Jeanne Stein - Chosen

“And have you? Picked a successor?”

“Not yet. It would have been Warren Williams.” A shadow passes over his face. “You never told me who is responsible for his second death.”

“It was a sorcerer. Julian Underwood. He has paid. He is dead.”

Turnbull releases a breath.

We are silent for a few moments before I ask, “What happened to the last Chosen One?”

I expect the answer to be obvious. Staked or beheaded. Turnbull raises his shoulders. “I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask. This is my first gathering, too. Would you like me to find out? Among these old souls, I’m sure someone has the answer.”

“No.” There’s no hesitation in my reply. “I think I’d rather not know what fate has in store for me.”

When the doors open again and the twelve file in to take their seats, it’s obvious how they spent their hour. The smell, the heat radiating from vampire bodies only warmed by feeding and sex fills the room like some exotic incense. I have a mental image of the human hosts in the other room lying sated and replete, the detritus of a Roman orgy.

Turnbull asks petitioners to rise and present their requests. There are only two. Chael and Brianna, the female from Australia. Chael waves Brianna to go first.

Brianna is a small woman, compactly built, with a ruddy complexion and curly red hair. She looks to be in her thirties, which is to say, she was in her thirties when she was turned. I have no idea how long she has been vampire. She has handed her petition to Turnbull, who in turn passes it to me.

I don’t bother to look at it. Tell me, I say.

She glances to Turnbull. As he mentioned at the beginning of this gathering, I am here because of the death of the one before me, Aiden. He was in the six hundred fortieth year of the second life. He was a benevolent man, well loved by those in our community. He should not have been taken from us.

Her thoughts falter as she is caught in a wave of emotion.

By the hand of a Revenger, was it not? I prompt gently.

I want to move things along. I want to go home. Weariness has been a constant companion for the last few days, and it threatens to swamp me now. Both physically and mentally, I am exhausted. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my thoughts hidden from the constant prying of thirteen powerful, probing and inquisitive onlookers.

Still, I wait for Brianna to gather herself and continue. At last, she does, with a small bow. My apologies. Aiden was more than a friend and mentor to me. We were lovers, sealed for the last two hundred years. So it is of particular importance to me that I be allowed to avenge his death.

I sit up a little straighter. It is a dangerous thing to mount an attack against a Revenger. It risks unleashing consequences far more disastrous to the community at large than what might be gained by punishing one responsible for the death of a loved one.

I agree. You are correct. It is not against a Revenger, though I would not hesitate to kill Aiden’s murderer if the opportunity arose. No, it is against a werewolf. The Alpha Male of a group that hunts in the forest near my home in Brisbane. He is the one who told the Revengers that Aiden walked daily in the forest. He is the one who orchestrated the ambush.

And you have proof?

He brags about it. He was angry because Aiden was protective of the forest and forbade his pack to hunt there. Now he does so with impunity because he thinks there will be no consequence. We who have been long on the earth need to protect what is here from those who have no respect for nature. This Alpha would kill every living creature for sport.

I’m as much impressed by her vehement defense of the forest as I am by her passion for her lost love. I wonder if I will ever form that kind of attachment.

But I can’t base my decision on her declaration of love. Love is too often deceptive and illusory.

What does this Alpha do when he is not in wolf form?

Brianna looks confused by the question. What does he do?

Is he a teacher? Does he have a family? Is he known as a good man in the community?

Does that matter? Her voice takes on a hard edge. He killed one of us. Aiden cries out for retribution. I demand it.

Brianna’s façade of bereaved lover slips a little as her anger surfaces. It allows me a moment to penetrate her mental barrier, see the truth that flares and is suppressed in the time it takes for our hearts to beat once, twice.

I block out everyone else and send her a message. It was not the werewolf who betrayed Aiden. I saw the truth in your heart. It was you. I don’t know why. I don’t know why you came before us today with this story. I can only imagine you have some grievance against the wolf. Or you wish to make him a scapegoat. Withdraw your petition, and I will let your deception go unpunished. Pursue it, and I will make sure the others know that you are responsible for the death of an ancient.

Brianna’s eyes lock with mine. She wants to argue, test me. She glances away, toward Chael, perhaps sharing with him what I said to her. It doesn’t matter. For the moment at least, I am the one in control.

At last her shoulders relax, her expression softens. Her communication is open to all.

Perhaps I have been too hasty. That the wolf bragged about his part in Aiden’s death was told to me secondhand. I will withdraw my petition until I have proof.

She steps back and returns to her seat.

I release a breath and sit back a little in mine.

Too easy. Was this some kind of test of my psychic powers? A demonstration to warn the next petitioner to guard his thoughts more closely? Did I make a mistake in keeping Brianna’s deception private? Was the concession interpreted as weakness rather than compassion?

Fuck.

There is so much I don’t understand.

Chael’s eyes watch, his lips pressed in a grim smile. He is savoring my confusion, and I know the farce with Brianna was orchestrated. He sees me as gullible and weak.

And he is next.

Chael wastes no time getting to his feet. He has no written petition. He faces me squarely, feet apart, hands at his side. His face is composed. He must have been in his early twenties when he was turned, his Middle Eastern ancestry evident in his dusky complexion and angular features. He is powerful, of that I have no doubt, but I remind myself that he is also a coward. He refused to face me when I challenged him.

He searches my face, trying to find vulnerability. I wave a hand at him to begin.

The decision you made barring Brianna from avenging the death of Aiden shows us how inappropriate it is that you have assumed this position of power. You continue to place the welfare of lesser beings above those of your own kind. For centuries, we have been relegated to the shadows. Like the First who walked the earth, we are still creatures of the night.

He pauses, as if waiting for me to argue. I have no intention of debating him. Do you have a point you wish to make?

A spark of temper blazes hot and fierce before he smothers it. He smoothes the anger from his face and continues. My point is that we are the most powerful creatures on earth. We are stronger than any mortal. We will be here long after man has destroyed himself. But if mankind is allowed to rule and ultimately destroys itself, our food source is gone and we perish as well. We should be guardians, protectors of the earth from those like Brianna’s wolf and from those mortals who threaten the future because they cannot see past the puny span of their lives.