“Oh, Luke.” She turns back to me, her petticoats whispering on the oriental rug. She reaches out and takes my hand. Her hand is small and very cold, the only reminder it is actually Cicely’s hand I’m holding. “Is that all you remember from our time together? That I betrayed you?”
So she isn’t even going to deny it. It is a relief somehow to hear her tell the truth. I pull my hand away from hers. Her touch has left it stained with blood. “I’m afraid being made mortal rather overshadowed everything else.”
“Really?” She looks at me playfully. “Was there nothing else memorable about your time with me?” She reaches out and grabs the lapels of my coat, pulling me against her. “Does your memory need refreshing?”
Memories that have been scrabbling like mice in the walls of my mind for a century come streaking into the light: Deirdre pressed against me as we danced. Deirdre in the passenger seat of a stolen car, her hair streaming out behind us as we drive. Deirdre dressed for a party in a long, red gown—and after the party, the dress in a molten puddle on the floor, and she and I tangled in the bedclothes, the hot rush of her blood filling my mouth, me filling her in return, like nothing could ever separate us.
But of course, something did. “Deirdre,” I say, “you killed me.”
She pushes away, patting me on the cheek like I’m a child, so hard it’s almost a slap. “So dramatic, as always. I didn’t kill you, Luke. I simply made it possible for you to die.”
“No,” I say. “You killed me. Maybe not my body—”
“Yes.” She lays her palm against my chest, like a coffin lid over my heart. “Your body seems every bit as fine as always.”
My heart is pounding against her hand like it’s begging for release. I can’t help looking at her body, too—Cicely’s body, but so different in this dress. My eyes follow the line of her necklace to where the red stone tear nestles above her breasts. Above the black satin v of her dress I can just make out the edge of Cicely’s wound, the spot where the sharp point of the cross slid in. “I meant,” I say quietly, “you killed my heart. My spirit. I lived, but I didn’t want to.”
She sighs. “Oh, this body is tired!” She goes and sits on the edge of the bed in a cloud of black lace. “I didn’t want to hurt you, you know.” She toys with the stone of her necklace. “Even before I met you, the idea of seducing someone to curse them bothered me. The day we met on the docks, you saw me looking at the water and you asked if I planned to jump. Do you remember? That was the first thing you ever said to me. You could see then that I hated working for the Hunters, that I didn’t relish my assignment.”
“Is that what I was? Your assignment?”
She looks up at me, genuine sadness in her eyes. “Don’t be like this. You know what I mean. Making you love me was my assignment. Loving you in return was never part of the plan. And yet I did fall in love with you. Can you possibly understand how that feels?”
I laugh out loud. Of course I know how that feels. I had intended to snare Cicely in the same way, and wound up tangled in my own trap.
Except loving Cicely wasn’t a trap. Loving her had set me free. And in the end I chose not to betray her.
“If you loved me so much,” I say calmly, “why did you go through with it? Why did you betray me?”
Maybe it’s the fact that she is wearing Cicely’s face, but Deirdre looks suddenly vulnerable. “Luke, this is so much bigger than us, you know that, right? You understand?”
I don’t. All I understand is Deirdre hurt me—worse, she set it up so Cicely would have to die.
Deirdre gathers Cicely’s long blue hair in her hands, twisting it at the nape of her neck and flipping it expertly into an up-do Cicely would never wear. It looks stunning. She admires it in the mirror. “The point,” she says, “is the past is over. You survived.”
Survive. My mind translates the word into Spanish: sobrevivir, literally to “live above.” Not part of anything, always looking down on everything. “Yes,” I say. “I survived.”
“And I can, too, Luke! I can survive in this body. It isn’t ideal, of course, being dead, but there are ways to make it last, magic to overcome its weaknesses. And it would be worth it! We have a golden opportunity here to lead your family, together as queen and consort—like we once were, but better! Imagine being able to hunt together. Imagine having an army at our beck and call.” She smiles, the bright points of her fangs glinting. “I think being a vampire could suit me, don’t you? I have seen the future, Luke. We can walk into it together.”
Her excitement is magnetic. I’ve taken a step closer to her without even knowing it.
I force myself to take a step back. “What future? What have you seen?”
She shakes her head, freeing one pale blue lock of hair. I fight the urge to brush it from her cheek. “I can’t tell you. You have to trust me.”
My laugh is bitter. “I’m never trusting you again.”
She stands, closing the gap between us in a step. “Then don’t trust me. Just love me. You can do that, can’t you? You’ve done it before.”
Love me. I watch her lips form the words. I ache to kiss her, to slip my hands under the cool satin of her dress, to undo every tiny button from the v of her neck to her waist, like following the trail of a treasure map. I ache to press her down onto the soft, white bed and push the black dress up over her hips and take her the way I used to. We would be the way we were— better, even, because it would be Cicely’s lips, her hands, her body.
Except it wouldn’t be, really. “What about Cicely?” I ask. “What happens to her if you keep this body?”
“Honestly,” she says. “We would be doing her a favor. She was never meant to survive, never meant to be a vampire. I’ve seen the challenges ahead, and Cicely isn’t up for them. We would be saving her from all that.”
Saving Cicely. I certainly haven’t succeeded at that in the past. I feel tempted and horrified at the same time. What would it feel like to release Cicely, to set down the burden of loving her when I know she doesn’t love me? “You want me to just let her go?”
“Let her go and keep her, too. I would still be her in many ways. Her body would still be here. The difference is, the heart in it would love you.” She tilts her head to the side, watching me. “She won’t love you any other way. You know that, right?”
She doesn’t say it cruelly, just simply, like she’s stating a given fact. And maybe she is. Didn’t she say she has seen the future? Maybe she knows Cicely will never love me. Not the way she loves Ander.
For a moment, I have my own vision of the future. I imagine a time when Cicely is mine, because the part of her that didn’t love me is gone. A future where I have Cicely and Deirdre all in one. Everything I ever wanted.
Except I don’t want it, not like that. I remember kissing Cicely in the beach house with the storm raging outside, and how it felt to know she might only be kissing me because I commanded her to. Well, Cicely deserves much better than empty kisses.
And honestly, so do I.
I take hold of Deirdre’s shoulders and pull her against me, the black of my coat blending with the black of her dress until I can’t tell where one of us ends and the other begins. I let myself kiss her, just once, but deeply. When I let her go, she looks up and smiles up at me, fangs shining. “You’re making the right choice.”
“Yes,” I say. “I am.”
Then I slip the silver pentagram out of my pocket and press it against her back. “I banish you, Deirdre Falls.”
Her eyes go wide with horror. “How could you!”
“Turn about is fair play,” I say, but I’m not sure she hears me. Her eyes roll up into her head. Her body shakes and she gives a little gasp of pain. Then she crumples.
I catch her a second before she hits the floor and sweep her up into my arms.
“Cicely?” Her body is limp. She may only be unconscious, but for her, unconscious looks like dead because consciousness is the only life she has. I lay her down on the white bed, t
he petticoats of her dress spreading like the petals of a dark flower. Instinctively, I press my ear against her chest, but of course there is no heartbeat, no breathing. I shake her once, twice.
“Cicely?” I swear under my breath. Is this Deirdre’s parting curse? Cicely’s body is as cold and still as a corpse at a wake?
And as beautiful as a princess in an enchanted sleep. I have an urge to kiss her again, like a prince in a fairytale, but I resist. I know in my heart when I let Deirdre go, I was letting go of Cicely, too, giving up my last, best chance to ever make her mine. Because her heart belongs to Ander. I could kiss Cicely a thousand times, but it won’t make me her prince.
I slide the little bottle from my pocket and open it, letting the scent of forget-me-nots fill the room. Slipping one hand beneath her, I lift Cicely up, propping her lolling head against my chest. Carefully, I tip the bottle to her ashen lips.
At first, the healing potion does nothing. There is no sudden gasp of breath, no quickening pulse to tell me if it is working. But after a second, Cicely’s eyelids flutter open and she looks up at me. “Luke?” Just looking in her eyes, I know instantly this is Cicely, my Cicely.
No, not mine, but Cicely all the same.
I smile down at her. “You’re back.”
“Back where?” Groggily, she props herself up on an elbow and looks around the room. “Where am I?” She looks at me suspiciously. “What are we doing in bed?”
I stand and take a step back. “You’re at Hawthorn House, in town. You wandered here. An unfortunate side-effect of the spell to summon the dead.”
“I wandered here?” She gives me a skeptical look. “And did I sleep-dress myself, too?”
“You have to admit,” I say, “you do look lovely.”
She scowls at me. “Luke, are you sure you’re not just—Oh!” Her hand flies to her chest.
“What?” I ask. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m not hurt. I mean, I think I’m healing.” She takes her hand away. Above the neckline of her dress I can see the edge of the pink seam where her wound used to be.
“The healing potion is working!”
Her eyes widen. “You really got it? Naomi’s grandmother came through?”
“No, Michael did.”
“Michael? But I thought—”
“The spell was a bit… broader than we thought.” I want to tell her about Deirdre, too, but it’s too soon—for me and for her. “Here,” I say, “have another sip. Not all of it, though,” I add, remembering Deirdre’s dire predictions. “We may need some in the future.”
I hand her the little bottle. She takes a tiny swig and grimaces.
“Is it painful?” I can’t stand to see her in any more pain.
She closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly. “No, it just feels strange. Stretched tight. I can’t explain it.” She laughs nervously. “I feel like I’m a doll, being sewn shut.”
“Then it’s working?”
She tugs the neckline of her dress down a few inches. I can actually see the wound healing, the pale flesh knitting itself together in two pink scars that intersect like a crooked cross. Only one little gap remains unhealed, at the place where the two scars meet.
“The splinter of cross won’t let it close all the way,” she says.
“We should have taken it out,” I say. “It must hurt, and I know it makes you feel weak…”
“It’s funny,” she says. “It did. It hurt so bad, it was like somebody lit a fire inside my chest. I was so afraid of it, I wanted to claw open my heart and rip it out. But the feeling is slowly fading. Or maybe I’m getting used to it. I think I can live with it now. Or, you know, survive.”
“Live,” I say. “Not just survive.”
She smiles. “Live.” She sinks back down on the bed, shifting over a little so I can sit on the edge. “Thank you,” she says, “for finding me.”
“Ander is the one who got the healing potion. He wanted to come find you. He’s the one you should thank.”
Her smile is sad, but she doesn’t contradict me. She just shuts her eyes. “I’m tired.” We sit like that for a moment in silence. Then, just when I think she has fallen asleep, she murmurs, “Maybe someday my heart will heal completely.”
Yes, I think, maybe mine will, too.
Chapter 26: Cicely
An instinctive feeling of dread wakes me from my deep sleep. I’ve been practically torpored in the back of the van for the entire drive, hiding from the sun, but now I am suddenly wide awake, my skin prickling with anticipation. I look out the window and watch the dark woods flash by. Vermont. The word makes me think of hippies with maple syrup, not monster hunters with guns. I never thought of Ander as coming from Vermont. But then, I never really thought of him as being from anywhere.
“How far?” I ask.
“Few more miles.” Even from the back seat, I can hear the tension in Ander’s voice. Naomi reaches across from the passenger seat and lays a hand on his arm. Beside me, Luke sits, vigilant as a watchdog, and I wonder if he has been that way all day.
The rest of the van is conspicuously empty. Five is with the Remnant, traveling in the stolen truck that got them here from Minnesota. I look at the seat where D.J. sat just a few weeks ago, and at the spot beside him where Emmie used to sit, back when we were all on the same side. Back when we were running away from trouble, not to it. “If they’ve hurt her…” I say.
“They die.” Luke’s eyes burn with an intensity that almost scares me. His fangs are already out. How did I ever mistake him for human?
I expect Ander might argue with him—after all, Luke is a vampire threatening his family—but Ander stays focused on the road ahead. I can’t see his face from where I sit, but I can see the firm set of his jaw. “If it comes to that.”
“So,” I say, “what’s the plan?”
Luke and Ander exchange a look in the rearview mirror. Ander eases the van over to the side of the road. He parks and moves to the back seat, where he’s closer to us and can’t be seen by anyone passing on the road. Naomi moves back with him. She looks worried.
“You guys did make a plan while I was out, right? I mean, we do have a plan?”
“Yeah,” Ander says, “we have a plan.”
“Ander, Naomi, and I are going to get into the compound,” Luke says, “and then Ander is going to let you and Five and the Remnant in through a gap in their security.”
“Wait,” I say. “How are you guys going to get in?”
Silence.
“Um, guys?”
“We have a strategy, querida.”
“Yeah,” Ander says, “we got a plan.”
“And you’re not going to tell me what it is?”
“Yeah,” Ander says, “something like that.”
“Naomi,” I say “do you know?”
“They swore me to secrecy, Cicely.” She turns and gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”
“Is it because of the enluzantes?” I ask. “Do you think, if you tell me, they’ll hear it in my thoughts? Because I can keep it from them if I have to. And even if I can’t, the Remnant is on our side! That’s the whole point of bringing me here, so the enluzantes will fight for us. If you’re going to fight side by side with them, you’re going to need to—”
“It’s not the enluzantes,” Ander says. “Honestly, it’s just that we think you might not love the plan.”
Great. “But you’re still not going to tell me.”
“You are going to have to trust us on this one, cariña.”
I look back and forth between the two of them, exasperated. “You know, I think I liked you two better when you weren’t friends.”
I expect one or the other of them to contradict me, but neither of them does. Something between them has changed
“The point,” Ander says, “is we’ll get in and get the Hunters temporarily out of the way. When it’s safe for you and the Remnant to join us, we’ll give a signal.”
“Blue light if we’re a go,
” Naomi says. “Red if we have to abort the mission. I’ll shine it from the service door in the back. You’ll have to set up a lookout who can see it over the wall.”
“Right,” Ander nods. “The service entrance. It’s a blind spot that can’t been seen from the guard houses, so that’s where I’ll invite you in. You’ll have to climb over the wall to get there, and stay far from the front gate because it has big crosses worked right into the wrought iron. Your people won’t be able to go near it.”
“Of course,” I say. “Crosswood Gates. That’s the name of the house, right?” The thought of the crosses in the gate doesn’t fill me with fear the way it once did, but maybe I’m just too overwhelmed to feel anything. “Blue fire. Climb wall. Back door. Gotcha.”
“Here,” Ander says. “I drew you a map.” He hands me a ragged piece of paper. There’s a roughly drawn sketch of the Hunter’s compound, with an X on the house near the back. It makes me think of the “doggy door” we used to use to sneak into the cemetery back home. Back then, I thought we were such rebels for going somewhere off limits. Now it feels like all of life takes place outside the rules.
Still, we have to be smart. “But the layout of the grounds could have changed since you were here. The gap in security might be fixed. And are you even sure you can still invite us in? Do you still belong to this house enough for the invitation to work?” I hate to even bring it up, because I know that no matter how much Ander may have rejected his family’s beliefs, it still hurts him to be their enemy. I remember the way I felt the day we left Minnesota, when I looked in my mother’s window just to watch her sleep. Knowing I could never really go home again hurt almost as much as dying.
Ander looks away. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Cissa. If we can’t get you in, so be it.”
I cock my head to the side, studying him for a moment. “You sort of hope I won’t be able to get in, don’t you?”
Crossfire (Book Two of the Darkride Chronicles) Page 21
