Plague years. The rich had fled, leaving the poor behind with the sick, the stubborn, and the disbelieving. Theatres had closed. Tobacco smoke stank in the air, forming curtains so thick and lacy they were like nets designed to trap the plague.
As bad as things were, it was nothing compared to London, which explained why Catherine had boarded a vessel and bobbed across the sea to find blood that didn’t turn her stomach.
Catherine had arrived like a drowned rat, starved and half-feral, stumbling in the streets. She’d hated tobacco and had walked around with her nose wrinkled like a shriveled mushroom.
If that same nose hadn’t wrinkled the same way when Catherine arrived, Lilith might not have recognized her.
Catherine had an oval face and dramatic cheekbones. Her sharp features were arresting but not beautiful. Her hair, decorated with jeweled pins and interwoven with gems and pearls, was piled atop her head like an elaborate fruit basket.
Lilith’s windswept mane was tangled in a knot so perverse it might never be untangled. As if she needed another reminder of her urchin appearance and her near-nudity.
To spare her pride, Lilith pretended she didn’t want to cover her body, that she’d painstakingly grown her breasts with the singular intention of putting them on display.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Catherine said, with apparent relish.
Lilith rolled her eyes. She was in no mood to hear a cat-lady’s poor puns.
Catherine’s girdle made an hourglass of her skeleton, and the scarlet bustle flounced in elegant tiers like the many sails on a girded ship. She scuttled closer, unblinking, unflinching, fixated on Lilith’s dress or lack thereof.
“You’ve already ruined another outfit?” Catherine ran her fingers protectively over her own dress, as if proximity to Lilith might send the silk up in tatters. “I swear, Lilith, you’re like a child constantly frolicking in puddles and mud.”
“Really, Catherine.”
“Why must you torture me? I dust you off, put you in raiment befitting a queen, and you deliberately, maliciously—I dare say even vengefully—destroy everything pretty and sophisticated.”
Lilith sucked her teeth. “Catherine, darling, you’re not important enough to deliberately offend.”
“And yet here you are, smudged and naked on my doorstep, about to beg for another dress.”
Lilith crossed her arms below her chest, scooting snakes out of the way, brandishing both her nudity and the torn dress. “Actually, I don’t need another stupid gown. I’ve come for an entirely different reason.”
“Is that so?”
“I must say, you’re being a horrible host.” Lilith waved her hand at the ridiculous tea tray. “You haven’t offered me a real refreshment.”
Catherine hoisted her wrinkled nose higher. “I’d offer you a Lazarite from the swarm in my basement, but we both know you can’t tolerate the pungent, rotten blood of your own kind.”
Catherine loved to mention the fact that Lilith was a Graveborn Lazarite, not Bloodborn as she was.
Lilith’s arms dropped to her sides. Weariness sank in, anchored to every joint, and tugged on every vein until she could scarcely raise her head.
“Catherine, do we have to be petty all the time? Every waking instant? Is that a requirement of our friendship?”
Catherine shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then crossed her arms. “Isn’t that our way? Aren’t we always exchanging barbs and quips?” She shuffled again. “I didn’t know you considered this to be a friendship. You have the worst timing, Lilith. The absolute worst.”
Catherine glared at her servant. “Bring a robe, idiot. Can’t you see the lady is naked? No, don’t look, you buffoon. Bring a dressing robe, this instant.”
The porky man hurried off. Catherine and Lilith avoided meeting the other’s gaze. Haniel lurked quietly in the chair while the snakes trudged about the room, quickening to the heat.
“What do you mean,” Lilith said, “when you said this is a bad time? The porch light was on. I thought you were open to company.”
“My humans are tapped out,” Catherine said. “The winter wasn’t kind to Boston. Mortals died in droves, making supper hard to find. Meanwhile, vampires have flocked to my door. Both the attic and the basement are overstuffed with lessers. Damned Lazarites are drinking me out of house and home.”
A niggling, uncomfortable feeling wormed into Lilith’s gut.
Catherine sighed. “At least they’re indebted to me now.”
She turned and poured two burgundy drinks from a crystal decanter. The glassware shone like diamonds, and the port rolled with fragrances from sunny, sloping hilltops outside Portugal.
Together, they ignored the tea tray, and Lilith nearly sighed with relief.
Catherine handed her a drink and said, “Lane is dead.”
“Oh,” Lilith said, stunned. In the frenzy of running for her life, she’d forgotten about Lane’s demise. And she still didn’t want to believe it, which was absurd. She’d seen the mansion start to burn, watched Lane ignore all his chances to escape.
The dolt stood like an idiot and waited for Fate to ruin him.
Even so, hearing Catherine announce his death ripped a new hole inside a gaping wound. Lane, the patriarch, an old friend, and the only one who had known the extent of her troubles, was gone.
And he’d wanted her to run, not to fight.
What the hell did he know, anyway?
Lilith grimaced. “I suppose the Elders are happy to be rid of him and his law.”
Catherine snickered. “We both know the Elders will never be happy. Besides, they’re too busy stifling the revolt. Their secrets are coming to light and chaos thrives.”
“What secrets?” Lilith sipped the port and thought, this is almost as good as blood. “What chaos? Do you mean human witnesses and Social Media?”
She pictured Social Media like a fat tycoon in a suit hidden away in an enormous tower, a puppeteer controlling the mob of humanity.
“Who cares about humans? Not me!” Catherine held her glass lazily with two fingers, as if she didn’t care that the neglected glass might fall and shatter. “I swear, Lilith, it’s time to get your head out of the sand. Caesar is dead and the slaves are rebelling. Taberah’s household rose up, ate and murdered everything, and burned the remains.”
“Taberah escaped?”
“Yes, that silly tart is on the run. Fled to who-knows-where while his estate burns.” Catherine sipped her port. “Left a river of blood to squelch the flames.”
“He’s always been an unbearable ass,” Lilith said. “His slaves mutiny every now and then just to escape him.”
“This is bigger than him,” Catherine argued. “Claudia, Tohik, and Obadiah: they’re all caught in the same bloodshed. Not to mention Matthias’ house. Absolute ruin, that’s what’s become of it. All across the world, Lazarites are rising up, and they think Fate gave them permission. As if they have license to be upset and violent and free. See what becomes of inviting soured idealists into your home? Ungrateful Lazarites.”
Lilith choked on her port. “Lazarites are leading a global insurrection, and you have a basement full of them? Where’s your common sense?”
“My Lazarites aren’t causing any trouble.” Catherine raised her chin. “They know better. I’ve given them everything a lower beast could desire. I’ve raised some of them from the swaddling of graves and cultured them into regents of great fortunes. They love me.”
“Love?” Lilith guzzled the port and shook her head. “A starved vampire knows nothing of love. Especially when resurrection stains the air. Have you never seen a shark drawn to chum? You’re a fool to harbor them.”
“Someone who doesn’t even keep the company of her own kind shouldn’t lecture me.” Catherine flicked her fingers at the serpents. “Snakes are the only brood you’ve fostered, and they can’t rise from their groveling stomachs long enough to love or hate you.”
“Catherine—”
“Why did you come here?” she snipped. “Not out of concern for my welfare, I’m sure. Arachne is gone, disappeared. Again. Shouldn’t you go back to your cave and leave us all alone?”
It was a fair point. The ebb and flow of political rivalries, revolutions, and genocides didn’t pertain to Lilith. She only emerged from the desert to help Arachne reap havoc, and then they both disappeared again.
Lilith had come to Catherine’s house for a reason, and it wasn’t for a glass of port or to help her navigate an inevitable mutiny.
“Catherine, I need to borrow your oracle.”
“Like hell.”
“Please, don’t make this difficult. Where have you left her?”
Catherine tipped her head to the side and narrowed her eyes. “Why should I tell you?”
Lilith blinked. Catherine acted like she forgot who owed whom.
“Because you owe me, you ungrateful ass,” Lilith said. “If not for me, that rabid bishop would burned you alive, and you know it.”
“And you’ve reminded me of your kindness ever since, bartering for untold riches—”
“’Untold riches’?” Lilith screeched, “More like a handful of dresses!”
“Extravagant gowns worth more money than you’ve ever seen!”
Lilith scowled, and something in her eyes must have reminded Catherine that Lilith was older, stronger. Catherine busied herself pouring more port into their glasses.
Lilith clenched her teeth. “Do this for me, and I’ll cancel the debt.”
“Cancel?” Catherine’s eyebrows went up. “For good? Settled and done?”
“And done. Never again to be mentioned or leveraged.”
Catherine’s mouth wavered, as if unable to settle between a frown and a smile, and the waver reminded Lilith of a heartbeat, which ebbed and flowed until it inevitably failed.
Everything is finite. Even friendship.
Even immortality.
Catherine turned enough to set her glass atop the shiny counter. Garish light fell on the harsh juts and planes of her face.
Lilith was struck with a tender solidarity. They were both bags of bones, unsettled, fighting against the same threat that chased them through their human lives. A threat closer than either of them wished to acknowledge. Despite everything, they could still die.
Chapter 15
Haniel waited eagerly, trying not to squirm in his seat. If the oracle was real and offered legitimate information, they were closer to Maggie. Tantalizingly close. His breath shivered with excitement.
The vampire, Catherine, promised to return with a note and ducked out of the library.
Haniel asked, “Her word is good?”
“As good and bad as anyone’s,” Lilith said, non-committal.
His body hummed. He imagined the look of happiness and relief on Maggie’s face when he came for her. How good it would be to hold her in his arms, touch her live skin, and feel her breath shuddering against his. Maybe she’d be so grateful she’d forget herself and kiss him.
Lilith glowered at the contents of her cup. She touched the fireplace poker, which became a red-bellied snake and joined the handful of serpents toying with each other in a mating ball. Firelight danced on her skin, and Haniel couldn’t help but notice no one had returned with a robe for her.
“Want some port?” she said.
“No.”
The vampire looked to be brooding, and he didn’t like it.
“Why aren’t you excited?” he asked. “The oracle will help us.”
“Cherub, you’ve obviously never spoken with a fortuneteller. They usually cause more troubles than they solve. Cheers.” She hoisted her glass and drained its contents.
Catherine returned and held out a thick piece of pearlescent card stock with lazy, loopy script on one side.
“The oracle will see you at this address. Go before nightfall. She doesn’t admit visitors after dark anymore. Be prepared to stay the night if she doesn’t open the gates. And for heaven's sake, don’t eat her.”
“I promise,” Lilith grumbled. She checked the address. “I’ll need a vehicle.”
“No more favors.” Catherine grinned. “I’m going to enjoy saying no.”
“Fine.” Lilith snatched the decanter of port. “But I’m taking this.”
“Go ahead,” Catherine said. “It’s a sour vintage, and I’m not without generosity. In fact, since I can’t bear to look at you in such a despicable state, I’ll give you another ensemble.”
Lilith raised her chin and deliberated. Haniel hoped to hell she accepted the gift so he wouldn’t be forced to witness her ever-present indecency.
“We are friends, after all,” Catherine coaxed.
“Fine,” Lilith said.
Catherine rolled her eyes. When she wagged her fingertips, the portly servant slithered in from the hallway, burdened with yards of fabric. Lilith’s lip curled up, either at the bright red color or at the obvious weight of the garment.
“I only have one spare room, and I don’t want to hear any complaints. The bath is warm, but not for long.”
“Thank you,” Haniel said, before Lilith could instigate Catherine and waste more time.
Catherine flinched at the rasp and roar of Haniel’s voice.
Lilith took advantage of the distraction. “I’m famished. It’s still traditional to feed your elders, isn’t it?”
She nudged her chin at the doorman, whose pudgy cheeks and jowls trembled.
“Fine,” Catherine said. “Eat whatever you want. Leave it alive, and leave me in peace.”
Haniel’s bones creaked and muscles screamed as he got out of the chair. Once he rose, he didn’t think he could move. How did humans endure such fatigue? He gritted his teeth and followed Lilith and the servant.
The house was big, but the hallways were narrow and the doorways low. He had to duck through several. An odd, starchy smell rolled through the building, reminding him of laundry and moth-eaten clothing. Blood chased on the coattails of that odor, meaty and threatening. It served to remind him that Catherine and Lilith were still abominable creatures who justified murder.
The sooner he was done with them, the better.
Haniel kept his mouth shut until they were alone. The whole situation bothered him, but he wasn’t an idiot. He didn’t argue until they were safe—somewhat safe—behind a solid door.
Catherine had given Lilith a pauper’s room, bare of every nicety except a mattress and a tub. The tub held six inches of lukewarm water, and the mattress sat directly on the floor.
At least it wasn’t a dungeon cell. Haniel suspected the room was designed for slaves not guests. Lilith didn’t seem to care. Tonight she appeared as weary as he felt. She took the clothes but left the servant outside, practically slamming the door in his face.
She’s going to eat him, Haniel thought, but he didn’t say anything.
His silence bothered him, but he shoved it down, deep, far underneath the urgent drive to rescue Maggie.
Lilith set down the pile of clothing and sipped from the decanter of port.
“I won’t sleep at your feet like a dog,” he said, sounding as arrogant as ever despite the quiver in his veins, his stooping shoulders, and the lurch in every step.
“Want a drink?” she asked.
“No,” he snipped. But he was parched, starved, tired. “Give it here.”
She passed him the bottle and he made a show of wiping the spout. He drank deeply, decided it was good, and didn’t give it back. Within seconds, the bottle was empty.
The alcohol hit him hard. Flashes of heat and nausea and comfort rolled through him, all at once, confusing and distracting. He held the empty decanter, happy with how the cut crystal felt like a pineapple against his palm.
After this was over, he’d take Maggie somewhere warm. Watch her walk barefoot in the sand and tiptoe into the sparkling blue ocean.
His eyes, half-shut already, surveyed the room. Threadbare carpet, thick drapes. Layers of rancid, meaty aromas cour
sed through the halls, swirling with wine, laughter, screams, and blood. He thought it a bad omen.
“Dragged me into a den of vipers,” he groused.
She didn’t disagree, and her moody silence bothered him.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Fine.”
He knew enough about women to know that when one looked as she did but said everything was fine, everything was definitely not fine.
Since she seemed unwilling to share, openly and honestly, he pushed.
“Your friend is foolhardy,” he said, waving his hand around. “Anyone who indulges too much in a time of little is begging for trouble.”
She whispered, “A beacon that burns brightly draws many moths.”
“And here we are,” he chimed, feigning brightness. “Imagine that.”
She snatched a pillow and tossed it at his head. He batted it aside.
“What the hell are we doing here, Lilith?” he demanded. “We have the fortuneteller’s address. Let’s go. Get dressed. Now.”
“You heard Catherine’s warning about the familiar.”
“We’ll make the witch see us.”
Lilith pulled her hair back and held it behind her neck like a frosty sheaf of wheat. A golden serpent raised its teardrop head and encircled the cluster of locks. Round and around it went, wrapping tight, cinching until it couldn’t circle any tighter.
Lilith said, “Never cross a witch if you’re about to ask a favor of her.”
She began to undress.
Suddenly, the room shrank and there wasn’t enough air for him to breathe. He stared for a moment, eying pearly white shoulders, her jutting clavicle, perky tits, and tapered waist. Finally, it occurred to him to turn his back.
He didn’t want to see anything else, didn’t want to discover what the rest of her looked like, or what it’d do to his body if he knew.
The rustle of heavy fabric competed with his irregular breaths.
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