Betrayed

"Face it, Z," Shaunee said around a bite of salad while she ges­tured at me with her fork.

"You're special." Erin finished for her (as usual).

A third former is what the House of Night called freshmen—so a fourth former is a sophomore, et cetera. And, yes, I am the only third former to be made leader of the Dark Daughters. Lucky me.

"Speaking of the Dark Daughters," Shaunee said. "Have you decided what you want the new requirements for membership to be?"

I stifled the urge to shriek, Hell no, I still can't believe I'm in charge of this thing! Instead I just shook my head, and decided—with what I hoped was a stroke of brilliance—to put some of the pressure back on them.

"No, I don't know what the new requirements should be. Actu­ally, I was hoping you guys would help me. So, do you have any ideas?"

As I suspected, all four of them got quiet. I opened my mouth to thank them very much for their muteness, but our High Priestess's commanding voice came over the school intercom. For a second I was happy about the interruption, and then I real­ized what she was saying and my stomach started to clench.

"Students and professors, please make your way to the recep­tion hall. It is now time for this month's parent visits."

Well, hell.

"Stevie Rae! Stevie Rae! Ohmygosh I have missed you!"

"Mama!" Stevie Rae cried and flew into the arms of a woman who looked just like her, only fifty pounds heavier and twenty-some years older.

Damien and I stood awkwardly just inside the reception hall, which was starting to fill up with uncomfortable-looking human parents, a few human siblings, a bunch of fledgling students, and several of our vampyre professors.

"Well, there're my parents," Damien said with a sigh. "Might as well get this over with. See ya."

"See ya," I mumbled and watched him join two totally ordi­nary people who were carrying a wrapped present. His mom gave him a quick hug and his dad shook his hand with exuberant masculinity. Damien looked pale and stressed.

I made my way over to the long, linen-draped table that ran the length of one wall. It was filled with expensive cheese and meat platters, desserts, coffee, tea, and wine. I'd been at the House of Night for a month, and it still was a little shocking to me that wine is served so readily here. Part of the reason they do is simple—the school is modeled after the European Houses of Night. Apparently, in Europe wine with meals is like tea or Coke with meals here—so no big deal. The other part is a genetic fact—vampyres don't get drunk—fledglings can barely get buzzed (at least on alcohol—blood, unfortunately, is a whole other issue). So wine literally is no big deal here, although I thought it would be interesting to check out how Oklahoma parents reacted to booze at school.

"Mama! You have to meet my roommate. Remember I told you about her? This is Zoey Redbird. Zoey this is my mama."

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson. It's good to meet you," I said politely.

"Oh, Zoey! It is just so nice to meet you! And, oh my! Your Mark is as pretty as Stevie Rae said it was." She surprised me with a soft mom hug and whispered, "I'm glad you're taking care of my Stevie Rae. I worry about her."

I squeezed her back and whispered, "No problem, Mrs. John­son. Stevie Rae's my best friend." And even though it was totally unrealistic, I suddenly wished my mom would hug me and worry about me like Mrs. Johnson worried about her daughter.

"Mama, did you bring me any chocolate chip cookies?" Stevie Rae asked.

"Yes, baby, I did, but I just realized that I left them in the car." Stevie Rae's mom twanged in an Okie accent that was identical to her daughter's. "Why don't you come out with me and help me carry them inside. I made a little extra for your friends this time."

She smiled kindly at me. "You're more than welcome to come on out with us, too, Zoey."

"Zoey."

I heard my voice spoken like a frozen echo of Mrs. Johnson's warm kindness, and looked over her shoulder to see my mom and John coming into the hall. My heart fell into my stomach. She'd brought him. Why the hell couldn't she have come alone and let it be just her and me for a change? But I knew the answer to that. He would never allow it. And his not allowing it meant that she wouldn't do it. Period. End of subject. Since she'd mar­ried John Heifer my mom didn't have to worry about money. She lived in a gihugic house in a quiet suburban neighborhood. She volunteered for the PTA. She was majorly active in church. But during the past three years of her "perfect" marriage she'd com­pletely and utterly lost herself.

"Sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I see my parents now, so I better go."

"Oh, honey, I'd love to meet your mama and daddy." And, like we were at any normal high school function, Mrs. Johnson turned, smiling, to meet my parents.

Stevie Rae looked at me, and I looked at her. Sorry, I mouthed to her. I mean, I wasn't absolutely sure anything bad would happen, but with my step-loser closing the distance be­tween us as if he were some testosterone-filled general leading a death march, I figured the odds were probably good for a night­mare scene.

Then my heart lifted way out of my stomach and everything suddenly got much, much better when my favorite person in the world stepped around John and held her arms out to me.

"Grandma!"

She enfolded me in her arms and the sweet scent of lavender that always moved with her, as if she carried a piece of her beau­tiful lavender farm everywhere she went.

"Oh, Zoeybird!" She held tight to me. "I have missed you, u-we-tsi a-ge-hu-tsa."

I smiled through my tears, loving the sound of the familiar Cherokee word for daughter—it meant security and love and un­conditional acceptance. Things I hadn't felt in my home for the past three years—things that before I'd come to the House of Night I'd only found at my grandma's farm.

"I've missed you, too, Grandma. I'm so glad you came!"

"You must be Zoey's grandmamma," Mrs. Johnson said when we'd quit clinging to each other. "It's so good to meet you. You have a fine girl, here."

Grandma smiled warmly and started to reply, but John inter­rupted in his usual I'm-so-superior voice.

"Well, actually, that would be our fine girl you would be com­plimenting."

As if on a Stepford Wives cue, my mother finally managed to speak. "Yes, we're Zoey's parents. I'm Linda Heffer. This is my husband, John, and my mother, Sylvia Red—" Then, in the mid­dle of her oh-so-polite introductions, she bothered to actually look at me and her voice came to a breath-gulping halt midword.

I made my face smile, but it felt hot and hard, like it was poured plaster and had been sitting in the summer sun and would crack all to pieces if I wasn't careful.

"Hi, Mom."

"For the love of God what have you done to that Mark?" Mom said the word Mark like she'd say the word cancer or pedophile.

"She saved the life of a young man and tapped into a Goddess-given affinity for the elements. In return Nyx has touched her with several unusual Marks for a fledgling," Neferet said in her smooth musical voice as she walked into the middle of our awk­ward little group, hand extended directly to my step-loser. Nef­eret was what most adult vampyres are, stu