All Just Glass

All Just Glass
is dedicated to mothers and families trying their best. They say we don’t choose our families, but I am one of the few who could never have chosen better than I received. I know how lucky I am
.

Along that line, I need to thank my sister Rachel for helping me revise the first chapter samples of
All Just Glass
(as well as
Token of Darkness
and
Poison Tree
). Rachel, you were my very first reader and editor, since I was in sixth grade and gave you
Red Moon
.
Your honest support has always encouraged me to tackle new challenges and to be better than I ever would have been without you
.

Thank you as well and as always to my writing group, who took so much abuse as part of the revision process of
All Just Glass
.
Bri, Sha, Mop, Zim and Mace … you put up with so much from me. I never could have brought
AJG
to this point without you
.

Finally, once more I must thank the Office of Letters and Light for bringing us NaNoWriMo. I spent about ten years trying to write
All Just Glass
.
I finally put aside everything I had written and, without referring to any notes or prose from the past decade, went for 50k/30 days in November of 2008. I have never been happier with the results of slightly bending the rules
.

I H
AVE A
R
ENDEZVOUS WITH
D
EATH

I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air—
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.

It may be he shall take my hand
And lead me into his dark land
And close my eyes and quench my breath—
It may be I shall pass him still.
I have a rendezvous with Death
On some scarred slope of battered hill,
When Spring comes round again this year
And the first meadow-flowers appear.

God knows ’twere better to be deep
Pillowed in silk and scented down,
Where love throbs out in blissful sleep,
Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath,
Where hushed awakenings are dear …
But I’ve a rendezvous with Death
At midnight in some flaming town,
When Spring trips north again this year,
And I to my pledged word am true,
I shall not fail that rendezvous.

—Alan Seeger

T
HE RINGING IN
her ears surely was the sound of the world shattering. It was louder than the November air whistling outside as it tore leaves the color of fire and blood from the trees, and louder than the hum of the Chevy’s engine as Adianna Vida pressed the gas pedal down further, accelerating past sixty … seventy …

Pushing eighty miles per hour, she twisted the dial on her satellite radio, turning the music up in the hope that it would drown out every other sound and thought. She wasn’t even sure what she was listening to. It didn’t matter.

She wondered if this was why Sarah had always been drawn to fast, flashy cars. Adia went for vehicles that drew no particular attention, cars she could get on short lease terms and trade
in frequently, and she had always thought it was a little silly when Sarah picked out something that turned heads whenever she drove up.

But that was the way Sarah was.

Adia glanced at her instrument panel and realized the needle had just passed ninety. Where were the cops who were supposed to be patrolling this highway, anyway? Wasn’t there anyone out here still serving and protecting?

She flexed her left hand, clenching her jaw to control a wince as she did so. Two of the fingers were broken. They wouldn’t wrap around the steering wheel. The arm was still sore from a minor fracture she had received half a week earlier. She would have double-checked that the hastily tied bandage on her arm was still in place, but she didn’t think it was a good idea to take her one good hand off the wheel, even to make sure she wasn’t bleeding again.

At least the other guy looked worse … though that would have been more comforting if the “other guy” hadn’t been a large bay window and some kind of ugly garden statue she had hit on her way down.

But it wasn’t a complete loss. She had learned what she had needed to learn.

She had learned the last thing she had
wanted
to learn.

Adianna Vida, now the
only
child of Dominique Vida, matriarch of the ancient line of witches, wished she were still ignorant. It had taken a hell of a fight, but she had finally, unfortunately, throttled the information out of someone.

“
Looks like she’s decided to live, witch,
” a bloodbond had told her, the last word like a curse. “
She’s staying with Nikolas and
Kristopher. Not that you’ll find them. They’ve been hunted for more than a century. They know how to take care of themselves.
”

Sarah was still alive.

No, not Sarah. The creature who existed now
looked
like Adia’s little sister, but she wasn’t a witch anymore; she was a vampire. She had woken at sundown and had hunted. No one had been able to tell Adia who the victim had been, but Sarah’s change had been traumatic, which meant the first hunt would have been fierce. She had probably killed.

And then she had decided to live as a vampire.

To
continue
as a vampire, at least.

Which proved it really wasn’t Sarah, right? A daughter of Vida waking to find herself a monster should have ended it at that moment. She should have known that stopping herself
then
, before the vampiric power twisted her too badly, was the only way she could protect the helpless victims she would inevitably end up hurting in the future. But she hadn’t.

Before Adia could learn any more, another bloodbond had leapt forward and sent them both through the window. Adia had wanted to fight at that point but had already found the information she needed, and knew that Dominique would disapprove of her lingering.

Realizing she was approaching her exit, she slowed—probably more abruptly than she should have, but who cared? It was six in the morning on a Saturday, and she hadn’t seen another car in nearly half an hour. She was almost home, and when she pulled into the driveway, she would have to be fully under control.

She turned the radio down to barely a whisper, until she
could hear the mournful wind again. In front of her mother’s house, the trees were already nearly bare, except for a few golden leaves they still managed to cling desperately to. She sympathized; some part of her had been ripped away, as well, when she had let her sister die.

It took her two tries to get the car door open with the damage to her arms. The frigid air that rushed in to replace the warmth in the car was bracing and helped her calm her thoughts. She managed not to limp as she approached the front door.

Her mother was waiting for her in the kitchen, at the antique oak table where Adia had spent countless hours as a child studying ancient Vida laws.

Forty years old, Dominique had been the only child of her father’s second wife. She had survived the deaths of her parents, her sister, a niece and a nephew closer to her age than her sister had been, and Sarah and Adia’s father, and all Adia had ever seen from her was stoicism and the grim acceptance that a hunter’s life was dangerous. Her practical short blond hair had occasional bits of gray and her Vida-blue eyes were perhaps a little more tired, but she still stood as if carrying the weight of the world were simply a task she had to accept.

And at that moment, she wasn’t alone.

Adia’s cousin, Zachary, had a spread of weaponry in front of him and was in the process of cleaning and polishing the collection of knives as Adia walked in. His blond hair and immaculate appearance were a marked contrast with the slightly scruffy features and dark hair of Michael Arun, who was flipping through the heavy tome of pictures and notes on known vampires.

Michael was from another line, but he was still a witch. The Arun line wasn’t known for self-control or following all the rules, and Adia had never quite been able to relax her guard around Michael because of the vampiric taint to his aura, but at least he was a hunter. The Vida and Arun lines had fought side by side for generations, so his presence wasn’t surprising, despite the hour. Most vampire hunters were nearly as nocturnal as their prey.

Adia was startled, however, to see Hasana Smoke sitting stiffly across the table from Zachary and staring pale-faced at the weaponry as her daughter Caryn read a paperback romance novel in the corner. Smoke witches, though every bit as respected as Vidas, were healers. They wouldn’t engage in a fight even to protect their own lives, and they usually showed up at the Vida household only if someone was hurt.

More unusual still was the presence of Evan Marinitch. Nearing fifty, Evan had a lean body that made him seem younger. He was at that moment perched on the counter, hazel eyes brimming with fatigue and disapproval. The Marinitch line sometimes included hunters, but that wasn’t their primary vocation. They were mostly scholars. Though technically kin to the Vida, Arun and Smoke lines, the Marinitch line kept to itself most of the time.

All the surviving lines were represented. Had Dominique called them to witness Sarah’s trial, only to have them arrive just to hear about her death?