Hexed

lines can get. I am vampire. I should be a predator, existing merely to feed on the mortals beneath me. And yet, I have been given the gift of choice. I choose to live as a mortal. To be a friend. But I see evil everyday. I battle it as I can. I have a duty to perform and I take it seriously.”
    “As do we,” the Elder interrupts, motioning with a robed hand. “We will adjourn for the present. There is much we need to consider before proceeding. We will summon you when we are ready to reconvene. The prisoners may take their rest.”
    And so fast it roils my stomach, Stephen and I find ourselves in a space that looks like the dining room in a wellappointed hotel suite. There is a table set with a meal that has to be for Stephen and a wineglass filled with what looks suspiciously like blood.
    Stephen picks up the wineglass gingerly and hands it to me. “This has got to be yours,” he says dryly.

TEN
     

     
    STEPHEN AND I TAKE SEATS AT THE TABLE. IT’S set with china and silver and a bowl of flowers as a centerpiece.
    Nice touch, that. Very civilized.
    I watch Stephen dig into his meal—steak, a baked potato, a green salad. He eats with gusto. “Glad to see our little predicament hasn’t affected your appetite.”
    He grins. “Isn’t a condemned man always given a last meal?” He motions to the wineglass, sitting untouched on the table. “What about you? Aren’t you hungry?”
    I nudge it away. “No. I ate before I left.” A lie. But the idea of downing a glass of blood in front of him makes me uneasy. It can’t be a pleasant sight for the uninitiated. And who knows what kind of blood is in that glass? Or where it came from.
    Stephen pauses, his knife and fork suspended. “What do you think they’re considering up there?”
    Besides whether we live or die? I shrug. “Maybe they’re checking my story.”
    Stephen continues to chew, cutting the steak into bite-sized pieces with a butter knife. Must be tender. Even after a year, the sight of real food can kick-start my salivary glands. The temptation to reach over and grab a piece of that steak is strong but while I have no vampiric powers on this plain, I feel no different. I can’t trust my physiology is changed. Something the Elders must know or they wouldn’t have left the blood.
    To distract myself, I stand up and take a walk around the room. Is this real? Or something fabricated from the human collective memory? Unlike the room I found myself in when I first arrived with Samual, the floors and walls in this one are solid, the furniture physically exists. I run a finger along the back of a chair.
    When I turn around, Stephen is watching. “What are you thinking?” he asks.
    “I’m wondering how they conjured this up. If any of it is real.”
    “You think it may be a figment of our imaginations?” He takes another bite. “Who cares? The steak is delicious.”
    I return to my place at the table. “You’re taking this very well.”
    “Is that a problem? Should I be curled up in a corner bemoaning my fate? I’m a realist, Anna. I was in Manhattan on 9/11. I’ve been a war correspondent in Afghanistan, spent time with the troops in Iraq. I’m a survivor. I have a feeling you are, too.” He scoops a forkful of potato. “Besides, who knows when we’ll eat again.”
    He turns his attention back to his meal while I watch him. I’ve only known this man for what—I can’t even tell since time has all but stopped for us. I like him. He’s strong and brave. Self-sufficient. Practical. Maybe when we get back home. . .
    “What’s it like being a vampire?”
    This time it’s my pleasant little fantasy that gets popped like a pricked balloon. We’re both mortals here, but once we get home . . . I shake my head. “Like being anything else—good days and bad.”
    “That can’t be true,” he argues. “You said you were ‘the Chosen One.’ What does that mean?”
    I close my eyes for the length of a heartbeat. It’s hard enough to explain it to other supernaturals, how can I make a mortal understand? When I open my eyes again, Stephen is studying my reaction.
    “You think I won’t understand, don’t you? Try me.”
    “It’s not an easy story to tell.”
    “The best ones never are. Give it a shot.”
    I rest my elbows on the table, eyes downcast. Who knows what lies ahead for us? For this moment and in this place, we are merely two humans. I have no more power than he does over our fate. I look up at him. His expression is