Wow. He does know how to make a point. My immediate response comes from the human, the practical Anna. Chael failed in his attempt to orchestrate an attack on me, whom he finds so easy to belittle. How does he think he can wage war against humans, who outnumber us by billions, in the open, with all the technology of war at their disposal?
The idea of my family being relegated to a gulag is loathsome. When I look at the faces gathered round me, I realize I am the only vampire with relatives still living. The only one with strong ties to the human community.
For the first time, a glimmer of understanding.
Maybe that’s why I’m the one sitting in this chair.
I gather my thoughts, knowing now how to answer him.
I agree we need to preserve the earth. We will be here long after present generations have passed to dust. But we need to do it as guardians of humanity, not wardens. We are integrating into society. We must continue on that path, working with mortals. There may come a day when we need no longer hide our true nature. But it’s not today.
Chael bares his teeth and shakes a fist at me. You think me arrogant. I say, it is you who are arrogant. A new vampire who has barely seen thirty mortal years. You have no knowledge of what has come before. You are not worthy to tell those of us gathered here what is in our best interest. We could strike you down and be done with it.
A gasp goes up from those gathered around us. Even those who grudgingly acknowledged my position after the challenge shrink back into their seats as if distancing themselves from Chael. He sees it. The tradition of the Chosen One is sacrosanct, and he has crossed a dangerous line.
Turnbull rises. You are out of order, Chael.
I wave Turnbull back to his seat. I will answer Chael. He is right that I do not have centuries of experience to draw upon. But listening to you makes me understand why I may have been chosen to sit in this chair. I have not forgotten the urgency of a limited, mortal life. I still sense among mortals the basic urge to seek wisdom and do good. I look around and see what man has achieved. They have built the cities we vampires merely inhabit. They have created engineering marvels, split the atom and explored the heavens. And still you give them no credit.
What have vampires created? Our unbounded lives seem to have made us shallow and hedonistic. We lack the wisdom of mortals because we lack the urgency to create and innovate that burns in mortals because of their “puny life spans.” Mortals don’t need us. We need them. You forget that we are the parasites. Herd them into pens like cattle and you will destroy their spirit. Then the world will be a dull gray place and we will suffer for it.
You have made it clear that in spite of your age, you have not gained wisdom. You have not said one thing to convince me that unbounded life has made you anything but conceited and contemptuous of those you consider beneath you. You would not make a good ruler, Chael. And that is reason enough for me to reject your petition.
There is a moment when the stillness in the room becomes tangible. One can taste it on the back of the throat like the pungent smoke of a cheap cigar.
All eyes are on Chael. He is a storm cloud threatening to unleash his fury with a roar of thunder.
His eyes are on me. He locks on, boring into my head, trying to penetrate my defenses. A mind game to save face. He wants to inflict pain, make me suffer, force me to acknowledge that while I may be the Chosen One, he is the stronger.
I have faced his kind before. Learned to resist attacks on my mind as I have attacks on my body. Avery, Williams and Underwood. The witch Belinda Burke. I learned painfully from the best.
I stand up so our eyes are level. I hurl his own power back at him. He is surprised, first, then determined. He has had centuries to perfect the technique, he reaches deep into himself, gathering strength, preparing for the final assault.
He means to bring me to my knees because he knows he has no argument to match my own.
But his attempt is broken, not by me, by Turnbull.
He steps between us, turns a snarling face on Chael.
You overstep, Chael. As one of the thirteen, you are sworn to abide by the decisions of the Chosen One.
But she is ignorant, a female too young to understand.
A female who survived the challenge. Survived your challenger, in point of fact. She has proven herself worthy to lead, and she has made her decision.
I cannot accept—
You refuse, and you are banished from the council, stripped of your title. Another will be appointed to take your place. Is that what you want?
Chael drops his eyes. What I want I cannot have. I will accept the decision. But I invoke another right. The right to reconvene the council. Later. When all have had a chance to reconsider.
He looks at me when he says the last words. I read the true meaning in his eyes. Chael will reconvene the council when I am no longer a part of it. When he has killed me.
Or tried.
CHAPTER 50
Wonderful. I have made yet another enemy.
Chael returns to his place in the circle. Turnbull waits for the tension to dissipate. It does, to be replaced by disappointment. Disappointment that Chael and I will not do battle. Disappointment that there will be no more blood-shed, at least not here and not now.
But there is something else, as well. The eyes on me have a new respect. Not that I don’t doubt battle lines may still be drawn, alliances forged. There is discreet acknowledgment passing one to the other that the subject is not closed just as there is acknowledgment that I am a force to be reckoned with.
Turnbull allows a moment to pass, then asks, “Are there any other petitioners?”
A murmur of negative replies, a shaking of heads.
“Then I declare this convocation closed.” He moves deliberately to the library door and holds it open.
The tribal heads file out. All approach and offer their hands to me. They bow, a symbol of respect, bound by a centuries-old tradition they are not ready to challenge. Had Chael been triumphant, I have no doubt it would have been to him they’d be offering their allegiance.
At last, Turnbull and I find ourselves alone once more in the library.
“Was that as much of a disaster as I think?” I ask.
“You didn’t win them all over. But you won their respect. You presented a thoughtful and intelligent argument. Very un-Anna-like.”
He sounds surprised. I feel myself smiling.
“Thoughtful and intelligent? Not words I hear very often ascribed to me. Hotheaded and arbitrary. Now that’s more the norm.”
He laughs. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
“Just a little while ago.”
I sit down in one of the chairs, motion Turnbull to join me. He does.
“To be frank, I don’t know where those words came from, Turnbull. It’s as if there was something—a spirit—speaking through me.”
He lifts a hand. “Maybe there was. Maybe that’s what makes you the Chosen One. You see the world as it is as well as what it can be.”
I smile again. “You know, I like you more now than when we met in Denver.”
“Different set of circumstances. Frankly, I was concerned about the purpose of your visit. I was afraid I’d be cleaning up your mess long after you left.”