Jeanne Stein - Chosen

Warren Williams was a man who was able to navigate both the human and vampire worlds and be a friend to both. He defended the human community in his role as law officer—and did so for two hundred years. As a vampire, he worked tirelessly as head of the Watchers.

We may never know how he met his end. It is true, Anna Strong was with him shortly before his death. I can say no more than that. There are no witnesses and no evidence to prove guilt or innocence.

Chael’s dead eyes flash. How is it then that she is allowed to stand unchallenged as the Chosen?

Turnbull turns to face me. She is not. A challenge has been issued. She is called to defend her innocence in the way proscribed in the Grimoire. Anna Strong, do you accept the challenge?

My thoughts whip out to him. Don’t I get the chance to defend myself against the charges first? I had nothing to do with Williams’ death. It was at the hand of another.

Is this other a vampire?

A sorcerer.

Do you have proof? Witnesses?

I shake my head. I killed the one responsible. I think of Lance, of his betrayal. There is one other who knows the truth. But I don’t know where he is. Give me time to find him.

Turnbull shakes his head. This must be decided on the day of the becoming. It is written.

Fuck it is written. I lean toward him, fists clenched. I am not guilty.

Then you will survive the challenge. That, too, is written.

I knew this was coming. I tried to prepare. But reality crushes me under the sudden weight of fear.

Because of some ancient book and two thousand years of vampire folklore, I may be dead before dawn.

I’m facing thirteen pairs of staring eyes. Waiting for my reaction, no doubt. They heard my exchange with Turnbull.

They don’t care.

For the first time, they allow emotion to show on their faces. Some are thoughtful, some are indifferent. Some, like Chael, are excited, aroused. He is looking forward to the fight. He expects me to lose.

He made the challenge.

I face him. Why?

A smile as cold as his eyes. You have no right to be here. You are too new. One of us should have been allowed to assume the mantle. The time of the vampire is at hand. You stand in the way of what should be.

He speaks as if I’ve already lost. And what of the Grimoire? Of the Chosen One?

Superstition. We have lived under the mortal yoke too long. It’s time to assume our rightful place. We are gods among men and it is time they acknowledge it. It is time the world acknowledges it.

I think I know that speech. You borrow Hitler’s play-book?

A shadow passes over his features. You prove my point, Anna Strong. When I was told of Avery, of Williams, I knew you could not be allowed to ascend. You place human life above all else. You choose man over your own kind. You are unworthy.

I glance around to see how the others are reacting to our exchange. No outrage. No objection. No indignation. The heads of the thirteen tribes are like sheep under the spell of a wolf.

And why shouldn’t they be? Nothing that happens today will alter their lives. Not really. If I win, it’s business as usual. If Chael wins, they assume dominance in every part of the world.

Frey’s words come back to me. Show them who you are.

Time to swallow the fear and show them who I am.

Chael waits with the patience of a sphinx. Power emanates from him, the power of a thousand years. He is calm. Confident.

I allow the beast to spring forth. Let’s get this party started.

When he understands what I’m saying, he laughs . You think I will fight you? I would not sully my hands with your worthless life. You will fight another.

He waves a hand. From behind me comes the sound of a door scraping open. I turn to see a section of a bookcase swing inward on a rusty track.

Light shines from the room, illuminating what looks like an amphitheater. It’s not very big, maybe twenty square feet, with bench seats around the perimeter. All that’s missing is a crowd chanting “Caesar.”

Or “Chael.”

I turn to him. You’re kidding. An arena? Am I fighting a vampire or a lion?

Oh, you’re fighting a vampire. He calls out to someone inside the room. Bring him in.

A familiar scent.

My body recognizes it before my mind. Muscles tense. Blood turns hot with fury.

He steps into the light. I’m sorry, Anna.

Lance.

I don’t know whether to howl with eagerness or dismay. I see the logic behind Chael’s choice. He thinks I will be at a disadvantage because Lance was my lover. He thinks I cannot kill a lover.

He thinks wrong.

Chael doesn’t know what Underwood did to me. He doesn’t know the connection between Lance and Williams and Underwood.

Otherwise, he would have chosen another. He would have known that I have sworn to kill Lance.

I let Chael see the glimmer of satisfaction on my face. You have made a grave mistake. You may have had a thousand years to acquire wisdom, but your arrogance has clouded your judgment.

For the first time, he looks into my face, really looks into my face, and the realization that he may have made an error cracks his smug mask of confidence. Admitting it, however, will never happen. He steps back, waves his hand. Let us begin.

Us? Is that a joke? The euphemism sparks a short bark of mirthless laughter. Why don’t you and I have a go at it first?

Turnbull steps between us, forcing Chael to take another step back. He places a hand on my arm and ushers me into the room. A room I never knew existed. It’s cold inside and smells of dirt and neglect. There is another scent, too. Blood. A shudder runs through me. What did Avery use it for? It’s another reminder of how good Avery was at hiding things from me. I can’t believe I let that monster touch me. I can’t believe I thought I loved him.

All these thoughts go through my head because I don’t want to think about the one standing, waiting, in the center of the room.

Another monster I thought I loved.

Lance does not move, does not try to communicate with me. He’s stripped to his shorts, his feet are bare. In his hand is a pointed stake.

Turnbull whispers to me, “Do you wish to change?”

“Into what? Or is titillation one of the perks of this freak show?”

He lets a smile touch his mouth. “I like you, Anna Strong. You cut through the crap. But I don’t make the rules. Like you, I’m new to the fraternity. How you wish to fight is up to you.”

His head is bowed close to my ear. He’s talking in sotto voce and in English. I’m guessing it’s to prevent the foreign delegates from understanding the exchange. He’s drawn a cloak around his thoughts for the same reason.

Chael sees it and is not pleased. He says again, It is time to begin.

The benches are all occupied. The heads of the tribes are seated close enough to catch any drop of blood that might spray their way, to get maximum enjoyment from the pain we will inflict on each other. I am disgusted by the eagerness shining from their faces, by the taste of their excitement as they anticipate what is to come. I am disgusted to think that when I win, I will have to be one of them.

When I win.

I must be channeling Frey.

The thought of him brings a smile to my lips.

Lance’s quiet voice reaches to me. “I do not want this. I have no choice.”

When I turn to face him, I’m struck once more by his beauty. His face and body gleam in the light. He might be Jupiter or Apollo stripped for battle. Instead, he’s Janus, treacherous, a betrayer. “You have a choice. You had a choice before. You chose Underwood.”