Bite Back 05 - Angel Stakes (5 page)

Morning, sort-of. It was either ridiculously early or way too late. My sleep cycles were well and truly messed up.

As Bian had said, Athanate therapy did that.

It also made me disoriented as I woke. Dreams and therapy sessions and things I did yesterday all blurred together.

It helped to focus on the number of days, first off.

Twenty-nine? No, thirty days.

My therapy had been going on now for four weeks, since we came in from New Mexico.

Four weeks of wearing it all down, as Speaks-to-Wolves called it. The memories I’d walled away: those last few days at South High; losing my team in the jungle; Petersen’s Obs team experimenting on me.

I’d stopped screaming.

And even though I was now able to look at all of those memories without flinching, every session took its toll.

I slept. Better than I had in years. And when I wasn’t in therapy or asleep, I drove myself. Partly a natural aversion to thinking about my therapy, and partly, I suspected, the light touch of Diana’s compulsion.

Athanate language. Athanate law and customs. Working out till my muscles screamed. Sparring.

Everyone took a turn at sparring with me, but my usual partner was Yelena. My platinum-haired Carpathian was
good
, almost as quick and nasty as Bian. Every session I learned new tricks as I earned new bruises.

She and I shared the training of the rest of my House.

Jen and Alex. Julie and Keith. And Vera. Yelena was much more careful with the others than she was with me—I took that as a compliment. And she was fitting into my House effortlessly. Which was good, because an Athanate House needs a Diakon as well as a Mistress, and I was coming to the conclusion that fate had handed me the perfect candidate.

I enjoyed watching them all.

Julie, Keith and Alex had been overconfident about their hand-to-hand skills. That had lasted exactly one session with Yelena.

Jen was utterly focused on getting as much from every lesson as she could. She’d told me she never wanted to be in a position of feeling helpless again, and now she was doing everything she could to work toward that.

But the best to watch was Vera. A couple of months ago, she’d arrived as a woman just starting to make a reluctant peace with the encroaching symptoms of age—her joints had hurt, her bones had been getting brittle and her memory had gotten a little erratic. Now she was hurling herself around gleefully on the practice mats. She’d rediscovered the invulnerability of being young, thanks to the rejuvenating effect of being bitten by Athanate.

Bian had nominally been in charge of her treatment, but she’d delegated to Yelena.

An arrangement that seemed to suit them both.

When I’d had enough of hard mental and physical work, and needed to do something restful, I swam.

Jen had found us a house in the Hollywood Hills, beyond the traffic-snarled grid of Sunset, in where the pale roads snaked up and up between steep sides and tall green hedges. A shimmering white house stacked against the slope that felt, from the inside, like we were living in a wedding cake: all split levels, interior balconies and spiraling staircases. It was owned by some movie star, presumably the same person responsible for putting a mirror on every wall. In its favor, it had the most beautiful infinity pool. No chlorine; a pure salt water cleaning system, and a view from the lip of the pool right down the valley and into the city itself.

But all those mirrors and no Tara.

As far back as I could remember, I’d been connected to my stillborn twin. Every day, I’d look into a mirror and see my twin as she would have been, and I’d talk to her. But since Carson Park, nothing. No Tara. No Hana. No twin sister. No wolf spirit guide. Silence.

Diana said it would pass, along with the painful stuttering of my eukori.
Patience,
she said. I didn’t believe her. She was lying to be kind to me.

It added up, every little bit of it, until I felt as if I’d been reborn in LA as a different person. To top it off, there was the sense of dislocation I felt from the sessions.

It felt like I had to check, every waking moment, whether I was dreaming, or this was real life.

But I normally slept like a kitten. So what had woken me?

Alex and Jen were arguing in hushed voices outside the bedroom door.

Business
. Only deeply sick people would be up at this hour talking about their businesses.

“
You’re
managing from here,” Alex said.

“I’m managing because Kingslund Group has the structure for it, and David and Pia are running it in Denver day-to-day. I call in twice a day, I do teleconferences, I fly there for meetings.” She paused for effect. “
You
go hunting Basilikos with Altau security. Every day.”

Jen was right. Alex’s company, Tallbarn Transportation, ran out of a couple of warehouses, a small office building and a truck parking lot. He was justifiably proud of it, but it was light on management. And it seemed that any time he wasn’t helping in a session with me, he was out on patrol with Altau.

“Olivia’s in the office,” Alex said. “She knows the—”

“She’s a
secretary
.”

“And Ricky goes in.”

“He’s not even an employee. You have two sensible alternatives—”

“I know what you’re saying. You buy out Tallbarn or I go back to Denver.”

“No!” Jen had a hair-trigger temper, and Alex was stomping on her buttons.

“Shh!”

Quieter: “I’m offering to put in a manager while we’re here in LA,” Jen said.

Alex’s suspicion was obvious. “Why?”

“To help. I have no hidden motive.”

“What’ll it cost?”

“Nothing!” The temper was coming back again.

Jen and Alex had been one of my big worries since becoming Mistress of House Farrell. I loved them both with all my heart, and it pained me that they argued like this. It also damaged the House, having my kin continually at daggers drawn.

I thought it’d been getting better.

It
had
been getting better. A couple of weeks ago, Diana’s session had dug down into my memories of rescuing Jen from the factory at Longmont. She’d lived through hell that day—nearly died from the brutal treatment of Frank Hoben and his men. In trying to heal her, to save her life, I’d taken her emotions from that day into myself, and locked them in my strongbox. I’d struggled against releasing them during the therapy session; what was the point of sparing Jen that pain only to inflict it on her now, reliving it through me? But Diana had insisted; all the memories in the strongbox had to be dealt with. Even if they weren’t mine.

Predictably, it’d turned into Jen’s therapy session more than mine. And I’d been in no shape to help her. It had been Alex who held her, comforted her with a tenderness that had squeezed my chest and throat. I’d hoped that had been a breakthrough for them.

Apparently not.

“Hey, trolls!” I called out. “If the sun comes up while you’re still arguing, you get turned to stone, don’t you?”

“Shit!”

The door opened and they came in.

“You have to get up early anyway,” muttered Alex.

“Course I do. Doesn’t mean I don’t hate you.”

“Sorry,” they said together, and I laughed.

The laugh cut off as I remembered why I had to get up early. It was time for me to venture out and prove that my ‘cure’ was going to hold up. Chills ran down my back.

How ready am I?

I pushed that away.

“Are we good on business matters?” I asked.

“We’re agreed,” Jen said firmly. “I’m loaning a manager to Tallbarn while we’re here in LA.”

Alex took a breath to start arguing again, and I decided to play dirty.

I rolled out of bed. My usual PJs were the emperor’s new clothes, but for once, I was almost decent in one of Alex’s long T-shirts.

I slunk up and hugged them to me.

Working through memories of rape and torture had killed any hint of passion between us in the last month, but Diana had eased off lately. We were getting near the end.

Maybe there was more than one way of testing how well I’d been cured.

It felt a little awkward to snuggle, but I kept squeezing both of them against me, and it wasn’t possible for them to hug me back without hugging each other.

I didn’t bother trying to open my erratic eukori, but I didn’t need that to feel their love. It was like spring sunshine come to chase the chill of winter out of my bones.

Now,
that
was worth getting up for.

It didn’t last.

Barely a minute later the guards at the gate announced a visitor: Skylur. And a minute after that, he swept in, flanked by security, long coat flapping behind him.

It was his first visit since we’d arrived in LA and I’d forgotten how powerful his presence was.

He downplayed it. He shook hands with Alex and kissed Jen on the cheek. “I do apologize, interrupting you like this before you’ve even had breakfast.”

I was still wearing Alex’s shirt, but I had had enough of a warning to pull on jeans and running shoes. Not really well prepared for meeting my boss. And I was rattled by his greeting—we kissed necks in the Athanate style.

“And my second apology,” he said to the others. “This visit I have only time enough for Amber.”

Jen started to speak, and he raised a hand to stop her. “I know we have to discuss the articles in the Wall Street Journal, but they will keep.”

He took my arm and led me up to an enclosed patio.

It was a wide room with bleached maple flooring and low sofas, overlooking the infinity pool and with a view across the valley where the sky was lightening as dawn approached.

We sat facing each other, ignoring the vista.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowed and searching. What did he see? I had no doubts that everything that Diana had found out about me, she passed to him. Could he see the evidence of all those events in my face? Was he looking for that?

I suppressed twinges of worry and anger.

It didn’t matter. I had given him an oath, and the terms allowed him to do pretty much whatever he wanted with me. Maybe this meeting was just to gauge if I was recovered before I appeared in front of other Athanate.

So…I had to behave calmly in front of him.

I was suffocating in this house. I needed to get out again, and any erratic behavior wasn’t going to achieve that.

“I’ve been slow to thank you for saving Diana’s life,” he said. “I hope you understand that does not diminish how profound that gratitude is.”

I had also disobeyed Naryn, and by doing that, disobeyed Skylur. Gratitude was not a reliable currency in the Athanate world.

I nodded warily. “I did a job.”

“Indeed.” He leaned back. “Unfortunately, there may be repercussions from those events, but we must deal with those if and when they arise. At the moment, time is pressing.”

That didn’t sound especially reassuring, but at least it meant that he wasn’t going to punish me for taking matters into my own hands, against orders.

Not right now, anyway.

He gazed at me, steepling his fingers. “You are aware that it has been necessary for me to interrupt the discussions on the formation of a new Assembly, to call a
nomicane
regarding the Houses of the Eastern Seaboard and their status within my domain.”

The Houses of the Eastern Seaboard formed the oldest association of Athanate Houses in America. They’d come in the early eighteenth century, and set up Houses on the east coast in the old way, simply declaring their domains and forming the association as others arrived. Skylur had arrived around the same time, but House Altau’s position as head of Panethus meant he’d formed no other associations. Eventually, the Houses of the Eastern Seaboard had joined Panethus.

At the last Assembly meeting in Denver, earlier this year, Skylur had shown proof that the Warders—a supposedly neutral House who were the guardians of the Assembly—had been making secret deals with Basilikos.

Skylur had revoked the Warders’ independent status and kicked them out of the country.

He’d also challenged the core philosophy of the Hidden Path by explicitly committing Panethus to Emergence, and topped the whole thing off by claiming
all
of North America as his personal Altau domain, giving the twelve remaining Houses of the Eastern Seaboard association the option of swearing fealty to him or leaving.

They didn’t want to do either of those.

And then House Ibarre—and who knew how many of the others—had joined with Amaral in attempting to take over Panethus and stop Emergence. Skylur needed to demonstrate that he had a firm grip on his claimed territory, which meant dealing decisively with Ibarre and the rest.

A nomicane was the closest thing to a trial within Athanate law. It was an open hearing to reveal the facts of a matter.

I nodded. “Diana and Bian explained it to me.”

Skylur went on, “And I assume they also explained that House Ibarre is insisting that the matter be addressed at the conference, where his safety is guaranteed, along with that of all the other delegates. If I were to move against him and the other Houses who allied with Amaral to call his Convocation—which is my right under the law—without publicly presenting irrefutable evidence of their treachery, I would lose the support of a significant portion of Panethus. I simply cannot afford to do that at this time.”

Questioning Skylur was not usually a good idea, but there was one thing I had to get straight in my mind. “May I ask a question?”

Skylur made an affirmative gesture.

“You know that Diana has had me studying Athanate law,” I began.

Skylur nodded.

“Here’s what I don’t understand. According to Assembly law, if the members of a party represented in the Assembly are unhappy with the leadership, they have the right to call a Convocation and, if they get enough support, to call for a vote to change that leadership.”

Skylur’s expression was impassive. “That’s correct.” His face grew hard, and I could see a dangerous light in his eyes. “However, I cannot—and will not—allow twelve of the oldest, most powerful Athanate in North America to remain in my domain without giving me their Oath.”

“I understand that,” I said. “But if they were within their rights to do what they did, I don’t see how we can prove—”

Skylur interrupted me. “I agreed that they were within their rights under
Assembly
law.” He waited for a moment, but when I didn’t respond, he went on. “Diana tells me that you have now read the Agiagraphos.”

For a moment, I thought he’d completely changed the subject. The Agiagraphos was the Athanate book that contained the philosophy of the Hidden Path, the ancient laws that every Athanate followed. The Agiagraphos not only predated the Assembly, it predated the establishment of Panethus and Basilikos. The Hidden Path was
old
, and it was unchanging. The same wording was recorded on fragile mud tablets and delicate papyrus scrolls as on the translated electronic text I had read on my laptop.

Written in stone
, they said. Literally.

It also came from a simpler time. The Agiagraphos was bare and brutal in its directions for Athanate life. Disturbingly so.

And just like that, I got it.

“You’re taking the position that the Assembly was dissolved when the Warders were dismissed, and so Ibarre can’t claim an Assembly process as his defense. And the Hidden Path is clear—the Agiagraphos states that if he believes you’re the wrong leader of an association, he has to prove it by force. By remaining in your claimed domain and not declaring war on you, the Eastern Seaboard association have effectively given their oath of allegiance to you.”

“The majority agree the Assembly was dissolved,” Skylur said. “I have had to assume the function of the Warders and give a personal assurance for the safety of all delegates at this conference. I remain in office pending a new Assembly, but the operational rules of the Assembly are suspended. Ibarre—and any of the other Houses who joined with Amaral—were in violation of that Agiagraphos oath of allegiance.”

And the penalty for that...

“By the laws in the Agiagraphos,” I said, “you have the right to execute Ibarre and any others you believe were involved in the Convocation.”

Ibarre was the only one I was sure had agreed to Amaral’s plan. That was why he was the focus of the hearing today. The nomicane had been delayed until I was well enough to attend and give my testimony.

“That is my right,” Skylur agreed. “However, under the present circumstances, that could prove to be both impractical and ill-advised. Panethus is split between traditionalists, who favor the Agiagraphos, and progressives, who tend to favor the Assembly. The traditionalists want me to execute Ibarre, but they’re also the ones least happy with Emergence. The progressives support Emergence, but would like me to act as if the Assembly rules were still in force.”

And he needed all of Panethus united behind him.

His mouth pinched. I found him hard to read at any time; today was no exception. Was he exasperated? Frustrated?

“What do you want to do with Ibarre, then?”

“I don’t care about Ibarre,” he said abruptly, and suddenly rose to his feet to pace the width of the patio.

That unnerved me. Skylur didn’t pace. Skylur didn’t snap at people.

“The strength of the Athanate is also their weakness,” he said after a long minute. “We are constant. We
endure
; we
abide
, while the world turns around us. Human empires have been no more than seasons to our years. We observe. We learn from humanity, we adapt, but we don’t really change. Not here.” He pressed his hand over his heart.

He paused his pacing to fix me with a stare. “Until now. Until the rate of human development has exceeded our ability to adapt, and the power of human vision has exceeded our ability to hide.”

He went to the window and stood there, facing out, his hands clasped behind him.

“Through many of those long years, Diana and I have strived to guide the Athanate onto a path that ensures their survival. When humanity’s view of individuals’ rights and freedoms began to change, we created Panethus to foster the idea of kin and mutual dependence. Later, as human societies became less violent, we created the Assembly to regulate and reduce the fighting between Athanate, which threatened to draw too much attention to us. Just in time, just as humanity’s power passed the critical point, it began to work. Until Matlal broke everything at the last Assembly.”

Many of those long years.
I knew Skylur was
old—
and that he’d been a leader among the Athanate for a long time—but until now I had never really thought about what that meant. For a moment I glimpsed the centuries, rolling back and back into a past so distant I could barely imagine it. How long had he spent walking a knife edge between factions, scheming and manipulating, coaxing here and threatening there—not for his own personal power, as Basilikos claimed, but to ensure the survival of all the Athanate?

He continued speaking, showing a hint of the passion he usually kept hidden.

“We
need
the Assembly. We need its rules to temper the Agiagraphos. We need to erode the mindset of Basilikos, and we need to do it to a timescale which is being dictated to us by humanity. Emergence is the greatest challenge we have ever faced.”

He swung around to face me.

“All of which is being sabotaged by an idiot who insists he knows a superior path, and is urged on by Athanate who should know better. An idiot too proud to bend his knee because he thinks that seven hundred years gives him the perspective and respect to lead the party I set up.”

He returned to sit.

“I don’t care about Ibarre,” he repeated slowly. “I will kill him, or exile him, or forgive him, just so long as it does not hinder our plans for a safe Emergence.”

He leaned forward.

“That applies to anyone and everyone. Nothing can be allowed to stand in the way of a controlled Emergence.”

His eyes, always extraordinary, locked fiercely onto me and I could feel my pulse pounding in my dry throat.

“Stalin claimed a single death was a tragedy, and a million just a statistic,” Skylur said. “What do you think of that?”

“I think he was a psychopathic lunatic,” I said, “responsible for fifty million ‘statistics’, which the disease in his mind prevented him from seeing as people—even the few he knew personally and those he said that he liked.”

“Yet he had some justification for his claim.” Skylur ignored my anger. “A human being might have a dozen close friends, a couple of hundred acquaintances. In their whole life, they are unlikely to meet more than a few tens of thousands of people. How can they comprehend the lives behind the million statistics, except intellectually? Most humans alive now will be dead before the century is out. How can they feel for the billion behind the million, those who will never be, simply because the million ceased to be?”

His gaze bored into mine.

“I cannot claim this blindness. I abide. I must live with the consequences of my decisions, on paranormals and humans alike. I will not bear a billion tragedies till the end of my days, and a failure of Emergence will trigger that scale of disaster.

“So I plan a course and guide the Athanate, as I have always done. For Emergence to succeed, I need the Assembly to back it. To get the Assembly to back it, I need a solid base and a majority. This I can manage, but what I cannot control is the timescale, because that is dictated to us. Ibarre is a screaming irrelevance to me except that he delays everything to argue his petty points. He may suppose that we are engaged in a duel, that I hate him. I don’t. His only significance to me is that how I deal with him, or fail to deal with him, will shift factions in Panethus and may alter the balance in the Assembly, and we
don’t have time
.