The Turned Read online

  The Turned

  A.A. Mize

  For Poppy and B

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to start by thanking God for my talents, even if I didn’t manage to find some of them for 20+ years.

  To my husband, Patrick, and our beautiful little girl who remained patient through my weird writing process with all of its late nights and weird questions. Thank you for listening to me and not just staring blankly. Love you.

  To Nana who read this book as much as I did, edited every single draft that I wrote, and let me ramble on tons of nonsense that wouldn’t make sense to anyone who hasn’t read this yet. I owe you red pens. Lots of red pens.

  To my many lovely beta readers and my editor who ripped my manuscript to shreds in order to make The Turned what it is today. It definitely wouldn’t be what it is without you because let’s be honest, I had plot holes you could drive a truck through.

  To Officer Dendinger and Sgt. Taillon who helped me gain a better understanding of the New Orleans Police Department. I’m sure there’s still something that isn’t quite right, but without them it could have been much worse. It was much worse…

  Last but not least I’d like to thank a friend who acted as my eyes and ears within the city, but who’d rather I “give gratitude to that shifty shadow on the moon that is sometimes more apparent than others.” Told you I’m not afraid to write weird things. Don’t test me.

  Prologue

  It was over. Bernard was dead at last and Tiffany had to hide her smile behind her hand as she left the room. Heels clicked loudly on the marble floor, stealing the attention away from the main attraction, being the elderly man, dead in his bed. Grown children, older than she appeared to be, glared at her. They didn’t need to speak for her to know that they hated her. But that’s how she wanted it.

  Since she’d married Bernard nearly ten years before, she had sown seeds of discontent within them and had sat back and played the innocent when her husband had confronted her about it. Of course, he had forgiven her and clever as she was, she could turn any situation on them. But how could Bernard refuse her? She was young and beautiful and willing to ignore being called a gold digger.

  “Perhaps this isn’t the best time for preening, madam,” said the butler dryly.

  Tiffany only glanced at him past her own reflection in the mirror, a crimson fingernail straightening the line of her lipstick. She puckered up and kissed the cool surface, smiling at her handywork before flipping her golden hair over her shoulder and sauntered off toward the den.

  “Be a dear and clean that up,” she said before closing the door on him and plunging the room into darkness.

  With an excited giggle she flung open the curtains at the far side of the room to the view beyond. New York City sprawled out below her and she wondered if this was what it had felt like for the kings of the past, looking out on new lands they hoped to conquer. The city was ripe for the taking and she was poised to take it for herself.

  For decades she had sought revenge on those that had wronged her in her human life but by the time she realized what she was capable of, they were dead. She had to settle for the next best thing; their sons and grandsons. But that game was getting old.

  After several marriages and a string of dead husbands, Tiffany had more money than she knew what to do with. All she needed was power and influence. Power was no issue. With money came power and with Bernard’s death she had a new bargaining chip; his business. She would inherit a large fortune, with his children set to inherit the rest but she would retain most of the shares. Of course, his children would never settle for that. They’d go bankrupt before allowing Tiffany control over their father’s legacy.

  But Tiffany was a good step mother. She would gladly sell off her shares to them in exchange for their inheritance, claiming to have no head for business. Power was no issue. It was influence she needed and who better to give it to her than an old friend she knew still carried a torch for her?

  The pop of a champagne cork echoed through the room and she poured herself a glass, toasting to the city as it lay before her. Gracefully she took a seat, crossing her slender legs as she whipped out a cell phone and scrolled through the contacts.

  The phone rang and she wondered if he would ever pick up. When he did, he didn’t speak but she smiled anyway. “Hello my love.”

  “What do you want, Yvette?”

  “Aw, why the hostility Rowan? I’m just calling to see how you’re doing?”

  “Don’t you have an elderly husband to attend to?” he asked bitterly.

  “He just passed away, poor thing,” she replied observing her perfectly manicured nails. “I was wondering if you’d like to come up to New York next week and celebrate?”

  “Absolutely not. Even if I didn’t have the responsibility of the French Quarter, you know I wouldn’t go to you, Yvette. Leave me be.”

  Silence.

  She sighed heavily and scrolled through her contacts again until she settled on one she hadn’t used in years. Samiell. If Rowan wasn’t going to come see her, she would have to go to him and Samiell was he first step to getting there.

  “Hello?” a woman’s voice answered.

  “Sarah? Hello, dear, it’s Yvette. Is Samiell around?” Tiffany asked, using the name her kind knew her by.

  “He is but I’m afraid he’s not feeling well. Might I take a message?” Sarah replied.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Tiffany said, swirling her glass in her fingertips. “I’d like to put in a request to visit the city for a while around the New Year. I’m tired of the snow.”

  “Of course. I’ll let him know. Goodnight.”

  Tiffany smirked when she realized that Sarah had hung up on her as well. “They sure are getting rude down there in New Orleans,” she said, dialing another number. “Ivanka? So good to hear your voice again.”

  “Yvette? I thought you hated me?” Ivanka replied slowly.

  “What? Where did you hear such nonsense? I adore you. Look, I have a business proposition I think you and your Rogue boyfriend might be interested in.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ivanka said hurriedly.

  “Oh, don’t be that way. Meet me tomorrow at the Armani on Fifth Avenue at 10 a.m. sharp. I’ve been stuck in this penthouse far too long and I want to shop. If you aren’t interested in what I have to offer, then at least there will be a pair of shoes in it for you.”

  Ivanka was quiet for a moment. “Fine. 10 it is.”

  Tiffany would get Rowan one way or another and she knew that with the amount of money she was willing to throw at Ivanka to make it happen, the woman wouldn’t be able to deny her. She took a deep breath and settled into the chair, sipping champagne. and day dreaming of a beautiful man with raven locks and a heart of ice.

  1

  Rowan

  It seems centuries have passed since I have written a word, though I know this is not true. As far as I am concerned, I could never write again and be no worse off for it. Words record memories, and some memories are best left forgotten.

  My Pupil, Matthias, does not agree. The young fool hasn’t been Turned long enough to know the pain and intense longing that comes with accepting this life of ever-passing faces. His loved ones yet live, while mine have been gone for so long, they have been all but forgotten. But he will learn, as all of us do. His appearance will remain that of a twenty-three-year-old man and the two years he has been Turned haven’t been enough for him to get the scope of what it means to be eternal.

  On occasion, in a passerby, I might see the face of my mother, or my father. In the laughter of children, I can sometimes hear my little brother calling me to play. But all of these things have passed away. It is as if I was born into a dream. Nothing stays. I drift from
one liquid haze to another, thinking the people seem so real, until suddenly they are so much older. And more suddenly still, they are dead. How many humans have I forgotten in my time? The number must be countless.

  However, one thing seems constant in my seemingly endless existence, and that is this city. The one I have chosen for my home is always changing, yet it has been very much the same; as if a part of it refuses to let go and progress with time. Much like myself, I suppose. That may be why I cling to it so desperately. The humans come and go, attracted to the rich history and dark mysteries of the New Orleans. Rightfully so. There’s a little something here for everyone, I think.

  The city has been in an uproar for quite some time, tonight being the worst of course since the new year has only just begun. So far, I’ve not had time to join the revelers. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’ve had the time, but not the mood.

  I’ve grown troubled by the actions of my young Pupil. Matthias wasn’t chosen by me to be Turned, and I would never have considered a human such as him for it. He’s always been cocky, arrogant, and reckless, but the more comfortable he gets in his newfound abilities, the more dangerous he becomes. One as old as I can easily tell he has been indulging in tainted blood. I can smell it on him but beyond that, he’s been irritable and moody. It’s as if he’s having a hard time controlling himself.

  Most of us avoid feeding from humans who are high or drunk, but he seems to seek them out and it’s getting bothersome. If he doesn’t get control of his actions soon, the human authorities will be knocking at my door, ordering me to turn him over to them. If he gets in trouble I’d be up to my neck in paperwork for the Elder Council and the police to get things cleared up. I already deal with enough between working at the restaurant, and my duties as a Leader with the weekly reports and keeping an eye on Turned that visit my territory. I don’t need to babysit Matthias as well.

  Other than his less savory deeds and behaviors, Matthias is a most promising student. He was Turned with the ability to shapeshift into animals, but after a particularly frightening experience where he managed to get himself stuck as a cat, he abandoned it. Instead, he’s taken to Mind Abilities and his talents for them are on the verge of terrifying. Mind reading is a talent I was born into this life with, but it’s not particularly difficult to learn compared to certain other abilities in its class. The next step above it is mind control, and although I could learn it easily if I wished, the Elders frown upon this ability.

  The thing that makes Matthias so dangerous is that he skipped these disciplines completely and naturally took to Psionic Disruption. It’s the highest ability in its class and nearly impossible to learn, especially without having any other mind abilities beneath it. Yet he stumbled upon this talent accidentally. He claims that he was attacked by some druggie out in the ninth ward, and when he fought the man off, he felt a strange tugging in his head. Before he knew it, the attacker was unconscious on the ground with blood seeping from his nose, eyes, and ears. Of course, these symptoms and what Matthias described led me to believe that he had this rare ability. It’s quite concerning. I’ve never personally known anyone with this ability, but I do know that it’s impossible to defend yourself against it. If Matthias lost his temper while he was high he could kill someone quite easily.

  Lately, I have been plagued by what to do about him. Should I dismiss him now and release him into a world that might not be ready for him just to keep him from causing me trouble? I could, but he hasn’t been completely trained yet. Not to mention, leaving so suddenly without having the proper time to cut contacts with his loved ones would only cause them to panic and a search for him might ensue, and that would only result in the human authorities getting involved and us having to come up with some reason for Matthias to go missing.

  I’ve seen police departments all over the world take dead vagrants and mutilate the faces in their ruse to make it look as though a missing person had been killed, when in reality they weren’t missing at all but a human who was Turned and didn’t take the time to cut ties. There are plenty of cold cases for just such occasions where someone is Turned, and they simply move somewhere else without letting their loved ones know. Most of us are very careful about how we leave to avoid such things, but not everyone feels the same way about it.

  For some, it is simply too painful to say good-bye. Others become Turned to escape the world in which they feel they are trapped, without leaving it completely. In my time, I have seen people request to be Turned for many reasons, some more ridiculous than others.

  The second option is to teach Matthias how to better control himself in the hope that he will eventually rein himself in before he has to leave the city. I’ve no idea how to do this. I guess it could be said that I am not a very good Mentor, which was half the reason I stopped looking for a Pupil after Yvette.

  Artashir joked that I should just kill him, like they did in the old days and a Pupil didn’t meet the expectations of their Mentor, but I wouldn’t do that even if it was still allowed. I’ve been training him for far too long. In this day and age the Elders would strip away my power as Leader of the French Quarter, as well as imprison or even execute, me for it. Killing a Bastard isn’t an issue, but killing one once you’ve taken it as a Pupil is a different story. Had I known when I found him what I know now, I wonder if I would have made the decision to spare him when I found him. It would have been in my right to do the kill him then, as he was a Bastard and belonged to no Mentor. He was no better than the Rogues that plague us, but I spared him and now I fear he is too powerful and reckless and these traits could cause permanent damage to our already delicate society. We can’t afford for him to reveal us to the general human population, not even accidentally. What chaos that would cause! Humans reverting to their primal ways, hunting us down as they did so long ago with pitchforks and stakes. Or more likely guns now. Neither option sounds appealing to me. I suppose I will have to go out to the plantation and seek out Samiell as soon as I get the time to do so. The Elder might have some insight as to how to handle young Matthias. For now, these things will have to pass from my mind. The sun is rising.

  Rowan closed the black leather journal, tracing his fingers absently over the unmarred surface. Even the beauty of its sleek cover and gold trimmed pages couldn’t bring joy to his heart as it once had. He remembered a time when he was first Turned and had a great passion for the world and everything he was experiencing.

  Living as a Spanish aristocrat, he had thought he had seen the world at its finest. Felt the most delicate of fabrics on his flesh, tasted the sweetest wine, heard perfection in the voice of his wife, seen God himself in the face of his child. But nothing he had felt before could compare with the sensory overload he experienced when Imhotep Turned him. Words came so easily to him back then, not only to record what he was experiencing, but also as a way to cope with everything that had happened before then. A way to cope with all he had lost.

  How long had it been since those memories had faded to the point that he no longer felt any more than a dull ache at recalling them? There was no way to be sure. A sigh escaped Rowan’s lips as he rose from his wing backed chair to gaze out the window, met at first by his own reflection; alabaster skin and long black hair reminiscent of ghost.

  The sky to the east had lightened considerably, casting a pale glow on the clouds overhead. He had been smelling rain on the wind and knew today was the day the storm would finally hit. Mother Nature had given the humans a free pass through the holiday, showing a moment of mercy to allow them to celebrate. That time had passed. Nature would take its course and he would sleep soundly to the melody of rain on the windows.

  On the street below, people were dragging themselves out of their homes for work. Some were stumbling in after a long night of parties. It was early and already Rowan was tired of them. Tired of people. All night he had prepared meals for revelers who had come in a steady stream to the restaurant where he worked as head chef. Now he was ready for peace and qu
iet, alone with his thoughts—a dangerous place normally, but he was exhausted and felt sleep would come easily today.

  A notification from his cell phone brought him back to the present in an instant. Dark eyes rested on the device for a moment in hesitation before he decided to check the message. It was from Samiell, the Turned Notary for New Orleans. No doubt it was about Rowan’s new alias.

  For nearly a decade Rowan had been known to the humans around him as Tobias Anderson. A new alias. A necessity for Turned to survive in modern society. Once upon a time they had been able to change their human names whenever they wished but things were different now. Ten years had passed, and he needed a new name and the proper documentation to go with it. He’d have to quit his job as the chef at the little Thai restaurant out in Marigny and get a job doing something else. He tapped the screen of his phone, opening the message from the local Notary.

  SAMIELL: Hello Rowan, this is Sarah. Samiell wanted me to send a quick note to tell you your new alias. He hopes you’ll like this one more than the last. Dominic LaCroix. I thought it suited you. Anyway, I’ll send your new ID and other documents later.

  ROWAN: Thank you Sarah. Don’t bother. I’ll come by soon.

  SAMIELL: Alright. Samiell has to speak with you anyway. Feel free to drop by whenever you like.

  ROWAN: See you soon.

  Rowan looked over the new alias and bit the pad of his thumb. The name wasn’t bad. It was far better than his current one, but it also meant change. He would have to quit and leave behind the little restaurant he’d come to love. But that was the way of the Turned. Someday he hoped to own a restaurant, but it wasn’t a wise decision at the time. It was a dream that would have to wait until things settled a little more.

  With a heavy sigh, Rowan took up his journal and tucked it into his mahogany secretary desk, locking it tight against prying eyes. The desk itself didn’t have much in it to keep secret, but everything in the world that contained a link to a memory was hidden away here for him to view in his private time.