Hunted (10 page)

“No problem. We'd be glad to help,” I said, regaining my voice and feeling like a moron for letting bats in a dark tunnel almost scare the poopie out of me. Jeesh, I must really need some sleep. “Erik and I were just heading to the bathrooms.”

Kramisha gave us a long, slow look that wasn't any less knowing because she was sleepy. “Uh-huh. You looked like you was headin' to the bathrooms.”

I felt myself blush again.

She turned, and I thought she was going to (bizarrely) walk right into the tunnel wall behind her, but instead she disappeared into it. Then I heard a match strike and a flickering lantern illuminated a hollowed-out section of the tunnel, just a little bit smaller than Dallas's room. Kramisha hung the lantern on a spike and then looked over her shoulder at us.

“Well? What you waitin' for?”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” I said.

Jack, Duchess, Erik, and I moved up beside Kramisha to look into
the new room. It actually had shelves built into the squared cement walls and looked just like a tidy closet. I gazed at neat piles of folded towels and, weirdly enough, big puffy bathrobes that Duchess was nosing around.

“Is that dog sanitary?” Kramisha asked.

“Damien says that a dog's mouth is cleaner than a human's,” Jack said, patting the big yellow Lab on her head.

“We ain't humans,” Kramisha said. “So could you please keep her big wet nose off the merchandise?”

“Fine. But try to remember that she's been through a trauma and her feelings are easily hurt.”

While Jack pulled Duchess over to him and had a very serious conversation with her about keeping her nose off things, I stared at the piles of stuff. “Huh. Who knew all this was here?”

“Aphrodite,” Kramisha said as she filled our arms with terry cloth. “She paid for it. Or her mama's gold card money did. You wouldn't believe all the stuff you can order from Pottery Barn if you got unlimited credit. It's made me decide once and for all on my future career.”

“Really? What do you want to do?” Jack asked. Duchess sitting politely beside him, he held his arms out to be filled with towels and robes.

“I'm gonna be an author. One of those rich ones. With an unlimited gold card. Do you know people act different to you when you got you some serious credit?”

“Yeah, I guess. I have seen store people kiss the Twins' butts,” Jack said. “Their families have money, too.” He whispered the last part like it was a big secret, which it wasn't. Everyone knew the Twins' parents were rich. Okay, not Aphrodite rich, but still. They'd bought me boots for my birthday that cost almost $400. That's definitely rich to me.

“Well. I decided I like me some butt-kissing. So I'm gonna get me some. Okay, that's enough stuff. Come on. I'll walk partway back with you, but when we get to my room, I'm crashing. Jack, you can find the way back to the showers, can't you?”

“Yep,” he said.

We walked down the tunnel, following it as it curved to the right.
The next blanketed doorway we came to was covered with a shimmering strip of purple silk.

“This here's my room.” Kramisha saw me staring at the amazing material masquerading as a door, and she smiled. “It's a curtain from Pier One. They don't deliver, but they do take unlimited gold cards.”

“It's a great color,” I said, thinking how moronic it was for me to be imagining booger monsters in every shadow when the place had been Pier One–decorated.

“Thanks. I like me some color. It's an important part of decoration. Wanna see my room?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Definitely,” Jack said.

Kramisha looked from Jack to Duchess. “She potty trained?”

Jack bristled. “Of course. She's a perfect lady.”

“She better be,” Kramisha grumbled, then she pulled the curtain to the side and made a graceful flourish with her free hand. “You may enter my space.”

Kramisha's room was about twice the size of Stevie Rae's. She had two lanterns and a dozen scented candles lit, which gave the fresh paint smell a hint of citrus. She'd obviously recently painted the round cement walls a bright lime color. Her furniture was dark wood—bed, dresser, nightstand, and bookcase. She didn't have any chairs, but piled around the room were huge satin pillows in bold purples and pinks, which matched the linens on her bed. On said bed were half a dozen books, with bookmarks in them or lying open, like she was in the middle of reading all of them at the same time. I noticed that they, along with the books in the bookcase, had Dewey Decimal stickers on their spines. Kramisha noticed me noticing.

“Central Library downtown. They stay open real late on weekends.”

“I didn't know the library let you check out this many books at the same time,” Jack said.

Kramisha fidgeted. “They don't. Not technically. Not 'less you do a little this and a little that with they minds. I'll give 'em back soon as I can get to Borders and buy my own,” she added.

I sighed and added “committing library theft” to the list in my head of things the red fledglings needed to be encouraged to stop doing, and as I made the mental addition I also chastised myself. Kramisha definitely looked guilty about ripping off library books. Would a kid who still had monstrous tendencies be worried about petty theft?
No, no, hell no
, I told myself, automatically wandering over to the bed to read some of the titles. There was a huge copy of the complete works of Shakespeare, as well as an illustrated hardback of
Jane Eyre
, which was piled on top of a book called
The Silver Metal Lover
by Tanith Lee. There was also a hardback edition of
Dragonflight
by Anne McCaffrey lying beside
Thug-A-Licious, Candy Licker
, and
G-Spot
by an author whose name was blazed as Noire. Those three books were open with their extremely nasty-looking covers spread wide. Totally curious, I put my pile of towels down on the bright pink bedspreaded bed, picked up
Thug-A-Licious
, and began reading at the open page.

I swear my retinas started to burn with the heat of the scene.

“Book porn. I like it,” Erik said from over my shoulder.

“Um, they some of my research.” Kramisha quickly plucked the book from my fingers, shooting Erik a smooth look. “And from what I seen out there, you don't need no help.”

I felt my face get hot again and sighed.

“Hey, cool poetry,” I heard Jack say. Glad for the distraction, I looked up to see Jack pointing at several posters neatly hot-glued to Kramisha's green walls. They were filled with poetry, all written in the same curling script in different colors of fluorescent Magic Markers.

“You like it?” Kramisha said.

“Yeah, it's great. I really like poetry,” Jack said.

“They mine. I wrote 'em,” Kramisha said.

“Are you kidding? Man, I thought they were from a book or something. You're really good,” Jack said.

“Thanks, I told you I'm gonna be an author. A famous, rich one with major gold card power.”

I vaguely heard Erik join the discussion. All of my attention had become
focused on one short poem that was written in black on a bloodred poster. “You wrote that one, too?” I asked, not caring that I was interrupting their discussion of whether they liked Robert Frost better than Emily Dickinson.

“I wrote all a' them,” she said. “I always did like writin', but since I was Marked I been doing it more and more. They just come to me. I been hopin' I can write more than poems. I like 'em and all, but poets, they don't make no money. See, I researched careers at Central Library, too, 'cause, you know, it stay open late. Anyhow, them poets don't make—”

“Kramisha” —I cut her off—“when did you write that one?” My stomach felt funny and my mouth had gone dry.

“I wrote all them in the past few days. You know, since Stevie Rae got us our sense back. Before that I didn't think much 'bout anything 'cept eatin' humans.” She smiled apologetically and lifted one shoulder.

“So you wrote that one—the one in black—in the past couple of days?” I pointed at the poem.

 

     
Shadows in shadows

     
He watches through

     
dreams

     
Wings black as Africa

     
Body strong as stone

     
Done waiting

     
The ravens call
.

 

Jack gasped as he read it for the first time.

“Oh, Goddess!” I heard Erik say under his breath as he, too, read the poem.

“That's easy. It's the last one I wrote—just yesterday. I was . . .” Her words ran out as she understood our reactions. “Shit! It's 'bout him!”

 

 

 

 

“What made you write it?” I asked, still staring at the black words.

Kramisha had sat down heavily on her bed, all of a sudden looking almost as exhausted as Stevie Rae. She was shaking her head back and forth, back and forth, making her orange and black hair dance against her smooth cheeks. “It just come to me, like all the stuff I write do. Things just come into my head, and then I write it down.”

“What did you think it meant?” Jack asked, patting her arm gently, a lot like he patted Duchess (she was curled up by his feet).

“I didn't really think 'bout it. It come to me. I write it. That's all.” She paused, glanced up at the poster board, and then looked quickly away, as if what she saw scared her.

“Are these all poems you've written in the days since Stevie Rae Changed?” I shifted my attention to the other poems. There were several haiku.

 

     
Eyes watching always

     
Shadows in shadows they wait

     
A black feather falls

 

     
First accepted, loved

     
Then betrayed—spit in the face

     
Vengeance sweet like dots

 

“Sweet, blessed Nyx.” Erik's shocked voice came from behind me, kept low for my ears alone to hear. “They're all about him.”

“What does ‘sweet like dots' mean?” Jack was asking Kramisha.

“You know—dippin' dots. I love me some dippin' dots,” she said.

Erik and I moved around Kramisha's room. The more I read, the tighter the knot my stomach curled into.

 

     
They done

             
Wrong

     
Like ink from a busted pen

             
Thrown away 'cause of someone else

     
Used up

     
But he come back

             
Dressed in night

     
Fine as a king

     
With his queen

             
The wrong

     
Made right

             
So right

 

“Kramisha, what were you thinking about when you wrote this one?” I asked her, pointing at the last one I'd read.

She shrugged that one shoulder again. “I guess I thought 'bout how we out of the House of Night, but we shouldn't be. I mean, I know it's best for us underground, but it just don't feel right that only Neferet know about us. She a wrong kind of High Priestess.”

“Kramisha, would you do me a favor and copy down all of these poems?”

“You think I messed up, don't you?”

“No. I do
not
think you messed up,” I assured her, hoping I was being guided correctly by my instincts and wasn't just chasing bats in the darkness again. “I think you've been given a gift from Nyx. I just want to be sure we use your gift in the right way.”

“I think she's Vamp Poet Laureate material, and a major improvement over our last one,” Erik said.

I looked up at him sharply, and he shrugged and grinned. “It was just a thought, that's all.”

Okay, even though it made me uncomfortable to think about Loren, especially when Erik had been the one to bring him up, I felt the rightness of what he was saying down deep in my gut, which said more about Kramisha's true nature than my exhausted guessing and my apparently overactive imagination were telling me. Nyx obviously had her hand on this kid.
What the hell. I'm the only High Priestess we have. I can make a proclamation
. “Kramisha, I'm going to make you our first Poet Laureate.”

“Whaaaaat?! Are you kiddin'? You kiddin', ain't ya?”

“I'm not kidding. We're a new kind of vamp group. We're a
civilized
new kind of vamp group, and that means we need a Poet Laureate. You're it.”

“Um, I agree and everything with you, Z, but doesn't the council have to vote on a new Poet Laureate?” Jack said.

“Yep, and I have my Council down here with me.” I realized Jack had been talking about
the
Council of Nyx, the one Shekinah had been head of that ruled all vampyres. But I had a Council also, a Prefect Council, acknowledged by the school, made up of me, Erik, the Twins, Damien, Aphrodite, and Stevie Rae.

“Kramisha has my vote,” Erik said.

“See, it's practically official,” I said.

“Yea!” Jack cheered.

“It's a crazy idea, but I like it.” Kramisha beamed.

“So, write those poems down for me before you go to sleep, 'kay?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Come on, Jack. Our Poet Laureate needs to get her sleep,” Erik said. “Hey, congratulations, Kramisha.”

“Yeah, big congrats!” Jack said, giving Kramisha a hug.

“Y'all go on now. I got work to do. Then I gotta get my rest. A Poet
Laureate do have to look her best,” Kramisha said primly, finishing up with a couplet.