by A. K. Koonce
“I’d rather not,” I say, still clinging to my humility.
“I’d rather devour your soul than have a chat, and yet here we are.” Humor hums through his very creepy words.
“Who are you?” I ask instead.
Actual laughter, asinine amusement shakes through the room as well as the beam of light.
“You come into my confessional, and you have the mortal nerve to ask me who I am?”
I pause for a moment, but we seem isolated in here.
“You know I’m a human?”
“Incredibly, fragilely, deadly human.” His gravelly voice purrs against only one of those four words.
“But you’re not powerful enough to know my name.”
A quiet chuckle is his only reply.
“Why do you call this a confessional?”
I edge around the bright blue wave of light and try to peer beneath whatever veil he’s hiding under. Only washing colors of white and silver splay within the sapphire beam of light.
“Because that’s what Zavia created it to be.”
“She created you?”
That batshit crazy laughter cackles through my nerves once more.
“Hellfire, no!” He says like a snap of bones. “She summoned me. And then… she imprisoned me.”
Summoned.
“So you’re a demon?”
“You’re a demon, ‘Arry!” He mocks in a strange, high-pitched accent. “I’m a fucking Prince!”
Okay…
He is… an unstable asshole.
“Why did Zavia imprison you?”
“Tsk, tsk. Do not ask of others what you wouldn’t want others to inquire about you.”
…what?
“You can’t tell me things about Zavia?”
“I cannot provide you with anything other than advice for yourself.”
“You’re a demonic advisor?”
“Aren’t all advisors demonic?”
I blink into the light and wonder if he can see through to this side.
Why would Vuitton think that this psychotic demon could be helpful?
“You can tell me about myself. You can tell me all about Kyra Vega.”
A beat passes.
“Very bold of a human, to try fooling a whole den of vampires, I like that,” he whispers like a spider crawling over the dark wall. “But it’s much harder to deceive a prince of lies,” he adds quietly.
His voice sounds worn and broken.
How long has he been in here?
And how many people have used him like a thing rather than a conscious being?
“What’s your name?” I ask.
I wish I could see him.
“I cannot give you my name. To give my name would be to give up my soul after I’ve already lost everything else.”
My heart dips.
“I understand,” I say gently. “I don’t want to continue without… giving you value for your service to this council of vampires. You have value, and you should have a name.”
That scathing laughter rakes out once more. “Humans always try to be humane to things that don’t need it. I’m not like you, pretty human. I don’t need your validation, I have my own.”
“Okay.” My words come drily, so I won’t push that subject any further. “Tell me about the last time you saw Kyra Vega, My Prince.”
The waves in the light halt. It all flatlines into a pale blue and I swear I can see bright eyes looking at me through the veil.
“Did you just call me your prince?”
I stare back at him, and the simple connection of our eyes is something I feel right down to my soul.
“You said you were a prince. Are you not?”
“I am.” He studies me intently, making me shift on my feet and I wish I could see more.
But then the water effect ripples back in, and he washes away.
“Kyra Vega came to me on the last Sunday of October.”
“October? She died in September. Is it common not to see her often?”
His throat clears softly. “They come to me when they need something. Information on humans. Death. Life. And they only come on the final Sunday of each month. No one argues for more time with a demon, I promise you that.”
I attempt to make some sense of those rules, and try not to dwell on how sad that sounds for his existence.
Stop humanizing everything.
Focus!
“What did Kyra say that day? What information did she want?”
“She asked if vampires had an afterlife, the same way humans do.” He pauses with a breath of laughter. “They don’t, in case you were wondering.”
“They don’t,” I echo.
“You can’t live centuries upon centuries of being a heartless monster of the night and expect to get the same treatment as our dear, sweet Betty White.” He scoffs in ridicule.
Why is he so bizarre?
Is it the isolation of solitude, or just the manic demon in him? I linger on the information, more than his strange behavior.
Kyra asked about death. Was she afraid to die? Vampire or not, she was still young…
And she was afraid.
“Did she ask about anything else? Say anything else? Mention anyone else?”
A soft hum of thought seeps through from his side. “The others, some of them babble on about their problems like I’ve got a demonic PhD to really help with their afterlife crises. Kyra didn’t, though. She rarely saw me, and when she did, it was to ask very little.”
I nod.
“She looked… sad,” he adds.
“Sad?”
“She had walked in all poised with cookie cutter perfection, but by the end her lips always pulled so far down I swear she kissed the underworld a time or two.”
“She was a vampire. She wasn’t kissing hell, she was living it,” I snap.
A rumble of laughter cuts through the veil.
“You pity her because you share her blood. But most vampires do not live through hell. They create it.”
Tingles shiver up my arms.
The waves of the cylinder slow, and I find those firelight blue eyes staring at me once more.
“Thank you,” I say before striding toward the door.
“Wait!”
I pause at the sound of his urgency. My head turns and I look into those intense floating eyes once more.
“She had a diary.”
My brow lifts.
“You said she didn’t tell you much. Why would she mention a diary?” The skepticism in my voice is clear.
“Maybe she didn’t mention it. But I can’t tell you that, now can I, pretty human?”
Someone else read her diary.
And told a fucking demonic hostage all about it.
Why?
I’m flinging open the door in an instant and when I step out into the light of the croft, I come face to face with the most serious and stern look I’ve ever seen.
“Do not go in there again,” Rival instructs.
What is with him? Does he just come around to bark orders and reassure everyone that the stick is still firmly in place up his ass?
My arms fold hard as I glare back at him.
“What have you found out so far?”
He adjusts his black sleeves along his fine suit, but he doesn’t immediately answer.
“I’m still lookin’ into it,” is all he says.
“Well, what have you found?”
He looks away, but answers quietly. “I’ve found that Crimson City is not the place for us to speak freely. Like I said, do not visit with the demon again.”
He starts to walk away, but somehow no matter how much of a bastard he always is, it always surprises me to see it up close and personal.
“Did you love her?”
I don’t know why I ask him. Love has no place within a murder plot.
Maybe it can be a catalyst for the act itself, but no matter how much someone is loved, love will never be found within the act itself.
&
nbsp; “I cared for Kyra. Very much,” he whispers, surprising me with the rawness of his tone.
I’m still staring after him and thinking of how he kissed me just after he called me by her name as he walks away up the stairs.
He cared for my sister in some capacity. Someone cared for her, so she wasn’t entirely alone here.
But I still hold so much guilt for not being here for her. I’m literally walking around like her own personal ghost in this life that she lived, and I carry that ghostly remorse with me.
Maybe I always will.
Even as I hunt her killer.
Eighteen
Kira
I need help. I hate that I just admitted that to myself, let alone anyone else. But I need someone who knew Kyra to tell me what she liked, where she spent her time, and what she did here.
I find Prey still in the dining hall. His inky locks are shoved this way and that, but he doesn’t notice me as he downs a full glass of blood.
Gag.
I keep walking. He isn’t the help I need right now. He’s the mess I need to avoid.
As a matter of fact, asking him any question would likely end in either one of our deaths or… sex. God, what if we fucked? Oh no. What if I liked it? Could I really stand to hate him by day and pray he finds my g-spot by night?
No.
Well... Maybe…
NO! For feminists everywhere, no!
But think of my poor, isolated g-spot. Do it for the orgasm. Do it for the O, Kira. Do it…
No!
I roll my eyes at myself and remember how Acessa offered to walk me to my room. Kyra’s room. That would be a good start. Even if I can’t ask her personal things about Kyra, at least she’d take me there. But how do I get her to make that offer again?
Shit.
I keep brainstorming as I wander upstairs. The lights are off on this side of the church, so it’s getting darker as I walk, so dark I can’t see where I’m going. But I suppose that doesn’t matter much to supernaturals or nocturnal creatures who thrive in the night. My palm hovers over the railing to guide me up the last few steps and when I reach the soft carpet of the hall, my chest collides into something hard.
Something ominous and looming, and just close enough to make me stumble back… onto nothing.
My heels clatter over the lower step, but my weight pulls me back further. Gravity tugs right through my chest and the air in my lungs abandon me as I go down.
But then a strong arm wraps around my waist. I’m flung up in an instant, and my hands cling tightly to the soft cotton shirt I find myself pressing against.
Thrilled terror slams through me from the possibility of nearly dying, not by the fangs of a vampire, but my own mortal clumsiness.
Then… who’s holding me right now?
I’m living in a house with an unknown killer, and right now I could be holding him close like some kind of savior.
I shove swiftly out of his arms and stumble away until my back hits the wall.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Aston whispers.
“You mean kill me? You almost killed me!”
A breathy laugh rumbles over his lips. “Well, you are a vampire. A fall like that would hardly kill you… Right?” He asks me in a taunting way.
Like I might just slip up and confess all my secrets at his feet.
“If you’re done being a passive aggressive ass, I’d like to go to my room now.” I move past him, not even giving him a second glance.
“In the front house?”
My steps falter once more.
…the what?
I turn on the sharp heels of my shoes and really look at the shine of his eyes within the shadows. Even in the dark, he’s all cruel lines and sharp smiles. Why are all these vampires so condescendingly cocky?
He holds my gaze, but never reveals his true meaning. Why am I doing this with him? I know he knows, and I’m ninety-eight percent sure my sister was far too smart to be murdered by an undead idiot like Aston Cardence.
So I give in.
“Front house?” I ask, despite my urge to feign understanding.
“Kyra Vega’s room is in the back house. But you know all about that, right?”
My arms fold slowly, and I feel him follow my moves with a shift of his eyes.
How am I able to feel him like that? How is he so far under my skin that I can sense him watching me in the dark?
“Would you take me there?” I ask quietly, calmly and confidently.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
A sigh shoves from my lips at the sound of his annoying voice.
“I asked if you would please take me to my room.” I have to really try to keep aggression away from my tone, but it’s so damn hard.
“Sorry. It’s so loud up here. Could you repeat that one more time?”
“I’m going to kill you!” I hiss.
“Ahhh, don’t make promises, Six. I bet I’d like that.”
I’m on him in the beat of a heart with my hands locking around the soft collar of his shirt. “What is your fucking problem? I’ve never met someone so fucking eager to die!”
Breathy laughter wafts over my wrists, and I can feel his genuine happiness flood through my body.
How does he so fluidly reflect every tiny sensation that he feels? It must be exhausting to compress everyone’s baggage the way he must do it.
He doesn’t struggle as he walks away, letting my hands fall around him as he slips out from beneath me.
“Come along then,” he calls after me.
And like a flip of a switch, he’s suddenly my ally.
For the moment, at least.
I trail behind him in the dark, when we get to the end of the hall, he turns down a section I haven’t yet explored. Yellow light from an opened door glows into the shadows, and we step past the room without pause. I blindly follow this man I know nothing about, simply because he knows I’m not who I say I am. He’s smart, and he trusts me, despite all my lies.
That doesn’t mean I trust him, though. But it does mean I’ll give him a small lead. I guess part of it has to do with the magic that’s streaming through me now. He feels safe. His emotions are given freely, and if he had any underlying motives, I don’t believe he’d be able to hide them from me.
I don’t understand it, but my instincts do.
He stops somewhere in the middle of the long endless hall, and the door he stands before is large and overbearing. He opens it with a swift and soundless pull. Cold air kisses my face and hair. He looks back at me with that same shine in his eyes as he nods and steps out.
The metal handle is enormous against my palm as I pull the heavy door closed behind us to find that we stand on a strange sort of bridge. White moonlight casts across the catwalk that leads from this building to another one across a courtyard.
The rear building.
Aston is quiet. For once. His steps are like a breeze, and he carries himself in much the same way. For an undead idiot… he is somewhat alluring. He maintains that same flawless veneer as the other supernaturals. It’s an untouchable pull of the shoulders and lift of the chin.
As if fear or monsters don’t exist in their world.
Except that I know they do.
Because otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.
He pauses at the center of the bridge and rests a hand on the twisting metal railing. I watch him curiously as he stares out at the ground below. I come closer to the edge. I feel the bitter cold even more than Aston does, but I can’t help but gaze down to try seeing what he sees.
There’s nothing. Only shadows allude to the dark ground below.
What does he see down there?
“Come on,” he says once more. Quieter this time.
Striding out into the night with the wind in my hair and the world open to me on all sides feels like I’m about to walk into the sea. It’s as if nothing surrounds me, and there’s nothing stopping me from going into the ends of the Earth.
Those
weightless thoughts are pulled away when Aston opens the door for me and I hold his gaze for only a moment as I walk by. His eyes are brighter than I remember, they feed on me as he gazes.
And then I look away. This building is much newer than the church. An open corridor is alight with silver fixtures that hang overhead. Three are placed throughout the long hall. We stop directly beneath the one in the middle and Aston turns there to go up a flight of stairs. It leads us up to a towerlike landing with a single door.
“This is it,” he tells me.
He steps back and gestures to my room. Kyra’s room.
I turn the knob without hesitation and the space that opens up before me isn’t at all what I expected. A writer’s desk faces the only window. Pale green curtains just like the ones in our bedroom back home frames the view. Pens are perfectly in order to the right side of the desk, and a notebook sits in the middle.
Many notebooks lay on top of one another on a shelf on the side wall, but… that’s it.
“There’s no bed.”
Aston steps inside, but only within the door frame.
“It’s her room, not her bedroom. Each vampire on the High Council has their own space. Rival’s is filled with collections of rare books he likes to display, but never read.” His pretty eyes roll dramatically. “Kyra’s was what she made of it. And I guess she liked to write? Or draw maybe?” He shrugs as he slips his hands into the pockets of his skinny black jeans.
“What’s in your room?” I ask. Mostly because I’m not yet ready to open the notebook staring me in the face.
What if it says… something worse than the name of her killer? What if… what if she mentions me? What if she says what she really thought about our strained relationship?
I don’t want to know about that, and Kyra wouldn’t want me to.
“Um. Records, mostly. I picked a room at the end of the hall here. It shares a wall with Zavia and I know she’s not a fan of… anything fun, really… so I don’t get to listen to them much.”
“She’s gone right now though,” I half ask, half state.
I look back at him and his dark eyebrows lift slightly. “Yeah,” he nods, his pink hair fanning across his forehead.
My heart does a strange pounding as if even it’s tired of me stalling.
“So, let’s listen to them.”
His eyes narrow on me, but for once since I’ve arrived here, it isn’t a hateful look someone is giving me. It’s one of confusion.
