Page 21 of Blood of a Huntsman

Voices

Cat had sat through many conclaves in her time. All had proceeded in the exact same way: her Aunt Drusilla, leader of the Stormhales, had entered the room, her mere presence demanding silence.

Drusilla talked, telling them of faraway news that colored her perception, her views of the world. She'd give her orders to every branch of the family, naming those who'd failed her in the past for good measure. Then, she'd leave, and everyone else would follow in silence.

The conclave of Night Hill would be nothing like that, Cat realized right away. The setting was somewhat intimate, though the room was impressive, regal. Luke ensured a well-aged bottle of wine was placed at each coffee table.

"Red, white, rosé? Bubbles, no bubbles? Sweet, dry?" Levi's assistant asked, sounding quite panicked.

"If it's wet, I'll drink it."

She had been trained in the art of appreciating wine, could tell a good one, a common one, and an expensive one, but she'd found that she liked most of them equally.

Chloe, who'd chosen to sit next to her, chuckled. "All right. That was unexpected. I thought you'd be one to roll a glass in your fingers and tell us all about the bouquet."

Cat shrugged. "I can certainly do that when it's required of me."

"What can't you do?" Chloe challenged in a half whisper that carried across the room.

A hall full of supernaturals meant there was no such thing as a private conversation.

The huntsmen may not have senses quite as keen as the vampires, but their ears were acute enough for this distance.

Cat shrugged, conscious of the eyes on her. Of course they were curious. The Stormhales kept to themselves. They didn't mingle, like the other founders. The only people who lived in Stormhall were Stormhales. Even their slayers were rarely admitted to the main house.

"I'm rather average at a great number of things," she stated.

“Average?” Chloe repeated. “Yeah, right.”

Cat remained silent, though she could have explained. Her trainers had expected her to be quite good, but she’d never been encouraged to pursue true excellence. Once she mastered a subject, she moved on to the next.

"Languages?"

She asked which one in Russian, to make a point."Kotoryy iz?"

"What did you say?" One of the huntsmen asked.

"Which languages," Mikar, seated next to Chloe, translated for her. "Literature?" the handsome, bronze-skinned elder submitted.

“’Reading furnishes the mind only with materials of knowledge; it is thinking that makes what we read ours.’” Cat quoted Locke.

"Science?" Chloe supplied hopefully.

This time, Cat went for Einstein. “‘Any fool can know. The point is to understand.’"

"And you do understand," Chloe guessed, rolling her eyes.

Cat laughed. "The basics. As I said, I was only expected to reach mediocrity. My job isn't to stand out. It's to be of use."

She knew, right away, that she'd said too much. Her friend frowned in concern.

"What do you like?"

Cat turned. Fifteen feet away, around another coffee table, Bash was seated with Jack and a female huntsman she'd seen around Oldcrest. She'd even traveled with her to London, but Cat didn't think the woman had ever introduced herself.

"Pardon me?" she asked, somewhat confused.

"What do you like to do?" Bash repeated. "In your free time. If that's a concept you understand."

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