Jivaja (Soul Cavern Series Book 1) Read online

  “Where are you visiting from?”

  “You are full of questions tonight, young Ms. Trenow.”

  She watched him for a span of two floors. She wasn’t going to let him off that easily.

  Finally, he chuckled and said, “I was born in what is now the Ukraine.”

  Well, that explained the accent. “You’re Russian.”

  He inclined his head. “As you wish.”

  The elevator chimed a low note, and the doors slid open with a quiet pneumatic sound. Claude got behind her and wheeled her down another, longer hallway with hardwood floors. Electric sconces lined the walls here also, but the wood was of a lighter grain than below, giving the hall a brighter appearance.

  “Think there’s any way I could get a shower? I feel disgusting.”

  “Perhaps. I'll see what I can do about that.”

  “Thanks.”

  The hallway ended in a set of French doors. Images of lily pads and reeds were etched into the glass and tinted with subtle color. As much as Mecca didn’t want to see beauty here, the doors were lovely. It pissed her off a little bit.

  Beyond, Mecca saw a great room with posh and expensive furnishings. Claude opened the door and pushed Mecca through, the wheels of her chair again sinking into rich carpet.

  A black baby grand piano stood along one side, the top propped up, finish gleaming as if had just been polished. Nearby, a cello leaned against its stand. A thick oriental rug covered the hard wood floor, leaving only a foot between its edges and the walls. She didn't have an eye for art, but the paintings looked museum quality, framed in intricately carved wood. Everything in the room looked old, antique, exquisite.

  Claude turned her away from the instruments and moved her through a sitting area flanked with tall bookcases, on which stood small musical items. Beyond a pair of Queen Anne chairs, they came to a set of smaller French doors with the same lily pad motif carved into them.

  On the other side of the tinted glass, Mecca saw a large stone balcony with a thick pillar rail; a bistro table had been laid with a bright, white tablecloth. It seemed luminescent in the darkness.

  The slim and striking figure of Emilia sat in one dainty chair. Set a few feet behind the empty space at the table where the second chair would be, a fire burned inside a square metal fire pit. When Emilia saw their approach, she rose and opened the glass door.

  “Good evening, Mecca, Claude.”

  Claude wheeled her through the threshold and onto the balcony. He pushed her chair up to the table and then excused himself and slipped back into the music room. A cool breeze brought the scent of gardenias on the night air.

  Mecca remained silent, but studied Emilia closely. She hated to admit it, but the woman was stunning. Emilia wore a long sleeve linen blouse in a flax color along with loose-fitting black, silk slacks. Her dark hair, swept back on top, left only the pageboy curl at the base of her neck, near her collar. She wore very little make-up, enough to accent her almond-shaped eyes and her high cheekbones. The woman moved with efficiency, yet each move was fluid and graceful.

  “I thought a breath of fresh night air might do you good. I hope you don’t mind dining with me.” Emilia sank back into the seat opposite Mecca’s wheelchair.

  “In truth, I hope I’ll be eating alone.” Mecca's bravado overcame her.

  Emilia's forehead wrinkled. “Pardon?”

  “Are you going to have a bowl of blood? Maybe a freshly killed squirrel?”

  Emilia laughed, a light, genuine sound. “You're serious, aren't you?”

  Mecca pursed her lips.

  “No,” Emilia said as the French doors opened. “Tonight we'll be having salmon, not squirrel.”

  An old man wearing a well-tailored butler’s suit complete with snow-white gloves came out onto the balcony, pushing a silver cart, like those found in fancy hotels. He bent into a deep, formal bow for Emilia, then offered a smaller one to Mecca before putting two dome-covered dishes before each of them.

  When the old man removed the first dome from in front of Mecca, a white cloud of steam escaped and the rich smell of potato soup wafted to her nose. Her belly rumbled. She wished she wasn’t hungry.

  He lifted the second dome and revealed a white plate stacked with fresh greens, cherry tomatoes, carrots and cucumbers. A small dish of vinaigrette perched on the edge of the plate. The man set the domes on his cart, then took a step back, putting his hands behind his back.

  “Is that satisfactory so far?” Emilia asked.

  The potato soup looked thick and smelled like heaven. Mecca nodded.

  Emilia waved a hand at the servant, who promptly disappeared through the French doors, taking the cart with him. Mecca watched him close the doors, then turned to look at Emilia, who gave her an encouraging nod.

  “Go ahead.” When Mecca hesitated, Emilia continued. “If we’d wanted to do something as simple as poison you, don’t you think you’d be dead by now?”

  Mecca didn’t fear poison. She simply found herself uncomfortable eating in front of Emilia. Since she'd be wheeled up to the table, Emilia had been watching her with a strange look. Predatory. It made Mecca self-conscious. Not to mention the inability to leave — to even stand.

  But her stomach growled its protest at the delay. She gave in and lifted the spoon to her lips. The hot soup warmed her mouth and tasted as good as the smell had promised. The earthy potato taste comforted her on some level she didn’t understand. She ate spoonful after spoonful, unmindful of Emilia, who'd begun to eat her salad.

  Finally, the woman spoke again. “I think you understand what it is I want to know.” Emilia’s voice was soft, but held the strength of steel behind it. “My end goal isn’t to hurt you, though you should know that I will if I must. That is entirely up to you. But in an effort to show you that I’m not your enemy, I will answer some questions you might have. There are things I will not answer, but you may ask what you wish and will speak as truthfully as I can.”

  Mecca couldn’t keep the look of surprise from crossing her face. “Why would you do that? You’ve kept me here for who knows how long, drugged, against my will. How can you say you’re not my enemy?”

  “I’m not. Have you been hurt while you’ve been here? Has anyone done you any sort of harm whatsoever? You’ve been very well cared for. You’ve been fed. You’re getting fresh air.”

  “I make a nice pet then.”

  Emilia's pert nose wrinkled. “If I truly were the demon you seem to think I am, then I would have gotten the information out of you, ripped your throat out and gorged myself on your life.”

  Mecca blanched. It was probably true. She looked out over the rail into the darkness and watched the shadows on the lawn below. Just past the light being thrown from the balcony, Mecca made out a very straight and square hedge. The apparent enormity of the estate intimidated her.

  “All right,” she said. “Questions, then. What is it you have against my father?”

  “Against him? Nothing. Nothing at all. The research that you'd done — the print outs from your bag — we only expanded upon that. It wasn't difficult making the connections, once we knew what to look for.” Emilia took a sip of her own soup and made a satisfied murmur beneath her breath. “I do find him very interesting, in the same way I find you very interesting. Is that so surprising?”

  “I suppose not.” She reminded herself again that she and her father shared the Gift. After a lifetime of being separate, different, she found it hard to remember that she and her dad were not as different as she’d always thought. It surprised her every time she recalled. A sad bitterness enveloped her. She set aside her soup bowl and began picking at her salad. “What do you want with us?”

  “We’ll get to that in a bit.”

  “Fine. I saw your guy. That night.” She watched for a reaction, but Emilia seemed to have none. “I know you were spying on Hayden. Why?”

  Emilia leaned back in the little bistro chair and folded her hands on her waist, her elbows resting on the chair
’s arms. Her gaze traced Mecca up and down. The appraisal made Mecca uncomfortable, but she continued to toy with her salad and tried to seem oblivious.

  “Hayden,” Emilia said, with a hint of reluctance, “had been under surveillance for quite some time. He was a bit of a rogue in our little family and had caused some trouble. We kept an eye on him, especially when he paid visits to that part of town. He got into trouble there on more than one occasion.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “We have rules, you know. Unfortunately, Hayden was not one to follow rules unless he made them.”

  Just as Mecca pushed her salad plate away, the French doors opened and the older man returned with his cart. He swept away the bowls and salad plates, tucking them onto a shelf beneath the main tray.

  A large, covered plate appeared before Mecca and another before Emilia. He lifted the domes with an economy of movement that impressed her. The full plate came into view. It held rice, steamed broccoli, squash and cauliflower, and a grilled salmon fillet. The aroma alone made her mouth water.

  The man refilled her water goblet and filled the other glass with iced tea. Emilia waved her hand away when he tried to do the same for her. His ministrations complete, he took a single step back and waited, hands behind his back. Emilia gave him a small nod, and he wheeled his cart through the doors and closed them behind him.

  Mecca took a sip of the tea, then looked across the table at her hostess. Hundreds of questions flew through her mind, but only a few really stuck out. She didn’t want to think about her father for a while. “What is Will? He’s not one of you, and I get the impression he’s not exactly one of me, either.”

  A wry smile played across Emilia’s lips. “You’re asking all the hard ones, aren’t you?”

  “And what would you ask, in my position?”

  “Point taken.” Emilia sipped her water and looked out over the darkened yard.

  Mecca took a small bite of her rice. As time drew out, she wondered whether Emilia would answer her question. It seemed like a very long time before the other woman looked back at her, her jaw set.

  “First, you need to know about the Visci,” Emilia said. “My people.”

  Mecca said nothing about Will mentioning the Visci to her already. He'd been kind, and she didn't want to get him into trouble if he shouldn’t have told her. “Is that something like the Native Americans?” Mecca asked. Maybe if she played really dumb, she’d get more information.

  “No, nothing at all. We are not human, as you may have guessed, yet we are just as natural as humans. We are a different species.”

  “So you're not vampires?”

  The smile that crossed Emilia's face wasn't arrogant but amused. “Not as you would think of them. There are many of us who believe your vampire legends come from mistaken assumptions about our kind.”

  Though Mecca had tasted the salmon and found it delicious, Emilia's story became her main focus, her appetite gone. She hated that the story intrigued her so much, but she couldn't deny it.

  “We do feed on blood, that is true. Our lives are much, much longer than a human's, though we can die of old age. We are difficult to kill by the normal methods. There are a few differences between us and humans, but more similarities, really. And when we share our blood with a human, some of our traits are transferred to him on a temporary basis.”

  “Like a longer life?” That would explain Will's cryptic comments about being so old.

  “Yes.”

  Mecca realized she'd been leaning forward, and she forced herself to relax and settle back. Heat from the fire pit had warmed the vinyl supports of the wheelchair, and it felt good against her back. “This sounds crazy, you realize?”

  Emilia extended her hands in an open gesture. “And what you do wouldn't sound crazy?”

  Mecca groused beneath her breath, but said nothing out loud. She didn’t want to talk about herself or her Gift.

  “So, to answer your original question, Will is my companion. He is human.”

  “And you've extended his life with your blood?” The thought of Will drinking blood made her shudder. Did he drink it from her neck? From a cup? How did that work? She couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  “Yes, I’ve extended his life.”

  “What will happen if he stops?”

  “If he doesn't have access to Visci blood? He's already outlived his natural life. He will die.”

  Her matter-of-fact tone startled Mecca. She'd assumed that companion meant lover. Or at least someone very close. Emilia seemed disconnected from the feelings her words should have brought up. At least, to Mecca's way of thinking. And that made Emilia cold-hearted.

  “I've given you some very important information,” her host said, when Mecca didn't respond. “Information that is not generally shared with humans. Now, I would ask for something in return.”

  The hair on the back of Mecca's neck rose. “What something?”

  “I would like details of yourself and your…talent. You've exhibited some abilities which intrigue me.”

  “Like killing Hayden.”

  “Just so. I am particularly interested in that. I’m prepared to offer you a certain amount of freedom in return for your cooperation.”

  Now, the tiny hairs on Mecca’s arms stood at attention too. “What are you talking about?”

  “Unfortunately, it would cause problems if we were to let you roam free without any sort of supervision or guidance.”

  The salmon had grown cold in the night air, and Mecca dropped her fork to the plate. She was going to be kept a prisoner. “You know,” Mecca said, her voice flat, “I understand every word that’s come out of your mouth, but the way you’re stringing them together doesn’t make the least bit of sense.”

  “Don’t be insulted.” Emilia’s voice lilted across the table and embraced Mecca with its tone. “You don’t want to kill innocent people, do you? Don’t you see what your father did? He has this same talent, and how did he use it? He killed people.”

  The words stabbed straight to Mecca’s heart, sharp and vicious. She couldn’t keep the tears from welling in her eyes. The fear and self-doubt smothered her. She clutched at her anger as she tried to pull herself from the darkness.

  “He wasn’t much older than you when he started killing for profit, Mecca.”

  How could her voice be resonating so deeply? How could she know those fears Mecca held tightly since she’d first seen the fuzzy photo of her father on that website? After a long moment, Mecca finally raised her gaze, took a big breath, and met Emilia’s eyes. “What my father may or may not have done when he was young has no bearing on who I am. What is it, exactly, that you want from me?”

  “I’ve told you. I want to know about you and your power. I want to know who else besides the two of you has this power. And most of all —”

  “I don’t know who else has it.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

  Emilia raised both brows. Her eyes glinted like ice as she leaned in, elbows resting on the table. She fixed her gaze on Mecca. “Don’t lie to me. I will always, always know when you lie to me.”

  Mecca jerked back, away from that intense stare. She closed her own eyes, shook her head. A coldness crept along the edges of her mind; it was a physical feeling. Something foreign in her thoughts, in her mind.

  She opened her eyes again and leaned forward, rage rushing through her. “Get out of my head!”

  Chapter Thirteen: Mecca

  Mecca glared across the table as the coldness receded from her mind. Emilia watched her, calm and undisturbed, her thin pale lips turned up in a smile that looked more friendly than predatory.

  “And most of all,” Emilia continued her previous statement, “I want you to agree to a proposal. But first, I do require information.”

  The urge to answer right away rose, but Mecca fought it down. She flexed her calves. The restraints on her legs tightened as she tried to bring her anger under control. Being upset wouldn’t help
her situation. Why did she have this compulsion to answer Emilia? It had happened more than once. Instead of responding immediately, she considered what to reveal and what to keep secret.

  She had to believe that at some point there would be an opportunity to get away. She must remain clear-headed enough to recognize it when it happened. If she could just give Emilia enough information to satisfy her, then maybe Mecca could find a way to escape.

  “I can feel people’s energy. I can take it from them and use it for myself. That’s the nature of my gift.”

  “And that’s how you killed Hayden, by taking his energy?”

  “Hayden had no energy of his own.” An angry edge crept into her voice. “What I took from him was not his.”

  “I see.” Emilia studied her for a moment. Mecca saw a question in the woman’s eyes and for a moment expected her to ask it. Instead, Emilia said, “What made you choose him?”

  “I didn't choose him.”

  “But you went out with him. Why?”

  Mecca looked down at her gloved hands. “He just felt strange to me. I guess I was curious.”

  “So you didn’t plan to kill him?”

  A sharp stab of anger flashed through Mecca’s belly. “Kill him? He attacked me. I reacted.”

  “You were just defending yourself? I know he tried to feed from you.”

  “Yes.” She’d killed him trying to free the stolen soul he had inside. But she wasn’t going to share that with Emilia. Let her believe what she wished. “You said earlier that you have a proposal to offer me.”

  “Indeed, I did. I would like for you to join me. I could use someone of your talent and ability. You will be well compensated, of course. And you can complete your studies at university if that’s what you wish.”

  Mecca tried to stifle her shock. Of all the things she’d anticipated, becoming Emilia's “employee” had never entered her thoughts. Her mind spun. “I don’t understand.”

  “For the most part, you will live your life in the same way you have so far. The only difference will be that sometimes I will give you an assignment to rid of us some problems. Like your own society, we have those who continually live outside the bounds of our laws. If they will not correct their behavior, they must be reined in. You are perfect for that sort of thing.”