There was one particular fighter with blond-streaked hair that she had to measure every time she passed through. She had to make sure he was all right, even though that was ridiculous. The figures never moved. Their fight was always on the verge, never in the actuality.
Unlike the Brotherhood's. Unlike the Primale's.
John Matthew led the way into the dark green room that was across from where meals were taken. The Brothers spent a lot of time here; she'd often hear their voices drifting out, marked by soft cracking noises, the source of which she couldn't identify. John solved that mystery, though. As he passed by a flat table that had a green felt covering, he took one of the many multicolored balls on its surface and sent it rolling across the way. When it ran into one of its mates, the quiet knocking explained the sound.
John stopped in front of an upright gray canvas and picked up a slim black unit. All at once an image popped up in full color and sound came from everywhere. Cormia jumped back as a roar filled the room and bulletlike objects rushed by.
John steadied her as the din gradually faded, and then he wrote on his pad. Sorry, I turned the sound down. This is NASCAR racing. There are people in the cars and they go around the track. The fastest wins.
Cormia approached the image and touched it with hesitation. All she felt was a flat, clothlike stretch. She looked behind the screen. Nothing but wall.
"Amazing."
John nodded and put out the slim unit to her, jogging it up and down as if encouraging her to take it. After he showed her what to push among the multitude of buttons, he stepped back. Cormia pointed the thing at the moving pictures... and made the images change. Again and again. There seemed to be an endless number of them.
"No vampires, though," she murmured, as yet another broad-daylight setting appeared. "This is just for humans."
We watch it too, though. You get vampires in movies - just not good ones usually. The films or the vampires.
Cormia slowly sank down onto the sofa in front of the television, and John followed suit in a chair next to her. The endless variation was enthralling, and John narrated each "channel" with notes to her. She didn't know how long they sat together, but he didn't seem impatient.
What channels did the Primale watch, she wondered.
Eventually, John showed her how to turn the images off. Flushed from excitement, she looked toward the glass doors.
"Is it safe outdoors?" she asked.
Very. There's a huge retaining wall surrounding the compound, plus security cameras are everywhere. Even better, we're insulated by mhis. No lesser has ever gotten in here, and none ever will - oh, and the squirrels and deer are harmless.
"I'd like to go outside."
And I'd be happy to take you.
John tucked the pad under his arm and went over to one of the sets of glass doors. After he unlatched the brass lock, he swung one half of the pair wide with a gallant sweep of his arm.
The warm air that rushed in smelled different from that which was in the house. This was rich. Complex. Sultry with its garden bouquet and humid warmth.
Cormia got up from the couch and approached John. Beyond the terrace, the landscaped gardens she'd stared at from afar for so long stretched out over what seemed to be a vast distance. With its colorful flowers and blooming trees, the vista was nothing like the monochromatic expanse of the Sanctuary, but it was just as perfect, just as lovely.
"It's the day of my birthing," she said for no particular reason.
John smiled and clapped. Then he wrote, I should have gotten you a present.
"Present?"
You know, a gift. For you.
Cormia leaned her body out and craned her head back. The sky above was a dark satin blue with twinkling lights marking its folds. Wondrous, she thought. Simply wondrous.
"This is a gift."
They stepped out of the house together. The flat stones of the terrace were chilly under her bare feet, but the air was warm as bathwater, and she loved the contrast.
"Oh..." She breathed in deep. "How lovely..."
Turning round and round, she looked at it all: The majestic mountain of the mansion. The fluffy, dark heads of the trees. The rolling lawn. The flowers in their orderly sections.
The breeze that swept over it all was gentle as a breath, carrying a fragrance too complex and heady to label.
John let her lead, her cautious steps carrying them closer to the roses.
When she got to them, she reached out and petted the fragile petals of a mature rose as big as her palm. Then she bent down and inhaled its perfume.
As she straightened, she started to laugh. For no reason at all. It was just... her heart had abruptly taken wing and was soaring in her chest, the lethargy that had been plaguing her for the past month lifting in the face of a bright surge of energy.
It was the day of her birthing and she was outside.
She glanced at John and found him staring at her, a little smile on his face. He knew, she thought. He knew what she was feeling.
"I want to run."
He swept his arm toward the lawn.
Cormia didn't let herself think about the dangers of the unknown or the dignity that Chosen were supposed to wear along with their white robing. Casting aside the great weight of propriety, she hiked up her white robe and tore off as fast as her legs could carry her. The springy grass cushioned her feet and her hair feathered out behind her and the air on her face rushed by.
Though she remained earthbound, the freedom in her soul made her fly.
Chapter Five
Downtown in the club and drug district, Phury was flying through an alley off Tenth Street, his shitkickers pounding the ratty pavement, his black windbreaker flapping behind him. About fifteen yards ahead of him was a lesser, and given their positions, technically Phury was in pursuit. In reality, the slayer wasn't trying to get away with all this heel kicking. The bastard wanted to get deep enough into the shadows so that the two of them could fight, and Phury was so on board that train.
Rule number one in the war between the Brotherhood and the Lessening Society: no roughhousing around humans. Neither side needed the hassle.
That was about the only rule.
The sweet smell of baby powder wafted back to Phury, the wake of his enemy one hell of a nose-cloying nasty. It was so worth the stink, though, because this was going to be a good fight. The slayer he was after had hair that was fish-belly white - which meant the guy had been in the Society a long time: For reasons that were unknown, all lessers faded to pale over time, losing their individual hair, eye, and skin coloration as they gained experience in hunting and killing innocent vampires.
Great trade-off. The more you murdered, the more you looked like a corpse.
Dodging a Dumpster and jumping over what he hoped was pile of rags and not a dead homeless human, he figured in another fifty yards he and his lesser buddy were going to hit pay dirt for privacy. The bowel of the alley was an unlighted dead end, bracketed by windowless brick buildings and -
There were a pair of humans in it.
Phury and his slayer stopped short in the face of the buzz kill. Keeping a healthy distance from each other, they assessed the sitch as the two human men looked over.
"Get the f**k out of here," the one on the left said.
Okay, this was obviously a case of dealus interruptus. And the guy to the right was definitely on the buy side of the exchange, and not just because he wasn't trying to take control of the intrusion. The mangy bastard was twitchy in his dirty pants, his fevery eyes wide, his sallow skin waxed out and spotted with acne. Most telling, though, was that he went back to focusing on his dealer's jacket pockets, not at all worried about the possibility of getting capped by Phury or the slayer.
Nah, his biggie was about getting his next fix, and he was clearly terrified he'd have to go home without what he needed.
Phury swallowed hard as he watched those empty-house eyes bounce around. God, he'd just had that stinging panic... had tangoed with it right before the shutters had gone up for the night back at home.
The drug dealer put one of his hands to the small of his back. "I said, get out of here."
Fuck. If the ass**le pulled out a gun, all hell was going to break loose because... Okay, right, the slayer was also reaching into his jacket. With a curse, Phury joined the party by putting his palm to the butt of the SIG at his hip.
The drug dealer paused, clearly realizing everyone had lead accessories. After doing some sort of risk evaluation, the guy put a pair of empty hands out in front of him.
"On second thought, maybe I'll just take off."