AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What I saw in the records room wasn’t as scary.” I realized that my comment wasn’t exactly helpful when Mrs. Bethany frowned. “It was cold, and there was an image in the frost—a man’s face, not words. And he spoke to me. He said, ‘Stop.’”
“Stop?” My father stood on one side of my chair; on the other, my mother sat next to me. They’d walked me over here for the conference and seemed even more freaked out by the apparition at the ball than I was, which was saying a lot. Dad gripped the arm of the chair so tightly I could see the tensed muscles in his hand. “What does that mean,
‘stop’?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Honestly, I have no idea.” Mrs. Bethany lifted her pen to her lips, considering. “It wasn’t as if you were doing anything much up there. Only waiting for Mr. More.
That’s correct, isn’t it?”
I’d need to tell more of the truth now; obviously, other people’s safety depended on it. “I was reading some letters while I was up there.”
“Letters?” Mrs. Bethany’s eyes narrowed.
“Just to pass the time.” Was that convincing? I’d have to hope so.
“And—Balthazar and I went back up there tonight.” Fortunately, nobody asked why I’d done that. I guess they thought it was obvious; that, or they weren’t thinking straight. My parents were even more on edge about this than I would’ve anticipated. “What letters, honey?” Mom put a hand on my shoulder. “Tell us every detail. Everything you remember. It might all be important.”
“There’s not a lot to remember! I mean, I looked at some letters.
None of them stood out. I don’t see why that would make the wraiths angry.”
Through gritted teeth, Dad said, “The question here is what set them off. We have to figure that out, and the sooner the better.”
“Forgive me, Adrian, but that is not the question.” Mrs. Bethany lay down her pen. “The question is how we rid ourselves of this wraith.
There are, as you know, constructive ways of dealing with this problem.”
My mother’s grip tightened on my arm. Her hand shook. I shot her a curious glance, but her expression remained unreadable.
Dad didn’t seem to have heard what Mrs. Bethany said. “The wraiths hate vampires. They’re hostile, and they’re dangerous. Last night should have proved that beyond any doubt.”
“I didn’t dispute that,” Mrs. Bethany said. “All I meant is that we must remain focused on our own goals instead of worrying overly about the wraiths’.”
My father’s words reminded me of a question I’d had since I’d first talked about ghosts with Balthazar. “Why do the wraiths hate vampires?”
Mom and Dad glanced at each other, obviously wondering what to say, if anything. Mrs. Bethany folded her hands together, and she was the one who replied. “We none of us know precisely where we come from: vampires, humans, or wraiths. Myths vary, and science has so little to say to those of us who have survived our mortal lives. But there are legends that bear the stamp of truth.”
“Legends?”
“Once, there were only humans,” Mrs. Bethany said. “Long, long ago. Before history, even before true human consciousness. Therefore, it was also a time before—morality. Intent. Emotion. Man lived as an animal, as united with the joys of the flesh as he was alienated from the knowledge of the soul. What humanity now calls the supernatural—
precognition, the hearing of thoughts, and sharing of dreams, powers that go beyond those of the flesh—all of that was part of the natural world then, as simple and evident as gravity. But man evolved. Consciousness developed. And with consciousness came the capacity for sin.”
I could only stare at Mrs. Bethany. I’d never heard any of this before, and judging by my parents’ rapt silence, perhaps they hadn’t either.
Mrs. Bethany continued, her voice for once free of coldness or disdain. “The day came when the first human being killed another—with foreknowledge, intent, and the understanding of what it is to take another human’s life. When that blow was struck, the bonds between the natural and supernatural world were shattered. Even though that first victim’s life ended, his existence did not. The supernatural part of the first murdered man split into two—body and spirit. Vampires are the undead body. Wraiths are the undead spirit. Our powers are unlike each other’s.
Our consciousnesses are different. And we have been divided from them and from humanity ever since.”
My head spun from all this new information. “Is that all real?”
“I cannot prove it, but many of us have believed it for a very long time,” Mrs. Bethany said. “I tend to believe it myself.”
“You mean—every time a vampire is created, a ghost is, too?”
“No. Our ‘family tree’ split with that first murder. Vampires are capable of creating more of our kind. Wraiths—they have to be more creative.” A strange smile played upon Mrs. Bethany’s face. “Yet they can be spontaneously created as well. Certain kinds of murders—those involving betrayal and broken promises, in particular—have a tendency to create ghosts. It is rare, but it can occur.”
“If vampires and wraiths don’t have anything to do with each other anymore, why do they hate us?”
