Scorned (18 page)

“I said careful,” Marx admonished as he
lifted me to my feet once more. “Next time I won’t catch you.” But
I heard in his voice that it wasn’t true.

“Sorry I’m such an inconvenience,” I said.
Marx’s hand stayed lightly on my elbow for the duration of our
trek. It was sweet, and would have been cute if I wasn’t already
taken. For all his posturing, Marx seemed to be a decent guy.

Eventually, we came to a door at the end of
the hall. I was a little nervous but I shouldn’t have been. It was
nothing but a waiting room.

The air here was dry, clean, and pleasant
and the floor was covered in thick moss-like carpeting that made me
want to take off my shoes and see if it felt as real as it looked.
The stone walls were etched with beautiful carvings. They ran
together, one right after the other, so it was impossible to tell
where one ended and the next began. Three long, luxurious sofas
separated the room.

“Stay here,” Tate said. “I’ll let them know
you’re here.” She turned to a solid looking wooden door with
wrought iron reinforcements like the kind you would find in an old
castle, then turned back. “I should warn you. They may keep you
waiting a while. I’ll let them know that time is of the essence,
but...” she shrugged. “They like to do things in their own
time.”

I smiled.

I don’t exactly know that Roman going up in
flames in the heat of the sun would be such a bad thing. I might
have trouble getting home, though.

The thought flashed through my mind, but I
discarded it quickly. I didn’t want to have to explain
that
to him.

“That’s fine.” Marx and Will threw
themselves down on separate sofas like they lived here and I sat
next to Marx.

“Is Marx your real name?” I asked.

Marx shook his head. “No, that’s my pimp
name,” he answered with a sly grin and I grinned back, rolling my
eyes. “My real name is Marcus, but don’t tell anyone. I like to
keep it secret.” Will heard and laughed.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s as much of a pimp
as I am, and that’s none at all. Though, he is pretty good with the
ladies.”

I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure he is.”

I tipped my head back against the soft back
of the sofa and closed my eyes. I was so tired.

“LeKrista?”

My name was faint and distant, no louder
than the softest whisper.

“LeKrista? Are you asleep?”

My eyes fluttered open to the brightly lit
room and I looked around. Marx was there next to me and Will was
across the room. They were both staring at me like they’d never
seen me before.

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Did you just fall asleep?”

I thought about it and eventually nodded.
“Yeah, I think so.”

“Damn!” Will exclaimed. “It took you no time
at all!”

“How long have you been awake, Doll?”

I frowned at Marx. “What did you just call
me?” He held up his hands.

“I meant nothing by it. I call all the
ladies doll. My bad.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m sorry. I get
cranky when I’m tired.”

“Don’t they all.” I shot Marx a look and he
held up his hands again, his form of apology. “You going to answer
the question?”

I’d honestly forgotten what the question was
and had to think a moment. “How long have I been awake? Just a few
hours. I had a Grand Mal seizure last night.” I immediately
regretted saying it.

“What?” They both jumped from their
seats.

“I’m epileptic,” I tried to explain, and had
they let me continue I could have calmed their fears, but that just
panicked them more.

“You need to be in the hospital!” Marx
shouted.

Will was in a worse form of panic. He just
kept saying, “Oh my god, oh my god,” over and over.

“Would you calm down,” I said, starting to
get hot around my neck and face and not from embarrassment. “I
don’t like people treating me differently just because I have a
medical issue. I’m as normal as anyone else. I’m fine. Roman healed
me. I’m not even that sore.” Marx and Will took their seats again,
though slow and reluctant.

“Maybe you should try to get a nap,” Marx
said, eyeing me like I might start seizing again right there in
front of him.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” It was hard to
believe that I could still be tired, but I was. The flight and
almost dying, then the trek down here must have worn me out.

Marx stood and let me have the sofa to
myself. “We’ll wake you when they call for us,” he said.

I stretched and even with my legs perfectly
straight there was still enough room for two or three people to sit
at the other end. I yawned, closed my eyes, and drifted.

I woke to Tate’s voice and someone shaking
me. My eyes felt dry and sandpapery when I opened them, and I
blinked several times before Tate’s evanescent face came into view,
a worried frown marring her forehead.

“How long was I asleep?” I asked. I had a
crick in my neck and my back hurt. There was a wet spot on the sofa
where I’d drooled, but it was toward the back of the sofa, so I was
fairly certain Will and Marx hadn’t seen.

“About thirty minutes,” Marx answered.

Tate was still eyeing me with concern. “What
is it?”

“Marx and Will told me about
your...condition.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a condition. The
‘Vampire Scorned’ was in my head and she tried to kill me. Roman
healed me. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Tate asked.

I thought about saying, “I have tourrettes
too, what about it?” but I didn’t.

I stood, albeit wobbly, and said, “It’s
fine. I just want this over with.” I wasn’t going to give them the
chance to feel sorry for me.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked.

“This way.” Tate led us through the door and
into a long hall. These walls were carved, like in the waiting
room, to depict scenes of graphic violence, of sweet romance, and
heroic shows of valor all interwoven into each other with signs and
symbols that I didn’t know.

There were doors on either side of the hall,
all closed. Occasionally, we passed a branching hallway, or turned
down one, but we didn’t stop. No one else spoke, so I didn't
either. They seemed a little frightened, and perhaps I would have
been if I knew what I was getting myself into.

Finally, we came to the end of a hall. Fear
and dread radiated off Will and Marx, but Tate portrayed
indifference, like she’d been through this so many times it just
didn’t scare her any more. Whatever
this
was.

I almost ran into Tate when she stopped
abruptly and turned to face me. “There are a few things you need to
know before we go in here.”

I opened my eyes wide as if to say, “You
couldn’t have told me this earlier?”

“Speak
only
when spoken to,” Tate
said. “Answer all questions directly. Don’t beat around the bush.
If you don’t know or understand, say so. And, most importantly,
keep all backtalk, sass, and jokes to yourself. It’s a sure way to
get dismissed without a hearing.”

“You make it sound like I’m going to court,”
I said.

Tate gave me a warning look - apparently
that was considered backtalk - but said, “Pretend that you are.
You’ll be better off. Ready?” But, I don’t think that last question
was for me. Marx and Will nodded and Tate pushed the heavy wooden
door open enough for the four of us to step through.

The room was so cavernous that the sound of
rushing water drowned out everything else. I looked up, and kept
looking up, into an expanse that eventually ended, not in a ceiling
but a continuing darkness that told me the room was too big for
words. The floor was solid stone, no longer the red from before but
a natural gray-ish tan. It was stained in places with dark spots
that looked eerily like dried blood. Along the wall was a long
table that looked like a judge’s bench, and behind it sat eight
figures of varying size, shape, gender, and style preference,
though for the most part they all looked like they’d crawled out of
a science fiction film.

“This is the girl?” A woman spoke, and I
followed the sound of her voice to an older woman, the oldest of
the bunch, sitting slightly higher and farther forward than the
rest. Her hair was long and dark and fell past the table and out of
sight, even though most of it seemed to be wrapped around her head
in an elaborate braid. Her skin was pale and her eyes were a
fierce, piercing blue that looked like it hadn’t seen a smile in
hundreds of years. And that’s the vibe I got from her. She was
hundreds of smileless years old.

“Yes,” Tate said from my left. “This is
LeKrista Scott,” and she pronounced my name perfectly, even adding
a little bit of a French accent on the K. Roman had taught her
well.

“Hello, Ms. Scott,” the older woman said. “I
am Lady Xiomara, head of the Mage Council for the last century. I
assume they’ve told you nothing.”

Xiomara gave Tate and the guys a severe look
that said, “She’d better answer this correctly or else.”

“No, ma’am,” I answered. “Nothing.”

“Good.” The council head took her seat and
relaxed into the back of her chair like she was tired. “We Mages
must keep our existence a secret from the vampires or there will be
war. Why have you come to us?” Xiomara asked.

I looked at Tate, certain she would have
told them already. She widened her eyes and shook her head. I
wasn’t supposed to talk back. “I have a rather severe vampire
problem,” I stated. “They keep getting into my head. I killed one
who was trying to kill me, and his lover made an attempt on my life
the other night.”

“Two vampires then?” Xiomara asked, as if
unimpressed.

I shook my head. “No, ma’am. Three.”

“Who?”

“He calls himself Roman.”

“The Centurion?” she asked, and finally
seemed impressed.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Pray tell, how did you meet him?”

“Uh, well, he saved my beer.”

The man sitting to Xiomara’s left chuckled.
He was blonde, muscled, and sexy and dressed in furs. Even from
this distance I could see his ice-blue eyes spark with humor.

Xiomara didn’t find it funny. “I beg your
pardon?”

“I bought a twelve pack,” I explained, “and
the bottom fell out of the box. Roman caught it before it hit the
pavement. He saved my beer.”

“And what did he tell you about why he did
this?”

I shrugged. “Just that he had a small gift
of foresight and he didn’t want to see me cry.”

“What else do you know of this Roman?” She
sat back in her seat, one arm rested on the table in front of her,
the other leaning on the arm rest, and she regarded me out of one
eye, like she was daring me to do something impressive. She
honestly had no idea.

“Roman had a lover named Vivian a long time
ago, but she was unfaithful with one of his vampire creations, one
named Lucretious.” I watched her face and caught the slightest
movement of her eyebrow. “Lucretious had been watching me for
several months, but I didn’t know why until recently. Apparently, I
hold a power identical to Vivian’s...” I wasn’t sure that I should
tell them about the Vampire Apocalypse that was forth coming. I
might need some leverage later. “Both Lucretious and Roman want me
for that power,” I finished. “And now, Lucretious’ lover Perdita
wants me dead.”

“Lucretious is the one that you killed?”
Xiomara asked.

“Yes.” I studied Xiomara’s face. She was
worried now and I didn’t like that, because it meant that I should
be worried.

“This is cause for great concern,” Xiomara
said. “However,” and I didn’t like that ‘however’, “our help does
not come without a price. What do you have that you can offer us?”
she asked.

I frowned. “If what Roman says about me is
true, I have quite a bit of power to offer you. If you can protect
me from the vampires and teach me how to use whatever this is that
I have then you have an asset. An ally.”

“Yet, it is this connection with the
vampires that has me worried. Mages and vampires have been at war
for a long time. A war that they won. We aren’t even supposed to
exist anymore. If this vampire has the ability to get inside your
head, simply coming here tonight has brought our demise. I am
afraid there is nothing we can offer you.”

My jaw dropped.

Is she kidding? She can’t be serious!

I didn’t know what to say. Tate stepped
forward. “Lady Xiomara, please. You cannot allow the vampires to
kill an innocent victim.”

“Innocent? It seems to me that she was a
completely willing victim. Is this not true?” She turned the
question to me and I had no choice but to answer truthfully.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“See?”

“Yes, but, she was tricked!” Tate seemed
enraged at this injustice and I couldn’t blame her. “You have no
idea what she’s risked being here.”

“She has no idea what we risked allowing her
to come to us!” Xiomara was angry now.

“They almost killed her!” Tate's paper white
skin was now flushed blood red with anger. “She...” She looked back
at me as if to apologize and said, “She is in fragile health. She
suffers from epilepsy. Among other things.”

I tried not to be angry. I knew Tate was
only trying to get me the help I so desperately needed, but I
wasn’t in fragile health, and I didn’t want anyone to think I
was.

“Is that so?” Xiomara said, and I think her
anger got the best of her. “Then, perhaps she deserves to be picked
off by the vampires. Only the strong survive in this.”

I think Tate was as angry at that comment as
I was. I would have said something smart, but she beat me to it.
What she said was better than anything I could have come up
with.

“You hypocritical, bitch-ass, warmongers,”
she shouted. “How dare you?!” Marx and Will leapt forward, grabbing
at her arms, trying to call her off, but she would have none of it.
She shook them off and said, “I hope the vampires get you. All of
you! I hope you all die very slow and painful deaths you nasty,
evil, decrepit-"