The Night House

by Rachel Tafoya

“Did you know my parents?” I ask, much quieter than I intended.

  He snarls laughter. “If I did, I assure you, I would have rid the world of the traitorous vampire who decided to create a spawn.” With a precise motion, he snaps open a knife, holding it like an extension of his arm. “Since I couldn’t prevent you from ever being created, the least I can do is make you wish you’d never been born.”

  Bianca

  There is a pool of blood where Micah used to be and an empty promise of where James is.

  The tunnel is silent.

  I am completely numb.

  Jeremiah faces the crowd. “I’d like to thank you all for coming. Unfortunately, I cannot stay for the after party, but I hope you all enjoy yourselves. This has been an incredible evening. And it was all thanks to you and your support. It means a lot to me. I will serve you well.”

  Still gripping me tightly, he turns toward the stairs. I stumble after him. Priscilla catches up to us quickly.

  “Darling, simply wonderful ceremony. I do hope whatever you have planned for this evening is for pleasure. It’s too soon to start working yourself into the ground.”

  When Jeremiah turns around to face her, his smile is disturbing. “As you wish.”

  Priscilla winks at me and leaves us for the crowd, where she belongs.

  Once Jeremiah and I are up the stairs, we pass by all the gated shops. Our footsteps echo around the hall like gunshots. There is a faint odor of fried food and cat piss. Then we’re up another flight of stairs and now we’re street level. All the motion forces some of the numbness away. Jeremiah’s touch sickens me. The anger feels right. It fills the hole in my chest.

  The limousine waits for us by the curb. This time, no one opens the door for us. Jeremiah shoves me inside and climbs in after me. The car jumps to life and we’re off.

  I say, “Where are we—”

  “Shut up.” He crushes me against him. “No talking.” He stares down at me with that almost-happiness. Then he jerks my head back. His tongue is on my neck, and I feel like crying.

  “Where to begin,” he breathes.

  He must have bared his fangs, because I feel nauth hitting my skin. That’s when I remember the garlic.

  The desire to fight courses through my blood. I have to be careful now. I can’t let him bite me yet; I’ll lose control too quickly. He must have already gotten some of the garlic off my neck. I just have to outlast him.

  I take a chance and reach up to his face, placing my wrist next to his mouth. He takes the bait, running his tongue over my skin. I want to gag, but I push down all of my emotion. I am an actress. This is just another appointment at the Night House.

  Jeremiah slides one hand down to my hip. “Do you know how hard it is not to drain you completely every time we are together?” He releases my neck, only to touch my face. His breathing changes, becoming more ragged and I pray that it’s because of the garlic, and not how close we are. His hand trails down my cheek. “You don’t even know what you do to me. The blood of a true heir is so addictive.” Quickly, he presses his face into my neck, and I brace myself for the bite of fangs.

  Instead, he kisses my pulse. This is a different kind of feeding. I grit my teeth and comfort myself with the thought that he is only getting more garlic. But I want to throw up.

  He begins to laugh. Terror ices my heart as I think he must have tasted or smelled the garlic. He puts his hands around my face. His eyes are glassy.

  “I was alive when St. Germain performed the experiment that changed him.”

  He licks his lips then and takes my arm in his hand. He presses my other wrist to his mouth, inhaling deeply. This is so much worse than anything he has done to me at the Night House. I am not just blood to him. I am a body as well.

  He nicks my wrist with his fang, watches a thin trail of blood paint my arm, then lets some nauth land in the wound. It sizzles as it repairs the skin. He lets out a small sigh.

  “Who would have thought,” Jeremiah speaks dreamily. “Changing iron into silver…”

  My breath catches. I put on my infatuated voice. “Please tell me more.”

  He smiles for me, and I think he feels the garlic because his pupils are dilated. Then he tucks some of my hair behind my ears. “Alchemy, Bianca. The ability to change one element into another. He tried to create synthetic blood, the fool. He wound up changing the properties of his own blood. He spent the rest of his days in hiding, as every vampire in the world began to hunt him and his unique blood.”

  My heart pounds like a hammer against my ribs. I can hear Finn telling me I don’t have a blood type.

  I choke out, “I don’t understand.”

  “There is no iron in you.” Jeremiah takes my chin in his hand. “It is silver. So much more potent than regular human blood. I have spent centuries in search of you, St. Germain.”

  It’s so crazy. But if that’s true, then maybe it explains how I’ve managed to stay alive for so long. It may even explain how I managed to keep Micah alive. But it’s so crazy.

  “And to think that bottom-feeder Finn is the one who brought us together.” Jeremiah laughs. “I’d thought you were just another random human with an important surname. When Finn told me he had a St. Germain in his Night House, I expected you to be like all the others— coincidences I’d found over the centuries. But instead, you were a true heir, real and waiting for me. Meant for me.”

  Finn had sold me out from the start.

  I try to take my anger and make myself stronger. I couldn’t save Micah, but I bargained for James. And there may still be a way to save myself.

  James

  He comes at me with everything he’s got.

  The muscles in my hands tighten and I feel tension in my shoulder. By the time I realize Finn is going to punch me, it’s too late. My body flies back and hits the ground. I can’t really tell how hard the hit was. Maybe I would have passed out if I wasn’t so deeply in tune with Shiloh right now. He’s stroking Ally’s hair. I can feel her curls parting at my fingertips.

  I get back up again.

  Finn grasps the knife tighter. Nowhere inside his twisted head does he actually find the desire to kill me, only the fear of what will happen if he refuses.

  “You don’t have to do this, Finn.” Even as I say it, I know it won’t make a difference.

  “I’d rather betray her than disobey him.”

  Then he flies at me. I brace myself, but at the moment of impact, Shiloh happens to stand up. The contradictory motions send my mind reeling. I hit the ground and actually feel it, but I’m also walking across Shiloh’s room. Finn slashes at my stomach and it’s like someone lit my skin on fire where the blade crossed. I desperately try to claw my way back into Shiloh’s head, but he’s too far away. Instead, I go for the closest thing and find myself in Finn’s body.

  Adrenaline courses through me, but at an unusually fast rate—it feels like my heart might stop at any moment. He can’t believe what he just did, but now that he’s started, he has to finish. The smell of blood is invigorating.

  My arm tenses and my hand squeezes so tightly, it hurts.

  He’s going for the kill.

  As Finn raises his knife arm up, I lash out and palm his hand at the top of his reach. If he’d been human, it would have stopped his momentum. Instead, I am able to redirect him just enough so that the knife slices across my cheek instead of my throat. Finn winds up punching the pavement. The reverb makes my arm go numb.

  I don’t know if it’s because of all my blood or the shock of his hand hitting the street so hard, but Finn’s grip loosens.

  With both my hands, I claw at the knife, wrenching it from his clammy fingers.

  My hand is around the knife.

  With every ounce of strength I have, I throw the knife toward the water.

  We hear a distant plunk.

  Finn blinks.

  I heave all my weight at him. Now he’s on his back and I’m straddling his ches
t, lunging for the pin on his jacket. When he tries to pull my wrist away, the pin tears free from his clothing. It’s in my hand now, its point touching his neck. His veins pulse against its edge.

  He stops dead, gaze glued to mine.

  I am here for Bianca. But it’s not just for Bianca. She’s not the only girl at the Night House. Alex, her friend, is still there, and all those other girls. If I walk away from Finn, he’ll return to the Night House and keep running them into the ground, just to keep himself safe.

  But I’m also here for my sister, and my best friend, and my parents. If I don’t do this, Finn will keep after me. I’d put them in danger.

  There is so much hate inside of me. I could kill him right now. Just another inch of pressure, and the iron would pierce his skin. The girls would go free, and the world would be rid of one more vampire.

  Easy.

  Considering everything he’s done, he deserves this.

  But then I think of Bianca. She cares about him. There must be something inside of him worth saving. So I search his being, tear through his emotions, desperately seeking something worth saving. I want so badly to find that single scrap of decency. I want him to be good, so that Bianca can be right.

  And then I feel it. Or rather, I see it—a single star shining in the pitch-black night: Bianca. She’s there with him. And it kills him.

  But guilt isn’t enough. I push even further, to see if I can tell exactly how he feels. I see the locked door of his mind, and with every ounce of strength I have left, I pry it open.

  “What are you doing?” he breathes. He looks like a scared little boy.

  “Saving you.”

  Memories rise up from the depths. She was nothing more than a name when he took her in. He knew she would be profitable, but it didn’t take long before she was a person. Maybe more than that. She was stronger than the others, smart if a little crazy. He admired that. He didn’t want her to lose herself. She was funny. She could joke with him. She wasn’t afraid of him. She didn’t resent him. She cared about him.

  No one has cared for him in centuries.

  He never fed from her. He gave her his healing blood whenever she was hurt. He did his best to keep her from rough clients, even if they requested her. He protected her as best he could. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

  It was almost like having a daughter.

  This has been buried deep down in the black pit of his heart, but what he feels is real.

  With my free hand, I clutch his face and keep the other pressing the iron against his neck.

  “Finn,” I say, “I’m going to make you a deal.”

  Bianca

  Jeremiah doesn’t feed on me while we’re in the limo. He muttered something about privacy before he turned to the window; the rest of the trip has been silent. At the outskirts of the city, the limo stops. Jeremiah opens the door and, with a tight grip on my arm, drags me outside. We are in front of a large, gaudy home. Two vampire officers stand by the double front doors. Jeremiah leads me forcefully toward the house.

  “You’re dismissed,” he says to the officers as they open the doors for him.

  The house is insanely decadent. Gold inlaid into the staircase, giant paintings adorning the walls, a statue in the center of it all. And yet, not a single sound coming from within. No life at all.

  “Welcome home,” he says.

  He drags me through the main entrance into a dim hallway; we go past dining rooms and seating areas and offices. I knew Jeremiah was rich, but this is nuts. By the time we stop, I am exhausted. Jeremiah, on the other hand, couldn’t be more excited. He holds open a thick door and shoves me inside.

  The room is a library, with a fireplace and one of those long couches that someone in therapy would sprawl out on. The sofa is flanked by end tables piled high with expensive-looking books.

  “My favorite room,” Jeremiah says, as if it matters. This would be his favorite room. Books for company and no people to disturb him.

  He removes his jacket, pin and all, and drapes it across the arm of the sofa. Then he sits me down and kneels in front of me. “Here we are.”

  Now the real feeding starts. His fangs gleam in the firelight as he leans forward into my neck. The garlic has had time to work—I have to make my move before it wears off. I place one hand on his chest; with the other, I slowly reach toward his jacket.

  He whispers in my ear, “Maybe I should just rip your throat out.”

  His hands are around my neck. I gasp, but barely any air gets through.

  “Scentless garlic. I knew you were smart. You wanted me disoriented, so you could try to fight me. Very admirable.” He breathes into my neck. “You will make a fine vessel. And to think, this is all possible because of your love, that disgusting spawn. He’s dead, you know. Finn killed him.”

  James. He’s talking about James.

  James is dead?

  “I was sickened at the thought of you with that creature, that half breed playing at being a vampire, but it did give me an idea.” Jeremiah’s hand pushes through my hair. “I was going to simply keep you alive and consume your blood. Instead, we will create the most powerful spawn to ever be, and they will help me rule—vampires and humans alike.”

  I’m sickened and infuriated; more than anything else, I’m terrified. James is dead, and Jeremiah wants to…

  “Can you imagine,” he pants, “what our progeny could do?”

  I reach blindly for the end table behind me. My fingers find a book, and I smash it into his mouth.

  An inhuman roar rips out of his throat as he stumbles backwards.

  I dive for the jacket with its pin, but Jeremiah catches me by my waist and throws me against the couch, trapping my arms. Wheezing, I stare up at him and see blood pouring out of his mouth, his broken fangs oozing nauth.

  I shout, “I won’t let you touch me!”

  A twisted smile spreads over his bloodied mouth. His eyes are crazed with pain and garlic. “I don’t need your permission.”

  His broken fangs tear at my neck. I scream in pain—there’s no nauth for me, and he can’t drink my blood with those jagged teeth.

  Between the garlic, his injuries, and my terror, I’m able to wrench my arm free. He bites harder, slicing his broken fangs across my neck. My vision blurs from the agony. Frantic, I reach up to his face. My thumb finds his eye. It feels like pressing against a grape as I dig my nail in.

  Jeremiah rears back, howling in pain.

  I scramble for his jacket and rake my hand over the pin.

  He snarls, “There will be no forgiveness for this!”

  “You’re right,” I say, unhooking the pin as fast as I can. “I’ll never forgive you.” And then I aim for his neck, putting all my strength into it.

  I expected it to be difficult to stab him, as if his skin would be made of leather. But it pierces him easily.

  He throws me like a ragdoll, and I collide into a bookshelf. Hardcovers rain down on me, clipping my head and shoulders.

  Jeremiah’s hands are on my shoulders; his shattered fangs are on my neck.

  He coughs his own blood onto my skin.

  I shove him back and he collapses onto the ground, panting.

  Rage swells within me, fuels me enough so that I can crawl over to Jeremiah and take his face in my hands. His good eye is wide and he’s gagging as the rust poisons him.

  “This is for Micah,” I say. “And James. And me!”

  I make myself watch, so I’ll never forget what I’ve done. What he did to me. Jeremiah does not turn to ash, or melt away like a villain should. He thrashes violently and claws at me. He cries out and curses me. He stares wildly at me with his one good eye until there is nothing left inside him. And even after he’s dead, he looks up at me.

  I don’t enjoy watching him die. I cry, hard, like a child. I cry like the day my parents died.

  I did what I needed to do, finally.

  I cry for
Micah, because I couldn’t save him.

  I cry for James, who only wished to save me.

  I cry for myself.

  I have ended so much tonight without even a thought for my future. I did exactly what James wanted me to do: I survived.

  For what?

  This isn’t all Jeremiah’s fault.

  It’s both of our faults.

  I try to walk away from his body, but I collapse to the ground. My neck is still bleeding, and the world is turning black and red. I have to close my eyes.

  I’m allowed to give up now. I won. The enemy is dead and gone.

  My hands have gone numb. Pins and needles are working their way through my body.

  He’s gone.

  I feel nothing but pain. It is what I live off now.

  And soon, I feel nothing at all.

  James

  I slam on the brakes of the van I took from Finn. I’m seriously regretting not learning how to drive. Luckily, it’s nearly three in the morning, so no one is on the road. My whole body shakes as I step on the gas. After I made Finn return my wallet and phone, he told me where Bianca is. But knowing the address doesn’t make the drive easy.

  I grab my chest, expecting my heart to stop beating. My mouth falls open and I force myself to keep breathing, but each breath comes quicker than the last. My lungs can’t expand wide enough. My head starts to pound. My whole body is shaking.

  Bianca is living through hell.

  I reach out to her with every bit of strength I can muster. Just keep fighting. “I’m almost there,” I say out loud.

  My whole body tenses; every part of me aches. There is so much fear and anger trying to control her. I can barely keep the van on the road.

  Then something breaks in her. All the tension is gone, and I want to collapse. For a split second, there is an intense feeling of relief, and then almost immediately she is overtaken by sadness.

  I’m coming, I tell her in my mind, over and over again. I’m coming for you.

  Bianca