Legends of Astræa: Cupid's Arrow Book 1 (Legends of Astræa Series) Page 17

  “Miss Pearson, we have much to discuss after you clean up a little,” he said, looking at the estate of my uniform and avoiding my question. A little? God, he was right. I needed a shower badly. I had never felt so dirty in my entire life, even when I had helped clean the soot in St. Mary’s fireplaces. I was covered in soot from the monsters’ ashes, something I’d rather not think about. I sighed.

  He stipulated the next terms. “Then we can have some food and talk.”

  My stomach reacted uproariously at the sound of food. Evidently, I was very hungry, very tired, and grungy. However, he was avoiding telling me anything of relevance—again. Crap.

  He was right. I needed to clean up, eat, and rest. I followed Mr. Tarbelli to the spacious and colorful back private room, where a piece of abstract art hung over the bed. An empty desk was in the corner and a mirror above the bedroom drawer cabinet. Gavril came inside with us and sat on the bed playfully. Mr. Tarbelli shook his head, upset at the wolf, and handed me a pair of leggings, a simple white T-shirt, and a pair of fancy leather plimsolls, all in my size. All in one neat folded bundle. I wondered how long had he been preparing for this trip. Gavril scratched his side as if he had fleas.

  “Then we can discuss your affinity for dangerous beasts,” Mr. Tarbelli said.

  Gavril gnarled at him. I shook my head at both.

  You better stop this, I warned him, fixing my glare on Gavril as I entered the luxurious bathroom.

  The pompous snot thinks he can insult me, Gavril said.

  Enit—keep an eye on him, Mr. Tarbelli’s mind commanded. Now who the h—ll was this Enit, and why was I hearing Mr. Tarbelli’s thoughts—again?

  Simultaneously, I caught a quick movement in the mirror. I gasped at what I’d seen. A blue shadow with enfolded wings like the one I had seen in my nightmares with the knight—Demyan. The movement had been so fast, it was hard to believe my eyes. But I was sure it had been one of those blue creatures.

  Had it followed me inside this modern jet? How was that even conceivable? Darned dreams, I hated them. Was this day ever going to end? Maybe I was losing it. I swore Mr. Tarbelli had seen the figure as he approached the door reluctantly. Yet he hadn’t even blinked. Anyone else would have been in hysterics. However, his face had a printed unhappy frown when he left the door open, not trusting Gavril alone in the bedroom with me.

  Was I crazy, or did I see that blue creature? I exchanged a gaze with Gavril, but he was busy flaring his nostrils in the air, as if his nose had captured something. He snarled briefly but gave up and laid his head on the plush white pillows of the bed. I shook my head at him.

  I just couldn’t deal with anything else. I had reached my limit affronting blue creatures, fighting evil, and Ash stalking me and almost taking my soul… that I was always labeled evil, that my mother never loved me, that I still didn’t know where I came from, and that Mr. Tarbelli had neglected telling me he was my legal guardian. I was so tired of feeling that everything was always out of my control, that Ash had killed Mother Clarisse. So yes, it made me angry being bereft and abandoned. Oh God, I was sorry for things I couldn’t name or even admit, and worst of all for feeling—so forsaken. I couldn’t take anything more.

  Gavril whimpered softly as I slammed and locked the bathroom door behind me. Before I could help myself, I wept. Tears choked me as I slid down on the wall, weeping so much I couldn’t even catch my breath. All I knew then was that all that was happening to me was really crazy, and I didn’t know how to get over it. After long moments of sitting on the tiled floor, I remembered I needed to get cleaned up. I tore off my uniform.

  Muddy water ran down the drain. I rinsed my hair twice to take all the ash debris still stuck in it. The hot water felt good on my skin and calmed my emotions.

  In the mirror, my gaze stopped absent-mindedly at my mouth, and my eyes glistened as I pressed my fingers gently on my lips. Demyan. An odd ache inside me followed by a fluttering hum in my chest that took my breath away.

  I had to stop thinking of his kiss. It wasn’t helping my sanity. Things were definitely not as normal as they should, and I needed as much of my clear thinking to make my next move. At that moment I had no idea what it would be, except that I had to find Father Dominique since we were on our way to France.

  But foremost, I needed to be strong, to be brave if I was going to avenge Mother Clarisse. What was I to do now? I had to be smarter from now on. I realized then I wasn’t alone; I had Gavril. I turned to him who lay on the bed, feeling grateful he had come.

  Gavril, what do you know about this Fallen?

  Oh… What did they teach you in that convent? Don’t tell me you never heard of Lucifer.

  Crap…

  Chapter 18

  You mean the outcasted angel? I asked, wishing I hadn’t asked.

  Same one, he confirmed. The worst kind of evil was after me. No. no. no. This wasn’t happening. Maybe I misheard.

  Are you kidding me?

  Gavril sat there, looking straight at my eyes. I inhaled deeply, feeling my knuckles getting so tight they turned white. His silence weighed more than it should. Crap. I held back screaming in horror. I had been too naïve thinking I could win this fight.

  No, not him. Not that that would make any difference. He works under the command of the king of hell. This Fallen’s name is… Asmodeus in Greek or Ashmedai in Hebrew, Gavril said. And I wondered how he came about with that information. I never imagined him to be the “studying ancient languages” type. In fact, he admitted not ever being one many times.

  Wait—Ashmedai—Ash… was Asmodeus. Huff. And he wasn’t just a minor nightmare, he was evil incarnate. My knees weakened.

  Me—why me? I posed the question more to myself than to Gavril.

  Hum-huh. You don’t know what you are, do you? he stated more than questioned. His crystal silver eyes fixed on me.

  What do you mean by… what? Not him too. Ugh. Asmodeus was no doubt a Fallen Angel who ran around crushing old ladies to death. My fear turned into anger.

  One way or another, he was going to pay for taking Mother Clarisse’s life. In his own words, he wanted “to change the world,” and I wasn’t going to let him. Someone had to stop him. My anger turned into resolution.

  I needed all the courage I could gather, because there was no going back. I needed a plan. What was my next step? Going to France—check. Where I could find answers? I needed to know from Father Dominique. That, and secrets like how to win a fight against someone like Ash or why I was a freak show.

  It was unlikely Mr. Tarbelli would answer some of those questions. The man had kept something very important from me. It was necessary for him to come clean.

  I emerged from the bedroom and joined Mr. Tarbelli. He had changed into fresh clothes. A fine gold chain hung between his four-button dark green cashmere vest and his tailored suit jacket. He had a crisp white shirt, and a lavender tie was perfectly tied around his neck, but the description of his appearance was pointless. He was a master of disguise, that much was clear to me.

  I took the jet in anew. There was plush carpet under my feet with an abstract design of coppery colors and tan golds. My ears still felt a tad plugged. It was strange getting used to the cabin air pressure in a moving jet.

  “Let’s have some food.” Mr. Tarbelli pointed at a place at the nice, round wood table when he saw me. I nodded. God, I was famished.

  Our pilot, Andrei, pulled three metallic containers from the jet’s fancy-looking oven. I didn’t expect our pilot doing the functions of a flight attendant. I wondered how the jet was flying now. Was it on autopilot? Was that normal? From my view, there was no one inside the pilot’s cabin.

  “Mr. Tarbelli, who is flying the jet?”

  He closed his eyes briefly. Andrei almost chocked on his food. Mr. Tarbelli cleared his throat.

  “What… what did I say?” I asked them after their awkward reaction.

  Mr. Tarbelli waved at Andrei, sort of dismissing him from the explanation. Obviously,
he thought I was being impertinent with my questions that he never answered. I was quite certain Andrei was snickering when he turned his back on us to a tray with a large, blue bottle of water nicely arranged with glasses, large white napkins, and silverware that he placed on the table a moment later. Something was off. I could feel it, but I just couldn’t tell what.

  “Stop avoiding giving me answers. Tell me what is going on,” I demanded, looking at both of them.

  Andrei didn’t even glance my way when he came back to place the fine porcelain dishes in front of us. On the other hand, Mr. Tarbelli paid me no attention. Herb-roasted chicken, rice, and buttered steaming hot vegetables arrived and made my stomach growl with hunger. Gavril whined when his nose captured the aromas of the food, and something else made him grumpy and somewhat jumpy, judging from his teeth showing off.

  I sought Mr. Tarbelli’s gaze, hoping he had enough food for Gavril. We watched as Andrei retrieved a third dish and sat by himself on one of the individual seats that had an extended small wooden table. Gavril and I understood then that there wasn’t going to be food for him. Mr. Tarbelli hadn’t planned for him to travel.

  Mr. Tarbelli smirked, amused at our predicament, as he spread butter on his warm, fragrant, and mouthwatering bread. Gavril placed his nuzzle over my lap. I scratched his ear.

  No worries. I’ll share, I told him. He waggled his tail.

  “Miss Pearson, I shall put this in a nutshell.” He held his delivery, leaving me in total suspense, like I could handle any more surprises. When I didn’t say anything, he continued. “You need to know that you are not—” He cleared his throat and delivered the final punch line. “Not human.” His dorky king’s English-French accent—and who knows what else—was boldly amused, as if this wasn’t earth-shattering news. He had an enthusiastic bite of his food.

  I dropped my fork over the porcelain, and the clanking noise startled us. My appetite was gone. My worst fear.

  I. Was. Not. Human.

  If I needed confirmation, this was it. I was rendered speechless. Deep down I always knew I wasn’t, but I lived holding onto the idea of being accepted as one in the school among my peers. They never did. I realized now they never would. Would anyone ever? I was not human. Not human. My eyes blurred.

  Now what kind of monster was I? Demon? Was I a werewolf too? What if I was more dangerous than Gavril was?

  Uh, whatever you ask, don’t ask him about werewolves. It’s a giveaway, Gavril said. God, he was really giving me a headache, like not being human—among other things—wasn’t enough to deal with. I just couldn’t cope with any of that right that moment.

  The Hoover Dam broke… again. Mr. Tarbelli’s face distorted behind the veil of water in my eyes. He stopped his fork in midair to watch my sobbing party.

  “Miss Pearson, I believe you are unable to handle any other concerns for the time being.” What? He was not going to leave me hanging like that without telling me what I was. I shook my head.

  “Just tell me, what kind of… monster am I?” I asked, wiping my dumb tears.

  He, on the other hand, rolled his eyes—literally, as if I was just having silly conniptions or an idiotic tantrum because my nail polish wasn’t perfect. I didn’t even have nail polish. Andrei broke into a discreet cough, after he choked on his food—again. Mr. Tarbelli grunted at him then turned his attention back to me. No one said anything for a moment.

  It was like the longer he scrutinized me, the faster I wanted to run to the back room, close my door, and not open it until I was human again and we were in France. But I didn’t wilt. I wiped my tears for the tenth time, and I raised my chin to him. In that artificial light, his eyes looked much older than his thirty years—not in his physical appearance but in the profound complexity of what they had seen through his life. He held his breath, crossed his arms, and raised his left eyebrow.

  “Miss Pearson, I better be the one giving you the right information and not some misguided notion. Your insistence on attaining more information than you can clearly handle—I find it quite infantile.” His voice was sharp.

  I blinked more tears even when he thought them infantile. I was back in his classroom, feeling like the mediocre girl I tried so hard impersonate. “We are not human, nor are we monsters.”

  Not human, was all my mind could think about.

  “We are an ancient race of immortals.”

  I sobered up. “Immortals? Seriously?” There was no such thing. Was he capable of jokes? Was he on drugs? But he was still looking straight into my eyes with stunning intensity as if I was the one with the hearing problem. I took a deep breath. Wait, he said we. Holy Crap. I cleared my throat and tried to make sense of this without sounding too dumb. “How ancient are we speaking about?”

  “Let’s begin with the end of the Bronze Age and early Iron Age.” He crossed his legs and adjusted himself in his seat. Crap. Mr. Tarbelli’s short version was the classroom full year’s version of “Immortals 101 for Dummies.” I was praying for no surprise quizzes along the way. Andrei disappeared inside the pilot cabin. I didn’t blame him.

  Oh boy. This is going to take a long time. The chicken will get too cold, Gavril whimpered, while I felt like I was sinking into a horror story. It was hard to accept that I wasn’t human to begin with, and this immortal thing was no better. My mind couldn’t even grasp the meaning of that.

  “Our kind, the Apkallu as we used to be called, was once considered a divine creature. We served as priests, advisers, and sages to ancient Sumerian, Akkadian, Assyrian, Babylonian, Egyptian, and Greek kings. We established culture and gave civilization to mankind.” Mr. Tarbelli held his chin high.

  Mine couldn’t find a way out of “not human” yet.

  “Unfortunately, these were also difficult times for our race. There were many males having children with humans.” He smiled back at my arched eyebrow. “Yes, our kind is capable of conjugal relationships with human beings—a terrible transgression for many reasons you will understand later on. For now, let us continue the history class.”

  Sure, up until this morning, I thought myself one of them—a human being. Mr. Tarbelli was going too far with his story.

  Get over it—and share that chicken. Gavril’s eyes were fixed on the food on the table. I dragged my hands over my legs, chewing my lip. Was he seriously thinking of food at a time like this? He was a werewolf, that alone was troubling. Crap.

  “In Greek mythology, Lamia was a Libyan Queen, an Apkallu queen who ruled half-bloods a danger to our secrecy and our way of life.” He paused. “Whether she was right or not, the following kings and queens respected this rule. All the half-bloods at the time were exterminated… All except for one, but let’s not detract our attention,” he said.

  I shuddered at the thought of all those people killed. Was I the exception?

  “Through time, we have been called many things—things humans should never understand. These days, the Apkallu are called Strzyga, regarded as a special kind of Strigoaica via, Latin for the living vampires that rarely drink blood,” he said.

  I was appalled. Vampires. “I—WE. DRINK. BLOOD?” Eww and eeww. Things were getting disturbingly gross. I digressed. Mr. Tarbelli was right; I was wrong. I wasn’t prepared to handle this information. I was really feeling sick now.

  Relax and breathe, buttercup, Gavril instructed me.

  Instead, I felt my confidence sink into the worst kind of anxiety. The one that didn’t let you breathe. Mr. Verbose just shook his head.

  “We do not kill humans or anyone for this. It just happens as the ritual of immortality is completed. It is the blood of another immortal which is volunteered for the ceremony. Once it is completed, Strzyga are able to shift into their natural form at will,” Mr. Tarbelli explained. Oh, sure. That sounded not so different from drinking effin blood.

  “Seriously? A Street-zee-go?” Everything was so overwhelming. Not only I wasn’t human, but I was a sappy and gullible vampire? Or like he called us, immortals. Right… He left h
is fork next to the plate and tapped his foot lightly. I could see I was annoying him with my questions.

  “Strzyga life is quite different from the folklore myths of the humans. There are several kinds or degrees of them. I suggest having an open mind,” he warned me. Open mind? How could I? My education was 100 percent human. “Your bloodline is one of the most ancient lines in the kingdom. Your silver birthmark proves it.” His eyes fixated on my left arm where the silver tattoo could be seen below the short sleeve of my T-shirt. I realized it was the very first time he had seen it.

  “What about the other kinds of Strzyga?” I asked, wishing they weren’t as bloodthirsty as Hollywood painted them. His gaze flicked up.

  “Essentially, we are all the same race.”

  Just bleepin fantastic.

  He stopped tapping his foot. “However, there had been… incidents and Strzyga in the past who gave us a bad reputation.”

  No kidding. Just ask Bram Stoker.

  “Some Strzyga have kidnapped women, killed and robbed people, and looted animals and crops. Also, in ancient times, Strzyga have engaged in wars, in some cases surrogating to their natural form as a natural self-defense mechanism of our race. I recalled Demyan’s dream. Strzyga had sharp fangs and wings. I took a moment to see my reflection over the butter knife on the table. I found no fangs—yet.

  “Through the centuries, our kind has successfully managed to maintain our way of life and our secret of immortality almost intact. However, we had left clues, and humans have smartly found little pieces of evidence here and there that have created folk and human myths about us and who we are. Of course, most of them are terribly misguided—”

  “Am I a half-blood?” The words blurted out of my mouth. I feared it was the reason my mother abandoned me. He opened his eyes wide for an instant and frowned with aversion to my question.

  “No, Miss Pearson.” His tone reminded me of when he used to reprimand me for not paying attention in class. “You are a pureblood Strzyga with a very old lineage and highborn aristocratic titles. That is, if the prince grants the restitution of them one day, but we can talk about that later.” He toyed with his fork as if I was reaching the end of his patience. Aristocrat? What prince? What titles? Why? A myriad of overwhelming questions assaulted me.