Revealed

Page 45

“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.