Cordelia laughs again, the sound high-pitched and too amused—like she’s laughing as loudly as she believes Nikolai wants. “Nik, you devil.” She gives me a long side glance before setting her hand on his arm. “How perfect that your lab has its very own Cinderella.”
“Maybe we should start a fire next?” he teases back, not deigning to look at me. “Then we can cover her in ash and make the story complete. It’s not as if she could go crying to Mrs. Browning.”
“Or what if we covered her shoes in glass?” Delia asked, lowering her gaze to the microscope’s eyepiece. “The stories never say that the glass slipper has to be in one piece. We could even play some music to make her dance.”
It took everything in me not to run from the room. Nikolai is right. I can never go to Mrs. Browning about how they treat me. She’s made her opinion on me clear. She’d have me gone tomorrow if she could. Every cabinet I open lacks a broom. Instead there are instruments and books that, as Nikolai said, are far more advanced equipment than I’ve ever used. I can’t even put a name to half of them. At least I find some towels before I gather my courage and walk back towards the two of them and the shattered glass. Cordelia’s focus is still on the slide under the microscope, but Nikolai watches me with perverted satisfaction as I lower myself to my knees.
I meet his eyes, my jaw clenching. I refuse to let him see how much this is affecting me. I will not cry in front of him. He mouths something to me, and it makes my face burn and vision blur with tears.
I told you so.
I hate him. I hate how he makes me feel. I hate that I enjoyed his touch. I hate that I want him to do it again. I hate that I’m on my knees for him, just as he said I would be. As I sweep the glass into a pile, I keep my head bent, the tears dripping into the shards below.
Chapter Twelve
It’s like Nikolai and Cordelia’s treatment set off a domino effect. Suddenly everyone is treating me like a failed fairy tale. I’ve woken up to breadcrumbs outside of my bedroom door, decapitated roses on my desks—the only thing left intact are the thorns on the stems, and shattered glass on my normal seat in the dining hall.
Every time I look at a teacher for help, their eyes dart away as if I’m invisible to them. The only thing I can do is push on. I take the blood samples exactly like Nikolai requested, and every afternoon I go to his lab. Sometimes he’s alone, other times other students are with him. If he’s alone, he drives me insane—innocent touches that don’t feel innocent, comments that make my heart race.
Today Malcolm and Frankenstein are with him, to my surprise. Frankenstein’s eyes linger on me as I stand in the doorway, and I want to think it’s because he cares about me, but he looks back at the tablet in front of him.
“The sink is full,” Nikolai says without preamble or looking away from his own tablet. He swipes something before speaking to Malcolm next to him. “This compound is stable for long enough that it might work.”
“Might isn’t good enough,” Malcolm replies dismissively. “For the disease to take hold, it needs to be stable once it attaches to the deoxygenated red blood cells. Otherwise the T-cells will break it down too quickly.”
“What if the disease doesn’t jump from bats to humans directly?” Frankenstein asks as I walk over to the lab sink. Like Nikolai said, it was full. Doing the dishes was always something I hated, the gross caked-on food on the plates or slimy grease made me sick. I would take the week-old pasta with cream sauce over the strange chemicals that coated these vials. I think half of this is blood, despite the strange coloring. Aren’t there regulations on disposing anything biohazardous?
“We’ve considered that.” Malcolm sounds annoyed at being patronized. “There have been no signs of other mammals seeking out blood for sustenance.”
“No herbivores, that is,” Frankenstein points out. I pull on the elbow-length industrial gloves and turn the water on, pouring a substantial amount of the stringent-smelling soap in the water. It hardly produces bubbles, but I’d wager it could break down a body given enough time. Maybe this is why Nikolai can put blood down the sink. Maybe nothing survives this soap.
I double-check my gloves to make sure there aren’t any holes. Nikolai isn’t worth losing a finger over, no matter how Mrs. Browning glares at me.
“Don’t cats go after the same prey as bats?” I mutter the question to the soap as I attack the soaking vials.
There’s silence behind me.
“Mary, get over here.” That’s Malcolm’s voice.
“Sorry, too busy being Nikolai’s Cinderella,” I sing out. I’m a terrible singer, which makes it all the more satisfying.
“Mary.”
I sigh dramatically and turn around, pulling off the wet gloves. There’s no way I can pull them off dramatically, not with how much the yellow gloves cling and schlep off of my skin. All three of them are watching me, Nikolai with amusement, Frankenstein with skepticism, and Malcolm with a blank expression that I’ve learned means he’s observing a hundred different things.
“Okay, I’m here, now what?” I cross my arms, trying to act annoyed but their intensity is getting to me.
“Explain.”
It’s a single word, two syllables. But coming from Malcolm, it’s so much more. It’s a command—but the way he says it, it’s a command that I want to follow. I want to talk to him, to tell him anything he wants, just to hear that cello smooth voice of his.
I shrug. “It’s pretty simple, isn’t it? You’re trying to replicate a blood disease that could explain vampirism?” All three of them are watching me now. “It seems like you’re thinking that a virus jumped from vampire bats to humans. But cats eat the same prey as vampire bats, and the symptoms would be hidden by its natural hunting drive.”
“Simple…” Frankenstein looks at his tablet, but he’s not insulting me. He’s swiping through data so fast I hardly see it.
“Do we have samples of feral cats from Eastern Europe?” Malcolm looks to Nikolai, who rolls his stool over to another bench. He hooks his ankle through a second stool and pulls it out.
“Help me look,” he says with a glance at me and I reach for the binder he slides towards me. Our fingers touch, and even with the thin leather between our skin, it’s electric. He seems to feel it too, looking at where we’re touching.
With red cheeks, I sit and start flipping through the data in the binders. It takes me a moment, but I realize it’s organized by location, then date of the sample, then species and blood type.
“Mary is onto something,” I hear Malcolm say to Frankenstein. “Simple. We’ve been overcomplicating it. Diseases aren’t like humans. It will always take the easiest path to procreate and survive. Human white blood cells attack the virus too viciously. In its original form, it doesn’t have the defenses to keep it alive.”
“Viruses and parasites transition from felines to humans regularly,” Frankenstein responds. “Felines are the perfect incubators. Mary is correct that, unless we specifically look, no one would notice a cat seeking out prey because the drive to feed on blood is already a substance the feline requires.”
“We should search for records of cats, feral or domesticated, seeking out spilled blood. That’s the only way we’ll know if they could be infected. But how would it get into humans? We’ve determined it only survives in blood, so it can’t be spread through cough or touch.”
Spinning on my chair, I stare at them agape until the two men notice. “I thought you guys are all supposed to be geniuses? How is it that I can think of the answer immediately and you all can’t?”
Malcolm crosses his arms defensively. “This is essentially an advanced and nearly extinct contagion. How do you think you’ve figured out the spread when we haven’t?”
I roll my eyes, not rising to his bait. “You said it yourself, vampires. Vampires bite. That would explain the spread from human to human.”
“Fine, but no cats go around saying ‘I vant to suck your blood.’” Nikolai argues from beside me.
> “Do not tell me you’ve never seen a cat’s fluffy belly and wanted to pet it?”
They stare at me with blank expressions.
“Seriously?” My voice cracks as I look at each of them in turn. “It’s the biggest, most adorable trap ever. Cats love to be scratched on their belly until the instant they don’t, and they don’t give warning. They just immediately bite.”
“Let me get this straight,” Frankenstein speaks slowly. “You’re saying the spread of a blood disease that could be responsible for the mythos of vampires is because of … fluffy cat bellies?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got much better of a theory.”
Nikolai abandons his binder and goes to the cooler set in the counter where different petri dishes are stored. I try to not look in there too closely, since I’m pretty sure there are various body parts in there and some might even be human.
He’s careful as he takes one out, and we’re all watching when a figure forms behind him. I gasp and Frankenstein stands up so quickly, his stool crashes to the floor. Malcolm is rising, reaching for the other boy, who’s watching us with confusion.
Nikolai turns as the ghost fully forms and plunges its hands into his chest. His eyes bulge with surprise, and then all the glass beside Nikolai explodes, the ghost disappearing before the first shards of glass can rain down on the floor.
It all happens in the span of a heartbeat, but then Nikolai collapses to the floor. I reach him first, taking his face in my hands. The moment my fingers touch his skin, his eyes fly open, the blue color turning muddy and there’s an animalistic rage there.
“Get your fucking hands off me.” Nikolai’s voice is a harsh snarl through gritted teeth, but it sounds different than his normal charming baritone. This voice isn’t him.
Hands come around my shoulders, dragging me away from the hurt boy, and I’m too shocked to fight. Malcolm moves his grip from my shoulders to my waist as Nikolai lurches unsteadily to his feet, the right side of him both bloody and shining from the glass embedded in his clothing.
“Frankenstein,” Malcolm calls out and then Victor is stepping between us and Nikolai.
“Get her out,” he says over his shoulder, his arms held wide as if he could stop a raging Nikolai. I doubt Nikolai can fight much, given how unsteady he looks.
“He needs help, Malcolm.” I try to fight Malcolm’s hold, but he’s too strong and he just lifts me until my feet are in the air and he’s hauling me from the lab. He kicks the door closed behind us as I hear a crash and a strangled yell.
“Victor’s still in there!” I yell and Malcolm shoves his hand over my mouth, forcing my head back against his chest, while he braces us against the door. I can feel something hit the door, the impact vibrates through us.
“He knows what he’s doing.”
I don’t know how Malcolm can be so calm. I can feel his heart beat against my back and it’s a steady rhythm compared to my own thunderous one. I sag in his arms, unsure of anything, and he slowly pulls his hand away.
I would have expected people to come running at the violent sounds, but the hall is deserted. If I’m honest, the sound of whatever Victor and Nikolai are doing in the lab is similar to too loud of music. There’s no rhythmic beat to the thumps, but I can’t say I’d think something bad was happening if I hadn’t seen it for myself.
“Do you have your blood kit?” Malcolm asks and I shake my head. How can I think of taking a blood sample now when who knows what is going on in the lab?
“Come.” Again, his voice is filled with a hypnotic command and I let him hold my hand as he drags me to his personal lab. It looks as pristine as it had when I saw it last, and he even has me sit on the same stool.
We’re silent as I watch him pull on latex gloves and prep my arm for a blood draw. When the second vial is filled and he presses a cotton swab to my skin, it finally feels like I can talk.
“At least you don’t have to threaten me with your cock this time.” My voice is hoarse and shaken, like I’d been yelling, and what was meant to be a joke falls flat.
Malcolm pretends not to notice, though his smile is as hollow as I feel. “Would it make you feel better?”
“Maybe go with something more original?” I’m feeling better, slightly.
“I could threaten to spank you?” he asks, but there’s no sensuality in the question. I have the feeling that if Malcolm ever does spank me, it’ll be the corporal punishment it’s known for.
“I’ll pass,” I mutter, checking my skin to see if I’m still bleeding. Malcolm is labeling the samples and writing notes on the back of some data sheet. No doubt about the environment where the ghost appeared. “So we all saw that, right? Not just me?”
“Not just you,” Malcolm agrees, still writing. “But they never appeared until you came here, so there is a connection.”
“Somehow I doubt it has anything to do with adorable pets.”
Malcolm doesn’t reply. I sit there in silence as he stores the blood samples in a fridge and feeds the handwritten notes into what I presume is a scanner. That’s when I notice he’s got blood on him too.
“Are you okay?” I move to him, grabbing his wrist and turning his arm over so I can inspect it. His white uniform shirt is speckled with blood as if in imitation of a morbid watercolor painting. “I think you’ve got glass in your arm.”
“Undoubtedly,” he answers softly. It’s like he doesn’t even feel the pain as he looks down at his arm. “I’ll take care of it later.”
“I can help.” The offer is out of my mouth before I even realize I’m willing. But now that I’ve said it, I won’t retract the offer and I realize I’m serious. I nod towards his arm. “You won’t be able to reach all of the splinters. Do you have tweezers in here?”
Malcolm looks at me for a moment, his dark hair falling in his face. He’d be right at home in a Victorian historical novel, with his weathered and rough appearance. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t frighten me away? No one who looks this hurt can be scary. Not really.
“In the drawer to your left.”
I let go of him and go to the drawer he instructed and when I turn back, he’s moved to a stool and he’s unbuttoning the shirt. My steps falter as more of his pale skin is revealed. I’ve been to swimming pools and I’ve seen shirtless boys before, but that was different. I’ve never seen a boy undress before. He winces as he slides the bloodied shirt down his arm and I hurry over to help him.
“Can you rest your elbow on the table?” I avoid looking anywhere except his arm or the floor. One thing I didn’t realize until this moment was that I was going to have to touch him. My dream hits me again, Victor’s hand in my hair as he guides me to Malcolm’s dick. I can’t help stealing a glance at his groin as he settles his arm on the table as I requested, and my face goes red as I imagine what he would look like entirely naked. I clear my throat and force myself to meet his eyes as I brandish the tweezers. “I’ll try to be gentle.”
“It’s okay if you’re not.” His reply doubles my blush and his eyes crinkle. The jerk did that on purpose.
After a steadying breath, I set to work carefully removing any slivers of glass I can find. One was buried deep enough Malcolm grunted as I dug the tweezer in to get it. I whispered my apologies but other than that, we were silent as I worked on him.
“I think that’s all of it,” I say, letting out a relieved sigh and setting the tweezers by the small pile of glass. The pile is so small compared to how much Malcolm’s arm bled. His fair skin was streaked with dried blood and it looks wrong.
I open the drawer I remember him getting alcohol swabs from and rip one open before wiping his arm down. He lets out a pained hiss and I freeze.
“Keep going,” he grinds out. “Who knows what that glass could be contaminated with in Nikolai’s lab.”
A few more wipes and the blood’s gone. “It looks like everything is clotting,” I tell him. “Should we go back for them?” The idea frightens me, but I don’t want Vict
or getting hurt.
“They’ll be fine,” Malcolm says, not bothering to replace his shirt. “It’s not the first time this has happened.”
I hug myself, rubbing my arms, at a loss of what to do next. Malcolm is watching me and I feel laid bare before him. The feeling doesn’t go away when he speaks.
“Don’t want to be alone?” He phrases it as a question, but he knows what my answer will be.
“Not really.” I try to inject some humor into my answer but again, I fail at it.
“Come on,” he says, finally pulling his shirt back on. “I’ll show you one of my favorite places in the manor.”
He doesn’t go to the door, but instead to his bookshelf. With ease, he pushes it to the side and he pounds his palm hard against the wall. Then he opens a door and offers me his hand.
The passage is pitch black and I know it’s the same network that Victor took me through.
“Promise not to lose me?” I ask as I give him my hand.
“Never.” He laces our fingers together and tugs me into the dark.
Only when the door closes behind us do I realize I don’t know what his answer really means.
Chapter Thirteen
Walking through the darkness with Malcolm is different than it was with Victor. I was terrified the first time I found myself in this secret world between the walls of Crowsrest Manor. This time, I’m filled with a giddy sense of excitement. Malcolm’s hand is cool, another contrast to Victor, but his fingers laced through mine still make my stomach fill with hummingbirds, their wings making me buzz with this new excitement.
“Careful here.” Malcolm’s voice is soft, but it still sounds like the soft thrum of the bow being drawn across a cello. He’s quiet, compared to so many of the other students here at the institute, but it makes him that much more hypnotizing.
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