Secret Worlds (204 page)

In the morning, they were leaving for Poland to monitor the war with the Turks for Zenas. It was disheartening. Warsaw, while still almost a full day’s journey from Michael, was much too close. She had become adept at determining distance by the strength of his energy. Her respite hadn’t been nearly long enough.

The situation in Lhasa had been on the verge of disastrous. Amaia and Lawrence had actually seen four vampires fighting in broad daylight when they arrived, not one hundred yards from the town. It was reckless. Both Ezekial’s clan members and Zenas’s had taken to feeding upon and killing an absurd number of humans as a way of marking their territories. She and Lawrence had made quick work of the rival vampires with help from Meg and Liam. After they’d finished destroying Ezekial’s minions, Zenas had ordered them to kill his children who had let the situation escalate. As if killing fellow vampires weren’t bad enough, killing members of her own clan was even more difficult to stomach. The lesson was learned: no loyalty to one another, only to their maker. They only remained to await the new vampires Zenas had assigned to the area.

Her mind wandered over the vampires she’d killed in her lifetime. They were gone forever, mourned by no one, their names already forgotten. One day, it would be the same for her. Tomorrow or a thousand years from now, she would cease to exist. Perhaps she missed mortality. What was so wrong with living a simple, short life? Could she and Michael have been happy together? Would she feel different if he belonged to her the way Liam belonged to Meg?

Those were foolish thoughts. Mating with a human was a ridiculous proposal. She didn’t want to know how to live with the situation; she wanted to know how to end it. Somehow, it seemed the key lay in this garden with the peace she felt. If she could only learn how to embrace peace the way Cho did, then maybe she could learn to inhabit the same world as Michael without going insane.

She was granted only a few more hours before the ache in her belly demanded she leave. Her thirst overwhelmed her. While she wanted to remain in the garden forever, she would not feed from the monks. She felt there was something inherently wrong about violating their bodies that way. As she walked out of the gate, she turned and took one last look, burning the image into her mind. Perhaps in the coming years, she could summon the memory of this place and recapture some of the peace. Even as she thought it, she knew it was a vain hope.

Warsaw, September 1697, 6 years, 1 month later

Amaia focused back on the elegant Tibetan characters in front of her. Each time her mind wandered to Michael or his eyes appeared before her, she sought refuge in the pages of the book Cho had given her. She knew it by heart, and if it wasn’t at hand, she recited it to herself. The comfort was strengthened, however, when she could immerse herself in the tactile experience of reading it. The feel of the paper, the smooth, worn edges, the graceful lines of the text, the smell of those who had pored over its wisdom before her, all grounded her more firmly than simply reciting the words did.

This couldn’t last much longer. Amaia already counted the days until Michael died again. Less than four months left. It was little solace. Shortly after he died, he would come back.

Geography, it appeared, conspired against Amaia. She needed to inhabit a different continent than Michael. There was only so much solace a worn book could offer.

When they’d arrived in Warsaw, she’d set about the usual work to be done in a new place. She constantly maneuvered to establish herself in the court of King John III Sobieski, to gain the confidence of the political players. Zenas was serious about not letting the Ottoman Empire expand to engulf Europe, and Amaia enjoyed her work in Wilanów Palace, staying abreast of the latest developments and dropping her own counsel into listening ears. Then there was Lawrence’s mission. A new pool of energies for her to evaluate and match with suitable mates greeted them. Anytime she wasn’t working, she let Meg and Liam drag her around the country doing anything, so long as she didn’t head south. South was where her madness waited.

It didn’t work.

Michael consumed her thoughts, and it only worsened as the years passed. She tried meditating, seeking the inner peace that Cho seemed to possess so effortlessly. It never worked. When her mind blanked, those eyes appeared, calling to her, pulling her in a direction she could not go.

If she followed the siren’s call, she worried she would go crazy. But was this sanity? Could she claim to have hold of her senses when she spent most of her time buried in an ancient book, trying to exorcise the ghost of her past?

She was out of Warsaw, headed south to Greece, to Michael, before her mind acknowledged giving her body the order to move. She wouldn’t stop to think about it. This had to be done. She needed to see him. If she was going to descend into madness, she might as well avail herself of the salve of seeing Michael first.

She wasn’t sure of Michael’s exact location, only that he had to be in Greece given the strength and direction of his energy. It would be nearly a full day’s journey. Plenty of time to convince herself to turn back. She wouldn’t, though. With less than four months left, there wasn’t much time. She knew if she let his life pass her by, she would regret not seeing him. There would be no temporary peace after his death. She would torment herself wondering what he had looked like, who he had been. No, this was the better route.

The sun hung low in the sky when she reached her destination. The cliffs of Metéora rose tall and foreboding. She had never seen the monasteries before, though she had heard of them. They crowned the cliffs with a humble majesty, houses of God overlooking the surrounding land, safely separate from the world they inhabited. Amaia knew which of the two dozen monasteries housed her Michael. The fact that he was there, of all places, took a moment to digest.

She climbed the cliff with relative ease. All the energies were concentrated in one room. It appeared she had come upon them at dinner time. It would make it easier for her to watch without being seen. Warm yellow light poured from the dining room window into the empty courtyard, illuminating the well-maintained garden and pathway.

Amaia gripped the sill with her fingers and rose to her tiptoes.

And promptly crashed back on her heels.

Her eyes deceived her. Michael was nowhere in that room. In fact, nowhere in that room was a man.

Amaia lifted her heels from the ground once more and surveyed the scene. Nuns filled the room. Michael’s energy came from a nunnery. The pull came from her right. She examined the identical black-clothed heads. One of the nuns looked up from her plate, gray eyes catching the candlelight.

Michael was a woman. In this country surrounded by Muslims, Michael was a Christian nun.

Why it should surprise her was a mystery to Amaia. It wasn’t as if every experience with Michael that had preceded this one had been perfectly normal. Amaia watched for a few moments to verify what she already knew and then turned away. She had never supposed that Michael could come back as a woman. But what was it Cho had said? Reincarnation allows one to experience all facets of life. It only made sense that in order to experience all of life, one needed to experience it as both genders.

Still, it was difficult to process. She recited Cho’s book on the way home, and when she arrived, she buried herself in it.

Metéora, December 1697, 3 months later

Amaia slowed her heart. She didn’t need its frantic fluttering adding to her already nervous state. It would have been helpful to talk to Meg about her plan, but she didn’t know how to even begin that conversation. Instead, she moved forward on her own.

It had become clear to her that she needed to meet Michael, or Michelle, as she had begun calling him in her head. There was no way around it. Michelle invaded every moment. No amount of reading, meditation, or work could keep the thoughts at bay. Soon, her private time morphed into a refresher study of Greek. At first, she had taken up simply spying on Michelle, but she quickly lost satisfaction from the act. Instead of assuaging her curiosity, spying fueled it. It was no longer an option to simply observe. She needed to interact.

The idea was crazy, but Amaia didn’t have any sane ideas left. There were only a few weeks before Michelle died, and there was no telling if she would come back. This was Michael’s first female life that Amaia knew about, and she didn’t want to miss out on it if it turned out to be the last. The argument seemed flimsy even to her. She knew the chances were this was not Michelle’s last turn on the wheel of life, just as it wasn’t Michael’s.

To avoid suspicion, Amaia climbed the ladders instead of the cliff to reach the monastery. Reaching the top, she smoothed her simple gray dress and went toward Michelle’s energy. Amaia found her working away in one of the monastery’s many gardens.

“Excuse me. Do you mind if I join you?” Amaia stood above Michelle, casting a shadow over her.

Michelle looked up, squinting against the sun as she tried to make out Amaia’s features. “Not at all. An extra pair of hands is always welcome.”

Amaia knelt next to Michelle and began weeding. “My name is Karena. The abbess suggested I speak to some of the sisters. I’m considering becoming a nun.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Karena. My name is Leonilla. I’m happy to answer any questions.”

Michelle’s voice was familiar, an echo of Michael’s. Amaia’s energy vibrated, taken by the sight of Michael in female form. Especially in the form of a simple and humble nun, complete with habit. Her long, slender face and high cheekbones were attractive with a softness to her jaw, mouth, and cheeks that contrasted with Michael’s usual hard features. Amaia wished she could see her hair, but Michelle never uncovered her head. Unfortunately, her sleeping chamber had no window.

Amaia smiled, trying to mirror Michelle’s cheery disposition. “Thank you. I was hoping you might tell me why you decided to become a nun.”

“I believe the better question is: why do you want to?”

Amaia had prepared for this. In truth, she had no idea why anyone would want to live a life of religious devotion. All she could do was recite what she’d heard over the years spent loitering in churches. “I’m seeking purpose. I feel like this is the path God wants for me. I want to feel closer to him, to lead a more spiritually fulfilling life.”

“It sounds like you’ve made up your mind.” Michelle had the same soft confidence that Michael always had. The smile she wore lit her face. Amaia didn’t think she had ever seen a more beautiful smile.

“Maybe I have. Now, I told you my reasons. Why don’t you share yours?”

Michelle focused back on her weeding. “I was left here as a child. My parents gave me to the monastery as an oblate. The sisters have raised me since I was a little girl. I always knew I would one day take my vows.”

“I suppose you never really had a choice.”

“Of course I did. I could have stayed as an oblate and never taken my vows. I wanted to make that lifetime commitment to Christ.”

While Michael had never been particularly religious, the commitment to see something all the way through was reminiscent of the man Amaia had known.

“That’s admirable.” Amaia focused on the weeding and tried not to show just how un-admirable she actually found it.

Michelle glanced at Amaia out of the corner of her eye. “You look familiar. Have we met somewhere before?”

Amaia’s heart stopped instinctually, as if her body wanted to disappear. She recovered, ensuring that her skin didn’t pale for any length of time that Michelle could notice. “I’m from Kalabaka. You’ve likely seen me there.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t seem convinced, but it appeared she was polite enough to accept Amaia’s answer. Michelle gathered up the weeds into a wicker basket, and Amaia rose with her to deposit them in the waste barrel.

“Do you ever regret your decision? Wish that you were free of the restrictions it places on you?” While the whole idea of nuns bored Amaia, Michelle fascinated her.

“No. I wouldn’t have taken my vows if I were going to regret it.” Michelle deposited the weeds with the rest of the waste. Leaning on the barrel, she stared at Amaia. “Are you sure we’ve never met? I feel like I know you.”

Amaia forced herself to meet Michelle’s eyes, even though her instincts told her to run. Her skin prickled in anticipation, but despite Amaia’s fears, there was only a flicker of curiosity in Michelle’s eyes. “I’m certain. I would remember.”

“Odd. I know you said I may have seen you in town, but I could swear I’ve seen you in my dreams, even as a child. It sounds silly, I know.”

Amaia tried to concentrate on relaxing without concentrating so hard that it made relaxation impossible. “You probably saw my mother as a child. I look exactly like her.”

The clear peal of bells echoed through the air. Michelle’s eyes lightened. “Will you be joining us for mass?”

Relief seeped into Amaia’s bones. “No, sorry, but I must be getting home. Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions. Maybe I’ll join you here more permanently in the future.” Amaia was delighted to have such an easy out. She didn’t care that it probably seemed odd for a woman curious about the sisterhood to decline mass, but it was only a fraction of the absurdity of Amaia taking part in a religious service. She didn’t trust herself to keep a straight face, and she didn’t want to be rude to Michelle. Secretly, she suspected that if she stayed with Michelle long enough, the woman would be able to convert her. Michael had always been able to turn her around to his way of thinking. It’s what had caused their problems in the first place. She should have known not to let him convince her to accept his marriage proposal.

When the sisters were all tucked away in the chapel, Amaia descended the cliff, jumping from one outcropping of rock to the next. Michael was a woman, a devout nun no less, and Amaia was a kill-hungry vampire who wanted nothing more than to spend each day Michelle had left getting to know her, listening to every bit of religious nonsense that came from her mouth. Jumping off cliffs was the most sensible part of her day.