Revealed

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Neferet

Neferet’s eyes moved under her closed lids as she relived the twentieth century. For a time that ultimately brought her such power, and the beginnings of her immortality, it really had been a terrible bore.

Two things had been the exception: her dreams and the old woman. The first had proven to be lies and the second to be spectacularly more than the truth. It was ironic that her dreams were the more enjoyable to revisit.

Neferet had returned to Tower Grove House of Night and to a school all too willing to shower her with concern and compassion. Too close together had been the untimely deaths of her first familiar, little Chloe, and her Warrior. Everyone understood when Neferet withdrew from social events and spent an unusual amount of time in meditation and prayer.

They had no idea that Neferet actually spent her prayer time in a deep, drugged sleep, yearning for the god that came to her only when she was unconscious.

Kalona had been clever. Though he was spectacularly handsome, he came to her dreams as the Faceless God, who asked only that she reveal her fantasies to him and allow him to worship her.

It hadn’t been like dreaming at all. Afterward—after it was far too late—Neferet realized that she had not been dreaming—that Kalona had been entering her subconscious mind and manipulating her. Then, all she had known was the desire his immortal touch ignited within her. She continued to open herself to him, and as her subconscious listened to his whispers, Neferet grew stronger. She began to question the modern ways of the vampyres surrounding her. And, ultimately, to believe that it was her destiny to loose a god from his unjust imprisonment so that she and he could rule side-by-side, Nyx and Erebus on earth. Together they would herald a new age where vampyres would no longer exist in an uneasy, pathetic peace with humans. Quietly, Neferet set about events that would irrevocably change the shape of vampyre-human relations. As the immortal had told her in her dreams: Why do the gods who walk the earth bow to those who should be worshipping them?

Neferet used the loss of her Warrior as an excuse to travel, to not be tied to the tedious job of being a professor. Seeking, always seeking that which filled her dreams but eluded her in life, Neferet had smiled when they began to call her an ambassador of Nyx, whose visits blessed each House of Night in a special way.

Neferet thought of herself as an ambassador of power.

She used her psychic gift to know which High Priestesses wanted, needed, to be flattered or challenged, threatened or praised, adored or ignored, and then she gave them what they wanted: information, a healing touch, insight, excitement … the list of High Priestess needs and wants had been endless. While Neferet “served,” she gained standing in the vampyre community. She thought of herself as a powerful, alluring chameleon. She learned how to make her people see in her what each of them most trusted, respected, and ultimately, worshipped.

And always, always, Neferet was drawn to the heart of the nation—to Oklahoma, the land the color of old blood, and the young city, Tulsa, where she had buried the record of her human past, and where Kalona’s dreams, whispers, and touch kept pulling her.

Seek my release … seek my release … His whispers had filled her dreams and haunted her life.

It was the twenty-second of April in the year 1927 when the wealthy human couple, Waite and Genevieve Phillips, issued an invitation for vampyre High Priestesses to attend the grand gala they were holding to celebrate the completion of the mansion that was being called Philbrook.

Neferet made quite sure she was among those who accepted the invitation. Philbrook did not interest her, nor did the philanthropic, liberal human couple and their wealthy socialite friends.

The city did interest Neferet. It smelled of oil and alcohol, money and blood and power—always power.

It was the scent of power, like the essence of her dreams, that had her leaving the Phillips party that night and wandering through the city. Newly completed oil mansions dotted the landscape. Neferet drifted past them, unseen. She hardly glanced in their windows—barely noticed the leaded glass and the ice-like sparkling of the new electrical chandeliers. Instead she was pulled away from the glittering mansions, following a melodic little brook that seemed to be whispering a song to her.

The mansion appeared suddenly, as if it had materialized especially for Neferet. It was enormous, set in the middle of immaculately tended grounds dotted by oak trees. Neferet remembered thinking how odd it was that there was only an iron gate at the entrance from the street and not a wall surrounding it.

Then she saw the sign and realized that, though it appeared to have been fashioned after a European villa, or perhaps even a castle, the massive stone building was a private school.

Neferet was drawn to it even before she saw the old woman. She entered the campus, her interest completely aroused. There were two main buildings, both built from a uniquely textured stone. The campus appeared new, so new that it looked dark and uninhabited. It was as she wandered through the slumbering campus that the whispering song she had been hearing all night became reality and Neferet’s dream coalesced.

She heard the sonorous beat of the drum first. Neferet had followed it to a far easterly spot at the very edge of the campus grounds. There the scent of sage and sweetgrass led her to an enormous oak, big enough even to shield the light of a campfire. She noticed that birds filled the limbs of the oak. Ravens, she remembered identifying them with an afterthought. Odd, ravens aren’t usually seen at night.

Neferet circled around the tree and saw the campfire.

Then the drumbeat filled the clearing and all of Neferet’s attention had focused on the crone. She knelt near the fire with a large drum before her, which she beat with a simple stick wrapped in hide she held in her right hand. In her left hand she held a hatchet. Every few drumbeats she chopped a fist-sized section from a long, thick rope of dried herbs that lay beside her. The fire hissed as it ate the herbs, belching sweetly scented smoke.

The woman’s dress, though yellowed with age, had an unexpected beauty to it. Delicate beadwork reflected the firelight, and long fringe swayed gracefully with each drumbeat. Her face was ancient, her thick braid of hair completely silver, but her voice was as clear as a girl’s. She began to sing and Neferet had been entranced by her words.

Ancient one sleeping, waiting to arise…

Neferet moved silently toward the old woman as the song pounded through her body in time with her heartbeat.

When earth’s power bleeds sacred red

The mark strikes true; Queen Tsi Sgili will devise

He shall be washed from entombing bed.

Neferet stepped within the firelight. The crone looked up at her through rheumy eyes that might have once been blue. Her song faltered.

“No,” Neferet had insisted. “Keep singing. It is a lovely song.” The old woman’s expression had tightened, but she’d continued:

Through the hand of the dead he is free

Terrible beauty, monstrous sight

Ruled again they shall be

Women shall kneel to his dark might

Kalona’s song sounds sweet

As we slaughter with cold heat.

Kalona! The name of the god had pierced Neferet. “Sing it again, old woman,” she had commanded.

“I have finished. I go.”

The old woman began to rise, but Neferet had moved swiftly to stop her. It had been too easy to take the hatchet from the crone—too easy to press it to her throat.

“Do as I command or I will slit your throat and leave you here for the birds to pick your ancient bones clean.”

The old woman had closed her eyes; drawn a deep, shaky breath; and then began to sing, over and over, until Neferet was certain she had the song memorized. Only then did she allow the woman to stop. Only then did she probe within the crone’s mind.

“You think of yourself as a Ghigua. What is that?” Neferet had asked.

The old woman’s eyes had widened. She hadn’t answered Neferet, but her mind had suddenly been washed in panic and strange words: Ane li sgi, demon, Tsi Sgili, soul-eater, man-killer. That tide of words had been carried to Neferet on a wave of dread and terror.

“You’re very frightened of me.” Neferet had smiled and sat closer to the old woman, resting the hatchet in the small space between them.

“You hear what is in my mind,” said the woman.

“I hear more than that,” Neferet said. “Your song—I believe I understand what it means.”

“I sing this song each new moon as a warning.”

“Certainly, to some it would be a warning. To me it is a promise.” Neferet had probed the old woman’s mind further. “You do not fear me because I am vampyre.”

“I have no fear of vampyres.”

“Yet you fear me,” Neferet had said. “And you sing of my lover. Let me see, how did that song go—The mark strikes true; Queen Tsi Sgili will devise. Tell me, old woman, who and what is Queen Tsi Sgili?”

You are, demon! Delighter in pain! Feeder from death!

The condemnation echoed from the old woman’s mind to Neferet, but the crone said only, “I have spoken enough for one night. Now I will say no more.” Then she had pressed her thin, wrinkled lips into a stubborn line.

Neferet had smiled silkily at her. “Ah, but I do not need you to speak in words. Your mind is shouting quite loudly enough. I can glean all I need without you uttering a syllable, old woman.”

But Neferet hadn’t had time to rape the woman’s mind as she had intended. With an ear-piercing war cry, the crone had snatched up the hatchet and sliced it across her own throat, opening her carotid artery.

“No!” Neferet had screamed, pressing her palm against the old woman’s flesh, trying to prolong her last minutes as she probed her mind, seeking answers from fading images and half-formed thoughts.

In her den Neferet’s body twitched and quivered in response to the memory. The old woman had sacrificed herself for nothing. Her dying mind had held information enough for Neferet to begin two things—her quest to release Kalona, and her transformation from unfulfilled High Priestess to an immortal goddess, Queen Tsi Sgili.

Zoey

I loved sixth hour. Not only was Lenobia the coolest professor ever, but it was a class where I got to ride a horse! I have no clue how that could be more perfect. Today it seemed like Lenobia knew we needed to get rid of some stress. When class began we entered the arena to find big black steel barrels set up in a triangle formation.

Lenobia galloped up on Mujaji. The black mare slid to a stop in front of us.

“So, fledglings, does anyone know why those barrels are out there?”

My hand shot up.

“Zoey?”

“They’re for barrel racing.”

“They are,” she said. “Have you raced barrels before, Zoey?”

I smiled, a little nervously. “Well, sorta. My grandma’s horse, Mouse, was a retired barrel racer. Grandma used to set up barrels for him. Even when he was really old he’d perk up and race around them like he was a colt again. Basically I just hung on and let him do all the work, but it was fun.”

Lenobia smiled. “That’s a lovely story, and a special memory, Zoey. Treasure it.”

“I will. I do.”

“So, has anyone else had experience with barrel racing?”

The other five kids shook their heads and squirmed.

Lenobia frowned, and grumbled, more to herself than to us, “It’s always so disheartening to be in the middle of Oklahoma and be surrounded by young people who know nothing of horses.” Then she raised her voice and continued, “No matter. I have devised a very large, very simple, very obvious example for you to follow.” She clucked at Mujaji and the mare moved aside so that Travis, riding his big Percheron mare, Bonnie, could trot into the arena.

He pulled the mare up in front of Lenobia and tipped his hat to her. “Ma’am, I didn’t just hear you call my mare big and simple, did I?”

She caressed Bonnie’s muzzle and kissed her softly before answering him. “I would never call this magnificent creature big and simple—I was speaking of you, sir.” Her eyes sparkled at the tall, handsome cowboy.

“Well that’s fine, ma’am,” he said. “Glad to know I’m appreciated.”

Lenobia’s laughter sounded girlish and I thought I’d never seen her look so beautiful. “Just take Bonnie around the barrels for the kids.” She swatted playfully at Travis’s boot.

Yep, she was definitely in love.

“All right, my girl, let’s show these fledglings you don’t have to be a quarter horse to barrel race!” He pulled Bonnie around to a starting position, and then gave her a big kick and smacked her on her very large butt with his hat. The Percheron mare almost sorta took off.

Lenobia explained what Bonnie was doing—how she was following a cloverleaf pattern—in exaggerated time. But still, when the giant mare came charging down the center with Travis whooping, and the arena floor seeming to shake, we all cheered and clapped.

And that was just the beginning of the fun. For almost an hour we took turns running the barrels with our chosen horses. Persephone was “my” mare. I adored every inch of her beautiful roan hide. She could move, too! Persephone totally knew how to run a cloverleaf. As Stevie Rae would’ve said, all I had to do was to make like a tick and stick tight to her.

For that time—for those fifty-something minutes—I forgot about Neferet and Stark and Aurox and Heath and the Change and Old Magick. For a little while I was a girl again, laughing and riding a horse, and loving life.

It was over too soon. Usually grooming Persephone helped to quiet my mind. Today it had the opposite affect. Maybe it was because I hadn’t thought at all while I’d been riding her, but as I swiped her off and worked through her mane with the currycomb, my problems roared.

Worrying about what Neferet was up to should have been my biggest problem, followed by trying to figure out how my Seer Stone and Old Magick were working—or not working—but what kept circling around and around in my mind was the Heath/Aurox/Stark situation.

Holy crap, I’d licked blood from the kid’s finger.

What the hell was I going to do?

“Good job today, Zoey.”

Lenobia’s voice startled me and Persephone tossed her head at my jumpy reaction. I soothed the mare and gave Lenobia an apologetic look. “Sorry, my mind wasn’t here.”

“I completely understand.” She leaned against the stall doorjamb. “Grooming Mujaji is like taking a sleeping pill for me. She’s made me so relaxed I’ve even curled up in her stall and slept afterwards.”

I sighed. “Yeah, Persephone usually does that for me, too.”

“But not today?”

I shook my head. “Not today.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I almost gave her my automatic, that’s okay, I’m fine, answer, but then I remembered how she’d said she’d waited to find Travis for more than two hundred years. She must know about complicated love—plus, Lenobia was more than just a professor, she was my friend. I changed my auto answer. “Yeah, if you have time, I do want to talk about it.”

Lenobia pulled a bale of hay into the stall and sat. “I have time.”

I drew a deep breath, not sure where to begin.

“Just groom the mare and talk. The rest will come naturally,” Lenobia said.

I grabbed the soft curry brush and followed the sleek pattern of Persephone’s coat. And I talked.

“I know it’s normal, actually it seems to be kinda expected, for a High Priestess to choose more than one guy, but I just don’t get how they do it.”

Lenobia laughed.

“What’d I say?”

“Oh, Zoey, I apologize. I’m not really laughing at you. It’s just that I forget how very young you are and how many things there are about vampyres that you don’t truly understand.”

“Like how to juggle more than one guy,” I said, nodding.

“Well, perhaps, but it seems to me that the first thing you should understand is that High Priestesses are not expected to have more than one lover at a time. They simply have the option to choose more than one partner without being judged, as would a human woman in today’s culture.” Lenobia crossed her legs and leaned back against the stall wall, as if she were settling in for a long, intimate talk. “Zoey, think about what your life-span will be when you complete the Change.”

“If I complete it,” I said.

Lenobia smiled. “I have confidence in you, so let’s say when you complete it. Do you know how old I am?”

“Old,” I said before thinking. “Uh, sorry. It’s not like you look old or anything.”

“I am not offended. I was born in the year 1772.”

“That is really old!” I blurted.

Her smile widened. “If fate is good to me, I have probably only lived half of my life-span. Since 1772 I have loved only one man, but that was my choice—my vow. Most vampyres find several loves during their lifetimes. Sometimes they are already involved with another vampyre when they meet a new human love—sometimes it is the other way around.”

“So, it’s not about being expected to have lots of guys at the same time,” I said.

“That’s right. It’s more about logic and life-span. And choice. Because we are a matriarchal society, we can choose without judgment or condemnation. Does that help you with your problem?”

“Well, yes and no. Thanks for explaining the multiple guy thing to me, but I still don’t know what to do about the Heath slash Aurox thing,” I said miserably.

“Why do you have to do anything?”

“Because I have done something. And ignoring it isn’t fair to Aurox or to Stark.” I sighed again. “Or, I guess, to Heath.”

“So you have taken Aurox as your lover, along with Stark?”

“No!” I squeaked, and peeked over Persephone’s shoulder at Lenobia. She gazed steadily back at me, nonjudgmental and serene. “I drank a little of his blood, though,” I admitted.

“And because you’re not like a normal first-year fledgling, that’s very addictive and exciting for you. Correct?”

“Yeah, correct,” I admitted.

“Does Stark know?”

“Oh, god, no! He’d totally freak. He’s already acting like a possessive jerk whenever Aurox is anywhere near me.”

“But he knows you were mated to Heath and that Heath’s soul is within Aurox.”

“That’s why he’s acting like a possessive jerk. Apparently it’s not okay with Stark for me to see Heath, ur, Aurox. And as far as Stark knows we’ve hardly even talked to each other.”

“Aurox is drawn to you.”

She didn’t phrase it as a question, but I answered. “Yeah, he is. It’s because Heath’s inside him. It’s not like a conscious thing. It’s weird—and unsettling. Aurox will just be this kid who is kinda cute, but who I’m not particularly attracted to or anything, and then—bam!—I’ll blink and he’ll say or do something that is so Heath-like that it makes my heart hurt.”

“If you weren’t bonded with Stark, would you want to be with Aurox?”

I chewed my lip. “I’m not sure. I love Heath. I’ll always love Heath. But Aurox isn’t really my Heath.”

“You mean it’s like how Kalona was drawn to you because within you is the maiden A-ya’s soul, and he recognized her presence?”

That comparison surprised me, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. “I think you’re right about that. Wow, that actually makes it easier for me. Kalona did want me because of A-ya, and I have to admit I could feel a deep pull toward him, too. But it wasn’t real. I’m not A-ya, and I didn’t choose to love him. Aurox isn’t Heath. He doesn’t need to choose to love me—remnants of Heath love me, that’s all.”

“I hate to complicate things for you, but to be fair you need to know that Aurox could love you as well. Travis is a reincarnation of my only mate, Martin. He does not have Martin’s memories. He is actually very dissimilar to my Martin, and yet he is as eternally devoted to me as I am to him.” Lenobia’s smile was tender, her eyes filled with tears. “You do get to take love with you, and some of us are lucky enough to find it again.”

“Lenobia, I’m super happy for you, but you did just complicate the crap out of this for me,” I said.

“Zoey, your situation was already complicated. Do you want my advice on how I would handle it?”

“Hell yes,” I said.

“This is going to sound cold, selfish even, but were I in your place, I would decide who I truly wanted to be with without worrying about what either of those boys wanted. The only way you will ever be content with your choice is if you make it for yourself and not for someone else.”

I put down the curry brush and stared at her. “Is it really as simple as that?”

“If you can be honest with yourself, and then follow through with that honesty, yes, it is,” Lenobia said.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about, but at least now I have a direction to go,” I said.

“You have to love and be true to yourself before anyone else can love and be true to you.”

The bell that signaled the end of school rang. I fisted my hand over my heart and bowed respectfully to her. “Thank you, Lenobia.”

Lenobia returned the traditional gesture and said, “I wish you always to blessed be, Zoey Redbird.”

“Stark, we need to talk.” I hated to say those words probably as much as Stark hated to hear them. I mean, who doesn’t? Has anyone’s mom or dad, girlfriend or boyfriend, teacher or boss ever started a good conversation with them?

“Okay, but I thought we were going to watch Big Bang Theory and, you know, spend some alone time together.” He gave me a halfhearted attempt at his cocky grin.

“Well, we can still do that. Maybe. If you want to after we talk.”

“You’re freaking me out,” he said.

I held my hand out to him. He took it and sat next to me on the bed. “I have to say some things to you that are gonna probably be hard for you to hear, but you don’t need to be freaked.”

“Because no matter what I’ll always be your Warrior and Guardian?”

He looked super nervous. I threaded my fingers through his. “Yes, that’s part of it, but there’s also the part about me loving you.”

“Oh, good. I like that part.”

“Me, too,” I said. “But I also have to like you.”

“I thought you just said you did.”

“No, I just said I loved you. And I do. But you’ve been doing some things lately that I don’t like very much and we have to talk about it.”

“What do you mean?”

I decided that if I was going to be honest with myself, I had to be honest with Stark, so I told him the truth—straight out. “I don’t like how you treat me when Aurox is around. You act like a possessive jerk, and I want you to stop.”

He tried to pull his hand from mine, but I wouldn’t let him. “The point is, I don’t think you are a possessive jerk. I like who you really are, and I want you to go back to being that guy, all the time.”

“Fine. Whatever.”

“No, Stark. This isn’t gonna work if you’re not honest with me, and with yourself. You’ll always be my Warrior, but if you get all defensive with me and we can’t talk about our problems, it’ll end up that you’ll only be my Warrior and nothing else.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Seriously, Stark, think about it. If that was what I wanted, why would you and I be having this conversation?”

“So, you’re not breaking up with me?”

“I hope not,” I said.

He slowly let out a long breath like he was deflating. His shoulders slumped and he stared at the floor between his feet. “Knowing that you love Aurox is driving me fucking crazy, and I’m sorry it’s made me act like a douche. I don’t know what to do about it, though, because I can’t stand to think about you being with him.”

“Okay, first, I don’t love Aurox. I love Heath. I’ll always love Heath. You know that.”

“But Aurox has Heath’s soul inside him.”

“Yep, and I’m glad he does because that’s all that saved Grandma. I’ll always appreciate Aurox for that, but I don’t love him.”

“You don’t want to be with him? For real?” Stark pulled his gaze from the floor to look at me.

“I’ve decided I don’t want to be with him. For real,” I said.

“Why not?” Then, before I could answer him, Stark cut me off, “No—no, nevermind. I don’t care why not. I just care that you don’t want to be with him. I don’t want to know anything more than that.”

Okay, I’d meant to tell Stark about me tasting Aurox’s blood, and that it was really hard for me when I caught glimpses of Heath peeking out from inside Aurox, and that I did actually still love Heath and him. But even with all of those ands I’d decided that I just couldn’t handle having more than one boyfriend at a time. Instead I didn’t get to say any of that because Stark pulled me into his arms.

“I’m so damn glad you picked me!” he whispered.

I could feel that he was trembling, so I held him and whispered, “Me, too.” Then he was kissing me with a need that burned so hot that I couldn’t think about what I’d meant to say. All I could think about was his touch and how much I loved him.

It was later, after the sun had risen and Stark slept soundly beside me, his arm draped across my body, his side pressed intimately against me, that my mind started to work again, and I knew I had to talk to Aurox.