Blood Colony (42 page)

Johnny Wright shook his head, stunned. “It’s the opposite of Christ,” he whispered. “The antithesis.”

Jessica shivered. Johnny was a believer, too, and she couldn’t have said it better.

“It’s called the Cleansing,” Fana said. She cleared her throat to speak up. “Eliminating sin. The survivors get the Blood—maybe immortality, too. But Sanctus Cruor chooses who lives and who dies, and they get the glory. He wants to use my gifts to help him.”

Teka went on: “I have taught Fana what I can, but aspects of her awakening are not mine to shepherd. If Fana joins with Michel in body, she would also join him in mind. She would learn her hidden reserves, as would he. Exactly what would happen, I cannot say—two beings such as these have never mated. But since Michel is already capable of slaying through mind arts, as is Fana, they would be a formidable weapon.”

Jessica glanced at Fana’s hollowed face: Fana understood the stakes better than they did. A chorus of outrage erupted from Jared, Johnny and Caitlin, vows that no one was going to touch Fana. Jessica glanced at Dawit for a truer assessment of their options, and he could barely look at her.
We can’t stop him,
she realized. A cold knot mushroomed in her stomach.

“There’s only one reason anyone in this room is alive,” Fana said suddenly. “Because he thinks he loves me. That’s our only weapon.”

Utter silence.

Fana straightened and pulled herself away from her parents’ embrace, standing tall.

“This is our situation: We love Teka as family, but we can’t trust him,” she said. “Why? Because Michel can influence Teka’s mind without his knowledge. He can force us to hurt each other, or ourselves. That’s how you got here. That’s how Johnny got shot. He can do the same to me, or to any of us here. That’s the hard truth, so get used to it.”

A coil of fear passed through the group. Alex’s face was groggy, but her eyes were rapt.

Fana took a deep breath. “Trickery isn’t an option, stealth isn’t an option, and neither is violence. Anyone who stands against him will die. Caitlin and Johnny only survived because Michel was preoccupied with me.” Jessica saw a painful memory cross Fana’s face, and her agony rocked Jessica, too. “Michel is overconfident, but he won’t make that mistake again. Dozens of Life Brothers wouldn’t be enough to stand up to him.”

Lucas raised his hand and spoke calmly and thoughtfully, ever the scientist. “But if it’s the same blood and the same circumstances of birth, why is Michel so advanced?”

“Teka teaches mind arts through a higher plane,” Fana said. “The Rising. Teka’s process is deep and pure, but it’s slow. Michel’s only teachers were his father—who is
vile
—and a force we call the Shadows. The force is real, and it’s been calling to me since I was three. But there’s a reason Teka was careful to steer me from the Shadows: Michel’s lost inside of them now.”

Was that compassion in Fana’s voice?

“You can use the Shadows, too, Fana,” Teka said. “It may be the only way.”

Fana’s eyes sparked at Teka. “Is that your advice, Teacher? Or is it Michel’s?”

Teka lowered his eyes and sighed. He couldn’t tell the difference himself.

Fana looked at Jessica, squarely but softly. “I felt the Shadows when I fought with Michel, and they made me stronger. But they’re too dangerous. Right, Mom?”

Jessica nodded, blinking away stubborn tears. The devil never gave a gift for free. Jessica had felt the Shadows when Fana had been possessed as a young child, and she had learned enough about the invisible force. Jessica was glad she had passed on to Fana the simple lesson Bea had passed to her and Alex, the lesson from their parents before them: Follow God.

“Fana…,” Dawit said. “You’ve said only what we cannot do. What’s left for us?”

“Not for
us,
Dad,” Fana said. “For me.”

Jessica felt her soul sway, drifting toward an unnavigable ocean. Jessica suddenly knew her daughter’s heart and mind. She reeled, dreading Fana’s words.

“I need to clean up and get dressed,” Fana said. “Michel has invited us to dinner.”

1:35 a.m.

O
ne last pin, and Caitlin cinched the white cotton dress around Fana’s waist, flaring out the skirt. The housekeeper who’d brought the dress to Fana’s bathroom had looked terrified, so Caitlin wanted Fana to look nice for that woman’s sake. Her life might depend on it.

Caitlin gazed at herself in the tall mirror’s reflection: She was standing behind Fana, looking blue-skinned and fuck-eyed. But Fana was regal and tranquil in a traditional Mexican dress that hung smartly just past her knees, embroidered by a servant’s hand. Thirty silk bows made Fana’s hair a crown. She was a vision.

“How do I look?” Fana said.

Like Maritza,
Caitlin thought. On their imaginary wedding day.

“He’ll approve,” Caitlin said, since she knew that was what Fana wanted to hear.

Fana smiled, but her smile was iron. “Good,” she said.

Fana had spent only a short time with Michel, but already Caitlin didn’t recognize her. Especially her new smile. Caitlin couldn’t imagine smiling anytime soon.

“Aren’t you scared, Fana?” Caitlin said.

Fana gazed at her reflection for a long time, pondering the question with vacant eyes.
Is she tranced out? Does he still have a hold over her?

“No, I’m not scared,” Fana said finally. “I don’t feel anything.”

“What will you say to him?”

Silence. Fana pressed her fingers against the creases on her dress, smoothing them neatly. It took Caitlin a moment to realize that Fana wasn’t going to answer.

“I have some advice, if you still care what a shortie thinks,” Caitlin said, although Fana was far beyond any place where she would hear anyone’s advice. She didn’t wait for Fana’s answer. “Don’t do anything crazy, like marrying this guy. That’s what he wants. That’s how it begins. I
know,
Fana—he was in my head, too.”

For the first time, Caitlin saw a blank sheet fall across Fana’s features, hiding any trace of her thoughts. Fana’s entire face was her mask now.

Caitlin sighed. “I know you’ll do whatever you think is right,” she said. “But if I get the idea you’re not really you—if I think he’s playing mind games to get what he wants—don’t expect me to just sit there. Or your parents. Or Johnny. We’re all in this, Fana.”

That broke through. Fana looked sad, even angry. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“Yeah, well…I can’t promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

Fana grabbed Caitlin’s upper arm with surprising strength. Fana’s eyes were steely suddenly. If Caitlin hadn’t just survived the fight of her life, Fana’s eyes might have scared her.

“Then stay away from him,” Fana said. “Don’t complicate my life. This is hard enough.”

“I just want to get your blood to sick people. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Fana.”

The glint in Fana’s eyes melted.

“All of this is for Glow,” Fana said. “‘If you get hungry, keep going.’”

Maybe she was still Fana.

Caitlin wouldn’t let her tears come. “‘If you get tired, keep going.’”

Someone knocked quietly on the door, probably Fana’s parents.

“Be careful, Fana,” Caitlin whispered.

When Fana hugged her, it felt exactly like good-bye.

A giant oval mirror with fleur-de-lis etched around its gilded frame hung above the antique gold vessel sink and polished elegance of the Italian marble vanity. A feast for the eyes.

A shiny dream in the midst of Jessica’s nightmare.

The Shadows smelled rancid, an odor Jessica would never forget from the night she’d huddled with an altered version of Fana while a hurricane had howled outside her mother’s house. That stench was everywhere now, as if sewage lines had burst beneath the church.

Maybe it was damage from the earthquake. Or maybe not. It would be impossible to know anything for certain, at least for a while.

But Fana was lovely. That was certain, anyway.

Fana clasped Jessica’s hand, her eyes ready for counsel. Fana looked ready to listen for the first time since Jessica could remember, and Jessica didn’t like what she was about to say.

“Everything may not come out all right, Fana,” Jessica said. “It already hasn’t.”

Bea’s ghost seemed to walk across the room, admiring the way Fana’s dress accentuated her hips.
Jessica, where is this girl’s lipstick?
As if her mother’s hands were guiding her, Jessica opened a drawer beneath the sink and found piles of newly purchased cosmetics. Most of the makeup was useless to Jessica, but she found a tube of lipstick. Rose-red. Mom would approve. Jessica traced Fana’s lips until they were bright and costumed like the rest of her.

“He almost killed you, didn’t he?” Jessica said. No one had told her plainly.

“Almost,” Fana said matter-of-factly. She was deep inside her head, but not like before. She wasn’t hiding; she was preparing herself. “I tried to kill him first. Like Kaleb.”

No wonder there had been so much blood on Fana’s clothes! Kaleb’s blood had made a river in the passageway at the Lalibela Colony. That was the first time the Life Brothers had realized how easily they could die, too. Maybe Fana had helped them decide to spend their centuries doing something other than meditating and worshiping the man who’d given them the Living Blood.

“This burden isn’t yours, Fana,” Jessica said. “I don’t care if Khaldun said it, or the man on the moon. If there’s going to be a war between mortals and immortals, the whole world will cross that bridge next. Right now, we’re going to get you away from him.”

“I’m the only one he’ll listen to,” Fana said.

“He might, sweetheart, or he might not,” Jessica said. “This dinner invitation is a good sign, I think. Maybe it’ll inspire civility, and both sides can talk. But…” Jessica sighed. Her message had seemed straightforward enough when she’d rehearsed it outside of the bathroom’s arched doorway. “Fana, listen to me: You may have to watch people you love die. Me. Your father. Any of us. No matter how much it hurts, don’t give him a reason to kill you. Mom knew it was her time: It’s not your time yet, sweetheart.”

Fana blinked and nodded. All childish defiance was gone. “Because I have to prevent the Cleansing?” Fana said, searching for her purpose.

Jessica shook her head. “No. Because you’re my baby girl. It’s not your time.”

Fana smiled, and the rosy lipstick burst to life for an instant before her smile faded.

Jessica hugged Fana, who had to lean down to meet her. The Shadows might have contaminated this church, but Fana smelled as fresh as a new morning. Their hearts beat in calm, steady concert. Had they found stillness at last? Jessica felt as if she could sit on the floor and meditate for twenty-four hours straight—all she’d have to do was remember her conversations with Bea, cataloguing everything she would miss about her mother. But there was no time for stillness here. Jessica hated to ask Fana to use her gifts now, but she had to know. “Teka says he sent the Duharts away before his breakdown…”

Fana nodded. “They’re alive. I feel it. He’s telling the truth.”

Thank you, Jesus.

“Caitlin says you had a dream about this,” Jessica said. “Can you see the future, Fana?”

“I see things in dreams sometimes,” Fana said. “But I don’t always know what they mean. And I didn’t see this.” Fana’s eyes grew dull. Even now, she didn’t like to talk about her gifts—a reminder of their differences.

Jessica laced their fingers together. It was difficult for Jessica to believe that she’d had a role in creating this amazing young woman. “You know, Fana, you may not remember, but during those years you were in trance, I used to sit and read you stories. There was a children’s book about Harriet Tubman.”

“Black Moses,” Fana said. “I remember every book you ever read me, Mom.”

Fana’s gentle voice tried to assure Jessica that she had been a good mother, despite the fears inspired by the hurricane and the Shadows.

“How many people did you and Caitlin help with the Underground Railroad, Pumpkin?” Jessica said, using Bea’s favorite nickname for Fana. Bea’s ghost was still in the room, a part of their conversation. Fana could probably convey a message to her if they had time.

“Thousands.” Fana’s lip quivered with escaped emotion. “All over North America.”

“And was it worth it to you? Knowing what you know now?”

Fana’s smile brought a brilliant light to her face. To the room. To Jessica’s heart.

“It’s worth it no matter what, Mom,” Fana said. “Even if we only helped one.”

Yes,
Jessica thought, pressing Fana’s hand.
Sacrifice.

Jessica held on as Fana’s electricity churned beneath her fingertips. She would never again be afraid to touch Fana’s power. She would embrace all of Fana, as long as she was able.

Jessica and her mysterious and wonderful second-born had never been different. Why had she ever thought so?

For better or worse, she and Fana were exactly alike.

Uniformed doorkeepers pulled open the doors to the dining hall, and Fana heard the unlikely sound of children singing, enhanced by a string quintet. The piping, carefree voices sang Pachelbel’s Canon in D at a celebratory tempo, a cascade of angelic harmonies.

Fana’s chest almost swelled, until she saw the children’s faces.

The thirty elementary-age children lined up inside the doorway couldn’t have looked more disheveled if they had been roused from sleep at gunpoint. The young children were sleepy, their white and blue school uniforms rumpled. It was after two o’clock in the morning!

He can’t be decent even when he tries,
Fana thought.

Fana felt his big, boiling presence in the room. She smiled at the children, but she made sure her mask was intact. If he wanted to see through her, she couldn’t stop him—but at least he would know he wasn’t invited. Fana kept her eyes straight ahead, between her parents’ shoulders. She wanted to be sitting down when she first saw his face.

Fana walked two paces behind her parents into the dining hall, which looked hazy and undefined inside her mask, nearly sepia. The rest walked behind her in pairs—Uncle Lucas and Aunt Alex; Johnny and Caitlin; and Teferi and Mahmoud, who were barely strong enough to stand. The Life Brothers were fresh from waking, but both had insisted on being there. Teferi and Mahmoud leaned on each other. Fana only casually noted the irony that Mahmoud had once tried to kill her. Now Mahmoud was here to try to preserve their family.

Fana’s party came unarmed except for her father’s knife, but Fana felt weapons around the room: The doorkeepers. The servers. Even the cellist and a violinist were armed, she realized. Sanctus Cruor enjoyed its guns.

Part of the room was hidden behind a theater-sized curtain, still unfinished, but the visible half was gilded with sparkles and rich fabrics. The hall smelled of garlic and tomatoes, and not a hint of meat. The tables were long twins arranged across from each other, a dozen tea candles lined across each. Dawit’s palm guided Fana to her seat at the center of their table, and she was glad to sit. Movement was awkward under heavy masking.

Michel was masking, too.

He was sitting directly across from her, six feet away, dressed in a silken white robe with the crest of his Order on his breast—a cross with a teardrop of blood. His eyes were carefully removed from hers as he talked to his father beside him. A beautiful black girl wearing an Ethiopian scarf sat on the other side of Michel.

Michel’s mother! The eyelashes, lush like her son’s, gave her away. She barely looked eighteen. She could be her twin sister, Fana realized.
No wonder he fell for me so fast.
Teru had a pleasant smile fixed to her face, but her eyes were unfocused. Fana wanted to probe her, but she didn’t dare provoke Michel. She knew enough from his memories: Teru was a prisoner, trapped inside her mind.

Teru’s eyes swept aimlessly across the room, landing on Fana’s. Her face didn’t change, but she inclined her head half an inch. Fana nodded back, low and polite, but Teru’s eyes were gone before Fana looked up again.

Fana stared at the girl-woman’s high-cheeked profile, so much like hers. Michel was holding his mother’s hand, she noticed, twining their fingers.
He really thinks he loves her.

Michel’s eyes stayed distant, his neck craned away from Fana as he spoke to his father, who wore a crimson robe and matching skullcap. Stefan’s frigid face told her that he couldn’t wait to have everyone at her table killed—and then chain her to his son’s bed.

Fana’s heart kicked. Her limbs drew inward as she slouched down, small. Mom squeezed her hand beneath the table in silent support. After long seconds, Fana could sit up straight again.

Michel glanced at her while she slouched, but his eyes fled with a blink when she caught him.
Good.
He couldn’t help looking at her either. Maybe he was worried about her. Maybe he really was ashamed. She needed his worry and shame, or everything was lost.

Fana ventured her first words to him.

If there is any kindness in you, I need a real demonstration tonight—not just the singing voices of sleepy children.
She wanted to take the chide back as soon as it flew out.