by Jenna Barwin
“There’s a beginner’s lesson at the start,” Zeke replied. “It’ll be real easy, you’ll see.”
So much for being subtle. Now what do I say?
Gaea gave one of her habitual clucks. “You should go. It’ll give you an opportunity to meet others on the Hill.”
Damn. Gaea was right. As much as she didn’t want to go with Zeke, social events were a good way to fulfill both her missions.
“Take Blanche with you, too,” Gaea added.
“Blanche?” Cerissa repeated. She definitely didn’t want to attend another event with Blanche and Zeke.
Gaea gave her shoulder a little squeeze. “Don’t worry. Blanche will behave herself. We had a little talk.”
Zeke’s smile got broader. “I’d be mighty happy to escort both you gals.”
Oh well, no choice now. Maybe Zeke could act as an ally and introduce her to others at the dance. She could even pitch him on her project. After all, she’d made her position on dating perfectly clear.
“Sure, Zeke,” she finally said. “Just let me change clothes.”
Chapter 13
The Hill Chapel—the same night
Henry stared at the closed office door. Turning around and going home sounded good to him. His monthly tithe paid for the time, so it didn’t matter whether he showed up or not. Yet here he was, because his papá taught him a man honors his commitments. Almost two centuries since he last saw him and the old man’s angry voice still rattled in his head. He squared his shoulders, raised his fist, and knocked.
“Come in, Henry,” Father Matt called out.
Henry opened the door and stepped into the priest’s office. The familiar smell of old books greeted him, emanating from the shelves filling one wall. An intricate mandala, drawn with vivid inks, held the place of honor over the couch. Its concentric circles of reds, oranges, and yellows reminded him of the sunrise he would never see again.
“Good evening, Father,” he said, sitting down on the couch. Father Matt was still at his desk, his pen poised to jot down some last-minute note. Henry eased back into the soft cushions and crossed one leg over his knee. The familiar surroundings of Matt’s office calmed his edginess.
“I’ll be right with you,” Matt said, before returning to whatever he was writing.
Henry glanced at his watch. He was on time, even if Matt wasn’t. He prided himself on being punctual. Prided himself on not making others wait. Prided himself on doing what was right. Prided himself— ¡Híjole! Now he had another sin to confess tonight, a sin he’d confessed to all too often over the years.
As a young vampire, constantly moving from town to town, he had sought out the local Catholic priest to hear his sins. Not now. Matt wasn’t Catholic, but Henry had no option—going to a Catholic priest in nearby Mordida was unthinkable. Not if he was going to be honest in his confession.
The Episcopal priest stood up from his desk. With his neatly trimmed beard, he looked like a young John Lennon. “How are you feeling?” Matt asked, taking the chair opposite Henry.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I saw Yacov last night.”
“How’s he doing?”
“He seems well. We are both concerned about the attack.”
“Is that why you called me?”
“No.”
Father Matt paused, looking thoughtful. “Shall we begin?”
Henry didn’t like face-to-face confession. He’d spent too many years hiding in the dim light of the confessional booth, where he revealed his soul in the comfort of anonymity. But Father Matt insisted on a more modern approach.
With no choice in the matter, he crossed himself and began the ritual. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been twenty-two nights since my last confession.”
Matt sat quietly while Henry confessed his litany of sins. When he finished, Matt spoke up. “Is that all? Or did something else prompt your call?”
Henry grew quiet for a moment. “I—I have been tortured,” he finally admitted, “by dreams of lust.”
“What kind of lust?” Matt asked.
Henry looked away, his vision tunneling, the room fading out. His mind’s eye saw past events he desperately tried to forget. Yacov’s comments had resurrected them.
“Henry?” Matt asked softly.
“Bloodlust,” he finally said, his quiet voice betraying his reluctance to admit it.
“Have you acted on these feelings?”
“Not yet,” he said, lifting his crucifix from underneath his sports shirt. He began twirling it between his thumb and forefinger.
“What do you think is triggering your feelings?”
Feelings? He frowned and focused on Matt’s 1968 doctorate diploma in psychology. He was here for confession—he wasn’t some weakling who needed counseling.
“Henry? Please tell me what’s on your mind.”
He released the crucifix and looked down at his shoes. If he remained silent, maybe Matt would let it go.
“Henry?”
He kept staring at his shoes. They needed shining. How could he allow himself to go out with shoes so scuffed? Disgraceful.
“Henry, what’s wrong?”
He took a deep breath. The good father wasn’t going to let it go. “I keep having this dream.”
“Describe it to me.”
He still stared at his shoes. He had told Yacov he would breeze past two hundred years with no problem.
He had lied.
“It’s early morning; the air is cold and still, the time when creatures of the night begin to look for shelter and the creatures of daylight begin to rouse. In the dream I’m chasing a woman. I can only see her from behind; her long, dark hair is flying behind her as she runs.” He reached out, his long fingers sweeping the air in front of him, like he could touch her hair if he tried. “We are in a rural area, but it is not like our vineyards. I’m chasing her across a dry, grassy field. The homes are spread out, and she’s seeking shelter, she’s trying to get away from me. I know she is beautiful even though I cannot see her face. I want her. Try as I might, I cannot catch up with her.”
He held perfectly still for a moment, his anxiety fading away. He watched the woman run and felt his legs move beneath him, the wind whipping past him, bringing with it her scent. The feeling of bliss brought on by the chase cradled him. He took a deep breath, enjoying the feeling of being happy again.
“And then?”
Father Matt’s voice brought him back to the dream. “Dawn is fast approaching. She is running toward a house. It looks nothing like my real home, yet in the dream, I know it’s mine. There is a large, shady pine tree in front, its branches hanging low, close to the ivy covering the ground. The ivy runs up the front of the house, covering it, and the house looks abandoned, smothered as it is by the ivy. I think in the dream, why would she choose my house to run to when others were clearly lived in? But I know the house calls to her. I cannot explain how I know it attracts her, but it does. She runs under the tree and I lose sight of her for a moment. It’s starting to become light out, but the sun’s rays don’t touch me, and I reach the safety of the tree’s shade unharmed. I almost catch her. She wants me to catch her; I can feel it. She’s excited I’m near. I’m certain she wants me to make her mine. I don’t understand how she could want to be my mate. Before I reach her, the dream ends.”
“What would happen if you caught her?”
The question caught him off guard. His vision resumed its sharpness and he focused on the priest. “I don’t know. I woke up before I could capture her.”
His tone wasn’t convincing, not even to himself.
“I think you do know,” Matt replied.
Henry looked at his shoes again. They definitely needed polishing.
“Henry, what are you afraid of?”
A cold chill washed over him, hardening into a thick crust of ice. He stopped seeing his scuffed shoes. Instead, he saw the look on Nathaniel’s face when he killed him, the look that would never leave him.
&nb
sp; “What might happen?” the priest asked him.
“You want to know what would happen? It is simple, Father. I would kill again—so she could never leave me.”
The horror he expected to see in Matt’s face wasn’t there. All he saw was the acceptance Matt had always shown him.
“We both know that’s no guarantee,” Matt said.
“I can assure you it is.”
“Making the person you love into a vampire doesn’t guarantee they’ll love you forever.”
“I am not talking about turning the woman.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
Henry sat there, the burning jealous rage resurfacing with the century-old memory. Nathaniel had stolen what was his. He had no choice: he challenged the thief, the duel accepted, the lines drawn. And what happened after—
The crust of ice around his heart melted under the remembered blowtorch of jealousy’s fire, flooding him with pain. A mortal sin, his soul damned forever. He buried his face in his hands. He had never explained his past to Matt or the guilt he carried; he could never explain, not without losing Matt’s respect. Only a few of the original residents who had been present to witness the worst moment of his life still lived. And those few knew how to use lip glue.
Matt leaned forward and lightly touched Henry’s knee. “You don’t have to kill to hold on to love. You’re a good man. You deserve to be loved for who you are.”
“I am evil,” Henry said, his face still buried in his hands.
“Tell me why you believe that,” Father Matt said softly.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Henry, I’ve heard it all in this room. You can talk to me.”
He lowered his hands and kept his eyes focused on them. He began saying the Act of Contrition, the prayer signaling his confession was finished. As much as he appreciated Matt’s intentions, Matt had missed the point. He had missed the point entirely.
I can never overcome my past. No one can save me from it, not even God.
* * *
Henry put the car in gear and started driving to Mordida, where his mortal friend-with-benefits lived. Not that he wanted to see her—going to her place was more like an old habit, but he’d made the date a week ago.
Perhaps the next time I see Father Matt I should confess my compulsive inability to cancel appointments.
When his phone rang, he punched the “accept” button on the steering wheel.
“I just heard a rumor,” his business partner said when he answered. “The envoy’s looking for a mate and Zeke Cannon is following her around like a puppy dog. Word on the street is Zeke will challenge anyone who makes a play for the envoy.”
“And this affects me how?”
“Mark my words,” Rolf said, “it will be like the old days. There will be battles fought over her; there will be bloodshed.”
Henry scrubbed at his face. His guilt sat too close to the surface for this conversation. Besides, Rolf knew nothing of those battles. He wasn’t there when I killed Nathaniel, or for the aftermath.
The aftermath. In an attempt to pay penance for his unforgivable acts, he had forced the other founders to rewrite the Covenant, abandoning the more barbaric practices. Those rules should have been good enough. But Rolf had run for vice mayor on a platform advocating rigid restrictions—restrictions limiting how mortals and vampires could interact on the Hill.
If Rolf had his way, each mortal mate would never be left alone with another vampire not their own. While Henry disagreed, he understood why. Younger vampires tended to see every mortal as a temptation, and given Rolf’s own little problem, Rolf’s desire for strict rules was even more understandable.
“Henry, are you listening?”
“I heard you. I don’t like having the envoy here either, but the treaty allows it, at least for a short time.”
“She may be a spy, if not for Leopold, then for another community. We need to conduct our own investigation. Find out why she’s really here.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“Well I can’t pretend to be interested in her, because of Karen…”
Henry was beginning to see where this was going. “I will not pretend to court her. There is something wild about her. I saw her at the casino with the younger vampires, and I didn’t like what I saw.”
“You don’t have to be serious about dating her. Gaea told me Zeke is taking Dr. Patel to the square dance tonight. Just go and see who she talks to, see whether she’s pumping people for information about the community, that sort of thing.”
“I have plans tonight.”
“The safety of the community is more important than you getting laid.”
Henry scowled at the phone. “Easy for you to say. You have Karen.”
“Look, call what’s-her-name and move your date an hour later, and go to the square dance first.”
“Hmm,” Henry said. His friend-with-benefits probably wouldn’t mind, and he didn’t really feel like seeing her anyway. “I suppose I could stay in the background and listen.”
“Precisely. Just be the dark, brooding vampire everyone knows you are.”
“I do not brood.”
“Henry, I’ve known you for seventy years. You brood.”
“I do not. I just think about things.”
“Very well, you don’t. But however you do it, then, keep your distance. And be careful. I’ve also heard through the grapevine she’s immune from being mesmerized. What was Leopold thinking, sending her to us?”
Chapter 14
Cerissa wore a knee-length denim skirt and soft white shirt to the square dance. When she arrived at the country club with Zeke and Blanche, a small crowd was already there. She purchased a glass of wine on the way in. According to Zeke, the room would fill up after the beginners’ lesson. The three of them grabbed a table at the edge of the dance floor.
“How’s the wine?” Zeke asked, sitting down next to her.
Since he asked for her opinion, she went through the steps Leopold taught her before taking a sip. “It’s good for a Pinot Noir.”
“You a wine connoisseur?”
Cerissa laughed. “Not really, but I did learn a little about them before Leopold sent me here, since the Hill’s economy is based on wine.”
“Not true.” Blanche grinned knowingly from where she sat on the other side of Zeke. “Wine’s just a cover-up—it’s not how Zeke makes his money.”
“You know I ain’t in the wine business, Blanche,” he replied smoothly. Turning to Cerissa, he added, “I thought of having my own cattle ranch, a large operation, but I reckoned there was too much day work involved. So I cut it back to a small herd, all organic and raised free range. More money in it. I’m also a part-time deputy on the police force.”
Blanche continued to smirk at him. “You should tell her about your freelance work.”
Zeke’s eyes lit up, and not in a friendly way. “Don’t you have someplace else to be?”
“Oh come on, we could be partners,” Blanche said, smiling at him in a way that wasn’t friendly either. “What you do pays way better than the wine business. Maybe I can do both.”
“I don’t need a partner,” he replied, his eyes going solid black.
“Have you spoken with the founders?” Cerissa asked, directing her question to Blanche. Being in the middle of another public battle between Zeke and Blanche was the last thing she needed. “What about the founder who’s a diamond cutter…Yacov, right? No interest in the diamond industry?”
Blanche turned up her nose. “He’s nothing more than a hired hand, working for mortals. Vampires shouldn’t denigrate themselves that way.”
Cerissa frowned. Another reason not to like Blanche—she thinks she’s better than mortals. Some New York vampires had made similar comments, but different didn’t mean better.
“What about you?” Blanche asked her. “Got any investors for your mad scientist project?”
“I’m still working on it.”
“Then ya should get out there and ask.” Blanche stood and added, “Ciao, lovebirds.”
Blanche was right. She should work the room instead of sitting here next to Zeke. She started to scoot her chair back to get up, and Zeke reached out, placing a hand on her forearm. “Hey, don’t listen to her. We’re here to have fun, not work.”
She removed his hand and covered it up by taking a sip of her wine. Would it be rude to leave him by himself? Maybe she should wait until a little later, after the beginners’ lesson.
“Do you always come to the square dances?” she asked.
“When I’m on the Hill, I try to. Even if you don’t have a mate, you can dance at a square dance. There’s always someone who needs a partner, even if it’s another vampire.”
“Really? Leopold told me vampires prefer dating mortals rather than each other.”
“You learned right. It’s not that we can’t date each other, or that there might not be an attraction there on occasion—it’s more a case of mortals having something to offer other vampires don’t.” She understood what Zeke was alluding to—human blood. “Besides,” he continued, “it helps to have someone who can do your day work, ya know?”
While Zeke was speaking, she caught sight of Henry Bautista. He entered the room looking just as dangerously handsome as the first time she saw him. He took a seat two tables away, joining a group of vampires and humans. So other humans can mix with vampires, but it’s wrong if I do?
“Do ya know how special you are?” Zeke said.
“I’m sorry?”
“We don’t often get friendly with mortals who know what we are. I mean, before we bite them.”
Oh no. This was beginning to feel more like a date than a networking opportunity. “Zeke, we’re on the Hill. We can’t date.”
He winked at her, a conspiratorial sort of wink. “Not a date, missy. Just being hospitable, showing you around. Nothin’ to worry about; no one’s gonna get in any trouble.”
Trouble? He was the one who was going to be in trouble if he didn’t back off. “Ah, you said you freelance. You aren’t on the Hill all the time. What do you do when you’re gone?”
