Haunting Echoes

“We’re moving to Milan,” Lawrence announced.

 

Amaia wished she were sitting. Living in Milan would make it almost impossible to see Michael regularly. She wouldn’t see him age. For some reason, it was incredibly important to her to see Michael as an old man, to see him move past the age at which she had known him.

 

“Why?” It was the only thing she could say.

 

“I want to investigate some bloodlines there.” Damn Lawrence and his obsession.

 

“But there are plenty of good bloodlines here. People from all over Europe come for the hot springs. We can study more varieties of auras and energies here than anywhere else. There’s no need to move.” This couldn’t be happening so quickly. She needed more time.

 

Three pairs of eyes stared at her in surprise. It was the first time she had ever contradicted her sire in public. “And there’s no need to stay here.” Lawrence’s voice was firm.

 

“What about the peace treaty between France and Spain? Zenas will want us here to make sure it’s signed.”

 

“And that’s why we’re not leaving for a couple more weeks. As soon as the treaty is signed, there will be no more reason for us to be here. We’ve already stayed too long.” Curse Lawrence’s cool reason.

 

“Why do you want to stay so badly?” Meg scrutinized Amaia, and Amaia knew her friend would be able to see through her if her lie wasn’t solid.

 

“This is the best place in Europe for someone in my profession. Why would you want to leave?” Amaia’s voice didn’t betray her panic. The last thing she needed was Lawrence’s suspicion.

 

“We don’t need the money. Don’t confuse your profession with your purpose. We have more important matters to attend to.”

 

There would be no arguing with him. It had been foolish to even try. Three weeks later, they arrived in Milan.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 15

 

 

Milan, January 1673, 4 years, 9 months later

 

 

The pull drove her mad. As she dressed, all Amaia could see were Michael’s eyes, the same way she saw them every time she had sex anymore. The disgusting snoring from the bed reminded her that she hadn’t been particularly hard to distract during her latest encounter. Regardless, she had to see him.

 

In the almost five years since moving to Milan, she had seen Michael over thirty times. It took around fourteen hours for her to reach him, but she tried to make the trip every six to eight weeks. The last visit had been only three weeks ago. It would be difficult to get away again, but she didn’t think she could get by much longer without seeing him. There was an increasing urgency that she couldn’t explain.

 

“That man was vile.” Amaia was already headed out of town after changing into a plain brown dress, following the pull to Calais, but she needed to check in with her sire first.

 

“How was his energy?”

 

“Not worth breeding. I wouldn’t want that man breeding a goat.”

 

Lawrence chuckled. “Fine. Are you going home?”

 

“No. I want to run. When’s my next appointment?”

 

“Two days.”

 

“Very well. I’ll be back by then. I’ve got to get the trace of human off me.”

 

“Let me know if you need me.”

 

“Always.” Amaia wished she could go to Lawrence with this. She needed his counsel now, but there was too great a risk that he would forbid her from seeing Michael. She didn’t want to disobey a direct order.

 

As her journey progressed, she felt increasingly that something was wrong. Michael’s eyes stayed with her constantly. She saw their affection the moment he saw her just after Lawrence had bitten her, the shock as she attacked, the glassy emptiness staring from his corpse. About halfway there, the date clicked in Amaia’s head. More precisely, Michael’s age came into focus. This was the day in his life when she had killed him nearly fifty years ago. That had to be the reason for the sudden urgency. There was a measure of relief in understanding.

 

Peering through the trees, she caught sight of him alone on the archery range behind his manor house. He released arrow after arrow into the target. His breath puffed in the cold air with each shot. It was such an ordinary, even mundane, picture that it brought her up short. This scene had drawn her from six hundred miles away?

 

Forty-five minutes elapsed before anything unusual happened. Mid-shot, Michael dropped his bow. For someone so sure of his movements, it wasn’t likely an accident. He wavered on his feet and then clasped his chest with his right hand. His left arm stiffened at his side. His energy crested. Crashing to his knees, he gave an exclamation of pain before collapsing to the ground. A few minutes later, his energy vanished.

 

Caethes Faron's books