cake. A homework paper. The merry-go-round, a laughing little boy. Falling. Pain.
The physical pain linked back to emotional pain. Ailo saw snapshots of a woman in a photo album. She could smell juniper and feel the texture of a certain sweater in her hands.
Talto’s voice invaded the visions. “Get out, Ailo! Risque is coming!”
Ailo didn’t have the information yet. She pushed the rift wider.
She saw a unicorn with purple ribbons tied in its mane. Heard the sound of a singing mother’s voice . . . then it dropped low and dark. She felt the rip of the ley line consuming her.
The data gushed at Ailo and she gasped, stumbling backward.
The connection was lost.
But she understood what she had seen.
The door burst open behind her and Talto’s desperate whisper crossed the room. “Ailo!”
• • •
Goliath watched as Menessos reached to the altar and lifted the unsheathed dagger as he said, “My son, you deserve to be your own Master.” Menessos pulled the blade across his own palm. The cut was deep. His whole hand trembled as the syrupy fluid welled up.
“Thank you,” Goliath said as he pulled his shirt open.
Menessos’s bleeding hand shook and his nails again became claws.
The two vampires shared a grave look in silence, then Menessos slammed his hand against Goliath’s chest at his heart, curved claws sinking through skin, through muscle, to slide against newly empowered bone.
“What blood we exchanged, I empowered as your Master. I now reverse the exchange of that blood.”
What life force vampires knew was bound in their cursed blood. Goliath felt that force coalesce within him, solidifying, turning his veins into thick burning wires. His heart rebelled, shuddered, and stopped. His knees gave— and so did Menessos’s.
Goliath screamed, feeling like his body was ripping apart.
“It is yours to own,” Menessos rasped. His eyes had gone black. “Yours to keep.” Through gritted teeth he said, “Yours to bleed.” His voice was breaking. He sucked air as if he were drowning, but it seemed he could not bring any into his body.
Whispered, soundless, the words passed into the air. “I . . . am no longer . . . your Master.”
Goliath could not breathe either. He had to say his part or both would be destroyed.
Shaking and struggling, one word at a time, he said, “I accept that blood.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I landed on ground that might have been soft if not for all the small rocks.
Groaning, I dug my fingers into muddy sand. I forced my eyes open and saw willow branches and a starry night overhead. The smell of water made me realize I was hearing the lapping of a lake at my back. Slowly, and with effort, I sat up. The willow fronds draped around my shoulders like the tree would embrace me. Guess I needed a hug, because I reached up and held the leafy tip like it was someone’s reassuring hand.
As I scanned around, I realized I knew this place. It was the land I usually visited when I meditated. Encouraged by this, I shifted into a cross-legged position and prepared myself to leave. I was sooo ready to go home and crawl into my bed. I was going to sleep until I forgot this had ever happened.
When I opened my eyes I remained on the lake shore.
I tried again. And failed again.
“You cannot leave.”
I twisted toward Amenemhab’s voice. The jackal, my totem animal, strode closer out of the dark. He stood on slightly higher ground and watched for my reaction. I tried to keep the anger and worry from my features, but hiding my emotions wouldn’t do me any good with him. “Why not?”
“You arrived through his doorway. You must return through it.”
I stood and brushed myself off. “Who is he anyway?”
The jackal sat. “He is who he is.”
“What’s his
“It is not for me to say.”
“You have only one. Decide how to proceed.”
My shoulders slumped. I turned back to the lake and stared at the long and choppy reflection of the moon. I wished I’d had my shoes on when I sat down to meditate. If I’d been wearing them there, I’d be wearing them here and I could kick a rock into the water. I was sure it would make me feel a little bit better.
After a few minutes of silence, Amenemhab asked, “Is the choice so difficult?”
“Well, I can pick very bad, or very, very bad.”
“Ahhh. I see. Tell me more.”
I glanced back at him. He’d lain down. His getting comfortable meant he was willing to hear me out. All the way out.
“Why did you stop?”
“I can’t see where they land.”
“So?”
I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them. “It’s pointless.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I dunno. There’s something satisfying about seeing the ripples and in the dark my eyes can’t even detect where the rock landed.”
His ears pricked forward. “But you know the rock hit the water. You heard the splash. You know the ripples had to occur.”
“But I can’t see them.” I shook my head. “We shouldn’t get sidetracked anyway. We need to talk about the choice.”
“We are.”
I faced him squarely.
He copied the move. “The ripples you’re causing on the darkened surface may be lost to your eyes in this dim light, and they may seem insignificant compared to the natural and relentless ebb and flow . . . but you are aiming for the lake and I guarantee you are hitting it.”
In my deepest self, the metaphor struck a chord. I scrutinized the surface of the lake. “My dark destiny is flowing and I’m helpless to stop it.”
“Of course you are. That’s rather inherent in the word ‘destiny.’ Why would you even try to stop it?”
I ground my teeth. Every word here was telling. Even if I didn’t want them to be.
“I told you it would only get harder.”
That was true. The last time I’d spoken with him, I’d had a decision to make. His advice then was
That choice between loyalty and disgrace had been easy to make. This time, however, the choice was not so clear-cut.
Choosing to do things my own way could entangle everyone I cared for and, as Creepy implied, eventually put them in danger. That was what I wanted to avoid. I already carried some hefty guilt; many had died since this whole thing began and it was likely the death toll would continue to rise.
