Promises to Keep

chapter 3


JAY WAS FOOLISH and impulsive at times, but even he wouldn’t have come into this crowd alone as a hunter. He also wouldn’t have come just to see Sarah—he could see his cousin easily enough in a safer environment. But he might never have another chance to see this, the awesome whirl that was thousands of years of artistic talent.

Now that he had tasted the rotten pit in the center of this sweet fruit, however, he needed to move on, before he stumbled across something he couldn’t stand to ignore.

He was on his way to the door when his plan was hijacked by a set of paintings.

According to the plaques that accompanied the series, the woman depicted was the Norse goddess Freyja, “a lover, a mother, a witch, and a warrior,” who rode at the front of the Valkyries as they collected the souls of the bravest fighters.

Momentarily alone in the room, Jay took in the dramatic, sweeping paintings, some depicting scenes of battle and others explicit enough to make him blush. His drive to leave eroded. He had never known that oil on canvas could be so powerful. As he stared at a depiction of Freyja near her slain husband, it took him several moments to realize that the sorrow he was feeling wasn’t coming from paint.

He turned to discover that a woman now occupied the couch he had abandoned. Her elaborate gown was rumpled and stained with paint. Her feet were tucked up next to her, and she laid her head on the armrest. Jay could see bare toes peeking out from her torn skirt hem.

“Are you all right?” he asked, kneeling down to retrieve an ivory hair comb that had fallen next to her. Like the gown and the dark ringlets falling around her shoulders, the comb was streaked with dried paint.

“I’m fine,” she lied. She took the comb from him but made no move to place it back in her hair. “I thought no one was in here.”

“I was admiring the paintings,” he said, “but I’ll leave if …” He trailed off; his reference to the paintings had triggered a trickle of something other than bone-deep sorrow. “Are these yours?” he asked.

She nodded, and the pinprick of light inside her flared briefly.

“They’re …” He wanted to bring that light back, but he didn’t have the words he needed to express the way the art around him made him feel.

“They’re trash,” she interrupted, the spark snuffed. She stood and brushed past him to critically examine her own work. “Tripe hung to please Kendra, or Kaleo, but certainly not me.” She lifted a hand to touch the face of Freyja’s dead husband before snapping, “Go. Go away.”

At a loss, Jay obeyed, though guilt nagged at him for walking away when she so obviously needed somebody. If he had known how to comfort her, he would have.

The adjacent room was occupied by a small but rowdy group engaged in an intense debate. There were no servant-slaves among them, though someone had left two plates of appetizers on what was probably a priceless antique table.

Jay leaned against the wall, taking a moment to soak up the friendly atmosphere. This group’s energy and enthusiasm felt cleansing after the artist’s melancholy.

“I’m only saying,” a human man protested as he leaned over the table to swipe a snack from the tray, “that working with Rikai is like working with some kind of venomous animal. She’s perfectly lovely right until she tries to eat me. I know you two are close, but I must express concern on behalf of your actors—myself included.”

“Concern noted,” the vampire in the middle of the group answered.

Rikai! Jay tuned into the conversation with interest when he heard the name. Rikai was a Triste, a creature who had studied and trained beneath another of her kind and had gained a vampire’s near-immortality and a witch’s ability to manipulate raw power. She was supposed to be an expert in the study of power of all kinds but was also said to be vicious in her quest for knowledge, willing to exploit anyone who gave her opportunity—except, perhaps, the two others in her elite group.

Given the context, the vampire discussing Rikai had to be Xeke. They were both part of a group called the Wild Cards, a trio of artists whose irreverent works ranged from mildly irritating to frighteningly infuriating. Their third compatriot had once been a witch, like Jay, but had broken those ties long before his birth. Now she was a writer, telling the stories no one wanted her to share. Xeke was supposed to be the most cautious and polite of the three, the one who maintained the greatest number of political and social ties. Jay had never met him but had followed his exploits from a distance.

When Jay made inappropriately intrusive remarks, people called him young and impulsive, unable to control his empathy. When Xeke put the same kind of remarks on film, people called it art. Jay owned several of Xeke’s more controversial videos, and had once written a fan letter that he suddenly hoped Xeke had never received.

“Oh, hell, it’s late. I’ve got to run, luv, if I’m going to get back on set in time.” The blond human kissed Xeke on the cheek and then darted out of the room, nearly colliding with Jay.

Jay tried not to blush as he felt Xeke’s attention turn to him. The vampire stood to greet him with a warm “Welcome” that betrayed both curiosity and interest. His thoughts had a predatory flavor but a neutral tone that Jay tended to find in nature, as opposed to the hostile aggression he associated with most humans and once-humans when they stalked their prey.

“Hi.” Real clever. He tried to ride the coattails of Xeke’s calm-and-collected-ness.

“You look a little overwhelmed,” Xeke observed.

“Is any of this art yours?” Jay said, the first polite question he could summon.

“Some of the photos,” the vampire answered, “but most of my work is in cinema.” He glanced at the clock and remarked, “It’s rather late for your kind to be here.”

Jay followed the vampire’s attention, and realized it was only a few minutes from midnight. Known as the Devil’s Hour at gatherings such as this, midnight was traditionally when the vampires fed. Xeke could smell that Jay was a witch. He was intrigued but also distinctly wary.

“Are you asking?” Jay asked.

“Pardon?”

Oh. He had done that thing where he responded to something not said out loud, skipping ahead in the conversation.

Jay reached a little more toward the vampire’s mind, getting a more solid sense of him, and asked, “You’re Xeke, right?”

“I am,” the vampire answered. “And you are?”

“Jay Marinitch.”

“A full-blooded witch at Kendra’s gala?” Xeke asked, no doubt recognizing Jay’s family name. Voice somewhat cooler, he added, “And a hunter, if I’m not mistaken. Surely you aren’t intending to do something stupid?”

“I try to avoid stupid things,” Jay responded. Occasionally successfully, he thought. He was going to get an earful about coming here once Sarah got wind of it. “I’m here as a guest, not to hunt.”

“Yet you’re armed.”

“Of course I’m armed. You can’t ask a cat to shed its claws.”

“Are you a pet?” Xeke asked, his mood lightening in the face of Jay’s honesty. “Or more of a wild animal?”

“Depends on how I’m feeling,” Jay replied. Sometimes he was a lizard, or a fox. Sometimes he wanted to be a kitten. “What are you looking for?”

He hadn’t intended the words to be flirtatious, but as Xeke quirked one brow and the images in his mind answered for him, Jay knew the vampire had taken them as such. It was hard not to flirt with someone whose mind exuded confidence and frank interest.

Aloud Xeke said, “Your knife makes me nervous.”

Jay took a step away, and then turned his back on the vampire so it wouldn’t be taken as a threat when he drew his knife.

This blade wasn’t just a weapon; it was an anchor. Generations of magic imbued in the silver helped Jay ground himself and focus, despite his limited ability to filter what his empathy picked up. Without it, he might still be staring, slack-jawed, at Kendra, lost in her mind.

He could probably live without it for a few minutes.

He flipped the knife around so he was holding it by the blade, and offered it to the vampire.

“Put it somewhere safe, or give it to someone you trust to get it back to me after.”

The offer shocked Xeke. Voice laconic but mind nervous, he asked, “Isn’t this violating some kind of ancient law?”

Jay laughed, shaking his head. “You’re thinking of Vida’s line. Mine trusts us to make up our own minds. I know you’ll get it back to me.”

“How?” the vampire asked.

“I just know.”

And he did. There were mysteries in Xeke’s mind, but he would honor any deal he made, and any power relinquished to him willingly would never be abused.

“Telepath?” Xeke asked.

Jay nodded.

Empath, actually, but most people didn’t know the difference and didn’t care. The crucial distinction at the moment was that, while Jay could shield his mind to keep telepathic creatures from reading his thoughts, and could protect himself from most magical intrusions, he wasn’t very good at shielding against the empathic impressions he always picked up from those around him. Xeke needed to make his mind up, because Jay needed to get out before he completely burned out.

The clock began to toll midnight.

“Well?” Jay prompted.

“Keep the knife,” Xeke said. “I don’t know you well enough to accept it.”

“Want to get to know me a little better?” Jay asked as he returned the knife to its place. He had been on his way out, anyway. He might as well round out the evening with another new experience.

Xeke was said to be of Kendra’s line, and though he was nominally allied with Midnight, he was outspoken against the slave trade. He was also politically savvy enough that he wouldn’t want to cross SingleEarth and the witches, which meant Jay was probably safe with him.

Probably. Xeke was also known for breaking rules and crossing people who shouldn’t be crossed.

“I think it would be best if I ask you to make very clear what you are offering,” Xeke said.

Jay tilted his head—a very feline expression of impatient curiosity—as he met the vampire’s eyes directly. “I’m offering blood. I’m offering to let you into my mind. Is that clear enough?” Sometimes he forgot that others needed words to make these things obvious to them.

“Clear enough to be irresistible,” Xeke replied as he stepped forward and gently grasped Jay’s wrist. He wanted to control Jay’s dominant hand, the one best angled to draw his knife.

Jay closed his eyes and let the vampire maneuver him into the position he wanted. Unsurprisingly, he had never done this before.

Xeke was firm but not rough, making it clear in the pressure of his grip that it would be best if Jay didn’t struggle. Jay relaxed into the restraint.

At the moment when fangs punctured skin and the blood began to flow, he felt Xeke’s mind nudge his. Jay’s shields were too good to be penetrated without permission, but he gave that consent, dropping his mental walls so he was as defenseless as a human.

Suddenly—screaming.

Jay shoved away from Xeke and ran toward the shrieks of pain, agony, anguish. He raced through the crowd, dodging couples in bloody embraces, until he was once more at the paintings of Freyja.

No one in the crowd approached the artist while she shredded her own work with her nails, leaving bloody trails behind.

The wild madness rising from her made Jay’s head spin. Why had he left her alone? He looked around, and the question changed to Why is everyone leaving her alone? Some people stood and stared with bemused curiosity. Others simply walked away.

Xeke approached but then drew back, shaking his head.

She was like an animal with its foot in a trap, desperate to chew off its own leg, and they were all just going to let her.

How can they be so callous?

As he approached, the woman snarled and raised her hand to strike him. When Jay dodged the first blow, she gave up and let him pull her back against his chest. He laid his cheek against her matted hair and wrapped his arms around her waist as he tried to project a soothing image into her fractured mental landscape.

“Beautiful lady,” he whispered to her, letting himself see her the way she saw herself. “Lovely dear one, beloved night.”

She stilled physically in his arms, though her mind continued to struggle. Her shrieks turned to quiet whimpers. She collapsed, sobbing.

“He’s gone,” she whispered. “He’s gone.”

“I’m here,” Jay whispered, over and over, trying to soothe the woman’s utter loneliness. In her head, she walked through a barren wasteland of parched red earth. “I’m here.”