High Voltage (Fever #10)(22)
I knew each of my victim’s names and was able to locate most of their families.
I protect them still.
High voltage, the unforgettable sound
I PARKED MY MOTORCYCLE IN front of the abbey, grabbed the backpack that held a change of clothing for later, and loped into the front entrance of the ancient fortress wearing ripped jeans, boots, and a white tank top that did nothing to conceal what was wrong with my arm. I wasn’t going to hide whatever was happening to me; isolated soldiers are a sniper’s favorite target. My sword was slung over my back, knives in my boots, but in deference to the children on the estate, I carry no guns inside those walls. I can’t bear the thought of an innocent coming to harm as a result of my carelessness.
I love Arlington Abbey.
With accommodations for a thousand sidhe-seers, the fortress is riddled with secret passages behind bookcases and fireplaces, has dozens of concealed nooks and cubbies, and has always held an air of irresistible mystery to me.
From the meditation pavilion hemmed by shaped topiary that legend claims once lived and breathed, protecting the abbey, to the elaborate maze that spans seven acres near the lake, it was once a badly run motherhouse for women trained to be reclusive, cowed, and uncertain.
Things have changed. We train, we fight, we get dirty and bloody and push each other harder all the time. The abbey’s filled to capacity, with a waiting list a mile long to get in.
Entry-level sidhe-seers, Initiates can spend anywhere from two to ten years in training as they learn to use their gifts. Those gifts we’ve been seeing, since the Song of Making restored magic to our world, are unlike anything we’ve encountered before.
Apprentices, who’ve achieved a level of proficiency sufficient to pass a series of difficult tests, will spend another few years in additional training. Some might never graduate to the final level: the Adepts, those of us who’ve harnessed our gifts and serve as trainers for the Initiates and Apprentices.
Then there’s the Shedon, the council of popularly elected sidhe-seers that govern the abbey.
The motherhouse is no longer a tyrannical prison of coercion and tightly controlled, skewed press. In my youth I’d blasted through those corridors at full throttle, feared and distrusted by everyone around me. I used to hate that, seeing the fear. It made me feel alone. But I’ve galvanized my truths. Life is funny, it makes you choose sides all the time. Fearless people are outsiders. The fearful have many places to belong. They’re the fluffy white sheep that stick close to shepherds, let others feed, fatten, and shear them, and spiral in a tight, panicked knot if a wolf draws near.
When I’m surrounded by that herd, I can’t understand the conversation that usually goes something like this: I’m scared, what do you think we should do? I dunno, what do you think we should do? I dunno, let’s ask somebody else.
Panic ensues. Baaaaa.
I’m the dingy gray sheep, the one no one wants to shear and everyone forgets to feed, the one that gets pissed off and, with plumes of steam shooting from my ears, rather than lazing in the sun under the care of a master I have no guarantee knows how to survive any better than me, goes trotting off alone to hunt for wolf-slaying weapons.
I’d rather be fearless and criticized than fearful and approved of.
That’s the bloody choice sometimes.
Still, I’ve learned in recent years to bleach my coat, the better to blend. And when they aren’t looking, I’m as gray as I need to be. It’s easier on all of us that way. I think that’s what Ryodan does, too, concealing his inner beast with casual elegance, behind cool gray eyes. I miss him. When I let myself think about him. Which is never.
Today I stalked down vaulted stone corridors to the library, offering greetings and returning smiles. Though many of the women stared at my arm, it was without censure, only a lifting of brows and curious meeting of my eyes.
When Shazam hadn’t returned by the time I awakened from a quick nap on the sofa, I’d packed up and headed out to start my day. He has a way of finding me wherever I go and I suspect he’s often perched above me in a higher dimension, manifesting when he feels like it. I understand the need for time alone and don’t normally pressure him but after last night’s escapade, once he appeared again, I planned to do everything in my power to keep him engaged and by my side.
“Hey, Kat,” I said as I entered the library.
The tall, athletic brunette glanced up from a computer screen and swept me with a level gray gaze. “Och, and it’s grown.”
Kat was part of the Shedon, her sidhe-seer gift a dangerously sensitive empathy. Possessing the ability to read the emotions of those around her at their truest level, I’ve found her incapable of lying.
“What do you feel? Read me.” I dropped over the back of a chair and sat down across the table from her.
She stared at me a long moment, eyes drifting out of focus, then said lightly, “You feel like you always do.”
“And how’s that?”
“Like Dani. Light and energy, a bubbling sense of humor, an exacting sense of personal responsibility and justice, and a heart the size of Ireland.” She was silent a moment then added, “And many, many private vaults that never open to see the light of day.”
My eyes narrowed. “Can you get in them?”