There was a tiny table near the hall door, and when I finally stalked out of the bathroom with a handful of damp towels balled up around my underwear, I found out what it was used for. There was a tray on it, with a paper coffee cup. A covered dish, polished silver so it shone. A stack of buttered wheat toast, visibly steaming, and a small bowl of strawberries and blueberries. A little silver thing of cream.
All in all, it looked like the regular Schola breakfast. Down in the caf you don’t get the silver. But everything else, sure, spare no expense and feed the kids good. Even if they aren’t kids.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want.” Christophe picked up the paper latte cup. He was back to the faint mockery. The shotgun was nowhere in sight. “Leontus insisted about this, though.”
It was a banana latte. I took it from him gingerly, not touching his fingers. I guess some things are reliable. “I, um. Yeah. Thanks. Christophe—”
“I don’t blame you.” Quietly. “You’ve been shuttled from one place to another like a chess piece. A pawn. You must have wondered several times if I was placing you as bait, or if I cared at all.”
Wow. Uncomfortable, especially since he was right. And my mouth, so used to coming up with smartass at other times, completely failed me now. “I, well. Um.”
“I didn’t know you existed until your father called me. Augustine never told anyone either.”
August. He’d vanished after verifying Christophe was a part of the Order. It was August vouching for Christophe over the phone that made me trust him the first time around. “Why would he call—”
“He didn’t know who to trust. I was under suspicion and . . . well, there are other reasons.” Taller than me and looking down, His hands hung empty and graceful at his sides. “Your mother, she always wanted a normal life. She was a . . . gentle soul.” He made a slight noise, clearing his throat as if embarrassed. “We are not often gentle souls.”
The starch threatened to go out of my legs. I backed up, found the bed by running into it, and sat down so hard my teeth clicked together.
Christophe continued, choosing each word carefully. “I don’t know how your father found me. It was a surprise, especially since the last time I spoke with him things did not, um. They did not go well.” He touched the silver dome over what was probably a plate of breakfast. “At all.”
He found you the way we always found stuff out—in spooky little occult stores and other places I pointed him at. Maybe you’re what he was looking for all along. I lifted the paper cup to my mouth. Paused halfway because he seemed to have run out of words. “What happened?”
His head dropped forward, as if he was praying.
Gran had been big on prayers. Only hers were a little off the beaten path. She talked to God like some people talk to a psychologist. When she wasn’t telling him how things could’ve been done a little more efficiently, but then, He was God and she was just an old lady and what did she know, eh?
I’m thinking God was in for a hell of a surprise when Gran showed up at the pearly gates.
“I found her. She left the Schola, left everything. Took one small suitcase. She wouldn’t tell me why, and I don’t think she really thought she could hide from me. Them, yes. Me? No. Not me.” A deep breath, his shoulders coming up as if under a burden. “When I found what she’d settled for . . . I was furious. Threatened him. But I never meant anything by it, Dru, I swear. She loved him; I could not hurt her by taking that away. She’d already had so much taken. She saw her parents die. Did you know?”
My mouth was numb, even full of hot coffee. I swallowed hard. It burned all the way down. “N-no. Nobody ever told me.”
I mean, Gran talked about relatives—mostly dead ones. Dad talked about Gran sometimes; she’d raised him after his father skipped out and left her pregnant. But neither of them ever talked about Mom’s side of the tree. Dad never talked much about Mom, either. He would just get that look on his face—the I miss her but don’t you dare mention it look he was so good at.
I didn’t ask many questions. I knew better. Besides, what was there to ask? I never doubted he loved me. I never doubted something had happened to my mother. I never doubted Gran loved me, too, but was too old to stay around for me.
I guess when you’re a kid you don’t think too much about that sort of stuff. It’s just there, like your birthmarks. Those were the rocks the world was built on, and they didn’t move. Not when I was little.
Now everything was shifting, and I couldn’t find a solid place to jump to.
Christophe’s shoulders were stiff-tense. He held himself like he expected a punch or two. “I don’t know if she told him. Her father was Kouroi, her mother pure human. But they created a miracle. She was fifteen when they were raided. Murdered. Sergej, again. We barely got there in time; she survived only by accident. She was brought in. It was a shock. Her father . . . he wanted her to know a normal life. I suppose he thought that living in the middle of a clear zone, it was a luxury he could afford.” A laugh like a mouthful of bitter ashes. “She wanted to be normal; she wanted to go home. Over and over she said as much. I thought she would eventually understand it was impossible.”
What could I say to that? I licked my dry lips. “She called you youngblood.” I guess I wanted to know. If it was real, or if I’d dreamed it.
He whirled and stared at me. The aspect slid over him like a cobra’s hood, danger radiating in every direction. His eyes burned, his hair slicking back and turning dark. But I felt a weird, curious comfort. I knew I was right, deep down. There’s nothing like feeling a little bit of certainty while the world’s jigging and jiving around you.
“Yes,” he said, finally. “It is . . . was . . . slang. Back then. She found it amusing.”
I took another gulp of banana latte. I so seriously needed caffeine if I was going to deal with this. Every bruise twinged a little, settled back into a low-level ache. “So, um. You really liked her.”
A shrug. His aspect retreated, the blond highlights slipping their fingers though his hair again. “She made certain I stayed here. In the light.”
If I need a reason now, Dru, it will have to be you. I knew I hadn’t dreamed that bit, especially the pressure of his lips against my own. That was right after he’d covered our escape from the other Schola. The burning one, where he’d dragged me out of the flames.
And Graves had argued the wulfen into coming back to gather both of us up.
I took a deep breath. “Do you have any idea how creepy that is, that you were in love with my mom and you’re so . . . all over me?” Maybe I should have put it a little more tactfully. But I was running out of all sorts of things, and tact is usually the first to go.
“I’m also too old for you.” His smile was wide, brilliant, and unsettling. And those blue eyes, set just so in his perfectly proportioned face, were hungry. “But give me some credit, little bird. Have I done anything to make you uncomfortable?”
I found out I was rubbing my left wrist against my jeans. I almost spilled the latte, I was shaking so hard. “Other than sucking my blood and being around every time vampires try to kill me? And scaring the royal blue fuck out of me? Other than that, well, I guess we’re peachy.” It felt like I needed to add more. “I trust you.” I guess. Even if you are moving me around like a chess piece. Funny, it was Graves who suggested that.
I really, really wanted to see Graves now. But how could I explain any of this? Where would I even start? He understood a lot, yeah. He was a really understanding guy. But this . . . it would be like telling Christophe that Graves and I were an item, kind of.
It struck me as a Very Bad Idea.
Christophe nodded slowly. “That’s more than I get from many of my so-called friends. Have I let you down so far, Dru?”
I thought about it. The first time I saw him was after I’d shot Ash in the face. Christophe had driven Ash away and told me to go home. Then he showed up at my front door, told me about the Order, brought groceries . . . got up on the hoo
d of Dad’s truck and told Graves to drive, busted through a wall, and took on Sergej so I could escape. Not to mention pulled me out of the burning Schola and covered our retreat.
Put his arms around me in the boathouse. And later, in the darkness, kissed me on the lips and told me I was going to have to be his reason.
I flushed hot again at the memory.
And at least when Christophe was around I knew what to do. It was sort of like having Dad again. I mean, not really. Because Christophe wasn’t comforting in that way. It was just like, well, I knew my place in the world again. I was waiting for an adult to coach me on what to do up against the Real World.
I sat there thinking about it for a little while, and Christophe just stood there. Waiting. He didn’t poke or prod or anything; he was just letting me figure it out. I appreciated that.
But I would’ve appreciated it more if he was Graves.
“No,” I finally decided. “But I’m not believing you’re sticking around.”
“Do I at least I have a chance to prove it?” Still looking out the window. But his shoulders were still drawn up. Still expecting a punch.
I wondered about that. What must it be like to be him? To have everyone be afraid of you because of things you couldn’t change—where you were born, what you were made to do?
It was like the djamphir sneering at the wulfen. It wasn’t pretty and I hated it. And at least Graves had some sort of bond with the werwulfen to get by—he’d made friends almost right away. Christophe’s own kind were scared of him.
The least I could do was give him a chance. Especially since he’d always done what he said he would.
“I guess so.” It didn’t sound welcoming at all. Or happy. But it was all I had.
He slumped. “Good enough. Will you eat breakfast, then?”
“I suppose.” But thinking about how I met him brought up what I really wanted to do. “I want to see Ash. And I want to look for Graves.” Even though he’s probably two states away by now. I could have been even farther away, by now.
And yet. Come and find me. Did Graves really think I would?
Christophe nodded. “I expected as much. Will you tell me what happened yesterday?”
Weren’t you there? But then I realized what he was talking about.
Anna. Which brought up another thing. “What’s going to happen to you? What kind of Trial are we talking about?”
“Don’t worry about that.” He dismissed it with a wave of one hand, turning finally to look at me. The sunlight dimmed behind a cloud. “Everything is well in hand.”
No way. Jeez. “Anna really hates you.” Like she hates me. What did I ever do to her? Jesus.
“Fickle woman,” he muttered. “Look, Dru, this is temporary. Let me handle it, and then we can get down to the real business.”
Oh, so you’re going to “handle” it? A faraway, cool relief filled my numb chest. It’s about damn time someone handled something. I can’t do it all by myself. “Which is?”
“Training you. Making sure Sergej can’t get to you before you bloom, and after.”
Well, I was all over that. But still, it wasn’t comforting. “What’s the point? He’s just going to keep trying to kill me.”
Dad would have recognized the sarcasm and told me not to be fresh. Graves would have rolled his eyes and snorted.
Christophe’s smile wasn’t nice at all. He directed it at the floor, not at me. It was still cold enough to chill marrow. “You’ll notice he hasn’t come again himself. He’s frightened of you.”
I choked on a slurp of banana latte. “What?” He’s the king of the vampires, for God’s sake! Why the hell would he be afraid of me?
“You escaped him, Dru. You held him off until help arrived. You were lucky, true, but you held him off. Which was more than your mother or even Anna could do.” He was looking at me like I should have figured this out myself. “He’s sent Ash, and Ash hasn’t returned. He begged, borrowed, or stole a dreamstealer, and you still survived. He sent a Burner and has had the help of a traitor in the Order, and you are still alive.”
“Because of Graves. And you.” My chin lifted stubbornly. “It’s not me.”
“It is you, Dru. You’re not like Elizabeth. You’re a fighter. You can help us turn the tide even more.” His eyes glittered, his face set in hard lines. Even cloudy sunlight was good to him, burnishing his pale skin. “This is why you’re so important. He’s the closest thing to a king they have anymore. Kill him, and—”
My stomach flipped over. “Whoa, hold on a second. Kill him?”
“That is certainly the only solution I can see.” The sunlight dimmed even further, and the shadows under his eyes and cheekbones evened out. “But you have hard training before that’s even possible. There are other hurdles to clear, too.”
“Yeah. You could say that again. Look, Anna’s still alive, right?”
“She’s never faced Sergej.”
Wow. This was just an eye-opening conversation all the way around. “Never?”
“Not once. She was rescued from an ordinary nosferatu attack, brought in, and hasn’t stirred outside the Schola’s walls without a contingent of bodyguards and security that makes the President look like an easy target.”
“But she came to the—”
“She came to the reform Schola where she’d diverted you, yes. Why is that, do you think?”
Wait a second. What?
“She . . .” I absorbed this. The latte began to gurgle in my stomach. Have you ever burped acid, banana syrup, and coffee? It’s not fun. My lips were numb. My heart was pounding like a freight train’s wheels. “I thought we didn’t know how I’d ended up there.”
“Now I do. What did you think I was doing, other than watching your window? I’ve been gathering evidence, Dru. And even though you won’t tell me what happened between you and Anna yesterday, I can guess.”
No, I didn’t think he could guess. Not really. The dream I’d been trying to push away for weeks came back, all ash and smoke and terror.
Don’t let the nosferatu bite.
I sat there. A horrible shape was rising up out of the bottom of my mind, like a body you know isn’t human under a sheet. I pushed it away, but it wouldn’t go. There was only one thing that would explain all of this, explain everything I’d seen.
The Schola was silent, but I heard the wind outside. It was a soft spring breeze, and I wanted to yank the window open and leap out. I wanted to run. I hadn’t really been outside since I got here, and it bugged me. I needed some fresh air.
Right after I threw up everything I ever thought of eating.
“She wanted me to hate you.” I sounded about five years old. “I . . . she looked at me like she wanted to know something.”
“She did want to know, Dru. She wanted to know what you remembered. She wanted to know what you saw—”
I didn’t see. I heard. I was only five! “Shut up.” The latte dropped out of my hand and plopped on the hardwood floor. It sloshed but stayed miraculously upright. “Shut up.” I even clapped my hands over my ears. “Shut up shut up shut up!”
He grabbed my wrists, and I got a good faceful of that apple-pie smell. For some reason it broke everything inside me, and the world went white-fuzzy for a few seconds. When it came back I’d somehow ended up on the floor, my knees still jolting from landing hard, and I was hitting Christophe wildly. Not even any weight behind the strikes, just flailing.
“Shut up!” I screamed. I kept screaming it, even though he wasn’t saying anything. He was just letting me hit him, deflecting the blows when they threatened to get near his face. When I paused for breath he didn’t try to make me stop. He just kept letting me hit him, and when I stopped and bowed forward under the weight of it, he folded me in his arms and stroked my hair while I sobbed.
It wasn’t just the horrible thought in my head. It was everything. It was Gran and my dad and the dreams and the locket, the wulfen and the vampires and Sergej and my mother. It was Grave
s gone and the attacks and the uncertainty and that horrible hole inside my chest cracking open and bleeding. You can only shove shit under your bed for so long before it starts moving around and wanting to get out.
You can only cope for so long before everything breaks. And if he was going to handle something, if I wasn’t alone, it meant I could break. It meant I didn’t have to keep everything bottled up so tight.
I tried hitting him a few more times, halfhearted swipes, crying so hard I couldn’t breathe.
“Let it out,” he whispered into my hair. “Let it out, moj maly ptaszku.”
I guess most of all it was because he’d come back for me again. It was like the relief I used to feel each time I heard Dad’s truck door close, each time he stamped into the house or the apartment or hotel room or whatever damn place we were living. Each time my heart would swell up like a balloon because he hadn’t forgotten me or left me behind. Every kid’s afraid of that, right? That someday you’ll be left in a corner, like a toy, staring with button eyes and a broken heart.
Christophe kept coming back for me. He was here now. He’d saved my life again.
But God, how I wished he was Graves.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
When you cry that hard, it leaves you washed-out and not quite numb. And embarrassed, especially if you have tears and snot all over you. I sat on the floor with my back against the white bed, staring at the sticky stain of banana-flavored coffee. My brain tuned to that weird hum when you’ve cried yourself past everything and you don’t want to think. Everything retreats to white noise again.
Christophe brought me a cool wet washcloth and a box of tissues. He settled down cross-legged on the floor a few feet away. What do you do when a beautiful djamphir watches you so closely? He was staring like he saw something green. Or like I had a bunch of snot on me and he was just too nice to say so.
I blew my nose, mopped myself up. The pile of used tissues got larger, and I finally pressed the washcloth onto my hot, aching face. Smoothed it gingerly over the bruises. A nice cool washcloth is good after you’ve been sobbing your heart out. Gran used to put a cool rag on the back of my neck when I finished crying over something from the valley school, or anything else. It’s good after you have the stomach flu and throw up, too. Soothing.
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