Mirror: Book One of the Valkanas Clan (25 page)

“I don’t see how you can stomach that crap,” he said.

I finished the last of the first bag and tossed it in the trash, idly hoping the trash collectors never bothered to examine just what they were picking up from this household. A house that produced no food waste but plenty of empty bags of blood would have to raise some red flags, regardless of whether they believed in the supernatural.

“Tastes fine to me,” I said, and started on the second bag.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“That’s only because you haven’t had the real thing,” he scoffed.

I didn’t bother telling him that I’d just drank from Tom’s neck last
night, that
precisely because it had been so much more exciting was why I was now even more hesitant to drink from a live person. I was sure I didn’t want to see the leer he’d give me for sharing that little nugget of information. So instead I simply rolled my eyes, and popped the third bag.

“You know, you wouldn’t have to drink as much if you were getting it fresh,” he said. 

“I thought I had to drink more because of being so new,” I replied.

“True, you do need more than us, but you would only need a pint or so if it was fresh.”

Hmm. Nobody had pointed that out to me. Then again, it didn’t really matter because I still wouldn’t be going out to just tap a stranger on the shoulder and will them into sharing their blood and then forgetting we ever met. What if I accidentally picked someone with a horrible
disease,
and even the minor blood loss was too much for them?

Actually, in most cases you’d be doing them a favor.
Tom’s voice filtered into my thoughts, and a moment later he emerged from the hallway to join us, nodding a quick hello at Sam. V
ampire saliva has amazing healing properties. Mostly that helps us, by preventing us from picking up any diseases and allowing us to close wounds quickly and fully, but it can help cure some diseases in humans too, especially any that reside primarily in the blood, and especially if they get enough saliva in their system. Unless you literally drink pints from a single person, you’re not going to do anything other than leave them craving a steak or two.

But what if they’re vegetarian?
I responded
,
thinking of my years spent avoiding steaks and anything like them.

Tom laughed, and I made a face at him.
I’m being serious!

Sam gave us a puzzled look. “Care to share?” he inquired archly.

Tom looked at me.
He doesn’t know about the telepathy yet I guess. Shall I tell him?

I nodded. I was sure Damian would tell him soon enough anyway, and it would be more fun to see the look on his face when he found out.
Just don’t tell him I drank from you—I’d rather not endure the mocking looks.

“
Aly
and I have a telepathic link now,” Tom said.

Sam’s jaw literally dropped open for a split second before he snapped it shut.

“How did that happen?” Sam asked.

“We’re not entirely sure,” Tom replied, shrugging.

“We discovered it earlier this afternoon,” I said.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “So suddenly you wake up early this afternoon and discover you can read each other’s minds. Just what kind of bedroom play are you two into anyway?”

I blushed, but Tom didn’t appear bothered by Sam’s conclusion.
Hey, you didn’t want him to know we think it’s because of the blood exchange—what else did you think he’d attribute it to?
Tom asked me.

As tempting as it seemed to simply stare at my feet until one of them changed the subject, I decided it was probably wiser to take control of the conversation before it got any more embarrassing. I forced the blush out of my cheeks and looked up.

“I apologize for making you so jealous Sam," I said, "that was thoughtless.” I grinned as his eyebrows shot up and his cheeks colored slightly. “So let’s move on to a topic that hopefully won’t upset you—what’s the plan for tonight?”

Tom mapped everything out for me once he finished chuckling at Sam. Temora had agreed to send reinforcements to meet us at Cesar's, which would give us cover, Tom said, while we reexamined the premises to see if I could pick anything up this time.

“Damian and Valerie should be back from their meeting with her shortly," Tom continued. "She’s apparently curious to see what you can do—she hasn’t had anyone with your psychic gifts amongst those who owe her allegiance in centuries.”

 ”Wait—I owe her allegiance?" I asked. "What does that mean?”

Now it was Sam’s turn to grin at me, and he seemed all too delighted at the chance to enact a little vengeance.

"Since you're part of Damian's line, and since Damian had sworn allegiance to Temora in exchange for being allowed to be a master in her territory, you owe her your allegiance as well," he said. "If she needs you for something, you do it.”

I waved my hands in front of me, warding off Sam’s words.

“
Woah
woah
woah
," I said, "back up. You’re saying I have to follow the orders of some woman I’ve never met?”

Sam, rather than answering me, looked at Tom.

“You really haven’t taught her much, have you?" he asked. "As her maker this instruction is your responsibility as much as it is Damian’s, you know.”

“Give me a break," Tom said. "You know as well as I do how unusual these circumstances have been."

“Uh, excuse me," I said, "I’m still standing right here guys.”

Tom turned to me. His voice changed from the low growl he’d been using on Sam to something more soothing.

“
She 's
a very reasonable woman,
Aly
. She rarely asks much of her people. What little she does request is well worth fulfilling, given the level of protection and opportunity she offers in exchange.”

“I don’t care how damn
reasonable
she is,” I said. “I don’t like the idea of anyone I don’t know being able to just order me around!”

“Do you make this much of a fuss over the existence of the police, or judges, or the military amongst the human world?” Sam asked.

“If they do something unjust, I do,” I said.

“Really?”
Sam arched one eyebrow. “So every time there’s an incidence of police brutality, a misuse of military power, or a wrongful sentencing you’re out there protesting?”

“Not every time," I said, "but I have when I could.”

“What you mean is," Sam said, "you’ve done it when it was convenient, or if it affected someone you cared about—or perhaps if it made you look good in front of some
boy
you cared to impress.”

“Back off Sam," Tom said, "you’re not exactly fond of authority figures either.”

Sam spun on him, his face twisting and his fangs beginning to show.

“You’re damn right I’m not. But your little
girlfriend
here is a hypocrite. I'll bet she never worried about the misuse of power when she knew it wasn’t likely to affect her—human cops, and courts, and government forces don’t tend to pay much attention to young white liberals who pay their taxes and quietly do their jobs. She’s just chomping at the bit now that there’s an authority figure who might actually want something more from her than a percentage of her income.” Sam finished his rant on his way to the back door, which he slammed behind him, shattering the window beside it.

Tom sighed, retrieved a dustpan and broom from beneath the counter and began sweeping up the mess. I watched him, shaken.

“What the hell is his problem?” I finally asked.

Tom finished sweeping up, and dumped the shattered glass into the trash can.

“Hold on," he said, "let me call Valerie to let her know the window’s been broken and find out what she needs me to do about it.”

He strolled to the other end of the counter, extracting his cell from a pocket. I heard him quietly recount what had happened, leaving out the specifics of the argument and just mentioning that Sam had gotten upset and accidentally slammed the door too hard. Tom was far enough away, and she was quiet enough, that I couldn’t hear her reply. However, once he hung up Tom dialed a new number, setting up an appointment to have someone come over and immediately repair the damage.

Damn. Service like that would have to cost a pretty penny; there couldn’t be many people happy to fix your window after seven on a Sunday night.

“It does,” Tom responded, “but timeliness is more important than frugality to Valerie.”

He tucked his cell back in his pocket, scrubbing his hands over his face.

“Sam was turned during the Second World War," he said, “not that many years before Damian turned me. Only, unlike me, his sire disappeared after turning him. Sam didn’t know there was any vampire society to be a part of; he had to figure it all out by himself. By the time he’d realized he wasn’t simply a demon wandering the woods, hunting and killing soldiers who had strayed too far from their units, a year had passed. He returned to the States to find the wife he’d left behind, only to discover that she had been told he was killed. She had remarried. He didn’t want to traumatize her any further, so he simply watched them from afar.

“Soon afterwards, he realized they’d had a son he’d never known about. He discovered it by accident, when he was watching his wife one day and heard her calling the baby in her arms ‘Samson’—Sam’s son. He became especially fixated on his Samson—he once told me that watching him grow up was the only thing that kept him sane, kept him from building or buying a guillotine to ensure his own permanent death.

“Then, when his son was of age, he was drafted for the Vietnam War. Samson was slim, clumsy, and intellectual—he wasn’t cut out for military service, especially not for being a foot soldier in the Army. Sam desperately began searching out the vampire contacts he’d previously tried to avoid, hoping to bind himself to someone with enough power to pull his son out, or at least transfer him to a branch and position that was more suited to his temperament. But by the time Sam finally found Damian, and Damian agreed to bring him into his family and attempt to help, Samson had been shipped overseas. Damian was as good as his word—he ran through his list of contacts until he found someone that could arrange a transfer. It was being processed when Samson was shot. Sam’s never forgiven himself for avoiding our kind too long to take advantage of the protections we could offer to the one thing that gave his new life some meaning.”

I was stunned, and stood in silence for a few moments, simply watching as Tom stepped closer and slipped his hand into mine.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “No wonder Sam got so angry with me.”

 ”You didn’t know, and he had no right to take that out on you.” Tom replied, his hand tightening on mine. “Vampire feudalism is a shock, especially for people who’ve grown up in democratic countries. Your reaction is understandable.”

“I still feel awful about it,” I said. My voice sounded tiny and strange to my ears.

“Hey, it’s okay, really.” Tom stepped forward and hugged me. “Sam’s just a hothead—he’ll cool off and feel like a jackass, believe me—which is exactly how he should feel,” he said, stroking my hair. I could hear his words echoing in his mind:
It’s okay, don’t feel bad, it’s alright.
And abruptly, I did feel fine.

I pulled away, confused.

“Were you willing me to feel better?” I asked.

Tom blushed slightly. “Um, actually I might have, but it was unconscious. I can’t control you anyway, right?”