Jivaja (Soul Cavern Series Book 1) Read online

  Realization slowly crept into her mind. “Wait a minute. You want me to assassinate people?” How much crazier could this get?

  “That is harsh. When people go beyond the law, there must be consequences. Hayden, for instance, couldn’t control himself. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say that he wouldn’t control himself. When there are those who would disrupt our society— any society — with their rebellious ways, then they must either be brought back into the fold or removed permanently.”

  Now it all made sense. Emilia didn’t kill me because she wants to use me. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that sort of thing.”

  Emilia waved a hand in the air. “Of course you are. It’s what you were made for. You’re the perfect killing machine: quiet, unassuming, and deadly. Just like your father. But unlike your father, you would be doing it for the greater good.”

  “Greater good. Right.” Mecca couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  Emilia leaned in, resting her elbows on the arms of her chair. “In order for us — my kind — to survive in this world, we must always remain under cover of darkness, as it were. We must be aware of exactly who is available and who is off limits to us. We must all adhere to certain rules.”

  “You mean when killing someone.”

  “Killing isn’t necessary.” Emilia smiled. “We are not so different, you and I.”

  Mecca tried to jump to her feet. The restraints bit into her skin. “I am nothing like you! Don’t you ever say that!” She jerked against her bonds again, frustration pricking through her veins. She had to find a way to get out of this place.

  “All right. I don’t want to argue the philosophical points of our existence right now, at any rate. Just know that those of my kind who do not respect our laws become a danger for all of us as a whole. They do not recognize those who should be safe from us. They do not follow the rules. In getting rid of them, we benefit, of course, but humans benefit as well. Those who should always be protected will remain protected.”

  “Like you would protect anyone.”

  Emilia leaned back and opened her hands, palms up. “We’re not as terrible as you seem to think. There are people who are, or rather, should always be safe from us. Children, for example. It is within our code that children are not to be preyed upon. If a rogue disregards that rule, then your society suffers as innocent children are killed.”

  “And you care?”

  “I won’t try to mislead you by saying that the law is not self-serving. Children’s deaths tend to be heavily investigated. If we prey on children, the chances of our being discovered increase. In this case, the edict is mutually beneficial.” Emilia fixed her with a pointed look, and Mecca’s belly did a flip. “And if one of mine does not follow it… well, that is where you would come in.”

  “To slaughter the monster who is killing the innocents.” Mecca’s voice played flat.

  “You can understand how this arrangement would be for the best, in all regards.”

  Mecca gave no reply. When did her life go insane? Her father — a killer. Herself — an assassin? Too much.

  Emilia rose with grace. “I will give you tomorrow to think on it. Will is here to take you back to your room, unless you have further questions? Though it’s a shame you didn’t finish your salmon.”

  Through the etched doors, Mecca could see Will across the music room, fingering the keyboard on the piano. His polo shirt, tucked into belted blue jeans, hugged his torso and defined his shoulders.

  Half-formed questions bounced around in Mecca’s mind. Then the only fully realized question bounced from her lips. “Would I be the way he is, then?” Her gaze swung up to meet Emilia’s. “Would you be feeding me your blood?”

  Emilia smiled. “Of course. It’s been going well thus far.”

  Emilia had left after the old man had cleared the table. Mecca put her head in her hands, closed her eyes and allowed self-pity to wash over her. The soft, smooth gloves covering her hands only reminded her that she was trapped. She resisted the urge to cry, though she had no idea how long she could keep the tears away.

  She swallowed back the bile that rose at the thought of Emilia’s blood coursing through her own veins. They must have done that while she was asleep. The IV had been taken out for her little date with Emilia, but they must have used that to give her the blood while she slept. She couldn't remember seeing anything but clear liquid in the bags when she was awake.

  That bitch.

  Mecca had killed Hayden in self-defense. She wasn’t a murderer, not really, but if she could get her hands on Emilia…

  Mecca took a deep breath. That line of thinking wouldn’t help her right now. She fought her anger and the accompanying sense of doom and tried to think rationally.

  Emilia’s offer was clearly an ultimatum. They would not let her go if she didn’t help them. They’d kill her as surely as they drugged her every day.

  A vampire assassin. Okay, so they weren't really vampires, but in their own way, they were.

  What would life be like? Perhaps she would have ended up here anyway. She’d gone on that research binge with the intention of learning about vampire legends and folklore. Why? Had she planned on going this route? Had she thought she might be like some medieval slayer of the undead? Or Buffy?

  The French doors opened, and Will stepped onto the balcony in his polo shirt and faded, well-worn jeans. They watched each other for an appraising moment.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Tears sprang into Mecca’s eyes at the simple question. She blinked several times to keep them from falling and nodded. Will approached and wheeled her into the sitting room.

  “She’s really not a monster, if that helps you at all.”

  “How can you say that, knowing what she does?” The chair moved slowly through the thick carpet.

  “You don’t know what she does or doesn’t do, Mecca. She runs this city well and with a minimum of disruption. She doesn’t kill indiscriminately, generally, and she doesn’t tolerate those who do. You would be hard put to find a lower crime rate in a city of this size or a better economy.”

  “And in exchange, we sacrifice virgins to the dragon?”

  “If you wish to be melodramatic, then yes. With the good always comes the bad. Everything has its price.” His tone, though matter-of-fact, was also gentle.

  “What if I don’t want to be bought?”

  They’d reached the elevator and Will stepped around the chair, pulled a plastic card from his jeans pocket and waved it over the card reader. The lift doors whooshed open.

  His shirt accented his toned chest and especially his arms. He wasn't chiseled, but she could see the movement of his bicep as he slid the card back into his jeans. She found herself glad he hadn't worn his lab coat.

  “If you don’t wish to be bought,” he said as he wheeled the chair into the elevator, “then you’re in the wrong century. Everyone is bought.”

  “You’re cynical.”

  “Perhaps. I’ve seen enough to be realistic.”

  They rode in silence as the elevator descended. Mecca wondered, if she accepted Emilia’s proposal, would her attitude be like Will's as time wore on?

  “What happens to you if Emilia dies? She told me that you’re only alive this long because of her. So when she dies, you'll die too?” Mecca couldn’t see Will behind her, but the long pause told her she’d caught him off guard.

  “Emilia won't die.”

  “I thought you've seen enough to be realistic? Everyone dies.”

  “Very well. Any of them can do for me what Emilia does. Whether they would find me useful enough to do so is debatable.”

  “And how long would that take? How much time would you have before you died?” The lift stopped on their floor and the chair jerked forward as Will pushed.

  “I have no idea. I’ve not tested it.”

  As they made their way down the hall, Mecca’s thoughts flew. Every step he took brought Mecca closer to that bed
, with its restraints and haze-inducing drugs.

  She inched her hands closer together and then reached beneath the sleeve of her gown. The glove rose just above her wrist and fit tight to her hand, with an elastic edge. She slipped two fingers under the band and brought her arms in to her belly.

  Please let this work.

  They stopped at her door and Will again laid his card on the reader. Mecca heard the lock release. She swayed in her chair and groaned.

  Will eyed her as he opened the door. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m feeling…a bit light-headed. And my stomach hurts.”

  Will pushed the chair into the room and closed the wooden door behind them. The lock caught with a click. Mecca swayed again as Will set the brake on the chair.

  Please let this work. And please don’t let me accidentally kill him.

  Mecca let out another loud groan and slumped forward, relaxing her whole body. Now, while it was shielded from his sight by her body, she pulled the glove off her hand.

  “Shit.” Will rushed to her side and slid his arm between Mecca’s chest and legs, bracing to pull her up by the shoulders. Mecca let her head loll to the side as he heaved her into an upright position.

  As she was moved, Mecca grabbed Will's arm. He tried to lurch backward, his eyes wide with surprise, but Mecca held on.

  “I’m sorry,” Mecca whispered when the surprise turned to panic.

  Will's Cavern superimposed itself on Mecca's vision. His energy filled the place with golden light, making the walls seem to glow. The fringes of the light glinted a very pale green. Strange. The edge colors were usually vibrant, almost pulsing with whatever color.

  But she couldn't linger to admire. She dipped into the golden luminosity and began siphoning it off quickly, almost the way one would drain off gas from a car.

  Behind her vision of the Cavern, Will's eyes widened and his mouth opened. A gasp escaped his lips before the loss of energy began to affect him. He tried to struggle then, but it was too late. Mecca held him easily.

  He rocked on his heels, eyelids drooping. Mecca slowed the energy drain just as Will began to slump. As soon as he hit the floor, unconscious, Mecca released his arm. He fell into a heap beside the wheelchair.

  Mecca licked her finger and held it under Will's nose. She’d seen that in some movie or other. The wetness cooled with the small exhales coming from his nostrils. Her relief came out in a rushed breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

  Energy sang in every cell of her body. She’d never drained anyone to unconsciousness; she felt like running ten miles.

  Mecca unbuckled the strap across her lap and then reached down and unfastened the cuffs that held her ankles to the leg braces. She hoisted herself out of the chair and stumbled before getting her feet back under her. It took a minute to steady herself and get used to standing again. She stretched her legs and jogged in place for a moment before she trusted them fully.

  Will lay at her feet, in a crumpled heap. But he still breathed. A wavy lock of coppery-brown hair lay across his nose. Mecca crouched and brushed it back, to show his closed eyes. His eyelashes, a deep brown, were so long the bottoms and tops tangled together. She pulled her gaze away from his face, and then checked his pulse. It beat strong enough to convince her that the man wasn’t dying.

  She didn’t want Will dead. The others, maybe. But not Will.

  Mecca pawed through his jeans until she found the passkey that would open the doors. Her heart sat thick in her throat and beat a hard tempo in her veins. If they caught her, would they kill her?

  Probably.

  She couldn’t go trying to escape in the white gown they'd put her in. ”Oh shit.” She didn't even know why they did it. She checked the tiny bathroom, then the closet, but neither had her clothes in them. She looked down at Will. Mecca could probably fit into his clothes, though they would be way too big. Will stood about three inches taller.

  She wasted no more time thinking. She stripped Will down to his navy blue briefs, trying not to stare, a ferocious heat in her cheeks the entire time. She turned her back to him, tucked the keycard into the back pocket of the jeans and pulled the clothes on. She rolled the legs up at her ankle twice so they wouldn't drag the floor and tucked the polo shirt in. She cinched the black belt and fastened it on the innermost hole. The jeans still rode low on her hips.

  His shoes didn’t fit at all. She’d have to go barefoot.

  She looked at Will's almost naked body. She took a moment to drape her white gown over his still form.” I’m sorry. But I have to get out of here.”

  She pulled the passkey out of her pocket. The plastic card, cool in her hand, disengaged the lock, and she eased the door open. After a glance in both directions revealed no one else in the corridor, she stepped through and closed the door. It locked with a satisfying click.

  The elevator looked miles away. Mecca straightened her back and strode toward it. The small metal panel blinked when she put Will's card on it. The doors opened to reveal an empty lift.

  So far so good.

  She pressed the button for ground level. The elevator rose. Her nerves, already over-worked, tingled from the draw she had from Will; it felt like her entire body of energy resided just below her skin. If anyone touched her, she would flash like a camera. As the elevator rose, she stretched her legs the same way she would before a track meet. If she had to run, she’d better be prepared.

  The doors slid open, and she stepped into a hallway that resembled the others with its wood paneling and hardwood floors. This hall had no carpet runner and the wooden floor cooled her feet.

  The music room upstairs had opened onto a balcony. Probably the room below it opened onto a patio. She turned in the same direction Claude had taken her upstairs.

  The quiet hall unnerved her. She tried to keep her steps measured in case someone saw her.

  Most people will accept that you belong somewhere if you act like you belong. Life’s all about faking it.

  She found the room which she thought corresponded to the music room from upstairs. It also had double doors, but in solid wood, rather than glass. One sat ajar, soft light flickering through the opening. She slipped through and closed the door quietly behind her. She wheeled around, hoping to find patio doors she could sneak out. She stopped mid-spin and stood as still as a lamppost.

  Ceiling-high bookcases covered every wall, stuffed with hard covers; dozens of paperbacks crowded the bottom shelves. A rolling ladder leaned motionless in a corner to her left. On the opposite wall, a fireplace entertained a small blaze while a cozy leather seating arrangement clustered around. Standing beside the fireplace, a tall, dark-haired man looked at her, brows raised, remaining as motionless as she. The dark tang of fear crept up her throat.

  On the leather sofa, with a book open on his lap, sat Claude.

  Chapter Fourteen: David

  David brought the binoculars to his eyes and looked across the road. Balancing in the boughs of an oak tree, he sat, freezing his ass off, and studied the house. Well, studied the estate.

  David had reconned the perimeter when he'd arrived over an hour ago. The wall surrounded the estate as far as he could see. The back of the property abutted a small side road and from there, a rutted track led to a rust red, pipe gate set into the estate's wall. He'd parked on the main road and doubled-back to check out the gate.

  In the darkness, he’d made out a stout man sitting on a folding chair just inside the gate, an assault rifle lying across his knees. The track led into a copse of trees. He couldn't see farther in the darkness, but as he'd returned to the van and driven the rest of the way around the perimeter, he'd thought the back gate might be a way to get in.

  The tree branch creaked as he shifted his weight. The last few leaves that had clung to his branch sifted to the ground.

  The imposing colonial perched on top of a gentle rise, surrounded by landscaped lawns dappled with dozens of species of trees and bushes. The winding drive passed through the
gates of a stacked stone wall. Coiled on top of the wall wound nasty looking cords of barbed wire. Just inside the gate, he made out a squat guard station.

  The house itself sat like a crown on the hill. Majestic was a fitting description. It didn’t surprise him to see men patrolling along the wrap-around porch. Although they didn't seem heavily armed, they each wore a hip holster equipped with a pistol. David lowered the binoculars and inched along the branch, toward the trunk. Within a minute, his feet crunched on the fallen leaves around the base of the tree.

  He moved farther into the tree line, but kept the gated wall in sight. He'd parked the van a few hundred yards away, off an old service road that looked like it hadn't been used since the Carter administration. Close enough to run to if it became necessary, but out of sight of the two lane blacktop that led to the estate.

  With each step into the woods, the faint smell of moldy leaves came up to meet him, sour and damp. He took a cell phone out of his pocket — the one he'd taken off Irish — and found the number he'd keyed into it earlier.

  “Hello?” A soft, feminine voice.

  “Ms. Laos, this is David Trenow.”

  He got no response at first. After the pause, she said, “It's almost two a.m., Mr. Trenow.”

  “Yes. It's time for our meeting.”

  “You keep very odd business hours.”

  “Get into your car and drive toward Stone Mountain. I'll call you and give you directions to where we will meet. Come alone.”

  “Very well,” she said. “Understand that I do not often take orders. I make an exception this one time, simply because I am interested in meeting with you.”

  “Noted.” David closed the phone, ending the call.

  Less than twenty minutes later, the iron gate opened and a smoke grey Audi rolled through. From his crouch, deep inside the tree line, David looked through the binoculars. Everything came into sharp relief. He stayed low as the car came down the short drive, toward his position. In the still night air, the engine's purr sounded like a rumble. Through the windshield, he saw the murky figure of a woman driving. He couldn't make out anyone else in the car, though it was possible someone could have been hiding in the back seat.