In the Forests of the Night dos-1 Read online

  Alexander was looking at the visitor with a dark gaze. I remembered his confession to me about the things he saw, and how he could hear the thoughts in minds around him. I was afraid to know what he was seeing and hearing now.

  Turning away from my brother, I looked at our visitor. He wore black breeches and a crimson shirt. The color was too bold for the time; the dyes for such brilliant hues were expensive. The whole outfit had probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.

  "Please come in," my papa was saying. "I'm Peter Weatere, Rachel's father, and this is my son, Alexander. This is my other daughter, Lynette," he added as we joined them. "And of course you know Rachel."

  Papa assumed that, since our visitor had asked for me, he knew me. But I had seen him before only in passing, and the one time I had spoken with him, I had not been told his name.

  "Aubrey Karew," the young man introduced himself, shaking my father's hand. I heard the faintest trace of an accent, though I could not place it. I had not been given much exposure to different languages.

  I looked up, and Aubrey's eyes seemed to catch me. They sent shivers down my spine. Something kept me from looking away, as if I was a bird caught in the eyes of a snake.

  "How may I help you, Mr. Karew?" my father was asking. I tried to keep my eyes down, as was proper, but could not. Aubrey's eyes were hypnotizing, and I could not force my gaze away from them.

  Then this strange young man handed me a rose, which I took without thinking. I should not have been taking gifts from young men my father had barely met, but the way this man's eyes caught me had startled me, and I took the rose before I even realized what it was.

  "Mr. Karew," my father said, frowning, "this is rather improper—"

  "You're right," Aubrey said.

  Papa stood dumbstruck. I looked at the rose, which I was still holding. It was beautiful—such long-stemmed roses did not grow in the northern colonies. For a moment I thought it was deep red, but soon I realized it was black. One of the thorns caught the skin of my hand, drawing blood, and I transferred the rose to my other hand, hoping no one had noticed.

  I looked back up at Aubrey, whose eyes had fallen to the cut on my hand, and another shiver went down my back. He turned abruptly and left. He was gone before anyone could say a word.

  My father turned to me, his face stern, but my brother intervened.

  "It is too late to discuss our visitor rationally. We need to sleep before the bell rings for church tomorrow." I knew my brother well, and I recognized his tone: he did wish to discuss Aubrey, but not with my father. Papa nodded; he respected my brother.

  Alexander had been the only one in my family who noticed my cut. After my father left, he took me out to the well to wash it, his expression worried.

  "What is wrong, Alexander?" I asked him, still holding the rose, though I hardly noticed that I was doing so. "You look as if our guest had a serpent's tongue."

  "Perhaps he did," Alexander said, his voice hushed and dark. "A black-eyed boy we have never seen comes to our door and offers you a black rose. You take his gift and cannot seem to put it down, even after it has drawn blood from you."

  "What are you saying?" I whispered, shocked.

  "I may not have signed the Devil's book, but that does not mean there are not creatures out there who belong to him."

  "Alexander!" I whispered, shocked by the implication. He had all but accused this Aubrey Karew of being one of the Devil's creatures.

  I looked at the rose, which was still in my hand, and then put it deliberately on the ground, trying to convince my brother—and perhaps myself—that such an action was possible.

  Even so, my gaze remained on its black petals, and I realized how Alexander had felt when I told him to speak to a cleric after Lynette's accident. What would be said should I explain to a preacher about the black rose I had accepted? After all, I had heard that people signed the Devil's book with their blood, and my blood had been drawn.

  Alexander walked back into the house silently, and I watched him leave, not knowing what to say. I could not deny that the rose was beautiful in a way—perfectly shaped, just opened. The color, though, was the color of darkness, death, and all the evil things I had been told of: black hearts, black art, black—

  Black eyes. Hypnotic black eyes.

  I did not like to believe that I might have accepted a gift from one of the Devil's creatures. I convinced myself that I had not.

  Perhaps if I had believed —

  Perhaps nothing. What could I have done?

  The next day would be my last day in that world—my last day to speak to my papa, my sister, or my brother, and my last day to draw a breath and know that without it I would die. It would be my last day to thank the sun for giving light to my days.

  I would argue with Alexander and avoid my papa. And, like all humanity, never once would I thank the sun or the air for its existence. Light, air, and my brother's love — I took them all for granted, and someone took them all away.

  My last day of humanity…Rachel Weatere would die the next night.

  CHAPTER 5 NOW

  I PULL MY THOUGHTS from the past, not wanting to dwell on that night, and my gaze again returns to the black rose. I wonder briefly where it was grown. It is so similar to the one Aubrey gave me three hundred years ago.

  I hesitate to pick up the white florist's card that has been lying beneath the rose, but finally snatch it from the bed.

  Stay in your place, Risika.

  The rose is a warning. Aubrey did not like having his servant killed on his own land, and he is reminding me of my past.

  I hunt in New York again this night, careful not to stray onto Aubrey's land but refusing to give up my favorite hunting grounds out of fear.

  I stop in his part of New York for only a moment. I have burnt the card and leave the ashes in a plastic bag on the front step of the Café Sangra. I take orders from no one.

  Some vampires, like some humans, know nothing other than submission. They do not wish to rise in power. But those vampires are rare. Few vampires will allow themselves to show fear of another, for as soon as you are proved weaker you become the hunted. The hunter hates being hunted, chased, or wounded. If it did not, it would not be an aggressive hunter, and those who cannot be aggressive are hunted down while they shiver and hide because the night is dark.

  Forever is too long to live in fear.

  Even so, I do not go to see Tora this night. I do not wish to draw Aubrey's attention to her until he has forgotten this small challenge. Although I resent being kept away from her, I would rather stay away than have her die so that my pride may be appeased. For Tora, I allow myself to fear Aubrey.

  After I hunt, I change to hawk form and return to Concord, my mind still troubled. I fall into bed for the day, but I do not dream — I simply remember.

  CHAPTER 6 1701

  Alexander avoided me the day after Mr. Karew visited. We attended morning services as a family, but the rest of the day, Alexander mostly stayed in his room. During the short time he was out he looked dazed, as if he was seeing something I could not see or hearing voices I could not hear. Perhaps he was. I still do not know, and I never will.

  When he approached me that evening, the dazed look was gone, replaced by determination.

  "Rachel?"

  "Yes?"

  "I need to speak to you," Alexander told me. "I do not know how to explain to you so that you do not think …" He paused, and I waited for him to continue.

  "There are creatures in this world besides humans," Alexander went on, his voice gaining strength and determination. "But they are not what the witch hunters say they are. The witches …" Again Alexander paused, and I waited for him to decide how to say what he needed to say. " I do not know if Satan exists—I have never seen him, personally— but I do know that there are creatures out there that would damn you if they could, simply for spite."

  This was nothing I had not heard before at church. But my brother said it differently than the
preacher ever did. I would say it sounded as if Alexander had more faith, but that wasn't quite it. It sounded as if, in his mind, he had proof.

  "Alexander, what has happened?" I whispered. His words seemed a warning, but it was not a warning I understood.

  Alexander sighed deeply. "I made a mistake, Rachel." Then he would say no more about it.

  I went to bed that night feeling uneasy. I was afraid to know what Alexander's words meant, but even more afraid because I did not know.

  Around eleven I heard footsteps moving past my door, as if someone was trying without success to move quietly. I rose silently, so as not to wake Lynette, with whom I shared the room, and tiptoed to the door.

  I left my room and entered the kitchen, where I caught a glimpse of Alexander leaving by the back door. I began to follow him, wondering why he was sneaking out of the house at such a late hour.

  I well knew the abstract look that I had glimpsed on his face: he had seen something in his mind. Whatever vision had driven him from sleep had scared him, and it pained me that he had walked straight past my door, not even hesitating, not willing to confide in me.

  Alexander had slipped through the back door, but I hesitated beside the doorway, hearing voices behind the house. Alexander was speaking with Aubrey and a woman I did not know. Her accent was different from Aubrey's, but again it was not familiar to me. I did not know then that she had been raised to speak a language long dead.

  The woman Alexander was speaking with had black hair that fell to her shoulders and formed a dark halo around her deathly pale skin and black eyes. She wore a black silk dress and silver jewelry that nearly covered her left hand. On her right wrist she wore a silver snake bracelet with rubies for eyes.

  The black dress, the jewelry, and most of all the red-eyed serpent, brought one word to my mind: witch.

  "Why should I?" she was asking Alexander.

  "Just stay away," he ordered. He sounded so calm, but I knew him well. I caught the shiver in his voice—the sound of anger and fear.

  "Temptation," the woman said, pushing Alexander. He fell against the wall, and I could hear the impact as his back hit the wood. But she had hardly touched him! "Child, you would regret ordering me away from your sister," the woman added coldly.

  "Do not hurt her, Ather." It was the first time I had heard her name, and shivers ran down my spine upon hearing my brother speak it. My golden-colored brother did not belong in the dark world she had risen from.

  "I mean it," Alexander said, stepping forward from the wall. "I am the one who attacked you—leave Rachel be. If you need to fight someone to heal your pride, fight me, not my sister."

  When I heard this, my heart jumped. Alexander was my brother. I had been born with him and raised with him. I knew him, and I knew he would not harm another human being.

  "You and that witch should not have interrupted my hunt," said Ather.

  "You should be grateful 'that witch' helped me stop you. If you had killed Lynette—"

  "Which sister matters more to you, Alexander—your twin, or Lynette? You drew blood; you should have remembered Rachel before you did."

  "I will not let you change her," Alexander growled.

  "Why, Alexander," Ather said, advancing on him again. "What gave you the idea I wanted to change her?" She smiled; I saw her teeth as the moonlight fell on them. Then she laughed. "Just because she accepted my gift?" Ather took another step toward Alexander, and he stepped back. She laughed again. "Coward."

  "You are a monster," Alexander answered. "I will not allow you to make Rachel one too."

  "Aubrey," Ather said. Nothing more. Aubrey had been standing quietly in the shadows. He laughed and moved behind Alexander, but my brother did not react. He seemed unafraid to have Aubrey at his back.

  "Rachel, do come join us," Ather called to me. I froze; I had not realized she had seen me. Ather nodded to Aubrey, who took a step in my direction, as if he might escort me into the yard. I did not step back from him but became angry instead.

  "Get away from me," I spat. I had always been outspoken for my time, and Aubrey blinked in surprise. He stepped to the side and allowed me to walk past him toward Ather.

  Alexander had said he had made a mistake. Now he was trying to protect me from the two who had come to avenge that mistake. I stalked past Aubrey to where Ather was standing.

  "Who are you?" I demanded. "What are you doing here?"

  "Rachel," she purred in greeting, ignoring my questions. She showed fangs when she smiled, and I was reminded of the serpent on her bracelet.

  "Rachel, do not get angry," Alexander warned me.

  "Too late." I spat the words into Ather s face. "Why were you threatening him?"

  "Do not demand answers from me, child," Ather snapped.

  "Do not call me child. Leave my property, now, and leave my brother alone."

  Ather laughed. "Does this creature truly mean so much to you?" she asked me.

  "Yes." I did not hesitate to answer. Alexander was my twin brother. He was part of my family, and I loved him. He had been cursed with a mixture of too much faith and damnable powers. He did not deserve the taunting he was receiving.

  "That's unfortunate," Ather said dryly, and then, "Aubrey, will you deal with that distraction?" I started to turn toward Aubrey, who had drawn a knife from his belt, and barely saw him grab my brother before Ather took my head in both her powerful hands and forced me to look into her eyes. "Now he means nothing."

  I heard Aubrey laugh, and then stop. I thought I heard a whisper, but it was so soft, so quick, that it could have been the wind. Aubrey reentered my line of vision, sheathing his blade. Then he disappeared, and I was left watching the place where he had stood. I stared after him, in shock perhaps. I heard nothing anymore, felt nothing.

  Then what had just happened seemed to hit me, and I tried to turn to my brother, who was so silent—too silent…

  Ather grabbed my arm.

  "Leave him there, Rachel," she told me.

  But Alexander was hurt, maybe dying. I had no doubt Aubrey had drawn the knife to kill him. How could she tell me to leave him? He needed help.

  "I said, leave him," Ather whispered, once again turning me toward her. I stepped back, meeting her black eyes.

  Cold shock was beginning to fill my mind, blocking the way of terror and pain. My brother could not be dead—not this suddenly.

  "Do you know what I am, Rachel?" Ather asked me, and the question jolted me from my silent world. This was reality—not Alexander's death, not black roses. I could deal with this moment, so long as I did not think of the one before.

  "You appear to be a creature from legend," I said carefully, worried about the consequences my words might have.

  "You are right." Ather smiled again, and I wanted to slap that smile from her face. I remembered Alexander's words—I am the one who attacked you—and my surprise at hearing them. I could not believe my brother would ever harm anyone. The idea that such violence was in me was shocking…yet also strangely exciting.

  Ather continued before I could say anything.

  " I want to make you one of my kind."

  "No," I told her. "Leave. Now. I do not want to be what you are."

  "Did I say you had a choice?"

  I pushed her away with all my strength, but she barely stumbled. She grabbed my shoulders. Long-nailed fingers twining in my hair, she tilted my head back and then leaned forward so that her lips touched my throat. The wicked fangs I had glimpsed before pierced my skin.

  I fought; I fought for the immortal soul the preachers had taught me to believe in. I do not know whether I ever believed in it—I had never seen God, and He had never spoken to me—but I fought for it anyway, and I fought for Alexander.

  Nothing I did mattered.

  The feeling of having your blood drawn out is both seductive and soothing, like a caress and a gentle voice that is in your mind, whispering Relax. It makes you want to stop struggling and cooperate. I would not cooperate. But if y
ou struggle, it hurts.

  Ather's right hand pinned both of mine together behind me, and her left hand held me by the hair. Her teeth were in the vein that ran down my throat, but the pain hit me in the chest. It felt as if liquid fire was being forced through my veins instead of blood. My heart beat faster, from fear and pain and lack of blood. Eventually I lost consciousness.

  A minute or an hour later, I woke for a moment in a dark place. There was no light and no sound, only pain and the thick, warm liquid that was being forced past my lips.

  I swallowed again and again before my head cleared. The liquid was bittersweet, and as I drank I had an impression of power and…not life or death, but time. And strength and eternity…

  Finally I realized what I had been drinking. I pushed away the wrist that someone was holding to my lips, but I was weak, and it was so tempting.

  "Temptation." The voice was in my ears and my head, and I recognized it as Ather's.

  Once again I pushed away the wrist, though my body screamed at me for doing so. Ather was insistent, but so was I. I somehow managed to turn my head away, despite the pain that shot through me with each beat of my heart. I could hear my own pulse in my ears, and it quickened until I could hardly breathe past it, but still I pushed away the blood. I believed, for that second, in my immortal soul, and would not abandon it—not willingly.

  Suddenly Ather was gone. I was alone.

  I could feel the blood in my veins, entering my body, soul, and mind. I could not get my breath; my head pounded and my heart raced. Then they both slowed.

  I heard my own heart stop.

  I felt my breath still.

  My vision faded, and the blackness filled my mind.

  CHAPTER 7 NOW

  Never before and never after have I felt the soul-tearing, mind-breaking pain I experienced that night. I have looked into the minds of willing fledglings; never have I seen my own pain reflected. My line's strength comes at a price, and the price is that pain. It has changed us all. One cannot be conscious throughout one's own death and not be changed.