by Cecily White
“Do what?”
I tried not to hurl as he took my hand and pressed the locket and vial into it. “Amelie Lane Bennett, Daughter of Lucifer, angelblood Guardian…will you do me the honor of joining my clan?”
I paused, waiting for the punchline. “This is a joke.”
“I assure you, it is not. As a royal Immortal, I am authorized to sire one fledgling into the Montaigne bloodline. If you are willing, I invite you to be my chosen.”
I stifled a snort. Make that two snorts. As if the guy didn’t have enough odious features. The very notion of Luc—pompous, materialistic, vampire Luc—inviting me to join his bourgeois family was so comical, I thought I might bust a gut laughing.
“Yeah,” I finally said. “I want to be related to you.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Oh, please. Bite me, loser.”
I snatched the locket out of his fingers and tossed both it and the vial into the pond. He looked momentarily puzzled as he watched them sink. “Just a moment,” he said, and repeated the thing with the eyes closed and the hand up. This time, when his eyes opened, the puzzled expression had vanished and he had a grim smile on his face.
“Jack says that counts,” Luc declared. “Welcome to the family.”
Then, the bastard bit me.
The next images flickered in my head as I was transported back to the Hall of Angels, my consciousness floating about four feet above my body.
I saw Luc pull his mouth off my throat and chomp deep into his forearm, tearing through muscle and vein. Fresh blood poured out of him, but not onto the floor like before. This time it poured into me—onto the scratches at my arms, the bite mark at my neck, the wound at my chest. Like an animal, it burrowed through every inch of me. My body lurched under the force of Lyle’s CPR, and Jack bent over me, frantically breathing air into my lungs. It was ghastly. I’d never seen so much blood in my life. I looked like a disgusting version of the Lady of the Lake, my skin spattered red and white, hair and arms splayed as if floating in a pond of crimson sludge.
I knew the instant my heart took over on its own.
Fiery pain seared through me and I screamed. My eyes flew open. The look on Jack’s face was terrifying. Not panic, not rage. Just dread. I barely had time to wonder why, when Luc quit with the slasher-fest and lifted his wrist to my lips.
“Drink,” he commanded.
And suddenly, I got it. Everything Luc said in the dream, the reason he’d balked at saving me… I understood it all. My lips latched onto his wrist and I sucked, eager and impatient, like a hungry infant. So vomitrocious!
“You’re going to be okay, Omelet.” Jack pressed one last kiss to my head, then he grabbed Lyle’s arm and drew him backward until Luc and I were alone.
“My blood is my covenant, given only to you,” Luc murmured. “May nothing in heaven or hell challenge it. By Immortal law, I accept you as my fledgling and vow to foster and guide you ‘til the end of days—I, as your master, and you, my Immortal charge.”
It might have been my imagination, but I thought he choked a little on the last few words. I was too gone to notice.
The clouds of power had quit swirling above me, though the air still felt heavy enough to swim in. It wasn’t until my body began to heal itself that I noticed Katie lurking behind Matt at the edge of the doorway, an expression of disgust on her face.
All in all, the vibe in the room seemed to be one of relief. Thanks to Jack, the Peace Tenets would pass—that was really all Luc wanted. And thanks to Luc, I would live, which was what Jack wanted.
Great, right? Everybody was happy.
So why did I still feel like punching someone?
Chapter Twenty-four:
Cocktail Party of the Damned
Life sucks sometimes, but we all muddle through.
That’s what my mom used to say. Only she neglected to mention that some days we wished we hadn’t muddled through. Some days, we woke up, pretty sure we’d be better off as a bowl of demon chowder. Take today, for example.
“There must be some mistake. This is the new charge?” A British girl’s nasal voice crawled through my ears like a whiny child at the end of a storm drain. “Isn’t she a bit clunky?”
“No mistake. Tyrannus said she was half-dead when he brought her in,” another voice said. Older. Still British. Slightly less irritating.
“Perhaps Tyrannus collected the wrong corpse.”
“Don’t be rude, Annabelle. I’ll admit, she’s not his Highness’s usual taste, but no woman looks her best after two days in a coma. It’s extraordinary she survived the change at all.”
“She could still die,” the first girl commented, hopeful.
“Not likely. She’s Lucifer’s.”
“Hmm. Grigorem?”
“The lesser half.” The older woman’s voice radiated disappointment. “Pity, that. She might have been useful at the Sovereign Trials.”
The first girl—Annabelle—snorted. “You can’t honestly believe Lady Arianna will allow an angelblood to stand with the dauphin?”
“If he insists—”
“Spare me, Marguerite. Master Luc has yet to blow his nose without seeking his mum’s counsel. Can you imagine him presenting this pitiful mutt as his chosen? What will the populace say?”
“Manners, Annabelle,” the older woman—Marguerite—scolded. “The populace will be pleased to have the dauphin represented at all. Parliament’s nearly given up on the Montaigne line, what with Lord Dominic’s disappearance and Master Luc knocking about like a drunken sailor. Although, if he’s settled enough to foster a fledgling, then perhaps—” A pause. “Did she just move?”
Annabelle let out a beleaguered sigh. “I’ll fetch the Master.”
…
It goes without saying, I despise British accents. Especially on vampires. How they all manage to sound like announcers for Masterpiece Theatre, I’ll never know.
My skin felt tight and dry. I imagined it flaking into powder as my body shifted for the first time in two days. Flashes of awareness drifted through my head—kaleidoscopic colors, the sensation of falling, the memory of screams. It was all muted by a dreamy fog of anesthetic and painkiller.
Clearly not enough painkiller.
“Monkeycrud.” Swear on my soul, it was the only word that sprang to mind. “Monkeycrud, monkeycrud.”
Never in my life had I experienced anything so uniquely painful. Not even the Queller compared. I was grappling for new swearwords when the most obnoxious voice on the planet interrupted.
“‘But soft! What light through yonder window breaks. It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.’”
Yeah, Shakespeare. That’d help, for sure.
I pried open one crusty eye to see Luc at the edge of my bed, his cheeks sunken and skin paler than usual. Faded jeans hung loose on his hips and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt hugged the lean curves of his shoulders. He looked stunning, as usual, only the arrogance was tempered by…good grief, was that compassion? Whatever it was, it freaked me out.
“Morning sunshine. Did you sleep well?”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “Kill me now.”
“Too late for that, love.” He pressed a cool hand to my forehead. “Sad to say, you may be unkillable for quite some time.”
The amusement in his voice flooded every corner of my mind, like a breeze through an empty house. I ignored the way my body creaked as I pushed myself up on one elbow. My eyes felt like they’d been glued shut. I could almost hear the skin tear as I pried my eyelids fully open.
I was lying in a narrow bed with beige sateen sheets and a fluffy beige blanket draped over my favorite flannel jammies. Someone had taken great care to line up my collection of stuffed animals along the dresser—a good thing, since, apart from my hair and Luc’s eyes, they provided the only color in the whole monochromatic room. Light beige wallpaper and beige-painted trim wrapped around me, broken only by a few dull seascape watercolors. It looked like every other hospital room I’d ev
er seen, each detail designed to foster feelings of…beige-ness, I guess.
A huge machine beeped reports of my vital statistics with glacial slowness, and an IV bag hung above me, dumping fluids into my bloodstream.
I sat up carefully and waited for the room to quit spinning. What a freaky dream—with Jack dying and me dying, and all that blood-drinking. And then the whole bit with Luc vampifying me. Yeesh. What would Freud say about that?
An IV lock stuck out of my arm, so I tugged it loose. Seriously, if I never saw another syringe, sword, dagger, halberd, or pollaxe in my life, it would be too soon. As the needle exited, a trickle of blood pulsed down my unusually pale forearm. I licked it off.
Yeah, that’s right. I. LICKED. IT. OFF.
“Ack!” I screamed, realizing what I’d done. The fact that it tasted like salted honey did nothing to calm me. “Ew, ew, ew!”
“Relax,” Luc said. “That impulse is normal. You’ll probably need a good pint or two before the cravings settle.”
I stared at Luc, my face curdled into an expression of pure disgust. Normal? He thought this was normal?
All at once, I was flooded with images—visions that sliced through my mind like frozen razorblades. I saw myself crying blood, my skin parched and cracked like faded newspaper. I saw Jack bruised and beaten with his eyes whited-out and Lisa perched on a pile of dead people. The images vibrated with terror, like someone had taken all the worst parts from a Grimm fairy tale and spliced them together into a twisted slide-show montage. Horrifyingly enough, it ended with me curled in Luc’s lap, sucking blood out of his arm like juice from a fresh orange. Three awful words echoed in my brain.
My Immortal charge.
Oh, hell no! With a determined swoop, I shoved back the covers and launched myself at Luc’s throat in a flying tackle. We crashed sideways and landed on the ground with a thud.
“A vampire? You made me a vampire?” The chill of the tile radiated up my knees like cracks through a frozen pond.
“Immortal fledgling,” he choked out. “Watch the hair.”
Before I could slam his head against the floor again, he flipped me over as effortlessly as one might toss a bag of feathers. His eyes held an odd mixture of annoyance and curiosity as he arranged himself on top of me in a way that left me completely immobilized. “Look, this isn’t how I envisioned eternity, either. But we’re stuck with each other, so I suggest you get used to taking orders.”
“Get off me, you freak.”
“Not until you calm down.” He squeezed his knees together until I thought my ribs would crack. “Unsavory as the situation is, I’m afraid it’s not negotiable. Jack and I need you on board and cooperating by winter solstice.”
“Why?” I jerked around under him, trying to get free. As wiry as he was, the guy sure had a grip like a python.
“Because that is when Arianna returns, and that is when you declare fealty to me before the Immortal populace.”
I quit struggling. “Fealty?”
“Yes, and try not to scowl when you say it,” he advised. “My publicist insists you meet with the event planners as soon as possible. Although, obviously, no one’s letting you out of the house until our wardrobe people have a go at you.”
It occurred to me I could probably break his nose with a quick head-butt to the face. If not for the prospect of getting bled on again, I might have done it.
“My attendants are handling music and venue, but you’ll want to give suggestions on the guest list. Then there’s the small matter of your training.”
“My training?”
“You know,” he explained, “how to address a dignitary, which fork to use at dinner, how to eviscerate a foe without getting sinew stuck in your teeth…that sort of thing. Mum’s already taking applications for who gets to work with you, but she wants your input.”
As a demonstration of my input, I hiked a knee into the back of his head and used the momentum from the blow to roll him off me. My hand clutched at the…beige…furniture as I pushed myself upright and stumbled toward the door.
“Wait!” Luc practically teleported to a spot four inches in front of me and took a defensive stance.
“Really? We’re doing this now?”
“Amelie, you’ve been in a coma all weekend, you’ve lost ungodly amounts of blood, and you’re on enough painkillers to subdue a rabid hippo. I realize it’ll take you a while to feel comfortable here, but this is your home now. I suggest you accept that.”
My eyes swept the room again, looking for anything homey.
Thick drapes had been drawn across the window, and for the first time since waking, I noticed how dim it was inside the room. Shadows seemed to coat the walls and ceiling in gray strips. The only light was a pale line of orange around the curtains which, peculiarly, made my eyes water. I could tell my dad had been to visit, since no one else would have known to set out my collection of Beanie Babies in perfect rainbow-colored order. And there were no flowers. Bud knows I hate flowers, partly because of my allergies and partly because they always die a horrid, wilting death.
Luc’s efforts notwithstanding, I felt about as comfortable here as a speech-writer at a mime convention.
“One more time,” I grumbled ungratefully. “Where’s Jack?”
An exasperated sigh gusted out of Luc’s chest. “Must you be so contentious?” he asked, which proves he’d never read my disciplinary file.
“You should have considered that before you turned me into a vampire.”
“It wasn’t by choice and you’re not a vampire.”
With hands like ice, I lifted two fingers to my neck and waited. And waited. Finally it came. Bah-bum. It was so soft I almost missed it.
Yup. Definitely a vampire.
I didn’t know what to feel. Angry? Confused? Homicidal? My life had been wrecked and re-made so many times in the past week, I needed a freaking flow chart to keep track of it. And what had it gotten me? Jack was alive, at least. My friends were safe. My dad was free. But I was…what? A monster? A demon?
“You’re an Immortal fledgling,” Luc said, quasi-sympathetically. “You don’t need to drink blood, though I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t. And while you’re not mortally vulnerable to sunlight, you may want to wear sunscreen.”
“And if someone drives a stake through my heart?”
“Then I wager you’ll die. Though that’s rather similar to being a Guardian, isn’t it?”
I desperately wanted him to be lying, for it to be some elaborate joke. And yet, the world looked too different, the details too vivid for it to be normal. Even Luc’s eyes held a full pallet of color I’d never noticed before—flecks of silver shot through brilliant blues and purples. Like staring at a dusk sky reflected in the Caribbean. It was kind of…mesmerizing.
Jeez, I had to get out of there. Whatever freaky ritual he’d done, I was still me, right? No amount of vamp-infected blood would change that. And if I was still me, then I was still bonded to Jack. So wherever Jack was, that’s where I needed to be.
My fingertips charged with Crossworld power as I cocked them at Luc’s face like a gun. “You know I can hurt you.”
“But you won’t.”
“Keep getting in my way and we’ll find out.”
With a hard shove against him, I propelled myself through the doorway where the hall stretched out in both directions. Circular, glass-blown lamps cast quivery shadows on the walls, and identical doors seemed to go on endlessly.
I shivered. Everything felt cold. Cold and damp. And dead.
By the time I found the staircase, I was ready to cry. My sluggish heartbeat left a hollow space inside me. All I wanted was for Jack to fill it.
Voices rose from below and I hurried toward them. With each step I could sense more—the crackle of fire and human heartbeats, bitter-tinged fumes of sweat and aftershave, the sickly sweetness of shampoo and laundry detergent. Beneath it all, Jack’s scent wrapped around me. Toasted marshmallows and sunshine.
“Am
elie.” Luc’s voice rang from the top of the stairs. I slowed my pace, but didn’t turn. “Our laws are not negotiable,” he said. “You have until sunrise to say your goodbyes, then you belong to us. You are my fledgling, do you understand?”
I could feel his gaze boring holes into my back. What was I supposed to say? Yes, sir, whatever you say, sir?
“Dream on, vampire.”
Harsh beams of light spilled through the giant picture windows on the first floor. It didn’t matter that the panes were tinted, or that it wasn’t a midday sun as I’d first thought. Even the dim pink brilliance of dusk was blinding.
The staircase opened onto a huge foyer—a cavernous space with high, carved arches and coved ceilings painted with the rococo-like frescos we’d studied in Art History. Only in these, instead of heavenly clouds, blue skies, and angels, the heavens were dark and stormy, the angel wings ran black with blood, and the humans cowered and shrieked below. Sheesh. Vamp or not, whoever had chosen that for their home décor needed a serious therapy intervention.
I pushed my way across the polished marble floor through a set of double doors. Instantly, I could breathe. The biological need wasn’t as pressing as, say, a few days ago, but it felt good nonetheless. Like wandering out of hell and into…home.
My dad reclined on an overstuffed chair looking tired but tense. Henry sat on the couch, beaten but alive. His face bulged in uneven hues of purple and blue, his nose a misshapen lump.
In the center of it all, Jack paced a nervous line in front of the fireplace. His eyes were fixed on the floor, hands locked in a white-knuckled grip. I could hear his heartbeat, strong and familiar, floating above the other sounds in the room.
“Jackson,” I said, and he stopped pacing.
In fact, everything froze. Even the last muted beams of sunlight seemed to halt in their path. The only movement was the fire dancing across the walls like fairy-wing shadows.
After a second, his eyes flickered up, but he still didn’t move.
“Jack?” I said again, more softly.
That’s when I saw it. It crept through him—a golden pulse in his chest, radiating outward in impossibly beautiful waves. Before I could say another word he closed the distance between us.