by Noelle Ryan
So why did you meet her today? he said, ignoring my sarcasm.
To tell her the truth. Tom stared at me, and I stared right back, defiant. She’s my best friend, Tom. That trumps everything in my book. I quickly ran Tom through our history: her fiancé, my live-in boyfriend, their consistent lying that was no less painful for being incredibly stereotypical—Ava’s about the other fiancée he had tucked away across town, and mine about, well, just about everything, including a woman or two. As we both recovered, nursing one another’s wounds, we swore we would tell each other nothing but the truth from then on.
So that’s why you got so upset when I accused you of lying, Tom mused.
I couldn’t just let our friendship end on a fight like that, on lies. I had to tell her what I was. I trust her—she’d never make information like that public.
To raised his eyebrows at me. It’s not that simple, Aly. If any master vampires find out about this, they are sworn to kill you for threatening our entire race. It wasn’t just your secret to tell.
I cringed. It was starting to seem more and more likely that my entire immortal life would be spent trying to avoid being killed by other vampires. Wonderful. But Tom shook his head.
I’m not telling anyone, and I have no plans to aim for independence for at least another century. By then Ava would no longer be a threat and therefore the vows I would need to take as a master wouldn’t apply to you anymore. As long as she is as trustworthy as you say, and you can manage to keep your mouth shut about it, you should be fine.
I chuckled bitterly. Oh I’m sure she’ll keep her mouth shut—she thinks I’m crazy and on drugs. She ordered me to get out of her house. I’ll probably never hear from her again.
The compassion I could feel radiating from Tom’s mind as I finished was too much for me to maintain the numbness I’d been carefully cultivating since arriving at my apartment, and I curled forward into his lap and began crying. Ava had been there with me through every stupid boyfriend, through my parent’s deaths—through everything that had mattered to me over the last ten years. We’d become friends in the first literature course either of us had ever taken during our first semester of college, bonding over how tiresome we found John Donne’s gloomy poetry. We’d never gone more than a few weeks without at least a long phone call, if not an evening spent laughing and telling stories over a bottle of wine. I couldn’t imagine my life without her friendship to keep me sane.
I could just turn her, Tom mused, and though I could tell he was simply tossing ideas around in the hopes of giving me, well, hope, I jerked upright and glared at him, my anger sudden and sharp. His voice winked out of my mind like a snuffed candle.
“Don’t you dare!” I snapped, trying to confine my voice to a whisper. “She’d never forgive any of us, especially not if you were able to control her mind.”
Tom raised his hands, palms outward, and leaned back. “Woah, woah, alright, it was just a thought.” He paused, and reached a hand out to lightly brush my cheek. “I just hate to see you in so much pain.”
My anger fled, and in its absence I suddenly realized how tired I felt.
“Do you think there’s enough time for me to get a brief nap in before we go down to Cesar’s house again, assuming we’re still doing that?”
“I’m sure they won’t mind—it’s more comfortable driving after dark anyway, and the sun doesn’t set for another two hours or so.” He grinned impishly. “Besides, if I stay up here with you for a while longer they’ll just assume you’d need a little nap for other reasons.”
I smacked him lightly on the arm, then stood, kicked off everything but my underwear and t-shirt, and climbed into bed. Tom climbed in next to me, tucking himself behind me as I curled onto my side. He reached his arm around my waist and tugged me against him until we were touching along the full lengths of our bodies. I drifted off to the sound of a soft lullaby, uncertain whether he was singing it aloud or in my mind.
Branches swatted against my face, and at first I thought I was running through the woods behind Cesar's house again. But as I looked around me I realized the trees were too large, the smells too unfamiliar. Vines draped and dangled across limbs, and I jumped when one of them raised its head to hiss at me. I ran faster.
Ahead I could hear footsteps, running away from me. Someone sobbing, gasping for breath. I was gaining ground—I caught a glimpse of her, hair tangled and bouncing as she ran.
“Ava?” I called out. “Ava, wait, it's me. It's Aly.”
She looked back over her shoulder, still running. The look of terror on her face was absolute, and it sickened me.
And then I realized she wasn't looking at me, but past me.
I couldn't turn, couldn't look. I heard a growl and felt something grab my ankle, and I went down, slamming face first into a concrete floor. I only had a moment to wonder what had happened to the jungle before darkness claimed me.
Nineteen
My eyes snapped open. It took a moment for me to realize everything was dark because I was face down in my pillow. Tom was gone, but Beckett had replaced him, curled up beside me and purring loudly. I twisted slightly so I could scratch him behind the ears, wondering if it had been his little diesel motor that had woken me. If so, I owed him double his treat ration for a while as a thank you for pulling me out of that nasty nightmare. After a few minutes, he stood up and stretched, and I took it as my cue to do the same. Besides, I was getting hungry, and I suspected I’d need all my resources for tonight.
When I went downstairs, I was surprised to find only Sam in the kitchen. I grabbed a few packs out of the fridge, ignoring his exaggerated look of disgust as I punctured the first one.
“I don’t see how you can stomach that crap,” he said.
I finished the last of the first bag and tossed it in the trash, idly hoping the trash collectors never bothered to examine just what they were picking up from this household. A house that produced no food waste but plenty of empty bags of blood would have to raise some red flags, regardless of whether they believed in the supernatural.
“Tastes fine to me,” I said, and started on the second bag.
Sam rolled his eyes.
“That’s only because you haven’t had the real thing,” he scoffed.
I didn’t bother telling him that I’d just drank from Tom’s neck last night, that precisely because it had been so much more exciting was why I was now even more hesitant to drink from a live person. I was sure I didn’t want to see the leer he’d give me for sharing that little nugget of information. So instead I simply rolled my eyes, and popped the third bag.
“You know, you wouldn’t have to drink as much if you were getting it fresh,” he said.
“I thought I had to drink more because of being so new,” I replied.
“True, you do need more than us, but you would only need a pint or so if it was fresh.”
Hmm. Nobody had pointed that out to me. Then again, it didn’t really matter because I still wouldn’t be going out to just tap a stranger on the shoulder and will them into sharing their blood and then forgetting we ever met. What if I accidentally picked someone with a horrible disease, and even the minor blood loss was too much for them?
Actually, in most cases you’d be doing them a favor. Tom’s voice filtered into my thoughts, and a moment later he emerged from the hallway to join us, nodding a quick hello at Sam. Vampire saliva has amazing healing properties. Mostly that helps us, by preventing us from picking up any diseases and allowing us to close wounds quickly and fully, but it can help cure some diseases in humans too, especially any that reside primarily in the blood, and especially if they get enough saliva in their system. Unless you literally drink pints from a single person, you’re not going to do anything other than leave them craving a steak or two.
But what if they’re vegetarian? I responded, thinking of my years spent avoiding steaks and anything like them.
Tom laughed, and I made a face at him. I’m being serious!
Sam gave us a puzzled look. “Care to share?” he inquired archly.
Tom looked at me. He doesn’t know about the telepathy yet I guess. Shall I tell him?
I nodded. I was sure Damian would tell him soon enough anyway, and it would be more fun to see the look on his face when he found out. Just don’t tell him I drank from you—I’d rather not endure the mocking looks.
“Aly and I have a telepathic link now,” Tom said.
Sam’s jaw literally dropped open for a split second before he snapped it shut.
“How did that happen?” Sam asked.
“We’re not entirely sure,” Tom replied, shrugging.
“We discovered it earlier this afternoon,” I said.
Sam narrowed his eyes. “So suddenly you wake up early this afternoon and discover you can read each other’s minds. Just what kind of bedroom play are you two into anyway?”
I blushed, but Tom didn’t appear bothered by Sam’s conclusion. Hey, you didn’t want him to know we think it’s because of the blood exchange—what else did you think he’d attribute it to? Tom asked me.
As tempting as it seemed to simply stare at my feet until one of them changed the subject, I decided it was probably wiser to take control of the conversation before it got any more embarrassing. I forced the blush out of my cheeks and looked up.
“I apologize for making you so jealous Sam," I said, "that was thoughtless.” I grinned as his eyebrows shot up and his cheeks colored slightly. “So let’s move on to a topic that hopefully won’t upset you—what’s the plan for tonight?”
Tom mapped everything out for me once he finished chuckling at Sam. Temora had agreed to send reinforcements to meet us at Cesar's, which would give us cover, Tom said, while we reexamined the premises to see if I could pick anything up this time.
“Damian and Valerie should be back from their meeting with her shortly," Tom continued. "She’s apparently curious to see what you can do—she hasn’t had anyone with your psychic gifts amongst those who owe her allegiance in centuries.”
”Wait—I owe her allegiance?" I asked. "What does that mean?”
Now it was Sam’s turn to grin at me, and he seemed all too delighted at the chance to enact a little vengeance.
"Since you're part of Damian's line, and since Damian had sworn allegiance to Temora in exchange for being allowed to be a master in her territory, you owe her your allegiance as well," he said. "If she needs you for something, you do it.”
I waved my hands in front of me, warding off Sam’s words.
“Woah woah woah," I said, "back up. You’re saying I have to follow the orders of some woman I’ve never met?”
Sam, rather than answering me, looked at Tom.
“You really haven’t taught her much, have you?" he asked. "As her maker this instruction is your responsibility as much as it is Damian’s, you know.”
“Give me a break," Tom said. "You know as well as I do how unusual these circumstances have been."
“Uh, excuse me," I said, "I’m still standing right here guys.”
Tom turned to me. His voice changed from the low growl he’d been using on Sam to something more soothing.
“She 's a very reasonable woman, Aly. She rarely asks much of her people. What little she does request is well worth fulfilling, given the level of protection and opportunity she offers in exchange.”
“I don’t care how damn reasonable she is,” I said. “I don’t like the idea of anyone I don’t know being able to just order me around!”
“Do you make this much of a fuss over the existence of the police, or judges, or the military amongst the human world?” Sam asked.
“If they do something unjust, I do,” I said.
“Really?” Sam arched one eyebrow. “So every time there’s an incidence of police brutality, a misuse of military power, or a wrongful sentencing you’re out there protesting?”
“Not every time," I said, "but I have when I could.”
“What you mean is," Sam said, "you’ve done it when it was convenient, or if it affected someone you cared about—or perhaps if it made you look good in front of some boy you cared to impress.”
“Back off Sam," Tom said, "you’re not exactly fond of authority figures either.”
Sam spun on him, his face twisting and his fangs beginning to show.
“You’re damn right I’m not. But your little girlfriend here is a hypocrite. I'll bet she never worried about the misuse of power when she knew it wasn’t likely to affect her—human cops, and courts, and government forces don’t tend to pay much attention to young white liberals who pay their taxes and quietly do their jobs. She’s just chomping at the bit now that there’s an authority figure who might actually want something more from her than a percentage of her income.” Sam finished his rant on his way to the back door, which he slammed behind him, shattering the window beside it.
Tom sighed, retrieved a dustpan and broom from beneath the counter and began sweeping up the mess. I watched him, shaken.
“What the hell is his problem?” I finally asked.
Tom finished sweeping up, and dumped the shattered glass into the trash can.
“Hold on," he said, "let me call Valerie to let her know the window’s been broken and find out what she needs me to do about it.”
He strolled to the other end of the counter, extracting his cell from a pocket. I heard him quietly recount what had happened, leaving out the specifics of the argument and just mentioning that Sam had gotten upset and accidentally slammed the door too hard. Tom was far enough away, and she was quiet enough, that I couldn’t hear her reply. However, once he hung up Tom dialed a new number, setting up an appointment to have someone come over and immediately repair the damage.
Damn. Service like that would have to cost a pretty penny; there couldn’t be many people happy to fix your window after seven on a Sunday night.
“It does,” Tom responded, “but timeliness is more important than frugality to Valerie.”
He tucked his cell back in his pocket, scrubbing his hands over his face.
“Sam was turned during the Second World War," he said, “not that many years before Damian turned me. Only, unlike me, his sire disappeared after turning him. Sam didn’t know there was any vampire society to be a part of; he had to figure it all out by himself. By the time he’d realized he wasn’t simply a demon wandering the woods, hunting and killing soldiers who had strayed too far from their units, a year had passed. He returned to the States to find the wife he’d left behind, only to discover that she had been told he was killed. She had remarried. He didn’t want to traumatize her any further, so he simply watched them from afar.
“Soon afterwards, he realized they’d had a son he’d never known about. He discovered it by accident, when he was watching his wife one day and heard her calling the baby in her arms ‘Samson’—Sam’s son. He became especially fixated on his Samson—he once told me that watching him grow up was the only thing that kept him sane, kept him from building or buying a guillotine to ensure his own permanent death.
“Then, when his son was of age, he was drafted for the Vietnam War. Samson was slim, clumsy, and intellectual—he wasn’t cut out for military service, especially not for being a foot soldier in the Army. Sam desperately began searching out the vampire contacts he’d previously tried to avoid, hoping to bind himself to someone with enough power to pull his son out, or at least transfer him to a branch and position that was more suited to his temperament. But by the time Sam finally found Damian, and Damian agreed to bring him into his family and attempt to help, Samson had been shipped overseas. Damian was as good as his word—he ran through his list of contacts until he found someone that could arrange a transfer. It was being processed when Samson was shot. Sam’s never forgiven himself for avoiding our kind too long to take advantage of the protections we could offer to the one thing that gave his new life some meaning.”
Twenty
I was stunned, and stood in silence for a few
moments, simply watching as Tom stepped closer and slipped his hand into mine.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “No wonder Sam got so angry with me.”
”You didn’t know, and he had no right to take that out on you.” Tom replied, his hand tightening on mine. “Vampire feudalism is a shock, especially for people who’ve grown up in democratic countries. Your reaction is understandable.”
“I still feel awful about it,” I said. My voice sounded tiny and strange to my ears.
“Hey, it’s okay, really.” Tom stepped forward and hugged me. “Sam’s just a hothead—he’ll cool off and feel like a jackass, believe me—which is exactly how he should feel,” he said, stroking my hair. I could hear his words echoing in his mind: It’s okay, don’t feel bad, it’s alright. And abruptly, I did feel fine.
I pulled away, confused.
“Were you willing me to feel better?” I asked.
Tom blushed slightly. “Um, actually I might have, but it was unconscious. I can’t control you anyway, right?”
“Except you did,” I said, starting to panic. Shit, if Tom could control me then I had to break things off now.
Wait, Aly, wait. Calm down. When you were scared around Cesar that’s when he could control you, right? Maybe feeling guilty had a similar effect—put a crack in your shields, so to speak.
I relaxed, willing myself to calm down and return to an emotional zero. I’d been bouncing all over the emotional Richter scale today; it was starting to make me reconsider just how important Damian’s earlier advice about not relying on my emotions really was.
Okay, try again, I told Tom once I felt fully grounded.
Do a cartwheel, he commanded. I pushed at him with the flat of my hand.
Come on, be serious! I need to know if it was just from how I was feeling or not.
Alright, um…Tom paused, and I could feel him flipping through possibilities in his mind. Then he grinned. Kiss me.
