Pure Requiem Page 8

  After practice, Cloud, Valerius and I shower quickly in the communal hall and dress ourselves with efficiency.

  Sophia called for a meeting with the Royal Zodiac. Though I am not an official member, I decide to attend.

  No one stops me at the door to the conference room. Each member of the Elite and Circlet, Sophia’s inner counsel, greets me as I enter, as if it is natural and even expected that I be present.

  One non-Zodiac member is also in attendance. I recognize his scent. Adam Morgan, if I am not mistaken. He is one of our top Chevaliers who helped the Pure Ones penetrate the underground fight clubs that Medusa created, where humans fight to the death for the pleasure of vampire spectators. Losers become food.

  “Adam,” Sophia commands softly, reminding me of one of her previous incarnations, the one that I knew well—the Pure Queen Ninti.

  “You have the floor.”

  The human warrior addresses his audience directly, his low voice carrying from the head of the long table.

  “Medusa might have mass-manufactured vampire, and now Pure One and Animal Spirit, killers—the heat-seeking bullets that adjust automatically to a specific target, but she is not the only one with access to top secret military weapons development,” Adam begins without preamble.

  “The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, or DARPA, recently canceled a program called ‘Excalibur.’”

  “I like the sound of that,” Tristan interjects.

  His preferred weapon is a sword called Excalibur. I understand from Sophia that there is a medieval legend called King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table in human lore and literature. She suspects that Tristan’s sword is the original Excalibur. But none of us knows the details of his history. Perhaps only his Mate, Ayelet, does.

  “I thought you might,” Adam returns. “Project Excalibur is in fact a program intended to develop a laser sword that extends at different lengths and even widths, depending on the calibration, strong enough to cut through diamonds.”

  A whistle pierces the air from Aella’s direction. She follows it up with a query, “Pretty sci-fi, Morgan. I’m envisioning Star Wars Lightsabers.”

  I do not understand the reference, but I imagine she is talking about a movie. I have listened to a few “Blockbusters.” But I prefer audio books.

  “Close,” Adam acknowledges. “A couple of scientists at Harvard and MIT University stumbled upon a way to control the interaction of different photons. Long story short, the military took their science, combined it with the laser technologies they were already developing for rifles, guns, and long-range energy weapons, and came up with a tubular core that can extend a sword-like, controllable laser from both ends, as a hand-held weapon.”

  “Why was the project canceled?” Inanna asks.

  My daughter and her Mate, Gabriel, whose previous incarnation was a warrior under my command called Alad, joined the Elite warriors relatively recently. On that basis alone, I feel it my duty to be here as well.

  I cannot protect my loved ones from afar.

  “No human can wield the thing,” Adam says in a half-growl borne of frustration. “Lives have been lost in the attempt. First, the light from the laser is blinding, at the very least debilitating. The wielder has to wear thick, protective head gear, which is not conducive for combat mobility.”

  This would not be a challenge for me, I think immediately.

  “Second, the laser, while focused and controlled, is too powerful and heavy to hold steady. Humans are simply not strong enough. Hence, the accidents that led to several deaths.”

  Also not a challenge for me. Or perhaps for any Immortal.

  “Third, the core or sword hilt has to recharge before reuse. No material can hold that kind of energy indefinitely. There is no such thing as an Energizer laser battery.”

  I do not understand the “Energizer battery” reference either, but I get the gist.

  “But you think we immortals can wield it,” Aella deduces, just as I did. “It still sounds too powerful to use as a regular weapon though. Not very handy, and only for one-time use, assuming we do something about the blinding bit.”

  “One time is all you need if you can get close enough to behead a dragon,” Adam counters. “I have a plan to get my hands on a working model of the prototype.”

  Silence descends upon the room.

  So this is what the Chevalier has in mind.

  Since Sophia and company’s return from their trek in the Middle East, Cloud has spoken about an aberration in the Universal Balance. He shared the dying words from the Snake King that Medusa’s army got to before the Pure Ones could.

  She has transformed herself into an earth-bound dragon, a creature that has not existed since the beginning of time. They should not exist, for they are too powerful. They are fabled to have the spark of the Goddesses themselves.

  But I have always thought they were myth until Cloud Drako revealed that he used to be a celestial dragon, a warrior who takes dragon form once in a lifetime when it is absolutely necessary for the protection of the Balance.

  We do not have intelligence about her monstrous form, but Cloud warns us that no human weapon would be able to take her down, unless we are also willing to decimate an entire civilization along with her, using something called a “nuclear bomb.” There are other powerful weapons as well, but the same collateral damage would be wrought.

  She is too difficult to pin down by missiles and other long-range weapons powerful enough to make a dent, for she can shift forms and elude any target lock. In addition, we do not know what other powers she wields, but Cloud senses that they are strong.

  Furthermore, we cannot afford to launch a full-scale assault on her and her army without declaring our presence to humans at large. Our only hope is to get close to her, in any of her forms, and deal the death blow in close-quarter combat.

  “I can wield it,” I speak out, as the inhales of breaths tell me that others are also preparing to volunteer.

  “It has to be me,” I assert before anyone can object. “The flare from this ‘laser’ will not affect me. If and when we engage Medusa, I am likely the only person she will let close enough to engage her directly.”

  Because she does not fear me. She underestimates me. Because she wants to take me back as her prisoner. Her filthy, monstrous, tortured toy. And if she wants to take me alive, she will not strike to kill, as she would with others.

  The silence is broken by Valerius’ deep voice.

  “Then we better step up the training, General. You’re going to need it.”

  Chapter Seven: I’ve Come to Talk With You Again

  *EREBU*

  Dear brother,

  I showed the world my true self today, and no one ran screaming in horror away from me.

  Okay, maybe I didn’t show the “world,” just a few of the inhabitants of the Pure Ones’ Shield. But still. That’s exponentially more people who have seen the real me than…well, ever.

  As far as I can recall (without triggering the mother of all headaches) I’ve never shown anyone the real me before. I’ve hidden myself for so long that I don’t even recall who I was, what I looked like.

  And because my Mistress directed my thoughts with the two fragments of her soul within me, and I guess other things as well that she experimented with over the millennia, I didn’t know my own thoughts. I couldn’t separate my own desires from hers.

  I’ve always felt dirty, evil, depraved, irredeemable. What’s another sin to pile onto my endless list of sins?

  So what if I set in motion destructive events that led to countless deaths? So what if I caused the Pure Ones, who are actually my family untold grief? I don’t know how to reconcile what I’ve always believed with what was only recently revealed to me.

  I don’t know how to think any more. I don’t know who I am any more.

  But I do know who I want to be.

  I want to be someone worthy of the family who sacrificed so much to bring me into the world. A
family who seems to…care for me. I want to be worthy of Benjamin, even if he never knows who I am to him. I want to be worthy of Sophia’s friendship, now that we’ve finally cleared the air between us.

  For the record, my dick is bigger. Take that, Romeo!

  (But you can have her. I will graciously step aside like the third wheel that I am. Just promise we can be friends again.)

  There’s something still missing in my memories. Something important. I know I existed Before Medusa (or B.M. It’s appropriate, don’t you think? B.M. also stands for bowel movement. I just thought that was a poetic little nugget…turd…clump of steaming, stinking excrement).

  Anyway…

  I have a feeling it’s all going to catch up to me soon. Now that the gates have been flung open about my past, nothing and no one can slam them closed again.

  I both want to, and am afraid to, find out more. If my mind has split into multiple personalities to keep those memories buried, that’s a sure clue they’re going to hurt like a fucker.

  The strange thing is, I haven’t felt “Ere” take over my body any more. I haven’t been “missing time.” I’ve been wholly present as myself.

  I am Erebu. I am Ere. And soon, I will have his memories too.

  I wish you could be here to hold me when it hurts. But I know I’m part of the reason you are where you are.

  I have a plan to get you back. Medusa isn’t the only one with spies. The timing has to be right.

  Toodaloo!

  E.

  Sophia introduced me around early morning, kept me by her side as she chatted easily with Chevaliers and other members of the Shield who came and went in the communal areas, like the gigantic kitchen and snack bar that occupied half of an entire floor.

  I wasn’t a complete mute (I can never keep my mouth shut for long), but I was a bit shy, and frankly freaked out, and kept my words to a minimum. She simply introduced me as her “friend” Erebu, and I usually tagged on that they can call me “Ere.”

  No one pointed out the strange coincidence that there’s another Ere who has a completely different face and body. Maybe Sophia never broadly introduced the other me.

  I met most of the Royal Zodiac, and the ones I didn’t see this morning are ones I already sort of know. Sophia kept me company for a couple of hours before she headed off to do some “queenly” stuff.

  Plotting against Medusa and her armies, no doubt.

  Without her beside me as a shield, I was tempted to scurry back to my apartment to hide. But I decided, fuck it.

  It’s time I take ownership of my space in the world. I don’t expect it to be significant; I know I’m not anything special. But I’m alive. I exist. I want to like the real me. I want others to like me too.

  I want my tiny allotment of real estate in the universe to matter.

  So, I force myself to stay in the kitchen-cum-entertainment area and take up space. I force myself to sprawl casually on the deep-seated L-shaped leather sofa and stare at the giant wall-length plasma screen with various channels playing.

  I have no idea what’s on TV, but I stare anyway as if deeply intrigued, and hope that I don’t look too out of place. I’m a cuckoo amongst phoenixes, after all. I hope that in my real form, with Ishtar’s hair and Tal’s eyes, I kind of look like a phoenix now. Enough to not stick out like a sore thumb.

  Maybe someone will come sit beside me, and we can strike up a conversational banter. Maybe they’ll merely stay silent and watch the dizzying, flashing screen with me. I can laugh when they laugh, grunt when they grunt, and behave like a normal person who has actually spent time watching TV (which, honestly, I haven’t. When would I have had the time? Too many evil schemes to plot and carry out).

  “Yo.”

  I barely manage to suppress a jolt of surprise.

  Jumping out of my own skin at someone’s greeting is not a good way to kick off my attempt at normal social interaction.

  My eyes roll sideways to take in the first person who’s plopped down on the couch beside me. Well, not exactly right next to me, but close enough that I can say we’re in the same space, sharing an activity.

  But shit. It’s the odd-looking little she-man Chevalier, Liv.

  “Hey,” I return just as casually.

  I detest most forms of modern human speak, especially American street slang. But I use it when I need to in order to fit in or infiltrate.

  She’s smacking something in her mouth, her jaw moving, her mouth parting sometimes to show hints of pink tongue. Disgusting habit.

  “Do I know you?” she says rather rudely as she squints at me.

  “Not in this form, no,” I respond and purposely don’t meet her eyes.

  A petty, dismissive move, I know. So sue me. This female brings out all my hackles and claws.

  “But we’ve met before. You called me a bookworm.” I don’t know why I remind her of this, as if goading her to call me the stupid, unoriginal slur again.

  “You a shapeshifter?”

  How I love hearing fragmented sentences without the proper grammar and vocabulary.

  Not.

  “It would appear so,” I respond blithely. “Logic would dictate that someone who takes different forms but remains the same person must be a shapeshifter.”

  I can feel her scowl even though I still don’t look her way to see it.

  “Never met one before. Know about animal spirits. You one of those?”

  I can’t help it, I have to ask—“Do you have an intellectual bias against speaking in complete sentences? Is it too much hassle to say ‘Are you one of those’? And honestly, even ending a sentence on ‘those’ is rather irritating. Really, you ought to say ‘Are you one of those beings’—”

  “You’re real hoity-toity, ain’t ya.” It isn’t phrased as a question.

  I take a deep breath, grinding my back molars to keep silent.

  Why did she have to be the first person to sit down next to me? Why?

  “And it ain’t cuz I met the other you before that I feel like I know you. I mean, this version of you right here looks familiar.”

  My ears bleed at her grating speech.

  “In that case, you can’t possibly know me,” I respond brusquely, hoping that’s the end of this conversation.

  “I know I seen you before,” she persists, smacking that mouth. “Never forget a face, and you too fine to forget.”

  Did she just compliment me? I shudder delicately with revulsion.

  A raspy laugh rumbles from her tiny, flat chest.

  “Don’t worry, guapo, I’m not hittin’ on you. I don’t swing that way. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate beauty when I see it though.”

  “You’re a lesbian?” I blurt.

  Okay, that probably wasn’t the best social etiquette to put forth, but she really surprised me.

  She grins at me, her owlish eyes looking less disturbing when they’re squeezed into crescent moons. She doesn’t look pissed at my outburst.

  “If you wanna put a label on it, sure, you can use that one. What are you?”

  For some reason, I answer truthfully, “Likely asexual. Maybe nonsexual. I’m not attracted to anyone.”

  “You sure about that?” She raises her eyebrows in disbelief.

  “Pretty certain,” I confirm.

  “Shame. Sex makes the world go round, bookworm.”

  I finally turn to face her and stop pretending I’m only slightly paying attention.

  “Now that I am no longer in my Binu disguise with glasses and a perfectly done do, shouldn’t you stop calling me bookworm?”

  “Fair,” she acknowledges. “You look more like a ‘Black Beauty’ in this form. All that dark hair and bold brows. You’re prettier than most of the females in the Shield, and that’s really sayin’ somethin’.”

  I grimace at the moniker.

  “I am not a horse.”

  “’Course, those eyes of yours are fuckin’ unreal. Like a slice of blue-green heaven.”

  The moment sh
e says the words, the room seems to shrink and explode around us as if we were caught in the shockwaves of a supersonic explosion.

  My ears ring with a shrill, buzzing alarm. My head feels like it’s been split by lightning, and nausea and vertigo overwhelm me, making me crash to the floor in an undignified heap, clutching my head between my hands, trying to push back the excruciating pressure threatening to cave in my skull.

  Distantly, I realize that Liv is similarly affected. She’s kneeling on the floor too, her eyes shut tight, jaw clenched.

  Drip, drip, drip.

  We’re both bleeding, dripping dark red blood from our noses.

  It might have been eons before we regain enough equilibrium to form words. Liv’s tongue works first, while mine remains a swollen glob of useless muscle in my mouth.

  “Fuckin’ hell, An-Nisi. Did you do something to me? Where did that shockwav—”

  My ears ring so shrilly I can’t hear myself all but screech, “What did you say?! What did you call me?”

  “I-I said…”

  She pauses too, a horrified expression on her face as those owlish eyes grow to twice their size.

  Owlish eyes…

  Why are they so familiar?

  Why is she so familiar?

  Oh gods, the pain! Why does it hurt so bad?

  I feel ripped asunder from the inside out. I can’t stand this suffocating agony!

  So, that’s when I pass the fuck out.

  *** *** *** ***

  “Hey.”

  I blink up at dark, elvish, owlish eyes two inches from my own. She looks like a Beanie Boo, but a lot less cute, and a lot more creepy.

  (Yeah, I have a stuffed animal fetish, who doesn’t).

  Reflexively—honestly, it was pure instinct, happened before my brain could even wake up—I swing my right fist into her jaw.

  “Fuck!” I squeal upon impact like an eight-year-old girl, while Liv simply grunts as her head snaps back.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck! I think I broke my hand! What the hell is your jaw made of? Granite?”

  She tips her chin back and works her jaw from left to right. It doesn’t look broken like my hand feels.