Dark Angel; The Chosen; Soulmate (48 page)

It took nearly an hour to get the ring off. Hannah used soap and butter and Vaseline, pulling and twisting until her finger was red, aching, and swollen. She used a dental pick from her fossil-collecting kit to try to pry the coils of the
stem apart. Nothing worked, until at last the pick slipped and blood welled up from a shallow cut. When the blood touched the ring it seemed to loosen, and Hannah quickly wrenched it off.

Then she stood panting. The struggle with the little band of metal had left her exhausted and unable to focus on anything else. She threw the ring in her bedroom wastebasket and stumbled toward bed.

I'm tired… I'm so tired. I'll think about everything tomorrow, try to sort out my life. But for now… please just let me sleep.

She could feel her body vibrating with adrenaline after she lay in bed, and she was afraid that sleep wouldn't come. But tense as she was, her mind was too foggy to stay awake. She turned over once and let go of consciousness. Hannah Snow fell asleep.

Hana of the Three Rivers opened her eyes.

Cold and desolate, Hana stood by the rushing river and felt the wind blow through her. So alone.

That was when Arno burst out of the bushes on the riverbank.

There were several hunters with him and they all had spears. They charged after the stranger at full speed. Hana screamed a warning, but she knew he didn't have a chance.

She could hear a few minutes of chaos far away in the dark.
And then she saw the stranger being driven back, surrounded by Arno's hunters.

“Arno—don't hurt him! Please!” Hana was speaking desperately, trying to block the men's way back. “Don't you see? He could have hurt me and he didn't. He isn't a demon! He can't help being the way he is!”

Arno shouldered her aside. “Don't think you're going to get away without being punished, either.”

Hana followed them up to the cave, her stomach churning with fear.

By the time everyone who'd been awakened by Arno's hunters understood what was happening, the sky outside had turned gray. It was almost dawn.

“You said we should wait and see if the Earth Goddess would tell you something about the demon while you slept,” Arno said to Old Mother. “Has she?”

Old Mother glanced at Hana sorrowfully, then back at Arno. She shook her head. Then she started to speak, but Arno was already talking loudly.

“Then let's kill him and get it over with. Take him outside.”

“No!”
Hana screamed. It didn't do any good. She was caught and held back in strong hands. The stranger gave her one look as he was driven outside in a circle of spears.

That was when the real horror began.

Because of something that Hana had never imagined,
something she was sure even the shamans had never heard of.

The stranger was a creature that wouldn't die.

Arno was the first to jab with his spear. The whitish-gray flint spearhead went into the stranger's side, drawing blood. Hana saw it; she had run out of the cave, still trying to find a way to stop this.

She also saw the blood stop flowing as the wound in the boy's side closed.

There were gasps from all around her. Arno, looking as if he couldn't believe his eyes, jabbed again. And watched, mouth falling open, as the second wound bled and then closed. He kept trying. Only the wounds where a spear was driven into the wooden shaft stayed open.

One of the women whispered, “He
is
a demon.”

Everyone was frightened. But nobody moved away from the stranger. He was too dangerous to let go. And there were lots of them, and only one of him.

Hana saw something happening in the faces of her clan. Something new and horrible. Fear of the unknown was changing them, making them cruel. They were turning from basically good people, people who would never torture an animal by prolonging its death, into people who would torture a man.

“He may be a demon, but he still bleeds,” one of the hunters said breathlessly, after a jab. “He feels pain.”

“Get a torch,” somebody else said. “See if he burns!”

And then it was terrible. Hana felt as if she were in the
middle of a storm, able to see things but buffeted this way and that, unable to
do
anything about it. People were running. People were getting torches, stone axes, different kinds of flint knives. The clan had turned into a huge entity feeding off its own violence. It was mindless and unstoppable.

Hana cast a desperate look toward the cave, where Old Mother lay confined to her pallet. There was no help from that direction.

People were screaming, burning the stranger, throwing stones at him. The stranger was falling, bloody, smoke rising from his burns. He was lying on the ground, unable to fight back. But still, he didn't die. He kept trying to crawl away.

Hana was screaming herself, screaming and crying, beating at the shoulders of a hunter who pulled her back. And it went on and on. Even the young boys were brave enough now to run forward and throw stones at the stranger.

And he still wouldn't die.

Hana was in a nightmare. Her throat was raw from screaming. Her vision was going gray. She couldn't stand to watch this anymore; she couldn't stand the smell of blood and burning flesh or the sound of blows. But there was nowhere to go. There was no way to get out. This was her life. She had to stay here and go insane….

Hannah sat up in bed, gasping.

For several moments she didn't know where she was. Through a gap in her curtains she could see the gray light of dawn—just like Hana's gray dawn—and she thought she still might be in the nightmare. But then, slowly, objects in the room became clear. Her bookshelves, crammed with books and crowned with one near-perfect trilobite fossil on a stand. Her dresser, its top piled with things that belonged in other places. Her posters of
Velociraptor
and
T. Rex.

I'm me. I remember me.

She had never been so happy to be herself, or to be awake.

But that dream she'd just had—that had happened to her. A long time ago, sure, but nothing like so long ago as, say, when the
T. Rex
had been alive. Not to mention the trilobite. A few thousand years was yesterday to Mother Earth.

And it was all real, she knew that now. She accepted it.
She had fallen asleep and her subconscious had pulled back the veil of the past and allowed her to see more of Hana's story.

Thierry, she thought. The people of Hana's clan tortured him. God knows for how long—I'm just glad I didn't have to watch more.

But it puts sort of a different twist on things, doesn't it?

She still didn't know how the story ended. She wasn't sure she
wanted
to know. But it was hard to blame him for whatever had happened afterward.

An awful feeling was settling in Hannah's stomach. All those things I said to him—terrible things, she thought. Why did I say all that? I was so angry—I lost control completely. I hated him and all I cared about was hurting him. I really thought he must be evil, pure evil.

I told him to go away forever.

How could I have done that? He's my soulmate.

There was a strange emptiness inside her, as if she'd been hollowed out like a tree struck by lightning.

Inside the emptiness, a voice like a cool dark wind whispered, But you told Paul that he kept killing you over and over. Is
that
justifiable? He's a vampire, a predator, and that makes him evil by nature. Maybe he can't help being what he is, but there's no reason for you to be destroyed again because of it. Are you going to let him kill you in this life, too?

She was torn between pity for him and the deep instinct
that he was dangerous. The cool wind voice seemed to be the voice of reason.

Go ahead and feel sorry for him, it said. Just keep him far away from you.

She felt better having come to a decision, even if it was a decision that left her heart numb. She glanced around the room, focused on the clock by her bedside, and blinked.

Oh, my God—school.

It was quarter to seven and it was a Friday. Sacajawea High seemed light-years away, like someplace she'd visited in a past life.

But it's not. It's
your
life now, the only one that counts. You have to forget all that other stuff about reincarnation and vampires and the Night World. You have to forget about
him.

You sent him away and he's gone. So let's get on with living in the normal world.

Just thinking this way made her feel braced and icy, as if she'd had a cold shower. She took a real shower, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt, and she had breakfast with her mother, who cast her several thoughtful glances but didn't ask any questions until they were almost finished.

Then she said, “Did everything go all right at Dr. Winfield's yesterday evening?”

Had it only been yesterday evening? It seemed like a week ago. Hannah chewed a bite of cornflakes and finally said, “Uh, why?”

“Because he called while you were in the shower. He seemed…” Her mother stopped and searched for a word. “
Anxious.
Worse than worried but not as bad as hysterical.”

Hannah looked at her mother's face, which was narrow, intelligent, and tanned by the Montana sun. Her eyes were more blue than Hannah's gray, but they were direct and discerning.

She wanted to tell her mother the whole story—but when she had time to do it, and after she'd had time to think it out. There was no urgency. It was all behind her now, and it wasn't as if she needed advice.

“Paul's anxious a lot,” she said judiciously, sticking to the clean edge of truth. “I think that's why he became a psychologist. He tried a sort of hypnosis thing on me yesterday and it didn't exactly work out.”

“Hypnosis?” Her mother's eyebrows lifted. “Hannah, I don't know if you should be getting into that—”

“Don't worry; I'm not. It's over. We're not going to try it again.”

“I see. Well, he said for you to call him to set up another appointment. I think he wants to see you soon.” She reached over suddenly and took Hannah's hand. “Honey, are you feeling any
better
? Are you still having bad dreams?”

Hannah looked away. “Actually—I sort of had one last night. But I think I understand them better now. They don't scare me as much.” She squeezed her mother's hand. “Don't worry, I'm going to be fine.”

“All right, but—” Before her mother could finish the sentence a horn honked outside.

“That's Chess. I'd better run.” Hannah gulped down the dregs of her orange juice and dashed into her bedroom to grab her backpack. She hesitated a split second by the wastebasket, then shook her head.

No. There was no reason to take the black rose ring with her. It was
his,
and she didn't want to be reminded of him.

She slung the backpack over her shoulder, yelled goodbye to her mother, and hurried outside.

Chess's car was parked in the driveway. As Hannah started toward it she had an odd impression. She seemed to see a figure standing behind the car—a tall figure, face turned toward her. But her eyes were dazzled by the sun and at that instant she involuntarily blinked. When she could see again, there was nothing in that spot except a little swirl of dust.

“You're late,” Chess said when Hannah got in the car. Chess, whose real name was Catherine Clovis, was petite and pretty, with dark hair cut in a cap to frame her face. But just now her slanted green cat eyes and Mona Lisa smile reminded Hannah too much of Ket. It was disconcerting; she had to glance down to make sure Chess wasn't wearing a deerskin outfit.

“You okay?” Now Chess was looking at her with concern.

“Yeah.” Hannah sank back against the upholstery, blinking. “I think I need to get my eyes checked, though.” She glanced at the spot where the phantom figure had been—nothing. And
Chess was just Chess: smart, savvy, and faintly exotic, like an orchid blooming in the badlands.

“Well, you can do it when we go shopping this weekend,” Chess said. She slanted Hannah a glance. “We
must
go shopping. Next week's your birthday and I need something new to wear.”

Hannah grinned in spite of herself. “Maybe a new necklace,” she muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I wonder what happened to Ket, she thought. Even if Hana died young, at least Ket must have grown up. I wonder if she married Ran, the guy who wanted to “mate” her?

“Are you
sure
you're okay?” Chess said.

“Yeah. Sorry; I'm a little brain-dead. I didn't sleep well last night.” Her plan for Chess was exactly the same as for her mother. Tell her everything—in a little while. When she was less upset about it.

Chess was putting an arm around her, steering skillfully with the other. “Hey, we've got to get you in shape, kid. I mean, first it's your birthday, then graduation. Isn't that psychologist doing anything to help?”

Hannah muttered, “Maybe too much.”

That night, she was restless again. The school day had passed uneventfully. Hannah and her mother had had dinner peacefully. But after her mother went out to a meeting with some local rock-hounds,
Hannah found herself wandering around the house, too wound up to read or watch TV, too distracted to go anywhere.

Maybe I need some air, she thought—and then she caught herself and gave a self-mocking grin.

Sure. Air. When what you're
really
thinking is that he just might be out there. Admit it.

She admitted it. Not that she thought Thierry was very likely to be hanging around her backyard, considering what she'd said to him.

And why should you
want
to talk to him? she demanded of herself. He may not be completely and totally and pointlessly evil, but he's still no boy scout.

But she couldn't shake a vague feeling of wanting to go outside. At last she went out on the porch, telling herself that she'd spend five minutes here and then go back inside.