Projects

She tossed another pair of stockings into the traveling trunk lying on her bed, then squinted into the dormitory's shadows. A chorus of breathing filled the long, stone room. Pre-dawn had turned her fellow initiates into pale smudges in their cots, but Katirin could see Esfirre dressing. She couldn't think of any reason for the younger woman to be awake now, however.

Out in the hallway, a trio of Taish serving on night-watch walked by, their yellow robes and wimples rippling. The women hummed a psalm in unison.

Katirin decided not to worry about Esfirre. Whatever drove the mute woman's restlessness wasn't Katirin's concern, especially on a morning when she almost felt happy. She turned back to her cupboard and groped until her fingers touched velvet instead of linen. When Katirin pivoted to toss her good cloak onto the bed, however, she jerked in surprise.

Esfirre now stood, with her hands curled into fists and her eyes wide, at the foot of Katirin's cot. Sleep had fluffed the woman's short curls into an imitation of a dandelion.

Katirin forced a smile. "Um. Whatever you want, I'm busy."

Esfirre lifted her hand, and her fingers flickered through sign language. Is it light enough for you to read this?

Irritation tightened Katirin's mouth. She considered lying, then nodded.

Esfirre's gaze darted to the trunk. They let you leave.

"For holidays." Katirin lifted her brows in a polite challenge. "I'm trying to pack?"

Esfirre's eyes grew anxious. You have to take me with you. I don't want to become a Taish.

Katirin stared at the younger woman. Amusement threatened to make her smile. "Um. What do you expect me to do? Smuggle you out under my wimple?"

No. In your coach. The luggage compartment.

She stifled a laugh. "I travel under guard. How would you get past my men? Not to mention the Taish."

The corner of Esfirre's mouth twitched upward but the expression didn't look happy. With your help, obviously.

"Except I'm not giving it."

Esfirre's eyes narrowed. I saw you slip out the window last summer during one of the hot nights. You climbed to the roof using the ivy vines. You want me telling the Taish you have another route outside?

Katirin's stomach went cold. No one was to know about her plans for the rooftop.

The light had strengthened enough to see the sandy-brown color of Esfirre's eyes. Those vines go to the ground too. Get your guards out of my way for a hundred heartbeats, and I'll deal with slipping past the driver and the Taish.

Katirin shook her head. She tossed her cloak onto her cot and propped her hands on her hips. "If it were anyone but you, yes. Even if I got us whipped for the attempt. But it is you."

Esfirre's eyes widened. I'm not crazy.

"Not all the time, maybe."

My violent fits--Katirin, they aren't what people think.

Katirin gentled her voice. "They are. Esfirre, you have a skull-demon."

Anger infected the younger woman's expression. Is my logic impaired? You know me well enough to judge.

She shrugged. "You twitch and you attack people. I won't help someone dangerous to escape from the god's care."

But I'm the one in danger. We all are!

Katirin frowned. "Poor thing. Your affliction's getting worse."

Esfirre's face hardened. No. I'm just running out of time. She darted glances at the sleeping initiates to either side, then glared at Katirin. Listen. Living on Matheln Island is a death sentence; I don't have a skull-demon, I have an ability. I can tell that the Taish have nothing left in them that's human.

Amusement tickled Katirin again, despite her pity for Esfirre. "They aren't supposed to, dear heart."

They are! That's their claim, isn't it? That they join their souls to the god Ismyde's. Esfirre's mouth curled in revulsion. One vast, holy slurry of personality.

Katirin let derision lilt in her voice. "Well, the telepathy backs that claim up, don't you think?"

Esfirre's jaw tightened. The Taish aren't the god's miracle; they're empty husks puppeteered by some demon. I can tell.

Katirin suppressed another urge to laugh. "That's--quite the blasphemy."

I've seen you lie to the Taish. How do you get away with that, if they really share the god's mind? How is it possible to lie to Ismyde, who made you and listens to your prayers?

Katirin narrowed her eyes at Esfirre having caught her in more than one disobedience, but she made her tone mischievous. "How could you know if I was lying?"

Esfirre stared long enough the moment became uncomfortable. Her mouth tightened and then her fingers moved again. Because I'm a Truthsinger.

Cold crept across Katirin's skin. For several heartbeats, she couldn't find words, and when she did, they came out edged in anger. "You are not. There's only five of those in the whole world."

Esfirre bounced her eyebrows, but she didn't smile.

Without permission, Katirin's mind began to slot Esfirre's past behaviors into a new shape. She frowned.

Esfirre nodded. Say anything to me. I'll be able to tell if you're lying.

"The sky is green."

Esfirre jerked as sharply as if she had been burned. Pain contorted her face and her eyes squeezed shut. Lie. Obviously.

Katirin's curiosity fought her disquiet. "The Silithlese are no good at war."

Esfirre twitched and whimpered. You can't tell too many in a row or I'll become dangerous to you.

"Alright. Sky is blue."

The tension in Esfirre's body unwound, but she scowled. I'm not proving a thing to you this way.

Fear wriggled in Katirin's stomach, but she made her voice flippant. "Maybe it amuses me to torture you. My father is the king of Liliende."

Esfirre didn't flinch. After a moment, her eyes snapped wide. Great Ismyde--that's true?

Katirin went cold again. "Hells and imp-shit."

Disbelief scrunched Esfirre's face. You're the king's daughter? What are you doing in a convent?

The dorm remained quiet and gray, but Katirin felt like the morning's peace had just disintegrated. "You couldn't possibly know this."

Esfirre's eyes widened in horror. She clamped a hand over her mouth.

Katirin scowled her irritation. "Don't freeze in awe now. You've known me a year."

I wasn't. Esfirre kept staring. Yes, only five known Truthsingers--all enslaved by some king or warlord. And your father's a king. You were a bigger risk than I realized.

Katirin twitched one shoulder in a shrug. "Our secrets balance. Father ordered me not to tell anyone about my parentage."

Esfirre's eyes drifted up to Katirin's unnaturally black hair. She frowned. So your mother--

Katirin flashed her palm. "Our secrets balance. You don't need to hear any more of mine."

Esfirre stared a moment longer. Alright. So will you believe me about the demon?

Katirin curled her arms around her ribs. "Damned hard to. Tell me more."

People tell little lies as part of conversation. Those trigger my Truthsinger abilities a bit, but when the Taish speak, I feel nothing. Before the pledging ceremony, they're just people; afterward, they're something else. Something not human.

The initiate in the bed beside them rolled over and snorted once before breathing evenly again.

Katirin eyed the woman and lowered her voice before meeting Esfirre's gaze again. "Only the demons of myth got that powerful."

If it's been feeding on souls for centuries, what's to stop it being that powerful?

Katirin's stomach abruptly hurt. "You know how important the Taish are to our nation? To the war effort? We can't do without that telepathic link."

How useful will it be to Liliende once the demon is finished devouring all our souls? Esfirre smiled, a nasty quirk of her lips. And why are you arguing so hard? You don't like them either.

Her temper heated. "Only because I know this isn't the life I was born for."

So help me escape. Hells--come with me. Even if I were crazy, I'm less of a danger to Liliende than this demon is to us.

Katirin dug her fingernails into her palms. "We can't just run away from a threat to the kingdom."

Esfirre scowled. Speak for yourself. I can.

Anger jabbed Katirin, but she could hear the ring of a group of Taish singing the morning song as they came up the stairs. It was a ritual so familiar she could almost predict how many heartbeats remained before the women walked into the dorm. Katirin tucked her outrage under a calm voice. "Go put on your cloak and wimple. You'd better have a plan for getting past the coachman."

Excitement lit Esfirre's face. You're helping me?

"Not you, exactly, no." Katirin jerked her thumb toward the sound of the singing. "Hurry?"

Excerpt of DARK HEIR Ends

The woman's skin has no more texture than rose petals, and her dark hair shines like satin. A cobalt-blue dress stretches across bosom and cascades around one sleek, exposed thigh. "But even if you were perfect, time would steal it. Eventually you'd be ugly and uncool." Her eyes narrow. She turns, and a spotlight breathes light over three people so unworldly they make her look heavy and plain. "Not like these."

The three in the background stay silent, but their beauty sucks at the viewer's attention. The pale young man on the left has rakish eyes set in an angel's face and is lithe as a dancer. The man on the right looks Mayan; his stance breathes elegance and his face is as refined as a sculpture. A black woman stands between the men, taller than both and as slender as spun glass. Her eyes glitter like well-water and her cheekbones look carved.

The spokeswoman looks back at the camera. "Sex, money, esteem? It isn't enough. You don't just want it all; you want it forever." Her smile sharpens. "Admit it. You want to be a vampire."

The camera cuts back to the three in the background. The young man smiles, sweet as a schoolboy. "My name is Raven. I'm ninety-seven years old and can have any woman I want."

"I call myself Star," says the woman beside him. "I'm over four hundred. And I can make anyone do absolutely anything." Her smile is as dreamy as a goddess.

The man on the right's voice is honey-coated sandpaper. He lingers over his words. "I'm Angel. I'm a decade shy of nine hundred, and I'm worth just under a billion US dollars."

All three smile. For a moment, their mouths look normal. Then their teeth grow silvery and sharpen into points. Raven lifts a hand and bites the meat of his own palm. He shows the camera a half-circle of puncture wounds. They heal in seconds, leaving blood trickling down his wrist from no source.

The camera cuts back to the spokeswoman. She grins. Anticipation revs her voice. "And I'm your host, Madison Milhenny. Join me for The Cult of Conspicuous Consumption, Fridays at eleven. See ten contestants live lives of fabulous excess while they compete for immortality. The winner gets to be a vampire. The losers--" Madison's smile turns predatory. "--get eaten. Live." Her eyes glitter. "Ten contestants. Nine will die in front of you. One will become glorious. Watch it."

Excerpt of THE CULT OF CONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION Ends