Chosen

CHAPTER 35

I jump off the stool to greet my friend, and Culebra comes out from behind the bar. He and Frey trade man hugs.

Unusual display for Culebra. Seeing Frey must have triggered guilt over his little tantrum earlier.

When they step apart, I give Frey a real hug, then look him over.

He’s dressed in pleated trousers, a cotton short-sleeved shirt with palm trees on a cream background and loafers. He’s carrying a leather briefcase and wearing reflector sunglasses with big frames that are distinctly feminine—tortoise shell with opaque amber lenses and a fancy golden Dolce & Gabbana logo near the hinge.

“Let me guess,” I say as he sweeps them off. “Layla’s glasses.”

He grins. “Damned if they don’t work, too. I can drive with these things. I’ll have to get a pair.”

“You might want to rethink the frames,” Culebra dead-pans. “Want a beer?”

Frey parks his butt on a stool and lays the briefcase on the bar before nodding at Culebra and saying to me, “I figured this is where you’d be.”

“I thought we weren’t going to meet until tonight.”

He accepts a Corona and we wait while he takes a first pull. “Got impatient,” he says then. “Decided not to wait.”

He looks around. “Place is pretty deserted for a Saturday. Fallout from what happened with Judith?”

“Judith? Is that her first name?”

Culebra and Frey both look surprised that I didn’t know. I shrug. “We never were formally introduced.”

Frey shakes his head. “Judith Williams. Pretty innocuous name for such a hellcat. I still can’t believe the damage she did.”

Culebra waves a hand. “And is still doing. I haven’t had a customer since Thursday night.” He motions us over to a table. “May as well get comfortable.”

Once we’re seated around the table I give voice to the question I know Culebra wants answered as much as I. “Why did you track me down?”

“I did a little more research,” he says. “The good news is I don’t believe David is in any real danger. At least not yet. I think you’re right that she took him to assure your cooperation. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t heard from her yet.”

“I checked my cell phone when I got home. Nothing. I haven’t been to the office yet, though. Did you call Tracey and Miranda?”

“Both think you and David are out of town on a job. Tracey is pissed at you because you didn’t tell her. Miranda is pissed at David because she thinks he lied. But it’s bought us time—until the middle of the week at least.”

Until the passing of the day. God, I hope it goes more smoothly than the fiasco in Biarritz.

I nod at Frey. “So tell us about your research.”

He reaches for the briefcase he’d carried from the bar, opens it and withdraws a file from inside. He spreads a dozen sheets of paper on the table. “This is some pretty interesting stuff,” he says, excitement shining from his eyes. “I can’t believe I hadn’t come across the mythology before.”

“Mythology?” The word sends a shock through me. Carries with it connotations of obsolete beliefs in long-defunct Basque goddesses. “Please tell me I’m not going to have to go through some archaic ritual.” Particularly one that might involve ritual rape.

But Frey isn’t fazed by my lack of enthusiasm. He doesn’t notice. He’s too caught up in his fervor to share what he’s learned.

“The Chosen One is mentioned in ancient texts going back to the time when angels and demons walked the earth. But the references have always been obscure and subject to interpretation. Which is why it’s been so hard to get specifics. Until now.”

He reaches once more into the briefcase. This time he pulls out a worn leather tome about the size of a paperback. The cover and spine are cracked, and the pages so brittle, when he lays the book down, flakes of parchment and dust puff up and dissipate like pollen in the wind.

“What is that?”

Frey looks at the book with an expression of awe. He holds it up carefully and with great reverence. “This is the Grimoire.”

Culebra and I exchange looks. His thoughts mirror my own. I speak them aloud. “What is a Grimoire?”

Frey places the book back on the table, resting one hand on it protectively as if afraid the book might sprout legs and run away.

For all we know, it might. Culebra’s remark is in response to my own musings.

Frey catches the mocking tone of Culebra’s comment and frowns. “You don’t understand what this book represents. It is the accumulated wisdom of The First. It is an account of how a Chosen One came to be. And a written text not only for what followed historically, but for what is to come. You, Anna, are the descendant of The First. Only one vampire every two hundred years is marked for the change. It is quite an honor.”

From his worshipful tone, I almost expect Frey to drop to one knee and kiss my hand. For the moment, I’m glad he can no longer read my thoughts.

Culebra, however, can and does. I expect him to be of one mind with me on this and even send him a private message to take it easy on Frey. He obviously believes the crap he’s spouting.

The surprise is on me.

Culebra’s eyes are shining when he turns his gaze on me. “Here is the counsel you were seeking.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. It takes me a moment to search Culebra’s mind, to convince myself he isn’t joking. Even then, I can’t help blurting, “You’re buying into this?”

“You were looking for the truth. I think Frey has found it.”

For a dizzying moment, I feel like Alice down the rabbit hole. Culebra and Frey both stare at me. Their eyes reflect awe, as if recognizing something in me that was never there before. It’s both disconcerting and ridiculous.

I slam my beer bottle down on the tabletop and they jump. Beer foams over the top and soaks the papers. Frey manages to grab the book before it gets soaked, too.

Now what I see in their eyes is something I’m used to—irritation—and that’s a lot easier to deal with.

I lean toward Frey. “Earth to Frey. This is the twenty-first century. Angels and demons no longer walk the earth and I don’t have a mark on me. I think you’ve either misread the prophecy or there is another vampire out there awaiting coronation. It’s not me.”

He’s whisking beer off the table with the edge of one hand, holding the book aloft with the other. “I don’t care whether you believe it or not,” he says. “You are the Chosen One. Everything that’s happened proves it. No newly made vampire has the strength and abilities you have. You’re here for a reason. You are going to have to accept it.”

“No. I don’t.”

He looks up and straight into my eyes. “Not even to save David?”

“That is so not fair.”

Even to my own ears I sound like a nasal Valley girl and I want to cringe. But the sentiment is real. I start ticking off reasons why this idea that I’m some kind of vampiric prophet is beyond insane.

“Let’s look at this logically. You said I’m the descendant of The First. How much sense does that make? Vampires don’t choose to become. They are not born, they are made. Donaldson attacked me because I was trying to take him into custody. He didn’t intend to turn me. He intended to kill me. I became vampire as the result of a random act. Nothing else. It was hardly destiny.”

Frey lets me finish before he launches into a litany of his own. “Random? Let’s see. Donaldson was in a parking lot that particular night because he’d gone out for a drink. Alone. To a bar he’d never gone to before on the night before he was to take off to Mexico. Did I get that right?”

He barely waits for my grudging nod. “You were there because you left a safe, secure job as a teacher to become a bounty hunter. In the grand scheme of things, makes as much sense as Donaldson risking his freedom to go out for a lousy drink. But let’s get back to what happened. Donaldson turns out not to be the human skip you expect him to be but a vampire who does not kill you, but turns you because he is interrupted and has to flee before he can finish you off.”

I don’t like the direction this is heading. I open my mouth, but Frey barges ahead.

“You wake up in a hospital with no memory of what happened. You are being taken care of by a doctor who, coincidentally, just happens to be on duty the night you’re brought in and even more coincidentally, happens to be a vampire himself.”

“It is coincidence,” I insist. “All of it.”

“Really?” Frey asks. “Then why did Avery take such an interest in you? You’ve been vampire long enough to know vampires are not social creatures. They may feel responsible for ones they themselves have turned. Williams with Ortiz, for instance. But why did Avery go out of his way to mentor you if he hadn’t seen that there was something different about you? Something special.”

“It’s called being horny, Frey. Avery wanted me for sex.”

“I’m sure that played a part in it,” he says dryly. “You do inspire that in men. But even when you met Williams for the first time, he called you ‘the one.’ He saw it, too. From the beginning.”

Damn it. I know I hadn’t told Frey all this. I wish now I’d bitten him sooner. He obviously had enough time to memorize every detail of my history before I broke our psychic connection.

I glance over at Culebra. He’s so wrapped up in Frey’s telling of the story, you’d think he was hearing it for the first time. I can’t expect any help from that quarter.

“All right. Let’s tackle this from another angle.” I sit up straighter in the chair. “If I’m so all powerful, how come Lance was able to fool me? He hasn’t been vampire that long and I didn’t have an inkling who he was. I swallowed his story like a shark swallows chum. I wasn’t even perceptive enough to sense that he was lying to me. He drugged me and dragged me off to France, for Christ’s sake. I can’t take care of myself. What idiot would want me to be responsible for the fate of the world?”

Finally, finally, I’ve rendered Frey speechless. He stares at me openmouthed. He didn’t know what had happened with Lance. He thought we’d just had a fight.

Culebra is the one who speaks first. “Anna, what happened with Lance is no reflection on you. It’s a reflection on him. He betrayed your love and your trust.”

Frey finds his voice. “He drugged you? Did he hurt you?”

“Not nearly as much as I plan to hurt him.”

“Why would he do it? What was he thinking?” He looks like he has a million other questions, none of which would make any more sense then the ones he just asked.

“Pretty much my reaction when I woke up. But I don’t want to talk about Lance. My point is I think you’re wrong about me. I’m not special and I’m not all-powerful and I don’t want to be responsible for anyone other than myself.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself.” This from Culebra. “And if Frey is right—” He sees me open my mouth to interrupt and forges ahead before I can. “If Frey is right, what you want isn’t important, is it? You won’t be the first leader to assume the burden of responsibility with reluctance and humility.”

“Well, I can sure as hell refuse to assume that mantle of responsibility. Who’s going to stop me?”

“If we’ve guessed right, Mrs. Williams.”

Frey succeeds with that simple declaration in bringing the conversation back full circle. “She must have heard from her husband a million times how you were fighting the prophecies. How you clung to your family, to David and your human life. Your family was out of reach. David was not.”

He’s slipped the book back into the briefcase with a glance to me that says he’s doing it to keep it out of harm’s way . . . out of my way. Then he shuffles the beer-soaked papers into a soggy pile. “I made notes about what I believe will happen on the evening of your ascension.”

“Ascension?” Another word that provokes a squeak of protest. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack,” he says with an earnestness that borders on mania. “Now, do you want to hear what I’ve learned, or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Culebra lays his hands over mine on the table. “I want to hear it,” he says. “Anna is through interrupting, aren’t you?”

I shake my head. For someone who may be addressing the Chosen One, you show remarkably little respect.

He grins. Come Tuesday, you might be able to smite me dead. Until then, this is my bar. He lifts a chin in Frey’s direction. “Go on. You have our attention.”