by A. M. Manay
Once she was dry, Willow handed her some clothes: a long-sleeved v-necked tunic, a skirt that came down to her calf, and a pair of knee-high wool socks. No shoes, and no underwear. He wants you to feel vulnerable, she told herself. I am vulnerable, her mind replied.
The sack went back over her head, and she was again dragged through the halls and stairways of Luka’s headquarters. She expected to be brought back to the study, but instead she was taken to a small, well-furnished suite. The far wall was taken up by a four-poster bed with dark blue linens, an armoire, and a nightstand. The portion of the room nearest the door featured a fireplace with an overstuffed couch in front of it, a well-stocked bookcase, and a sitting area with two comfortable-looking chairs and a round table which was taken up by a generous breakfast tray and a stack of art supplies. There was also an arch leading into a large bathroom to the right of the bed. The message was clear: good girls get to stay here; bad girls get locked up in a dark hole and bathe with Philemon.
“If you need anything, knock on the door, and a guard will check on you,” Willow instructed. “And for God’s sake, do as you’re told when Lord Luka comes.”
“I was rather hoping she’d piss him off,” Philemon replied, hatred in his eyes. November supposed he blamed her for his woman's death.
November finally turned and looked straight at her mother’s murderer. “I’m sorry about Agnes, truly,” she said, surprising herself. “Despite what you did to my mother. But it’s not my fault your master killed her.”
Something blazed in his face, but quickly disappeared. He said nothing and rushed out the door with a faint whoosh. Willow soon followed, bolting the heavy door loudly behind her, and the captive was again alone. She assumed she was being watched somehow, by camera or who-knew-what fairy device.
She sat at the table, and as she had done the previous night, deliberately ate every morsel on the plate. She noticed that the fairy lantern from the night before was folded carefully in the center of the table in from of her, a little gift from Luka to remind her of what she really was. She had no idea what time it was or how long she’d been in the cube, but she was certainly hungry. She wondered how long Luka would leave her alone to stew and frighten herself. She decided that she would be better off occupying her mind and turned to the art supplies, opening the sketchpad and pulling out a charcoal pencil. It was time to purge herself of some of Luka’s poison.
She tried her best not to draw anything she thought would hurt her friends, but it was always so hard to tell what visions meant. The drawings of the women she was coming to think of as herself were fascinating and frightening all at once. Many of them she had seen before without knowing they had any significance. It seemed she’d had a number of bad deaths, but she was comforted by the strength she saw in these women. It made her feel a little less weak and helpless. She wished she had access to her binders to see what other clues about her true nature might be found there. The vision that really made her heart pound was of a collapsing building. The details of the rubble were obscured by the cloud of dust that enveloped the sight. Please, God, don’t let it be Ilyn’s casino, she pled silently. Please don’t let my friends be in there.
She drew until her hand cramped, then curled up on the sofa in front of the fire. It felt good to be warm. She had been avoiding thinking about what she had learned and the hopelessness of her situation. It was too overwhelming, but she could not run from it forever. I am not a real human being. Savita knew what I am, and she didn’t tell me. He’s going to bite me. He’s probably going to rape me. Even if they come for me, they’ll never be able to get me out of this place. All my friends are going to die. He’s going to kill me and make me his vampire slave child bride. Do not cry. Do not let him see you crying when he comes.
There was, predictably, nothing in the room that she could use to kill herself, even if she was brave enough to do it, which she soon acknowledged she wasn’t. There were no belts or straps, nothing breakable or sharp. She was utterly trapped. She looked for Ilyn, struggling to quiet her mind enough to reach out for him, but her anxiety and the distance made that impossible. She felt utterly alone.
She thought about Luka’s revelation of her identity. She wondered how many loved ones and how many treasures she had lost in her long series of lives. Had she borne children? She was glad she couldn’t remember. She wondered what the point was of the endless cycle. She wondered how many times she had learned her true nature only to forget it again. She wondered if she had come to terms with it, come to accept it or appreciate it or understand her purpose. Why would God make her this way, to live and die again and again and never know peace? Had she done some great wrong? How could she repent of it if she had no idea of the nature of her sin? Was there something she was supposed to do? How would she know what it was?
When her captor finally joined her, he found her asleep on the sofa, exhaustion having overcome her once again. She raised her head when she heard the door close behind him and quickly sat up, wary and still.
Luka laid an iPad on the table and looked at the piles of paper she’d produced. “Very industrious,” he commented with approval. She watched him and said nothing. “And how did you find the room, and your breakfast?”
“Very nice, thank you,” she replied in what she hoped was a suitably meek tone. Use what you have. String him along. As long as your heart beats, there is a chance.
“And how are you feeling? You look much better.” His gaze made her yearn for another shower.
“Old,” she replied, truthfully. Luka laughed.
He sat down on the sofa, turning to face her as though they were old friends. “And have you thought of any questions or comments about the information I shared with you last night?”
“I think I believe you,” she said after a pause, “about my not being human. There’s a whole stack of women there. I think they’re all me.”
“Excellent. A good first step,” he replied approvingly.
“How long have you been looking for demons?” she asked.
“Most of my life. At least seven hundred years.”
“And all you’ve found is me?” she asked, puzzled. “Surely there are more than me and Savita out there.”
“I have found a few others, but most were, shall we say, extremely unstable. Not at all suitable for turning into a vampire. And it is rather like looking for a needle in a haystack. I’ve examined thousands of frauds, more than I can count.” November tried not to think about what might have happened to all those mediums and spoon-benders and faith healers who'd been faking it.
“How did you know I was Juana before you even caught me?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Ah, you know her name! Well done! It was merely a hunch, and a hope. Ben’s descriptions of your abilities matched the reports of the priests who examined you five hundred years ago. I have been waiting for you for a long time,” he said, almost tenderly. November shivered. “Speaking of Ben, you have a visitor. Send him in,” he called to the guard.
She found herself face to face with her former friend. He still looked awful: gaunt and sad and hopeless and a little bit afraid. “Ben tells me that he owes you his life, kitten,” Luka said in an artificially light tone. “Tell me, November, why would you choose his life for a reward?”
November had the distinct feeling that the wrong answer would lead to a very dead vampire. She went with most of the truth. “I felt sorry for him, because of his sister and his maker. I thought you took advantage of him, of his youth and his grief. I thought that if anyone had bothered to take care of him properly, he wouldn’t have gotten into such trouble. I guess I know what it’s like when adults fail children.” She left out the part about her instinctive feeling that somehow his life would be helpful to her own.
Luka examined each of them in turn. Finally, he said exactly what his father had said: “I suppose we’ll find a use for him.” Looking at the lowliest of his servants with contempt, he added, “It seems you owe the Oracle twice over,
boy. You may go. And stay away from my seer.” Luka flashed his fangs briefly in warning. Ben gave November a ghost of a smile and disappeared out the door, which locked loudly behind him.
“Now, show me your work,” he ordered.
November fetched her stacks of paper. She didn’t think there was anything in them that would hurt Ilyn or the rest of her friends. She was terrified that she would somehow inadvertently help Luka, but she couldn’t very well pretend she hadn’t seen anything, and God knew she needed to draw to get the visions out of her system. She assumed that the eyes in the sky would report if she made a drawing and destroyed it. She knew she was a pretty bad liar, even to human beings. She only hoped that she would be able to cover up anything she saw that would be a danger to her friends. She handed her work to the vampire, sat down, and waited for his reaction.
“Now you do realize that if I catch you deceiving me, the consequences will be dire,” he said with quiet menace without looking up from her sketches.
“I expected as much,” she replied, staring at her hands. Luka took the sketch of him in his broken human body and tossed it into the fire.
“Is this past or future?” he asked about the one of him frantically digging a hole for himself in the ground.
“I’m not sure. If I see it again, I’ll try to get more details on the clothing, which helps me figure that out.”
The vampire glanced briefly at the drawings of the women, then held up the drawing of Ilyn in the hotel hallway. “Tell me about this one.”
She swallowed. “There is smoke, screaming, crashing noises. He's in the hotel.”
“Upstairs or in the vaults?”
“Upstairs,” she answered truthfully. Luka’s resulting smile made her shudder.
“Well, that is good news indeed,” he said, savoring the words. “And this one?” he asked, holding up the sketch of the ruined building.
November’s hear sank, seeing where this line of inquiry must be leading. “A building, collapsing. I couldn’t see enough detail to identify it. Too much dust,” she replied.
“I have something to show you, kitten.” Luka picked up his iPad. “Let’s take a look at the news, shall we?” Apparently the desert fortress somehow had excellent wireless internet access.
And with that, November knew that her fears had come to pass. She watched a tourist’s cell phone footage of a private jet crashing into the Tayna Casino on a bright afternoon. The resulting explosion was violent enough to indicate that the plane had been packed with high explosives, according to the newscaster’s analysis. The anchor continued, “Hundreds are missing, including casino magnate Ilyn Zykov, who according to witnesses risked his own life helping victims to safety. Casualties would have been higher save for the fact that the complex had been partially evacuated due to a faulty fire alarm twenty minutes before the terrorist attack. No group has taken responsibility for the attack, so reminiscent of the Al Qaeda attack on September 11th. Rescue efforts continue as federal investigators begin trying to determine how the attack was planned and carried out . . .”
November shook like a leaf, the faces of her friends flashing though her mind as she wondered if any of them had survived. The thought that Zinnia could be no more, and Savita, and all the others, was more than she could bear, and fear for Ilyn filled her heart. Surely I would know if Ilyn were dead, she told herself in desperation. Surely I would feel it.
She didn’t realize she was crying until Luka caught a tear on his finger and brought it to his lips. “No one is coming for you, November,” he said gently. “They are all dead or nearly so, and even if any survive, why would they risk their lives for a seer who couldn’t save them from such a disaster? Their time is over. It is my time to rule now, and you will be at my side. In time, you will accept this. In time, you will see that this is all for the best.” November remained silent, no longer weeping, but her body still shaking. “They tell me you love my father. Is this true?”
“Maybe,” she whispered, too heartbroken to lie.
“I am told that he spurned you.” She nodded in affirmation. “I admire your loyalty, kitten, but he was not worthy of your love. Weep for him now, and then forget him. Forget them all.” He stood to leave. “In a few hours, after you have time to grieve, I have something special planned. My people will want to celebrate this great victory for our kind. I will send for you." November didn’t even hear the door close behind him.
She sat for a long time, feeling hollow. She looked for Ilyn, but all she could see was darkness. She prayed for her friends. She prayed for herself. It had been a long time since she had prayed, but she supposed it couldn’t hurt. Her fingers itched for her rosary, but she thought she would probably never see it again. Perhaps it would be better to lose all hope. It would be easier to just snuff it out, she told herself.
And yet, she was sure that she would have felt Ilyn’s death, even at this distance. She knew that her vision of her own burial was a true seeing. Thousands of time it had come to her, unchanging.
Whatever Luka intended, whatever he might do to her, however broken she might become, she knew that it would be Ilyn who brought her to her next incarnation. This was her fate. She had always known it. So, rather than snuffing it out, she blew on the ember of her hope until it was a little flame, and then she hid it away where no one could see, where it could keep her warm in the dark. And she prepared herself for battle.
She knew she must present a certain face to Luka, to make him think she had begun to accept her fate as his prized possession. She must seem fearful, which was easy enough to mange given her near constant state of terror. She must act as though she needed him, to appeal to his vanity and his obvious loneliness and need to be important. She must act sad, but not too sad. She knew she must keep her eyes open and look for any opportunity, any chance to make possible an escape. And when her friends came, she knew she must be ready.
She knew they would come, whoever was left. They would not abandon her, she was certain of it. Luka thought they would blame her, and that they would not repay her loyalty in kind. But November knew better, because she knew that at least some of them loved her, not just her gift. Most of all, she knew she must stay alive as long as possible. As long as my heart is beating, I have a chance.
A human servant brought her some food, and she dutifully ate it. She pulled out a math textbook and began working problems to quiet her mind and pass the time. She dreaded finding out what these people did to celebrate. She was certain it would be a thousand times worse than the parties at Lord William’s house, and those were already pretty bad. Finally, the door opened, and someone entered. Her heart fell as she saw that her escort was Philemon.
Determined not to show any fear, she stood and walked to him. To her surprise, there were no cruel comments. He handed her the black bag, which she pulled over her own head without protest. He took her elbow and led her out the door. She could hear other people in the corridors. They were all heading in the same direction, moving much more quickly than she could walk. After a few minutes, everyone had moved ahead of them, and November and Philemon were alone in a stairwell. Philemon pulled off the hood, and she found herself pressed against the wall, looking at a very intense and fangs-bared vampire. Already anxious, she went cold with fear, expecting him to take his vengeance for Agnes.
Instead, in a desperate voice and with grief in his eyes, he demanded, “Tell me what happened to my Agnes.”
She took a deep breath. “Luka killed her because somehow he figured out that I was having visions based off of a hair she had left on my mother’s body. Maybe Willow found out and told him? Anyway, I guess he couldn’t have her participating in his plans anymore for fear of giving them away, so he staked her out of the blue, in the middle of a conversation. It was very quick. She didn’t really even have enough time to realize what was happening,” she said, hoping his wife’s lack of suffering would be a comfort to him. Instead, he was outraged.
“He slaughtered her like a human? He
didn’t even give her a chance to fight?” She shook her head. He let go of his prisoner, who clung to the wall as her knees buckled and she slid to the floor. “He told me William killed her for you, to gain your loyalty.”
“No,” she said. “William wept for her. He felt everything she suffered and everything she did was his fault.” She almost wanted to comfort him, this monster who had murdered her mother. He seemed so undone.
Suddenly, he came to some sort of decision and turned back to her, grabbing her arm with a grip that would bruise and hauling her back to her feet. He threw her back against the wall and growled, “If you ever tell anyone about this conversation, I will tear the flesh from your bones. Are we clear?”
“Crystal,” she whispered.
“Good.” And with that, he shoved the bag back over her head and dragged her up the stairs to the place where hope went to die.
Chapter 15
What November had thought was an auditorium was actually a killing ground. She could feel death before she was even shoved through the heavy double doors. Still shaking from her heart-to-heart with Philemon in the stairwell, her legs failed her again as images of brutal violence flooded her mind. Philemon guided her to the ground far more gently than she would have expected. “I just need a moment to get used to the room,” she whimpered through the hood, trying not to get washed away by a tidal wave of blood. After about ten minutes of being buffeted by horror, she resurfaced to find herself looking into Willow’s worried face.
