Zachary flinched and nodded. “I’m sorry, Adia.”
“Why didn’t you ever talk to me?” she asked. “I’m not Dominique, Zachary. You could have told me what was going on, and we could have worked it out. We could have gone after them together, or just—”
“Because you needed to be better than I was!” he shouted. “Adia, I know I’m weak. My entire side of the line is. My mother went mad after my sister’s death. She went out, and never came back. My little brother followed her, and we never saw him again. The only reason I’ve survived is because Dominique looked out for me, and you know what kind of perfection she demands. I couldn’t spread my weakness to you and Sarah.”
“There is no such thing as perfection, Zachary,” Adia said, aware she was quoting Jerome. The vampire had been right.
Jay collapsed dramatically to the couch. “I knew your line was weird, but I never even imagined how profoundly messed up you all are. It’s no wonder Sarah had a fling with a serial killer, or that Zachary unwinds with the undead. You’re all so obsessed with being perfect, you end up hating yourselves.”
Zachary tried to glare at him again, but in Adia’s view, the expression seemed halfhearted.
No one was perfect.
Maybe that was true—obviously it was true. Adia had known for a long time that she was far from perfect, but she had always managed to fake it by looking to Zachary, and Dominique, and Sarah as examples of what she could be. But it had been a house of cards, and now it had all come tumbling down.
Adia jumped as her phone buzzed, announcing that she had a text message. She read it and felt her blood go cold.
No one was perfect.
But someone needed to try to be.
CHAPTER 20
SATURDAY, 5:05 P.M.
SARAH FROZE. NIKOLAS had to recognize the witch in front of him. He would not have forgotten the face of the hunter who had nearly killed his brother. But Nikolas glanced at her, as if waiting for her response before he decided how to proceed.
Suddenly, the lights and music around them were surreal. Michael wouldn’t attack somewhere so public, so what was he doing? He didn’t even look nervous—and the Arun didn’t normally bother to conceal his emotions. He looked like he should be calmly taking a stroll through the park.
“Hello, Michael,” she said, trying to keep her voice even.
“Hi, Sarah,” he answered. “Is this the new boyfriend?” Sarah shook her head. Michael looked at Nikolas. “I would offer to shake hands, but I don’t think you would trust me that far.”
“And you would trust me, would you?” Nikolas asked in the cool, controlled tone Sarah remembered well from the first time they had fought.
“I don’t need to trust you,” Michael answered. “I know Kendra’s rules. As long as I don’t attack you, if you kill me here, she’ll take your head off. Do you think I would have walked up and outed myself to one of the most infamous vampires in recent history if I didn’t know I had some kind of protection?”
“Nikolas?” Sarah asked.
He nodded absently and gave Michael a critical look. “You’re a witch. Since when do you have any faith in our rules?”
“I’m an Arun,” Michael answered. “Ask any Vida. We’re not to be trusted, right, Sarah?”
“I always trusted you.”
“Then trust me now,” he said, earnest sincerity in his lightning-kissed eyes. “You know I think most Vida law is bull. I’ve got Jay Marinitch on my side, but his family is saying we have to stick to the Rights, and the Smoke witches believe refusing Vida law now will end up endangering SingleEarth. So I’m risking my ass to tell you that I’m trying to find a way out of this mess, and to ask you to help me out. You know those laws back and front. What should I do about the Rights?”
If anyone was brazen enough to flaunt their laws this way, it was Michael. He was just wild enough to gamble everything—and with a little vampiric blood in his own veins from his family, maybe he really could believe that blood alone could not turn someone into a monster.
Nikolas seemed to take his cue from Sarah’s thoughts. “We are going to the theater tonight,” he said to the hunter.
“Nikolas,” she whispered in warning, wondering both why Nikolas was apparently inviting himself along and why he was sharing with Michael. I would like to believe he is on our side, but he is still a witch.
He ignored her, continuing to speak to Michael. “Perhaps we could all meet afterward, to discuss a way out of this tangle?”
If we do not give him an opportunity to double-cross us, we will never know if we can trust him, will we? he replied silently. I think the potential of an ally among the witches is worth a bit of risk.
“Sounds good,” Michael said. “Sarah, I didn’t know you liked theater. What are you seeing?”
She shrugged, not about to give him any more information than Nikolas already had.
“We haven’t yet picked a show,” Nikolas answered for her.
“Well, give me a call when you get out. I’ll be around. Sarah …” Michael hesitated, his gaze lingering on her. “Well, I’ll see you.”
He walked out, turning his back to them as if perfectly certain they would respect the rules of this place and not hurt him. Or maybe he just trusted Sarah. She couldn’t forget the expression on his face at the house. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her.
Of course, that had been before the fight.
“You handled that very calmly,” Sarah commented to Nikolas after Michael was out of earshot.
“He defended himself,” Nikolas answered. “If Kristopher had not recovered, I would have hunted him down, but as it is, we need allies. I will not hold against him the fact that he fought back when attacked.” He paused, then added, “At least, I will not hold it against him much. Besides, if he knows Kendra’s rules, then he knows what her wrath is like for hunters who kill without permission in her territory. I do not believe he would willingly try to fight us on the island.”
“I’m not sure you fully understand how little respect Michael tends to have for authority figures,” Sarah muttered. “Besides, he never mentioned anything about Kendra when we used to hunt here.”
“Kendra has an arrangement with some hunters, with regards to whom and when and where they may hunt in her city. Would you have tolerated knowing of such a situation when you were still a witch?” No. Of course not. It didn’t even need to be said. She wanted to believe that Michael had set up the arrangement only after Sarah had left the city, but looking back, she wondered if he had instead subtly steered her toward safe hunts.
In other words, he had lied to her.
Though it wasn’t like he’d had any other choice when she had been a Vida.
Nikolas said, “I will ask Kendra if he has such a deal with her. In the meantime, should I even ask if you have anything suitable to wear to a theater?”
She glared at him. “Jeans and a T-shirt aren’t fine, I’m guessing?”
His expression held an almost amusing mixture of horror and sorrow. “For a modern American, perhaps,” he answered.
But not, she was sure, when one sat in box seats with two nineteenth-century gentlemen of Kendra’s line.
“If you want to return home, I’ll make arrangements,” Nikolas said, judging rightly that Sarah wasn’t about to say, Oh, goody, let’s go dress shopping!
“Thanks,” Sarah said. “Are you also planning to be the one to tell Kristopher you invited yourself and a vampire hunter on our date?”
Nikolas looked startled by the question. “I thought you would prefer it,” he said ambiguously before he disappeared, presumably to talk to Kendra. Sarah left immediately after, not wanting to linger in a place where she had already unexpectedly run into one hunter.
She realized she was nervous, not about spending time “off” in the middle of the dangerous chaos in her wake, or about the potentially bloody confrontation with Michael that might follow, but about this essentially being the first real date she and Kristopher had g
one on, and she was suddenly sharing it with his brother. The dance Kristopher had invited her to once had been a disaster even before it was cut short by the appearance of Sarah’s sister, and Sarah’s plea for Kristopher to leave her alone. Somehow she couldn’t picture this one going any better, even if Nikolas hadn’t suggested their location to people who might want to kill them.
Sarah tried to give some thought to Michael’s question, but the Rights of Kin were in many ways very simple. Only the one who called them could declare them satisfied. If, goddess forbid, Dominique were killed, the decision would fall to Adia, but she would be honor-bound to fulfill her mother’s wishes. Sarah couldn’t think of any power on Earth that would convince Dominique to change her mind.
She checked in on Christine, who was sleeping soundly with a much-loved-looking stuffed animal in her arms. Was she still going to want to learn to fight? Heather had comforted her about her future, to an extent, but Sarah would rather encourage Christine to be a more active agent of her own future, not as dependent as Heather.
Sarah was a half page into some notes about how she could set up an introduction to self-defense when she realized she was planning her own future. She was only writing about fighting moves and breathing techniques, but in those words was a commitment to Christine that implied Sarah would be around for a while.
She hadn’t come to terms with eternity and wasn’t sure she would anytime soon, but step by baby step maybe she was learning to accept that there would be a tomorrow.
She put aside the notes, which were just busywork until she could talk to Christine more, and examined the bookcase in the back of the living room, wondering if something there might help her pass the time without dwelling too much.
It had been years since she had read a book for pleasure. She didn’t even know what kind of book she liked. That some of the titles weren’t in English didn’t help. She abandoned the bookcase and looked at the CDs instead. Here some of the non-English titles seemed familiar, like a long-ago memory she couldn’t quite place.
Jake’s influence.
She had just reached for one when Nikolas appeared behind her. Sarah snatched her hand back guiltily, as if expecting Dominique to chastise her for seeking such a frivolous waste of time. She had listened to music at home, but it had always been whatever happened to be on the popular-music station on the radio; she had never bothered to consider what her tastes might be.
“Well, I have news you’re going to like, and news I think you’re going to like a lot less,” Nikolas announced with a rueful expression. “Which do you want to hear first?”
“Good news, I guess,” she said. He didn’t look upset, so she imagined that the less-good news was probably one of those vampire-related things she just didn’t like talking about, and not any kind of disaster.
“Kendra confirmed she does know Michael, and that though they do not have an explicit arrangement, he has always been careful not to break her rules. Also, she has four box tickets to Wicked. She thinks you will appreciate some of the themes in it.”
“Uh-huh,” Sarah said. She had never heard of it, so she could only hope that wasn’t the bad news. On the other hand … “Why do we need four tickets?”
“Because she wants to meet you, and has suggested the four of us should attend together.”
So much for Kristopher’s idea of a light, low-pressure evening.
“I assume that’s the news you figured I wouldn’t like as much?” Sarah asked.
Nikolas shook his head. “I may have accidentally mentioned your other problem. Kendra is a woman of great class and style.”
He didn’t say it; he didn’t need to say it. Like some kind of ancient, bloodthirsty mother-in-law, Kendra wanted to get to know the newest member of her line. What better way to do so than a shopping trip?
Goddess help her. She would rather face the hunters.
CHAPTER 21
SATURDAY, 5:31 P.M.
ZACHARY STORMED UP the familiar weathered steps, his fingertips trembling and his breath coming quickly in what anyone who knew him would call a shockingly uncharacteristic loss of control. A streetlamp nearby flickered, and he realized he was throwing off so much wild energy he was disrupting the electrical currents.
Before putting his hand on the knob of the front door, he took a moment to pause, close his eyes and hold his breath until he stopped shaking and his heartbeat calmed. Above him, the lamp flickered once more and then died, leaving his side of the street dark.
Then, eyes cold as steel, he pulled open the door—it wasn’t locked; it was never locked—and moved into the front parlor of the small apartment.
The familiar room made his throat tighten with emotions he preferred not to analyze too closely. From the worn suede love seat and ottoman and the soft velvet curtains to the throw rug and a Tiffany lamp that cast muted light the color of roses and gold about the room and into the small kitchenette, everything was warm and welcoming. Embracing.
There were three doors from the living room entrance; now one of those doors opened and Olivia padded out, clothed in pajama pants and a camisole top of creamy silk.
Through the doorway he could see the human she had left behind on the bed. His name was Vick, and he was a hard-core blood junkie who had been living with Olivia for months. He and Zachary had met and even talked some—enough for Zachary to know he did not want to talk to him more. Vick had no family, no past he was willing to talk about and probably no future at all. His wasn’t bloodbonded to anyone, but that was only because no one had claimed him so permanently. His entire existence consisted of being passed from one vampire to the next, with no desires of his own except to bleed for them.
Vick didn’t even twitch when the door opened. Olivia took one look at Zachary and sighed heavily. “This again?” she asked him. She drifted closer, pausing only to close the door behind her. “After we had such a nice visit earlier.”
“You took pictures?”
She smiled, just slightly. “Not me. But Jerome does love that camera of his.”
“Adianna saw them.”
“So that’s the reason for today’s tantrum.”
She had moved close enough that now she could lay her palm against his cheek.
“Darling,” she whispered, “if you intend to try to kill me, it would help if you drew a knife.”
He jumped at the reminder, his hand going to the knife handle at the back of his neck. The movement was slower than usual as he fought learned reflexes.
Olivia moved her hand from his cheek and across the back of his reaching arm until her palm lay over his hand, at the back of his neck. The motion he had attempted stalled as muscles reacted to a more familiar position, relaxing and arching his throat back.
“Or,” Olivia suggested, “we could do something more enjoyable.”
“No.”
But he couldn’t make himself shove her away.
“So, what? You’ll kill me?” she asked. “And then you’ll go home, having destroyed the one place where you don’t have to be the perfect, flawless Zachary Vida. You’ll have destroyed the only person who welcomes you no matter what.”
She slid against him and stretched her petite form so she could kiss his throat. Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, he leaned back against the wall, his eyes closing. It was the same reflex that had shut him down at the end of the fight with Sarah.
“Did you really come here to kill me?” she purred.
“Yes.”
She ran a hand up his chest. “You aren’t doing a very good job. No, hush, love,” she said, laughing, when he tried to protest. “It’s okay.” Abruptly, she drew back, pulling a small sound of protest from his throat as she said, “Come. Sit and relax a while. We’ll figure out what you can say to your dear cousin. Was she the only one who saw?”
He took a seat on the plush couch, wondering even as he did what the hell he was doing.
He had come here, once again, to kill her. He had resolved to do so dozens of times, if not hundr
eds, but every time she calmed him and set him off his guard.
At first, it had just been the fights. The frustration and fear and pain from the battle and any resulting injuries had faded away in the peace that a vampire’s bite could bring. At that point, he had normally woken up in an empty house, long after the vampires had left.
The first time he had woken up with her still there, he had stormed out, refusing to say a word but lacking the courage to attack her.
The next time, she had woken him with a home-cooked meal and apologized that they had taken too much. I can take care of you here, or I can take you to the healers. Your choice. He hadn’t wanted to go to the witches. He would have had to admit to them what had happened.
So he had stayed, and they had eaten breakfast together.
And it had evolved from there, over the course of what had to have been almost two years.
He enjoyed watching her as she moved about the kitchen, her feet bare and her hair down, softly humming some song he thought maybe he knew from the radio as she set a kettle on the stove to boil.
“Why haven’t you killed me?” he asked.
She glanced over her shoulder as she portioned loose leaves into an old-fashioned tea ball. “I don’t care for killing. I’ve done it when forced to,” she admitted, “but this is nicer. Why? Did you want me to kill you?”
“I don’t know.”
She sat next to him and curled against his side.
“Poor dear. What can I do for you?”
The answer was utterly beyond him. Suddenly, he was shaking, a bone-deep trembling he struggled to control until she cooed, “It’s all right. You don’t have to be strong here.”
It was the type of permission he didn’t know how to react to. Wrapped in her arms, he could for the moment step outside the perfect Vida cage, and as soon as he did so, he was weeping.
It was all crumbling. His earliest memories were those of Jacqueline and Dominique screaming at each other, and then Jacqueline storming out. His mother wailing when they told her Jacqueline was dead, demanding to see the body for herself, leaving and never coming back. His brother, only five years old, wandering out in a quest for Mother, never to return. A parade of people leaving and getting killed, until at last Sarah was taken from them, or more likely ran from them.