Secret Worlds (207 page)

“May we leave, Lawrence?”

“Soon, but not yet, my dear.”

“Are you sure boredom can’t kill our kind? It sure feels like it might.”

Lawrence chuckled. Amaia loved the sound and took pride in it. Lawrence rarely found anything genuinely funny.
“It sounds as if you aren’t being creative enough.”

“How do you mean?”

“It seems to me like this is a great time to practice your skills.”

“I’ve been manipulating that empty-headed girl’s energy all night. I’m developing a theory that her aura is so strong because it’s composed of energy diverted from her brain.”

“An interesting theory, definitely worth further study. But I wasn’t referencing Clara. This new power of yours can be used for more than just facilitating our breeding program.”

“Are you saying that I should stir a little mischief?”

“Have fun. Just don’t cause too much trouble.”

Amaia had been so caught in her own bloodlust and fighting her own angel—she had to call Michael that; it wasn’t fair to call him a demon, and if either one of them was a demon in this situation, it was most definitely her—that she had only devoted the minimal time Lawrence required to her skills. It had never occurred to her that she could use them in ways other than pleasing her sire. The evening had just become more interesting.

Amaia surveyed the women around her. So far, Amaia had only influenced strong auras. They were easier to sense in the level of detail needed to reshape them. Plus, all the people she and Lawrence wanted to manipulate had stronger energies. There had never been a reason to mess with anyone else’s aura.

With the possibilities of her newfound power in mind, Amaia was eager to find out just how far her reach extended. Could she completely change a person’s feelings? Make a woman believe she felt fear where there was joy? It was tempting to try, but Amaia knew it was asking too much. It would be difficult enough working with the smaller canvas of a weak aura. Best to start by amplifying existing feelings and proceed from there.

“Elena, why don’t you tell us about your wedding plans?” one of the old biddies asked.

“Things are coming along nicely.” Elena sat her drink down in preparation for being the center of attention, a position she took to with ease. “My dress is absolutely gorgeous. Papa has spared no expense. I only hope it’s ready in time. I don’t know how the dressmaker is going to do it.”

On and on. After fifteen minutes going over every detail of the dress, it was time to move on to the wedding party and who was invited and who wasn’t and the dreaded task of having to snub some people because simply wanting an invitation was not enough. Then on to the wedding feast and the care that was being taken to make sure there was something appetizing for everyone in attendance, even dear Aunt Olga who found almost everything disagreeable.

All the while, poor twenty-four-year-old Iliana, who had never had a suitor, quietly seethed. It started out as annoyance tinged with jealousy. With a little help from Amaia, it quickly turned to anger. At that point, Amaia discovered she didn’t need to maintain her interference. Once the anger reached a certain level, it carried itself onward without any direction from her.

The only problem was Iliana’s natural shyness. It seemed mere anger would not be enough to cause the kind of entertainment Amaia sought. Even without Amaia’s senses, it was easy to see the girl was furious. Her cheeks flushed, and her small hands clenched into little white-knuckled fists. Yet she didn’t make any move to halt Elena’s incessant chatter.

Amaia needed to induce rage. She reached out and intensified the anger. Her energy wove through Iliana’s, twisting it and increasing the vibrations. All the while, she kept her eyes on her subject, looking for visible evidence of her work. It was a bit of an experiment. She had only ever worked with feelings of love and fondness.

Amaia saw the change in Iliana a split second before Iliana bolted to her feet. “Will you kindly shut up, Elena! No one cares about your stupid wedding.”

Silence fell over the room. No one looked more surprised by the outburst than Iliana herself. Elena was too shocked to even respond. She simply stood with her mouth hanging open.

Iliana was worked up enough that Amaia could leave her be and focus on Elena. Nothing would come of the situation if Elena didn’t respond properly. The trick was to pull Elena’s outrage to the forefront to overshadow her surprise. It wasn’t hard at all.

“Well it’s not my fault you’re too homely to find a man. You’re just jealous.”

Iliana screamed and lunged at Elena, pulling her hair. Elena responded in kind, slapping Iliana before grabbing a fistful of hair. The other ladies shrieked in alarm. Within a minute, the men tumbled into the room to investigate the disturbance.

“What is the meaning of this?” Elena’s father’s booming voice echoed in the room, bringing the commotion to a halt.

“She started it, Papa.”

“Well I’m ending it. Come along. We are leaving.” Calming himself, he turned to the rest of the party. “My sincerest apologies for my daughter’s behavior. I bid you all a pleasant evening.” He nodded to the group and left with Elena in tow.

Lawrence nodded to Amaia. “It’s about time we were leaving as well. Goodnight, everyone.” Lawrence bowed and Amaia curtsied, barely able to contain her glee at the scandalized faces.

“I take it that rather shameful display was your doing?”
Lawrence sat next to Amaia in the carriage on their way home.

Amaia giggled at the memory of Elena pulling Iliana’s hair until a fair chunk of it came out.
“I only intensified the feelings simmering beneath the surface.”

“Good. You played their natural tendencies to your advantage. Someday, you may even be able to create animosity where none existed.”

The possibilities were endless. Real power lay in front of Amaia, seeming even more impressive when she considered that she was the only known vampire who could wield it.

“You improve quite quickly when you’re not distracted by other things.”

Amaia met Lawrence’s cool blue eyes. He knew. Somehow, he knew. The exact depth and breadth of his knowledge was uncertain, but he knew Amaia wasn’t as innocent as she would like him to believe. Amaia scanned his eyes and face, but she couldn’t find any anger there, just knowledge.

Amaia wasn’t able to conjure a response. Anything she thought of admitted to too much or not enough. She didn’t have the nerve to simply brush by it without acknowledgement. There were grave implications to Lawrence being aware of what had transpired. The fact that he wasn’t lecturing her or showing any signs of disappointment was evidence of his faith in her. She didn’t know if she was worthy of it.

Cluj, January 1723

“You may go out with Meg if you like.”

Amaia hadn’t said anything on the way home and was grateful for Lawrence’s dismissal—spending the rest of the night in tense silence wasn’t appealing. She didn’t even bother responding before she left, headed toward Meg and Liam’s home.

Meg opened the door to her one-room cottage before Amaia could even knock. It was a quaint stone structure between the town and the forest, the perfect location for a pair of reclusive vampires. Their apparent domestic tranquility sparked a longing in Amaia that only faded when she reminded herself that she was independent by choice.

“I was hoping you’d stop by. It’s been a while.” Meg was all smiles. It always awed Amaia that, no matter the circumstances, Meg was always happy to see her.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. Do you want to come in, or did you want to go somewhere?”

“Here is fine.” Amaia stepped over the threshold and nodded to Liam who sat at the table reading what appeared to be a book of poetry. Liam acknowledged the greeting then immersed himself in his book again.

“How was your evening?” Meg sat in a wing chair by the fireplace. The roaring fire was unnecessary. In fact, Amaia would have preferred the cold, but they needed to keep up appearances. The townsfolk would think something was amiss if no smoke rose from the chimney on such a cold night.

Amaia joined her in one of the straight-backed chairs from the table. “Interesting.”

“Playing matchmaker?”

She should have been excited to share the new development with her powers, but that wasn’t the reason she had come. “Yes. I don’t understand how love can be so powerful if I can manipulate two people into feeling it. The way humans talk, you’d think being in love was a magical experience. If only I had understood it better when I was mortal.”

“We could spend the rest of eternity listing the things we wished we had known when we were mortal.” Meg’s light laughter lit the cottage more than the fire ever could.

“I suppose so.”

“What’s bothering you?”

“Just something Lawrence said to me tonight.”

“What?”

Amaia didn’t know how to explain. Meg watched her, open and inviting, but Amaia couldn’t determine how best to broach the subject.

Meg leaned forward in her seat. “Does it have anything to do with the killing spree you’ve been on?”

Amaia’s eyes focused on Meg. Apparently, she had been a fool to think she was hiding her habit. “How did you know?”

Liam spoke from behind Amaia. “It wasn’t a grand mystery, Amaia. You’ve been running high on kills for a while. The only mystery is when you’ll stop.”

“No, I think you have stopped, and that’s why you’re here.” Meg sat back in her chair. “I’m not sure, but it seems like it’s about time for Michael to die again. He did, didn’t he?”

Amaia chuckled. “Am I really so transparent? Yes, he died earlier today.”

“Good. Do you think you have it out of your system now?”

“Yes.” Amaia nodded. “It was a distraction. A bad one. I should have focused on other things.”

“I should think so. A vampire on a killing high is aiming to lose her head.”

“I wouldn’t let it get that far. You only noticed because you know me so well.”

“You can’t let this happen again, Amaia. How much does Lawrence know?”

“I have no idea, and I don’t want to ask. I’m certain he knows I’ve been killing, but I don’t know if he’s aware of Michael.”

“What’s he going to do?”

“Nothing, at least for the time being. I think he trusts me to stop now that he’s brought it to my attention.”

“Then you have to stop. Are you going to be able to hold yourself together once he’s born again?”

“I don’t know, Meg. That’s why I’m here. I think I need to see him next time.”

“Well, it can’t turn out worse than this time.”

A rueful grin overcame Amaia. “No, it can’t.”

“You need a plan. You can’t leave it to chance.”

“I think just knowing that I can look forward to seeing him will prevent me from losing control. I’ll focus my time on my work with Lawrence. He wants to see me improve quicker, and I admit that I’m interested to see how far I can take my power over auras.”

“Good. To be honest, I don’t think Lawrence much cares what you do as long as you put your work first.”

“I agree. I’ll keep my visits to Michael discreet. When he’s only got a year left, I’ll approach him. That way, if it’s a problem, at least it won’t last long. I’ll keep the conversation strictly on our time together as mortals and on his lives. If he wants to see me, he’ll have to agree to my terms.”

Meg nodded. “You must promise you’ll come to me at the first hint of trouble.”

“Of course.”

“I want to hear you say it, Amaia.”

Amaia resisted the urge to flippantly repeat the words. She needed Meg. Promising to come to her was in Amaia’s best interests. “I promise I’ll come to you at the first hint of trouble.”

“You must do everything you can to keep Lawrence from suspecting that you’re seeing Michael.”

“I know. I’ll be careful. I’ll only visit when I know Lawrence won’t notice.”

Meg reached over and clasped her hand. “Now that you’ve brought me in on your plans, I can help with that.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you really going to be able to lie to your maker?”

“Haven’t I been doing that already?”

“Yes, but this is much bigger. It’ll be harder.”

“I know.” Amaia didn’t relish the thought of deceiving Lawrence about something so significant, but she didn’t have any other choice. She couldn’t choose between him and Michael. It scared her to think which choice she would make if forced to decide.

Algar, March 1747, 24 years, 2 months later

This must be what walking to the hangman’s noose felt like. Only, unlike a mortal, Amaia knew she would make this walk more than once. There was no deceiving herself into believing that Michael would not return and remember her after he died this time. This was the new pattern of her existence.

The clanging of hammer on metal reverberated in the air, signaling that Michael was working. The sound invariably brought a smile to her face. In a few seconds, she would see him. She never tired of observing his work. In this life, he made his way as a blacksmith and farrier in addition to farming his little plot of land. The physical work made for excellent entertainment.

The wind carried the faint, bitter smell of fire. Ever since Michael had started his apprenticeship as a blacksmith years ago, the tang of smoke in the air conjured his image in Amaia’s mind. The years had worn down her defenses, and she no longer fought his frequent appearances in her daydreams. Watching the pride he took in his work, the manner in which he conducted himself, stirred something in Amaia. When she didn’t struggle and simply let herself be, she understood how she had fancied herself in love with him.

She could make out his form in the distance. A film of sweat covered his skin as he labored away in the smithy connected to his small home. Beads of it rested on his shoulders and the angular planes of his face. His chocolate-colored hair fell in unruly curls, a contrast to his clean-shaven, square jaw. A chill lingered in the morning air, but the heat of his exertions and the fire had chased away his shirt. Such a magnificent sight. In Amaia’s professional opinion, he was quite a fine-looking man. Would that the men who could afford her worked such rigorous labor.