by Shah, Karin
The force of Mina’s personality could no longer hold the crowd in check. The assembly disgorged a roar of frenzied discussion. Witches and mages shouted and jumped to their feet. One young witch dumped the contents of her punch glass on the head of the mage sitting next to her, whether intentionally or by accident Thalia couldn’t tell. It stained his white hair and beard pink.
Another crack of thunder caromed off the walls. “Calm down.”
Mina’s magically augmented words filled the room, rivaling the thunder in its volume. Thalia struggled against the urge to put her hands over her ears.
The roar diminished to a low buzz. “Is there anyone else who would like to nominate themselves or another as a candidate?”
Heads swiveled back and forth as each person looked to see if another would step forward.
Karla stood up. “I don’t want to nominate anyone. I just want to say that I am perfectly satisfied with the Champion we have. If there’s going to be a vote, I think it should be about whether we vote at all.”
There were some approving nods and murmurs. The tension in Thalia’s chest eased momentarily.
Mina sighed. “Very well. All in favor of holding a vote, raise your hand.”
Karla crossed her arms over her skinny chest, as did a few others, but the majority raised their arms.
Thalia’s ribs seemed to compress, preventing her lungs from expanding. If that many people wanted a vote, surely they would be voting against her.
Mina didn’t bother to count. “It seems there will be a vote. I’ll ask one more time. Are there any other candidates?” No one spoke. A few people shifted in their seats as if undecided, but eventually subsided, apparently unwilling in the end to take on such an onerous job.
“Fine. We’ll proceed. It would be better if this were a private vote, but in the interest of speed, I’ll ask again for a show of hands. Everyone who wishes Thalia to remain our Champion, raise your hand.”
Thalia held her breath as her gaze swept the crowd. Less than a third raised their hands. Her stomach lurched. She swallowed hard against the sick feeling rising in her throat. The Kents had been Champions for more than ten generations. It seemed like a bad dream. What had she done to deserve this?
“Everyone who wishes Heath to be our new Champion?” A forest of hands raised. “Those abstaining?” Two or three hands lifted. “It’s settled. Heath is our new Champion.”
It was over.
The room seemed to darken, and Thalia had the odd sensation that she’d ceased to exist. She felt as isolated and out of her element as a dolphin in a tank. How had this happened? What did she do now?
The short term was clear. No way would she allow Lily’s killer to escape, but after that, what then? She stepped back, and Gideon put a hand on her slender back. His touch anchored her and everything came back into focus. She straightened. She wasn’t going to let them do this to her.
“Wait! Heath,” she said loudly for everyone to hear. “I challenge you to a contest.” She turned to Mina. “If I can defeat Heath in the ritual of power, would that satisfy the council?”
“We’ve already voted.” Heath looked belligerent. His face was set, his hands fisted, his thick brows low and straight over narrowed eyes.
“So we can vote again.” Thalia lifted her chin and stared him down. He couldn’t have everything his way.
Mina glanced between them, her dark eyes assessing. She nodded once as if making up her mind and turned to address the crowd who were speaking excitedly amongst themselves, clearly taken aback by this sudden turn of events. “Raise your hands, if it is acceptable for the winner of the ritual of power to be our new,” she bowed her head to Heath, “or old,” she bowed her head to Thalia, “Champion.”
Every hand shot up. It was unanimous. Thalia had bought herself a bit more time. She wasn’t dead yet.
The ancient’s ultra-sensitive ears detected the rhythmic pat-a-pat-a-pan of rain hammering the roof of the Tomb. Gods, he loved that name! He’d thought it hackneyed before, but now it seemed perfect. Gideon couldn’t have known how apropos it would be. He smirked and resisted the impulse to laugh out loud. Nothing could dampen his ebullient mood.
He smoothed his thinning hair and scrutinized his reflection in the smoke-clouded mirror behind the bar. The glass was a bit wavy with age, and the silver had worn away in places, but it did the job. He looked a bit thin. He stroked his jaw. His skin was still elastic. He leaned forward over the sticky, scarred, teak surface of the bar to get a closer view. His eyes were beginning to sink in, but only the most perceptive eye would detect that.
Still presentable.
He hadn’t fed yet. His strength was running low. He could almost feel his energy bleeding away, but couldn’t remember being this satisfied. And it had been such great fun. The shocked expressions on the detectives’ doltish faces when he’d attacked almost compensated for the loss of their precious blood.
He could still feel the thrill of watching the one named Poole gasping for air. No doubt the man wore the imprint of his fingers even now. Perhaps he’d go back and find him again later. He could come to enjoy playing with his food.
He was amazed at how well his impersonation had worked. He loved the media. Gideon’s face was smeared all over the news like mud on a white shirt. The police were watching Gideon’s house, the phony crime scene he’d set up, and the Tomb. Stakeouts they called them. There was a pun in there somewhere. Not that he actually wanted them to catch Gideon, but dodging the police would keep his old adversary off-balance.
Of course, it also made it a bit more challenging to pick a victim.
Or did it?
He had thought the police might shut down the nightspot, but they’d decided Gideon might return to choose a new mark. He brushed the consciousness of some of the officers, delving into their histories. Several of the policemen and women knew the Champion. Convenient, but not surprising considering her mortal career as private investigator.
He inhaled, savoring the pungent aroma of adrenaline and fear that infused the hazy air. Rochesterians were scared. Oh, they pretended everything was normal. There was a rather reckless gaiety suffusing the human patrons of the club. He could hear it in their thoughts, but he didn’t have to read their minds to see it in their too bright smiles, exaggerated laughter, and wild dancing.
Cattle bleating in a pen.
They put on a good show, but deep down they were terrified. And well they should be.
He probed the thoughts of an undercover police officer in torn jeans and an unseasonable, though trendy, black leather jacket. Jackpot!
The thirty-something sandy-haired man was speculating that Damek had kidnapped the Champion. Although, of course, the man didn’t think of her that way. He was a petty through and through. The officer had always admired her. Had wanted to date her, but she’d seemed oblivious to his overtures. He couldn’t believe she’d willingly go with a wanted man. She was too honest, too by-the-book.
Quickly bored by the man’s banal thoughts, unrequited attraction was so trite, he was relieved when the man’s cell phone rang.
He let him answer it. Then he found the digital signal in the air and blocked it. Being the dutiful officer the man was, instead of hanging up, he moved toward the door to reacquire the signal. The ancient manipulated the signal again. He let it out and pulled it back like a fishing line, luring his foolish victim gradually toward the door. Ah, the wonders of modern technology. He really should get a cell phone. Perhaps after he ate the policeman, he’d take his phone.
A fresh, moisture-laden breeze diluted the smoky air near the exit as the officer stepped outside, braving the nearly torrential rain. The heavy steel door slammed behind him. The ancient felt the sweet smart of his fangs lengthening in heady anticipation. He preferred to feed on women, but a young healthy man would do in a pinch. Already imagining the ambrosial flavor of the man’s rich blood, the intoxicating euphoria of the Claiming, he tailed him out the door.
Chapter
17
“What is the ritual of power?” Gideon shouted, as they dashed through the rain to the car Mina had lent them.
Thalia ripped open the heavy passenger-side door and jumped into the white, classic Cadillac. The massive door clicked shut under its own weight. Her T-shirt was soaked through. She pulled the clammy fabric away from her skin, but when she let go, it simply adhered more closely to her chilled flesh. Her ponytail dripped water down her back. She leaned forward to protect the red leather upholstery. Gideon slid into the driver’s seat. He was barely damp. Typical.
Thalia rummaged through the glove compartment for some tissues. She found a small pack and began to blot her wet neck. “It’s a series of spells intended to determine the strength of a witch’s powers. It used to be a kind of witches’ duel, but it’s not done much anymore.”
“I’m surprised they agreed. They already had their pick.”
“The Champion has always been hereditary. It’s never been decided by vote, my guess is they want to silence the critics. They probably figure I’ll lose anyway, so why not let me spin my wheels.” A tear eluded her control and slid down her cheek. It mingled with the raindrops she’d missed. Damn, when did she get to be such a crybaby? Maybe he wouldn’t notice.
Gideon placed a large hand on her shoulder. “Spirit said you’ve faced pretty tough problems in the past, and the gods know you’ve saved my life enough times. I would have bled out after we fought the rogue, if you hadn’t got me home so quickly and sewed me up. I know you can handle this.”
Thalia hung her head. She could feel her nose pinking. “Don’t forget I had to augment my powers with some of your energy.”
“Which you gave me back in spades when you saved me the second time.”
“I didn’t save you.”
“Yes, you did. Oh, I would’ve lived, but if I’d succumbed to the Claiming...I might as well have been dead. You brought me back from the edge and gave me the strength to hold on.” His voice was firm, and although less than convinced, Thalia smiled, glad for the vote of confidence.
Silence stretched between them like a rubber band. Thalia occupied herself with mopping her face and blowing her nose. She flipped down the visor. No mirror. Just as well. She didn’t even want to think about what she must look like. She smiled inwardly. What did it say about her that with all that had happened, she was still worried about her looks? Although, with a face like hers, she didn’t know why she even bothered. Clean and neat, her mother always used to say, that was all anybody could expect.
Gideon started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Why couldn’t they perform the ritual tonight?”
“Tomorrow is the solstice. Timing is everything in spells of this nature.” Her shirt was starting to dry, and she waved the hem in front of the air conditioning vent to help it along.
“I think it’s brave of you to take the chance. You could have simply given up.” His voice was nonjudgmental, but Thalia sensed that while he couldn’t understand how much the Championship meant to her, he respected her commitment.
Thalia sighed. She felt like she’d gone three rounds with Muhammad Ali. “What choice do I have? I have no family left. The Championship is my life.” She smiled, sadly. “Besides, my mother would have wanted me to do it. She loved this community. She felt there was nothing more important than serving others. Lily on the other hand”—she laughed—“Would’ve told me to tell them to go to Hell. To ditch this town and start over somewhere else.” A pang struck her in the chest, stealing her air. This was the first time she’d thought about Lily without thinking of her murder. It felt good to remember her as she’d been, but at the same time it was like admitting she was truly gone.
Damn it, Lily. Why’d you have to go off with a strange man? What were you thinking? The anger faded, leaving only an aching void in the place her spirited cousin had once occupied. Lily would never have worried about being cautious. She’d been too busy living to think about dying. And strong, God, she’d been strong. She never would have let the community push her around. She would have shaken Rochester’s dust off her feet and never looked back.
“I wish I could be like her,” Thalia continued as if she’d never stopped speaking, “but I just don’t have it in me. It wouldn’t do any good to run from this anyway. Assuming he has the prophecy, and he must because why else would he be focusing on people who know me, there’s no reason to suppose he wouldn’t follow to force me to come back.” She thought out loud, as she slipped the ponytail holder off her wet hair and raked her fingers through the heavy strands in an ineffectual attempt to dry it. “I guess you’re stuck with me for now.”
“There are worse people to be stuck with.”
“Thanks.”
There was another long silence, but it had a comfortable, easy feel to it, as if no more words needed to be said. The windshield wipers squeaked as they did their job, and rain streaked and beaded the tinted windows. Thalia was reminded of the first time she’d ridden in a car with Gideon. It seemed so long ago now. Had it only been four days? She peered at his handsome profile out of the corner of her eye. He appeared to be concentrating on the traffic, competently navigating the rain slick streets with the deftness of a man who did everything well. Who would ever have imagined how much she would come to trust and rely on him in such a short time? Don’t get used it, she reminded herself. You’re perfectly capable of handling life on your own. And you’re not alone anyway. You’ve still got Spirit.
Spirit. No doubt he was curled up on one of the Gideon’s beds right now. “Can we stop and get Spirit before we head to the Tomb?” When had she started to think about the bar using the vampire name?
“I think we can risk it. Do you have enough energy to cast an invisibility spell on you both?”
“I think so, but I’ll only need to cloak myself. Spirit has his own powers, and one of them is invisibility.”
Gideon nodded. “Good. The Tomb will be crawling with cops.”
A lone raindrop sparkled like a diamond in his thick hair, and Thalia successfully fought the urge to brush it away. She folded her hands in her lap. It was better if she didn’t touch him. But, oh how she wanted to. She forced herself to remember how much it hurt when he’d pulled back from her in the kitchen. Her throat ached. She would be a fool to court that kind of pain again.
The rain seemed to have cleared the city streets. For the most part, they were the only ones on the road as they traveled to the Tomb. They’d dropped Spirit at Mina Shaw’s house. Spirit had insisted it was his place to go over the preparations for the ritual of power and ensure everything was done correctly. He didn’t say it, but Gideon got the feeling he was afraid someone might tamper with the spells.
The police had been watching the house, but it had been only a matter of minutes to slip inside and retrieve the familiar, who had escaped the police’s notice by literally vanishing.
Gideon had wanted to get Thalia some dry clothes, but her suitcase had been taken. His own clothes were still in his closet, probably because the police had already examined them and found nothing. Gideon had vaporized the blood-soaked clothes from his earlier encounter with the rogue. A decades-old amendment to the Code required careful disposal of blood. Vampires didn’t shed hair or skin cells. No vampire DNA could find its way to a crime lab. Nonetheless his clothes were much too big for her. So they’d stopped at Wegmans and bought Thalia a dry shirt emblazoned with the Lilac Festival logo. There had only been a few left, as the festival was in May. He glanced at her. She looked great in purple. Her hair had dried and, freshly brushed, it shone with the glossy highlights of a raven’s wing. He clenched the steering wheel. He ached to touch her, could already imagine the feel of her hair sliding through his fingers, but held back, reminding himself of the consequences.
He checked the time on his watch. Almost one a.m. He hoped the rogue hadn’t already chosen another victim while they’d wasted their precious time with witch politics.
After Thalia challenged
Heath, they’d left the community to gossip, drink punch, and eat cookies. For people who thought the end of the world was coming, they sure had an odd way of showing it. Gideon pushed his lingering anger aside and focused on the confrontation he hoped was coming. This had to end, and quickly. He couldn’t afford to become any more attached to Thalia. If anything happened to her, the beast would be almost impossible to contain.
He’d thought about trying to convince Thalia to stay with Mina while he checked out the Tomb, but he didn’t dare. His earlier vision returned to torment him. Her delicate body, sprawled on the indifferent ground, devoid of life, forsaken like so much jetsam cast onto a beach. No. He didn’t dare leave her alone.
Gideon found a parking spot on the street a few blocks from the Tomb. The plan was to cloud the mind of anyone they encountered, make them seem like just another couple. They couldn’t afford to waste Thalia’s energy.
He couldn’t remember ever taking more than a day or two to enforce the Code. Who the hell was this rogue?
As if he’d conjured him, a low moan issued from a nearby alley. It sounded like a man in the throes of wild sex, but Gideon was not deceived. He grabbed Thalia’s hand and sped around the corner in time to see a bent figure drinking from the neck of a man in a black leather jacket.
He wrenched the misshapen creature away from the man, who leaned drunkenly against the cement wall, a silly grin on his handsome face. A good sign. They’d caught the rogue before he’d claimed the man’s life force.
“Paul!” Thalia ran to the vampire’s prey and supported him before he could slide down the wall. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
The creature he had yanked off the mortal looked like a walking skeleton. His wrinkled, yellow skin hung off his wasted frame like a hand-me-down suit. He had only wisps of coarse hair on his bald skull. The creature grinned, showing pointed bloodstained teeth. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
