Chosen

CHAPTER 34

Sarcasm. A very good sign. I sneak a look over my shoulder and Culebra is reaching under the counter. He pulls out a couple of Coronas and holds one out. I traipse back to the bar, sink onto a stool and take the proffered beer. We clink bottles and drink.

After a moment I venture a tentative, “What was all that stuff about retiring? You wouldn’t really close this place down would you?”

He waves a hand. “There might not be anything left to close down. Look around. That Williams woman drove all my customers away, hosts and vampires. She was nuts. She killed a mortal without a shred of remorse and when I tried to stop her, she knocked me cold. I thought you said she was newly turned.”

“She is. Williams turned her when he was in need of blood. Not more than six or eight weeks ago. About the time of Ortiz’ funeral. Until now, she’s never had to feed on her own. Williams must have been letting her feed from him.”

I know how powerful that connection can be. It’s the way Avery controlled me. She was Williams’ wife. The bond of sex and blood is strong enough without adding love.

Love fucks up a lot of things. Maybe if I’d kept a clearer head about Lance—

Culebra is in my head before I realize those last thoughts were left unguarded.

“I’m sorry Lance betrayed you. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“Why not?” I put the bottle down, rest my elbows on the bar.

“I was an idiot. Lance and his sire were part of some nutty Basque traditionalist group that believed their goddess, Mari, would return to earth and signal a resurgence of the old ways—whatever the hell they are. Julian Underwood convinced Lance I was Mari. Partly, I suppose, because of Williams’ insistence that I was this Chosen One. Anyway, Underwood and Williams devised a plan. Long story short, they sent Lance to keep an eye on me. Williams told Lance to tell me that you sent him.”

I lean forward, waiting for Culebra to make a comment on my gullibility.

To his credit, he doesn’t. Not even in his head. I continue. “It worked. Lance and I became close. Williams made the mistake of trusting Underwood. He probably knew nothing about the Basque thing. Thought Underwood’s goals were the same as his. He was wrong and ended up a pile of ash in a torched car.”

“And what about Underwood and Lance?”

“Underwood is a corpse. Lance isn’t. At least not yet.”

Culebra is quiet for a moment when I finish. His dark gaze feels like a drill boring into my head.

When it gets too penetrating, I bark, “What?”

“You are awfully cavalier about Lance. You can’t tell me this hasn’t taken a toll on your emotions. You said yourself, you and he had gotten close.”

I snort and resume drinking. Recounting the story has brought the vampire to the surface. I still have Underwood’s blood inside, flowing like a river of acid. Deep down, I was hoping there would be a host here to dilute the poison. Right now, the only emotion I feel is disappointment.

“Maybe that’s what you want to tell yourself,” Culebra says, reading my thoughts. “But ridding yourself of Underwood’s blood is not the only reason you came today.”

No. But it’s not what he thinks. I’m not here for therapy.

“David is missing. I believe Mrs. Williams took him. I think she intends to follow in her husband’s footsteps and force me to accept the destiny he died protecting. You and I have never talked about it. So, I’m asking you now. Do you know what it means to be the Chosen One?”

Culebra’s expression grows distant. I can’t tell if he’s searching his memory for the answer or if he knows it, and is burying it deep in his subconscious so it’s hidden from me. He’s locked me out and I can only wait, nursing my Corona, until he decides to come back.

At last, he does.

I can tell before he begins to speak, I’m not going to like what he has to say. His eyes tell me first. They are cold again, forged steel.

“These are things I can take no part in.” His tone is formal and as cold as his eyes. “They are matters of the vampire. The supernatural community has long been divided as to its place in the world, but the one tenet always held dear is that when the Chosen One comes, it marks either the beginning or the end of what is to be for us all. I can’t offer you counsel, Anna, because if it is true, if you are the Chosen One, the world as we know is yours to shape. Yours. Alone.”

More existential bullshit. I clasp my hands together to keep from reaching across the bar to slap him. “This is Anna you’re talking to,” I whisper in a voice choked with anger. “I couldn’t protect myself from my delusional boyfriend and his psychotic sire. How good do you think I’ll be at changing the world?”

Culebra, my Culebra, smiles at that, a slow, sweet smile. He tilts his head and winks. “You will do what you always do when the time comes.” He touches his chest with his fist.

Like the old Roman salute. “And what does that mean exactly?”

“You’ll follow your instincts. Your heart. It’s all that can be expected of anyone. Even a Chosen One.”

I take the last pull and lay the empty bottle on the bar. “Not much in the way of practical advice.”

He motions toward the bottle. “Want another?”

I glance at my watch. Still hours to go until it gets dark. “Why not?”

He’s opened the cooler and is about to pull out a second Corona when the bar doors swing in. He looks up and I swivel on the barstool.

In walks Daniel Frey.