by L.H. Cosway
The other lunges at Ethan, throwing a dart of light at him, but he dodges it, kicks the man in the chest, puts both hands on either side of his head and snaps his neck. Lovely. It disturbs me how I’m getting used to seeing people killed right in front of me. Maybe it’s some sort of survival mechanism, because I can feel myself withdrawing my emotions from the situation so that I don’t break down into tears.
Whitfield sinks his fangs deep into the witch’s neck now, and only seconds pass before she goes limp in his arms. Perhaps killing in the traditional vampire way is not so beneath him after all. He’s looking directly at Ethan, and there’s no mistaking the grin on his face as he drinks from the witch. Oh God. I can’t let him kill her, she might have information about Dad. I start to run toward them, my legs moving slower than normal in my soaking wet dress and boots.
“Get back here!” Eliza demands, but I ignore her.
The warlock whose arm Ethan broke pulls on some shrubs with his good arm, trying to raise himself to his feet. Ethan laughs cruelly and kicks him back down.
“Broke your casting arm, did I?” Ethan asks, satisfaction in his voice that I don’t like one bit. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully accept his dark half, and it’s been rising to the surface all too often. Thankfully I’ll be returning to Manchester soon, once Rebecca’s home and safe, then I can escape Ethan and try to forget the mixed emotions he provokes in me.
“You’ve no clue what you’ve done bloodsucker,” the warlock spits.
Whitfield drops the witch to the ground and wipes the blood from his mouth. “Oh yes, and what would that be?” he asks, and the warlock turns his attention from Ethan.
“We were going to warn you, but you went and killed Zara’s sister, now I hope they are successful in bringing him back.”
“Bringing who back?” Whitfield seems midway between bored and intrigued. I guess being six hundred years old means you’re always sort of bored with the world.
My heart hammers in my chest. What were they going to warn the vampires about? And is it connected to the one eyed witch offering me information as to the whereabouts of my dad?
The warlock raises his head and spits on Whitfield’s leather shoe. “I have absolutely no intention of helping you now. You think you’ve won this war, but you have no idea what they’re planning.”
“I really am beginning to tire of you sewer rats spitting on me,” says Whitfield, a bubble of anger seeming to rise in him. He lifts his leg and kicks the warlock in the ribs. I actually hear them crack. A whoosh of air leaves the warlock’s mouth and then blood spills out. Whitfield’s kick was intended to kill rather than simply to injure, and there’s no doubt the warlock is now very close to his end. I never considered it possible to die from a kick to the ribs, but I guess vampire strength can break a lot more than ribs once contact is made.
I eye the witch named Zara, now lying weakly on the grass. This is my chance to get to her. I slowly walk around Ethan, Whitfield, and the dying warlock. Their attentions are fixed on him as the life leaves his body. I quickly kneel down by her and press my fingers to the side of her neck that’s not bitten. Her pulse is there but it’s very faint. Her eyes spring open then and she looks at me intensely.
“I feel…dizzy,” she says, in a small voice.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” I tell her, knowing exactly how she feels. My blood got taken from me recently too, only I’m not sure whether or not it was a vampire who did it.
“What are you doing Tegan?” Ethan asks suddenly. Crap, I thought he might be too preoccupied with the warlock to notice me.
“She’s dying,” I answer feebly. “I need to do something to save her.”
“Humans, so compassionate,” says Whitfield, as though he can’t understand the emotion at all. Well, I suppose life isn’t so precious when you know you can live for a thousand years.
The witch pulls me to her, her arms are weak but I bend down to her anyway. “Your dad, they’re using him for the ritual,” she whispers, because her life is falling from her quickly now, and she doesn’t have the strength to put proper sound into her voice.
My heart pounds. “Who’s using him?” I ask, but she’s already gone. Her stark brown eyes have no life in them, and there’s something quite humbling about holding a dead woman in my arms. I thought I would be horrified, but instead I just feel sad. Then panic builds up as what she’s said sinks in. Someone’s using my dad for a ritual? What the hell?
“What did she say?” Whitfield asks, coming to stand before me, his cold eyes gazing down at the witch I’m holding onto. Slowly I let go of her, lowering her body back down to the grass.
“Nothing, she was just asking me to help her. I don’t think she knew she was dying,” I lie.
Whitfield assesses me closely, then finally says, “Very well,” he turns and calls to his bodyguards, telling them to get rid of the bodies and phone for transportation back to the city. I half expect Ethan to come and put his arms around me, since I’ve just watched a woman die. But he doesn’t, he leaves me sitting on the grass and walks over to join the rest of the vampires at the other side of the lake.
Silently, I say goodbye to the witch. I’ve never necessarily believed in the afterlife, but when you see death happen right in front of you, you begin to hope that there is one. It kind of puts your mortality into perspective. Of course, this is not the first time I’ve been close to a dead body. A memory of Matthew flashes through my mind, but it’s gone just as quickly. I’m sure it won’t be the last either. Not with the way things have been going for me recently.
I stand up and go over to Ethan, he doesn’t seem to acknowledge my presence. Great. I need him to warm up to me, for Rebecca’s sake if nothing else. I put my hand on his arm, he glances down at me and he looks almost wistful for a second. Then the emotion leaves his face and I can’t read him at all.
“Lucas is coming to bring Tegan and I home,” he tells Whitfield, who nods and looks contemplative for a moment.
Then he says, “Ethan, you will bring the girl to our celebration this week.”
“Of course,” Ethan replies. What celebration is this I wonder? It could be a party, or perhaps some kind of blood sacrifice. Marvellous.
A second later headlights turn into the gravel path beside the lake, and two cars stop just short of us. Ethan leads me into one of them and Whitfield, Eliza and the bodyguards slip into the other. Inside the car Lucas grins in his overhead mirror, eyeing Ethan who is sitting next to me in the back.
“Eventful evening was it?” he asks with amusement.
I slump back in my seat and let out an exhausted sigh.
Chapter Twelve
I’ll Say a Word for Sickness, She is my Favourite Mistress
There’s silence inside the car, and I can’t help turning to Ethan and asking, “What was Whitfield talking about you bringing me to a celebration?”
Ethan doesn’t look at me when he answers, “We’re close now to persuading Governor Pamphrock to step down and pass leadership of the entire city over to Jeremy. It will only be a few more days before he gives in. Jeremy is holding a soirée at his home to celebrate the victory.”
I’m so caught up in the mention of it being held at Jeremy’s house that I almost miss the reason for the party. Finn never mentioned Pamphrock was planning on giving in to the vampires. Suspicion sits at the pit of my stomach. I wonder how Whitfield plans on securing this victory, and if he’s set about using unethical means for doing it. Of course, I have to agree to go, this ‘soirée’ as Ethan put it is the perfect opportunity for me to get inside Whitfield’s mansion.
“Sounds like it’s going to be great fun,” I reply sarcastically, unable to help myself. Visions of vampires mingling and drinking wineglasses full of blood fill my head.
“I had planned on asking you, but that was before you decided to disobey me last night,” says Ethan, his voice hard.
My hackles rise right up at this. “Disobey? Are you for real?”
Instinctively, I glance up to see Lucas grinning widely in the driver’s seat. “You two really need to sort your shit out,” he says, flicking his golden eyes to Ethan.
Ethan ignores the statement, then says, “Bring us to the house Lucas, and when you return to the club inform Delilah that she will need to close up for the night. I’ll be otherwise engaged.”
“Might be a bit of a problem there boss,” says Lucas. “Your sister went home a few hours ago, I think she might be losing the plot.”
“She’s been under a lot of stress lately,” Ethan replies, with a hint of dejection. Then he leans forward in his seat, his expression questioning. “What did you do to set her off Lucas?”
Lucas feigns innocence. “Me?” he asks, placing one hand dramatically to his heart. “I was nothing but pleasant to her.”
Ethan just keeps staring at him, stony faced.
“Fine, fine,” Lucas gives in. “I might have asked her if it was her time of the month. She’s been wearing a scowl on that face of hers for the last few weeks. I’m tired of looking at it. She slapped me across the cheek, kneed me in the balls and stormed out of the club.”
I can’t help but to sputter a laugh, I can imagine the look on Lucas’ face.
“You know she’s not coping well with the restrictions I have put on her.” Ethan reprimands. “She’ll get her freedom back as soon as Whitfield takes control of the city. Until then, go easy on her.”
“I’ll try.”
“This also means you’ll have to perform Delilah’s duties at the club tonight,” Ethan tells him.
“Not a problem.”
I start to get nervous as I think about what Ethan has planned for us when we get to his house. I don’t have much of a choice but to go there, I can hardly get them to drop me off at Finn’s place. Lucas pulls into Ethan’s driveway, but I remain seated in the car. Ethan takes my hand to lead me out, but I pull it away.
“I’ll make my own way home from the club,” I tell him, planning on staying in the car with Lucas. I may not like Ethan’s sidekick very much, but right now I can’t bring myself to think past the fact that Ethan snapped that warlock’s neck like it was nothing. Of course, this is a prime opportunity for me to get a little closer to him, but I’m deciding to run away like the little coward that I am. Oh well. I’ll never make a very good spy.
“Come inside and I’ll give you something dry to wear,” says Ethan.
I peer at him quizzically. “No funny business?”
“What is your obsession with funny business?” he laughs, before practically dragging me out of the vehicle and pulling me toward his front door.
Lucas revs the engine and pulls away from the house, honking his horn in farewell. There goes my escape route.
Once inside I hang my wet coat over the banister at the end of the stairs and slip off my boots. Ethan picks both up and tells me he’ll have them washed and dried for me, he also instructs me to remove my other wet clothing so that he can dry those too. No chance.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Where are the dry clothes you promised me?”
Ethan grabs my hand again and starts leading me up the stairs. “You can shower up here,” he tells me. “When you’re finished go into Delilah, she’ll give you something to wear,” he stops and points to a doorway at the end of the long hall, we’re on the first floor now. “Then come up to me and I’ll take you home,” he gestures to where the stairs lead up to another floor. The top floor of the house must be Ethan’s private quarters.
I laugh. “If you think I’m going to fit into anything Delilah owns then you don’t know shit about women’s sizes.” Delilah can’t be any bigger than a size 8.
Ethan’s dark eyes take me in. “I know enough. Perhaps I want to see you in something skimpy,” he remarks humorously.
“You know, some would say wanting to see a woman wearing skimpy clothes that belong to your sister has some kind of Freudian connotations.”
Ethan smirks. “Let them say it. Freud was an imbecile.” Hmm, I wonder if Ethan ever met the man. He opens the door to a lavish bathroom. “You can shower in here. There are towels and robes in the cupboard, take off your clothes and then hand them out to me, I’ll wait by the door.”
He leaves and closes the door over most of the way. I kick it shut with the heel of my foot, an action that is met by a quiet laugh from Ethan on the other side. First I turn on the shower, thinking I’ll give the water a chance to heat up. But looking at the state of the art contraption, I’d guess it probably has hot water on demand. I slip out of my clothes, ball them up, stand behind the door and hold them out to Ethan. He takes them from me, still laughing gently.
“I thought modern women had no shame about their naked form,” he says, his voice low.
“Call me old fashioned,” I answer, before quickly slamming the door shut and turning over the lock.
“I’ll be waiting upstairs,” he says then, his voice getting further away. I breathe a sigh of relief. I wash quickly, trying not to savour the expensive shampoo and body wash. When I dry off, I get into a fluffy white towel robe, and God, it feels like heaven. The fabric is probably some special blend, designed for maximum comfort.
Hesitantly, I make my way toward Delilah’s room. Before I put my hand on the door handle I stop, because I can hear sobbing coming from within. Is she in there crying? The sound ceases a moment later and the door flies open. Delilah stands there, she’s wearing a fancy red dress but it’s all rumpled as though she’s been sleeping in it. Her eyes have a slightly swollen aspect, and I wonder if she really had been crying in her room. It makes her seem so young, just like the teenager she appears to be. Lucas did mention she left the club in a temper earlier tonight.
“Tegan? What are you doing here?” she asks.
“Ethan and I ran into a bit of trouble, well actually, we crashed into a lake when two warlocks and a witch ran Whitfield’s car off the road. So he brought me back here to clean up.”
Delilah doesn’t even appear shocked. “So, what are you standing outside my room for?”
“Ethan said you’d loan me some clothes,” I answer.
One scarlet eyebrow tilts up. “You’re not my size.”
I sigh. “That’s what I told him. Do you have anything, I don’t know, stretchy?”
Delilah stands back and gestures into her room, which is elegantly furnished as though it belongs to a Hollywood starlet from the 1950’s. I’d half expected it to be pink with teddy bears crowding the bed and posters of boy bands pinned to the wall. I keep forgetting that Delilah is not a teenager.
She disappears inside one of those ‘closet rooms’ and I follow her. “Are you okay?” I ask. “I thought I could hear crying.”
Delilah is looking through a drawer right when I say it and her head sags. “I knew you heard me,” she whispers, then she turns and looks at me. “I suppose you’re one of the few people who might understand.”
“Understand what?”
“What it’s like to be different, to not belong anywhere.”
“You belong,” I tell her, wondering what she’s getting at.
“I’ve never belonged Tegan, only now with the war and everything, my difference seems to have become all the more obvious. To the vampires I’m a dhamphir who should be among her own kind, and to the dhamphirs who live on the North side I’m a spoiled bitch coddled by her powerful vampire brother.”
“Well I suppose when you put it like that, it does sort of make sense,” I tell her, “although I would never describe you as being coddled.”
She offers me a weak smile. “The aggression is suffocating me, I can’t go anywhere at night other than the club, because the vampires in this city see me as some kind of a threat. They think that because I’m so close to my brother, who has the
favour of the Governor, that I might be spying and giving top secret information to the North siders.” She stops and turns to me. “Now I can understand why you ran away, Tegan. It’s not nice having everyone out for your blood. In your case, literally.”
“Ethan would never let anyone touch you,” I tell her.
“Yeah,” she replies, her voice dejected. “So long as I never leave his fucking side.”
“Have you ever thought of maybe going to live with the other dhamphirs?”
She shrugs. “Not really. But it doesn’t matter, they’d never accept me, I might as well be a vampire as far as they’re concerned.”
Silently, I wonder if Gabriel could help Delilah, somehow convince the dhamphirs to open up to her. But that would mean uprooting her whole entire life, and I don’t know how far she’d be willing to go in order to gain the freedom she wants back.
“It will be okay,” she goes on, “soon Whitfield will be the sole Governor of Tribane, and then the vampires will settle down and forget about the dhamphir living among them.” She closes the drawer and hands me a pair of black leggings and a navy wool cardigan. “These are the most elasticated things I own,” she says, offering them to me. I take them and begin slipping the leggings on underneath the robe, Delilah turns around as I pull on the cardigan. I’ll have to go without underwear for the time being.
“Do you really think Pamphrock will just hand over his power like that?” I ask.
“You don’t know how ruthless Whitfield is, or the lengths to which he will go to get what he wants.”
“What do you mean?” I question her further, hoping she might give me some indication of what he plans to do with Rebecca.
“Let’s just say he has something very special that belongs to Pamphrock, and the only way for him to get that very special something back is for him to step down as Governor.”
