The most difficult part wasn't the punishment they gave me, but living with the realization that I'd disappointed them by violating their trust. I think I was harder on myself than they were on me. Of course Aunt E was hurt, and it showed in just how quiet she was and the look in her eyes; and Uncle Bill just kept saying I was "damn lucky," and that things could have turned out badly. "Very badly."
I hated myself. I hated that I'd caused them pain. But I think I hated even more that I couldn't have been like my friends, who were actually quite excited about what had happened and talked about it for days on end—despite incurring the wrath of their parents and being put on a "tight leash," as Cecilia put it. Even Martine reveled in her new found status as a rebel—though her aunt had been positively livid about the whole affair and even threatened to send her home to her parents.
It was the conversation I was going to have with Mom that concerned me most. Usually I couldn't wait to talk to her, but this time I was dreading it. Uncle Bill said he was going to let me tell her everything, which was a lot worse than if he'd done it. How was I supposed to explain to her that I'd ignored everything she'd taught me and warned me about, just so I could have a little fun and pretend like I was one of the girls? And the worst part about it was that in the end I hadn't really wanted to go to that bloody party, and if I'd listened to myself and stayed home I wouldn't have been in the mess I was.
And I wouldn't have met that goddamn vamp.
That vamp, who for some reason I couldn't stop thinking about.
****
"Be ready by ten," said Uncle Bill on the Sunday following the Halloween party.
I looked up from my breakfast and stared at him. "Be ready for what?"
"We've arranged a little surprise," said Aunt E.
I knit my brow and eyed the two of them warily. "What sort of 'surprise'?"
"Just be ready by ten," said Uncle Jim. "We're going for a drive."
An hour later, I sat in the rear seat of his electric as we drove northward out of the city, following the road that led toward the Blue Mountains. It was a gorgeous day out—not that Haven lacked for those. Even in the height of monsoon season, when the weather could be wild and unpredictable, you could always count on it changing for the better if you just waited long enough.
"What is this?" I asked. "It's illegal to kidnap people, you know."
Uncle Bill laughed. "I'm not worried; I've an in with the police."
Beside him Aunt E smiled, then shifted in her seat so she could look over her shoulder at me. "I thought it would be nice if we could do something different," she said. "It seemed such a waste to spend the day holed up in the house."
"I thought I wasn't supposed to go anywhere except to school for the next few weeks."
"This is different."
I narrowed my eyes. "Different how?"
"You'll see."
"I have homework," I said. But it was a pretty lame excuse. They both knew I always did my assignments as soon as I could, and my homework had been finished a couple of hours after I'd gotten home on Friday.
"This'll be fun," Aunt E assured me. "And William and I haven't had a picnic in such a long time."
"A picnic?"
"Yes. You know? A meal outside, under a nice blue sky."
"I know picnics, Aunt E. But why today?"
She laughed, though I thought with perhaps a little too much effort. "Why not?"
I knit my brow, then wiggled my shoulders in a sort of half shrug as I settled back in my seat.
"Oh, Chloe, I promise you you're going to love this."
I stared out the window at the passing countryside, thinking there were a lot of other things I'd rather be doing than driving around in a car. There was all that business with that metal box I'd found in the cellar, for one thing. Last night I'd sat up into the wee hours studying the contents over and over, picking through it with a fine-toothed comb and always coming back to that photo of Mom and her vamp.
That photo.
It was burned into my mind, and I kept wishing I could unsee it, kept wishing I'd never found that wretched box and its secrets from another time. Murder and vamps and experiments and all sorts of other unsavory stuff. Sometimes the past is better left buried, and I guess Mom was right about how digging into it could cause you untold grief.
As the electric rolled into the foothills of the mountains, I closed my eyes and tried to forget the things I'd discovered. But there it was again, seared into my memory: that damn photo of Mom and her vamp kissing, clearly more than just friends. And I found myself wondering how that had all begun. How had they met? How had it come to that? Just what role had he played in her life?
And what was it like to kiss one, anyway?
Jesus, Chloe, are you nuts? Where the hell did that come from? Why would you even care about that? It's disgusting.
I tried to push the thought to the back of my mind; tried to concentrate on Mom and her vamp again. Had he been her guardian angel? And if so, what kinds of things had he done to protect her? And what had happened to him? Had he died while trying to keep her from harm's way?
I thought of Andre, and of what he'd said he'd done for me. And I thought of the party in the Warehouse, and the things he'd told me and the things I'd felt. And every time I went back to it I got even more muddled about my feelings than I already was.
The equation should be simple: Andre was a vamp; I was an Immune. That said it all; it didn't need analyzing. We were sworn enemies. We always had been and we always would be. It didn't matter that Haven had diplomatic ties with the Third Reich. It didn't matter that we traded with them. It didn't matter that before the vamp civil war Immunes had worked in vamp cities and had even gone there as tourists. The thing was, when all was said and done, we were still anathema to one another and we'd always be that way and nothing could ever change the fact that they had practically wiped us from the face of the Earth and we would never forget it. After all, it's a fool who forgets the past.
He was a vamp.
I was an Immune.
I should despise him.
Why the hell didn't I?
I wanted to. I really wanted to hate his guts, because that would be so much easier. There's nothing difficult about hating. You just let it seize control of you and let it run roughshod over rationality. You don't allow yourself to feel anything but that one thing, because the moment you start feeling something else, the moment you allow for a bit of empathy, then reason starts to creep in and rationality takes root. And suddenly it's not so easy to hate anymore. Suddenly it's damn hard.
It hadn't started out being complicated, but somehow Andre had ended up making it so.
Goddamn that filthy stinking vamp.
****
"We'll have to get out and walk the rest of the way," said Uncle Bill as he pulled over onto the side of the road an hour later. There was another car parked a little farther up, a battered Stormway that sat unoccupied, and he edged up just behind it. "The road ahead is too rough for the car," he explained.
I groaned, looking at the hilly, forested expanse before us, the mass of brush and towering trees. It didn't look like a place that would be easy to walk through. "Why can't we just have the picnic here?"
"Nonsense," said Aunt E. "There's nowhere suitable to sit. Besides, it's so much nicer farther up the trail."
"Trail? What trail? All I see is a jungle."
"There's a trail," Uncle Bill insisted.
"You've been here before?"
Aunt E shook her head. "No. But we know someone who has."
They were hiding something, but I was too annoyed and weary from the drive to be bothered to ferret it out, so I heaved a dramatic sigh and said, "Well, let's get this show on the road then." I grabbed some of the gear and exited the car. "I'm starving."
Aunt E laughed. "You're always hungry."
"Isn't everyone these days?"
"Things will get better."
"Yeah. Right. Sure they will."
"It's just a little belt tightening," said Uncle Bill.
"Well, a little more and we'll all just waste away," I said.
The current rationing in Haven didn't allow for a lot of excess and was yet another reason to hope for an end to the vamp war. Maybe once it was over things would settle down and return to the way they'd been before hostilities had broken out. Life had been bountiful back then—at least compared to what it was today.
We trudged up the rutted road, climbing the slope through the dense tropical forest of the mountain foothills, the sounds of birds around us, accented every now and then by the flutter of leaves as the ocean breeze stirred the treetops high overhead. The road became a trail, the forest close around us, and it was hot and steamy, and sweat soon rolled off my brow and started to soak my shirt and I began to wonder when the 'fun' was going to start.
"Here," said Uncle Bill, relieving me of the backpack I was toting. "Let me take that."
"I'm okay," I said.
But he took it anyway, slinging it over one shoulder. "Why don't you scout on up the trail? I'm told there's a fabulous open space ahead, with a spectacular view of the city."
"Okay," I said slowly, wondering what he was up to. I looked past him to Aunt E, but she just smiled and wiped at her brow and waved me on.
Forging ahead, I soon left them far behind—though I'd the impression they were purposely dragging their feet, as if they wanted me to put distance between us. There'd never been a moment when I'd not trusted them, and I wasn't about to begin doubting them now. Still, they were acting mighty strange.
The trail devolved into a narrow path, and the brush rose like jade walls around me. Overhead it was mostly leaves intersecting in a brilliant green canopy and the light that filtered down through it had an eerie, emerald sheen. The air was dense and humid, and my shirt clung to my skin, darkened by sweat, and I kept following the path up and up, until all at once the trees grew closer and taller and the way forward almost impenetrable.
Just when I thought it would be impractical to go any farther, I stepped out into a clearing. It was vast and dazzling and like nothing I'd ever seen. The great girth of a few dozen trees formed pillars that soared upward, topped by explosive profusions of foliage that arched overhead to form a verdant dome. It was like standing in a natural cathedral, and I felt dwarfed and humbled by its immensity.
I wandered out into it, walking through an ankle-deep carpet of blue and yellow flowers, only stopping when I reached the center of the clearing. The wonder of it was breathtaking, and I turned slowly on the spot, drinking in the view, overwhelmed by the beauty of nature, by the things that just were and how they could touch your heart and your soul and somehow lift you.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
I jumped at the sound of her voice, and for a moment didn't believe I'd actually heard what I'd heard. But then I saw her, and stood rooted to the spot, staring, mouth ajar, thinking for a moment I must be hallucinating. She was at the edge of the clearing, backlit by a natural lancet window through which shone the vivid tropical sky, a silhouette framed by the gnarled trunks of the trees that soared aloft on either side of her. Her face was in shadow, but even had she not spoken, I'd have known her at a glance.
She stepped forward into the emerald light, and my breath caught in my throat. It had been so long since I'd seen her, but she hadn't changed a bit, hadn't aged a day since the last time we'd been together. She looked so young and could easily have passed for my sister; we might have been twins but for the color of our hair.
I tried to speak but couldn't. Tried again and managed to croak out, "Mom." And then I ran to her and threw my arms around her, hugging her fiercely as I wept into her shoulder.
"Oh, sweetheart," she said, her words freighted with an untold bounty of pent up emotions. All the long years of separation were encapsulated in that instant, thrusting up against us like surf against rocks. "I've missed you so."
"I've missed you more," I said. "I was so worried about you." I disentangled myself from her, stepping back a bit to survey her again, my hands lingering on her shoulders because I was afraid she'd vanish if I lost contact. I was afraid that maybe she wasn't real and this was just a dream.
Mom laughed, and there was both sadness and happiness in it, and she put her hands to my face and wiped away my tears with a gentle brush of her thumbs. "Look at you," she said. "All grown up."
I tried to smile and nodded.
She gave me another hug. "So," she said, drawing back, her expression suddenly serious. "What's been happening with you? William seemed a bit worried when we talked on the phone."
"Is that why we're here?" I felt a flash of anger and betrayal.
"We're here because I wanted to see for myself that you're okay." Mom looked at me in that no-nonsense way of hers, evoking memories of past lectures regarding the importance of keeping a low profile and the dangers that constantly dogged us.
"Is this about the party?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Nothing happened," I insisted.
"Nothing?"
I bowed my head, cheeks warming. "It's no big deal. Really."
Mom lifted my chin. "Chloe..."
"Really, it was..." I averted my eyes and shrugged.
"Don't make this more difficult for me than it already is."
"You're the one who sent me away." There was no getting around the resentment in that.
She flinched. "You're right. And I'm sorry. I wish it hadn't had to be that way. But you know why I did."
"No, Mom, I don't. Not really. You never talk about it."
"For good reason."
I balled my fists in frustration. "You always say that." I wanted to stomp my foot on the ground like a little child. "But what good reason, Mom? Tell me. Please." Tell me about your vamp and Cherkov and Camille Westerly and how they're all connected and how they all somehow lead to this, to us, to me and what's happening.
"We're not here about that. We're here because of what happened that has William concerned."
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "He's making a mountain out of a molehill."
"Maybe, but tell me anyway."
So I did. I told her about the dance, about how Danni had planned it all, and how everything had seemed to be perfectly fine until he had shown up.
"And you're sure it was the vamp from Point Pleasant?" Mom said.
I nodded. "He looked exactly the same. They don't change, do they?"
"No," she whispered. "No, they don't." And those words were freighted with a lot of pain and I wondered if that was because she was thinking of him, of her vamp, the one she'd kept secret from me. The one in that photo that flashed again in my mind and made my stomach churn.
"He said he was protecting me," I told her.
Mom frowned. "You're sure?"
"You think he was lying?"
"I don't know."
She was being wary, and I don't know why, but that triggered something in me and I just couldn't contain it any longer and blurted out, "He's a goddamn bloody vamp, Mom. You can't trust them."
She didn't say anything for a minute or two and I couldn't tell from her face what she was thinking. But finally she said, "Why would the Rebellion care one way or another about what happens to you?"
"That's what concerns you?" I said in disbelief, not quite sure why I felt so angry or why I was suddenly crying.
"Sweetheart..." She reached for me, drew me to her and held me.
"Mom, he said something else..." I sniffled back the tears, felt myself choking on the words as I said, "He told me I was 'made.' What did he mean, Mom?"
She swore under her breath and said, "Chloe..."
"Don't, Mom!" I pushed her away, staggered back a few steps and wiped at my eyes and said, "Please don't tell me it's better that I don't know. I have to have some answers. Please. It's driving me crazy. It's scaring me."
"There never seemed a good time to tell you."
"Tell me what?" I said in my frightened little girl voice.
"You've often asked about your father," Mom said. She hesitated, tentative, as though she were carefully navigating her way forward.
"And you've always brushed it off and changed the subject."
"For good reason."
There was silence; just the birds and the wind in the trees.
"I never told you about him because I don't know."
I stared, dazed, trying to parse those words, to make some sense of them because I didn't really want to believe what they were telling me. "Don't know?" I said slowly. "Don't know what?"
"Don't know who he is."
Weak-kneed, I took another halting step backward, and it felt like the world was rolling beneath me, liquid and unsteady. "What do you mean you don't know who he was? How do you get pregnant without—" I swallowed, feeling a cold, ruthless terror seize me by the throat. I gulped air, chest heaving, my whole body trembling, but it felt like there was no oxygen, like I was in a vacuum or something, and I said, "Were...were you raped, Mom?"
She didn't answer immediately, and when she did her anguish was more than I could bear, tearing at my heart, shredding the fraying edges of my sanity. "I don't know what you would call it," she said with almost calculated calm. "When I was young—not much older than you—I was shot and I ended up in hospital."
I put a hand to my mouth, anticipating what was to come.
"While I was there they did something to me."
"They?" I whispered. "They who? Who are they? What did they do?"
"They were people working for the Old Ones, and they impregnated me."
I just stood there, blinking at her, until finally I found enough of a voice to say, "Havenites did that to you?"
Mom nodded.
"The same people chasing us?"
"No. At least, not then they weren't. Now I'm not so sure. Back then there were powerful people in Haven trying to silence me. But there were others who thought they could take what the Old Ones wanted and use it as a bargaining chip—even use it against them. I've been on the run from them since before you were born, because I was never going to let them have what they wanted. I would die before I let that happen."
Mom was looking straight at me, passion in her eyes, that conviction stated with such vehemence and vigor that I could imagine her as she'd been when Jasmine had tried to take me. And that's when it struck me.
"Oh, my god!" I said. "It's...it's me! It's always been about me. All of it. Right from the start. Everything that happened to you, to Mary, to that..."
I was suddenly lightheaded and off balance, and the forest started spinning as I felt myself slipping away. My knees buckled and I collapsed into the flowers, into their blueness and their softness and their pungent floral fragrance. And faraway I heard myself say, "Oh, God, not now."
Somewhere someone called my name.