Revealed

CHAPTER EIGHT

Neferet

Mortals would describe what Neferet did as dreaming. They would say they had been having nightmares so vivid that, upon waking, the dreams had stayed with them and even seemed real.

Cocooned in the den of the fox, clothed only in blood and Darkness, Neferet expanded her consciousness, sifting through levels of the seen and unseen worlds, in a quest for survival.

No, the immortal did not dream.

In truth the Tsi Sgili was re-experiencing her life, one event after another—reliving the moments that had culminated in the birth of an immortal, and by thus reliving she hoped to rediscover that which the vision in the mirror had shattered: her purpose and her true self.

Neferet began with the night reflected in the mirror, the moment her innocence had been lost. She once again became sixteen-year-old Emily Wheiler—daughter of a mother who had died just six months earlier—and she relived the night her father had attacked and raped her.

She could smell him: brandy, sour breath, sweat, cigars, and lust. She felt the disgust of knowing what he intended, and the terror of realizing she could not escape him. Then she experienced once again the pain of her beaten and torn body.

Still Emily Wheiler, she fled, bleeding and desperate, to be rejected by her fiancé, but at the same moment saved by the Tracker who Marked her as fledgling and forever altered her destiny.

Safely within the Chicago House of Night, her body healed under the watchful eye of her first mentor. But her mind could not recover. Emily needed vengeance to fully heal. Her mentor’s voice was as clear as it had been that night in 1893.

“…An insatiable need for retribution and vengeance becomes a poison that will taint your life and destroy your soul…”

Her mentor had explained to Emily that she faced the choice between forgetting what her father had done to her and moving on with her new life as a fledgling—or wallowing in self-pity and carrying the scars of what that monster had caused, unable to forget and forgive.

The fledgling who used to be Emily Wheiler did not take either choice.

The Tsi Sgili’s body twitched spasmodically. Her breathing quickened, though she did not awaken. She remained deeply unconscious and utterly in another time—another place—and relived the birth of Neferet, Queen of the Night.

She returned to Wheiler House, the home of her father, as avenger, strangling him to death and claiming her new name, and her new life—without forgiveness, doubt, or self-pity.

Neferet’s hands twitched as the specter of her past fingered the strand of pearls, smooth and deadly, and relived the exhilaration she had felt when she had ended Barrett Wheiler’s pathetic life.

Neferet relived something else as well—she was again filled with the flush of that first kill. She hadn’t tasted his blood. The thought had not entered her mind then, but she had felt the power of ending his breath, of stopping his heartbeat, of knowing she had caused his spirit to flee that broken, mortal shell.

The chill that had paled Neferet’s flawless skin warmed, though ever so slightly.

She relived her escape from Chicago by train, accompanying a small group of vampyres who were scouting new House of Night sites in the west. At the train’s first stop, Emily Wheiler buried her journal. In the dirt of the land that would become Oklahoma, she entombed the only record of what had happened to her. She remembered cutting into that earth with a spade, and opening a wound that was the red of dried bull’s blood and carried with it the scent of the end of all things. With the burial of that sad, pitiable account of innocence lost and rape revenged, Neferet’s new life blazed.

It was not an easy life.

But always within that comet of rebirth was a dark center of comfort that never forsook Neferet. Night was her world, and the shadows in the deepest corners of her world held solace and acceptance and comfort.

The Chicago School Council had decided it was unsafe for fledgling Neferet to return there, and she had been transferred to St. Louis’s Tower Grove House of Night. There her gifts scorched through her.

Neferet curled tightly into herself, reliving the next moment that had defined who she would become.

The cat had been a small, shorthaired black and gray tabby. She would have been too small, too ordinary, too unattractive, for Neferet to have noticed at all, had it not been for her keen intelligence, and the additional toe she had on both of her front paws. It had been winter in St. Louis, frigid and snowy, and young Neferet had thought the little tabby had appeared to be wearing mittens.

The school’s ill-tempered cook had named the cat Chloe, after a human thief who had been caught trying to burgle the school, because she had been unable to keep the feline from breaking into her kitchen, no matter how often she locked windows, and kept a keen eye on the scullery maids with their lackadaisical habit of forgetting to close doors. That day Chloe had pried open a window, scaled a ceiling beam, leaped on the cooling table, and gorged herself on a fresh kidney pie. The vampyre had been throwing the beast from the pantry when Neferet had happened by.

“How ever did she find a way to wear mittens?” young Neferet had exclaimed, as she rescued little Chloe from the snow bank she’d landed in, brushing wet white flakes from dusky fur and smiling as the cat batted at the ties on her ermine-lined cape.

The cook had laughed at Neferet mockingly. “I know you are young, but that is no reason to sound like such a simpleton. Chloe is polydactyl—six toed. Surely you’ve seen our High Priestess and her mate’s cats. All polydactyl. This ugly little runt must be related to them, though I don’t see the resemblance, except in those paws.” The old vampyre had turned away, still cackling, shaking her head, and muttering, “Mittens on a cat. The child is pretty, but empty-headed…”

Neferet remembered how her face had burned with embarrassment and anger, until Chloe had looked up into her eyes.

Then Neferet’s world had changed. She relived the thrill of it—of knowing what was within the cat’s mind. She didn’t hear actual words—cats don’t think in words. She heard emotions, and the emotions told stories. Chloe beamed mischief. Her belly was full and warm and she was sleepy. But most important, the cat looked into her eyes with love and loyalty and joy, and chose Neferet as her own for life.

Pandeia, longtime High Priestess in St. Louis, had not called her a simpleton. Nor had she mocked Neferet when the young fledgling had gone to her, holding a sleeping Chloe, and describing with breathless wonder the dream images she could pull from the little feline’s mind.

“And, High Priestess, I can touch your cat’s mind, too!” Neferet had gushed, pointing to the vampyre’s plump calico lazing on the windowsill. “She is happy, very happy, because she is pregnant!”

The High Priestess’s smile had almost outshined the cook’s mocking. “Dear Neferet, Nyx has granted you a wonderful affinity, a special attachment to cats, the animal most closely associated with our Goddess. Nyx must value you highly to award you such a gift.”

The glorious day faded and Neferet’s experience changed. Months passed as quickly as the Tsi Sgili’s rapid heartbeat.

She was still a fledgling, but older. Her council was valued—first because of her connection to the felines that roamed freely at the House of Night as companions of the fledglings and vampyres. Then because though her affinity had begun with cats, soon it had become apparent that Neferet was able to touch people’s minds almost as easily as she did cats’.

Images lifted from the past, one after another, dizzying in their speed:

“Neferet, it would be helpful if you came to town with me. I need to know if the town is growing restless again at the thought of our full moon rituals,” her High Priestess had asked.

She had gone with Pandeia, opening herself to the onslaught of fear and hatred and envy that the local humans directed at the High Priestess, though they either simpered and tipped their hats to her, or averted their eyes and pretended not to see her.

Neferet began to loathe going to town.

“Neferet, the human Consort of our new professor seems sad; it would be helpful if you could tell me if he wishes to leave, but is fearful to ask,” Pandeia had asked at another time.

Neferet had slipped within the man’s mind. The human hadn’t been sad. He had been unfaithful to his vampyre, and had been sneaking away during the daylight hours while she slept to gamble and whore on riverboats.

The professor had sent him away and quickly forgotten him, moving on to another, more loyal Consort within a fortnight.

But Neferet had found it hard to forget what she had touched within the man’s mind. Lust and envy—greed and desire. It had sickened her.

Seeing how much their High Priestess valued her counsel, others came to her, always seeking the answers hidden beneath the masks of others.

As Neferet relived the experiences, she felt the resentment that had begun within her then. They were all so needy! Even the High Priestess.

“Neferet, tell me if that Son of Erebus Warrior thinks I’m truly beautiful…”

“Neferet, I want to know if my roommate is telling me the truth about…”

“Neferet, tell me…”

“Neferet, I want…”

“Neferet, why does…?”

The Tsi Sgili shivered, though still she did not awake as experience after experience, memory after memory, assaulted her so rapidly that they bled into one another, becoming a collage of need and greed, desire and betrayal, lies and lust.

Darkness saved her. As when she had been Emily, she was drawn to the night-blooming gardens of Tower Grove. The most shadowy places in her House of Night were familiar friends to her. There she could disappear, calling the night to her, so that others looked right over and past her, and never seeing…

Chloe understood. She was intelligent and precocious, and no matter what insipid thought Neferet had overheard, she found a way to make her smile. She whispered to the cat the feelings she was learning never to say aloud—never to show to other fledglings—never, ever to reveal to any vampyre.

“I hate it when Pandeia asks me to listen in to a human’s mind, especially a male human,” young Neferet had told her purring feline. “They are all vile. Their thoughts are obsessed with our bodies—with possessing us—even though their fear is so strong it almost has a scent: sour breath, sweat, and insatiable desire.”

Chloe had touched noses with her and rubbed her face against her cheek, filling her with unconditional love and acceptance.

“When I am High Priestess I will only use my powers when I want to. I do not agree with Pandeia and the rest of them. Just because I’m gifted, that doesn’t mean I must be at their beck and call. I was given the power, not them. It should be mine to do with as I wish.”

Instead of snuggling against her, as usual, the little cat’s ears pricked and she stood, perching on Neferet’s lap and peering out into the night-cloaked gardens of the House of Night.

In her den, the Tsi Sgili moaned aloud, not wanting to relive what happened next, but not able to escape from the visions of her past.

The Tower Grove House of Night had lush grounds that stretched for more than two hundred secluded acres around the main campus. The grounds were, of course, meticulously tended, but it was the early twentieth century, and St. Louis was still known as the gateway to the wild west. The gardens were home to more than water features and night-blooming flowers.

Chloe scented the air.

Neferet breathed deeply with the little cat. When she arched her back, growling ferociously, Neferet had bared her teeth, too, sharing her rage that an intruder had entered her House of Night.

It wasn’t until Chloe had leaped from her lap that Neferet had come to herself and knew fear. She raced after her cat.

The bobcat had been hunting rabbits and had chased one to ground not far from the dark corner in which Neferet and Chloe had been sitting. Frustrated at losing his prey, the big male had sprayed around the clearing, marking it as his own.

Chloe burst into the male’s territory. Shrieking a warning, the bobcat faced the little tabby. Yowling and spitting, Chloe flew at the male, all claws and teeth.

“No!” Neferet screamed along with Chloe as the bobcat struck once, twice, swatting the little cat as if she were an annoying insect, and slicing her belly, neatly disemboweling her.

The huge beast, easily three times the size of Chloe, was closing on where the tabby lay gutted, twitching and bleeding, when Neferet reached the clearing.

Rage filled the fledgling, and she charged the animal, screaming in wordless hatred, hands raised in claws, and teeth bared.

The bobcat’s ears flattened against his skull. His yellow eyes met Neferet’s blazing emerald gaze. What he saw there gave him pause. As quickly as his instinct to kill had been ignited, his instinct for self-preservation took over, and the feline backed away, fading into the foliage.

Neferet rushed to her cat. Chloe was still alive. Her little heart raced and she was panting in panic and pain. “No! Goddess, no!” Neferet ripped her dress and tried to push the intestines back into the cat’s belly, and staunch the terrible flood of blood. “Help her, Nyx! Please, if I am as important to you as everyone says I am, please, I beg of you, help her!” Filled with her cat’s pain and her own despair, Neferet cried into the night. “Help her, Goddess! Please help!”

The air above the clearing had shimmered with silver light that glittered like stars come to earth, and a woman materialized beside the dying cat. Her hair was long and as white as the full moon. She wore a dress the color of dusk and a headdress covered in gossamer silver strung with diamonds.

Within the den, the Tsi Sgili’s restlessly twitching body stilled. Her breathing became shallow. Her naked skin was chill and so pale she seemed almost transparent as she relived her first meeting with Nyx.

“Daughter, you are important to me,” the Goddess had told her. “And not only because I can see great power within you. I love you, as I do all of my children, because of your true self—that within you which is vulnerable and wounded, yet brave enough to continue to live and grow and love.”

“Then please, Goddess. Save Chloe. She is the most important thing in my life. I love her,” Neferet had begged.

Nyx had raised her arms, and the silk that draped them had shimmered like moonlight on water.

“I give you one final gift—that of the ability to soothe others’ pain with your touch. Let it teach you compassion to temper the budding power within you.” Nyx pressed her hands over her heart, and then she bent forward and placed her palms against Neferet’s head.

Within the cold, dark den, Neferet relived the infilling of that divine touch and her breath stopped in remembrance. The Goddess’s touch had not filled her with power. It had filled her with gentleness.

“Oh, blessed be, Nyx!”

“It is the Goddess! Blessed be, Goddess of Night!”

Joyous cries came from all around Neferet as vampyres and fledglings, following her calls for help, had found the clearing.

“Blessed be, my daughters. Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again,” Nyx had greeted the others, smiling beatifically before she disappeared into a ray of moonlight.

Neferet had not watched Nyx go. She had been focusing all of her being on her cat. She pressed her hands against her bleeding body, channeling the magickal touch of the Goddess.

Neferet felt the difference instantly. Chloe’s panting ceased. Her heart slowed. Her pain-glazed eyes cleared, for just a moment, and they met hers as the little cat beamed love and joy and relief. Then, completely happy and utterly relieved of pain, her cat curled around her hands. Purring contentedly, she nuzzled Neferet, and died.

“No! No! I was supposed to be able to save you!” Neferet had pulled Chloe into her lap, and begun to keen over her lifeless body when pain exploded across her forehead. Still cradling Chloe’s body, Neferet had crumpled, until her face was pressed into the grass and the blood and earth absorbed her sobs.

“Neferet, child! I am here with you. All will be well!” It was the High Priestess, Pandeia, herself who lifted her. “Oh, blessed Goddess, thank you!” Pandeia had exclaimed as Neferet raised her face. “Not only did Nyx gift you with a healing touch, she also blessed you with the Change this night.”

Still crying and clutching Chloe’s body, Neferet was dizzy with confusion.

Pandeia’s gaze went from the new Marks that decorated Neferet’s face, proclaiming to the world that she was an adult vampyre, to the body of the little cat. “Oh, it is Chloe. I grieve with you, Neferet.” The High Priestess stroked the cat’s motionless head. “But your touch healed her pain and she went on to the Otherworld, where she frolics with the Goddess.”

In the den, the Tsi Sgili drew a deep breath, and then spoke the words aloud, just as she had done in the past.

“I didn’t heal her. Chloe is dead.”

Pandeia’s gaze had been kind, her voice understanding. “I know it is a terrible loss, and difficult for you to bear right now, but when you can think of this night clearly, you will realize that the ability to touch her spirit and to soothe little Chloe’s passing more fully healed her than would mending her physical wounds. Nyx has richly blessed you.”

In her den, Neferet whispered aloud the words she had only been able to think silently those many decades ago: Nyx has taken from me the only thing I love.

Anger stirred the Tsi Sgili, moving her toward consciousness. Her breath quickened, and she almost opened her eyes. But before she could fully rouse, time moved forward, taking her to the next defining experience in her past. The day she killed her lover and began hearing the seductive whispers of the winged immortal—the liar and betrayer, Kalona…