Zamani (19 page)

Chapter
Twenty Eight

Christophe woke up in
Olivia’s bed alone.
 
He rolled over
and willed himself to go back to sleep.
 
As soon as he drifted under, he heard the beat of the drums and could
feel the skins under his hands.
 
He
was back at the ritual, and he was the only drummer this time.
 
In front of him, the dancers were all
dressed in black and wearing elaborately decorated skeleton masks.
 
He knew he had to keep drumming or
something horrible would happen.

As he kept up the rhythm he
could feel the sweat begin to build and trickle down his back.
 
His arms were tired, but he couldn’t
stop drumming. The crowd moved gracefully, writhing and twirling as the tempo built
until he couldn’t continue any longer.
 
He brought both hands above his head and sent them crashing down on the
drum heads, sending out an ear splitting boom that sounded like a shot, while
accumulated sweat sprayed from the drums like tiny diamonds in the air.
 
The crowd of dancers took off in flight,
transformed into black birds that took wing and disappeared.

One masked dancer, though, remained
in the center of the cleared dance area. Christophe approached with caution;
the figure stood perfectly still.
 
As he lifted the dancer’s mask, he expected to see the woman he’d
spotted earlier; instead, there was nothing inside.
 
He heard Olivia’s laughter only, and he
woke up, clutching not the mask but the edge of the covers in his hand.

He’d known all along that
Olivia was pursuing Liz. Wren was simply a fun diversion for her; such
dalliances of hers hadn’t bothered him.
 
He’d been happy to see Wren go to jail, though, as he’d hoped that would
mean Olivia would give him more attention.
 
In the beginning, she had been more attentive and he’d felt she truly
valued him.
 
But now, he wondered
what his place was. If there were Others that meant that he wasn’t so special
after all.
 

He thought about Olivia’s
motivation for choosing him; his family, or more specifically, his grandmother,
knew secrets Olivia wanted to know.
 
He’d watched those secrets destroy his mother.
 
Those same secrets made him an outsider
in his own family, as only those who were expected to carry on the tradition of
being Marie Laveau—only one girl child in a generation—were given
the honor.
 
His mother, Rosalie
Garnier, refused.
 
She took her own
life instead of allowing her body to be taken over and her identity cast
aside.
 
Now his sister, Vivienne,
would be his grandmother’s next target.
 
He felt a pang of regret, but he also one of anger.
 
He’d willingly strike a deal with his
grandmother if he could have some level of power within the family.

Instead, she treated him as
her errand boy, an insignificant convenience.
 
Olivia, though, lured him in with sweet
talk of his specialness and of how he could really make a difference for
her.
 
She’d promised him power
beyond what he could imagine.
 
And
she’d delivered up to a point.
 
He
felt powerful when he was with her or was doing her bidding.
 
And, he certainly enjoyed the physical
power he’d gained since being turned.
 
Donors’ submission to him was one thing, but the thrill of a true hunt
was intoxicating to him.
 
It made
him feel godlike.
 

But now he knew there were
Others.

He wondered what she’d
offered them and why she’d chosen them.
 
With Wren, she’d always told him it was just a bit of fun.
 
He knew, too, the story of Daniela, and
he’d told himself he could live with sharing Olivia if it meant in return that he
still had a favored spot in her life. He also empathized with Liz. In the same
way he had been used by the women in his family, he felt that Olivia’s
manipulation of Liz was unfair.
 
He
didn’t understand why Olivia didn’t just go to her. If the story was as
romantic and beautiful as Olivia made it out to be, surely Liz would welcome
Olivia into her life.

Now, though, he felt as if
everything he’d been told was likely half-truth at best.
 
Before he’d fallen asleep, Olivia had
done what she does so well.
 
She’d
diverted his attention from his questions by caressing him into submission and
letting him believe all that mattered was how powerful he felt with her legs
wrapped around him and her breath hot and quick in his ear.

When she returned later, he
was still there; she knew he would be.
 
He was there because she wanted him there.
 
It wouldn’t have crossed his mind to
leave.
 
She’d planted that
suggestion in him as easily as slipping her hand up the back of his shirt.
 
Every caress and kiss held control in it.
Each one built up his confidence in her choice in him. He was Christophe
Garnier. He was someone special.

He was milling about the
house when she came back.
 
The house
was a large Victorian three blocks or so off of St. Charles on Thalia Street
where it crosses Coliseum. Olivia spent tons renovating the house. The renovations
had included soundproofing rooms and setting up some apartments for her few
assistants, which is how she thought of the household help.
 
Largely her nanny Anna Lisa, a donor who
was fiercely loyal to her, reared her.
 
She’d built up a small group of donors in New Orleans who were likewise
loyal to her. When she entered the house, she could tell he’d been occupying
himself with one of them.
 
She could
smell her on him.

“You do realize that I’m not
going to be envious of time you spend with Elaine, yes? Donor relationships are
wonderful, but they’re sort of like pacifiers. You’ll tire of her soon
enough.
 
Besides, it’s not like I
can’t have you both whenever I please.”

She could see she’d struck a
nerve. She made her way upstairs to her master suite; most of the upper floor
was her domain; she’d had a wall knocked out between two of the rooms here to
create one long room that spanned the entire width of the back of the house,
overlooking the courtyard below.
 
There was also a small balcony off of that great room, and that’s where
she headed now, sitting and waiting for Christophe to follow.
 
She knew he’d have questions, and she
was ready to answer them.

He resisted following her
for a few minutes before finally coming out and standing at the railing,
looking down into the courtyard.
 
He
refused to speak at first, so she took the lead in the discussion.

“You know I am not the first
of our kind. I’ve told you as much; you know the story of my father, for
instance, and you also must realize from the multitude of books that have been
written about us that I am not some unique being.”
 

He turned to face her as he
asked, “So, you didn’t make the Others?”

She was honest with
him.
 
“Some, yes, I did.
 
Many were here when I arrived.” She
paused.
 
“For instance, Elaine was a
donor before I met her, Christophe. Ask her.
 
She’ll tell you how long she’s been in
New Orleans.”

He considered this for a
while.
 
He’d never really wanted to
have conversations with donors before and largely avoided thinking as he fed
from them.
 
He preferred hunting for
regular prey; their thoughts were far less guarded and he thrilled at the fear
he could arouse, followed by the sweetness his victims felt when he fed from
them.
 
He knew what that sweetness
was like; he’d felt it the first time Olivia had fed from him, when she’d made
him as he was now.

Now he only felt that
sweetness through those he hunted.
 
He’d felt it most strongly when he’d drained the life out of Tim
Clark.
 
At the moment of death, the
sweetness and light he felt reflected from Tim was unlike anything he’d
experienced before, even more pure than what he’d felt when Olivia turned
him.
 

“So, tell me I’m not just
another conquest.” He sat next to her.

“Oh, you, my lovely man, are
far more than just a conquest or a diversion.
 
You wanted the power I’ve given you; it
is your right to have it.
 
Your
family treats you like an errand boy.
 
I can teach you how to use your power in ways that they never imagined
possible.
 
And, you have access to
the secrets that will make the two of us far more powerful than any of the
Others.”

He turned this over in his
mind; she was right. In their time together over the last few months he’d had
far more power than ever. While he was still acting as his grandmother’s errand
boy, he knew he was made for something bigger and more important. He’d never
felt that way before meeting Olivia. He also knew he had a choice to make; he
could stay as he had been, willing to only do what she asked of him, or he
could learn from her.

“Teach me, then.
 
Prepare me to lead with you.”

In the months that followed
Halloween leading up to when Liz returned shortly before New Years, Olivia
helped Christophe.
 
She knew that it
was necessary to train him if he was going to find the secrets she so
desperately wanted.
 
She also
welcomed the opportunities this would provide for Christophe to help her once
Liz was back in town.
 
She also had
a plan to concoct for Wren; having more allies in her corner was important the
closer she got to reclaiming Daniela as her own.

Christophe quickly learned
easy transformations; she taught him the trick of transforming into the shape
of a bird first, then of a dog.
 
She
wanted him to be able to observe Liz closely and protect her if the need
arose.
 
She told him how she’d protected
her from the muggers in Washington Square Park.
 
She also taught him how to travel
through disappearing and materializing in a different location.
 
He took to this quickly, as well,
falling in love with the feeling of dissolving.
 
It was a close second to that sweetness
he’d felt that first time when Olivia had nearly drained him and then pulled
him back to the land of the not quite living by wetting his lips with her own
blood.
 

He was a willing pupil, and
by New Years Eve, Christophe found a confidence he’d never known he was capable
of.
 
Olivia focused on his
development and the two of them grew quite close as they roamed the city and
hunted together.
 
In the early
light, they’d collapse together, Olivia feeling renewed through teaching
Christophe things new to him.
 
In
her travels she’d never allowed herself to grow attached to others, not since Istvan.
 
While she didn’t feel for Christophe as
she did for Istvan, she did have a fondness for him, and she felt a kinship
with him. Christophe had been so friendless for so long that she identified
with his need to fit within a family.
 

She wondered if this was
what Istvan felt for her so many years ago before she brought him Zofia as an
offering. His rage surprised her; she hoped he would be happy she’d seen to it
he needn’t worry about eternity alone once she was gone.
 
Instead, he’d hated her for what she’d
done. And now, Zofia was in New Orleans and apparently working with the Others.
Olivia knew Istvan would have trained her well, and because they had been so
close, he was able to tell Zofia more about Olivia than anyone other than her
father could have. That put her at risk.

That risk is why she
considered freeing Wren. If a showdown with Zofia was coming, she needed as
many allies as possible. She knew she couldn’t just release her and leave an
empty cell behind.
 
She’d considered
killing her and removing that obstacle altogether, but Wren had shown resolve
and determination so strong Olivia was drawn to her in a new way.
 
It would be a shame not to save her, and
an even bigger shame not to use her.

 
Besides, she reasoned with herself that
she might use Wren’s escape as a way to test the process of transferring a soul
from one body to the next.
 
She was
sure that was how Marie Laveau had escaped death and returned in 1881 to
preside over the ceremonies on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain.
 
When she closed her eyes and thought
back to that moment as she stood in the sand watching Marie at the altar, she
felt a twinge as if someone pinched her and said “Yes, I am here” as Marie’s
flashing eyes locked on hers for a split second before she began twirling and
dancing, Zombi wrapped around her like a protective cloak.
 
Olivia had never quite felt anything
like that sensation, and she’d felt a repulsive coldness from Marie.
 
She realized at the time that it wasn’t
safe for her to push further with Marie, and she’d lost herself in
Lisette.
 
Still, those eyes haunted
her for decades, first in her dreams, and now in her bed.
 
Christophe had the same eyes, just without
the power.