Redeemed (2 page)

The memory made me cringe in shame.

Aphrodite had been absolutely right. I had needed watching. It wasn't like she'd been able to reason with me. Hell, when she'd tried, I hadn't been anything close to reasonable.

I cringed again as I remembered how close I'd come to throwing my anger at Aphrodite.

“Ohmygoddess! If I had, I could have killed my friend.” I spoke into my palms as I covered my face with my hands in shame.

It didn't matter that the Seer Stone somehow, without me really asking it to, amplified my powers. I'd had plenty of warning. All those times I was annoyed and the stone got hotter and hotter. Why hadn't I stopped and thought through what was going on? Why hadn't I asked someone for help? I'd asked Lenobia for boyfriend advice.
Boyfriend advice! I should have been asking for an anger intervention!

But I hadn't asked for any help with anything except what my tunnel vision had been focused on:
me.

I'd been a self-absorbed bitch.

I deserved to be where I was. I deserved my consequences.

The lights in the hallway went out. I had no idea what time it was. It seemed like years instead of months since I'd been a human—a normal teenager who had to go to bed too darn early on school nights.

I wished, with everything inside me, that I could call Superman and have him fly backward around the earth until time turned back to yesterday. Then I'd be home, at the House of Night, with my friends. I'd run straight into Stark's arms and tell him how much I love and appreciate him. I'd tell him I was sorry about the Aurox/Heath mess, and that we'd figure it out—all two point five of us—but that I was going to appreciate the love that surrounded me no matter what. Then I'd yank that damn Seer Stone off, find Aphrodite, and give it to her to keep it safe like she was my Frodo.

But it was too late for wishes. Turning back time is only a fantasy. Superman isn't real.

I didn't sleep. It was night, and night had become my day. Right now I should be at school with my friends, living my life, having what was (for me) a normal “day.” Instead I lay there, hugging myself. I should have been smarter. I should have been stronger. I should have been anything except a selfish brat.

Hours later I heard the slot in the door open again, and when I turned over I saw that someone had taken away my untouched tray. Good. Maybe the smell would go away, too.

I had to pee, but I didn't want to. Didn't want to use the bare toilet sticking out of the wall in the middle of the room. I stared at the corners of the walls where they met the ceiling. Cameras.

Was it legal for wardens to watch prisoners pee?

Did the regular rules even count with me? I mean, I'd never heard of a fledgling or a vampyre being put on trial in human court, or going to human prison.

I don't have to worry about that. I'll drown in my own blood way before I go to trial.

Weirdly enough, that thought was a comfort, and as the light in the hallway came on, I fell into a restless, dreamless sleep.

It seemed like ten seconds later when the slot in the door banged open and another aluminum tray sloshed into my cell. The noise jolted me awake, but I was still groggy, still trying to fall back to sleep—until the scent of eggs and bacon had my mouth watering. How long had it been since I'd eaten anything? Ugh, I felt terrible. Blearily, I got up and walked the six steps to the door, picking up the tray and carrying it carefully back to my rumpled bed.

The eggs were scrambled and super runny. The bacon was beef jerky hard. There was coffee, a carton of milk, and dry toast.

I would have given almost anything for one bowl of Count Chocula and a can of brown pop.

I took a bite of the eggs, and they were so salty they almost made me choke.

But instead of choking, I began to cough. Within that terrible cough I tasted something, something metallic and slick and warm and weirdly wonderful.

It was my own blood.

Fear rocketed through me, making me weak and dizzy and nauseous.
It's happening so soon? I'm not ready! I'm not ready!

Trying to clear my throat, trying to breathe, I spit out the eggs, ignored the pink tinge in the runny yellow, put the tray on the floor, and curled up on the bed, wrapping my arms around myself and waiting for more coughing and more blood—a lot more blood. My hands were shaking as I wiped fresh wetness from my lips.

I was so scared!

Don't be,
I told myself as I tried to stifle a really awful cough.
You'll see Nyx soon. And Jack. And maybe even Dragon and Anastasia.

And Mom!

Mom … I suddenly wanted my mother with a terrible, heartsick longing.

“I wish I wasn't alone,” I whispered in a gravelly voice into the hard, flat mattress.

I heard the door open, but I didn't roll over. I didn't want to see the horrified expression of a stranger. I closed my eyes tight and tried to pretend I was at Grandma's lavender farm, sleeping in my bedroom there. Tried to pretend the egg and bacon smell was her cooking, and my coughing was just a cold keeping me home from school.

And I was doing it! Oh, thank you, Nyx! Suddenly I swear I could smell the scents that always lingered around Grandma, lavender and sweetgrass. That gave me the courage to speak quickly, before my voice was drowned in blood, to whoever was there. “It's okay. This is what happens to some fledglings. Just please go away and leave me alone.”

“Oh, Zoeybird, my precious
u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya,
do you not know by now that I will never let you be alone?”

 

CHAPTER TWO

 

Zoey

I thought she was part of my dying hallucination, standing there at the door of my cell, dressed in a purple linen shirt and worn jeans, with one of her many picnic baskets in the crook of her arm, but as soon as I turned to face her, she rushed to me, sitting on the edge of my bed and enveloping me in her arms and in the scent of my childhood.

“Grandma! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!” I sobbed into her shoulder.

“Shhh,
u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya,
I am here.” She rubbed a soft circle in the middle of my back.

My coughing had temporarily eased, so I said in a rush, “It's selfish of me, but I'm so glad you are. I don't want to die all by myself.”

Grandma pulled back from me enough to take my shoulders in her hands and give me a stern shake. “Zoey Redbird, you are not dying.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. I ignored them and wiped at the corner of my mouth, holding my trembling fingers out to her so that she could see the blood.

She barely glanced at the proof I was trying to show her. Instead she opened her picnic basket and took out a red and white checked napkin and began dabbing at my tears and my nose, just like she had when I was a little girl.

“Grandma, I know you love me more than anyone in the world,” I said, trying (unsuccessfully) not to cry. “But you can't stop my body from rejecting the Change.”

“You are correct,
u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya,
I cannot. But they can.” She nodded to the doorway behind me.

I turned and saw Thanatos and Lenobia, Stevie Rae, Darius, and Stark—my Stark—all clustered in the doorway. Stevie Rae was bawling so hard I wondered how I hadn't heard her.

Stark was crying, too, but silently.

“But I said not to follow me! I said I deserved to face my consequences.” I was crying as hard as Stevie Rae now.

“Then live and face them! And I'll be right here as close to you as I can get through the whole thing!” Stark hurled the words at me.

“I can't. I've already started rejecting the Change.” I sobbed.

“Child, your grandmother spoke the truth. Unless your body's rejection of the Change was already fated, our presence will stop it,” Thanatos said.

“You're
not
dying! I won't let you!” Stark shouted through his tears, and started to come into my cell.

“Hold on there, boy! I said only one of you at a time can go into her cell.” A guy in a sheriff's uniform stepped up from behind my group of friends and placed himself between them and my cell. “Detective Marx told me I had to allow you vampyres in the building if you showed up, but I ain't bending the rules enough to let her have more than one visitor at a time. Her Grandma's family. The rest of you can wait in the interrogation room.” He gave Grandma a stern look. “You have fifteen minutes.” Then he slammed the door.

“Fifteen minutes.” Grandma made a small sound of disgust. “That isn't a proper visit. That is a hard-boiled egg. Well, then, I'll not dillydally. Zoeybird, blow your nose and stand for me. You need a good smudging. Oh, the gentleman who searched this certainly made a mess of my basket.”

She was already rummaging around in her bottomless picnic basket, so I had to take her hands in mine to stop her and get her attention focused on what I was saying.

“Grandma, I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course,
u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya.
And I love you—with all my heart. That is why I must smudge you. I wish there was a bathtub in here, or even a sink, to help cleanse you even more. But the smudging will have to do. I worked all night and finally chose to smudge from this oyster shell you and I dug when we followed the Mississippi River to the Gulf the summer you turned ten. Do you remember?”

“Yes, of course, but Grandma—”

“Good. I've ground and mixed together sage, cedar, and lavender. Combined, they make a powerful smudge for emotional and physical cleansing.” She was pouring dried herbs from a black velvet pouch into the oyster shell. “I've also brought an eagle feather and my favorite piece of raw turquoise. I know they might take it from you, but let us try to hide it within your mattress. It should serve to protect you while—”

“Grandma, please stop,” I interrupted her. Meeting her eyes without flinching, I said, “I killed those two men. I don't deserve to be cleansed or protected. I deserve what was happening to me before you all showed up.”

I hadn't meant to sound cold, but my words made her flinch, so I softened my voice, but not my resolve. “The vampyres may have made it so that I won't drown in my own blood, but that doesn't change the fact that I did a terrible thing—a thing that I have to be punished for.”

She paused in the preparation of my smudging and her sharp eyes met mine. “Tell me,
u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya
, why did you kill those two men?”

I shook my head and brushed my tangled hair from my face. “I didn't know that I killed them until Detective Marx came to the House of Night. All I knew was that they'd made me mad—they were hanging around Woodward Park looking for people, mostly girls, to scare into giving them money.” I paused and shook my head again. “But that doesn't make what I did okay. Once they realized what I was, they were going to leave me alone.”

“And move on to find another victim.”

“Probably, but not one to kill. They were panhandlers not serial killers.”

“So tell me what happened. How did you kill them?”

“I threw my anger at them. Just like I'd shoved Shaylin earlier and knocked her on her butt. Only I was even madder in the park. Somehow the Seer Stone amplified my feelings and gave me the power to attack all of them.”

“But you did not kill Shaylin,” Grandma said logically. “I saw the child at the House of Night just before I came here. She looked very much alive to me.”

“No, I didn't kill her. Not that time. Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't taken off and found my way to the park—and vented my anger on those two men? Grandma, I was out of control. I was a monster.”

“Zoey, you did a monstrous thing. But that does not make you a monster. You turned yourself in. You gave up the Seer Stone. You allowed yourself to be imprisoned. Those are not the actions of a monster.”

“But Grandma, I killed two men!” I felt tears well in my eyes again.

“And now you will have to face the consequences of your actions. But that does not mean you may give up and cause the people who love you even more pain.”

I bit my lip. “My whole point was to take responsibility by myself so that I didn't hurt anyone else, especially not the people I love.”

“Zoeybird, I do not know why this terrible thing has happened. I do not believe you are a killer.” She held up her hand to quiet me when I tried to speak. “Yes, I am aware the two men are dead, and that you appear to be responsible for their deaths. And yet even you admit the Seer Stone played a major role in the accident, which means Old Magick is at work.”

“Yes, I have been using it,” I said sternly.

“Or it has been using you,” she countered with.

“Either way, the results are the same.”

“For the two men. Not necessarily for you,
u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya.
Now, stand before me. You need your mind cleared and your spirit cleansed so that you can analyze exactly what has brought you to this cell. You see, I am not here to help you hide from what you have done. I am here so that you may truly face it.”

As always, Grandma was the voice of reason and of unconditional love. I stood and allowed myself the brief, small comfort of watching her cradle the oyster shell in one hand while with the other she placed a tiny round piece of charcoal on top of the herbal mixture and lit it. As it sparked, she said, “Three deep breaths,
u-we-tsi-a-ge-ya.
And with each, release the toxic energy that clouds your mind and darkens your spirit. Envision it, Zoeybird. What color is it?”

“A sick green,” I said, thinking of the disgusting stuff that had come out of my nose last time I'd had a sinus infection.

“Excellent. Breathe out and envision ridding yourself of it along with your breath.”

The charcoal had stopped sparkling and was beginning to gray around the edges. Grandma reached into the black velvet pouch and began sprinkling the herbs over the coal, saying, “I thank you, spirit of white sage, for your strength, your purity, your power.” Sweet smoke began to lift from the oyster shell. “I thank you, spirit of cedar, for your divine nature, for your ability to create a bridge between earth and Otherworld.”