Chosen

What’s the use? I’m going to hear this whether I want to or not. “Enlighten us.”

“Okay.” Another shuffling of paper. “From what I’ve been able to decipher, the ceremony will take place at midnight on Monday. It will be attended by a representative from each of the thirteen tribes.”

Okay, my self-control doesn’t last very long. Now I have to interrupt. “Tribes? What tribes?”

Frey doesn’t look aggravated by the question. Instead he looks pleased. As if, for once, I asked the right one.

“The vampire community is divided into tribes—each representing a geographic area. They are North America; South America; Central America including Mexico and the West Indies; Australia and Oceania; Northern Africa; Central and South Africa; the Near East; the Middle East; Central Asia; Indonesia and the Philippines; China; Japan and Korea; Russia.”

“So, I’m about to become the head honcho of the North American tribe?”

“No. You are about to become head honcho of the whole shebang.”

No. Not going to happen. The impulse to run screaming from this ridiculous scenario is tempered only by the realization that Frey would track me down. He knows where I live. May as well let him finish spi

“Why haven’t I heard of these thirteen tribes before?” I congratulate myself for asking an intelligent question on an absurd subject.

Frey fixes me with the same kind of look that I used to get from Williams. I didn’t like it then, I don’t like it now. Still, I hold my tongue and wait for the answer.

“Williams would have gladly told you anything you wanted to know about your vampire heritage. You wouldn’t give him a chance. Now you have no choice but to learn. Vampire society is somewhat decentralized. Each tribe governs itself. The thirteen only gather for a watershed event—like the coming of a Chosen One. It will mark your—” He hesitates, obviously suspecting how I’m going to react when he finishes the sentence. “Well, for lack of a better word, your coronation.”

He suspects right. I’m on my feet before the last syllable of the word “coronation” has left his lips.

“This is beyond ridiculous. Frey, you and I have become good friends in a very short time. You’ve never let me down when I’ve come to you with a problem. I admire and respect you. But you have to know how crazy this sounds. I don’t know how many ways I can say it. I don’t want any part of this. There must be an escape clause. For argument’s sake, tell me, what would happen if I don’t show up?”

He counters with a quiet, “What about David?”

“We don’t even know for sure if Judith Williams has him. You and I will check that out tonight. If what I suspect is true, and he’s at Avery’s, we’ll get him out. In any case, there has to be a way I can refuse to go through with this. I’m not the one they want. I spend most of my time trying to forget what I’ve become. Surely, the leader of the world’s vampires would be someone who doesn’t spend the greater part of her life trying to be human. There has got to be a better candidate.”

Frey lets me finish. He releases a breath, places both hands on the table, leans over it. “I wish I could tell you what you want to hear. Everything I read, though, is very specific. There is one chosen, he or she is marked, at the a

“Well, there you have it.” I slam my fist on the table again for emphasis. “I have no mark.”

Culebra has been silent during this exchange between Frey and me. “Are you sure?” he asks now. “When was the last time you looked at yourself in a mirror?”

The look I throw him is scathing. “Hello. Vampire. You know the answer to that. But I don’t need a mirror to know whether or not I have some kind of magical mark.”

Frey’s expression turns introspective, as if searching his memory. “Maybe we’re being too literal,” he says then. “Or maybe I misinterpreted the meaning of the word ‘mark.’”

He drops into his chair and shuffles through the beer-soaked pages. Then he dips into the briefcase and retrieves the book. He reads first from the book, then consults his papers, until he finds what he’s looking for.

“I’ll be damned,” he says. “I think I was wrong. The word I translated as ‘mark’ may not be a physical characteristic at all. It could just as easily be interpreted as powers not ordinarily attributed to a vampire.”

He grins at me, which is not at all comforting considering what follows. “Remember what happened in Palm Springs, A

“I wish I’d told him. Maybe he’d still be alive.”

Culebra turns a startled face my way. “What does Frey mean? What happened in Palm Springs?”

I give him a quick rundown, realizing by watching his reaction that he’s now fully committed to the crazy idea that I am indeed who Frey believes me to be.

When I stop talking, he turns to Frey. “Why didn’t I know any of this? Why didn’t you tell me when you brought Judith Williams here?”

His harsh tone borders on accusatory, as if Frey betrayed his trust by not telling him what was happening with me.

Frey bristles, and I cut in.

“I didn’t tell you, either, Culebra, because it had nothing to do with Mrs. Williams. As for the Underwood thing, I thought I’d taken care of it. Stupid assumption.”

I switch my focus to Frey. He’s staring at Culebra in tense silence, a growl rumbling in the back of his throat. I divert his attention with a hand on his arm. “Which proves my point. I wouldn’t put much store in that so-called ability to sniff out evil. Lance fooled me completely. He turned out to be as much a bastard as Underwood.”

Culebra says softly, “Lance’s betrayal was a sign of weakness, not of evil.”

I stare at him. Did he pick the details of Lance’s letter out of my head?

No matter.

The thought of what went on in the cave at Biarritz produces a backlash of weariness that swamps my senses. “I don’t want to talk anymore. I’m going back to the cottage.”

That pushes Frey’s resentment toward Culebra out of his head. He rounds on me. “I haven’t finished. I have much more to tell you. You have preparations to make. There is protocol to learn. You can’t pretend it isn’t going to happen, A

He is so earnest in his pleading, so accepting that what he found in that little book is the truth, that I haven’t the will or strength to fight it anymore. I put a hand on his arm, sincerity in my voice. “You can tell me more tonight. When we go to Avery’s.”

He relaxes at that, gathers his papers and that stupid book and rustles them back into the briefcase. “I’ll come over early,” he says. “Well before dark so we have time.”

Culebra is not so easily fooled. He is eyeing me the way a spider eyes a fly buzzing around a web. He sees the subtlety in my gesture, reads the intention behind the words. He guesses once we leave, the probability that Frey is going to get the chance to finish his tutorial is about as good as a fly’s chance to escape if it touches that web.

I let him. I let him know he’s right.

He cloaks his thoughts so Frey doesn’t intercept. Be careful, A