P.C. Cast and Kristin Cast have released the first chapter of the upcoming House of Night
CHAPTER ONE
Lenobia
Lenobia’s sleep was so restless that the familiar dream took on a
sense of reality that overstepped the ethereal realm of subconscious
outlets and fantasies and became, from the beginning, all too
heartbreakingly real.
It began with a memory. Decades, and then centuries fell away leaving
Lenobia young and naĆÆve again, and in the cargo hold of the ship that
had carried her from France to America— from one world to another. It
was during that journey that Lenobia had met Martin, the man who should
have been her Mate for his entire life. Instead he had died too young
and had taken her love to the grave with him.
In her dream Lenobia could feel the gentle roll of the ship and smell
the scent of horse and hay, sea and fish— and Martin. Always Martin. He
was standing before her, gazing down at her through eyes that were
olive and amber and worried. She had just told him she loved him.
“It is impossible.” The dream memory replayed in her mind as
Martin reached out, took her hand, and lifted it gently. He raised his
own arm until the two were side by side.
“You see the difference, you?”
The dreaming Lenobia made a small, wordless exclamation of pain. The
sound of his voice! That distinct Creole accent—deep, sensual, unique.
It was the bittersweet sound of his voice and its beautiful accent that
had kept Lenobia away from New Orleans for more than two hundred years.
“No,” the young Lenobia had answered his question as she gazed down at their arms—one brown, one white—where they pressed together.
“All I see is you.”
Still deeply asleep, Lenobia, Horse Mistress of the Tulsa House of
Night, moved restlessly, as if her body was attempting to force her mind
to awaken. But this night her mind did not obey. This night dreams and
what might have been ruled.
The sequence of memories shifted and changed to another scene, still
in the cargo hold of the same ship, still with Martin, but days later.
He was handing her a long string of leather tied to a small pouch dyed a
deep sapphire blue. Martin put it around her neck saying,
“This gris-gris protect you, cherie.”
In the space of a heartbeat the memory wavered and time
fast-forwarded a century. An older, wiser, more cynical Lenobia was
cradling the crumbling leather pouch in her hands as it split and
spilled it contents—thirteen things, just as Martin had told her—but
most of them had become unrecognizable during the century she’d worn the
charm. Lenobia remembered a faint scent of juniper, the smooth feel of
the clay pebble before it turned to dust, and the tiny dove’s feather
that had crumbled between her fingers. But most of all Lenobia
remembered the fleeting rush of joy she’d felt when, in the midst of the
disintegrating remnants of Martin’s love and protection, she’d
discovered something that time hadn’t been able to ravage. It had been a
ring—a heart shaped emerald, surrounded by tiny diamonds, set in gold.
“Your mother’s heart—your heart—my heart,” Lenobia had whispered as she’d slipped it over the knuckle of her ring finger.
“I still miss you, Martin. I’ve never forgotten. I vowed it.”
And then the dream memories rewound again, taking Lenobia back to
Martin, only this time they weren’t at sea finding one another in the
cargo hold and falling in love. This memory was dark and terrible. Even
dreaming, Lenobia knew the place and the date: New Orleans, March 21,
1788, not long after sunset.
The stables had exploded in fire and Martin had saved her, carrying her from the flames.
“Oh, no! Martin! No!” Lenobia had screamed at him then, now
she whimpered, struggling to awaken before she had to relive the
horrible end of the memory.
She didn’t wake. Instead she heard her only love repeat the words
that had broken her heart two hundred years before, feeling it again as
if the wound was raw and fresh.
“Too late, cherie. This world too late for us. I see you again,
though. My love for you don’ end here. My love for you, it never end . .
. find you again, cherie. That I vow.”
As Martin captured the evil human who had tried to enslave her, and
then walked back into the flaming stables with him, saving Lenobia’s
life, the Horse Mistress was finally able to wake herself with a
wrenching sob. She sat up in bed, and with a trembling hand brushed her
sweat-soaked hair from her face.
Lenobia’s first waking thought was for her mare. Through the psychic
connection they shared, she could feel that Mujaji was agitated, almost
panicked. “Shhh, my beauty. Go back to sleep. I am well.” Lenobia spoke
aloud, sending soothing feelings to the black mare with whom she had a
special bond. Feeling guilty for upsetting Mujaji, she bowed her head
and cradled her hand, twisting the emerald ring around and around her
finger.
“Stop being so foolish,” Lenobia told herself firmly. “It was just a
dream. I am safe. I am not back there. What happened then cannot hurt me
more than it already has.” Lenobia lied to herself. I can be hurt
again.
If Martin has come back—really come back—my heart can be hurt again. Another sob tried to escape from Lenobia, but she pressed her lips together and forced her emotions under control.
He might not be Martin, she told herself firmly, logically.
Travis Foster, the new human hired by Neferet to assist her in the
stables, was simply a handsome distraction—him and his big, beautiful
Percheron mare. “Which is probably exactly what Neferet intended when
she hired him,” Lenobia muttered. “To distract me. And his Percheron is
just an odd coincidence.” Lenobia closed her eyes and blocked the
memories that lifted from her past, and then repeated aloud, “Travis
might not be Martin reincarnated. I know my reaction to him is unusually
strong, but it has been a long time since I have taken a lover.”
You have never taken a human lover— you vowed not to, her conscience reminded her. “So it’s simply past time I took a vampyre lover, even if briefly. And
that
type of distraction will be good for me.” Lenobia tried to busy her
imagination with considering and then rejecting a list of handsome Son
of Erebus Warriors, her mind’s eye not seeing their strong, muscular
bodies, but instead envisioning whisky brown eyes tinged with familiar
olive green and a ready smile . . .
“No!” She would not think of it. She would not think of him.
But what if Travis could really hold Martin’s soul? Lenobia’s
errant mind whispered enticingly. He gave his word he would find me
again.
Perhaps he has. “And then what?” Lenobia stood and began to pace
restlessly. “I know all too well the fragility of humans. They are too
easily killed, and today the world is even more dangerous than it was in
1788. My love ended in heartbreak and flame once. Once was too much.”
Lenobia stopped and put her face in her hands as her heart knew the
truth, and pumped it through her body and soul, becoming reality. “I am a
coward. If Travis is not Martin I do not want to open myself to him—to
take a chance on loving another human. And if he is Martin returned to
me, I cannot bear the inevitable, that I will lose him again.”
Lenobia sat heavily in the old rocking chair she’d placed beside her
bedroom window. She liked to read there, and if she couldn’t sleep her
window faced east so she could watch the rising of the sun and look out
at the grounds beside the stables. Though Lenobia appreciated the irony,
she couldn’t help but enjoy the morning light. Vampyre or not, at her
core she would eternally be a girl who loved mornings and horses and a
tall, cappuccino skinned human who had died long ago when he had been
far too young.
Her shoulders slumped. She hadn’t thought of Martin so often in
decades. His renewed memory was a double-edged sword—on one side she
loved recalling his smile, his scent, his touch. On the other his memory
also evoked the void his absence had left. For more than two hundred
years Lenobia had grieved for a lost possibility—a wasted life.
“Our future was burned away from us. Destroyed by flames of hatred
and obsession and evil.” Lenobia shook her head and wiped her eyes. She
must regain control over her emotions. Evil was still burning a swath
through Light and goodness. She drew in a deep, centering breath and
turned her thoughts to a subject that never failed to calm her, no
matter how chaotic the world around her had become—horses—Mujaji, in
particular. Feeling calmer now, Lenobia reached out again with that
extra special part of her spirit that Nyx had touched, and gifted with
an affinity for horses, the day sixteen year-old Lenobia had been
Marked. She found her mare easily, and instantly felt guilty at the
mirrored agitation she sensed in Mujaji.
“Shhh,” Lenobia soothed again, repeating aloud the reassurance she
was sending through her bond with the mare. “I am only being foolish and
self- indulgent. It will pass, I give you my vow, sweet one.”
Lenobia focused a tide of warmth and love on her night-colored mare, and, as always, Mujaji regained her own calm.
Lenobia closed her eyes and released a long breath. She could
envision her mare, black and beautiful as the night, finally settling
down, cocking a back leg, and falling into a dreamless sleep.
The Horse Mistress concentrated on her mare, shutting out the turmoil
that the young cowboy’s arrival at her stables had caused within her.
Tomorrow, she promised herself sleepily,
tomorrow
I will make it clear to Travis that we will never be more than employer
and employee. The color of his eyes and the way he makes me feel, all
of that will begin to ease when I distance myself from him. It must . . .
it must . . .
Finally, Lenobia slept.
Neferet
Even though the feline was not bonded to her, Shadowfax came
willingly at Neferet’s call. Thankfully, classes were over for the
night, so when the big Maine Coon met her in the middle of the Field
House it was dimly lit and empty—no students were about—Dragon Lankford
himself was also absent, but probably only temporarily.
She had seen only a few red fledglings on her way there. Neferet
smiled, satisfied at the thought of how she added the rogue reds to the
House of Night. What lovely, chaotic possibilities they
presented—especially after she ensured Zoey’s circle would be broken and
her best friend, Stevie Rae, would be devastated, grieving the loss of
her lover.
The knowledge that she was assuring future pain and suffering for
Zoey pleased Neferet immeasurably, but she was too disciplined to allow
herself to begin gloating before the sacrificial spell was complete and
her commands were set into motion. Though the school was unusually quiet
tonight, almost abandoned, the truth was anyone could happen into the
Field House. Neferet needed to work quickly and quietly. There would be
ample time to revel over the fruits of her labors later.
She spoke softly to the cat, coaxing him closer to her, and when he
was near enough she knelt to his level. Neferet had thought he would be
leery of her—cats knew things. They were much harder to fool than
humans, fledglings, or even vampyres. Neferet’s own cat, Skylar, had
refused to relocate to her new Mayo pent house suite, choosing instead
to lurk in the shadows of the House of Night and watch her knowingly
with his large, green eyes.
Shadowfax wasn’t as wary.
Neferet beckoned. Shadowfax came to her, slowly closing the last bit
of distance between them. The big cat wasn’t friendly—he didn’t rub
against her and mark her affectionately with his scent—but he came to
her. His obedience was all that concerned Neferet. She didn’t want his
love; she wanted his life.
The Tsi Sgili, immortal Consort of Darkness, and former High
Priestess of the House of Night, felt only a vague shadow of regret as
her left hand caressed the long length of the Maine Coon’s grey tiger
striped back. His fur was soft and thick over his lithe, athletic body.
Like Dragon Lankford, the Warrior he’d chosen as his own, Shadowfax
was powerful and in the prime of his life. Such a shame he was needed
for a greater purpose. A higher purpose.
Neferet’s regret did not equate to hesitation. She used her
Goddess-given affinity for felines and channeled warmth and reassurance
through her palm and into the already trusting feline. While her left
hand caressed him, encouraging him to arch and begin to purr, her right
hand snaked out and with her razor-edged athame, she quickly, cleanly,
slashed Shadowfax’s throat.
The big cat made no sound. His body spasmed, trying to jerk away from
her, but her hand fisted in his fur, holding him so close that his
blood sprayed, hot and wet, across the bodice of her green velvet dress.
The threads of Darkness that were always present around Neferet throbbed and quivered with anticipation.
Neferet ignored them.
The cat died faster than she’d imagined, and for that Neferet was
glad. She hadn’t expected him to stare at her, but the Warrior cat held
her gaze even after he had collapsed into the sandy field house floor
and could no longer fight her, but lay breathing shallowly, twitching
silently, and staring.
Working quickly, while the cat was still living, Neferet began the
spell. Using the blade of her ritual athame, Neferet drew a circle
around Shadowfax’s dying body, so that as blood pooled around him it
poured into it, and a miniature moat of scarlet was formed.
Then she pressed one palm of her hand into the fresh, warm, blood,
stood just outside the circle, and lifted both hands—one bloody, one
holding the scarlet- edged knife, and intoned:
“With this sacrifice I command
Darkness controlled by my hand.
Aurox, obey me!
Rephaim’s death it will be.”
Neferet paused, allowing the sticky threads of cold blackness to
brush against her and gather all around the circle. She felt their
eagerness, their need, their desire, their danger. But above all else,
she felt their power.
To complete the spell she dipped the athame into the blood, and wrote directly into the sand with it, closing the incantation:
“Through payment of blood, pain, and strife
I force the Vessel to be my knife!”
Holding an image of Aurox in her mind, Neferet stepped inside the
circle and plunged the dagger into Shadowfax’s body, pinning him to the
Field House floor while she loosed the tendrils of Darkness so that they
could consume their feast of blood and pain.
When the cat was thoroughly drained and absolutely dead, Neferet
spoke, “The sacrifice has been made. The spell cast. Do as I command.
Force Aurox to kill Rephaim. Make Stevie Rae break the circle. Cause the
reveal spell to fail. Now!”
Like a nest of seething snakes, the minions of Darkness slithered
into the night, heading away from the field house and toward a lavender
field and the ritual that was already underway there.
Neferet gazed after them, smiling in satisfaction. One particular
thread of darkness, thick as her forearm whipped through the door that
opened from the field house to the stables. Neferet’s attention was
pulled its way by the muffled sound of breaking glass.
Curious, the Tsi Sgili glided forward. Being careful to make no
noise, and cloaking herself in shadow, Neferet peered into the stables.
Her emerald eyes widened in pleased surprise. The thick thread of
Darkness had been clumsy. It had knocked one of the gas lanterns from
its resting place on a peg that hung not far from the piles of neatly
stacked hay Lenobia was always so meticulous about choosing for her
creatures. Neferet watched, fascinated, as first one tuft of hay caught
fire, sputtered, and then with a renewed surge of yellow, and a mighty
whoosh! It fully caught.
Neferet looked down the long line of closed, wooden stalls. She could
see only the faint, dark outlines of a few of the horses. Most were
sleeping. Some were lazily grazing, already settled down for the
approaching dawn and the rest the sun would bring them until it set and
students arrived for their never ending classes.
She glanced back at the hay. An entire bale was engulfed in flame.
The scent of smoke drifted to her, and she could hear crackling as, like a loosed beast, the fire fed and grew.
Neferet turned away from the stable, closing the thick door between it and the field house securely.
It seems likely that Stevie Rae may not be the only one who will be grieving after tonight.
The thought satisfied Neferet, and she left the field house and the
carnage she’d caused there, not seeing the small white cat that padded
to Shadowfax’s motionless body, curled beside him, and closed her eyes.
Lenobia
The Horse Mistress awakened with a horrid feeling of foreboding.
Confused, Lenobia rubbed her hands over her face. She’d fallen asleep in
the rocking chair near her window and this sudden awakening seemed more
nightmare than reality.
“This is foolishness,” she muttered sleepily. “I must find my center
again.” Meditation had helped quiet her thoughts in the past.
Resolutely, Lenobia drew a deep, cleansing breath.
It was with that deep breath that Lenobia smelled it—fire. A burning stable to be specific. She clenched her teeth together.
Begone ghosts of the past! I am too old to play these games.
Then an ominous cracking sound had Lenobia shaking off the last of the
sleep that had clouded her mind as she moved quickly to the window and
drew aside the heavy black drapes. The Horse Mistress looked down at her
stables and gasped in horror.
It hadn’t been a dream.
It hadn’t been her imagination.
Instead it was a living nightmare.
Flames were licking the sides of the building and as she stared, the
double doors just at the edge of her vision were thrown open from the
inside and against a backdrop of billowing smoke and consuming flames,
was the silhouette of a tall cowboy leading a huge gray Percheron and a
night black mare from within.
Travis let loose of the mares, shooing them into the school grounds
and away from the flaming stables, and then he ran back into the flaming
mouth of the building.
Everything within Lenobia came alive as the sight extinguished her fear and doubt.
“No, Goddess. Not again. I am no longer a frightened girl. This time his end will be different!”
***
I think the Neferet part is a link to what happened at the end of Destined. And I can hardly see any reason to talk about Lenobia in that situation. I mean, although Lenobia is good, there are definitely more important things to do. And I was like why don't you just talk about Zoey or their friends? Even though the story of Lenobia is good, I think I will put more concentration on the battle against Darkness.
And one more thing. This is just a piece of information.