Cloak of Deceit: An Alex Moore Novel (6 page)

“The Grigori are a collective of psychics. A hive-mind.” He didn’t offer more, just glanced over, waiting for my next question.

A hive-mind? What if it wasn’t a dream? I sat up and pulled the leather coat tighter around me. The darkness outside the truck’s little bubble of light felt more foreboding than it had a minute before. “Why would they be after me?”

“They can sense when you use your powers. It works like a homing beacon to them.” He turned down a narrow gravel road lined with tall pines. We stopped in front of a ten-foot tall steel gate. Julian rolled down his window to enter a code into the posted keypad. As the gate rattled shut behind us, he turned the headlights off, and we continued on through the dark.

I wasn’t even aware of it, but I had turned in my seat and shifted closer to Julian, watching the shadows around us as if some giant beast would lunge out of them and snatch me up. I shook that thought from my head. “What powers?”

Julian sighed, looking at me sideways. “It might be easier if we start at the beginning.”

“I’m all ears.” My hand shot out to grip his thigh when a scratching sound raked along the side of the truck. It was just the bushes. I let him go with a mumbled apology, which he thankfully ignored.

Easy, Alex
.
Breathe.

Not that I needed to breathe, but it was still therapeutic.

“The Undead are exactly that — undead. We need blood to survive, but our weaknesses are few. Cut off our blood supply or remove our head and we die. Along with that come certain abilities and senses. You could call them supernatural. Our governing body is called the Cloak. I’m a Knight of the Cloak.” Julian rushed through that information download like it was a long practiced lecture. I tried my best to pay attention and to not get lost as his voice wrapped around me in the intimate quarters of the old pickup.

“A knight?” I couldn’t keep the skepticism out of my voice.

Julian had the grace to look embarrassed. The look was out of place on him, but still cute. “The Cloak was formed over a thousand years ago, some of the titles are old. I’m an enforcer of the Code — the Undead Law. I observe, and when I have to, detain, question and-or punish members of the Undead who think that the Code doesn’t apply to them. I keep them in line. I also clean up the messes left behind. Secrecy is the most important of our rules.”

“For obvious reasons,” I said. Most people wouldn’t react real well to the idea of vampires being real — even if everything else about them was bunk. I
had
to accept it as the truth, and I could still barely believe it. If vampires were real — why not psychics too? “And what about the…whatever-you-call-them?”

“The Grigori.” His face took on a grim cast in the shadows. “Our sworn enemies. The war pre-dates the Cloak, and has been long and bloody.”

“And you think I’m one of them?” I frowned to myself. That would at least explain his bi-polar behavior. But if I was supposed to be his sworn enemy, why was he helping me?
Was
he helping me?

“Yes. You’re a telekinetic, what they call a Force Agent. The most dangerous kind. That’s the only explanation for what you did to me back in the alley, and for your little earthquake, which didn’t happen, by the way, except in your building.”

“I did that?” I whispered. Even though, in some secret place, it made sense. I hadn’t confessed to Julian about my nightmare, but everything he’d told me seemed to fit. The idea of a collective consciousness made me shiver with recognition. They had to be the voices in my dream. I held my shaking hands out in front of me and turned them over. If Julian hadn’t been already dead, I could have killed him. Without even meaning to.

The truck slowed as we pulled up to a small rambler with a yard of overgrown weeds and grasses. The tin roof shone silver in the moonlight. Julian killed the engine and turned to face me.

“I’m not an expert, but I know psychic punch when I feel one. What you are — it’s not supposed to happen. It’s forbidden to turn a Grigori. It’s never happened before to my knowledge.” He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists. “We kill them, we don’t turn them. It just
doesn’t happen
. But somehow, you’re…both. You went through your transformation into an Undead, and it must have awakened your psychic powers somehow. It’s hereditary, Alex. You’ve always been one of them, you just didn’t know it.”

“Now…there’s no telling what you’re capable of.” His voice had grown quieter now that only the stillness of the night and the pattering of rain surrounded us. His tone was almost apologetic — like how you would give someone your condolences. Despite his efforts to soften the news, the revelation filled me with a cold, hollow ache.

How could I have that sort of power inside of me my whole life and not know it?

I swallowed hard.

His dark eyes glittered with apprehension as he stared back at me.

“What will they do if they find me, the Grigori?”

“The same thing they do to any Undead, I’m betting. Take off your head.”

“Terrific.” I looked through my window to the small house beyond. “Why are you helping me then? Doesn’t being around me put you in danger too?”

It sounded like I was screwed either way. On one side, I was a violation of the law, on the other, I was a walking bull’s eye. Talk about backing the underdog. Maybe Julian actually was a few cards shy of a full deck.

“I don’t know. I suppose I’m helping you because I believe you’re an innocent in all of this and I feel partially responsible. If I had stopped Cody from turning you, you’d still be a normal human girl. The fact that you transformed successfully, even though you were a victim is rare. You’re strong. I think you deserve a fighting chance.” His lips curled up in the hint of an ironic smile as he opened his door. “And the danger doesn’t bother me.”

I smiled back, though I didn’t really feel it on the inside.
At least he’s not afraid of what you are.
It didn’t thrill me to think he saw me as a victim, someone needing his help — even if it was true. I would rather have his respect than his pity, but the number of people I could trust was down to one—or maybe point five—and he was it. Regardless of the reason, Julian was willing to help me. That would have to be enough for now. I slid out of the truck and closed my door, then picked my way across the yard in my bare feet to stand beside him on the porch.

Julian disengaged the alarm as I huddled in his coat. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Please.” I rolled my eyes. It’s not like I had anywhere else to go. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably be lying headless in a dumpster somewhere right now. “I’m not company, I’m a refugee.”

The Undead Knight's domicile definitely looked like a man’s house. It lacked any sort of décor, but felt comfortable and well lived-in. He went ahead of me, turning on lamps, illuminating the small living room furnished with two black leather couches, a low coffee table, a TV, and several bookcases. He disappeared around the corner, into what I assumed would be the kitchen. A deep breath revealed that it smelled like him: a warm, inviting sweetness that made my muscles relax. I tiptoed across the hardwood floor to read the titles on some of his bookcases. You can tell a lot about a person by what they read.

The classics filled the shelves, along with several combat manuals and other odd titles like
I’m Dead. Now What? — A Manual
. I pulled it off of the shelf and thumbed through it. No publisher information. No copyright. Pretty straightforward.
Chapter One—The Transformation
.

“You should read that one,” Julian said over my shoulder, making me jump and drop the book to the floor.

He picked it up and held it out to me. I turned around to face him, a blush creeping up my neck.

“Uh…thanks.” I was reminded of the first time we had unofficially met. I smiled just as stupidly, and followed up with, “You seem to have a bad habit of saving my ass.”

When he didn’t smile, I bit my lower lip.

“If I were better at it, you wouldn’t be here.” He reached over and slid his coat off my shoulders. I sighed as the warmth of his hands seeped into me through my still damp T-shirt.

“I can give you some dry clothes,” he said softly.

I nodded and pulled my arms out of the sleeves then stood there, very aware of the parts of me exposed, though not necessarily in a bad way. He leaned a little closer, his chest brushing against me lightly. I held my breath.

“Might want to take a look at this one too.” He pulled another book from the shelf behind me. A shiver ran down my back when he eased away. He held out a tattered leather-bound copy of
The Code
.

“Sure.” I took the books and pressed them to my chest, trying to hide the visible response my body had to his nearness. Now was so not the time to give my hormones a say in things, what with the imminent beheading and all.

“Are you thirsty?” he asked, leading me into the kitchen. I climbed into a stool at the high bar as he opened the fridge. A neat row of clear plastic jugs lined the top shelf, filled with dark liquid. Blood.

“No thanks.” I wrinkled my nose. “We can’t eat food?” I flipped to the index of the Undead manual. No chocolate? That would be a travesty.

“You can eat and drink, but food won’t sustain you. Most lose their taste for it.” Julian pulled one jug of blood out and inserted it into a stainless steel contraption that looked like a combination bread maker and espresso machine.

“It’s better warm,” he explained, reading my puzzled look.

“Warm…like, right out of the cow?” I reached up to touch my neck. There were still a few small bumps where Cody had bitten me. It should have been the least of my worries, but I was glad I wouldn’t be stuck living the rest of my
un
life wearing turtlenecks every day. Though Julian seemed to favor them anyway. Did the Undead have their own fashion rules too?

Julian leaned against the counter behind him and crossed his arms over his chest as I skimmed through the listings for “blood” in the manual:
animal blood, blood bonds, blood donors, blood-letting, blood proof, blood Sponsor, blood storage, blood thirst, types of, Other entries: see fangs, hunting, Sponsorship.

I closed the book with a sharp snap and shoved it away.

“Fresher is always better,” Julian said, “and human is always better. But taking blood from a live donor is forbidden. We get it from blood banks. It keeps for about a week, and we do what we can. Secrecy, remember?”

I curled my lip at the thought of “what we can” included, even though the smell of it made my stomach churn with flames.

Julian’s face went stern, his voice matter-of-fact. “Your body is consuming its own blood. If you don’t replace it, you’ll weaken and eventually disintegrate from the inside out. Very slowly, and very painfully. I don’t recommend trying it.”

I made a face, and his expression softened. “The blood’s not so bad. Your survival instincts will take over, and eventually you’ll get used to it.”

“How long did it take you to get used to it?” I examined the tidy, settled room, wondering how long he had lived there. Had he ever cooked food on the stove, or had pizza delivered? Did Julian bring dates here? Or just rescued strays?

“It was different for me.” He lifted the lid of the blood-warming contraption. “I had a Sponsor. I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“I can’t see how someone would choose this.” I stared down at the sparkling tile counter. I could see how most accidental turns went crazy, especially with the
surprise!-you’re-dead
factor. But I couldn’t ignore that a part of me had always known something was missing from my life, just beyond my understanding. Was it actually my psychic ability I had felt? Now I was pretty certain I wished I knew nothing about any of it.

Julian pursed his lips together as he emptied the bottle into two mugs. He set one of them in front of me before drinking from the other. “It does have its upside.”

“Like?” I raised my eyebrows. Color me pessimistic, but I’d run in to nothing but trouble since Cody had bitten me. Except for Julian. The jury was still out on just how much trouble he would turn out to be.

“You felt it.” His dark gaze bored into me, causing a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the steaming cup in front of me.

I shifted in my seat.

“Supernaturally enhanced senses. Speed. Strength. Agility. Not to mention the closest thing to immortality that exists.” He stared into his cup for a few seconds before taking another drink.

Would that be enough for some people?
I had felt it, and it was wondrous. But I was dead, and that complicated the plans I’d had for my life. Someone would have to be pretty unhappy to give it all up — even for some neat tricks like holding your breath forever. That feeling of walking on air had been glorious, but it had faded. I could still sense it on the fringe of my mind, like all I had to do was figure out how to tap into it, but I was too afraid to try. I furrowed my brows.

“You’re new, Alex.” Julian drained the contents of his mug and rinsed it. “It takes time. But you need your strength.”

He pushed my mug closer. The smell snaked up to my nostrils, and my mouth watered. A strange burning sensation tickled my gums. A brush of my tongue alerted me to an extra set of canines directly behind the ones I’d had all my life. Sharp ones, I realized, when I nicked myself. The sweet tang of blood filled my palette. My stomach growled. I tilted the cup and looked into it. In the dim light of Julian’s kitchen, it looked almost black. I could almost imagine it was coffee.

I licked my lips, conscious of Julian watching me. I held my breath, thinking
screw it
. I’d already drunk blood with tomato juice, right? I closed my eyes and threw it back, swallowing in three big gulps. The blood felt thick coating my throat. The heat hit my stomach and spread, and I shuddered at the buzzing feeling it sent racing through my body. He was right. I felt stronger almost instantly — more alert, more energized. I opened my eyes and looked at Julian’s outline in front of me, again tinged with the golden halo I’d seen before.