Haunting Echoes

by Caethes Faron

  Amaia was bored. It didn’t take much of her concentration to read each man’s tells and adjust her playing accordingly. Playing cards as a vampire was ridiculously easy. She scanned the room, inspecting the people. There was no doubt in her mind that her powers of observation yielded her more information than years of friendship could have. Humans were naturally egotistical and therefore, unobservant.

  Her eyes darted to the door as it opened, drawn to something, a tug of energy she couldn’t explain. A stranger entered and shook the rain from his hair. Amaia’s hand instinctively flew to her mouth as she let out an audible gasp. It couldn’t be.

  “What is it?” Meg asked, worry in her eyes.

  Amaia noticed that the other faces around the table were trained on her. “Nothing. I just realized something about my hand.” Amaia gave a shy smile, letting the men believe she was a silly girl, and they resumed the game.

  “What is it really?” Meg’s voice was too low to be heard by the humans.

  “Nothing. I’m not sure. Just pay attention to the game.” It came out fast and low. Amaia continued with the hand, keeping one eye on the stranger. He cracked a crooked smile at the proprietor as he ordered. With ale in hand, he sat at an empty table, seemingly lost in thought.

  Something was familiar. Amaia saw a flash of a tavern in a different country, a different time. A different man sitting alone, looking like he could use companionship. The stranger lifted his head and locked eyes with Amaia.

  Her heart froze.

  A pair of gray eyes that she knew better than any eyes in the world stared back at her.

  The contact only lasted a second before the man turned away. Amaia’s heart thawed and beat furiously. She bolted to her feet, disturbing the table as she forgot to slow her movements. The exclamations around her were enough to remind her not to move too quickly as she fled the tavern, not even venturing a glance back at Meg.

  Once out of the village, she ran. She ran faster than she ever had. Faster than that first night with Lawrence, faster than she knew it was possible for her body to move. For the first time, she experienced true fear.

  Never in her existence as a vampire had she felt so human, so vulnerable. A ghost from her long-buried mortal life had just materialized in the flesh, and she was sure he sought vengeance.

  Chapter Nine

  Outside Vienna, May 1646

  Amaia knew she was being followed. The sound of someone running behind her urged her forward. She couldn’t let him catch her.

  “Amaia! Stop!” Meg’s voice registered in her brain.

  The force of Amaia’s body stopping from such a great speed threw her to the ground. Only when she felt the wet grass beneath her hands did she remember that it was pouring rain. Behind her, she heard the sloshing sound of two sets of feet squelching across the forest floor. A moment later, Meg and Liam were beside her.

  “Are you trying to expose us?” Liam roared down at her.

  “Liam, stop it. Something’s wrong.” Meg shot him a silencing glare. “Amaia, what is it? What’s going on?”

  “It’s him. I can’t believe it. He’s dead, but there he is. How? He’s here to kill me, to destroy me. I know he is. I’ve got to get away.” Amaia’s mind raced in confused circles.

  “Who? Who is it, Amaia?” Meg grabbed Amaia’s shoulders and forced her to look in her eyes.

  “Michael.”

  Meg sucked in a deep breath. “All right, let’s get you home.”

  “No, it’s too close. He could find me there. We have to move. To run.” Amaia’s eyes darted across the countryside, trying to make sense of her surroundings and determine where she would be safe. Even now, Michael could be chasing her.

  “We will, Amaia. We will. But we must get Lawrence. Can you contact Lawrence?” Meg’s smooth voice calmed Amaia enough to understand the logic behind her friend’s words. Lawrence would know what to do.

  “I need you.”

  “Where are you?” The mere sound of his voice in her head calmed her. He was strong and sure.

  “In the woods northwest of the city.”

  “I’ll be there soon. Are Meg and Liam with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Stay there.”

  “He’s on his way.” Lawrence would come and make sense of this all.

  Meg nodded and grasped Amaia’s hands. There was something about the gesture that rooted Amaia, made her feel a little less scared.

  “Who the hell is she going on about?” Liam stood with his arms crossed before him. “Another vampire? I haven’t sensed one since we arrived.”

  “No, it was that man who came into the tavern during the game.” Meg didn’t let go of Amaia.

  “A mortal? Don’t tell me you, Amaia, one of the most powerful vampires in the last century, is afraid of a mortal?” The incredulity in Liam’s tone reached the part of Amaia’s brain that thought this was crazy.

  “It wasn’t just any mortal, Liam. It was Michael, her transformation kill.”

  Amaia was grateful her friends respected her enough to speak out loud. They could just as easily discuss her insanity behind her back.

  “What? That’s impossible. When humans die, they’re dead. They don’t come back.”

  “That’s enough, Liam. We’ll straighten it all out when Lawrence arrives.”

  Lawrence. He would know what to do. He always did. “Please hurry.”

  “I’m almost there. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  Amaia focused on the woods around her, scanning for Lawrence’s form amid the rain and foliage. When she saw him, she stood. She wouldn’t be weak before him. There was no need to be. He made her strong.

  “What is going on? What happened?” Lawrence looked between Amaia and Meg and then to Liam before focusing back on Amaia.

  “It’s Michael, Lawrence. I saw him tonight, at the tavern.” Amaia watched his expression, seeking a clue to his thoughts.

  “Are you sure?” It was a simple inquiry for more information.

  The relief that washed over Amaia at the absence of doubt in his voice reminded her why she never intended to mate. Lawrence was the only person she would ever need, the only one who could protect and understand her. “Yes. He looked different. Only his eyes were the same. I’d recognize them anywhere.”

  “Eyes? Really, Amaia? There are only so many ways eyes can look. You’ve exposed us over a set of eyes?” Liam came closer. Amaia knew this was his protectiveness of Meg coming to the surface. She had made a major blunder back at the tavern, rising faster than any human could, and it threatened them all if the superstitious townsfolk got it in their heads that they were demons or some other such nonsense.

  “It wasn’t just the eyes, though I’m telling you, they were Michael’s. It was his energy. It was the same. There’s no doubt in my mind. That aura is his and his alone. I’d recognize it anywhere.” It was true. Even though Amaia hadn’t been able to sense energies the same way as a mortal, she knew it was true. It was intuition, what mortals called a gut feeling.

  Lawrence placed his hands around her upper arms and kissed her on the forehead. It comforted her in a way that nothing else could. “I believe you. Do you think he recognized you?”

  The question caught her off guard. She had just assumed that he would recognize her as easily as she had recognized him. That was a foolish assumption to make. “No. Now that I think about it, I don’t think he did.”

  “All right, that’s good. What do you want to do? Do you want to kill him?” Lawrence spoke in the same cool pragmatic tone as always. It grounded Amaia and made her realize that this wasn’t out of their reach to deal with.

  “No. I don’t see what good it would do. It didn’t work last time.” The thought of what might happen if she killed him again chilled her. The consequences of the first time were bad enough.

  “That’s a good point. What do we do?”

  Lawrence left the decision to her. She knew they would follow her no matter what choice she made. They h
ad somehow formed their own little clan, and they were looking to her. She knew then that if she asked any of them to kill Michael, they would. Maybe that would cease her haunting. At the same time, it might simply transfer it to whoever killed him. She wouldn’t do that to a friend.

  “I want to run to our home in Paris. It hasn’t been so long since we were there that our age would be an issue. He won’t be able to follow us such a long distance.” She needed the familiarity of her favorite city.

  “It’s decided then. We’ll leave now. I’ll send for anything we might want later.” Lawrence gave her arms a little squeeze before letting go. “What about you two? Are you coming?”

  “Of course.” Meg took a step closer to Amaia, grabbing hold of her hand.

  “I go where she goes.” Liam gave a gruff nod toward Meg.

  They ran straight through to Paris. The hours blurred together until Amaia looked out her bedroom window at Notre Dame lit by the setting sun. Here, she would be safe, even if she hadn’t been able to outrun those gray eyes. Eyes that even now stared at her through the rose of the great cathedral.

  Chapter Ten

  Paris, May 1646

  Every stone of Notre Dame was carved into her mind alongside every fleck in the irises of Michael’s eyes. It had been more than a day since she’d arrived in Paris, and she still sat at her window, staring ahead.

  How had Michael appeared after all this time? He wasn’t a vampire; she would have felt it in his energy. Besides, he looked different. He hadn’t retained the same physical form he’d possessed when she had killed him. What then? A demon? A ghost? None of it made sense. All she knew was that he must be after her. Why else would he come to the same tavern she frequented with Meg and Liam? It had never occurred to her before that there might be other creatures who stalked the night. It made sense. She was a vampire; why wouldn’t there be other immortals?

  She wasn’t safe. It was only a matter of time before he found her. If he still held his mortal memories, he might even think to look for her in Paris. She’d been foolish coming to the city they had once dreamed of running away to. She would have to kill him, but she didn’t know what he was.

  Lawrence’s hand rested on top of Amaia’s shoulder. It offered comfort even though it was as cold as death, just as she was.

  “Do you want to kill him?”

  “What?” Amaia twisted around to look at Lawrence.

  “That’s what you’ve been thinking of. Isn’t it? You’ve been staring out this window for the last day.”

  “I don’t even know what he is. A demon? A ghost wouldn’t have had a physical body. Would it? What other kinds of monsters are out there?”

  Lawrence laughed. “Is that what you’ve been thinking?”

  “What else could he possibly be?”

  “I assure you, we are the only creatures you need to worry about.” Lawrence stroked her hair, easing her fears. “There is nothing else out there, certainly nothing that can cause you harm.”

  “Then what explanation is there?”

  Lawrence sat beside her. “There are those who believe in reincarnation. I believe you’ve just uncovered the first proof of it.”

  “Reincarnation?”

  “Yes. In the East, they’ve believed in it for generations. There aren’t Christians there. They have a completely different religious system. I’ve suspected reincarnation is closer to the truth than Heaven and Hell. Given your sensitivity to energies, it’s not surprising that you’ve recognized one across lives. The only surprise is the amazing coincidence of it all. Though I suppose, given your closeness to Michael, you would be more tuned to his aura.”

  “So you really think there is nothing more to it than that? He’s just a regular mortal?”

  “Yes. Think back to when you saw him. Did his aura feel any different than other humans? Was there any indication that he wasn’t a mortal?”

  Amaia looked past Lawrence, conjuring the memory. He was right. Nothing about Michael’s energy would lead her to believe he was anything but human. “None, other than his changed form.”

  “There you have it. You have nothing to fear, my dear. You must simply decide how you want to handle the matter.”

  “I don’t want to see him again, even to kill him.” Never mind that she saw his eyes everywhere. She didn’t want Lawrence knowing about the eyes, lest he perceive a weakness.

  “It’s probably for the best. He was never a good influence on you. Seeing him can only lead to trouble. It’s all worked out rather well. Zenas has no problem with us remaining here, and you can resume your work with the cardinal.”

  “You didn’t tell Zenas about Michael, did you?” The thought of that arrogant prick knowing she had fled from a mortal was unbearable.

  “No. I simply told him we wanted to be back in Paris. After the information you gathered from the viscount, he has no further use for us in Vienna. There are benefits to being in his good graces.”

  Amaia yearned for the day when Zenas’s opinion didn’t matter. Most of the time, it was easy to forget about Zenas, but being reminded of his omnipresence in her life always chafed her. “Thank you for arranging it all. I hate to be such a bother to you.” Lawrence, she actually cared for. His was the only opinion that mattered to her.

  “Nonsense. You’re not a bother at all, my dear. Now, how do you want to let the court know that you’ve returned?”

  Not another word was said regarding Michael. Amaia wasn’t convinced Michael had simply reincarnated, but it was the best explanation given the evidence. She pretended all was well, but unease festered deep inside her. The eyes that haunted her had visited her in the flesh, and they would not be so easily deterred.

  Chapter Eleven

  Paris, February 1648, 1 year, 9 months later

  Almost two years later, it was still there, always in the background: the constant hum of Michael’s energy. Eventually, Amaia had convinced herself that everything was fine. It could just be her imagination. Perhaps she’d felt it once and now thought she felt it everywhere. It was faint, but when she was still, she realized it never completely went away.

  Life had resumed the usual pattern, almost as if they had never left Paris the first time. Amaia rekindled her affair with Cardinal Mazarin and her other regulars. Lawrence continued working on establishing matches between some of the bloodlines he had left when Zenas called them away to Vienna. They were back in Paris for as long as Amaia needed.

  The streets bustled despite the falling snow. Amaia’s skin crawled from the crowd, but it was the only way to get to the theater. There was a play today at the Hôtel de Bourgogne. She wouldn’t be watching, however. She’d be at a nearby inn. Whenever there was a show, foot traffic increased where she read fortunes.

  Fortune-telling had become something of a hobby. She’d picked it up in Florence. An old woman used to read fortunes at the market. The reactions from her patrons had intrigued Amaia. Seeing the woman work had reminded her of a client in her mortal life who had taught her about palm reading. It seemed easy enough, so she had tried it one day and found she rather liked it. It was good practice for reading energies, and it gave her time to study the more interesting aspects of humanity. Tonight, she would attend a banquet at the Louvre Palace with a widowed count who was becoming a regular, but there was plenty of time to read fortunes under the guise of a gypsy before preparing. She found it best to keep busy.

  “Your daughter will bear you many grandchildren if she marries this man. The union will be fruitful. Push for a quick marriage. She already carries his child.” Amaia spoke in a deep, melodious tone to the woman sitting in front of her.

  “I knew it! That girl could never keep her legs together,” the plump woman shrilled.

  “Once he knows, he will abandon her. She must marry him before he finds out.” Amaia delivered the advice the woman wanted. That was the key to gaining a good reputation. She always told the truth, as much as she could discern it, except when it was something the person didn’t
want to hear. In this case, the woman already suspected her daughter of being pregnant and wanted her married before it began to show.

  “Oh, I’ll make sure he marries her all right.” The woman left in a tizzy. The chair in front of Amaia didn’t sit empty for long before another woman took the place of the last. This one was thin and old with wrinkled skin hanging off her crooked frame.

  “Payment first.” Amaia nodded to the bowl on the table where she collected her money. She had started out telling fortunes for free, but she’d noticed that people didn’t take her seriously. Charging marked her as a professional and not merely a crazy woman. She wasn’t sure why she cared.

  The woman pulled out a coin and placed it in the tin.

  “What is your question?” Amaia leaned forward, her elbows on the table, reaching out her hands. The lady responded by placing her hands in Amaia’s.

  “I want to know if I’m going to die.” The woman’s voice was soft and hurried.

  Amaia had to suppress her laughter. “We all die.”

  “I know. But will it happen soon? A black wart appeared on my elbow. I think it is a curse. Will it kill me?” The lady was clearly very distressed, but at the same time, there was a lilt at the end of her question. She was one of those women who enjoyed stress. Perhaps she had a family at home who had begun to ignore her, and a grave illness would be just the thing to draw their attention.

  Amaia made a show of studying the wart in question. Not only was it black, it had a curly black hair growing from it. “No, it will not kill you, but it will make you very sick if you do not take care of it. It is not a curse, but it is evil humors brought on by your family for not appreciating you. Their evil scorn has rested on you. You must pluck a hair from the head of every person who has wronged you and burn them. That will clear the humors, and your children will be more attentive.” Humans loved being able to take action, no matter how ridiculous, to solve their problems. It gave them a sense of control over their lives.