Free Crossroads by Jeanne C. Stein Page A

predetermines our path, the master who makes us slaves to such as you, the fate of the world would be far different.
    You mean you would move against this master and take over yourself?
    I would not be averse to such a situation.
    But you can’t do it alone, can you? That is what stops you. You don’t have the backing of the others.
    Chael snaps his fingers, dismissing my question with a derisive laugh. Too many are bound up in the superstition. Like mortals cling to their archaic religions, they cling to a ritual that is illogical and irrational and has no relevance today. But in the right circumstance—
    The circumstance of my unseating, for instance?
    His eyes flash. He actually allows the thought or your death to come through, but it is tempered by a smile.
    A smile I don’t return.
    So that is why you come to me with this story? You dare not kill me, but if I become mortal, the thorn from your paw is removed in a way that cannot reflect ill on you. You will have done me no harm. You cannot be held responsible for the deposing of a Chosen One who returns to human life.
    His self-satisfied smile widens. This time I return the smile with a cold one of my own. Crossing the distance between us, I bend so close, he has to cringe back to look up at me.
    Your hypothesis has one severe flaw, Chael. You can’t be sure you will be chosen to take my place. I’m assuming that is your goal if you wish to see the world remade in your twisted image.
    My goal is of no concern to you. I am only here to offer you a gift. Not to debate what might happen if you choose to accept it.
    I can’t believe Chael doesn’t see the irony in that statement. If I accepted this “gift,” and a new Chosen One is swayed by Chael’s vision, or even worse, Chael assumes the title himself, life as we know it for mortals is over. They become as cattle, relegated to gulags, existing only to serve their vampire masters.
    Except for one small detail. I know the plan. Even as a human, I might be able to fight it.
    But I’m getting ahead of myself. What he proposes is not possible; planning countermeasures, ridiculous.
    Chael cannot read these thoughts. He watches my face, suspicious of a mind suddenly as impenetrable as the steel in my gaze.
    I turn away from him, moving to the other side of the room, putting distance between us as if that will help me sort conflicted emotions. To be human again. To be with my family. To love anyone I wish. To stop hiding what I am. To be free of the hunger.
    It isn’t possible? Is it?
    Feelings I’ve relegated to the past well up, swamping my senses, radiating though the barrier between us and giving Chael the opening he seeks.
    You are tempted. I feel it. You can’t hide the passion. You want what once was. I will tell you what I know. Then it is up to you.
    I face him. Shutting down the fierce longing that betrayed me takes such effort, my body shakes. But my thoughts are cold, clinical when I open my mind.
    Tell me.
    Chael now finds it difficult to control his own eagerness—excitement that I am asking, anticipation of all that he hopes to come burns from his eyes. He can’t suppress his passion any more than I could.
    He lives among the Navajo. A shaman.
    And how do I find him?
    Ah. That is easy. You ask your shape-shifter friend, Daniel Frey.
    How would he know of this miracle worker?
    He does not know him. But he knows where to find him. With his son.
    I remember well the first time I learned that Daniel Frey had a son. Frey was preparing me for what I would face at the assembly of the Thirteen Tribes. He dropped the nugget that he had a son as casually as one would shake a pebble from a shoe. After recovering from the shock of such a startling revelation, it took some wheedling to get any information at all about this unexpected and stunning news. The little I got was sketchy at best.
    The kid was four.
    He lived with his Navajo mother in Monument Valley.
    Frey didn’t see him very often—to protect his