She Dies at the End (November Snow Book 1)

by A. M. Manay

  She did not enjoy, however, watching what usually happened once the dinner bell rang. It wasn't that the fairies and vampires were particularly cruel or savage as they fed and seduced. Self-control seemed to be expected under Lord William’s roof. What bothered her was how addled the humans were, as though they were drugged, which in a sense, of course, they were. It was all a little too close to rape for her liking. She was grateful once again to be immune to being enthralled. She’d rather live with some fear than live lobotomized, without any real feelings or thoughts of her own. She’d made that decision when she'd decided to face her gift head-on and get off the drugs and out of the hospital.

  November also began her self-defense lessons with Willow and Pine. They taught her along with Ben and Zinnia. Obviously, the other youngsters were way ahead of her, but they were willing to be patient. It turned out that there was a shooting range in the bowels of the government half of the building. Her tutors taught her how to shoot a handgun and a rifle. They laughed the first time she staggered from the recoil, but she quickly improved. There was an outdoor range for archery practice. November knew nothing about weapons of any kind, and she certainly had not known how much strength was required to draw a crossbow. They ordered a lighter one especially for her and promised her that in time she would get stronger and using the bow would get easier. Her aim was quite good, which gave her something to be proud of.

  Hand-to-hand combat was obviously a challenge, given how weak and slow she was compared to any supernatural creature. Pine encouraged her to focus on her strengths. These strengths turned out to be playing possum and ducking. She found that when she was in “the zone,” she could use her gift to see where the next blow was coming from and move out of the way, which sometimes allowed her to get a blow in under her attacker’s defenses. And she was good at pretending injury or weakness to deceive an opponent.

  William gave her teachers permission to give her a few weapons to carry on her person in case of emergency, so she wouldn’t have to rely on her killer rosary. So she now carried a small silver switchblade and what Willow called “werewolf mace,” a spray bottle full of a suspension of colloidal silver. They decided not to give her a gun, reasoning that it was be more likely to be taken from her and used against her than to be useful to her in a fight. November agreed with that assessment and was secretly relieved not to have to carry a gun. The knife scared her enough.

  November began spending a few days a week working with Savita. The investigator would bring files from various bombings, and they would go through them together, November using her gift to try to tease out more information or make new connections. Photos, bomb fragments, clothing samples, videos: all were examined and re-examined. She learned all the gory details of attacks in Arizona, Texas, New York, Washington, and Louisiana. Progress was slow.

  November was surprised to find that the man she’d seen apparently giving orders to Dogwood was in fact one of the first victims of an attack, escaping with moderate wounds. Savita identified him as Luka, the Lord of Arizona. “He is vicious, cunning, greedy, and powerful. He is also our brother, turned by our mother, Marisha,” she added, shocking her new colleague. “He would not be above staging an attack on himself in order to deflect blame, so he cannot be eliminated as a suspect.”

  “Why do you and Lord William despise him so much?” November asked cautiously, not knowing quite what she was stepping into.

  “There are many reasons. He took sides against our father the king during the last succession election. When our father won the throne, Luka made a token effort to get back in his good graces, but William has never trusted him since.” Savita then explained that vampire kings served for life, or until they resigned, but they were elected by the Assembly of Lords. The position was not inherited, though often the relatives of kings were powerful enough to win the throne themselves. Ilyn had succeeded his wife when she decided to retire.

  She continued, “Luka can also be gratuitously cruel sometimes. The rest of us in the family, we are careful with our human prey. That’s what we were taught as young vampires. We take what we need and try to leave them unharmed when we are done. Luka has never had any such compunction. He sees humans as livestock or servants, whose only purpose in life should be to do our bidding, and he seems to enjoy frightening them. Arizona is a good place to be a monster. The undocumented migrant workers go missing while crossing the desert, and no one looks for them. Politically, Luka fights any laws that seek to protect humans or to protect our secrecy. He is a proponent of revelation. He is not content with helping to rule our little world. He wants more, always more. He thinks vampires and fairies should rule the entire world, rather than human beings. I have long suspected he has something to do with all of this, but we don’t have enough proof to convince anyone. Many of the lords fear to cross him.” November had thought her own family was strange, but apparently vampire royalty had their own share of dysfunction.

  Every night, it seemed, Lord William found some time in his busy schedule to spend a few moments with November. He took to sitting with her in the kitchen while she ate her last meal of the day, usually at about three in the morning. He would drink some blood out of the fridge while she ate. Sometimes they discussed her work, sometimes books or music, occasionally the events of their lives.

  Gradually, she became more comfortable around the vampire leader. He made her smile. She made a point of always addressing him as Lord William or Governor. He told her she didn’t have to if it made her uncomfortable. She replied, “It’s what everyone calls you. If I don’t, people might think I’m conceited or disrespectful." You already pay me an awful lot of attention, she thought to herself. I don’t want people to resent me. It would be disruptive to the balance of the household. Besides, it is accurate. You’re not my dad. You’re not my boyfriend. You’re more captor than boss. You hold my life in your hands. William remarked that she was awfully perceptive for a human of her age. She told him that it would be a better compliment without the “for a human” part. Don't get close to him, she told herself. You have Stockholm Syndrome. You can't trust him so much.

  When she seemed very tired, if she’d been working too hard and sleeping poorly, William would offer to bite her. She found herself looking forward to those days, partly because she craved dreamless sleep, a luxury she had never before experienced, but mostly because she was falling for him. She tried not to show it too much. It made her feel foolish. She’d never had a crush before.

  Lord William seemed to sense it, of course. One early morning, when he kissed her goodnight, it was on the lips rather than her forehead, and she went to bed smiling and giddy. Another evening, he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his cool fingertips brushing against her skin. He still had a smith’s calluses preserved from his human life so many centuries earlier. It was all she could do not to throw herself at him. One night, she grew lightheaded while he was feeding and spent several blissful minutes with her head on his shoulder while he stroked her hair.

  She suddenly cared about whether or not she was pretty. She finally understood why every person who walked into her tent asked about love. It was the most fun, scary, exciting and nerve-wracking thing she’d ever experienced, and every day she looked forward to seeing him. She was relieved, however, that things were moving slowly. She certainly wasn’t ready to jump into anyone’s bed.

  Ben also made a point of spending time with her. He brought her books. He’d watch movies with her and try to put his arm around her. He was all sweetness with her now, but sometimes there was a strange look in his eye that she couldn’t quite identify. November tried to discourage him without being mean, at first just to protect him, but also because she realized she was developing confusing feelings for Lord William. Ben, however, refused to be discouraged.

  She couldn’t bring herself to be honest about her puppy love for Lord William. She was unsure of where it was going, and she didn’t want to give Ben more reason to dislike his lord. She was afraid
of hurting his feelings after all he’d been through. Confrontation had never been her strong suit. Besides, she simply had no idea how to handle romance. She’d never had a boyfriend. She’d never been pursued, really, aside from some clumsy, vulgar propositions from fellow carnies. When she finally forced herself to remind Ben that given their circumstances, they could not be together, he said that he had plenty of time and could wait until Lord William inevitably disappointed her. She began to avoid being alone with him, enlisting Zinnia to assist her.

  Her friendship with Zinnia continued to grow stronger. While she had been forbidden to discuss the details of her work with anyone besides Lord William, Savita, and Birch, it was nice to have someone to talk to about how difficult it was, how upsetting some of the images were. Zinnia was the only person to whom she confided about her burgeoning crush on Lord William. It was such a pleasure to have a real friend for the first time. She liked hearing Zinnia’s stories about her childhood and about college life. Em also enjoyed the stories about Lord William’s life and sundry escapades, some of which had become legends in the supernatural community. Her new friend’s eternally sunny disposition was a nice contrast to her own more serious temperament, and her presence never failed to make November smile.

  November periodically returned to the hair she had found on her mother’s corpse. Having no luck doing a direct reading, she resorted to sleeping with the hair under her pillow, hoping and dreading that visions of Agnes would invade her dreams. She was rewarded one dark night with a scene that was thankfully more revealing than violent. Agnes was sitting with Philemon on a leather couch. Both were drinking steaming blood out of large wine glasses. The seer was relieved that their victim did not appear in the vision. Drinking appeared to make them chatty.

  “I just can’t believe what an easy time he has persuading these idiots to blow themselves up,” Agnes says, laughing.

  “He chooses the weak, the lonely, the young ones at loose ends. He gives them an ideology to believe in and a purpose. They’re grateful for it. This is how kings have made pawns since the dawn of time,” Philemon opines languidly, swirling the blood in his glass.

  “Do you think he’ll really be king?” Agnes asks quietly, as if frightened to express doubt of their mystery employer.

  “Ilyn’s spirit has been broken for 200 years. He no longer wants the throne enough to fight to keep it. Billy’s still a fighter at heart, his ridiculous habit of feeding on deer notwithstanding. He’s the real problem. Take him out, and the throne will fall.”

  “Why doesn’t the boss just have his live-in spy do the job?” Agnes asks. “All this waiting around is boring,” she whines.

  “As if that idiot would have a snowball’s chance in hell of managing to kill an old soldier like William Knox on his own. And our master still needs information from inside at least until he gets hold of that human weirdo. Dogwood’s failure has set us back. And we have no idea how much information he gave them before he died. Between the human and that Indian witch, he could have done a great deal of damage. The spy only reported his capture. He had no other information for us. They had a whole night to question him before he died. Our master must be very careful right now. Besides, I thought you wanted to do it yourself,” he continues. “Or at least to be there. Avenge Dogwood, destroy the father who disowned you. All that sentimental garbage.”

  “Well, ideally, yes,” she allows. “What I don’t understand is why William doesn’t just turn the girl, so at least she’d have a vampire’s strength to defend herself the next time we come for her.”

  “He’s probably afraid she’ll turn out a reprobate like you,” he responds. Agnes throws a pillow at her lover’s head in retaliation. “His main problem is that he respects the law too much. He wrote the statute about only turning humans who are at least 21 years old. He and that sister of his. The penalty may only be a fine, but it offends his overdeveloped sense of propriety to violate it. Appearances must be maintained. And it’s bad for him politically, what with how protective he is of the bipedal livestock. He runs a tight ship with his vassals in California: no kids, no rape, no harems, no this, no that. He’ll look like a hypocrite and lose face with his underlings. His pride will be his undoing.”

  “Serves him right, his sanctimony coming back to bite him. I love it. A real vampire wouldn’t let the law stop him,” Agnes spits with distain and decades of resentment.

  “Agreed,” Philemon says. “It is a shame that we had to postpone the next operation due to all this nonsense with the girl. . . “

  November woke with a pounding heart and shaking hands. It was the middle of the morning. She’d only been asleep a few hours. She grabbed her new computer and recorded every word of the conversation. She encrypted the file as she’d been instructed to do with all her work, and sent it immediately to Birch, Lord William, and Savita, knowing the vampires wouldn’t see it until dark.

  Confirmation that there was indeed a spy on the property tied her stomach in knots. The sweep of the house after the gas station attack had turned up two bugs, one in the kitchen and one just outside Birch’s office. She’d used that discovery to allow herself to pretend there was no traitor in the house, that an outsider had planted them while visiting the premises on business. That piece of self-deception was no longer possible. It made her skin crawl to know that she was living under the same roof with someone who worked with the vampires who had killed her mother and the fairies who had caused her such pain, the people who might well be behind the terrorist attacks that had killed so many. If things hadn't been tense enough in the house before, she feared the coming atmosphere of distrust would be stifling. She wondered, of course, who it could be. She dreaded finding out.

  She sat on her bed, curled up with her knees to her chest, resting her head on top of them. As she’d anticipated, Birch showed up in her room a few minutes later, demanding to go over every detail in triplicate. He kept running his hands through his lime green curls. He seemed to have gotten enough accustomed to November to reveal some of the feelings behind his solemn exterior.

  “We shall have to proceed very carefully. It could be almost anyone. If we spook whoever it is, he may flee. Which gets rid of the problem, in a sense. But, he might do something drastic, and we won’t be able to question him for information.” Birch looked at her with concern. “If everyone becomes aware that we know for certain that there is a spy, your safety will be compromised.”

  “Yes. I suspected as much.” November shivered. She had enjoyed feeling safe here inside the citadel. “As for who it is, I suppose we can cross you, your wife, and Pine off the list, right?”

  Birch smiled grimly, saying, “Not really. I, of course, know that I am innocent, and that my wife is, and my son, but killing one’s child in exchange for power has been known to happen. And eliminating your own spy when you fear they might be compromised has also been known to happen.”

  November shook her head. Obviously, she was insufficiently ruthless to understand the game being played. The fact that she was a piece on the board was more than unnerving. She kept thinking, finally venturing to say, “Philemon called the mole an idiot who had no chance of taking out a man like Lord William.”

  Birch nodded. “That seems to argue for one of our younger people: Zinnia, Ben, Daniel, Felix, Amy, Josue, Willow, Mary, Greg. And my Pine. Though I can't imagine Greg could hide such a betrayal from his maker. He has no secrets from Savita.” November winced to hear Zinnia’s name. Noticing her discomfort, Birch said sympathetically, “I know Zinnia is your friend, and I would be very surprised to find out she is a traitor, but we must examine all possibilities.”

  November nodded. “It would be pretty easy for a fairy to kill a vampire while they are resting, wouldn’t it? So if the spy is a fairy, why would Philemon say the mole would have no chance against the Governor?” she asked, hoping to eliminate Zinnia.

  “All the entrances to the crypt are monitored. There are eyes on the feeds at all times. A fairy trying to
enter would be caught. And even if they got past the first door, the resting chambers are locked from the inside,” Birch reminded her.

  They sat in silence, thinking together. “Philemon said they didn’t know what Dogwood had revealed before his death. You and Daniel were present for the interrogation, right, along with Lord William and Savita? So if any of you were the spy, you would have that information to pass along.”

  Birch nodded. “That is reasonable.” He stood up. “You and I will meet with William at dusk. Discuss this with no one." He locked his eyes on hers. "No one.”

  “Of course,” she replied, swallowing the lump in her throat.

  “Rest. And keep thinking, clever human,” Birch unfolded to his impressive height and glided out the door, leaving November to toss and turn the day away.

  When night fell, Birch briefed William, and the three of them went for a walk on the grounds to discuss what November had seen. They feared more bugs inside the residence. William decided to play things cool. As November pointed out, if the spy got spooked and ran, he’d likely attempt to kill or kidnap November at the same time. William decided to have Rose use the cleaning staff to steal personal objects from each the suspects. They could take things that wouldn't be missed: pillowcases and things of that nature. November would then try to see what she could sense from them, to see if the spy might be found in that way. Savita would be informed but would probably be of limited help. People knew of her telepathy and avoided touching her. Finding an excuse for her to examine peoples' thoughts without tipping off the mole was impossible.

  The guards would keep an eye on everyone, recording all comings and goings from the property. Pine would be assigned to stay within earshot of November at all times. They decided that he was the least likely mole of the fairies on staff, and he owed November a life debt. He was to sit by her door while she slept. November found this simultaneously creepy and reassuring.