Reluctant Adept: Book Three of A Clairvoyant's Complicated Life (25 page)

"You saw Alexei in his true form," he pointed out. "Yet you stepped in before he could strike."

I remembered. At that point in my life, it had been the scariest damned thing I'd ever seen, but without thinking, I'd charged between the two older boys, putting my back to the one with scythe-like teeth, wicked claws, and eyes dark as pitch. Me, a gangly, ninety-pound fourteen-year-old with no offensive or defensive magic, but I hadn't cared. In my mind, Skyler had been the monster. Seeing him taunt Alex to the breaking point had infuriated me.

"Yes," I replied, unsure how we'd ended up on this subject or why.

"It is not possible that you would mistake us for something else," he said, sounding satisfied, and then demanded, "Explain this recent attack."

Haltingly, at first, I told him what had happened, starting with Julie's party and ending with Lorcán's theft of the draíoclochs. My caller, the purported domn, remained remarkably quiet throughout my account, murmuring occasionally, mostly, I think, to keep me from stopping every thirty seconds to ask whether he was still on the line.

After I'd finished, he said, "I haven't felt Nathan or his clutchmates for some time. There was a massacre. A fire. I had assumed, wrongly it seems, that they had all rejoined their souls. Partaking of elvish blood would explain this … uncoupling." He paused and then barked, "What of the two frozen strigoi?"

"I'm told they're in custody, but I haven't confirmed that personally. I passed out afterward," I admitted and then kicked myself for giving that part away. Never tell a potential adversary about your weaknesses. Pretty sure that was a golden rule. "I haven't spoken to Kim, King Faonaín's emissary, yet. It's late morning here." I sighed. "But, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that this attack … it puts you at odds with the king."

I glanced at Tíereachán, wondering where his mother would stand on these events. She'd given the order to defend the king's rule. Would she consider all the strigoi to be the enemy based solely on Nathan and his clutch's actions?

"And, yet, this
sidhe
—Lorcán—ventured uninvited into
my
territory, killed at least six of my people, and incited the defection of twice as many more. It is not
I
who must seek amends. I will, however, withhold my final judgment until after I have dealt with my disloyal subjects."

Great.
Exactly what I needed. Another pissed-off warlord.

"Okay," I drawled. I mean, what could I say? 'No, please don't. We've got it covered?' Yeah, uh,
not
. "So,
Roman
, no offense, but why should I trust anything you say? I don't even know whether I'm talking to the domn or not. And even if you're legit, there's no way for me to know whether you're playing this straight. You could be working both sides, and I'd be none the wiser."

"Perhaps you will take the word of a friend? Or two?" he said. "Alexei and Diedra will arrive, momentarily. Alexei has my full confidence. When you address him, you address me. A larger party is on their way."

Before I could volunteer my opinion that injecting a bunch of angry strigoi into the mix was asking for trouble, he said, "You intrigue me, Miss Devon. After this business is settled, you and I will meet to discuss these photos," and then he promptly ended the call.

I stared at my phone's termination screen and then added the number to my contacts.

"Well, that was … interesting," I said, returning my cell to my back pocket. "If we can take any of that conversation at face value, it seems Nathan's been a naughty boy."

Tíer snorted. Whether his derision was instigated by the 'face value' comment or comparing Nathan to a rebellious child, I didn't know. Likely both.

"If this is some kind of ruse coming from Nathan and Lorcán, what would be the point?" I asked. "They already have me over a barrel. Calling to pose as the domn doesn't make any sense. And how would either of them know about that whole incident with Alex and Skyler? Nobody else saw it. Red will tell you: News would have been all over the school in a flash if someone else had seen it."

"Agreed," Red volunteered. "Your classmates were not known for their discretion."

I flopped back on the couch and thought about Alex and Nathan. Although they were both strigoi, I couldn't have found two more polar opposites, and not just because of their contrasting hair and skin color. Although my impression of him at Julie's party had been brief, Nathan struck me as brash and thoroughly modern, bordering on flashy. Certainly, he dressed that way. Alex, on the other hand, I remembered being modest and conservative, as if he'd been from another generation even though he'd been newly turned at the time. Even on casual Fridays, when students were allowed to dispense with the school uniforms, his wardrobe had never veered from the pressed khakis, crisp oxford shirt, and brown loafers that were the norm. I wondered whether it was a look he'd outgrown.

Whenever I'd caught glimpse of him at school, Alex's subdued and controlled manner captivated me. He'd conducted himself with a grace and natural aplomb that was unusual for someone his age—confidence without the need to prove it. To a self-conscious fourteen-year-old like me, Alex's poise had been a heady thing. If not for the incident with Skyler, I'd never have dared approach him. Afterward, I couldn't say we'd gone on to become friends, but he went out of his way to greet me whenever our paths crossed, much to the shock of the other students.

"I can't see Alex colluding with someone like Nathan, but then, I didn't know him all that well. He was a senior when I was a freshman, and the strigoi didn't tend to mix with the rest of us. Alex was the exception, but he seemed to spend most of his time in the computer lab."

"Why?" Tíereachán asked.

"I don't know. I guess because he loved programming or whatever. From what I understood, he was some kind of techie wiz-kid."

He gave me a bemused look. "No, love. Why didn't the strigoi mix with the rest of you?"

"Oh," I replied sheepishly and then shrugged. "I figured that would be obvious. The strigoi took their classes at night. And they had their own dormitory. We could take the night classes if we wanted, but most of us didn't."

I frowned as I remembered the secret club some of my classmates perpetuated, The Grim Reapers. To join, you had to take at least one night class and get a strigoi to kiss you. Another stupid club, The Daredevils, required their initiates to sneak into the were's compound during the full moon.

I shivered. Those were memories best left buried.

"I guess if this is a setup, we'll find out soon enough," I mumbled.

"Indeed."

I frowned at his expression. "What?"

"The way you remember yourself." He shook his head. "I can't imagine you as a … what was it? A gangly teen? A social misfit?" He gave me a disbelieving look as though he'd now heard everything.

I shrugged. "It's true. Ask Red."

"No, not a misfit," Red volunteered. "Guileless and … socially awkward, perhaps. But so are many teenagers, even ones who grew up hundreds of years ago. It is astonishing how little things have changed in that regard."

"My years of ridiculous behavior have numbed you to it. That's all."

"That goes without saying," Red replied stoutly, startling a laugh out of me.

From the kitchen, my landline trilled, jolting me to my feet. The ringtone, which I'd recently programmed to sound like an old-time telephone's clanging bells, told me it was my building's front desk.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" I muttered.

"I can't imagine," I heard Tíereachán say as I hurried to my kitchen desk. His response was so deadpan, my gate faltered and I looked over my shoulder at him, which, judging by his satisfied smirk, seemed to entertain him.

I jogged into the kitchen and all but dove for the handset, mostly to put a stop to the incessant racket. I was greeted with Darren's rumbly baritone.

"Good morning, uh … Ms. Devon. This is … reception. I have an … Alex Slavskaya and Diedra Yamaguchi here to see you. Shall I, uh, patch them through on the lobby phone?"

"That's okay, Darren. Tell them I'll be right down. Hey, is the conference room open?"

"Yes. You want me to reserve it for you?" He sounded surprised.

"That would be great. Thanks."

"Uh, sure."

I hung up, wondering at the man's unusually flustered demeanor, and circled back to the family room. "Come on. They're here. We'll stop by and see if Kim wants to join the fun."

Tíereachán frowned and glanced at the patio doors where the cloud-blocked, late-morning light filtered inside through the panes. "They?"

I followed his gaze and realized why Darren had seemed out of sorts. "Yeah. Okay. I guess I forgot to mention … Alex has an … unusual ability."

Besides the typical gifts that balanced their curse—increased strength, immortality, and powerful saliva—some strigoi were graced with a unique, and often unparalleled, power. Though, as far as I knew, day-walking was the most prized. It was also unaccountably rare.

His eyebrows arched. "Does he, now?"

Not the startled surprise I'd expected, but then, Tíereachán had been around a long time. Over his twenty-seven-hundred years, it stood to reason that he'd met his fair share of strigoi, even ones with extraordinary talents.

"And does he manage this with scales, hair, or projections?" he asked.

I imagined Cousin Itt from
The Addams Family
and laughed. The campy show seemed to be on my mind a lot, lately.

"Hair?" I gaped. "You've got to be kidding."

His superior look was all the response I got.

Hair.
Unbelievable.

"Scales," I replied and then hedged, "I think. I didn't see him very often during the day and when I did, we were usually passing in the hallway or the library. I didn't stop to examine him in minute detail."

To be honest, Alex had intimidated the hell out of me—'Daytime Alex,' with his onyx-like skin, doubly so. In fact, the night of that memorable confrontation, I hadn't lingered to chat even though he'd shifted back to his pale-skinned nighttime form with remarkable swiftness. After Skyler had skulked off, my indignant anger evaporated and left me tongue-tied and embarrassed and half-convinced that Alex had been affronted by my interference. I vaguely remembered saying something inane and fleeing as fast as my feet would carry me. Even now, my stomach was tied in knots with the anticipation of speaking with him.

Good Lord. You're not a sputtering, pimply-faced, pubescent school girl anymore. Get a grip.

Tíereachán cleared his throat.

One look at his expression was enough to tell me that my shield hadn't kept him from hearing my thoughts.

Cheeks burning, I levitated Red to my shoulder and strode away.

This was, without a doubt, one reunion I could have done without.

As I rode the elevator to the lobby, I again wondered whether inviting Kim to my meeting with Diedra and Alex wouldn't turn out to be one of my more costly blunders. Given the circumstances, it had seemed smart to include King Faonaín's official representative in our discussion, but then things spiraled out of control when Kieran, Wade, and Fisk all demanded to be present for the proceedings. No doubt Jackie would have wanted to come too if she hadn't been out grocery shopping.

Arms folded, I glared at the brushed steel doors.

My decision to meet my two friends in the lobby
unaccompanied
had turned into a ridiculous argument. If not for Tíer's open disdain for Kieran's 'scaremongering' (his word) and my threats to shove the most vocal of them into the higher dimension until they calmed down, I wouldn't be alone in the elevator, right now, to fume and worry in peace.

Before I could work myself into a pronounced snit, the elevator dipped to a halt and its doors coasted open, revealing Darren at the reception desk, an armed guard to the right of the elevator, and a couple gawking tenants. Every single one of them had their wide-eyed gaze fixed on the hooded figure standing motionless in front of the lobby's tinted, bomb-resistant windows, his face hidden from my view by the thick cowl of his wool coat. Diedra, standing beside the imposing figure, looked exceptionally petite in comparison to her companion's large stature.

As I walked toward them, I examined the man while he still had his back turned.

The strigoi I'd known as Alex had been slender, almost lanky, yet he'd moved with the grace and power of a gymnast—albeit a potentially lethal one. In my teenage daydreams, I remember wondering, more than once, what he'd been like before he was turned. Had he moved with that same assured stride? Had he been his hometown high school's star basketball player? He'd plainly been fit for it. Did all the girls dream of slow dancing with him at the eighth grade Sadie Hawkins? I know I would have.

The whole vampire thing fascinated me.
He
fascinated me. I'd wanted to know why he'd given up a normal life. What had driven him to accept the strigoi curse and how had it come about? Ever since the strigoi went public as a formal organization in the 1960s, it had become common knowledge that they rigorously controlled their numbers and rarely turned anyone not borne of a few designated familial bloodlines.