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Turnbull rises. You are out of order, Chael.
I wave Turnbull back to his seat. I will answer Chael. He is right that I do not have centuries of experience to draw upon. But listening to you makes me understand why I may have been chosen to sit in this chair. I have not forgotten the urgency of a limited, mortal life. I still sense among mortals the basic urge to seek wisdom and do good. I look around and see what man has achieved. They have built the cities we vampires merely inhabit. They have created engineering marvels, split the atom and explored the heavens. And still you give them no credit.
What have vampires created? Our unbounded lives seem to have made us shallow and hedonistic. We lack the wisdom of mortals because we lack the urgency to create and i
You have made it clear that in spite of your age, you have not gained wisdom. You have not said one thing to convince me that unbounded life has made you anything but conceited and contemptuous of those you consider beneath you. You would not make a good ruler, Chael. And that is reason enough for me to reject your petition.
There is a moment when the stillness in the room becomes tangible. One can taste it on the back of the throat like the pungent smoke of a cheap cigar.
All eyes are on Chael. He is a storm cloud threatening to unleash his fury with a roar of thunder.
His eyes are on me. He locks on, boring into my head, trying to penetrate my defenses. A mind game to save face. He wants to inflict pain, make me suffer, force me to acknowledge that while I may be the Chosen One, he is the stronger.
I have faced his kind before. Learned to resist attacks on my mind as I have attacks on my body. Avery, Williams and Underwood. The witch Belinda Burke. I learned painfully from the best.
I stand up so our eyes are level. I hurl his own power back at him. He is surprised, first, then determined. He has had centuries to perfect the technique, he reaches deep into himself, gathering strength, preparing for the final assault.
He means to bring me to my knees because he knows he has no argument to match my own.
But his attempt is broken, not by me, by Turnbull.
He steps between us, turns a snarling face on Chael.
You overstep, Chael. As one of the thirteen, you are sworn to abide by the decisions of the Chosen One.
But she is ignorant, a female too young to understand.
A female who survived the challenge. Survived your challenger, in point of fact. She has proven herself worthy to lead, and she has made her decision.
I ca
You refuse, and you are banished from the council, stripped of your title. Another will be appointed to take your place. Is that what you want?
Chael drops his eyes. What I want I ca
He looks at me when he says the last words. I read the true meaning in his eyes. Chael will reconvene the council when I am no longer a part of it. When he has killed me.
Or tried.
CHAPTER 50
Wonderful. I have made yet another enemy.
Chael returns to his place in the circle. Turnbull waits for the tension to dissipate. It does, to be replaced by disappointment. Disappointment that Chael and I will not do battle. Disappointment that there will be no more blood-shed, at least not here and not now.
But there is something else, as well. The eyes on me have a new respect. Not that I don’t doubt battle lines may still be drawn, alliances forged. There is discreet acknowledgment passing one to the other that the subject is not closed just as there is acknowledgment that I am a force to be reckoned with.
Turnbull allows a moment to pass, then asks, “Are there any other petitioners?”
A murmur of negative replies, a shaking of heads.
“Then I declare this convocation closed.” He moves deliberately to the library door and holds it open.
The tribal heads file out. All approach and offer their hands to me. They bow, a symbol of respect, bound by a centuries-old tradition they are not ready to challenge. Had Chael been triumphant, I have no doubt it would have been to him they’d be offering their allegiance.
At last, Turnbull and I find ourselves alone once more in the library.
“Was that as much of a disaster as I think?” I ask.
“You didn’t win them all over. But you won their respect. You presented a thoughtful and intelligent argument. Very un-A
He sounds surprised. I feel myself smiling.
“Thoughtful and intelligent? Not words I hear very often ascribed to me. Hotheaded and arbitrary. Now that’s more the norm.”
He laughs. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Just a little while ago.”
I sit down in one of the chairs, motion Turnbull to join me. He does.
“To be frank, I don’t know where those words came from, Turnbull. It’s as if there was something—a spirit—speaking through me.”
He lifts a hand. “Maybe there was. Maybe that’s what makes you the Chosen One. You see the world as it is as well as what it can be.”
I smile again. “You know, I like you more now than when we met in Denver.”
“Different set of circumstances. Frankly, I was concerned about the purpose of your visit. I was afraid I’d be cleaning up your mess long after you left.”
“Fair enough. I had no idea how things would work out, either. Do you ever see Sophie Deveraux?”
I ask the question casually. When I killed her sister, the lines of communication between us were cut.
Turnbull is shaking his head. “No. She doesn’t leave the estate very often. She has a group of vampires living with her. The rumor is they don’t possess true vampiric powers. It’s a strange story.”
And a true one. The vampires were created by her sister for one purpose—their blood. The image of how I found them still makes me shudder.
I don’t share the story with Turnbull. It’s one best left between Sophie and me. Nor do I tell him that Sophie has another secret—she shares her body with a vampire. She accidentally absorbed his essence when an experiment using immolated vampire ash went bad. Now they coexist if not easily, at least comfortably. His name was Jonathan Deveraux, and I suspect Turnbull would have known him. He may even have been at the party where the “accident” took place.
“Well, if you do see her, tell her I send my best. I’m very grateful for the help she gave me.”
I let a moment pass before asking, “So. What happens now?”
Turnbull shrugs. “You’re done here. Unless you want to join the party in the living room.”
“Is it necessary that I do?”
“No. In fact, it may be better if you don’t. Without your presence, Chael may let his guard down and tell us what he has up his sleeve.”
“I thought my ruling was final. Can he really bring us back together again?” I say “us” knowing full well he doesn’t intend I be a part of a new council.
Turnbull seems to know it, too. “It is his right. Especially if the makeup of the group changes in any significant way.”
No subtlety there.
“So this thing about meeting once every two hundred years . . . ?”
A shrug. “In the last thousand years, the council has only convened five times as prescribed by ancient law. But in the last two hundred years, circumstances in the world have changed drastically. Most now believe two hundred years is too long between councils. The Grimoire provides for any tribal member to convene a council if the circumstances warrant.”