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put my hands up, I almost expected to be able to push something away. I had never felt any vampire's
gaze like that.
But I could meet her eyes. Somehow, I knew that wasn't supposed to happen.
The soldier standing to her right was looking at me, as if I'd finally done something interesting.
Nikolaos stood. She moved a little in front of her entourage. She would only come to my collarbone,
which made her short. She stood there for a moment, looking ethereal and lovely like a painting. No
sense of life but a thing of lovely lines and careful color.
She stood there without moving and opened her mind to me. It felt like she had opened a door that had
been locked. Her mind crashed against mine, and I staggered. Thoughts ripped into me like knives,
steel-edged dreams. Fleeting bits of her mind danced in my head; where they touched I was numbed,
hurt.
I was on my knees, and I didn't remember falling. I was cold, so cold. There was nothing for me. I was
an insignificant thing, beside that mind. How could I think to call myself an equal? How could I do
anything but crawl to her and beg to be forgiven? My insolence was intolerable.
I began to crawl to her, on hands and knees. It seemed like the right thing to do. I had to beg her
forgiveness. I needed to be forgiven. How else did you approach a goddess but on bended knee?
No. Something was wrong. But what? I should ask the goddess to forgive me. I should worship her, do
anything she asked. No. No.
"No." I whispered it. "No."
"Come to me, my child." Her voice was like spring after a long winter. It opened me up inside. It made
me feel warm and welcome.
She held out pale arms to me. The goddess would let me embrace her. Wondrous. Why was I cowering
on the floor? Why didn't I run to her?
"No." I slammed my hands into the stone. It stung, but not enough. "No!" I smashed my fist into the
floor. My whole arm tingled and went numb. "NO!" I pounded my fists into the rock over and over until
they bled. Pain was sharp, real, mine. I screamed, "Get out of my mind! You bitch!"
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I crouched on the floor, panting, cradling my hands against my stomach. My pulse was jumping in my
throat. I couldn't breathe past it. Anger washed through me, clean and sharp-edged. It chased the last
shadow of Nikolaos's mind away.
I glared up at her. Anger, and behind that terror. Nikolaos had washed over my mind like the ocean in a
seashell, filled me up and emptied me out. She might have to drive me crazy to break me, but she could
do it if she wanted to. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do to protect myself.
She stared down at me and laughed, that wondrous wind chime of a laugh. "Oh, we have found
something the animator fears. Yes, we have." Her voice was lilting and pleasant. A child bride again.
Nikolaos knelt in front of me, sweeping the sky-blue dress under her knees. Ladylike. She bent at the
waist so she could look me in the eyes. "How old am I, animator?"
I was starting to shake with reaction, shock. My teeth chattered like I was freezing to death, and maybe
I was. My voice squeezed out between my teeth and the tight jerk of my jaw. "A thousand," I said.
"Maybe more."
"You were right, Jean-Claude. She is good." She pressed her face nearly into mine. I wanted to push her
away, but more than anything, I didn't want her to touch me.
She laughed again, high and wild, heartrendingly pure. If I hadn't been hurting so badly, I might have
cried, or spit in her face.
"Good, animator, we understand each other. You do what we want, or I will peel your mind away like
the layers of an onion." She breathed against my face, voice dropping to a whisper. A child's whisper
with an edge of giggling to it. "You do believe I can do that, don't you?"
I believed.
12
I wanted to spit in that smooth, pale face, but I was afraid of what she would do to me. A drop of sweat
ran slowly down my face. I wanted to promise her anything, anything, if she would never touch me again.
Nikolaos didn't have to bespell me; all she had had to do was terrify me. The fear would control me. It
was what she was counting on. I could not let that happen.
"Get . . . out . . . of . . . my . . . face," I said.
She laughed. Her breath was warm and smelled like peppermint. Breath mints. But underneath the clean,
modern smell, very faint, was the scent of fresh blood. Old death. Recent murder.
I wasn't shivering anymore. I said, "Your breath smells like blood."
She jerked back, a hand going to her lips. It was such a human gesture that I laughed. Her dress
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brushed my face as she stood. One small, slippered foot kicked me in the chest.
The force tumbled me backwards, sharp pain, no air. For the second time that night, I couldn't breathe. I
lay flat on my stomach, gasping, swallowing past the pain. I hadn't heard anything break. Something
should have broken.
The voice thudded over me, hot enough to scald. "Get her out of here before I kill her myself."
The pain faded to a sharp ache. Air burned going down. My chest was tight, like I'd swallowed lead.
"Stay where you are, Jean."
Jean-Claude was standing away from the wall, halfway to me. Nikolaos commanded him to stillness with
one small, pale hand.
"Can you hear me, animator?"
"Yes." My voice was strangled. I couldn't get enough air to talk.
"Did I break something?" Her voice rose upward like a small bird.
I coughed, trying to clear my throat, but it hurt. I huddled around my chest while the ache faded. "No."
"Pity. But I suppose that would have slowed things down, or made you useless to us." She seemed to
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