got to trust me, remember? Besides, do I look like I’d do something crazy?”
Before I had a chance to respond, my vision began to tunnel. I gripped the chair beneath me as the room fell away, Matthew’s voice drowned out by the deafening buzz in my ears. Oh no . . .
I was outside, in the woods—a small clearing in the woods. I was disoriented, unsure if I was there at Winterhaven, down by the river, or somewhere else entirely. The sun was just beginning to set between the treetops, cutting wide orange swaths between the shadows.
“Someone call 911!” a voice shouted. “C’mon, we’re losing him!”
It was Matthew shouting, I realized. I took several steps forward and glanced down, saw my friends surrounding a prone form on the ground. Cece was leaning on Sophie’s shoulder, sobbing.
I moved around the crowd, straining my eyes in the fading light, trying desperately to make out the identity of the body lying on the ground, unmoving. Covered in blood. I could smell it, I realized, gagging now.
But whose blood? Panic rose in my breast, cutting off my airway as I struggled to see, watching as Matthew ripped a T-shirt into long strips and tried to stanch the bleeding, cursing as he did so.
Tyler was on his cell, screaming into it, but I couldn’t make out his words. And Kate . . . Kate was kneeling beside the prone body, sobbing.
“C’mon,” she cried. “Stay with us, Jack! You’ve got to stay with us. Don’t leave me, damn it. Don’t—”
And just like that, I was back in Matthew’s office. “Oh my God!” I cried. “Jack. That was Jack.”
“I know,” Matthew said, his eyes slightly wild. “I saw. We won’t let it happen, Violet. We’ll do everything we can to stop it, okay?”
I just nodded, unable to utter a single word.
This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not ever.
Not to one of us.
17 ~ Marked
Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I reached for my cell there on my bedside table. There was a text from Aidan, which meant I hadn’t imagined the buzzing noise that had awakened me just as the first silvery light of dawn streamed across my bed.
Happy birthday, love. See you later?
I sat up with a smile, quickly tapping out a reply.
Of course! And thank you. Gran loves you, BTW.
Dinner the night before—our first night in Atlanta for break—had been absolutely perfect. Whitney had come over, and Lupe had made her favorite—country fried steak with rice and gravy. Gran had welcomed Aidan warmly, and if Lupe had sensed anything unusual about him, she hadn’t shown it.
When I’d told them that Matthew was in town, coincidentally staying at the same Buckhead hotel as Aidan, they’d invited him over too. Between the two of them, they’d managed to charm everyone—Lupe, Gran, and even Melanie, Gran’s private nurse. And best of all, Whitney’s presence hadn’t seemed to adversely affect Aidan.
So far, so good.
And now . . . I was eighteen. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to determine if anything felt different. It didn’t. At least, I didn’t feel an overwhelming urge to run out and slay a bunch of vampires, so I took that as a good sign.
Full-fledged Sâbbat or not, I was looking forward to the day ahead. I was meeting Matthew at ten, and he was going with me to get my tattoo.
My mark.
I hadn’t told Aidan about it—I’m not sure why, but for now this was something between me and my Megvéd. After my appointment with the tattoo artist, I was meeting Whitney for lunch at the mall, and then Aidan had hinted that he had a surprise me for tonight. I assumed he’d planned a nice dinner out, something fancy. He did tell me to wear a dress, after all.
Somehow, I had the feeling that Whitney was in on it too. Maybe even Gran. The anticipation was killing me—which was why I planned on staying busy all day.
There was a sharp knock on my bedroom door. “Are you up, m’ija? Your gran wants to see the birthday girl.”
“Tell her I’ll be right there!” I called out, scrambling from the bed and reaching for my robe.
A few minutes later, I hurried down the stairs toward Gran’s room, my slippers thumping noisily against the carpet. After her stroke, we’d had to move everything from the enormous master bedroom down to one
of the smaller rooms on the ground floor. Unless we put in a chair lift, she’d never be able to go upstairs again, which made me sad. But Gran had refused, claiming it would destroy the beautiful staircase, and besides, it wasn’t worth the expense.
When I reached her room, I found her sitting in the overstuffed chair by the window, an afghan tucked around her waist. “There you are,” she called out. “Why don’t you shut the door and come sit by me. I’ve got something for the birthday girl.”
I closed the door and hurried to her side. “You didn’t have to, Gran.”
She opened one gnarled hand and revealed a small velvet pouch. “This,” she said, “is special. I gave it to your mother on her eighteenth birthday, you know. And my mother gave it to me on mine. It’s been passed down for generations, from firstborn daughter to firstborn daughter. And now . . . since your mother isn’t here, it’s left to me to present it to you.”
Tears stung my eyes as she carefully opened the pouch and tipped its contents into her palm.
“It has a name,” she explained. “The ‘daughter’s eye.’ I have no idea what that means, but there you have it.” She held it up between her thumb and forefinger—a beautiful bracelet set in silver with dark, reddish-black oval stones separated by smaller, milky white ones. Each stone was surrounded by silverwork that looked like beads. The largest, the central stone—one of the reddish black ones—had more elaborate silver beading surrounding it, forming a triangular point on the top and bottom.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed.
Gran looked pleased, her eyes twinkling. “Isn’t it? The bigger stones are bloodstones and the smaller ones moonstones. Nothing fancy, really, and yet it’s exquisite. You don’t see workmanship like this today.”
She placed it in my hand. “You’ll have to ask Melanie to help you put it on. I’m afraid my arthritic fingers are useless these days.”
I ran the pad of my forefinger over the largest stone, amazed by its unusual color. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this. Did my mother wear it often?”
Gran shook her head. “Julia didn’t think it suited her. Nor did I, to tell you the truth. But . . . it looks right for you, doesn’t it?”
I just nodded, swallowing the painful lump in my throat.
“There’s a bit of a legend that goes with the piece,” she continued on. “Just a saying, really, but it’s part of the tradition of handing it down. ‘If the eye needs you, my daughter, you will know it.’ Odd, isn’t it? I have no idea what it means.”
But I did. I understood completely. This bracelet had something to do with my Sâbbat lineage. It hadn’t needed Gran or my mother. But it needed me—I was sure of that.
“I love it,” I said, closing my hand around it, testing its weight.
Gran patted my wrist, smiling broadly. “I’m glad, dear. You can wear it tonight. I have a feeling that young man of yours has something special planned.”
“I think so too. Do you like him, Gran? Aidan, I mean.”
“I like him very much. It’s obvious that he cares for you deeply, and I can tell that you feel the same way. There’s something . . . I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Old-fashioned and gentlemanly about him. He’s not quite like other boys his age, is he?”
I bit back a smile. If only she knew just how different he was. “Nope, he’s not.”
“There’s something magical about first love, I always say. Hold on to it if you can.”
“I will.” As long as I could, at least.
Her eyes were damp now. “Okay, run along and have your breakfast now. Lupe’s made your favorite—biscuits and sausage gravy.”
I rose, wrapping my arms around her as I inhaled her familiar scent—Shalimar and rosewater. “Thanks, Gran. I love you like crazy.”
“I love you too, sweetheart.” She patted my cheek. “Now go; enjoy your special day.”
I planned to do exactly that.
* * *
“Ouch,” I cried, tightening my grip on Matthew’s hand. “Is it almost over?”
“She’s not even halfway done,” he said with a laugh. “Seriously, I think you’re crushing my bones.”
I opened my eyes just enough to see the whirring needle press against my skin as the tattoo artist—Joni—worked. “Is it bleeding?” I asked, my voice rising shrilly.
She stopped long enough to shake her head. “No. That’s just the ink. It’ll be fine—I’ll be done soon, I promise.”
“Okay, okay.” I squeezed my eyes shut again, bracing myself against the pain. “You’ve got to do a better job distracting me, Matthew. I had no idea it was going to hurt this bad.”
He laughed softly. “I can’t believe you’re such a wimp, Violet. Where’s your bravado now?”
“Screw bravado. Ouch!”
“You’ve got to hold still,” Joni chastised.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “C’mon. Distract, distract!”
“What do you want me to talk about? Faculty gossip, maybe? Or—”
“Charlie,” I bit out. “Talk to me about Charlie. What did you tell her about coming here for break? With me?”
“I didn’t tell her. Well, not exactly,” he hedged.
My eyes flew open. “You lied to her? Seriously?”
I glanced over at Joni and saw her smirk knowingly.
Matthew’s cheeks flooded with color. “Um, can we talk about this later?”
“Hey, don’t stop on my account,” Joni said. “You wouldn’t believe the things I hear. This is nothing.”
“Yeah, go on,” I prodded. “This is really distracting.”
“Fine. I told her I was going to Atlanta,” he said stiffly. “For a conference. And I didn’t mention that you’d be here.”
Joni snorted.
“A conference?” I asked. “That’s the best you could do? Ouch!”
“Apparently so. And hold still. She’s almost done with the stake.”
I could only wonder what Joni thought about my choice of artwork. I mean, who got a stake tattooed on their wrist? I knew it seemed weird—maybe a little goth or emo. Which contrasted sharply with the image I presented in my Lilly Pulitzer sundress and sandals.
She must think I’m nuts.
“Okay,” Joni said. “The stake’s done. You wanted a butterfly, too? Resting on the stake?”
“Forget the butterfly,” I said, unable to bear the pain a minute longer. Anyway, the butterfly suddenly seemed all wrong. If I changed my mind, I could always have it added later.
“You’re sure?” Matthew asked, his brow knitted.
I nodded. “I’m sure.”
“Okay. Feel free to let go of my hand, then.”
I did so, watching as he flexed it with a wince. “Yeah, sorry about that,” I said.
“Hey, just consider it part of my services,” he quipped.
“I’d sure like to get in on that,” Joni said with a wink. “Whatever it means.”
I shot her a glare. My Megvéd, my inner voice screamed.
“Okay,” Joni said, setting aside her tools, her tone all businesslike now. “Keep it dry and out of the sun for a couple of weeks. Bandage stays on for two hours, that’s it. When you take it off, wash it with soap and water and pat dry. Then apply unscented skin lotion as often as it takes to keep it moist while it heals, okay? About five days. Looks like you know the drill.” She hooked her thumb toward Matthew’s tattoo. “Make sure she takes care of it, lover boy.”
Lover boy? I choked back a laugh, enjoying the stricken look on Matthew’s face.
“I can’t wait to show my boyfriend,” I chirped.
“Let me guess,” Joni said, a smile dancing on her purple-lipsticked mouth. “He doesn’t know you’re here, either?”
“Oh, he knows. Right, Matthew? In fact, they’re sharing a suite at the hotel.”
“Kinky,” Joni said with an approving wink.
I was still busting a gut laughing as a glaring Matthew led me out of the shop and into the bright, midday
Georgia sun.
So far, this was the best birthday ever.
18 ~ Surprise!
Wow,” Aidan said, his eyes widening as they swept over me. “You look”—he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat—“unbelievably beautiful.”
I fidgeted with the straps of my pale green shantung silk dress, bought just hours before while power shopping with Whitney at the mall. She’d claimed the dress made my eyes sparkle like gems. I was just happy that it fit perfectly, because nothing else I’d tried on had. Apparently, I’d lost some weight since Christmas break.
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said, eyeing him appreciatively as he stood there in Gran’s foyer, his hands thrust into his pockets. Leave it to Aidan to make a simple dark blue suit—worn sans tie, of course—look like something straight off the pages of GQ. “So, where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise, remember?”
“Well, what are you planning on doing, then? Blindfolding me in the car?”
“Yes,” he said with a grin. “Precisely that.” He pulled a black silk blindfold from his pocket, dangling it from his fingers.
Okay, that was hot. “Oh,” I managed to say, my heart suddenly racing. “Umm, wow.”
He laid one hand against my back. “You ready?”
“Wait, can you help me with this first?” I reached into my little clutch and retrieved my bracelet.
“Sure,” he said, his eyes narrowing a fraction. “What’s that on your wrist?”
“Oh, right.” I cleared my throat awkwardly. “I . . . um . . . got a tattoo today. Matthew took me,” I added lamely.
“You did . . . what?”
“Yeah, it’s a Sâbbat thing, actually. Remember that stuff in the book you gave me? The one Luc translated? I’ve officially taken my mark.” I held out my arm, wrist up. “See?”
He moved closer, taking my hand in his as he examined the tattoo. “It’s nice,” he said at last. “Pretty, actually. And kind of badass.”
