by Tanith Frost
No. Still no. Katya is an elder. Respected by everyone from Trixie to Daniel to Miranda herself. And if she did have exotic tastes, she could get anything she wanted at the club. I’m sure she would have full access to the dark vials on Miranda’s wall if nothing available at the bar pleased her. She has no reason to go rogue. She hunts them, for fuck’s sake. She’s one of ours, one of the best.
I’m wrong. That’s all. And if Katya got so much as a whiff of what I’m thinking right now, she would have my ass shipped off to Nunavut.
It’s just a feeling. I let myself feel too much. I see the victims as people rather than clues, and I’m misleading myself. Maybe it’s because I’m wary of her after what Daniel told me about her, and my subconscious is… Shit, I wish I’d studied psychology so I knew what the hell was happening in the depths of my mind right now. The void within me wouldn’t have seen any of this and been misled as my emotions have. I’m trusting the wrong part of myself, and Daniel was right. It’s bad. It could get me killed.
I open my eyes and turn to get back to work, ignoring the return of that déjà vu sensation as Katya moves around the room.
She obviously feels me watching her. She turns and smiles.
I don’t know her well enough to know whether the coldness in her eyes is directed at me, or if that’s just the way she is. But when I reach deep and draw on the power of the darkness that’s in me, I feel it. Malice radiating off of her as she turns back to the body, looking as cold and analytical as can be.
Maybe her ill-will is toward the rogues.
Or maybe I’m in deeper trouble than I’ve been in since the night I died.
13
Fuck.
I was hoping that sleeping for a day would make things clearer for me, maybe give me time to put things in perspective. I haven’t dreamed since my last night alive, but sleep usually does help with these things. I should have known I wouldn’t be so lucky this time. I’ve wakened to a brand new night with zero insights and no less confusion than I came to bed with.
We didn’t get home until almost dawn, and Daniel and I dragged ourselves to our separate beds without a word of discussion on the matter. Nothing is assumed in our situation. We’re not here to hang out, to snuggle in bed as we drift off to sleep, to share our feelings about the night. He asked on the ride home if I wanted to talk about anything that had happened, and not yet was all I had to offer.
I had too many thoughts, and too many of them heading in opposite directions. I wanted to approach Daniel with a clear head and a solid idea of what might be going on, not with flighty thoughts and vague feelings that seem to come from a place within me that’s taboo in our world.
Problem is, I’ve still got nothing.
I get up to open the curtains, letting the light from the streetlamp outside illuminate the room as I pace between the bed and the dresser. It’s not a pleasant light, but I need something. If I sit in the dark I’ll drift too far.
And I do feel like I’m drifting.
I’ve come so far since Daniel told me to just let myself be what I am. My senses are improved, and my extrasensory perceptions have soared. I’m getting faster, stronger, experiencing clarity in my training… all good and proper things that come from the void within me.
But then there’s this other thing. The way I seem to be connected with the victims of these horrific crimes. What the hell is that? I don’t think I’m seeing ghosts. I want to believe that there’s something for people like them after death, that they’re not hanging around here with the likes of us, still suffering. But I’m clearly sensing something, and impressions left by their trauma seems like the only reasonable explanation.
I can’t help but notice that my definition of “reasonable” has expanded exponentially since my death.
All I know for sure is that I saw something. I caught a glimpse of it at the first murder scene, and didn’t care to look closer. Who would, when it feels like you’re going insane? There was less of it at the suicide, even when I tried to open myself. But this time…
This time, I felt like it was real. I know what I saw, what I felt. The problem is, I don’t know whether I can trust my perceptions.
I don’t feel crazy at all. I really think these emotions and images are coming from outside of me.
But I don’t want to be right. And I don’t want to think about what Daniel would say if he knew what I’m thinking about Katya. Every time I remember her pleased little smile and the ill-will that radiated from her, I get chills.
I flop back on the bed and pull a pillow over my eyes, blocking out the light. Maybe drifting isn’t such a bad idea.
“Aviva?”
I don’t answer. Daniel steps into the room.
“What happened last night?”
I toss my pillow to the floor and sit up. “Are you asking as a friend, my trainer, or the guy who’s fucking me and feels like he should ask?”
He sits beside me. “I’m no longer the second, and the third is irrelevant. At least, it shouldn’t make any difference to this discussion.”
He really sounds like he means that. This will take a lot of getting used to.
“So,” he says slowly, “we could say it’s the first, though that’s tricky as well. How about a concerned colleague and mentor who’s fucking you and feels like he should ask?”
I laugh in spite of the heaviness in my chest that’s threatening to make me one with the bed again. It cuts off sharply as I consider what I’m about to tell him.
And I am. All of it. Wasn’t I thinking not long ago that he seems to understand me? He won’t judge me as quickly or as harshly as he says Katya would. He’ll listen. He’ll tell me what he knows about this shit.
And so I tell him everything I experienced at that big, beautiful house.
He goes paler than he usually is when I mention Katya looking at the body, but I press on and explain about the shadow.
Her shadow.
His brow furrows, and he doesn’t say anything for a minute—one that feels like it’s stretching into hours. Finally he says, “This is concerning.”
I relax. “Thank you.”
He turns slowly to me. “It was a mistake for me to tell you to stop trying to let go of your humanity.”
If I had a heartbeat, it would have fallen still at the regret in his voice. “What do you mean?”
“It’s obviously causing you more problems than I had anticipated. I’ve been so pleased with your progress, but it’s not worth this cost.”
Cold prickles creep over my arms and back. “You don’t believe me?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I believe that you’re telling me the truth about what you saw and felt.”
“But?”
He glances at the window, then back to me, locking his gaze to mine. “Aviva, think about what you’re saying. Who you’re accusing of unthinkable crimes. Katya is an elder, but it goes deeper than that. She has been instrumental in the development of our social structure—a key element in negotiating relations with vampires around the world. She knows better than any of us, except maybe Miranda and the other elders, what we stand to lose. Katya helped design the system that makes stock available to us. She was there when they made the laws about killing, and every squad of rogue hunters on this continent answers to her.” He shakes his head. “There’s no one further above suspicion.”
I swallow back the lump of disappointment in my throat. What did I expect? It does sound crazy. Even I’m doubting myself. And Daniel has always made it perfectly clear that our loyalty is to Maelstrom, our elders, and finally, ourselves. Not to each other. Not to new vampires who have no idea how to control their perceptions.
He’s not my boyfriend. There’s no blind loyalty here. And maybe that’s for the best, if I’m wrong.
“And the malice I felt from her?”
“You can’t assume it was directed at you. It’s only natural she would feel it toward the rogues when she looked at the body. I’d
be more surprised if she didn’t.”
We’re silent for a minute. “What if I was right?” I ask, barely whispering.
He presses his lips into a tight line as he considers that. “You’d be in more danger than she would if you accused her.”
He says it so matter-of-factly that I can’t even be surprised. Of course I would be. I’m nothing. She’s an elder.
An elder who would never kill, never mind so openly. I’m wrong. I have to be.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to shove my swirling thoughts into some kind of order. It doesn’t help.
“So what do I do with what I saw? How do I make sense of that?”
His phone rings, filling the room with its electronic noise. He reaches slowly for his pocket, obviously dreading the call as much as I am.
I don’t want to hear that anyone else has died.
“Yes?” He’s silent, listening, tensed like he’s about to fight someone. He stands, but doesn’t move toward the door. “Very good. I’ll see you there. No, not this time.”
He hangs up. “I have to go.”
My stomach clenches, but I rise from the bed. “Where are we going?”
“Not you, Aviva. Take tonight off. Give yourself some time to think.”
He hasn’t touched me, but he might as well have pushed me down. I sit again, glaring up at him. It’s not that I want to go. Why would I want to see what they’ve done, or be faced with the darker potential of what I am? But I can help. If I’m wrong about Katya, so be it, but I want to help. I hadn’t realized how much until just now, when Daniel told me I couldn’t.
When did I become this contrary?
Daniel crouches in front of me and places a hand on my thigh. I resist the urge to pull away. “Listen to me, please.”
Daniel doesn’t say please. Daniel gives orders. It’s enough to stop any tirade I’d be tempted to go off on. He holds my gaze, and I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to.
“I don’t know what’s happening with you. We’ll figure it out. I don’t doubt that you’re coming into your powers now, or that they might help us here. But you are young and untested, and I think you need practice in interpreting what you’re seeing and feeling.” His fingers tighten on my leg. “I want your help. But Katya will be there today, and based on what I saw from you at the last scene, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be around her.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t want to see you in trouble. Katya is not someone you want to make an enemy of. She doesn’t care whether you like her, but if she thinks you are questioning her authority or undermining her in any way, she will turn everyone against you. She is not merciful. She will not tolerate your suspicions if she catches on. Please. Stay away from her until we figure this out. For my sake.”
I grit my teeth. I get it. I do. At least he’s not giving orders now. But I hate for your own good arguments. Always have. They make me feel like a child. And even though Daniel knows Katya far better than I do, even though he’s probably seen vampires face her ire, and even though I like that he cares enough to protect me—which he shouldn’t, if he respects himself as a proper vampire—it rankles me.
I don’t say anything, and he gets up to leave.
“It’s not just Katya,” he adds. “If any elder doubts your loyalty to them or to Maelstrom, you’ll be turned out.”
My blood chills as I imagine having to go rogue, Daniel hunting me like a common criminal.
“Even if I’m right about her?”
He looks out the window. “Even if you are, which you are not, and I suggest you practice letting go of the idea… Even then, my advice to you would be to let it go. You would not win this battle, and there’s no reason for you to take it on.”
“Not even if my silence means more people will die?”
“That’s not your concern. Or mine. We’re handling the potential consequences of the crime scenes. We won’t be exposed.”
Heat rises in me at his icy tone. “Shit, Daniel. How does this not matter to you? Those children, that couple. Were you this fucking cold when you were alive, or was it just that easy for you to let it all go when you died?”
His lip curls in rage, and he hits me with a glare that ices over all the anger that was building in my blood. “I was too compassionate when I was alive, too willing to sacrifice myself, and it cost me things I won’t think or speak of now. I experienced hell in its truest form before my death. Letting go of my humanity afterward was the only way I managed to stay sane. I’d advise you to do the same if you value your future.”
He stalks out of the room and slams the door behind him.
I lie down and pull the pillow back over my head.
Fuck.
God, these shows are stupid.
I’m not really supposed to be watching this shit. And I’m not, technically. I’m listening to the TV like it was a radio play, since I can’t be bothered to dig out the glasses that would protect my eyes from the irritating flashes of the screen.
We’re not even encouraged to listen to the news, let alone dramas about teenage vampires and their ridiculous romantic entanglements, and I’m not so far gone that I need to work hard at keeping up with modern culture. That’s not to say programs like this don’t have their uses, though. When the living watch and read this fake vampire stuff, it blinds them to the reality that lurks so close to the surface of their ignorant, shallow world. It’s another layer of protection for us, as is the fact that the living like to play-act at being vampires. It would all be insulting if it wasn’t so effective at making people disbelieve in the real thing.
I’m not really paying attention to the on-screen melodrama, but it’s good to have the noise in the background. I can tune it out while I think.
And I have been thinking. Daniel’s been gone for twelve hours, and I haven’t yet taken a break from sorting through the situation I’ve got myself into.
Twelve hours. I hope that means they found something. He hasn’t tried to reach me to let me know.
I still have no idea whether I’m wrong about Katya. That’s not something I can answer without more information, so I’ve set it aside. That question is just masking the bigger one.
The one about who and what I am.
Until last week, I was a fuck-up. Worthy of being called a vampire, certainly, but not able to connect with my deeper nature, even if I hid that fact well. I’ve found the key to that. But the key is my compassion for the living, and the gift it has unlocked is something I can only call empathy. I’m sensing the emotions imprinted on the places where people died, catching glimpses of the experience through their eyes.
I’ve never heard of this. It’s not strange for a vampire to have unique gifts, of course—Miranda’s perception of thoughts is certainly not typical, and Daniel can mask himself better than anyone else I know. I’m not a freak or a superhero for having a talent, but it is a strange one for a creature that’s supposed to be cut off from the human world.
I shouldn’t have a gift that makes me feel like I have scraps of a soul clinging to me.
Maybe this is why I was ill-suited to become a vampire. Even now, after I’ve found a gift and some level of acceptance for my situation, I’m not like the others. Not like Trixie, or even Daniel.
I’ve seen my difference as a weakness. Everyone has, starting at the facility where I woke after my transformation. My lingering connection to life has held me back, but it’s turned out to be the key to my gifts.
Why?
I’m not supposed to think about why. Why is a question for the living. I belong to the void now, to chaos. There is no why. There is only what is, what we choose and what we do.
But what if I still have a purpose?
Or better yet, what if I can still choose one for myself?
The thought quickens something in me. I am what I am. Maybe there’s no greater reason for that, but I can choose to do good with my gift. I’m the only one willing to pr
otect the living for their own sake, rather than to keep our world secret. And yes, my desire to do that is wrong, according to vampires. But I don’t care that it’s wrong. I have to help them. I have to find the answers, and there’s a chance that my weird, intensely wrong gift is what could catch the rogues, assuming I sort that gift out from my mess of personal issues.
I’m not going to let Katya, my own mixed-up mind, or my inexperience get in the way of that. Daniel can’t argue with me there. Getting rid of these rogues will be good for all of us. He believed I’d make a good hunter, and for the first time, I think maybe he wasn’t wrong.
I sink back into the deep couch cushions. I feel good about this. If I let go of my suspicions about Katya—which logically make no sense, I see that now—I can do great things. Maybe keep working with Daniel.
That wouldn’t be terrible, assuming he still wants me. I think I hurt him earlier. I didn’t know that was possible. Daniel’s an emotional tank. He might get irritated by disrespect or act angry if his subordinates aren’t doing their best, but he’s always seemed untouchable on any deep level. I don’t know why me accusing him of exactly what he should be proud of made him turn on me, but I am sorry.
I like him. Not just because he’s nice to look at, not just because his excessive self-control and competence are kind of sexy, and not just because I respect him. He’s actually pretty cool when he lets his guard down. He’s a fucking beast in bed, and resting next to him was amazing. He’s always wanted what was best for me, even if his ways of getting me there haven’t exactly been what my living self would have looked for in a friend or a lover.
I can’t want him as either. He’s not offering those things, and I shouldn’t expect them. But I don’t want to push him away. I don’t know exactly what I’ll be apologizing for, but I should—
The lock thunks, and the front door swings open with a slight creak. I jump up, turn off the TV, and prowl slowly toward the front hall.
