Kindred (9 page)

This is bad.

I don’t remember feeling like
this
with the flu. At first, when the symptoms were only mild, yes it felt similar. But now, I’m not so sure. The symptoms aren’t going away. They’re getting worse and multiplying, quickly.

But I suck it up.

So many voices carry on all around me, mostly talking about Seth and his Ascendancy. Odd, sophisticated conversations about thrones and lineage and a host of other things to which I can never offer input.

Yeah, I definitely feel like an outsider. And despite Harry being here too, I still feel like the only human.

But then Genna Bishop, who I only know from Mrs. Schvolsky’s Geometry glass, comes strolling down the stairs and I only have time to wonder why she is here. Other than Harry and me, there has never been anyone else from school hanging out here.

And I sort of hate Genna Bishop because she is so beautiful that, as one of Nature’s laws, it’s impossible
not
to hate her. Jet-black hair that flows like silk down the middle of her back. Soft, creamy skin that would be tragic if ever tanned. Green eyes so radiant that I swear she must wear contacts because eyes can never be that striking naturally. Even the way she moves, every subtle gesture of the hands, the way she tilts her head to one side when she smiles, is graceful and fascinating. Genna is a kind and quiet girl and has never come off as spoiled or conceited or shallow, but I hate her in that secret, envious way.

She steps down off the last step, her gentle fingers sliding away from the wooden banister. Maybe it’s just me, or maybe it’s because she arrived earlier and everyone else has already had their fill of gawking, but I notice I’m the only one staring as she makes her way through the room. Figures appear to move to let her by in areas where there is little space, but no one really looks at her. They go on with their conversations as though she’s any other ordinary girl and isn’t more beautiful than everyone in the room combined.

She’s coming toward me.

Instantly, I feel like camouflaging myself into the couch. Not only do I feel disgusting because of the impending illness sure to ruin my Portland trip, but suddenly not even one of my favorite shirts and best pair of jeans seems adequate.

Secretly, I glance over at Isaac sitting next to me, just to see if he feels as compelled to look at her as I do, but he doesn’t seem to notice her at all, at least not until she steps up to us. But it isn’t enough to warrant his attention. He goes back to talking with Nathan who sits on the couch arm on the other side of him.

“Hi,” she says, smiling as she stands over me, “I’m Genna. From Mrs. Schvolsky’s class?”

Really? Did she actually think I wouldn’t remember her?

I smile back at her, but I’m not about to stand up and risk vertigo or vomiting. “Yeah, I recognize you. How are you?” I really like her, despite not knowing her and setting that whole hate thing aside. I would never treat her badly.

“I’m good,” she says.

Awkward silence.

“Ummm, want to sit down?” I say, patting the cushion to my left. “Kind of packed in here.”

Her face seems to light up a little more.

Isaac and Nathan look over at me warily, but I ignore them.

“Yeah I guess it is,” Genna says as she sits down next to me. “Thanks.” I feel her hand touch my shoulder, but I really think nothing of it.

Maybe Genna just feels like an outsider as much as I do. I admit, even with Isaac next to me, it’s hard not to feel like dinner.

She sits with her back straight and proper, one leg crossed over the other and her pretty powder hands folded loosely on her knee.

And then it occurs to me:
Is
she really human? I have to know and soon, because how can I have a conversation with her otherwise? Too many factors have to be taken into consideration: If she’s human, but doesn’t know what everyone else is, I have to choose my words wisely. If she does know, then it’ll be awesome to be able to talk about it. And if she
isn’t
human…well, there will be a lot questions for Isaac about why I wasn’t told about her sooner.

I shift uncomfortably on the couch.

I can hear Nathan and Isaac talking to the right of me about how they think Seth is strong enough to lead his own pack in Serbia. I see Damien and Dwarf, Zia’s brothers, standing at the den entrance hand-in-hand with new girlfriends—new girlfriends every month with those two, it seems—but can’t make out what they’re saying over the chorus of voices between them and me. Somewhere to my left near the hallway, I feel Rachel’s uncouth comments coat my skin like something foul and hard to wash away. Of course, she thinks my presence here is ‘inappropriate’, but that’s not a huge surprise.

Ah yes, Rachel. Seven months wasn’t enough time for her to get used to me. In fact, it’s been just enough time to cause her to hate me more than ever. But I’ve learned to ignore her for the most part. She can—and does—talk about me every time she sees me, but as long as her hatred never goes further than immature comments, then I can live with that. Literally.

I force a small smile and turn back to Genna beside me, pushing Rachel’s words out of my ears.

“It’s okay,” Genna says in a low whisper, “I’m like you—not so much them, except that I do love a good steak every once in a while.”

It’s as if she’s been digging around inside my head. Either that or the worries are etched all over my face and totally obvious. I’m pretty sure it’s the latter.

“So you’re…” I hesitate to say the H-word because I know that saying it aloud will make me feel even more out of place. I lean in closer to her, letting my gaze briefly observe those nearby. “You’re human?”

Genna beams at me, somehow making me feel comfortable with so little effort. Her eyes seem to sparkle, but of course I know my own eyes are playing tricks on me because that isn’t possible. Not the way I saw it happen, as if sunlight had reflected off an emerald at just the right angles.

She answers simply by smiling.

Genna crosses the opposite leg and lets her back slouch forward just a little, her thin fingers still dangling deftly over her knee. Even her fingernails are the perfect length and shape, painted with a layer of clear nail polish and at the tips of each are tiny decals of black and turquoise butterflies.

I sit straight up and give her all of my attention.

“How did you end up…,” I search for the appropriate words, “…behind the scenes, if you will?”

Genna lets out a soft spat of air and a wedge of black hair falls near her eye. She reaches up and slides her fingers underneath it, tucking it back behind her ear.

“Nathan and I,” she stops and looks over at Nathan, but it seems more a thoughtful moment rather than to see if he might be listening. “We met at Finch’s Grocery.”

“Oh,” I say as if finally understanding the hidden meaning behind her placid expression. “How long have you two been going out?” I look at Nathan too, wondering about his current girlfriend and hoping he’s not some kind of cheating pig—I just never thought of him as the type. Strangely enough, I’m the only one of us that feels the need to speak in a whisper about Nathan.

Genna shakes her head. “Oh,” she says, “It’s nothing like that. He and I are just friends.”

Well, that’s a relief, but still, I find it odd, seeing as how he doesn’t say anything to her when she sits down next to us. I can’t put my finger on it, but Genna Bishop is hiding something.

“It’s nice to have someone around here not so ‘wolfy’, don’t you think?” she says, smiling brightly over at me.

I admit that, yes, it is nice, but I keep it to myself because I don’t want to give anyone the wrong impression, especially Isaac. “Well, I guess so,” I say, “but I’m not too bothered by it, being the only human.”

Genna raises a brow. “What about Harry?” she says, looking across the room at him. “Oh wow, is he….”

“No, no, no,” I say, shaking my head, “he’s definitely human. I guess I just forget that sometimes.” I look over at him too, and feel guilty for it.

“A natural,” she says in a soft, distant voice.

Not sure if there is some kind of hidden meaning behind that, but I get the strangest feeling from it. I might’ve probed her about the comment if I didn’t realize all of a sudden that I’m feeling miraculously better. I lift my head upward and then swish it side to side just to see if I’ll get dizzy or lose the few bites of rice I had earlier, but I feel fine.

In fact, I feel awesome.

Maybe the sickness jumped off me and decided it liked Genna better. It’s a bad thing to wish upon someone, but I can’t help it! Vacation is at stake here!

Before I can comment on how great I feel—because it’s definitely conversation-worthy—everyone who is sitting suddenly rises into a stand and I feel Isaac’s hand slip around my upper arm. Genna stands up beside me too. I notice I’m slightly taller than her, maybe by an inch, but it’s enough to satisfy my need to have something that surpasses her.

The voices carrying on all throughout the room and the upstairs floor overlooking the den slowly begin to fade as a tall woman—taller than my triumphant one inch—enters the room. She wears tight black leather clothing and lace-up boots with thick, short heels. Only the skin of her hands, her face and her throat, shows. The tight collar of the long-sleeved top that she wears covers the back of her neck and curves in an elegant wave around the front where it splits downward into a V at the base of her throat. Her cheekbones are sharp and hard and the way her fierce dark red hair is pulled tightly into a ponytail stretches her face and eyebrows into an even more severe line.

She scares me. Although almost as stunning as Genna Bishop (but older and with no glow to her face), I can bet this woman has probably never smiled in her life. She looks every bit unfriendly, military-strict even, with rigorous determination and intolerance to failure in her eyes.

She reminds me of Trajan.

Absently, I feel my hand tighten around Isaac’s, my fingers crushing his into compliance.

“Who’s that?” I whisper harshly to him, but I never take my eyes off the woman…or werewolf, which I’m sure she is.

Isaac moves his thumb in a circular motion over the sensitive skin between my thumb and index finger, soothing me. “That’s Seth’s mother, Nataša Vargasavi
c
. She’ll be Seth’s escort to Serbia.”

Nataša…that name…I remember that name from the old book in the chest at the Vargas house seven months ago. I see the pages flipping in front of my eyes again, the foreign language, the sketch art and what those in the art symbolized. I can even still smell the mildew and salt of the chest that protected the book. I can feel the fragile, historical pages moving across my fingers, making me feel dirty and in a way, unfaithful.

“Glad she’s not
my
mother,” Isaac adds, leaning closer to my ear. “She’s worse than Sibyl.”

Finally, I tear my gaze away from Nataša to see Isaac beside me, to see if he looks as crazy as he sounded just then.

“
What
?” I say, unbelieving. “How can anyone be worse than your mother?” Wait…I need to contemplate this for a sec. If she’s worse than Sibyl, the one who tried to kill me and Isaac, why in the
hell
would she be here? I glance at Nataša quickly one more time. I don’t know which is more pressing, that particular biting question, or feeling guilty for talking about Isaac’s mother the way I just did.

I choose to get my half-assed apology out of the way first.

“I mean…well, you know what I mean,” I say.

Sibyl is an awful woman; even Isaac will be the first to admit it, but it still feels like an insult whenever I’m the one saying it. Isaac doesn’t care, I know, but I have a submissive relationship with guilt.

“He’s right,” Nathan says, “If Seth ever comes back here it might not be in one piece.”

A tiny gasp escapes Genna, her dainty little fingers resting gently on her lips; her emerald-green eyes are wide and focused.

“You don’t mean that
literally
…right?” I say.

Nathan, Isaac and even their sister, Phoebe, who stands beside Nathan, all nod in unison like the bobble-heads my stepdad, Jeff, had on the dashboard of his truck.

“She’s not a traitor like Sibyl,” Isaac says to me. “But Nataša can easily rip Sibyl in two pieces without even thinking about it. It’s why my father later lost interest in Sibyl, because Nataša was more powerful,” he adds, though still looking toward Nataša as she weaves her way to the front of the room near the large rock fireplace. I look to Nataša and then behind her at the painting of Trajan and Aramei, back and forth, wondering briefly about this odd series of relationships.

I hope this sort of thing doesn’t run in the family.

“Love?” Isaac says. “Are you
sure
you’re okay?”

I snap out of the reverie and turn back to him.

“Yeah, I was just thinking.”

The corners of Isaac’s mouth lift into a smile. He brings me into his chest, wrapping his arms around me from behind and nuzzles his lips against my ear. “About what?” His breath on the side of my neck sends shivers dancing across the skin there. But I can’t let him soften me right now. Not with that tall, terrifying werewolf, the one
worse than Isaac’s mother
, standing dominantly in the room like a tyrant.