Secret Worlds (190 page)

I stood behind the seats of Terrell’s immediate family, not good enough for a chair in their eyes, but I didn’t expect them to treat me any differently now that he was gone. His mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief that probably cost more than my dress, and his father had one arm around her shoulders, rubbing her arm. They met no one’s gaze, only staring forlornly at their son’s coffin, which overflowed with white roses and lilies.

Michael stood to my left, holding my hand, his thumb tracing a slow, comforting pattern across the back of it. I had tried and failed to convince him not to come with me. He knew this would be hard for me and he also felt the need to pay his respects since he had delivered the final blow.

The sun had begun to set. Orange light spilled in from the trees surrounding the cemetery as the pastor closed out the reading. Each family member was given the chance to select a flower before they interred the coffin into the grave. He would be resting next to his father’s parents, who had died a couple years ago. He loved them dearly and so it was only right he remained with them in death.

One by one, his immediate family plucked roses from the decorations. The pastor glanced towards me. It was common knowledge that I was the only long-term relationship Terrell had ever been in. It led some people to believe I was sort of family. I shook my head, not feeling worthy of such an honor, but Terrell’s younger sister Grace nudged my arm to encourage me. Her mother opened her mouth to object. Grace sent her a glare that would melt a glacier and she pressed her lips together in silent consent.

I let go of Michael’s hand and selected a lily, my fingertips brushing the polished surface of the coffin. No one was close enough to hear me whisper, “Thank you for everything.”

I went back to my spot and the pastor finished the ceremony with a powerful prayer. Shortly afterward, the crowd dispersed to get ready for the reception, which I wouldn’t be attending because I didn’t feel very welcome. It had only been at Grace’s urging that I was allowed to come at all.

I gave her a firm hug, holding her hands before I pulled away. “I’m so sorry, Gracie. I really am.”

She shook her head, attempting to smile. “It’s alright. I’m glad you came. He’d want things to be right between our families.”

I returned the tentative smile. “Good luck with that.”

She giggled, but the sound didn’t drown out her mother’s cold voice as she walked over, her frown lines deepening with anger.

“I can’t believe you, Grace. Inviting that trollop here like she’s one of us, and with a white man, no less. Huh. Probably wants to know if she got something in the will.” The old woman sneered, glaring between Michael and me.

I didn’t know what came over me at that moment. Maybe I felt vulnerable or maybe that sneer reminded me of my Aunt Carmen, but either way words spilled out of my lips before I could stop them.

“
Don’t
,” I snapped. “Don’t you stand here on your son’s grave and soil his memory with your selfishness. I don’t care if you don’t like me. I don’t care if you think you’re better than me. Terrell was a great man and I will not let you stand here and act like you don’t have any home training. I am here to pay my respects and I have paid them so you don’t have to worry about me darkening your doorstep again. All he ever wanted was for the people he loved to be happy and you will never honor his wishes as long as you keep stepping on the people you think are beneath you.”

She said nothing, only glancing away with a mixture of shame and anger. I exhaled and turned back to Grace. “If you ever need anything, you’ve got my number. Take care of yourself, okay?”

She nodded. “You too.”

With that, Michael and I started towards the car. He reached for my hand again and I took it, glad as his warm fingers wrapped around mine. His voice was quiet when he spoke.

“Are you going to be alright?”

I sighed. “Maybe. Someday I’ll wake up and this won’t hurt as much. But that day isn’t today.”

He opened the car door for me, meeting my eyes as I climbed in. “Until then, I’ll be around to remind you that you have saved more lives than you have taken.”

For the first time that day, a genuine smile touched my lips. “That’s sweet of you.”

Michael leaned down and kissed me, whispering, “It’s also completely true. I have faith in that day as I have faith in you.”

“I couldn’t ask for anything else.”

Then he shut the door and drove me home.

***

Terminat hora diem; terminal Author opus.

The hour ends the day; the author ends his work.

Can Jordan Amador and the Archangel Michael stop an assassin from wiping out the Seers of the world and avert the Apocalypse

She Who Fights Monsters?

Kyoko M is an author, a fangirl, and an avid book reader. She has a Bachelor of Arts in English Lit degree from the University of Georgia, which gave her every valid excuse to devour book after book with a concentration in Greek mythology and Christian mythology. Like any author, she wants nothing more than to contribute something great to the best profession in the world, no matter how small.

http://www.shewhowritesmonsters.com

London, February 1623

The skin offered little resistance to her teeth. A bit of pressure and the blood started to flow. Tangy, sweet warmth filled her mouth and coursed down her throat all the way to her stomach, comforting, soothing the fire in her veins. This was heaven. She was dead, and this her reward.

Her racing mind calmed as she drank. Thoughts organized themselves. Killing should be harder. Less pleasurable. Every second she drank this man’s blood drained away his life. There was no question of stopping. She craved every drop. The boning of her stays pinched as she drank faster.

The flow of blood thinned. The vein was running dry. The breathing beneath her slowed. A few more swallows and the life she held in her hands would be no more. A few more gulps and maybe her lust would be sated.

His body hit the ground with a hollow thump.

“Did you get your fill, my girl?”

The blood made its way through her body, lulling her into contented drowsiness. Obscuring fog consumed her mind. She knew the man talking to her, but his name was just out of reach.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Of course. Anything for you.” His blue eyes scanned her face as if he expected to find something. She didn’t know what.

The body at her feet laid askew before the crackling fire, limbs sprawled in unnatural positions. Gray eyes stared blankly ahead. The only life in them came from the reflected firelight dancing in their glassy depths. She felt a chill and looked away. “I think I want to sleep now. Just for a little while.”

The blue-eyed man nodded, beaming. “Yes, my child. You must sleep.” In one swift movement, he lifted her into his arms. As he carried her out of the room, she couldn’t help staring over his shoulder at those eyes. Those gray, lifeless eyes that, only moments before, had gazed at her with the strangest expression.

***

Images flashed before her dreaming eyes. At first, the visions came too quickly to decipher, but as the dream continued, pieces began to make sense. Lawrence, with his neatly trimmed gray goatee and moustache, bald head with feathery wisps of gray hair around the edges, and pockmarked cheeks, floated before her. He had been the one who had so gently tucked her into bed. She was safe with him.

“I will give you eternal life,” his gravelly voice had assured her. He’d been the one to change her. “I’m a vampire.” The words sounded foreign on Lawrence’s familiar lips. Fragments of their conversation floated back to her. He would give her everything.

But someone else had promised her everything.

She’d felt a prick on her wrist, and then peace had settled over her as Lawrence sucked away her life. It had been so easy to give in to sleep, lounging on her couch, only to be awakened by bitterness sliding down her throat. Lawrence had held his wrist to her lips, squeezing blood from it.

“I know it’s unpleasant, my dear. It’s the venom. It will give you life.” His low whisper urged her on. She continued to drink, feeling the venom ignite her veins with uncontrollable energy. Her mind raced as she scoured the room for something to eat. She didn’t feel particularly hungry, but all the energy coursing through her was directed toward one thing: feeding. Her eyes darted to the fireplace, the mantle, the silver candlesticks, the gold and amber music box, the worn carpet hiding a warped wooden floor. She couldn’t focus. She either needed to eat or run to a place where she could.

A knock on the door reverberated through her head, piercing her buzz of energy.

“Let me see who that is.” Lawrence left the room. When he returned, leading another man inside, there was a split-second echo of feeling in her chest. This person was familiar. He meant something to her. Soft brown locks framed gray eyes set in an angular face. At the moment though, all he meant was food. Every instinct in her body drove her to pierce through that sun-kissed skin for the blood beneath. She didn’t know how, only that she must.

His soft gray eyes lit up as soon as they rested on her. The tenderness in them echoed the feeling in her chest. “Joc—”

She didn’t hear him finish, or even know if he was able to. She was at his throat.

***

How long she slept was a mystery. Both faces swam before her. One was old and comforting, the other young and exciting. There was something about the man she’d killed. While Lawrence was a steady presence in her life, this other man felt familiar in a different way, as if he’d been present for much less time. Something about him made her uneasy. He was dangerous. He would take her away, away from Lawrence, from her home.

“Marry me,” he had said to her once. He wanted to possess her, but she couldn’t be had. She was a whore. Lawrence’s whore. Girls like her didn’t marry. Girls like her only got thrown away.

Lawrence had taken her in, given her a profession, given her the means to take care of herself, and now this man wanted to take it all away.

“Don’t be foolish…he’ll leave you eventually…you’re not the marrying type, my dear…it’s not love you feel…I’m a vampire…let me turn you…you’ll have eternal life…he can join us…if he loves you, he won’t begrudge you this…”

Then there was the other man’s face.
Michael.
Her mind supplied his name, and she remembered it with fondness. He had been in her life for months. His face floated before her, eyes affectionate.

Affection. That was the strange look that had filled his eyes moments before she had killed him. Slowly, the eyes morphed into the dead glass she remembered from the floor of her parlor.

“Shh, everything will be fine.”
Lawrence’s voice broke through her dream, as if he spoke directly to her mind.
“You’re all right, Amaia. You can hear me now. That means it’s almost time to wake up. Sleep for just a little longer. Enjoy it. This is the last time you’ll ever sleep. I’ll explain everything when you wake.”

The voice gave her something to hold to. In the hazy sea of her dreams, she tossed, confused. When Lawrence’s voice commanded her, she was safe and secure. Her confusion subsided. He would explain everything when she woke. For now, she only needed to sleep.

London, February 1623

Light filtered through her eyelids, sharp and pointed like a needle.

“Yes, it’s time to wake up now, my child. You’ve slept enough.”

Lawrence’s voice resonated inside her head again.

“Amaia, wake up.”

The firm tone of his words forced her eyelids open. Quickly, she closed them again.

“Go slowly. It will take time for you to adjust.”

She tried again, and this time she saw Lawrence sitting next to her bed. Her eyes widened. Every pore on his face appeared magnified, every vein outlined. Each individual hair on his skin could be counted. The color of his skin was no longer white. It was much more complex, leaning toward a mishmash of gray, white, gold, and an undercurrent of red. It was unlike anything she had ever seen.

“I see your new eyes are working well. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them in time.”

“How are you doing that?” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears. She heard every individual note.

“It’s easy. You’ll learn.” This time, he spoke with his mouth. The voice was the same as it had been in her head: rough like gravel, but smooth like water. His words flowed almost like a brook, the clear water clashing against worn pebbles.

The most delicious smell emanated from a cup on her nightstand. Her mouth watered, drawing attention to her dry throat.

“Go on and drink. It’s for you.”

Her hand lashed out to snatch the cup, succeeding only in nearly sending it tumbling to the ground. Lawrence’s hands were quicker, grabbing her wrist with one and the cup with the other. “You’ll grow accustomed to your new movement in time. Until then, think ‘slowly.’”

This time, she tried to restrain her hand as she moved for the cup. She still went too fast, but it was better. Satisfying, lukewarm blood poured into her mouth, though it didn’t taste as good as she’d expected.

While she drank, she looked around her room. Sunlight poured in through the window. She saw every individual beam of light. Every dust mote caught in the rays appeared as detailed as the cup in her hands. Everything was sharper, clearer, more vivid.

She slammed the cup on the table without meaning to and then reached out to prevent it from tipping.

“Feel better?”

“It didn’t taste as good as I remembered.” Amaia screwed up her face.

Lawrence laughed. “No, it wouldn’t have. It’s that way with your first kill. Besides, blood always tastes better from the source. You’ll feed properly later.”

With her thirst satisfied, she had the urge to be up, to be doing, to explore this new world she had been born into. In an instant, she was on her feet, before she was even consciously aware of having ordered her legs to move.