by Leanna Ellis
She gave him a sharp look. “And now Lynn must pay for his crimes with allegiance and servitude toward Giovanni.”
“Is that always the sentence? To answer the door for Giovanni?”
She snorted. “He got off light, if you ask me.”
“What did he do?”
“It don’t matter. Just keep in that thick head of yours that the punishment is often much worse. You’ll find no grace here.” Shrugging, she continued, “When his sentence is up, Lynn will be free once again. But I’m telling you—”
Her tirade ended abruptly when the French door opened again.
“This way!” Lynn chirped and pushed the door wider.
They stepped out onto a veranda. Instantly, Akiva thought of cool, shady days and tall glasses of mint juleps. A wide assortment of empty rockers and wicker chairs was scattered about the covered porch. One chair, though, appeared to hold some importance, as it had a high, arching back like a great fan. In it sat a man of medium build with a dark swath of hair and equally dark mustache, all matching his black eyes. He wore a faded Hawaiian shirt, which hung loose, and a pair of khaki pants. At ease and in control, he looked like a contemporary plantation owner overseeing his property and affairs.
In one hand, he held a tall, narrow glass filled with what looked like tomato juice, but Akiva could smell the tangy scent of blood. Sticking out of the glass was a celery stalk. He lifted the glass toward Akiva and Orphelia, and the ice rattled against the glass. “Good morning.”
Orphelia’s features froze, as if she could hide her thoughts and reactions behind a mask. “Thank you for seeing us so quickly, Giovanni. We are sorry it took us so—”
“So this is Akiva, huh?” Giovanni asked, his dark gaze pointed, gliding over Akiva like a flat blade against a throbbing vein.
Akiva stepped forward, head lifted, shoulders squared. “I am.”
“Well, it’s about time you came to see me. It’s been much too long, actually. You’ve been awakened…What? Five years already?”
“Two years and nine months.”
“Detail oriented, eh? I’ve been remiss in not welcoming you into the fold.” Giovanni stood and stretched out a hand to Akiva. “But I will say in my own defense that you were a might reticent.”
Akiva said nothing but stayed where he was, not moving, not shaking hands, not trusting.
“Please, have a seat. Would you care for something?” Giovanni snapped his fingers, and a servant instantly stepped forward out of the shadows to await his command. “I can highly recommend this little concoction. A very good year.” He sniffed the drink like he would a brandy. “1988.” He chuckled.
But Akiva shook his head. “Nothing. Thank you.”
“Very tasty.” He sipped the drink and smacked his lips. “A Bloody Mary.” He tilted his head and studied the drink for a moment. “Was her name Mary, I wonder?” He shrugged and laughed. “I can’t remember. But mixed with vodka, it’s an exhilarating combination. Of course the secret is not in the Tabasco sauce but in the Worcestershire. And of course, the specimen must be quality. And she was. Oh, indeed, she was.”
Orphelia was leaning forward, her hungry gaze intent on the glass. “I’ll take—”
“You can wait inside.” Giovanni waved her away and backed toward his own chair. “This shouldn’t take long.” He never even looked in Orphelia’s direction but kept his gaze trained on Akiva. “I’d like a few minutes alone with our new friend.”
Orphelia’s features melted, her jowls sagging, before her thick lips twisted. But she kept whatever comment to herself and backed toward the door. With a sharp glance, even though seemingly affable, Giovanni seemed to see everything that went on. His household ran like clockwork wound up by fear. Akiva could sense it like the deep darkness just before dawn.
Now alone with this vampire, Akiva stepped forward. Giovanni offered his hand once again like a gentleman. Or was it a challenge? Akiva hesitated then finally clasped the vampire’s hand. A mistake. The instant palm met palm, a jolt shot through Akiva’s body, and his gaze locked with Giovanni’s. Everything around them tilted and whirled. Akiva struggled to release his hand, his thoughts, his emotions from Giovanni’s grasp, and finally pulled free. Or maybe he was simply released.
The older, more experienced vampire smiled pleasantly, as if unaffected by their connection, and sipped his drink again. “You are one of us now.”
“What do you mean?” Akiva rubbed his tingling palm against his other one as the sensation spread to his other hand. “What is this?”
With a wry smile, Giovanni leaned backed into his chair, obviously comfortable with his position. “You have the mark now.”
“The mark?” Akiva stared as this palm, but he saw nothing different. Slowly, the prickling sensation subsided.
“Let’s just say you’re in the fold. It makes it easier for us to find you…if you’re ever in trouble. We take care of our own.”
A cold hard weight hit Akiva’s stomach. Now he could never escape them. Not on this earth. Not on this side of hell.
Giovanni sipped again from his glass, oblivious to Akiva’s discomfort, and smacked his lips. He lifted his glass as if in a salute. “She would have made a good vampire, don’t you think?”
Akiva cleared his throat and sat on a vacant rocking chair. “Who’s that?”
“Bloody Mary, Queen of England. She had a taste for blood, don’t you think? And no qualms about ending a life. You can’t be squeamish and be a vampire. I’ve seen those awakened who struggled and faltered, guilt ridden by antiquated morality, and they wasted away. Doesn’t happen often, though. The will to survive is as strong as the instinct to breathe. You have learned that, haven’t you?”
Akiva refused to play whatever game Giovanni was enjoying. He sensed the conversation could so easily swirl into a vortex and take him under. Giovanni eyed Akiva levelly. If his time was short, and maybe it was, then he would meet his end calmly and boldly. He remembered the engraving on a monument he once saw, the statue of a young woman lying in repose.
When the knell rung for the dying
soundeth for me
and my corpse coldly is lying
neath the green tree.
Akiva could almost hear the slow gonging of a bell in the far distance, calling to him, warning him, and he paid no heed. He cared nothing for this life. “Why did you send for me? And why is Orphelia so scared of you?”
“Orphelia scared?” Giovanni’s eyes widened with feigned shock then creased at the corners as he laughed, clearly ignoring the first question. “She’s not afraid of anything. Least of all me. She is one tough blood in her own right. I wouldn’t want to cross her. Not that there isn’t one who should be feared. But me?” He laughed again then stopped abruptly. “Are you asking if you should be afraid?”
Fear fled Akiva. What could this vampire do to him, really? Kill him? Death would be a welcome relief. But then he remembered Orphelia’s words: “He can make you beg.”
When the turf strangers are heaping
covers my breast,
Come not to gaze on me weeping
I am at rest.
Akiva lifted his chin defiantly. “I’m not afraid. So why did you want me here?”
Giovanni’s expression remained on the surface affable, and yet something hot smoldered in those black eyes. “Well, of course, you’d be curious about that, wouldn’t you? I certainly would. Curiosity is a gift. And you always had an abundance, didn’t you?” He leaned back, relaxing into the wicker chair, his personal throne. “I admire your forthrightness. So let’s get right to it. You’re in a hurry, from what I understand.”
“Yes, I am.”
“You want to get back to that pretty young woman you brought to New Orleans with you.”
“Maybe.”
Giovanni tapped a finger again
st his lips. “She is pretty. Is she your servant?”
“Excuse me?”
“It is okay if she is. I have many servants myself. Some are paying off debts they owe me. Some needed closer watching.” He waved a hand. “But is she yours?”
“No.”
“What is she to you then?”
“A friend…or used to be.”
“And what do you intend to do with her?” He raised his drink again, allowed the light to spark against the nuances and cuts in the glass. “Toy with her? Awaken her? Kill her?”
Why was it Giovanni’s business? Anger sliced through the tether he’d placed around his emotions.
Giovanni spoke before Akiva could. “It’s all right, if that’s your plan. Some of us like to play with our food occasionally before dining. Keeps things interesting when we grow bored. And it’s so easy to grow bored with so much time.” He watched the sunlight through his glass, tilting his head to study the array of colored lights, and then his gaze hardened. “But if you intend to awaken her…or as some say ‘change’ her into one of us…”
His lip curled as he used the word, and he allowed the notion to linger between them. His index finger jerked upward and settled back against the armrest of the wicker chair as if ticking off the seconds. “I actually prefer the word awaken. Isn’t that what it is? You live all your life thinking life is simply a march toward death, and then someone awakens you to the truth, to how the world really is, how it can be, how it will be for you.” He smiled as if reveling in his own awareness and difference.
“Then what?” Akiva shifted the conversation back. “You said if I intended to change her…”
Giovanni shifted in his seat. “Then we would have to discuss your reasons. I am not unreasonable about these things. I will say awakening someone is exhilarating. Quite sensual. But it can be rather tricky if you don’t know what you’re doing. Still, I do insist those of us operating and living in my district adhere to the rules. And you must get permission before turning someone…anyone…into a vamp.” He laid a hand against his chest. “It’s not my rule, you understand.”
“Then whose?”
One of Giovanni’s eyebrows arched upward. “The one you should fear.”
“Who’s that?”
Giovanni waved his hand, dismissing the question as if it wasn’t Akiva’s business to know. “So is that your plan, then?”
“Why all the fuss, all the rules?” The question was automatic. Akiva didn’t bother hiding his disdain for useless rules that only made the one who conjured them up feel self-important.
“That’s a good question. Seems like a logical thing to do: start changing…awakening everyone. Then we’d certainly outnumber any of those crazy fools who think they can defeat us. But if we all went around awakening our dinners into diners, then we’d soon have nothing to eat now, would we?” He took a long pull on his drink and sucked the drops out of his mustache. “So, is that your plan for the woman you are keeping?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“She’s an old friend.”
“Missing your old life, are you?” Giovanni leaned against the tall wicker back of his chair. “It’s understandable. You have not mingled with our kind much since your awakening. We try to give a little space, especially when we sense such intense anger in a newly awakened vamp, but at some point you need to embrace your life and your new family.”
“Family?” Akiva’s lip curled with disgust.
“Yes, indeed.”
Akiva stood abruptly, and the chair rocked back and forth, knocking against the back of his legs. His hands fisted as he attempted to restrain the surge of anger pulsing through him. “I never asked for this.”
“No one usually does.” Giovanni’s tone remained calm and soothing. “Most people don’t know this magnificent possibility even exists. If they did, they’d be lined up down the lane.”
“Camille was the one—”
Giovanni shot forward, cutting off Akiva’s complaint. “Were you there when she was killed?”
The intensity in Giovanni’s gaze and the tension in his body put Akiva on full alert.
***
The mood had shifted abruptly. Giovanni looked into his glass as he stirred the red mixture. “Camille was something, wasn’t she? She wielded her powers well.” Then his features calcified. “Were you there when she died?”
Akiva shook his head more to loosen the bonds Camille had wrapped around him. “No. Not really. We were surrounded and tried to escape, but she was caught.”
“And you could do nothing”—Giovanni’s tone sharpened—“nothing to help her?”
“If I could have, then she would be here now.”
“Did you allow her death as revenge for awakening you?”
Akiva shuttered his emotions, veiled his thoughts in case Giovanni attempted to read them. But he had sensed no more probing into his mind. Still, he ventured forward cautiously. “If I had wanted to take revenge on Camille, I would have done so myself.”
With a satisfied nod, Giovanni leaned back slowly again, examining the fingernail on his index finger. “Were you two lovers, then?”
The question surprised Akiva, and he sensed Giovanni’s flippant question was simply a cover for a greater desire…his desire to know the truth, the root of which Akiva suspected came from jealousy. “No,” he lied. “Never.”
“She wanted you.” Giovanni’s gaze slanted toward Akiva. “You had to know that.”
“It would not have mattered if she’d been the last woman or blood or—”
“You loved the girl from your past…was that it?”
Akiva’s muscles tightened. He couldn’t answer. The cold hardness of that long ago monument seeped into him again.
All my life coldly and sadly
The days have gone by
I who dreamed wildly and madly
am happy to die
“Is this one, the woman you brought here,” Giovanni asked, “the one you loved?”
“I told you,” Akiva said, through gritted teeth, “she’s a friend.” And yet she wasn’t. She was an old lover. A playmate. Yet he had none of those feelings for Rachel any more. His reasons, his purpose, his pain was buried inside the red haze surrounding her sister.
“She’s pregnant,” Giovanni said as if revealing a big secret, even though it didn’t take much of a glance to know the truth about Rachel.
“So?”
“Well, that is the problem, you see?”
Akiva shook his head. “No, I don’t.”
“It is forbidden, not just by me”—Giovanni placed a hand against his chest once more, as if denying his own power and embracing it at the same time—“but by the Great One.”
“The Great—”
“The Great One forbids it. Not just for the protection of humans but for our own. You see, killing an infant is the supreme act of defiance. Some have done so accidentally and lived to…well, died to regret it.” He chuckled at his own pathetic joke, but then his expression hardened. “An infant is toxic to us. Some say it is because of their innocence. But that’s an old vampire’s tale. It does not matter why; it matters only what is. And toxic it is. A few vampires have ended their lives in such a way. Those foolish ones who could not understand, who could not adjust. Not many, mind you, but a few.” His gaze leveled on Akiva. “You wouldn’t have something like that in mind, would you?”
Akiva met the probing stare with his own defiant one. But his mind was reeling, churning, scattering into a thousand shards. He clung once more to his one last hope.
Long since my heart has been breaking
Its pain is past
A time has been set to its aching
Peace comes at last.
Would Giovanni attempt to
stop him? He could admit the truth and allow Giovanni to punish him. But he didn’t want to die at the hands of a vampire. Or anyone else. He wanted to die on his own terms, when and where he chose. Then it would be too late for Giovanni…or the “Great One” to do anything about it. In a calm, reasonable tone, Akiva answered with a question. “Why would I want to do that?”
“No one knows a man’s or vamp’s heart, now does he? Not even I. Not even the Great One.”
“God knows.” Akiva spoke the words so softly he wasn’t sure if he’d actually said them aloud, and his voice carried the timbre of his father’s, a simple statement his father would have uttered many times, conviction ringing loudly in each syllable. But Akiva wasn’t sure he believed that anymore…or maybe ever. It certainly didn’t seem true now that he had been awakened. And yet, even in his awareness, some things happened that did not make sense.
“God?” Giovanni’s laughter spread outward and engulfed them. “We are our own god.”
“Then why do you have to adhere to someone else’s rules? Gods make their own rules.”
Giovanni’s gaze narrowed. “This is why I told Camille that someone with your background was troublesome.”
“Because of my belief in God?”
“Because you cannot think outside the box you were raised in. You cannot truly understand.”
But he understood far more than Giovanni gave him credit for.
For a moment, he considered asking Giovanni to explain the otherworldly creatures he had seen while in Pennsylvania. Especially the old woman guarding Hannah’s little sister. It was like some sort of costume: the ancient sagging skin, gray hair, weakened bones. But the fire in the old woman’s gaze not only held heat but power and authority. At first, Akiva had believed the creature was Hannah’s grandmother. But then he’d learned the old woman was already dead and buried near his own grave. Had she been a ghost? No. The form was solid. Steel girded the voice. When the old woman had stood, she’d had strength beyond measure in her stance.
Maybe Giovanni had never experienced such a creature. Akiva certainly had never seen anything like it in New Orleans. Maybe this place was too dark for such a light.
