“Enough!” I bellow at them both. “Luke, you saw Cicely do what?”
“Walk out to the barns and watch the horses, then go down to the beach. She tried the door on one of the beach houses.”
“The lock is broken,” Cicely says. “I like to make sure I could get in if the sunrise caught me off guard.”
“Then she sat on the rocks until it was close to sunrise and she had to come in.”
“So,” D.J. says, “that was the later part of the night, then. Almost morning. So where were you for the start of the night?”
“In my room,” Cicely says. “I slept until after sunset, and I… wasn’t feeling myself, so I stayed upstairs.” She doesn’t look at me while she says it, and I get the impression there is something she’s leaving out. I get a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. If she’s hiding something, does that mean she’s guilty?
“So,” says D.J. to Luke. “Where were you then?”
“In the woods. I hunt animals, to save the thrall for Cicely.”
“Sure,” D.J. says. “Animals.”
“This is getting ridiculous.” Cicely is up and out of her seat and at the door in seconds.
“Wait,” I say. “Where are you going?”
“Why? Do I need an alibi?”
“No,” I say, “but the cop just said we should all stick together until they figure this out.”
“Is that what we’re doing?” Her tone is bitter. “Sticking together?”
I grab her hand. It’s ice cold. “Cicely, stay.”
Her dark eyes meet mine. She looks tired. “Because you’re afraid for me? Or because you’re afraid of me?”
I don’t know what to say.
She pulls her hand out of mine. “Ander, you said you’d try.”
Then she’s out the door, dashing across the wet front porch and disappearing into the cold November rain.
“I am trying,” I say to no one. It’s just that trying doesn’t seem to help.
Emmie comes up behind me. “Ander,” she says quietly, “you don’t really think she’s the killer, do you?”
I don’t know what to think. “I almost hope she is,” I say, “because if she’s not…”
Lightning flashes over the dark gray woods. “We’ve got a new vamp in town.”
Chapter 11: Cicley
I’m out the door before anyone can stop me. The storm is in full force now, waterfalls pouring over the edge of the porch roof, trees in the woods bending like they’re about to snap. I’m about to snap. The rain is like needles of ice, and I feel like an idiot for barging out here without even so much as a jacket, but there’s no way I’m going back in. I can’t face the doubt in Ander’s eyes, can’t deal with the tiny seed of doubt it’s pressing into my brain. “Life after death, life after death…” I try to repeat my little mantra to calm myself down, but my mind has a mantra of its own: he said he would try, he said he would try… Is Ander not trying to trust me? Or, worse, is he trying, and this is the best he can do?
I’m on the beach before I even realize it. The rain makes it hard to see, but my feet find their way by instinct, my new, cat-like balance making me graceful in spite of myself. It’s low tide, the ocean pulled back to bare the rocks like an animal bares its teeth, all the ugliness exposed. The waves beyond are wild. The wind whips my wet blue hair, dragging it in strings across my face, making it as tangled as my thoughts. Would Five have killed the girl? She’s not above it, I’m sure, but Ander is right that she would have hidden the evidence better. Would Luke have killed her? He’s capable of it, too, but I know he wouldn’t do anything that might expose us or put me in danger. Oddly enough, I trust him, at least when it comes to that.
Which means there are only two other explanations. One I’m not ready to think about yet…
The other explanation is they’ve found us.
Cold rain water slides like a shiver down my back. What if Luke’s family has found us? Will they simply hunt us down and kill us? Or will there be a new leader, one who can command me like Queen Constanza commanded her enluzantes? The thought would make me cry if I could. I’ve fought so hard not to lose myself completely—not to disappear like a phantom in a mirror—that the thought of surrendering my mind makes me feel sick.
And at the same time, it might come as a relief to finally stop fighting, to give myself over to something bigger and stronger and be lost in it. I perch like a bird on the jagged rocks, my shoulders hunched, my arms wrapped around my knees, and stare out over the frothing waves. What would happen if I just walked into the sea? I wouldn’t die, exactly. A girl who can’t breathe can’t drown. Would the wild waves tear me to pieces? Or would I just sink down, some place under the turmoil, where the sun could never reach?
I’m suddenly so tired. It’s as if the rain is seeping into my body, weighing me down. I shut my eyes…
And open them again, fast. The smell of vampire cuts through the salt and ozone on the wind. I spring to my feet, fangs flaring into place, and spin around ready to fight.
“Calmate, querida, it’s me!”
Luke is standing a little further up the rocks, his long black coat whipping in the wind. He’s holding an umbrella—no, he’s holding the umbrella, the black umbrella that brought Michael and Danny together years ago, the one that saved my life from the sun when we were running away from the caves. It warps against the wind as Luke picks his way down the rocks to stand beside me. “Are you okay?”
I shrug and sink back down on the rocks. “Define okay.”
He crouches beside me, wedging the umbrella between the rocks behind us so it’s over us both. It’s a relief to be out of the relentless, driving rain.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You shouldn’t be out here, Cicely.” His dark curls are wet in spite of the umbrella. His eyes are full of concern.
“Why?” I ask. “Because I’ll catch my death of cold?”
“No, because there’s a killer on the loose.”
I look up at him cautiously. “So, you really don’t think I did it?”
“I stalked you, remember?”
“But when you weren’t with me?” I press. “You don’t think I did it then?”
Luke settles himself on the wet rocks beside me. He puts his free arm around my shoulders, rubbing them like he can scrub the warmth back into them. “You aren’t much like other newly made undead, Cicely. You have more self-control, more empathy. Perhaps it is being so far from the influence of a queen. You have kept more of your humanity than most vampires do, and I admire you for it. I don’t believe you did it.”
Relief fills me. I lean my head against his shoulder. “At least someone believes me.”
Luke frowns. “I think Ander believes you, too. He just doesn’t want to face the alternative.”
It’s not like Luke to defend Ander. Which means he believes “the alternative,” too. “You think they’ve found us.”
“Yes. I think we need to leave.”
His words hit me, colder and sharper than the rain. “Now? Right away?”
He looks out grimly over the dark waves. “We have very little choice.”
My mind is spinning again. Of course, I knew this meant we would have to leave, but hearing Luke say it makes it real. “But what about D.J.? We won’t have any place else to lock him down.”
“There is time before the next full moon. Perhaps D.J. will choose to come with us and find some other place, or perhaps he will stay here with the witch and take his chances against my family if they come.”
“If D.J. stays, Ander will stay,” I say. “He’s D.J.’s pack. He could never leave without him.” I don’t say the rest of what I’m thinking—that Ander wouldn’t leave Naomi, either. They’ve gotten so close lately. If he left her, it would only be because he was trying to protect her by drawing the threat away. Jealousy tastes bitter in my mouth.
“And you,” Luke turns to look me in the eye. “What would you do?”
“What choice would I have?
” My voice rises, desperate, above the crashing of the storm. “It’s me they want, Luke. It’s my fault their queen is dead. If your family has found us, I should leave—”
“It’s us they want.” His voice is calm as the rocks under the storm of my hysteria. “I’m the one who killed Constanza.”
“You’re also the one in the prophecy! If you go back to them now, Luke, they may accept you as the one who is meant to lead them! They may not kill you at all!”
His mouth is set in a firm line. “Believe me, I’ve considered claiming my place as their leader and telling them to let you go. But what if it didn’t work? I would never be the final authority in that family, Cicely. Only a vampire queen can truly rule a clan. Some of my relatives might follow me, but there will always be someone to overrule me, someone capable of raising an army of undead, and who knows who they have found to take Constanza’s place. I’ll only leave you if I know it will save you, and right now the risk is just too great. Unless…” His dark eyes search mine. “Is that what you want? For me to go back and try to lead them away from you?”
I can tell it pains him to say it, but there’s resolve in his voice, too. He’ll go if I tell him to.
And maybe that’s for the best. Luke and I were never from the same world to begin with. Having him here only complicates things with Ander. It only causes Luke pain.
And yet I can’t tell him to go. “I don’t know what I want! Everything is so insane lately. I don’t know what’s right any more. Everyone wants me to choose, but how am I supposed to know what to do? I can’t even think straight!” I want to cry so bad it actually hurts. I swipe at my rain soaked cheeks with the back of my hand like I’m wiping away tears. “God, I don’t know what to do!”
Luke is silent for a long moment. All I can hear is the rain beating on the umbrella above us. Then he says, “Did you ever learn to dance?”
I laugh bitterly. “It you’re asking me to dance in the middle of a rain storm while we’re being hunted by evil vampires, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“I didn’t ask if you wanted to dance, I asked if you knew how, if you have ever studied the art. Did you take ballet as a child?”
I glance at him, curious in spite of myself. “No, I was busy with violin. We couldn’t afford both and dance was never my thing.” I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “Why?”
“Deirdre could dance.” Rain drips from his dark hair. Drops slide down the angular planes of his cheeks, but he ignores them.
“Well,” I say a little too sharply, “I’m not Deirdre.”
“I didn’t say you were.” There’s pain in his voice and I feel sorry I snapped. “It’s just that Deirdre was good at dancing. She could spin and spin and never get—what’s the word?”
“Dizzy.” I’m remembering the vision I had at the Fall Formal, the image of Luke and Deirdre dancing, her full skirt blooming around her as they turned again and again. I remember the way he looked at her, his eyes shining with admiration.
“Yes,” he says. “Dizzy. I asked her once how she kept from feeling that way, and she told me there’s a trick. You must focus on just one thing, and keep your eyes on it as long as you can while you turn. When you reach the point where you cannot see it any more, you must turn your head back to it fast—never leave it for more than a second. Keep your eyes on it always.” He takes my chin in his hand, gently turning my face towards him until our eyes meet. “But it must be something constant and unchanging. If you focus on a thing in motion, it will never work. It must be something that will stay.” His face is so close to mine I can feel his breath, see the longing in his dark eyes. He cups my face in both his hands. “Look at me, Cicely. I’ve been here for centuries, through a million storms like this. When the world is spinning too fast and things are changing out of control, look at me. Make me the thing you keep your eyes on, and I promise I will always stay.”
The wind whips, tangling my hair around us. The waves pound like a frantic heartbeat on the shore. But Luke’s gaze is steady and sure. I feel like I could get lost in those eyes, like stepping into the deep, dark waters and never coming up for air. There has always been something mysterious about Luke’s eyes, but now there is something familiar, too. I’ve told myself a million times Luke is not my type, but now he is more than that: he is my kind, which is something Ander will ever be. His voice is so quiet I can barely hear it above the moaning wind, but I feel it down to my core.
“Please,” he says. “Kiss me.”
Chapter 12: Luke
I don’t care how immortal I am, if Cicely doesn’t kiss me, I will die.
That’s what I think in the split second before her lips meet mine, and then she does kiss me and it’s like she’s saving my life all over again. It isn’t the first time we’ve kissed; the first time, I pressed her back against the polished mahogany of the church confessional, the space tight as a coffin. I had just bitten her, and the lingering taste of her blood mingled with the spice of communion wine on her lips.
But this time is different. This time, the wind howls around us and the waves beat beside us and there is only the black umbrella between us and the wide, gray sky. This time, there is nothing to taste on her lips but the cold rain. This time, Cicely is a vampire.
And she kisses me like a vampire—hungrily, her fingers sliding into my wet hair, holding me fast. Her lips part to let me in and I feel the sharp pin-point of her fangs as they brush against my tongue, feel my own fangs shift into place in response. There is no more pretending between us, no pretense of humanity. I stand and sweep her up in one swift motion, our lips still tangled, and carry her down the beach to where a row of tiny, identical beach cottages sit like sand dunes. They are boarded up for the season, their doors locked, but it doesn’t matter. I grasp a door knob and pull and the door pops open in my hand. As I step across the threshold, Cicely makes a little noise of protest, afraid she won’t be able to cross, but no one lives here, so the curse doesn’t hold. It belongs to no one but us.
Inside the space is tight, just a single room, meant more for changing than for living. The air is thick from being boarded up so long, but a strong gust of wind rushes in with us, making the window boards rattle. It’s only a few steps to the little wooden bed in the corner. I lay Cicely down, her wet hair splayed across the pillow.
“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispers.
I kiss her harder, like I’m trying to push the words off of her lips. I don’t want her to talk in case she talks herself out of kissing me, don’t want her to think because she’ll only second guess. Her wet shirt clings to her chest and I wish I could peel it away from her cool skin, but I don’t dare. Instead I struggle out of my coat, tossing it onto the floor, and layer my body over hers. My lips find the hollow of her neck, the tender spot where my fangs pierced her back when she was human. No pulse beats there now, but my own heart is pounding. It has been a century since I’ve been with a woman, and this isn’t just any woman. This is the girl I love.
Cicely moans, her hands slipping under my shirt, her nails digging into my back as I nudge her legs apart with my own. Our bodies move in time with the waves that pound against the rocks and the door that slaps the cottage wall in the wind. I am painfully aware all that separates us is our wet clothes, and those could be torn away in an instant, like wrapping from a gift.
A gift… Something is nagging at the back of my mind. I try to push it aside—God, why am I thinking at all?—but it’s still there. It’s something Five said, back in the van: Why don’t you just command her to love you?
Of course it doesn’t work like that. It can’t. The thought is thrilling and horrifying at once. I told her, “Kiss me,” and she did, but did she do it because she wanted to? Or because I commanded her and, as an enluzante of my family, she was compelled to obey?
She certainly seems to want to now. Cicely kisses me deeply, her wet shirt riding up over her midriff, leaving a strip of flesh bare. It makes me want to tug it over her head. She arche
s her back, pressing against me, and I slip my hand into the gap between her back and the mattress, my fingers finding the clasp of her bra. So much simpler than a corset! It would take only a flick of the wrist to unclasp it, easy as snapping my fingers. I feel Cicely stiffen ever so slightly in hesitation, but she doesn’t have to. If I say the word, she’ll be compelled to let me. And wouldn’t I be doing her a favor, taking her away from Ander? She has no future with the werewolf and she knows it. He’s clearly breaking her heart, and staying with him will only put her in danger. Say the word and she’s mine to open like a gift.
Except of course it wouldn’t be a gift, if it wasn’t freely given.
Do I want to have Cicely like that?
I slide my hand out from under her shirt.
The door of the cottage bangs shut. The wind rattles it like an enluzante demanding to cross the threshold, but no one lets him in.
Cicely looks up at me, confused. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I can’t tell her the truth—that she might only have kissed me because I commanded her to, that I wanted to make her do more. Instead I say the first thing that comes to my mind: “The umbrella. I think we left it.”
“Oh no!” She squirms out from under me, a look of horror on her face. “We have to find it! It’s Ander’s!”
And just like that, her mind is back on him.
A rush of fury sweeps through me. “I’ll buy him another umbrella.”
“No!” She’s up on her feet, pushing the hair out of her face, fixing her twisted shirt, a look of panic and guilt in her eyes. “It belonged to Michael and Danny. We have to find it!”
She flings open the door and the wind sweeps in, howling with frustration. It’s so loud now I have to shout over it. “It’s too late! We’ll never find it in this!”
“We have to try!” She turns her back on me and steps out into the storm and there’s nothing I can do but follow.
Crossfire (Book Two of the Darkride Chronicles) Page 12