The Last Keeper by Michelle Birbeck Page B

least.”  
    Ray sat there, smiling, taking everything I told him at face value, with barely any questions. He leaned forward eagerly whenever I told him about my past, as if he couldn’t get enough of who I was and what I’d done over the years. He was either burying his feelings so deep that I had no chance of finding them, or he really was taking things as well as he appeared to be.
    “You mentioned something about Seats of Power earlier. What do they do?” he asked, lying flat on his back, staring up into the trees.
    “They police the race. There are eight of them spread out over the various continents and hot spots. If we don’t influence a vampire who’s causing trouble first, then they’ll inevitably be called for an audience with the nearest Seat.”  
    It was a simple system they used, one created by Poppy Baruti herself. A vampire was called to the nearest Seat, given an opportunity to state their defence, and then effectively made to submit to their own execution.  
    “Few vampires survive an audience. For those who fail to attend, their fate is much worse.”
    “How so?”
    “How about we save that discussion for another time? There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Detailing The Seats’ preference for dealing with those who didn’t comply was not something I wanted to discuss. It was gruesome at best. At worst . . .  
    “Ask away.”  
    “Why history? You could teach anything you wanted. Why choose the one subject that you cannot ever truly know the answer to?”  
    “Exactly,” he said, his eyes going wide and lighting up. “I can never know the answer. Over time things will change and new information will arise, but we’ll never know for certain. There are so many glorious cities and cultures which have been lost to the sands of time. How can I not want to keep them alive in some way?” He spoke with such passion, such purpose. It was easy now to see why he’d chosen history as his subject. “Then of course, you would know more about that than I do. Would it be too much for me to ask hundreds of questions about the places you have seen?”  
    I had to laugh. The historian in him would want to know that. I could have sat with him for hours just talking about my life. It would have been an absolute pleasure to tell him of the party I had once attended in Rome. Or the mixture of sadness and relief as the people of Egypt buried their last Pharaoh. But there was the distinct smell of rain in the air, and I didn’t want to keep him out in it.
    “It must have been fascinating to have lived for so long.”
    “More like a curse.” Eternal life wasn’t something I would recommend. “For years I’ve watched my family grow and pass. It has been a joy, seeing each of them through their lives . . .”
    “But you want that for yourself?”  
    “Yes. In my life there has never been time for relationships or families of my own. And I would never have wanted them. The way we find our wea—our partners is designed so that we cannot possibly miss them. We allow our instincts to guide us when we choose where to live, and then, when we meet them, we know. I cannot really describe it, except to say it’s the feeling of wanting to stare into someone’s eyes for the rest of time.”  
    Even that wasn’t accurate enough. Sometimes people met each other and they just knew they would get along, something in them called out to the other. It was like that with us, but deeper and more profound. And then that connection was made, that dreaded connection which was the end of us.  
    “You were going to say something else, instead of our partners, ” he prompted gently.  
    “I was,” I admitted, looking away.  
    “Tell me? Please?” He sat up, reaching for me.
    “Weakness. I was going to say weakness,” I said quickly, glancing down to avoid his gaze. I wasn’t able to lie to him.  
    He was gentle as he ran his fingers down my jaw, guiding my face back to his. “Is