Jeanne Stein - Chosen

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Anna Strong's primitive vampire instincts are getting harder to control. And a new enemy wants to take advantage of that fact, for Anna has been chosen to shape the destiny of all vampires-and all humans.

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I let him park the Jag and head for the house. Another vampire opens the door before I can ring or knock. Like the host who admitted Frey and me last night, he is in a tuxedo. Unlike the host, he is smiling and sycophantic in the way he bows and ushers me inside.

It’s an effort to keep fear out of my thoughts. When I open my mind, I hear the murmur of a dozen voices rustling like leaves in a gale. Some speak in English, others in languages I don’t recognize. I understand , though. It’s a part of a vampire’s genetic makeup, the ability to communicate across language barriers.

Like Frey and his book.

I wish he were here.

The conversation is banal. Talk of the trip over or musings about how pricey real estate is in Southern California. I could be eavesdropping on a group of CEOs called to headquarters for a board meeting.

The library is off to the left of the living room. There are people in the living room, too. Guests of those who await me now. They see me pass and grow quiet.

It is with some trepidation that I approach the closed doors. This was Avery’s sanctuary and the first place I fed as a vampire. The voices I hear come from this room.

The door opens before I put a hand to it. It is Judith Williams. She is dressed in a long robe of black silk. Her hair is pulled back from her face. She does not look as smug today or as confident. Perhaps she has been reprimanded for what happened after the party the other evening.

She motions with a sweeping hand. “They are ready.”

“They,” not “we.” I smile as she passes by.

I’m not sure what to expect. A few days ago, my thoughts had been on David and getting him safely away. I hardly noticed the vampires in attendance. What I do remember was a fleeting glance at vampires in costumes of varied colors and styles. A colorful blanketed figure that reminded me of an African tribal dancer, a vampire in an Arabian burnoose, a high-necked coat of white linen on a vampire of Chinese descent.

Here, the dress reflects the tenor of their conversation—the heads of the thirteen tribes have donned business attire. Well-tailored suits representing the very best of the world’s couturiers. I am suddenly self-conscious in my jeans. I chose what I am wearing because if I must fight, I need to be wearing what I am most comfortable in. I had not meant to trivialize the situation. The eyes that are watching seem to acknowledge my intention. There is no judgment in the way they look at me.

The thirteen stood when I came in. Now they take chairs around the big desk that was once Avery’s. We are alone. Judith Williams has not returned. It makes me a little less anxious to know that she has not been granted equal status with the others.

There is one empty chair. The one behind Avery’s desk. His chair. One of the tribal heads stands again and motions that I should take it.

When I am seated, the same vampire begins the introductions. He is Amardad from Persia, the ancient name for Iran. Then he presents each of the others in turn. They stand, bow slightly, touch their hands to their chest in greeting much as Culebra did a few days before. I listen and watch, opening my thoughts only in acknowledgment. These are the very oldest of the vampires from around the world. They have exotic names like Alexi and Cheng-Li and Dhakwan, Dato and Naruaki and Melisizwe and Bayani and Chael. Names that suggest power.

And less exotic names like Miguel and Joshua Turnbull, the vampire from Denver, the only one to allow a smile to touch his lips. There are two women among them. A beautiful West Indian whose name, Rani, I’m told, means queen and Brianna, an Australian.

The faces behind the names are ageless and old. They are devoid of expression as they look at me, allowing not a glimmer of thought or emotion to escape. The history of the world could be concealed behind those perfect, empty faces.

When introductions are concluded, Joshua Turnbull takes over. He rises, bows his head in my direction. His attitude here is far more deferential than when we were together in Denver.

He begins to speak, telepathically, so all can understand.

This is the Council of Thirteen. Gathered together as we have since the beginning to anoint the Chosen One. We come from all parts of the world. Some of you have made the journey before. Some of us are newly appointed to our positions, the result of having lost one of our own to the second death.

He pauses, points to the woman Brianna. This one lost her friend and mentor, the ancient one we called Aiden, by the hand of a Revenger. We mourn his passing.

He looks at me. I lost a friend, as well. Avery, in whose house we gather today. Some would say he brought about his own destruction by a careless and unnecessary act of violence against a human who bore him no harm. Still, he is gone and deserving of our respect. We take a moment to honor our fallen comrades.

Turnbull’s eyes are on me as the circle pays final respects. I hadn’t known before this moment that Avery had been one of the thirteen. It suddenly becomes more likely that Turnbull will be the one to make the challenge. If Judith has convinced him that I am responsible for Williams’ death as well, it is more than likely.

Turnbull waits until the others raise their heads and look to him to continue.

As it is written in the Grimoire, we meet on this occasion to determine the future of the vampire community. We place this terrible burden on the shoulders of one. One who is marked as Chosen. A vampire of particular cunning and strength. A vampire who possesses extraordinary abilities.

Anna Strong was so marked. She is unharmed by fire. She is canny in ways we are not. She has strength and courage. Avery saw it from the first moment. He was not wise in the way he chose to teach her our ways. He paid for that mistake. But he brought her to our attention, and we are here today because of him.

The vampire known as Chael stands. He is slight of stature, dark-skinned, with eyes that are hard and black as flint.

Is it true that she is responsible for Avery’s death? And also that of our friend Warren Williams?

I stand, too, to defend myself.

Turnbull stops me with a message sent solely to me. You will not speak. I am appointed to defend you. You may have an opportunity later. But I will answer for you now. This is the way.

His eyes narrow, as if asking me to acquiesce to his request. He is somber and respectful and despite my natural inclination to forge ahead, I do give in. I am out of my element here. I can always revert to the impulsive, imprudent and immature side of my nature later.

I sit back down.

He addresses Chael. Avery was my good friend. I loved him as a brother. But he had a flaw. He felt it necessary to exercise complete control over everyone within his sphere of influence. He attempted to control Anna Strong. He kidnapped her human partner, bled him almost to the point of death. He burned her home. He committed acts that could have brought unwanted and harmful attention to the vampire community. Anna Strong staked him in defense of her life. The act, while regrettable, was justifiable.

I’m surprised to hear him defending me. And surprised that he knew the story. Well, most of it. He didn’t mention how Avery came back and attempted to kill me a second time. It’s possible he doesn’t know. Where did he get his information? From Warren Williams?

Warren Williams.

It’s not over yet.

Chael accepts Turnbull’s pronouncement. About Avery. And what of Warren Williams? Our newly turned sister, his widow, tells us their relationship was contentious. She tells us Anna Strong was the last to see him alive.

I wait, tension bunching my shoulders. Turnbull isn’t jumping to my defense this time. When at last he speaks, it is quietly and with great sorrow.

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