Visci (Soul Cavern Series Book 2)

by Venessa Giunta

  He shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. What they wanted you to do was much different from what they wanted me to do.”

  Emilia wanted her to be an assassin. To kill for her.

  Mecca closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “About what?”

  “About Jenny.”

  “What is there to do?”

  Another sidelong glance at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean: what are your choices?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, are you going to kill Jenny?”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “I’m not being stupid,” he said, his tone calm. “Sometimes when you’re unsure what to do, it’s easier to figure out what you’re not going to do.”

  That made some sort of weird sense to her. “No, I’m not going to kill my best friend.”

  “Good, because I would have had to leave if you were going to.”

  She could never tell when he was joking.

  “Are you going to cut her out of your life?”

  That was a harder one to answer. She didn’t want to cut Jenny out of her life. Well, the Jenny before today. She wasn’t sure who the Jenny after today was. “I don’t know.”

  “All right. So that’s a choice. Do you want to remain friends with her?”

  Yesterday, that would have been a dumb question. She wished it were yesterday. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

  “What is stopping you?”

  “She’s Visci.”

  “She’s blonde too. Does that make a difference?”

  Mecca glared at him, but he only gave her a gentle smile. How was he so damn patient?

  “I’m saying—”

  “I know what you’re saying. Jenny is the same as she was yesterday, and being Visci is just one aspect of her. She said the same thing.” She sighed and leaned her head against the wall. “I just don’t know if I can say it.”

  Chapter Ten: Jenny

  Jenny turned off the car, grabbed her purse and opened her door. A crisp wind sliced in, blowing her hair around her head in a frenzied mess. She shivered. Temperatures had dropped drastically over the past two weeks, barely above freezing at night. The holiday season was definitely on its way.

  The upscale condo community where Helen lived featured multi-level brick townhouses each with a one-car garage. All the tiny front yards looked like strips of perfectly proportioned quilt squares with expertly manicured lawns.

  Jenny had parked in front of Helen’s place. A dark red four-door sedan that had seen better days took up the single driveway. With rust spots on the fenders and windows so dirty they looked frosted, the car couldn’t have been Helen’s. Helen was way too neat and fastidious.

  Jenny climbed the flagstone steps and rang the bell.

  When Jorge opened the door, he broke into a bright grin. “Jenny! I’m glad you made it. Come on in.” He stepped aside and let her into the house.

  The exterior, which had looked sedate and cookie-cutter-normal, gave way to brightly painted walls and lots of simple wood decor. A living area opened to the right, and stairs led up on the left. In the living room, the young woman from the cemetery sat on a dark blue overstuffed chair across from a burnt-umber colored sofa. This room had had bright blue walls with ocher accented trim. A large-screen laptop perched on the natural-wood coffee table in front of the woman, and the light scent of lavender drifted on the air.

  “Jenny, this is Zoey.”

  “Hey,” Jenny said. “Nice to meet you.”

  Zoey gave her a nod but didn’t say anything. She returned her attention to the phone in her hand.

  Jorge shrugged. “Conversation isn’t her strong suit. Here, let me have your jacket. Helen’s in the kitchen, making some tea. I always ask for coffee,” he said as he slid her coat off her shoulders, “but I always get tea.”

  He led her toward the back, stopping at a coat closet beneath the stairs. Helen stood in front of the island in the bright, airy kitchen, pouring steaming water from a kettle into a teapot. The scent of jasmine reached Jenny’s nose.

  “Ah, Jenny!” Helen gave her a radiant smile. “I am glad you’re here.”

  Helen wore a dark-yellow blouse beneath a red sweater. Her braids hung free and swung as she turned to put the kettle back onto the stove.

  “Thanks,” Jenny said. Even though she and Helen had been texting over the last two weeks, Jenny hadn’t realized Jorge, Helen, and Zoey had become an organized group. But here they were. And they’d invited her over. She couldn’t help the thrill that ranged through her when she thought of being included by “her kind.”

  Jorge picked up three mugs by their handles from where they sat on the counter and stopped at the fridge to grab a Coke. As the door closed, he grinned at her. “Zoe won’t drink anything that isn’t carbonated and caffeinated.”

  The all returned to the living room, just as Zoey came in from the front door.

  “Forgot my charger.” She held up a small battery pack and plopped back into her chair.

  Helen poured out tea for herself, Jenny, and Jorge. Zoey took the Coke from Jorge and unscrewed the top as she hunched over the laptop. Helen had also brought a plate of pastries. They seemed a bit like tiny pecan pies, but the topping was definitely not pecans. Helen called it gizzada and when Jenny took a bite of one, she delighted in the coconut flavor.

  Jorge had already eaten three. Helen didn’t offer the plate to Zoey.

  “They’re too fancy for her,” Jorge said, when Zoey declined the offer from Jenny.

  Zoey shot him a narrow look. “I don’t like coconut, okay?”

  He laughed. “Okay.”

  “Let’s get down to business, shall we?” Helen said. “Jenny, we appreciate you coming out.”

  “Thanks for inviting me.” Jenny tried hard not to gush over them being her very first Visci friends. She chided herself for feeling like a twelve-year-old at a new school. She sipped on the jasmine tea to cover her nerves.

  “How is the Skype coming, Zoey?”

  Zoey remained bent over the laptop. “Your network is really slow.”

  Helen sighed, but clearly not with exasperation. She looked more amused than annoyed.

  “But I sent Arabella a message that we’re ready when she is. She said she’ll call in a few.”

  “Who is Arabella?” Jenny asked.

  “She is our person in the room,” Jorge said.

  “She’s on the Council,” Zoey chimed in. “Runs Memphis.”

  Jenny raised her brows and looked at Jorge. “I thought you said your person wasn’t on the Council?”

  He grinned at her. “No. I said that I hadn’t said our person was on the Council. And I hadn’t.”

  “Let’s not get bogged down in the details,” Helen said.

  Jenny felt like Jorge was teasing her, especially because of the twinkle in his eye when he winked at her. Was he flirting? She couldn’t tell, but her cheeks heated, and she looked away.

  The familiar Skype ringtone chimed, and Zoey connected the call. A beautiful, pale woman with thick chestnut hair and dark, intelligent eyes came onto the screen.

  “Afternoon, y’all,” the woman said.

  Zoey turned the laptop, so it faced Helen and, next to her, Jenny.

  “Good afternoon, Arabella. How are things over there?” Helen said.

  “As good as can be expected,” she said. “I see we have a new face.”

  “This is Jenny. Carolyn’s daughter.”

  Thin eyebrows raised as a wide, very white smile broke out on Arabella’s pink lips. “So you’re the daughter! Very nice to meet ya. I’ve known your mom for a long time.”

  Jenny wasn’t sure how to feel about that. In a way, it seemed flattering that this woman knew of her. But she couldn’t help also being reminded that her mother had an entire circle of people around her that Jenny had no clue about.

  “Hey,” she said, self-conscious.<
br />
  “Is there any additional news?” Jorge asked.

  “Another full blood is missing. Sami Cabel.” Arabella’s voice went soft, somber. “She’s new to town, but a friend of hers came to me yesterday and told me that Sami couldn’t be reached. Had missed a meeting for a new start-up”—with her accent, she pronounced this staht hup—“and that isn’t like her at all, from what he said.”

  Helen let out a heavy sigh. “What about hybrids?”

  “No. We still haven’t had any disappear or come up dead, thank God. That seems to only be there, in Atlanta. At the Council meeting, I spoke privately with Thomas and Tony. They’ve both had issues with fighting among fulls and hybrids, but no hybrid deaths that they know of. Although they’ve had a couple full bloods disappear also.”

  “Who are they?” Jenny whispered to Jorge.

  “Thomas Eli runs Charlotte,” Jorge replied, matching her volume. “And Tony Mercado is Miami. He’s a dick. But Thomas isn’t bad.”

  “Tony is a dick,” Arabella said. She followed this with a light, tinkling laugh.

  “Jesus.” Zoey scowled. “So what’s the plan then?” she blurted, her tone sharp. Apparently, she was done with small talk.

  “Was that Zoey?” Arabella asked.

  Jenny had forgotten that the other woman wasn’t on screen.

  “Of course,” Jorge said, that same twinkle in his eye.

  “Yes, of course.” Arabella laughed again. “All right, the plan. Carolyn is going to be key, I think. As the current leader of Atlanta, she’s gonna have a lot of power. Plus…” She paused for a moment. “She has history with Claude.”

  His name was coming up everywhere.

  “Why is that important?” Jorge asked.

  Jenny found him watching her out of the corner of his eye.

  “Because I believe Claude is somehow involved in whatever is going on,” Arabella replied.

  That got Jorge’s full attention. “You think he’s the one killing hybrids?”

  Arabella sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know. But he’s as slick as a greased-up eel on a kitchen floor.”

  Jenny looked at Jorge and then Zoey. They had matching looks on their faces, which was probably the same as hers. She mouthed, “greased-up eel?” and they all held back the guffaws, which left them looking as if they were trying to contort their faces to fit into a small box.

  Helen chuckled, though whether it was because of Arabella’s words or their expressions, Jenny wasn’t sure.

  Jenny cleared her throat to cover her amusement and said, “You’ve met Claude?”

  “I’ve had the dubious pleasure of his company, yes. You know how some people invite that creepy feeling up your spine? He’s that guy.” Arabella swept a lock of hair up into a clip, looking at herself in the camera. “I got word that he’d come to Atlanta a few weeks ago. He and Emilia were…old friends, from what I hear. He attended the meeting on the night of the Maze Gathering. That was the first time I’d met him. It was just before…” She frowned. “Before Emilia was killed.”

  “Do you think he killed her?” Jenny asked. She wanted to learn everything about him.

  Arabella’s delicate brows knitted closer together. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to get any information on how she died. Her body seems to be gone. There were no witnesses.” She smirked. Somehow, it looked lovely on her, though her eyes had hardened. “At least, according to Claude.”

  Zoey sighed, clearly done with this line of conversation too. “Okay, Emilia’s dead. Check. Claude’s slimy. Check. What is our next step? What do we do?”

  Arabella’s lips ticked upward on one side. “Emilia had been my main point of contact in Atlanta, so I’m afraid I may not be as useful as in the past.”

  Wait. What? “Hang on,” Jenny said. “Emilia was helping you?” She brought her gaze to Jorge, then Helen, and back to the laptop.

  Emilia Laos—the evil woman who’d kidnapped Mecca.

  “Not everyone loved her, but she didn’t want this war any more than any of us do. Emilia is the one who told me to be careful of Claude.” She gave a short, wry laugh. “And she knew him the best of all.”

  Arabella stared at the camera, and it felt, to Jenny, as if the woman were looking straight into her.

  “At least, until now,” Arabella continued. “I suspect yer mom may know him better. Or perhaps at least as well.”

  Jenny had no response to that. Did her mom know Claude better? She’d told David that Claude had wanted to marry her. Did that mean they’d dated?

  What did dating even look like in the Visci world? Jenny scowled at her own ignorance. Again.

  “Okay?” Jorge whispered, leaning in.

  Jenny glanced at him before turning back to the laptop. “Why don’t you reach out to my mom yourself? You’re on the Council.”

  “A fair question,” Arabella said, her tone gentle. “I don’t rightly know if Carolyn is close enough to him. Not for sure.” This came out as fo’ shuh. Arabella sat very still as she continued. “And the second reason… It’s also possible that she could be working with him.”

  “What?” Jenny almost jumped up from the sofa. “She would never!”

  Helen laid her hand on Jenny’s forearm. She leaned forward. “Calm down,” she said under her breath.

  “No! You asked for my help and now she’s accusing my mom of—”

  “She’s not accusing your mom of anything,” Helen said, her voice level and quiet. “Arabella’s position is important and in some ways precarious. She can’t take frivolous risks. Until we can be sure—100% sure for ourselves—Arabella cannot let anyone discover that she allied with us.”

  Jenny clenched her fists and stared at Helen. “How could you think that of her?”

  “I don’t think that of her, Jenny. We’re being cautious with Arabella. That’s all. It has nothing to do with your mom in particular. It would be the same with anyone.”

  “Not with me.”

  That kind smile came across Helen’s face. “You believe we didn’t discuss and work out whether it was safe to let you meet Arabella before Zoey connected this call?”

  Jenny stared at the woman. That hadn’t crossed her mind. “You talked about me?”

  “Oh my God, of course we did,” Zoey said, tilting her head back til she gazed at the ceiling. “We don’t invite random people here.” She looked again at Jenny and rolled her eyes.

  “Zoey,” Helen said.

  “What? She’s not even thinking about any of this logically. She’s acting like a dumb kid.”

  The words struck Jenny hard, particularly because, even though Jenny was only twenty, Zoey looked much younger.

  Jenny glared across the coffee table at Zoey. She sat draped across the chair, one leg over the arm, the other flung carelessly on the floor. Her blonde, spiky hair had been tipped with a pink so pale that Jenny hadn’t noticed it earlier. She returned Jenny’s look with one of boredom.

  Blood crackling hot under her skin, Jenny rose. She would slap that boredom right off the bitch’s face.

  Cool fingers wrapped around her forearm. “Jenny.”

  She looked down at Helen, whose own eyes had grown hard.

  “Sit down, please.”

  Glancing between Helen and Zoey, who, looking at her phone, seemed done with the entire situation, Jenny pulled away. “No. I’ve heard enough. If you don’t trust my mom, then I assume you don’t trust me.” Heartbeat thrumming in her ears, she snatched up her purse and made her way out of the room. Jorge jumped to his feet.

  He followed her. “Wait.”

  “No.” How had she thought these people would be her friends? She glanced around the foyer. “Where’s my coat?”

  Jorge came up and got in front of her. “Please. Just hang on a second.”

  “Why? So you can try to convince me to get my mom to help, even though you don’t trust her? Where is my coat?” Heat burrowed beneath her skin. If she didn’t get out of here…

  Jorge sh
ook his head, but he turned to the closet under the stairs. “Your mom is still an unknown. That’s all.” He pulled her coat off a hanger. When he turned back, he gave her a pained stare. “Please understand. It’s only a precaution. Believe me, if I had my way, she’d be here right now. But we have to be careful.” He held her coat out for her to slip into. “People are dying.”

  They faced each other for a long moment. Then, she turned around and jammed her arms into her coat sleeves. He hiked it up over her shoulders.

  “Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked as she turned back around.

  She wanted to say no. She wanted that so badly. Her anger still simmered, hot and immediate. But if what she’d learned today was true, he was right. People were dying. “Yes. Fine.”

  He walked her out onto the small porch. “Jenny.”

  She looked back from the bottom of the steps.

  Jorge’s solid frame engulfed the opening to the steps, and he watched her with an intense look.

  “Thank you.”

  Chapter Eleven: Mecca

  “He’s at the bar, sitting on the corner. Red shirt, black pants. He looks like a throwback from the eighties,” Will said, as he closed the car door and settled into the driver’s seat. They’d parked in the side alley, just to stay out of the way. “Oh, he’s bleached his hair, but otherwise, he’s like the photo.”

  Mecca smoothed her blouse. She’d chosen a low-cut cami top and a black leather miniskirt, with a long, open trench coat over top. She’d wanted to wear big heels, but Will forbade it. Normally, she’d have flipped him off and done what she wanted. But while he was out of the room, she’d tried her lowest heels and found that she couldn’t walk in them. Could barely stand. She still favored her bad leg when she walked, but she could cover the limp pretty well. Not so much with the heels. She’d walked two steps and the pain bolting through her had almost knocked her down.

  So she’d reluctantly settled for flats and decided to get the guy’s attention with her cleavage rather than her legs.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Will asked, his voice low but intense.

  “Yes. I’ll get him out here, get him on the ground, and you can use your modern medical miracles there”—she nodded at his black medical bag that they’d gotten at a thrift store—“to get what you need from him. Then we’ll rid the world of him for good.”