by Claudia Gray
“Ten minutes, and you buy the drinks.”
“If it’s ten minutes, you’re buying.”
“Fine.” Constantia laughed again. When she was happy, and thought herself in control, she could be such a beautiful woman. “Ten minutes and the booze is on me.”
The bar was even more decrepit on the inside. Avocado-green linoleum on the floor seemed to have been laid down in the 1970s, which Balthazar suspected was also the last time it had been mopped. Only a handful of other customers were in there, all men, all reeking of tobacco, alcohol, or other, more highly controlled, substances. Eighties heavy metal blared from the jukebox; no wonder nobody had heard the wreck. A few of the men gave Constantia hungry looks, but as soon as she looked back, they seemed to understand that it was time to turn their heads and study something else.
Constantia spoke to the bartender, ample breasts snug on the bar, a bill folded between two of her fingers; all of this guaranteed his attention. “This guy usually prefers red wine, but here, I think he’d like … a scotch. Straight. I’ll have a shot of tequila.”
“You’ve changed your drink,” Balthazar said.
“Good absinthe’s not as easy to come by, these days. They finally sell it again, but they’ve stripped the hallucinogens out. So what’s the point?” Constantia smiled at him, warm and inviting, the same way she’d looked at him countless times in the centuries between them. Despite her cruelty and her petty need for vengeance, she was beautiful, vital, and witty. Had she not orchestrated his murder, and Charity’s, Balthazar might have truly cared for her.
As it was, he said only, “You never give up, do you?”
“On you? I’m glad to see you have enough ego to assume my only possible motivation could be jumping your bones again.” The bartender slid her shot in front of her, and she gulped it back in one smooth motion. “I’ve moved on to bigger game now.”
Balthazar was wild to reach Skye, to find out what was happening to her, but he knew the only way to get that information was to let Constantia play it her way. “And what’s that?”
Constantia leaned closer to him, and in the avid, hungry gleam of her eyes, he could see flickers of the Teutonic warrior-woman she’d been in the thirteenth century. “Redgrave. It’s time to finish him. My suggestion? We take Redgrave on together, like you suggested back in 1918. I knew you didn’t really mean it then, and that’s why I didn’t listen, but you were righter than either of us realized. That wasn’t the best opportunity, though. This is.”
It was only one of many shocks he’d received that day, but in some ways it was the greatest. Redgrave and Constantia had been together when he met them; their alliance had continued from centuries before Balthazar’s birth to now. Constantia turning on Redgrave was like the moon turning on the sun. “You can’t mean it.”
“I do.”
“How?”
“He’s right about Skye,” she said. “As soon as I tasted Lorenzo’s blood and knew what he’d experienced through her, I realized the potential. The vampires are already massing. They’ll do whatever they have to do just for a taste.”
“So how do we stop it?”
Constantia stared at him. “We don’t. We use it for ourselves.”
Incredulously, he stared at her for a long moment before he could speak. When the bartender put his scotch in front of him, Balthazar found his first words, “Give me the whole bottle.”
As it slid across the bar to him, Constantia said, “Don’t reject it out of hand.”
“If you think I’d ever put her through that—”
“What would you be putting her through, Balthazar? She adores you. Skye’s sweet teenage putty in your hands. Just get her to give a pint every six weeks. Standard blood donation. That would be more than enough for you and me to claim power over Redgrave. Over anyone. Skye won’t even mind, not if she’s doing it for you.” Constantia gave him a sidelong glance. “And I promise not to be jealous. Though maybe you’ll let me watch occasionally? For old times’ sake.”
He had to stretch this out a little longer. Besides, he truly wanted to know: “Why would you ever turn against Redgrave?”
“You’re not the only one who got murdered, you know.” Constantia stared into the distance for a moment before throwing back another swallow of her drink. “Did that ever sink into your self-absorbed mind? Some of us hide our resentment better than you do. You were always a guy who wore his heart on his sleeve, Balthazar. Me—I take my time. I choose my moment. And the moment is now. He’s never played for higher stakes; that means he’s never been more vulnerable.”
Balthazar let his inner turmoil show on his face, the better to weigh his words with the proper reluctance. “It seems inevitable—with so many vampires after her, they’re going to get her blood one way or the other. I just can’t believe this is the only way out. But it is, isn’t it?”
“I knew you’d see sense!” Constantia leaned closer. “Or is it just that you’re past ready to slice off Redgrave’s head and throw it in the nearest river?”
“That would be a side benefit.”
She laughed—a rich laugh, husky and sensual. “They’re taking her to Redgrave’s hideout. You’ll never guess where—I’m sure you looked—well, it’s the old church on Holland Avenue.”
“A church?” Churches repelled vampires; Balthazar couldn’t have searched the churches in town even if it had ever occurred to him. “How is that possible?”
“Desanctified.” Constantia’s grin widened. The unsteady light from the television above the bar painted her face and blond hair in different shades, second to second. “Something ghastly happened there—I’ll spare you the details, since you were always the squeamish type. Anyway, it’s about as holy as a McDonald’s. Let’s go there. You explain to Skye how we’re going to handle this. Sweet-talk her. You know how. And we take Redgrave out forever, claim Skye for ourselves.”
Balthazar tilted his face toward her—not suggestively close, but not far short of it. “Just one thing, Constantia. Which part of this do I need you for?”
“If you could take Redgrave out on your own, you’d have done it by now. So would I. Together, we have the chance neither of us had alone. After that? You’ll stand by the bargain, because that’s the kind of sap you are.”
Drifting still closer to her as his fingers closed around the scotch bottle as if to pour again, he said, “You might be right.” Then he smashed the bottle into the side of her head.
Constantia collapsed, unconscious. “Hey!” the bartender yelled. This place didn’t have high standards, but apparently knocking women out during happy hour was beyond the pale. “Hey, what are you trying to do?”
Balthazar went for the door, pointing at the bill Constantia had left on the bar. “Keep the change.”
As soon as he was out, he took off—pushing himself into a run, faster again, then faster, as hard as he’d ever driven himself, praying against hope that he’d reach Skye in time.
Chapter Twenty-six
SKYE WALKED OUT OF HER HOUSE WITHOUT THE vampires laying a hand on her.
Redgrave had her, utterly, completely. In whatever spell he could weave that controlled her actions, he pulled her forward. With one hand on the banister, she carefully descended the stairs, the vampires behind her mocking her powerlessness. She struggled with all of her strength—and yet she remained trapped within the meek, pliant shell Redgrave had sealed her in.
As she walked, she could hear her phone chiming—she had a text from someone, probably Balthazar—but she was as unable to answer it as she was to do anything else of her own free will.
The effect wore off once she was in the van, but by then it was too late. Vampires sat on either side of her, their clawlike hands clamped around her arms, and the one behind the wheel was taking them toward the highway.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“My dear, does that matter?” Redgrave rode shotgun. He carelessly yanked the copper key from around his neck and tosse
d it into the tray between the two front seats. “Soon it will make very little difference to you where you are. Or who you are. It’s enough to say that we’re going to a stronghold of mine only a few hours away. Once we’re there—you’ll see.”
Skye imagined a cage—a literal cage of steel bars—and fought back the sudden, throat-clenching urge to vomit. I’ll fight, she thought. I need to surprise them. That’s the only chance I’ve got. What I need is the right opportunity and the courage to go for it.
She looked out the windows, trying to get her bearings. Though the fear racing through her and the van’s speed threw her off for a moment, finding their location wasn’t that difficult for her in the town where she’d lived her whole life. They were taking the longer but better-known route to the highway, which meant they were going to lead her right by…
Could that work? No telling until she tried it.
The vampire closest to her was Charity, whose beauty and height made it clear that she was Balthazar’s sister, even if nothing else about them was the same. As Charity yanked off the copper chain she wore, breaking the links with no thought of using it again, she said, “Why can’t we start now?”
“Charity.” Redgrave’s voice held a note of warning, despite his undeniable fondness. “You know the rules.”
Charity stomped her foot on the floorboard of the van. “I hate rules.”
Redgrave chuckled. “You’ve been a good girl lately, haven’t you? Coming back when you were called, telling us how to battle the wraiths: all very useful. I suppose we do need someone else to spread the news of what Skye can really do, now that Lorenzo is gone.”
“May I? Please? May I?” Charity’s eagerness had taken on a gleeful edge that made Skye’s skin crawl.
“Just one sip,” Redgrave said, and Skye’s gut tensed so hard that she thought she might vomit.
Charity turned to look at Skye with eerie eyes that seemed to penetrate her. They were not unlike Balthazar’s eyes, but—unfocused, somehow. Even as Skye tried to push herself away, in vain, Charity lifted Skye’s arm and bit in just below the elbow.
Skye cried out more in revulsion than in pain, though that was bad enough. Just the sight of Charity, lips curled back, fangs sunk deep in her flesh as red blood welled—it was utterly repulsive.
“Charity! That’s enough!” Redgrave’s polite mask had again fallen; he reached behind to grab Charity by the neckline of her dress and forcibly pull her away from Skye. The pulling away hurt even worse than the bite, and Skye folded her arm against her chest with a cry. Charity didn’t even seem to notice. Her eyes had a glazed, uncertain look.
The mere scent of blood had never been so distinct to Skye before. It seemed to fill the van. All the vampires breathed in deeply, and she could almost see the ripple of excitement that went through them.
All of them except Charity: She remained lost in that far-off place—in her long-lost life, Skye realized. Her jaw was slightly slack, and blood smeared her lips, yet Charity looked more sane … more alive … than she ever had before.
“From now on, nobody touches her but me,” Redgrave said. “Nobody ever drinks from her without my permission, and nobody takes one drop more than I allow. When she’s herself again, Charity will be reminded of the price of even momentary disobedience.” The other vampires nodded, willing to do anything if it meant they had a chance at her blood.
The van took a turn onto a road Skye knew well. She pushed Charity away from her, as if she were too disgusted to bear having her near. Now they were past the old Crouther house—now the Hanna place—
As soon as she saw the intersection she sought, Skye brought both knees to her chest and reached for the door on the other side of Charity. When the other vampire tried to seize her, she kicked him soundly in the jaw with both feet. Her sweaty fingers slipped on the door handle—but she had it. The door swung open, and Skye shoved toward it with all her strength. Both she and Charity fell out onto the side of the road.
The impact slammed into her gut, robbing her of breath, but Skye pushed herself to her feet immediately. She had to stumble over Charity’s inert form; Charity kept staring upward, as if at the stars, taking no notice of what was happening near her. Once she was up and clear, Skye ran as fast as she could down the side street. If she could just reach it—
Behind her she heard the squealing of brakes, the slamming of doors. Redgrave and the others were behind her, gaining fast, and Skye didn’t dare look back.
A weather-beaten FOR SALE sign marked her target, though Skye would have known it anywhere. The yellow paint, now faded, the dark green shutters on the windows: Her childhood home was as she remembered it. She took the front steps two at a time, the way she used to when she was racing Dakota to see who would get the first brownie fresh from the oven. The lock had never been the best, and she kicked the door just beneath it, the same way she had when she got mad about Dakota stealing her Padmé Amidala action figure. Just as it had then, the front door gave way, and she ran into the empty house.
“I’m here!” she called. Her words echoed amid the empty rooms. It hurt to see the place like this—cobwebs in the windows, every room bare and lonely—but there was one thing Skye knew hadn’t left. It couldn’t leave. “Help me!”
More steps thundered on the front stoop. Skye bolted toward the back door, just in case this didn’t work, though if it didn’t, she would be buying herself a few more seconds of freedom at most. She’d take it.
“Do you really think you can escape?” Redgrave said. His voice echoed, too; the vampires were inside. Her hands shook as she placed them on the back doorknob. “Silly girl. Don’t you understand?” He was half growling now, his words more like those of a demon than a human being. “You belong to me.”
Which was when the light began to flicker.
Not the electric lights: Those remained as dead as they had been a year ago when her family moved out and cut off the power. No, this was an unearthly light, a sharp blue-green that sliced through the darkness in flickering waves not unlike sunlight against the bottom of a swimming pool. The air chilled around her in an instant, as if she’d opened a refrigerator door. Skye’s rapid, panicked breath made small clouds in the coldness around her.
She knew what this was. This was what happened when a ghost became angry.
And Skye had always known that her childhood home was haunted.
Sleet began to fall, thick, frigid sheets of it, appearing out of nowhere, and behind her she could hear the vampires begin to screech in astonishment and fear. Balthazar had been right: Most vampires hated ghosts and feared them so much that they couldn’t bear even facing them—and the talismans they’d brought to ambush her in her own home had been discarded in the van. They were powerless against ghosts now. And her ghost—the ghost she’d known as a child, the one she had never feared, always welcomed—was striking back with all its might, saving the little girl it had once cherished.
The vampires scrambled back the way they’d come, not quite out the door but close. She could stay in here, remain safe … but no. She didn’t have her phone or any other way of contacting Balthazar, which meant the vampires would have plenty of time to think about how to flush her out. They could set the place on fire, for instance; if she’d thought of that within five seconds, the vampires would think of it soon. She had to use this chance, this momentary disorientation, to get as far away from Redgrave as possible.
“Thank you,” Skye whispered as she yanked the back door open and ran into the night.
The cold air hit her harder than it had before, when she’d been entranced by Redgrave. He hadn’t done her the small kindness of allowing her to grab her coat, and so she wore only her skirt, boots, and a violet sweater that did little to ward off the intense chill. Snow had begun falling again, tiny, sharp flakes that blew sideways with the fierce wind.
Hang on, she told herself. You’re not far now.
Soon the vampires would escape from her childhood house; not long after that,
they would pursue her. But Skye thought she’d bought herself a few minutes, and that was all she needed.
It seemed to her that her childhood ghost remained with her—a helpful little shadow trailing behind. Skye could picture her more vividly than ever now: the small girl by the fireside, who wore a long nightgown and hugged her knees to her chest.
But, no. It wasn’t just a picture. The ghost truly was with her—communicating, perhaps, through Skye’s connection with death.
Skye thought, Why didn’t I feel your death, too?
The reply was an image rather than words: the little girl in an old-fashioned hospital, sick from something the doctors didn’t understand. Her tiny hands above the blanket, clutching and pulling at it in her pain, until finally she let go. That was where she had died, not at home. But the death remained unnatural and wrong.
You were poisoned, Skye realized. By who? And why?
The child had never known. Her parents? The strict nanny? Something horrible, though—all those images were immersed in a depthless kind of evil that felt like oil against Skye’s skin.
Skye grabbed at the branches of the trees around her as she took the steep slope down to the riverbank. The wind had never seemed more brutal, and the edges of the water were thickly overlaid with a crust of ice. Still, she knew what she had to do.
Quickly she stripped off her sweater, boots, and skirt, until she wore only her underwear and camisole. The cold was almost unbearable, but she knew that trying to swim in heavy clothes would drown her, and wearing wet things after she got out of the water would freeze her faster than anything else.
And she had to swim. To cross the river. It was the one way to hold the vampires off long enough for her to reach Balthazar. On the other side of the river was the high school, Café Keats, lots of places—and her running naked and wet into Café Keats would be the gossip of the year, for sure, but that was fine by her.
No matter what the cost, Skye was going to win. She was going to live.
She took a deep breath and jumped into the river.
