Destined (4 page)

We filed off the bus. I could see how difficult it was for Stevie Rae to let Rephaim go with Damien. We didn’t really know what he could be walking into, but we did understand that the chances of him being accepted and treated like the normal kid he longed to be were slim to none.

When Stevie Rae, Stark, and Kramisha and I were alone I said, “Ready to enter the lion’s den?”

“I’m thinkin’ it’s more like headin’ into a nasty wasp nest,” Kramisha said. “But I’m ready.”

“Me, too. Let’s cowboy up and get this done.”

“Deal,” I said.

“Deal,” they repeated.

And we walked into a future that was already making my stomach clench and feel like a raging IBS episode was going to hit me at any moment.

Ah, hell.

CHAPTER THREE

Kalona

He didn’t have to fly long to find his sons. Kalona followed the thread that connected him to his offspring.
My loyal children,
he thought as he circled the tree-covered rolling hills of the less populated and heavily wooded land that was just a short distance southwest of Tulsa. At the very topmost part of the highest of the ridges Kalona dropped from the sky, easily navigating between the thick, winter nude branches to stand in the middle of a small clearing. Around him, built into the trees themselves, were three wooden structures, crude but sturdily made. Kalona’s sharp gaze saw into the windows of the structures where scarlet orbs glowed in his direction.

He opened his arms. “Yes, my sons, I have returned!” The sound of wings was balm to his soul. They burst from the raised shacks and knelt around him, bowing low and respectfully. Kalona counted them—seven.

“Where are the others?”

All of the Raven Mockers stirred restlessly, but only one face tilted up to meet his gaze and only one hissing voice responded.

“Wessst hiding. Lossst in the land.”

Kalona studied his son, Nisroc, cataloguing the differences between this Raven Mocker and the one who used to be his favorite child. Nisroc was nearly as evolved as Rephaim. His speech was almost human. His mind was almost sharp. But it had been that
almost,
that fine line between them, that had made Rephaim the son upon which Kalona had depended and not Nisroc.

Kalona clenched and unclenched his jaw. He had been foolish to lavish such attention on Rephaim alone. He had many sons from which to choose and to show favor. It was Rephaim who had lost when he’d chosen to leave. Rephaim had but one father, and he would find poor substitute in an absent goddess and a vampyre who could never truly love him. “It is good that you are here,” Kalona said, cutting off thoughts of his absent son. “But I would have preferred that all of you stayed together and awaited my return.”

“Hold them, I could not,” Nisroc said. “Rephaim dead—”

“Rephaim is not dead!” Kalona snapped, causing Nisroc to shudder and bow his head. The winged immortal paused and regained control of his temper before he continued. “Though it would be better for him if he were dead.”

“Father?”

“He has chosen to serve the red vampyre Priestess and her Goddess.”

The group of Raven Mockers hissed and cringed as if he had struck them.

“Posssible? How?” Nisroc said.

“It is possible because of females, and their manipulations,” Kalona said darkly. He knew all too well how one could fall prey to them. He’d even been brought low by …

In sudden realization, the immortal blinked and spoke, more to himself than his son, “But their manipulations do not last!” He shook his head and almost smiled. “Why did I not consider it sooner? Rephaim will tire of being the Red One’s pet, and when he does he will realize what a mistake he has made—a mistake that is not entirely his and his alone. The Red One manipulated him, poisoned him, turned him against me. But it is only temporary! When she rejects him, because ultimately she will, he will leave the House of Night to return to my—”

Kalona broke off his words, deciding quickly. “Nisroc, take two of your brothers with you. Return to the House of Night. Watch. Be vigilant. Observe Rephaim and the Red One. When opportunity arises speak to him. Tell him that even though he has made this terrible mistake and turned from me…” Kalona paused, clenching and unclenching his jaw, utterly uncomfortable with the sadness and loneliness that washed over him whenever he thought too long about Rephaim’s choice. The winged immortal ordered his thoughts, commanded his feelings, and continued giving Nisroc direction. “Tell Rephaim that even though his misguided choice was to leave me, there is still a place awaiting him at my side,
but
that place would be better served if he remained at the House of Night, even after he wants to depart.”

“He spiesss!” Nisroc said, and the other Raven Mockers mirrored his excitement with their distinctive croaks.

“He does, but at the moment he may not know he spies,” Kalona said. Then he added, “You understand, Nisroc? You are to watch him. To remain unseen by all except Rephaim.”

“Not to kill vampyresss?”

“Not unless you are threatened—then do as you will, without being taken
or killing any High Priestess,
” Kalona said slowly and distinctly. “It is never wise to needlessly provoke a goddess, so Nyx’s High Priestesses are not to be killed.” He frowned at his son, remembering his other child who had almost killed Zoey Redbird not long ago—and who had died for it. “Do you understand my command, Nisroc?”

“Yesss. Tell him I will. Rephaim to watch. Rephaim to ssspy.”

“Do so, and return before dawn lightens the sky. Fly high. Fly fast. Fly quietly. Make yourselves like the night wind.”

“Yesss, Father.”

Kalona glanced around, nodding at the thickness of the surrounding woodland, and appreciating the fact that his children had found a high, isolated spot in which to nest.

“Humans, they do not come here?” he asked.

“Only huntersss, and they no more,” Nisroc said.

Kalona raised his brows. “You killed humans?”

“Yesss. Two.” Nisroc moved, agitated and excited. “Against rock we threw them.” He pointed a little way ahead of them and, curious, Kalona strode forward to look down on the steep side of the ridge where the massive power lines that carried electric magick for the modern world stretched before him. The humans had cleared the area surrounding the tall pylons so that the land fell away from him in a wide ribbon that stretched to the horizon. The clearing had left exposed jagged outcroppings of huge chunks of Oklahoma sandstone, clean and lethal and jutting toward the sky.

“Excellent,” Kalona said, nodding in appreciation. “You made it look like an accident. That was well done.” Then he turned back to the clearing and the Raven Mockers who clustered there with all of their attention focused solely on him. “This place is well chosen. I want all of my sons around me here. Nisroc, go to the Tulsa House of Night. Do my bidding. The rest of you fly to the west. Call to your brothers—call them here to me. Here we will wait. Here we will watch. Here we will make ready.”

“Make ready? For what, Father?” Nisroc asked, cocking his head.

Kalona thought about how his body had been entrapped and his soul ripped from him and sent to the Otherworld. He thought about how after he’d returned she’d lashed him, enslaved him, and treated him as if he’d been her property to command

“We make ready for Neferet’s destruction,” he said.

Rephaim

Everyone looked at him with suspicion. Rephaim hated it, but he understood it. He’d been an enemy. He’d killed one of their own. He’d been a monster.

The truth was he could still be a monster.

As third hour began and a professor who called herself Penthasilea read from and then spoke about a book written by an ancient vampyre named Ray Bradbury entitled
Fahrenheit 451
, and the importance of the freedoms of thought and expression, Rephaim tried to school his new human features into a semblance of attention and interest, but his mind kept slipping away. He wanted to listen to the professor and have nothing more to worry about than what she called “deciphering symbolism,” but the change from boy to raven obsessed him.

It had been as painful and terrifying as it had been thrilling.

And he remembered almost nothing of what had happened to him after it.

Image and sensation were all that remained with him from the day and his transformation into a raven.

Stevie Rae had gone with him up from the deep, earthen tunnels to the tree nearest the depot—the one that, not so long ago, had served as an escape route for them from the blistering sun.

“Go back inside now. Dawn is breaking,” he’d said to her, touching her cheek gently.

“I don’t wanna leave you,” she said, throwing her arms around him and hugging him close.

He’d only allowed himself to return the embrace for a moment, then he’d gently unwound her from around him, and guided her firmly back to the shadowed, grated entrance to the basement.

“Go below. You’re exhausted. You need to sleep.”

“I’m gonna watch until you’re, uh, you know.
A bird.
”

She’d whispered the last part as if not saying it aloud would change whether it was so. It was probably foolish, but it made him smile.

“It does not matter whether you say it or not. It’s going to happen.”

She’d sighed. “I know. But I still don’t wanna leave you.” Stevie Rae had reached forward, out into the lightening morning, and taken his hand. “I want you to know I’m here for you.”

“I do not believe a bird knows very much of the human world,” he’d said because he hadn’t known what else to say.

“You’re not gonna be just any bird. You’re gonna turn into a raven. And I’m not a human. I’m a vampyre. A red one. Plus, if I don’t stay here how are you gonna know what to come back to?”

He’d heard a sob in her voice that had made his heart ache.

Rephaim kissed her hand. “I’ll know. I give you my oath. I’ll always find my way home to you.” He’d been about to give her a little shove through the entry to the basement when a sickening pain had torn through his body.

Looking back on it he realized he should have expected it. How could it not be painful to change form from a human boy to a raven? But his world had been filled with Stevie Rae and the simple but complete joy of taking her in his arms, kissing her, holding her close …

He’d not spent time considering the beast.

At least he’d be prepared next time.

The pain had ripped him. He’d heard Stevie Rae’s scream echo his own. His last human thought had been worry for her. His last human sight had been of her crying and shaking her head back and forth. She’d reached for him as animal had completely replaced human. He remembered spreading his wings as if he was stretching after being imprisoned in a tiny cell. Or a cage. And flying.

He remembered flying.

At sunset he’d found himself cold and naked beneath the same tree beside the depot. He’d just pulled on his clothes that had been left neatly folded for him on a little stool when Stevie Rae burst from the basement.

With no hesitation she’d hurled herself into his arms.

“Are you okay? Really? Are you okay?” she kept repeating as she’d studied him and felt his arms as if searching for broken bones.

“I am well,” he’d assured her. It was then he’d realized she was crying. He cupped her face in his hands and said, “What is it? Why do you weep?”

“It hurt you so bad. You screamed like it was killing you.”

“No,” he’d lied. “It wasn’t so bad. It was just surprising.”

“Really?”

He’d smiled—
how he loved to smile—
and pulled her into his arms, kissing her blond curls and reassuring her. “Really.”

“Rephaim?”

Rephaim was wrenched back to the present by the sound of his name being called by the professor.

“Yes?” he responded with his own questioning tone.

She didn’t smile at him, but she also didn’t taunt or admonish him. She simply said, “I asked what you believe the quote on page seven means. The one where Montag says Clarisse’s face has a light that is like a ‘fragile milk crystal’ and the ‘strangely comfortable and rare and gently flattering light of the candle.’ What do you think Bradbury is trying to say about Clarisse with these descriptions?”

Rephaim was absolutely astounded. A professor was asking him a question.
As if he was just another daydreaming fledgling—normal—the same—accepted.
Feeling nervous and completely exposed he opened his mouth and blurted the first thing that came to his mind.

“I think he’s trying to say this girl is unique. He recognizes how special she is, and he values her.”

Professor Penthasilea’s brows lifted and for an awful heartbeat Rephaim thought she might ridicule him.

“That is an interesting answer, Rephaim. Perhaps if you kept your mind more on the book and less on other things, your answers would go from interesting to incredible,” she remarked in a dry, matter-of-fact voice.

“Th-thank you,” Rephaim stuttered, his face feeling warm.

Penthasilea nodded her head slightly in acknowledgment before turning to a student sitting more toward the front of the class and asking, “What about her final question to him in this scene: ‘Are you happy?’ What significance does that have?”

“Good job,”
Damien whispered from his desk beside Rephaim.

Rephaim couldn’t speak. He only nodded and tried to understand the sudden lightness of spirit he felt.

“You know what happens to her? This special girl?”
The whisper came from the fledgling sitting directly in front of Rephaim. He was a short, muscular male with a strong profile. Rephaim could easily see the disdain in his face as he glanced at him over his shoulder.

Rephaim shook his head. No, he did not know.

“She’s killed because of him.”

Rephaim felt as if he’d been kicked in his gut.

“Drew, did you have a comment about Clarisse?” the professor asked, raising her brows again.

Drew slumped nonchalantly forward and lifted one shoulder. “No, ma’am. I was just givin’ the birdboy some insight to the future.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder before saying, “The future of the book, that is.”