Blood Born (9 page)

The books that were in that weird language she shoved off to the side—why waste time with them?—and began concentrating on those that were sort of, at least, written in English. Even though she understood
all the words, they were strung together in ways that didn’t make sense.
Light of the dark, dark of the day
—yeah, right. It was gibberish. But the monsters took their gibberish seriously, so Nevada tried her best to do what they wanted.

Then, slowly, the words in the books began to resonate with something deep inside her, began to take on meanings that went beyond the words themselves. She couldn’t quite put her finger on exactly what it was, maybe something like a current she could ride, a door she could step through, or both. But there was
something
—and it called to her. So what at first she had been doing out of desperation she began doing willingly, and then even eagerly, though she hid that from her captors.

Six months into her captivity, she successfully cast her first simple spell. It wasn’t anything much, she’d tried to reheat some food that had gotten cold because she was distracted by her reading—the food was pretty terrible because vampires weren’t interested in eating at
all
, so being cold had pretty much made the stuff inedible—but the spell
worked
. She’d been so excited she had jumped up and down and done a happy dance, because all this reading and studying was evidently accomplishing something after all.

Then she had wondered what she was so happy about, because she was smart enough to figure out that, if she managed to reverse this spell the vamps were so concerned about, then she’d have no more value to them and they’d kill her
and
her family as casually as if they were swatting flies. It stood to reason that if she could reverse the spell, she would also be able to reinstate it whenever she chose, or lay some other nasty spell on them, so of course they intended to kill her.

Her only chance, and the only chance her family had, was to hide how fast her skills were developing until
she was strong enough, skilled enough, to do … something. Another kind of protection spell, maybe. A liberation spell. Hell, she didn’t know. Just
something
.

She’d played along as best she could, reassuring them that she was learning, demonstrating small spells for them when they pressed her for proof of her progress. The weeks and months had turned to years, and she would have gone crazy a long time ago if the work itself hadn’t been so engrossing—and if it hadn’t been for Sorin.

She didn’t know what his last name was. Maybe vampires didn’t have last names. No, they’d once been humans, so surely they
did
, but none of those she had met used a surname. She guessed that when you lived for hundreds of years last names stopped mattering, because it wasn’t as if they were going to have kids and pass the name along. Nevada didn’t understand why she liked him. No, it wasn’t even something as simple as “liking.” It was something more. Nothing sexual, nothing romantic, but some sort of tie she couldn’t understand. She felt safe with him. Okay, not exactly
safe
, but safer.

Sorin was … well, she didn’t know what he was. Not the leader, because that was the bitch who thought she was some kind of queen, but nevertheless all the others kind of deferred to him. It wasn’t just that he was big and muscled and gorgeous, with blond hair and glowing blue eyes, or that he was like some kind of general in this battle or war they were fighting. (They weren’t exactly forthcoming with her—she only got bits and pieces when they forgot she could overhear them. She tried to put it all together into a story, but huge gaps were missing.) The other vamps
respected
him. He was in some position of power, because they listened to him. Well, the bloodsucking bitch queen who ran this sick show didn’t, but from what Nevada
could tell she didn’t listen to or respect anyone except herself.

And Sorin had protected her, hadn’t allowed any of the others to feed from her. His reason had been completely logical: the work and study load they required of her was exhausting, even with her at her full strength; if they weakened her by feeding from her, she wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace. They were on some kind of schedule, Nevada thought, one that she was now pushing to the limit. They wanted results, they wanted that spell broken, and they wanted it soon.

If Nevada could have arranged it, she wouldn’t have had contact with any of them other than Sorin, not that he was an angel himself. Far from it, in fact. He came to her room every day—or rather, every night—to assess her progress, and he wasn’t above using threats against her family to push her even harder. Sometimes, though, he tried to charm her with a smile—and, gawd, what a smile!—or a kind word, a reminder that he wasn’t like the others, that he liked her and wanted what was best.

But Sorin
was
different from the others, even though she couldn’t explain why. He was frightening, but he didn’t frighten
her
, even when he was threatening her. He was a vampire like the others, but he didn’t give her the heebie-jeebies. She actually looked forward to seeing him. Yeah, it was sick, but she still felt that way. At least he didn’t treat her as if she meant nothing, the way the other vamps did.

She wasn’t delusional, though; she never let herself think that Sorin would ever help her, ever put her above the vampires’ interests. He was what he was, and if she sometimes saw flashes of the man he’d been long ago, the
human
he’d been, that was something she couldn’t let tempt her into doing something stupid.

The fact was, she was getting close to being able to break the spell. Her power and knowledge had been
steadily growing, but a huge shift had occurred about a year ago. Some of those large books written in that weird unknown language had been in her way and she’d been dragging them to the side when one of them had fallen open. She’d glanced at the page—and abruptly her entire body felt electrified, her hair standing on end from the shock.
She could read the book
. The language hadn’t suddenly been transformed into English, it was still the same odd blend of swirls and angles that didn’t look like any alphabet she’d ever seen before, but she could read it.

Hastily she dragged some of the other books to her, flipped them open. Some of them she could read, some of them were about halfway legible, and one of the really old books was still gibberish to her.

And suddenly she’d understood. The books in English were like primers, teaching her basic stuff, getting her ready for the next step. The books she could read now were … high school. The ones she halfway understood were the college courses, and the lone indecipherable one was for her master’s degree—or doctorate, depending on how tough it was. When she could read it, then she’d know she was ready for the big leagues.

A year down the road, she still couldn’t read that one last book, but a word here and there was making sense. Close … she was so close. The book was beginning to open to her. The vamps had no idea how far she had come, the powers she had practiced and pushed and expanded. They might keep her body imprisoned in this room, but thanks to the weapons they themselves had brought her—the books—she had just recently learned how to set herself free.

She could “see” beyond this room she was never allowed to leave. She had to be careful when she did it, though; she wasn’t certain what went on with her
body while she was mentally traveling, whether she looked as if she were asleep, if she was merely sitting with her eyes open, or if she was jerking and drooling. She hoped it wasn’t the jerk and drool, but who knew?

The hideous monster who always delivered her food had just left. She had some time before Sorin could be expected for his nightly visit to check on her and push her for a progress report. He pretty much had to believe what she told him, because really they had no way of testing her, unless maybe they brought in another witch or vampire who was some sort of lie detector, but so far she’d successfully skated around the truth while at the same time showing enough growth in her powers to give them hope, to give them a reason for keeping her and her family alive.

She wanted to find her family. She wanted to see for herself that they were okay, that the vamps hadn’t done something backhanded like recording her family’s voices, then setting up those calls for her to hear them, when all the while they were long dead. Part of her whispered that Sorin wouldn’t do something like that, but that was the part that thought she recognized the remnants of humanity in him. The logical part of her brain said
He’s a vampire
, and she had learned how ruthless they were.

But thanks to Sorin the others left her alone, unless they were bringing meals to her, so she was grateful to him not only for sparing her from being a McDracula snack but also because she could pretty much count on solitude right now.

She hadn’t realized just how lucky she was to have his protection until, during one of her first experiments with remote viewing, she’d mentally stumbled upon a vampire soldier feeding from a human who was kept a prisoner for that very purpose. It hadn’t
been pretty. They had fed from her so often that the woman was near death, and the savagery with which the vampire had torn into her … Nevada had jerked herself away from the scene, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t think the woman had survived.

Nevada went to stand at her workstation, a large, oblong table with books, crystals, stones, and cards scattered across the top. Her long red hair fell across her face and into her eyes; annoyed, she pulled the hair clip from the back of her head, gathered her hair, and resecured it. She really, really needed a haircut, but the vamps wouldn’t let her have scissors.

With that irritant out of the way, she rolled her shoulders, settled, and focused. Tugging one particular book toward her, she opened it to the page she wanted, spread her fingers, and lightly touched all ten fingertips across the words of the spell. She closed her eyes, and began gathering her newly discovered energy, pulling it inside as she whispered the words of the spell, feeling a shimmer begin to spread through her body, through every cell, permeating the fabric of her being. She took several deep breaths, then sent her mind outward. At the very last second she thought,
“Sorin.”

She never knew exactly where she would end up, so she was trying to learn control. If she thought of a destination, maybe that’s where the spell would take her. She didn’t know where Sorin was, but maybe she didn’t need to; maybe the spell could take her to a person rather than just a place.

In her mind, she opened her eyes.

She stood in the corner of another room, a very functional, utilitarian room without any windows, furnished with a computer, maps, files … yes, she had the impression it was in this very building. Sorin was there. She gave a triumphant pump of her fist—or at least, her
spirit did. Yes! The experiment had worked! She’d gone straight to him
.

There were other vampires in the room with him, and in this realm she could see that they were like him, and yet … not. She could see more clearly in him the man he had once been, but in the others … no. She could see only the monsters they were, with no shred of humanity left. She had to be careful of Sorin, and not let herself forget that he was a monster, too, perhaps the worst monster of them all, because he could hide behind his handsome face, suppress the monster when it suited him
.

She could see them, hear them, but they couldn’t see her. She wondered if she could walk among them, brush against their spirits, but as soon as the idea occurred she thrust it away. That would be stupid. Vampires were at essence creatures of magic, and they might very well sense the touch of another kind of magic
.

One of the vampires in the room stuck a pin in a detailed map of D.C. “Chloe Fallon,” he said. “Her warrior is trying to contact her, but she’s still several weeks away from hearing the call. I don’t think there’s any hurry on her.”

“Don’t tell me about the conduits I don’t need to worry about,” Sorin growled. “Tell me about the ones I need to kill
now.
”

“She’s practically in our backyard,” another vampire said, sounding annoyed. “Why wait until the last minute?”

Sorin gave the third vampire a narrow-eyed look. “Jonas will let us know when it’s time. More and more warriors are trying to come in, and some conduits respond faster than others. There are only so many of us who can travel in the daytime, so we take care of the most urgent first.”

Conduit. What was a conduit? And what was this about warriors? Didn’t matter, Nevada thought as she listened to them talk. The vampires were systematically killing these humans they called conduits, and Sorin was leading them. The vampires were planning to seize power, but first they had to kill these conduits who somehow could contact these special warriors. It didn’t make sense to her, but she didn’t have to understand to know that innocent people had been killed and even more were slated to die. She herself was part of this grand plan; she had to break a spell that kept the vampires from breaching human sanctuary. Until now, however, she hadn’t realized there was another part to the scheme
.

The vampire who had stuck the pin in the map picked up a photo from his desk and handed it to Sorin. “This is Chloe Fallon.” He rubbed a hand over his face; he looked exhausted, which was weird, because Nevada hadn’t realized vampires could get tired. But this vampire wasn’t tall and muscular like Sorin; in fact, he looked like a geek, with a scraggly build and a mild face
.

Sorin looked down at the photograph. Nevada sent her spirit edging closer, so she could get a look, too, but she was careful not to get too close to Sorin. The woman in the photograph was a pretty blonde with a cheerful, infectious smile, but there was something fragile about her that Nevada couldn’t put her finger on, as if she was in danger of fading away. She wasn’t thin, wasn’t sickly looking, but—