Violet slammed into it, slipping to the ground while Della stood, hunched, waiting.
The trunk vibrated in an aftershock, heaving leaves to the ground as Violet bared her teeth and growl-hissed.
Della needed no more invitation.
She sprang at her, grabbing her ankle and spinning her body once again over her head then letting her careen into another tree, which shed more leaves as Violet stayed on the ground, scrabbling at the dirt.
Coming to stand over her, Della kept her arms arced at her sides, her back bent. “What do you know about our old friends?”
Polly and Noreen were behind their tree again, but Della could hear their thoughts opening, stretching for answers.
Violet wrestled to breathe, then glared up at Della while struggling to all fours. “Wouldn’t you like to—”
Della kicked with all of her might, with all the hurt that had collected and waited for a moment such as this.
Violet screeched up through the air, and in what seemed to take hours instead of seconds, she crashed against another tree. But this time . . .
This time a branch speared out of her left shoulder, flaring blood as she shaped her mouth into a silent scream.
A scream that ripped through all of their minds.
Polly and Noreen winced as Violet shuddered, then gaped at the red sprout of branch at her shoulder.
Della’s breath scraped in, scraped out.
Power. Was this what it felt like?
Whatever this was, she had finally grown into it, was accepting it, just as Wolfie had accepted himself so long ago.
Her ears perked as the mad shuffle of running footsteps came into range. Bobbies, headed for the football field.
Time to leave. But first . . .
“Violet,” Della said, believing now that her voice could be so solid, so resonant with command. “Tell me about Blanche, Sharon, and Briana.”
The hanging girl opened her mouth, but nothing came out. And when Della looked into her mind, it was nothing more than a jumble of yelps and cries.
Violet—the consummate liar. The one who normally seemed to pin consequences on anyone else if she could manage.
She wasn’t going to escape this time.
Della growl-hissed, and Violet’s mouth finally worked round the thoughts coming to the surface.
I have no idea what happened to them, she said. I wanted you to think I knew, but I didn’t. . . .
Della suspected the truth in her words but didn’t believe the purity act.
You were happy to have them gone, she said. Why?
Please, Della . . .
Why? Did you ever care about where they went? Or were you content as long as Wolfie turned his gaze upon you in their stead?
Della . . .
Tell us!
All right, I wanted them gone. A tear ran down Violet’s creature face. I swear to you, this is the entire truth. Please, heal me. I hurt.
But Della’s frustration had only been stoked. You rejoiced when each one of them left because you had that much more of Wolfie’s affections. Even worse, you blocked the rest of us out of your head and made us believe that you did know their fates. This gave you power, didn’t it, Vi? It made you think you were so much better when, all along, you knew you weren’t. You were frightened to death that we would discover it someday.
Violet’s hair began to flow out of her skull. Her pain wasn’t allowing her to hold the vampire form. You’ve made your point. I promise, I’ll never say a harsh word to you again. She turned all the way back into her human shape. Please, Della.
Violet took hold of the branch jutting out of her shoulder, as if that would somehow dissolve it and set her free. Yet if anyone deserved pain, Violet did, especially since she couldn’t even bring herself to apologize for the bullying. It wasn’t often that the world offered justice—not in Della’s experience—so who was she to put a halt to it?
But then Polly and Noreen crept up behind her, pawing at her legs in a plea.
For a moment, Della didn’t understand. . . .
Then she did.
She saw another tear fall from Violet’s eye and knew this was her decision to make.
Della’s gaze cleared, the flashing glare from the bomb finally abating.
Power. Violet had mauled it. If Della did the same, would that put her on the same base level?
She shook her head, wondering if she would regret this. You’ll never actually heal where it counts, Vi, she mind-said before scampering up the tree.
She extracted Violet, the branch sucking out of her shoulder, making the other girl moan. Then Della brought her down, handing her over to Polly, who cradled Vi as they started back toward the house.
At the edge of the trees, Della willed herself to change into humanlike form again, just as Polly and Noreen were doing.
We’ll heal Violet at the house, she said from her position at the front of the group.
Noreen trailed at the rear. We won’t tell anyone what happened? Let’s not tell.
Della thought of the eyes of the cat and how its gaze would flicker in bruising disappointment once it heard everything.
But there was no other choice.
We have to tell, Della said, drawing on more courage than she’d ever known herself to possess.
Before she lost any of it, she ran toward the house. The others followed, whining at what was surely to come once they reported in.
When they arrived, they sniffed round the door to discern if the path would be clear of humans before they entered. No danger. Yet they found themselves locked out nonetheless, having left their card keys in their rooms.
Thus, Della covertly led them crawling up the wall, pulling Violet with them, to her second-level quarters. The window had been left slightly ajar, so accessing it was a simple matter.
Polly and Noreen laid Violet on the bed while Della headed straight for the door.
Put a chair under the knob after I leave, she mind-told Polly. It’s the best lock we’ll find to block any room checks that are sure to be occurring. While I’m gone, heal Violet.
Polly stood away from the reclining Violet, who was beyond pale as Noreen pressed her hands over her wound. A glow suffused the dim room.
Must we? Polly asked.
Della swallowed. It’ll be worse if they find out on their own.
With that, she went through the door, shut it behind her, and listened for Polly to jam the chair under the knob. When she did, Della dug her nails into her palms then began her trek down the hall.
Not afraid. I’m not afraid now.
That strange jasmine smell—what was it?—hovered while she walked, careful to look human lest any normal students see her.
Minutes later, she was knocking on a familiar door before entering, knowing no one would be inside anyway. Then, drawing in a quivering breath, she called on her vampire powers just this once and darted into the room, quickly shutting and securing the door behind her.
No more jasmine, she vaguely thought.
She moved to a wardrobe, opened it, focused on feeling round the back panel for the spring that she knew would release a door that hid a tunnel to the sub-Underground common room.
A private tunnel not belonging to the girls at all that they would’ve been severely punished for using in any case but this.
MUCH earlier, after the ritual, the cat had stayed for hours more in its buried, faraway room, absorbed with the sight in the mirror.
Beautiful again!
In the oval reflection, the creature preened, worshipped, celebrated the blush of its revitalized future. Such rosy, tight skin. Such red lips, glossy hair, and refreshed eyes . . .
Pity it would have to use cosmetics when it went back to work aboveground. It was always a shame to cover the rituals’ effects until aging took over again.
Even so, it couldn’t take its gaze off of itself while caressing the length of its bare body, cupping its firmed breasts and sliding its palms over its smooth stomach.
Then it stopped its celebration for a moment, its gaze connecting with the one in the mirror.
Its eyes. There was still the wisdom of ages there. . . .
Yet the pause didn’t last long as it continued on to all the other wonderful improvements again.
When it felt a tingle licking at the back of its mind, it knew Mihas had finally entered through the ground door from the forest. He’d arrived from the main Underground, where he had spent last night and today, and had come to meet the girls in the sub-Underground for their nightcrawl.
Excitement raced like tiny bites under the cat’s taut skin.
But, through Awareness, it knew Mihas was preoccupied. He was no doubt musing about that event from nearly a week past when one of the custodes, keepers who worked for the Underground on a consulting basis, had disappeared from duty. The unit possessed backups, yet the head custode’s absence still crossed Mihas’s thoughts every so often.
Naturally, the cat had attempted to assuage him; the creature had been his constant, his consort, his calming balm throughout the centuries. If there were a blood brother behind the custode’s disappearance, there was no reason to fret. Mihas and the cat had so many resources at their fingertips that falling to one of those storied, scheming blood brothers was laughable.
And he always believed the cat, just as much as it believed.
The creature took one last look at its naked mirror self then dressed in a silken gown that recalled the old days when Mihas had loved the cat more than he did now. It spent its time aboveground in a relatively drab disguise, mainly because it didn’t look young and gorgeous enough to assume this form—Mihas’s favorite.
But now . . .
Now it couldn’t wait to show Mihas its rejuvenated look before the students arrived. It couldn’t wait to win him back.
Anxious to see the desire in Mihas’s eyes—when was the last time it had seen that from him?—the creature moved past the newly cleaned blades hanging from the ceiling, then exited the room. It took care to charm the rock door so no one else would enter if they ever found the hideaway.
It rushed through the tunnels, the hem of its heavy gown barely dusting the floor. In the final tunnel leading to the girls’ common room, its Awareness doubled in vein-quaking force.
Mihas. Companion. Beloved.
When it ultimately came to the beads that decorated the entrance, the Awareness tripled.
It bit its lip to hold back the overwhelming yearning for him while peeking through the rounded plastic baubles.
There he was, sprawled on a divan while paging through a manga book one of his “darlings” had brought down here to read.
The cat touched the beads, creating a mysterious prelude to its entrance, playing with Mihas as much as he played with everyone else.
Yet he still paged through the book.
Anticipation gnawed under the creature’s skin now, and it rattled the beads once more.
Another turn of the page.
The cat wouldn’t rush in. It wouldn’t give in.
Yet then Mihas glanced up, a wide grin curving his mouth as he tossed the book aside.
The cat pressed its hand to its chest, which drummed with hollow vibrations.
“I can see your outline through those beads, Claudia, and I scented those clothes of yours long before that.” Mihas cocked his head. “No more cat form?”
He sounded excited, even under the teasing tone.
Long, long ago, the cat had trained its voice to a husky, smooth timbre—a tone that fooled the world above, and even itself sometimes.
“Why look like a cat when there’s no need now?” it said. “Not after what Blanche gave to me tonight.”
At the mention of the girl’s name, Mihas leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs. He hated it whenever one of the students was sacrificed.
Perhaps a reminder of what their nubile bodies yielded would return some perspective to him. . . .
He spoke, casting a pall on the cat’s well-planned ceremony of revelation.
“In case you’re wondering,” he said, “the girls are becoming suspicious about yet another disappearance, but they’re more affected and lonely than anything. The remaining members of the class always seem to get that way after three of their own have left with little explanation.”
“I cover the absences. Sharon was allowed to say her farewells before she departed. Plus, I took up her identity while e-mailing the rest of the class, just as I’ll do with Blanche. I’m also sure you managed to distract the girls with your Underground tour. Every time the third one leaves, your enthusiasm for your home seems to make them forget until the next student’s departure.”
And, make no mistake, the cat was watching to see which girl would come next. Which lovely girl threatened it the most.
Wolfie stood. “It’s a hard time for them, Claudia. After the third girl, it always becomes more difficult to disguise these rituals of yours. There are only so many times one of them can run away or be claimed by their parents before the rest begin to concoct nefarious explanations.”
“I shouldn’t need but one more ritual before the school year ends and the remainder of this class moves on to the main Underground.” The cat brushed against the beads in a bid to regain Mihas’s attention. “Then I’ll have a crop of new girls who won’t know any better.”
The restless clack of the strands had indeed snatched his focus, just as Claudia had hoped.
“Show yourself, my love,” he said, his tone gritty, as it always was when the cat became a new woman again.
Yet Claudia knew this wouldn’t last. Not with his darlings near and dear to keep him satisfied—a situation the cat allowed only because Mihas always returned to it in the end.
Still, at this wonderful moment, Claudia knew he was keen to see the results, even though sorrow also colored his voice.
But he would forget about Blanche soon, just after Claudia stepped through the beads.
The creature savored this moment of utter control. It was going to make him suffer for turning his affections elsewhere while Claudia’s beauty had shriveled.
Although he was forbidden to consummate his lust or actually feed from the fresh, sweet, finely raised Queenshill class, he did everything but poach them from the cat. Yet he would realize, once again, that these were not his girls at all—they belonged to Claudia, just as he belonged to her.
It had always been thus, even before the cat had secured a job on campus fifteen years ago in order to make the harvesting for its rituals easier. The sub-Underground was Claudia’s own paradise, and every two years it carefully chose seven girls for the class, which consisted of students who believed they were only being primed for the Highgate Underground.
There was much work involved, mainly because the girls had to fit the profile of a neglected daughter who wouldn’t be monitored by parents—a candidate who was too afraid to leave what the community offered, even if they began to suspect strange doings. The girls were always the type who never wished to reach womanhood, with all its gnarled, snatching thorns and terrifying dark places.
Claudia was even now weeding out younger candidates for the next class of seven—a safe number that would carry the cat through its rituals and then some.
Mihas ran a hand along the wall on his way toward the entrance.
“Yes, come,” Claudia said, feeling those tiny bites of stimulation eating through its skin to make their way to the top, where its flesh ached. “I thought you had perhaps grown overly fond of Blanche and you might not enjoy what her sacrifice has brought about. Show me I was wrong.”
“How can you say that when you’ve always been the fairest of the fair?” Mihas eased to the other side of the beads, his hungry voice filtering through them. “You have forever owned my heart, even if my attentions have occasionally wandered.”
“Oh, the charm,
” Claudia said. “How it slays me.”
Mihas smiled, his teeth gleaming.
But the cat would not allow him such an easy escape, even if all it wished to do was part those beads and see the blossoming of renewed adoration in his gaze.
So long. Too long . . .
“I have always owned your heart?” Claudia asked. “Even, centuries ago, when I first grew ugly and you left me so you could wander the surface world while I remained below? You had your entertainments, while I played the good companion, minding our responsibilities. Remember, it was only a little over a year ago that you took those trips to the States—Los Angeles, Chicago, New York—all to see that band you like. Then it was off to Ireland, then Scotland—”
“I have always returned to you, my love.”
“You stay once I restore myself with young blood—the kind you, too, believe gives you such power.”
When Mihas lent more wattage to his pointed smile, Claudia’s blood rushed south. He had such sway.
“Whether it was in Persia,” he said, “or in South America or anywhere in France—you knew I would end up by your side. Yet, here in London, I have settled, except for my holidays. I believe that should merit some appreciation.”
“The dragon commanded the creation of Undergrounds, Mihas. Not I.”
“Ah, details, details.” His charisma traveled like strokes from a reaching hand. “Does it not mean anything that we have created all these children together—little girls we outfitted to communicate with each other as one true class? Fearless, hungry, vicious things who are half me, half you?”
He could talk Claudia into his graces every time, but he was forgetting that their progeny—part of the wolf that defined his vampire form and part of the cat that defined Claudia’s—didn’t touch any emotional chords within.
Yet that wasn’t true of Mihas. Rumors from traveling blood brothers testified that other master vampires had developed cravings for the souls of the children they created. Would his affection for their progeny follow the same pattern? At the moment, he loved his girls for their flushed skin and dimpled smiles, but he didn’t have an appetite for anything so meaningful as a soul connection.
A Drop of Red Page 29