Chosen (22 page)

From his worshipful tone, I almost expect Frey to drop to one knee and kiss my hand. For the moment, I’m glad he can no longer read my thoughts.

Culebra, however, can and does. I expect him to be of one mind with me on this and even send him a private message to take it easy on Frey. He obviously believes the crap he’s spouting.

The surprise is on me.

Culebra’s eyes are shining when he turns his gaze on me. “Here is the counsel you were seeking.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. It takes me a moment to search Culebra’s mind, to convince myself he isn’t joking. Even then, I can’t help blurting, “You’re buying into this?”

“You were looking for the truth. I think Frey has found it.”

For a dizzying moment, I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole. Culebra and Frey both stare at me. Their eyes reflect awe, as if recognizing something in me that was never there before. It’s both disconcerting and ridiculous.

I slam my beer bottle down on the tabletop and they jump. Beer foams over the top and soaks the papers. Frey manages to grab the book before it gets soaked, too.

Now what I see in their eyes is something I’m used to—irritation—and that’s a lot easier to deal with.

I lean toward Frey. “Earth to Frey. This is the twenty-first century. Angels and demons no longer walk the earth and I don’t have a mark on me. I think you’ve either misread the prophecy or there is another vampire out there awaiting coronation. It’s
not
me.”

He’s whisking beer off the table with the edge of one hand, holding the book aloft with the other. “I don’t care whether you believe it or not,” he says. “You are the Chosen One. Everything that’s happened proves it. No newly made vampire has the strength and abilities you have. You’re here for a reason. You are going to have to accept it.”

“No. I don’t.”

He looks up and straight into my eyes. “Not even to save David?”

“That is so not fair.”

Even to my own ears I sound like a nasal Valley girl and I want to cringe. But the sentiment is real. I start ticking off reasons why this idea that I’m some kind of vampiric prophet is beyond insane.

“Let’s look at this logically. You said I’m the descendant of The First. How much sense does that make? Vampires don’t choose to become. They are not born, they are made. Donaldson attacked me because I was trying to take him into custody. He didn’t intend to turn me. He intended to kill me. I became vampire as the result of a
random act
. Nothing else. It was hardly destiny.”

Frey lets me finish before he launches into a litany of his own. “Random? Let’s see. Donaldson was in a parking lot that particular night because he’d gone out for a drink. Alone. To a bar he’d never gone to before on the night before he was to take off to Mexico. Did I get that right?”

He barely waits for my grudging nod. “You were there because you left a safe, secure job as a teacher to become a bounty hunter. In the grand scheme of things, makes as much sense as Donaldson risking his freedom to go out for a lousy drink. But let’s get back to what happened. Donaldson turns out not to be the human skip you expect him to be but a vampire who does
not
kill you, but turns you because he is interrupted and has to flee before he can finish you off.”

I don’t like the direction this is heading. I open my mouth, but Frey barges ahead.

“You wake up in a hospital with no memory of what happened. You are being taken care of by a doctor who, coincidentally, just happens to be on duty the night you’re brought in and even more coincidentally, happens to be a vampire himself.”

“It is coincidence,” I insist. “All of it.”

“Really?” Frey asks. “Then why did Avery take such an interest in you? You’ve been vampire long enough to know vampires are not social creatures. They may feel responsible for ones they themselves have turned. Williams with Ortiz, for instance. But why did Avery go out of his way to mentor you if he hadn’t seen that there was something different about you? Something special.”

“It’s called being horny, Frey. Avery wanted me for sex.”

“I’m sure that played a part in it,” he says dryly. “You do inspire that in men. But even when you met Williams for the first time, he called you ‘the one.’ He saw it, too. From the beginning.”

Damn it. I know I hadn’t told Frey all this. I wish now I’d bitten him sooner. He obviously had enough time to memorize every detail of my history before I broke our psychic connection.

I glance over at Culebra. He’s so wrapped up in Frey’s telling of the story, you’d think he was hearing it for the first time. I can’t expect any help from that quarter.

“All right. Let’s tackle this from another angle.” I sit up straighter in the chair. “If I’m so all powerful, how come Lance was able to fool me? He hasn’t been vampire that long and I didn’t have an inkling who he was. I swallowed his story like a shark swallows chum. I wasn’t even perceptive enough to
sense
that he was lying to me. He drugged me and dragged me off to France, for Christ’s sake. I can’t take care of myself. What idiot would want me to be responsible for the fate of the world?”

Finally,
finally
, I’ve rendered Frey speechless. He stares at me openmouthed. He didn’t know what had happened with Lance. He thought we’d just had a fight.

Culebra is the one who speaks first. “Anna, what happened with Lance is no reflection on you. It’s a reflection on him. He betrayed your love and your trust.”

Frey finds his voice. “He
drugged
you? Did he hurt you?”

“Not nearly as much as I plan to hurt him.”

“Why would he do it? What was he thinking?” He looks like he has a million other questions, none of which would make any more sense then the ones he just asked.

“Pretty much my reaction when I woke up. But I don’t want to talk about Lance. My point is I think you’re wrong about me. I’m not special and I’m not all-powerful and I don’t want to be responsible for anyone other than myself.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.” This from Culebra. “And if Frey is right—” He sees me open my mouth to interrupt and forges ahead before I can. “If Frey is right, what you
want
isn’t important, is it? You won’t be the first leader to assume the burden of responsibility with reluctance and humility.”

“Well, I can sure as hell
refuse
to assume that mantle of responsibility. Who’s going to stop me?”

“If we’ve guessed right, Mrs. Williams.”

Frey succeeds with that simple declaration in bringing the conversation back full circle. “She must have heard from her husband a million times how you were fighting the prophecies. How you clung to your family, to David and your human life. Your family was out of reach. David was not.”

He’s slipped the book back into the briefcase with a glance to me that says he’s doing it to keep it out of harm’s way . . . out of
my
way. Then he shuffles the beer-soaked papers into a soggy pile. “I made notes about what I believe will happen on the evening of your ascension.”

“Ascension?” Another word that provokes a squeak of protest. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack,” he says with an earnestness that borders on mania. “Now, do you want to hear what I’ve learned, or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Culebra lays his hands over mine on the table. “I want to hear it,” he says. “Anna is through interrupting, aren’t you?”

I shake my head.
For someone who may be addressing the Chosen One, you show remarkably little respect.

He grins.
Come Tuesday, you might be able to smite me dead. Until then, this is my bar.
He lifts a chin in Frey’s direction. “Go on. You have our attention.”

T
HE TEACHER IN FREY TAKES OVER. HE STANDS UP and assumes an at-a-podium kind of wide-legged stance, papers in one hand.

“You can’t do this sitting down?” I grumble.

Culebra makes a shushing sound.

“Okay. Here’s the deal. I’ve divided my research into two categories: the ceremony itself, what to expect after.” He pauses, waiting, I suppose, for me to interrupt again.

What’s the use? I’m going to hear this whether I want to or not. “Enlighten us.”

“Okay.” Another shuffling of paper. “From what I’ve been able to decipher, the ceremony will take place at midnight on Monday. It will be attended by a representative from each of the thirteen tribes.”

Okay, my self-control doesn’t last very long. Now I have to interrupt. “Tribes? What tribes?”

Frey doesn’t look aggravated by the question. Instead he looks pleased. As if, for once, I asked the right one.

“The vampire community is divided into tribes—each representing a geographic area. They are North America; South America; Central America including Mexico and the West Indies; Australia and Oceania; Northern Africa; Central and South Africa; the Near East; the Middle East; Central Asia; Indonesia and the Philippines; China; Japan and Korea; Russia.”

“So, I’m about to become the head honcho of the North American tribe?”

“No. You are about to become head honcho of the whole shebang.”

No. Not going to happen. The impulse to run screaming from this ridiculous scenario is tempered only by the realization that Frey would track me down. He knows where I live. May as well let him finish spinning his fairy tale. I carefully modulate my expression and voice to reflect only curiosity when in reality what I’m feeling is panic. I think Frey is close to jumping off the sanity cliff, and Culebra is right there teetering on the brink with him.

“Why haven’t I heard of these thirteen tribes before?” I congratulate myself for asking an intelligent question on an absurd subject.

Frey fixes me with the same kind of look that I used to get from Williams. I didn’t like it then, I don’t like it now. Still, I hold my tongue and wait for the answer.

“Williams would have gladly told you anything you wanted to know about your vampire heritage. You wouldn’t give him a chance. Now you have no choice but to learn. Vampire society is somewhat decentralized. Each tribe governs itself. The thirteen only gather for a watershed event—like the coming of a Chosen One. It will mark your—” He hesitates, obviously suspecting how I’m going to react when he finishes the sentence. “Well, for lack of a better word, your coronation.”

He suspects right. I’m on my feet before the last syllable of the word “coronation” has left his lips.

“This is beyond ridiculous. Frey, you and I have become good friends in a very short time. You’ve never let me down when I’ve come to you with a problem. I admire and respect you. But you have to know how crazy this sounds. I don’t know how many ways I can say it. I don’t want any part of this. There must be an escape clause. For argument’s sake, tell me, what would happen if I don’t show up?”

He counters with a quiet, “What about David?”

“We don’t even know for sure if Judith Williams has him. You and I will check that out tonight. If what I suspect is true, and he’s at Avery’s, we’ll get him out. In any case, there has to be a way I can refuse to go through with this. I’m not the one they want. I spend most of my time trying to forget what I’ve become. Surely, the leader of the world’s vampires would be someone who doesn’t spend the greater part of her life trying to be human. There has got to be a better candidate.”

Frey lets me finish. He releases a breath, places both hands on the table, leans over it. “I wish I could tell you what you want to hear. Everything I read, though, is very specific. There is one chosen, he or she is marked, at the anniversary of that vampire’s becoming, a change occurs. The Chosen One becomes the leader and the path for the next two hundred years is determined.”

“Well, there you have it.” I slam my fist on the table again for emphasis. “I have no mark.”

Culebra has been silent during this exchange between Frey and me. “Are you sure?” he asks now. “When was the last time you looked at yourself in a mirror?”

The look I throw him is scathing. “Hello. Vampire. You know the answer to that. But I don’t need a mirror to know whether or not I have some kind of magical mark.”

Frey’s expression turns introspective, as if searching his memory. “Maybe we’re being too literal,” he says then. “Or maybe I misinterpreted the meaning of the word ‘mark.’”

He drops into his chair and shuffles through the beer-soaked pages. Then he dips into the briefcase and retrieves the book. He reads first from the book, then consults his papers, until he finds what he’s looking for.

“I’ll be damned,” he says. “I think I
was
wrong. The word I translated as ‘mark’ may not be a physical characteristic at all. It could just as easily be interpreted as powers not ordinarily attributed to a vampire.”

He grins at me, which is not at all comforting considering what follows. “Remember what happened in Palm Springs, Anna? You went into a burning garage to save Lance. And what about your evolving instinct to sense evil? Williams didn’t know about that one, did he? How you reacted the first time you met Underwood?”

“I wish I’d told him. Maybe he’d still be alive.”

Culebra turns a startled face my way. “What does Frey mean? What happened in Palm Springs?”

I give him a quick rundown, realizing by watching his reaction that he’s now fully committed to the crazy idea that I am indeed who Frey believes me to be.

When I stop talking, he turns to Frey. “Why didn’t I know any of this? Why didn’t you tell me when you brought Judith Williams here?”

His harsh tone borders on accusatory, as if Frey betrayed his trust by not telling him what was happening with me.

Frey bristles, and I cut in.

“I didn’t tell you, either, Culebra, because it had nothing to do with Mrs. Williams. As for the Underwood thing, I thought I’d taken care of it. Stupid assumption.”

I switch my focus to Frey. He’s staring at Culebra in tense silence, a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. I divert his attention with a hand on his arm. “Which proves my point. I wouldn’t put much store in that so-called ability to sniff out evil. Lance fooled me completely. He turned out to be as much a bastard as Underwood.”