“Turns out, there’s not much out there and what there is, is pretty sketchy. They take their name from a myth. According to legend, the Nonveniae were like us except they didn’t believe we’d done anything to repent. They thought we had the superiority and therefore the right to rule the earth. If you believe the myth, one of the first duties of the Guardians wasn’t to kill demons, but to eliminate the Nonveniae.”
“So we wiped them out, right?” Dov couldn’t believe the Guardians could fail at anything.
Nardo shrugged. “Maybe, probably, if they ever existed at all. This is mythology, not history.”
“I remember,” Otto murmured from his end of the War Room table. He smiled. “I remember my mother threatening me with the Nonveniae. They would sneak in and steal naughty little boys, turn them and force them to serve in their vampire army. The story terrified me, though not enough to mend my naughty ways.”
“Shit.” Col looked around the table. “Is that what you think these guys are doing? Creating an army?”
“They can try, but I don’t see how they can control a dozen vampires, never mind an army.” Canaan ran his hand through his hair. “What else you got?” he asked Nardo.
“About every century or so, some guy shows up, claiming to be a descendant of the originals and the brotherhood makes a comeback. I’ll bet what Nico remembers was the last upsurge. What we’ve got is the newest one. The coins are their membership cards.”
“Why haven’t we heard about them before?” Dov wanted to know, “Why’d they teach us all that useless crap in school instead if important stuff like this?”
“I doubt if they considered small, centennially recurring groups of dissidents ‘important stuff’. Crackpots seldom leave their footprints in history.” Broadbent smiled benignly.
“Yeah, well, a vampire army is gonna leave one helluva footprint.”
“Dov, anyone can create a vampire. Controlling one is another story. Look at Otto.” Canaan pointed to his old friend. “You’ve never seen him in a full blood rage, but you’ve seen enough. When the thirst is on him, can you reason with him? Can you picture him following orders?”
“No,” Dov reluctantly admitted.
“No, and yet he’s the most reasonable and honorable man I know. If Otto can’t reach some level of control when the thirst is on him, it can’t be done.”
“Unless this is a different breed of vampire,” Otto said quietly.
*****
Where in hell is TS015? Dr. Gregory ad Fenton spent his nights asking that question of anyone he thought might have the answer; the psychologist who studied him and the guards who worked most closely with him. Where would he go? What would he do?
He spent his days dreaming of the havoc such a creature could wreak without the drugs and demon blood necessary to keep him sane and manageable. How long could TS015 hold out before the blood rage overtook him? Salvador insisted the subject was dead, but without a body, how could they be sure?
Ideally, the Guardians would have killed the creature and immediately cremated the remains. The whole thing could be attributed to a rogue vampire from the Independent community, quickly dispatched. Only there’d been no word from the Guardians that such an action had been taken, no announcement that the threat had been neutralized with human society none the wiser. Ordinarily, they would request the use of the crematorium in Moonlight Sanctuary, yet Maximillian had heard nothing, or so he claimed.
He wouldn’t be surprised if the Director was withholding this vital information, purposely tormenting him with the unknown as punishment. Maximillian blamed him for everything when none of it was his responsibility.
“If you value your position as a leader in research,” he’d hissed, “You’ll fix this problem or you may find you’re the solution. I can make sure that when this fiend is found, its name will be ad Fenton. Do I make myself clear?”
Angry and humiliated, Gregory could only nod and flee. How dare the Director treat him with such disrespect? His family had been renowned members of the scientific community for generations. His own genetic and fertility research could be the salvation of the Race.
It wasn’t his idea to test the preparation out in the open. There were too many variables. He’d been the one to argue for more time. Yes, he had proposed that certain undesirable elements of the Independent population be used, but in a tightly controlled laboratory setting like the one beneath the clinic where his original research was done. But no, the Director insisted the testing be done outside the confines and safety of the Sanctuary.
And that militaristic martinet, Salvador ad Primus, only made things worse. He’s the one who insisted they plunge ahead, turning subject after subject. The addition of demon blood to the diet was another variable to be dealt with and while it did seem to speed the process, the resultant complications were now being laid at Gregory’s door. It wasn’t fair.
As for his success in transforming common members of the Race into Supermen, he had several possible subjects that would be ready for presentation at the Sanctuary’s annual winter ball, announced this year as the Betrothal Ball in honor of the Director’s mating. It would be the perfect opportunity to introduce his creations and steal a bit of the Director’s thunder.
Maximilian ad Doren was nothing but a social climbing upstart who used his connections with the Nonveniae to further his own ambitions. Surely the High Lord was aware of this. If not, he soon would be.
Chapter 31
“JJ, this is your chance to maybe find out. I have no idea who my father is,” Grace admitted, “And I’ve always wondered about him. Does he even know I exist?”
Hope shrugged and shook her head sadly. “I’m ashamed to admit I’m related to my father. He made our life hell.”
“I’m not either of you. I never had a father and I sure as hell don’t need the bastard now. He walked out on my mother when he found out she was pregnant, when he found out she was a witch.”
“When he realized he’d mated with a Daughter of Man.” Manon corrected. She nodded her head as if it all made sense.
“They weren’t mated,” JJ argued, “I know, I know, no mating, no babies, which pretty much puts paid to the theory that my father was Paenitentia, because my mother didn’t have a rose of any sort anywhere on her body. The only tat she had was a… oh, shit.” JJ put her hand to her forehead. She could feel the headache coming on, but why? This was a memory from her childhood and not from the lost years. “She, she had a heart, a broken heart above her left breast.”
“That covered the rose left from her mating to your father,” Manon stated the obvious conclusion.
“Then your father must have cared for you in some way.” Grace was adamant. “There are things about the Paenitentia that are way different from humans and not just the fangs and the symbols. There’s something in their DNA that compels them to care for their children. They don’t all do it well, but they must do it.”
“It is true,” Manon added, “Fathers must provide for their young, though they don’t have to be physically present. I believe it is connected to ancient times when men would have to hunt or go to war. For mothers, it’s worse.”
“The twins told me their mother got sick when they went away to school and they were fourteen. You’d think the poor woman would have been glad to be rid of them,” Hope said with a laugh and then added for JJ’s benefit, “Paenitentia women can’t be away from their children for more than a few days without becoming physically ill, which may be why so few of them work outside the home.”
“And why the mating contract is so generous.” Grace poured herself another cup of herbal tea.
“So how did my mother and I get screwed?
Manon blew out a thoughtful breath. “Your father must have been very young, Cherie, and I believe, with all the ardor of youth he loved your mother; loved her enough to ignore the fact that members of the Race cannot mate with humans, not must not, cannot. Perhaps he thought, with the foolishness of youth, that some great
cosmic exception had been made for him and his lover.” She shrugged. “Who knows? It is the only excuse I can think of for such behavior. But he had to know his plans would not meet with his family’s approval because there was no mating contract.” She smiled wryly. “This I know from my own experience. A simple liaison between him and a human would be accepted with a wink, because no child can be born of such a union.
“He would have known, when your mother became pregnant, there could only be one reason. Once mated, she could sleep with a human lover, but she could not bear his child. So, if she was not Paenitentia and she was not human, she had to be a Daughter of Man, what you call a witch. If she had not told him before…” She shook her head and shrugged again. “It still does not account for his failure to support you. No matter how little he had, he would have the need to share it. He could not survive otherwise.”
Hope’s brow was crinkled in thought. “Maybe he died,” She suggested, “If no one knew about the mating, no one would bring her the news.”
JJ was distracted, hardly heard the rest of the debate. None of this fit with what she knew and yet… “We always had money,” she mused aloud.
“What?” Everyone stopped talking to stare at her.
“We always had money,” JJ said again, more emphatically. “I never thought about it when I was a kid. When you’re a kid you don’t, do you? We never had a lot, but the bills always got paid and my mother never worked a regular job. She did readings and later tattoos, but neither would have been enough to support us. When we moved to the commune, no one had money except…” She paused and closed her eyes, swallowing hard at the pain that lanced through her temple.
“My father sent money all those years, didn’t he? She said he didn’t love us.” Which was true. “She let me believe he’d forgotten us. Why didn’t she tell me who he was?”
Hope lean forward. “Don’t be angry with her, JJ, please don’t. Your mother had to have suffered. As long as she was bound by the mating, she couldn’t form a real connection with any other man. She knew if you met him, he’d reject you just as she was rejected. You’re a Daughter of Man.”
None of this made sense and yet it did; the money, the constant stream of men running through their lives. Did her mother hope to cover the power of the rose with the broken heart tattoo?
“She did tell you,” Manon said quietly. “She told you when she put that tattoo on your shoulder.”
“You touched it, didn’t you? You saw.”
Manon nodded. “When the twins brought you to us, oui, I touched it. Mais non, I did not see. I told you. Those years were dark to me also.”
Which is where this conversation began. “If you can’t see them then what’s the point of this mind-meld thing you want me to do?”
“I can show you the door. You must open it.”
“I’ve already tried to open it.” JJ thought of the blinding headaches that always accompanied her attempts. “I can’t. What makes you think this time will be any different?”
“This time, you will have the added strength of your sisters beside you.”
“Speaking of doors,” Grace started to rise, “There’s someone pounding on yours.”
“Stay there.” Hope ran to the kitchen. They heard her open the door. “Oh, honey, what are you doing out without a coat?” and then, “You’re right, you won’t die without one. At least come in by the fire where it’s warm.”
Hope and Faith entered the parlor, but Faith ignored the fire and went straight to JJ. She knelt at JJ’s feet and motioned for Hope to take her place at JJ’s left while Grace took the right.
“I haven’t said yes yet,” JJ told her and then she shook her head and smiled wryly. “But you knew I would, didn’t you.”
Faith rolled her eyes, smiled and wiggled her fingers in front of JJ’s face. Gold sparkled at the tips.
“She’s here just in case,” Hope laughed. “She left the house without a coat and came here just in case.”
Faith smiled at her sister and impishly stuck out her tongue.
How many times had Faith made that same face at her when they were young? Hope laughed and stroked her sister’s hair with one hand while she wiped a tear away with the other. “Welcome home, Faith. It’s good to have you back.”
Faith winked at her sister and looked at JJ with raised brows.
“Okay, okay, you win. How do we do this?” JJ looked at Manon.
Faith clapped her hands, rose, and took up her position behind JJ. She placed her fingers lightly against her friend’s temples and nodded to the others who each took one of JJ’s hands in her own.
Manon slid her hand inside the neck of JJ’s sweater lightly gripping her shoulder skin to skin. The Frenchwoman’s fingers covered the lily tattoo. “You must relax, ma petite, and remember these are memories. They may have hurt you once, but that is past. The only power they have is the power you give them. You are surrounded by sisters and friends who will see you through. Close your eyes and think back.”
JJ closed her eyes and slowly let out her breath. She forced her shoulders to relax along with her tight grip on the hands holding hers. When the first memories flashed through her mind, she stiffened in shock and they immediately disappeared. She heard Manon’s voice as from another room, urging her to relax, telling her she was safe. JJ tried again.
She could see it all so clearly; the tiny apartment she shared with her mother, the combination kitchen/living room with the curtained alcove where she slept and the two doors leading to her mother’s bedroom and the tiny bath. There were the strings of shiny beads her mother hung in all the windows and the brightly colored knitted throws that covered the shabby furniture.
It was so real in her mind she could almost hear Mrs. Garrity’s footsteps echoing in the ceiling above and smell the cookies she baked with such regularity that she and her apartment always smelled of warm sugar and spicy cinnamon.
She’d been happy here and she wanted to stay and visit for a while, but this was a memory she could recall at will, though most days she chose not to. She was here to find the lost years, the ones that someone made her forget. She needed to find the door. And suddenly it was there, a huge door looming above her, the knob so high she could barely reach it. But reach it she did and as she turned it, the familiar pain began to creep up her neck and into her head.
A warm, tingling sensation followed it; Faith’s healing touch. JJ felt Hope and Grace squeeze her hands in encouragement and using all her strength, she pushed the heavy door open… And there was her mother, skirts swirling around her ankles, peasant blouse revealing one shoulder and a colorful scarf wrapped around her head. She was pulling JJ up a long gravel drive, their suitcases bumping over the uneven surface.
“You’re going to be happy here, Joy. There are women here just like us. They’ll teach you and care for you when I’m… They’ll see how special you are. Everything happens for a reason, sweetheart, and this place is the reason you were born. It’s all been worth it, every minute, because this is the place where you were destined to be.”
JJ hadn’t understood what her mother was saying, not then. She often spoke of fate and destiny and the alignment of the stars. JJ only understood that Joan was happy again and she hadn’t been happy in a long, long time.
The scene faded away. Was that it? Pain shot through her head, sharp and stabbing and again she felt the gentle pressure of Faith’s fingertips bring soothing relief.
A man, sitting in a high backed chair in the middle of a low platform that was built like a stage at one end of a large hall. It wasn’t a throne, but it may as well have been with all the deference he was paid. Her mother even bowed her head and tugged on JJ’s hand until she did the same.
“Is this the child?” he asked.
JJ looked up through her lashes. He was an old man to her child’s eyes, maybe fifty, fifty-five. He had coal black hair that was graying at the sides and he wore a black shirt, more like a tunic, with an emblem embroidered over the left
breast where the pocket of a shirt would be. It was a field of lilies cleaved by a red sword. Black blood dripped from its point.
“She is who I say she is,” her mother was saying with her head still bowed. “I swear it.”
JJ didn’t understand that either. She was Joy Justice. Everyone who knew her could swear to that. Why would this man think her mother might lie about something so silly?
There was no pain now and as if her brain recognized the relief, scenes began to tumble past, bombarding her with memories, flashing by in such rapid succession her stomach churned. Joan had taken her to a carnival once and the spinning teacups made her feel just like this. Wait! She no longer called her mother Joan, but Mama. Her mother wanted the others to recognize her position as the mother of ‘the one’.
They were happy. JJ was coddled and pampered as she’d never been before. The other girls sought her out. Her mother was given the lightest of duties and was courted by a number of men, but she never took one to her bed.
The scenes slowed and JJ’s head snapped back with the sudden onslaught of all too familiar pain. She recognized it now for what it was, a memory too painful to face. Faith’s fingers kneaded at her temples and stroked up into her hair.
“It hurts, Mama.”
“I know, sweetheart, I know, but it’s something that needs to be done.” Mama wiped JJ’s shoulder with a soft cloth. “Here, we’ll take a short break, okay? I only have the center to finish and then a few words and then we’ll be done.”
“What is it, Mama?”
“It’s your father’s symbol and something more. I saw it when I cast the stones for you.” Her mother leaned over her shoulder to whisper in her ear. JJ could see them side by side in the mirror. Mama looked so tired. Her skin was gray and black circles surrounded her sunken eyes. “I loved him and the proof of it lies under my broken heart.” She touched JJ’s shoulder. Her hands were nothing but bone. “This is the symbol you follow, not the sword, never the sword. I’ve made a terrible mistake, Joy. I misread the signs. I let these people convince me your destiny was here when, in truth, it lay where you were born. You need to go home, Joy. You need to go home.”
Guardian's Joy #3 Page 24
