by Ava Benton
After I got to the city, what was I supposed to do? I had never held a job. I had no skills. I had no way to pretend I had skills.
I had a healthy savings in the bank—at least, I hoped it was healthy, though I knew how high the cost of living was in Manhattan.
At least I had something to fall back on. One thing they hadn’t taken away from me. One of the only things.
I was lucky Dominic had offered use of the old apartment at all.
It couldn’t have been easy for him, and it wouldn’t curry him any favor with the rest of our kind even if he owed me much more.
No. Not our kind. Not anymore. His kind.
I wasn’t one of them anymore. After spending my entire life as one of them, it would take time to catch up in my brain to the reality of losing my powers.
The reminder stung.
I pushed it aside in favor of returning to that dream. I had no idea who the girl was, but her face was still so clear to me.
My dreams were never that vivid, not to the point where I made up people I’d never met or even seen from a distance. Her long, black hair. The delicate nose and high cheekbones. Full lips. Even though she was a wreck—lips dry and cracked, eyes ringed in dark circles, hair limp and dirty—there was beauty to her. She’d be stunning under different circumstances.
What I’d done during the dream didn’t take much interpretation to understand. I was powerful again. I had my skills back.
A sorcerer the way I’d always been. I had effortlessly cleared the way once I entered that awful, crumbling room.
There was no time to look around, but it seemed like an old ballroom or something of that nature, in a former life, before it turned into a home for bats and rodents and any number of slinking, crawling creatures.
When those creatures had come at me, I’d mowed them down and felt almost gleeful while doing it. Their cries of shock and surprise had sent fire rushing through my veins.
I finished shaving and looked down at my hands.
There was no magic left in them. Not so much as a spark when I held my palms up and concentrated hard enough to make my head hurt. I never even had to concentrate before. A flick of a wrist, and whatever I had envisioned became true. I had taken that power for granted. What I wouldn’t give…
“Enough.” I looked myself in the eye, palms down on the cheap, particle board vanity.
The mirror reflected a tired, worn-out man when all I’d ever seen before was confidence. Youth. Vibrancy. I would have to get to know myself all over again—or, rather, for the first time. I’d never been one for self-reflection.
I had, however, always been single-minded. Once I set my sights on something, it was mine. No questions asked, no excuses accepted. I only had to turn that single-minded focus back on. But what was there to focus my time and energy on?
“You will build a life for yourself,” I muttered, still staring at the man in the mirror. “You will be successful, as you’ve always been. You don’t need the power to be you. You were always more than your powers.”
I wished I believed it.
What was a sorcerer without his powers? Easy: a human. A pathetic, weak, cowardly, stupid human. I found myself examining my dark brown hair for signs of gray, then chided myself. The aging process wouldn’t speed up by much. I’d look thirty for a long time.
Just not as long as I would have before losing everything that made me who I was.
I closed my eyes and turned away, marching into the bedroom area and flipping on the TV for background noise.
As long as I didn’t feel so lonely, the self-doubt and apprehension didn’t gnaw so hard at my gut.
The nightly news was on, and the normal litany of disasters was being rattled off by the anchors.
Even on the other side of the country, in a hick town in the middle of nowhere, stories were the same. Only the locations changed.
Instead of Sunset Boulevard, it was a heavily-traveled highway winding through the Appalachians. Accidents, missing people, robberies. The story of a trucker whose badly decomposed body was found in the woods, miles from the motel he’d been staying at. He’d gotten in an altercation at a diner with a man that customers later told police seemed supernaturally powerful, and wasn’t seen again after that.
Whoa.
That got my attention.
Supernatural powers?
Humans were so quick to dismiss the obvious. Cops assumed the guy was on drugs which only made him seem strong, but I knew better. That was no human they’d been in the presence of that day at the diner.
I couldn’t blame them, the humans. They didn’t understand, so they tried to connect the dots. They’d long since been brainwashed into believing we were nothing but the stuff of folk tales, invented by ancestors even more hopelessly backward than they were. So they blamed drugs, or strange disorders, or untrustworthy eyes when they witnessed the truth.
There was a very sloppy vampire out there somewhere who had let humans see him for what he was.
He was probably long gone by now—and I wouldn’t want to cross paths with him even if he wasn’t.
Gone were the days of hunting vampires for sport.
Did Dominic still do that sort of thing? I would’ve bet on it. He was one of the most merciless hunters I had ever seen, lightning fast and without compunction when it came to taking down his prey.
I could never keep up with him. Not for lack of trying.
I clicked the TV off and tossed the remote aside.
It was past time to get moving.
Maybe if I drove long enough and fast enough, I could outrun my memories.
New York would be a good change of pace. If there was a city in the world in which I could start again, it was there.
3
Gentry
Dominic’s apartment was just as I remembered it, right down to the mid-century style of furniture.
I ran my hand over the back of the low-slung sofa with its simple lines and lack of decoration.
“At least I’ll make a fortune off the furniture if I run out of money,” I muttered with a grim smile.
The entire place was like a time capsule, straight out of the early sixties. Kennedy was President the last time our mother had decorated. Before that, it was Roosevelt. The first one.
“Ah. You’re here.”
I jumped at the sound of a familiar voice coming from the hall, followed by the clicking of dress shoes on the parquet floor.
Dominic always believed in making an entrance, and always dressed like he was on his way to an important event.
Even when all he was doing was greeting his disgraced brother.
“I didn’t know you were,” I replied, crossing the room to shake his hand.
His signet ring pressed against my palm, like a reminder of who he was—and who I wasn’t.
I’d returned mine when he stripped me of all power.
“I was looking through the library,” he explained. “When I think of all the days we spent in there…”
“Doing anything but reading,” I finished, and we chuckled warmly at the memory.
We could relate to each other when discussing the past.
When things were better.
There had been no chasm between us then.
No shame to pointedly ignore while it hung over everything we said, every look we exchanged.
“Remember the time we built the pulley system and mounted it to the window frame?” he laughed.
“So we could lower the poor dog to the sidewalk instead of taking him out for his walk,” I recalled, shaking my head. “That poor dog. Always the subject of our schemes.”
He looked around, his smile fading. “As I said, you can stay as long as you like. It’s yours, too, you know.”
Yes, as he felt necessary to remind me every time he made it sound as though he were doing me a favor.
“I know,” I replied, and left it at that.
No sense in having an argument when I’d just arrived.
> “You must be tired from all your traveling. Did you sleep at all last night?” He brushed invisible lint from the sleeve of his deep blue pinstripe suit.
Three-piece, complete with a pocket-watch on a gold chain. He’d inherited our mother’s penchant for holding on long after styles had changed, hence the time capsule apartment we stood in.
“I slept when I needed to. Never very well, if I’m being honest.”
“No nice hotels on the road?” He went to the bar, situated in the corner of the living room.
I checked the time when his back was turned.
“It’s not quite five o’clock,” he muttered.
“How did you know I was checking the time?”
“You’re predictable.”
I held back a sigh. “To answer your question, I wouldn’t know whether there are nice hotels since I didn’t feel as though I could afford one.”
His eyes were wide when he turned back to me, holding a glass of bourbon in one hand.
I could smell it from where I stood, and the aroma turned back the clock, and I was a child again, running up and down the halls with model airplanes, imagining I was a flying ace who shot down countless Germans and earned a chest full of medals.
I didn’t know back then that people like us didn’t do things like that. It was fine for humans to participate in war, but not us. Their lives were dispensable. Not ours.
While we had played, Father had enjoyed his bourbon. Along with the recreational activities he had shared with us when he felt we were old enough to understand.
He swirled the bourbon in the glass, sharpening the aroma. “Where did you sleep? Not in the car, I hope.”
“In motels along the way, of course.”
He did know how to get under my skin.
“Motels?”
The way he grimaced, I wondered if I should’ve told him I camped out in the car.
“Dominic, I don’t feel like getting into this with you right now.” I took off my jacket and hung it by the door. “You know my situation and why it isn’t a simple matter of spending the money to stay in a fine hotel.”
“You must realize I’ll do everything I can to keep you comfortable, to be sure your needs are met.”
The very idea sickened me.
As if I wanted to be under his thumb for the rest of my life, constantly reminded that what was mine was really his—and in the next breath, reminded that I was welcome to it.
Just the way he treated the situation with the apartment, which of course was half mine according to Mother’s wishes. He acted as though he were doing me a favor by stepping aside and allowing me to use what was mine. When he wasn’t using it for himself.
I took a deep breath and counted to five before answering. “That’s a generous offer, but I don’t think it will come to that. I’ll find a way.”
“You have no skills, brother.”
“Thank you for the reminder,” I growled, looking out the window in a vain attempt to distract myself.
“You’re too good to perform menial work, you know.”
“What makes you say that?” I turned my head just enough to look at him, standing there with his expensive drink and his smug, self-satisfied expression. “I’m no better than any other human.”
“Don’t call yourself that.” His words cracked like a whip.
“It’s the truth,” I insisted. “I have no power. I’m as normal as any of the people walking along Fifth Avenue.” I pointed out the window and down, toward the street with its throngs of pedestrians.
He scoffed, taking another sip of his drink. “You’ll never be one of them. You were born into greatness, and you’ve spent decades living life as you were intended to. There’s no going back from something like that.”
“Is this supposed to encourage me, or drive me to suicide?”
“Stop being immature.”
“Stop being condescending. And stop deluding yourself. I’m average. Normal. Human.”
I emphasized the word, if only to see the way his face fell when he heard it. Perhaps I was as immature as he’d accused.
“Not so long as I have anything to say about it,” he promised.
“You’ve said enough already,” I murmured, holding his gaze.
We stood that way for a long, silent minute, sizing one another up. He could’ve ended me in a single wave of his hand, sent me flying through the window and splattering to the sidewalk. If I took out a few humans when I landed, so much the better for him.
I glared at him, daring him without words.
Instead, he placed the glass on an end table. “I’ll let you get your rest, then. Please, come see me tomorrow. We’ll talk about a plan for you.”
“I don’t need you to—”
He cut me off with one sharp, cold glare. “You and I both know why I need to. I’m not the only one behaving condescendingly here.”
He took his coat off the hook and threw it over his arm before leaving without another word.
4
Vanessa
“Are you ready?” Holden stood by my side with his arms folded over his chest, sunglasses already in place over his red-ringed eyes.
At least it was a sunny day—he generally looked ridiculous when he wore them in the rain. It was either that or wear contact lenses to make his eyes look more human and less… unsettling.
“Why are you in such a hurry?” I asked, glancing at him in the mirror as I admired the dress I’d just picked off the rack. Tight but modest. It showed off my curves, but kept me covered. Just how I liked it.
“I’m not. I’ve been standing here waiting for over forty-five minutes. It’s a good thing I’m not in a hurry.”
I clenched my teeth against the snide comment threatening to come out. It wasn’t easy, trying to be nice and mature and even-tempered, but I had made a promise to myself and intended to keep it.
My entire life had been spent thinking only about myself, and I had sworn to any higher power listening while I was a tied up hostage in that old hotel that I would be a better person.
Of course, I didn’t expect to make it out alive.
A promise was easy to make when a girl thought she was standing at death’s door.
I forced a smile. “It’ll just be another few minutes. Relax. I know you’re in a big hurry to get your caffeine fix on the way home.” As if he would drink coffee.
He snorted. “Can’t you magically make yourself feel more awake? Do you need to put drugs in your body?”
“Coffee is not a drug.”
“It is.”
“You’ve been talking to my mother again.”
“She thinks you ingest too much caffeine.”
I whirled on him. “Okay. Why don’t you just tell me everything my mother thinks I do wrong or has given you the heads up to keep an eye on? Just get it out all now. Come on. I’m waiting.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re the one letting my mother—who is not your charge, in case you forget—tell you what you should be watching out for. That sounds much more ridiculous to me.”
“She’s worried... after losing your sister.” He lifted the glasses and propped them on top of his thick, dark hair.
It was a staring contest, and I blinked first.
“I know she is.” I turned back to the mirror and noticed the frown lines between my eyes.
My hand shook when I raised it to tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Can you blame her?”
“What do you think? No. I don’t blame her.” I was careful not to look at him.
“You feel a lot of conflict about your sister’s death, don’t you?”
“Wow. You can’t stop picking at half-healed scabs, can you?”
“A disturbing visual.”
“Says the guy who drinks blood,” I hissed, looking around first to be sure nobody was listening. “You know what? Screw it. I don’t even want to go to the coffee shop now. This is stupid.”
“I shoul
dn’t have brought it up.”
“No. You shouldn’t have. Why would I not feel conflict over my sister’s death?” The words almost choked me. Damn. I used to be such a good liar, too. “I’m the reason she walked into that situation. I’m the reason she’s gone.” Because I couldn’t refer to her as being dead without guilt stabbing me in the chest.
“You weren’t responsible for what Kristoff did to you.”
“Yes. I know that. But it’s like the nightmares.” I tapped the side of my head. “It’s one thing to know it but another thing to actually know it.” I picked up my purse and went to the door—better to go for a cup of coffee I’d said I didn’t want anymore, than to stick around and rehash the same lies.
Does he know?
I stole a glance out of the corner of my eye as we left the store side-by-side once I made my purchase.
In his jeans and leather jacket with sunglasses to complete the look, he was a heartbreaker. I’d get lots of dirty looks from all the average, everyday humans who wished they could be with him instead.
If they only had a clue who they were lusting over—and what he lusted over, which was definitely not flesh.
If he knew Mariya wasn’t really dead, he had a fantastic poker face.
Was this some sort of reverse psychology situation, where he was waiting for me to break down? Would he be more and more sympathetic until I crumbled and admitted it was all a story made up by me?
That was obviously not going to happen. I wasn’t going to get Elias killed for leaving the Nightwardens, especially since I was the one who told them to run away together.
I had covered well up to this point and had no intention of screwing things up.
The coffee shop windows were all done up for Halloween.
I rolled my eyes. “The most wonderful time of the year,” I whispered to Holden as we walked in and he ducked to avoid the paper bats hanging from the ceiling.
I couldn’t help laughing at him a little.
“I would think you’d feel right at home,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“Please. I wish I had the time to go through all the ways they get it wrong.”
