“I agree it’s not ideal,” Tristan said, “but it’s not like it was before. And who knows? With time, maybe he’ll stop using live donors completely. Maybe we can help him.”
“Tristan, do you even hear yourself right now? This man made you torture people, he made you hate yourself for decades.” Kira stood and started to pace. “All he ever did was use you for his own pleasure. He never cared about you or what you wanted. He’s a killer!” Kira shouted the last part and ran her hands through her hair, practically ripping it out. She needed to calm down. This wasn’t going anywhere, and Aldrich could definitely hear everything she was saying.
“I’ve killed people,” Tristan said softly.
“Not the same way, Tristan. Not without remorse.”
“People can change,” he whispered. Kira looked into his wounded eyes and wondered for a moment if he was speaking about Aldrich or himself.
“They can only change if they were something they never wanted to be in the first place,” Kira told him and sat back down, taking his hand.
“But what about your mom?” Tristan asked. “If she found a way to love him, can’t you believe there must be something redeemable in him?”
“Maybe,” Kira said, mostly because she didn’t feel like fighting anymore. Tristan squeezed her hand.
“He wants to help us, Kira. That’s what he told me last night. The only reason he invited us here was to atone for his sins by helping us be together, forever. He can give us a future.”
Kira turned to look at him, ready to chide him for being so easily fooled, but the look in his eyes stopped her. It was yearning—pure, unadulterated yearning. He wanted so badly to believe in the dream Aldrich presented—the idea that even the most evil person can change, that in Aldrich all of their prayers were answered and they could stay together. And because he wanted so badly for that impossible future to be true, he couldn’t see any of the flaws in his logic. He couldn’t see past the dream.
So Kira decided to keep lying, to let him dream for a little while longer, before breaking that hope into a million pieces.
“I know, Tristan,” she said and wrapped his arms around her, so she leaned against his chest. “I want it too.” She dropped her head on his shoulder. “I just need a little more proof.”
He tightened his arms around her, hugging her closer to his chest, and they sat like that for a while. Not talking, just enjoying one another’s presence. Kira was grateful for the silence because she honestly didn’t know what to say.
Which of them was right? Was she just being stubborn because she didn’t want her mother to be a vampire? Or maybe it was something else.
Part of the reason Kira loved Tristan was because he made her feel so normal, so human. Whenever they were together, they spoke of everything but the supernatural. He let her live in a fantasy world where conduits and vampires didn’t exist, and they were just two people.
But if Aldrich was telling the truth, and her mother had turned into a vampire, then everything was different. Suddenly the dreams Tristan spoke of weren’t just a fantasy—they were real. They were achievable.
And that scared Kira, because the instant a future with Tristan became a reality, she realized she didn’t want it. Being a conduit was not only what she was, but who she was. But did that mean everything she’d ever had with Tristan was a lie, a fantasy she let herself believe because she wasn’t ready to face her destiny as a conduit?
Yet out here in the garden, his arms felt so right as they hugged her close. It couldn’t all be imagined—it just couldn’t.
“You two look precious.” Kira recognized the overly sugared sweetness of her fake mother’s voice. “Tristan, would you come with me? I want to talk to you about something.”
He nodded and Kira eased out of his arms, feeling cold in their absence. The bench seemed too big for one, so Kira stood to wander around the garden. A walk was just the thing she needed to clear her head, so she chose a path and continued following it until she reached a statue.
It was a discus thrower carved in marble and stuck forever in a grimace. His arm reached back, pulled painfully taut in the moment right before he could finally release the throw. Kira looked at his face. Somehow, even though his eyes were made of stone, Kira could tell they held determination and also a slight fear. Fear of losing? Fear of not being the best?
Kira kept walking, stepping around the statue and taking the next left to another flower patch. This statue was of a dancing woman with her clothes half-falling off. Typical, she thought, the boy is playing sports and the girl is frilling around without even noticing that her dress is basically on the floor. Kira distantly wondered if this was the Roman equivalent to thinking that all girls did during sleepovers was have lingerie pillow fights.
The next statue was different. A man was twisting to look over his shoulder. His hand stretched close to the ground, grasping for empty space. His eyes stared down into the hedges by his feet. In them, Kira saw the look of a man who could see his future disappearing right before his eyes. His features were mid-fall, a strange mix between utter joy and utter despair. His eyebrows were raised, yet poised to turn down. His mouth was open and smiling, but the corners were slanted as if he had just cried out.
Even his body was fighting against itself. His stance was that of someone ready to pull something close, ready to help a girl stand to her feet. But his outstretched arm pushed the other way, reaching into a void, grasping for something that had disappeared.
Without realizing it, Kira reached out her own hand. Her fingers inched forward for his open palm, somehow hoping to soothe this miserable creature trapped in rock.
“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice stopped her an inch from the sculpture. Kira dropped her hand and spun around to face Aldrich.
“Why not?” she asked and tried to calm her rapid pulse. He had scared her, but that was the last thing Kira wanted him to know.
“It’s bad luck,” he replied, stepping closer to the statue and to Kira. He reached out his hand, stopping in the same place Kira’s had been the moment before.
“Why?” she asked, watching him carefully.
“You don’t know the story?” Aldrich asked. He turned to face her and let his hand drop to his side again. Kira shook her head.
“Orpheus,” Aldrich began, “was the son of a muse. His voice was bewitching and powerful, and no one could deny the beauty of it. When he played his lyre, no one could resist the gentle lull of his music and no one could resist him. Especially not Eurydice, a local maiden, a beautiful woman, but also an ordinary woman.” Kira heard the slight disgust in his voice at the word ordinary, as if the idea itself insulted him.
“On their wedding day,” he continued, “Eurydice was so happy that she and her bridesmaids celebrated by dancing to his songs in the meadows beside the ceremony. But happiness is not what this story is about,” Aldrich said. He leaned down and let his hand disappear in the flower around the base. “Hiding in the grasses was a viper, and with one bite,” Aldrich pulled a flower from the ground, ripping it from its roots, “with one bite she was dead.” Aldrich offered Kira the flower, but she didn’t want to touch it. So instead, he closed his palm, crushing the petals. A second later, the crumbled remains were lost to the wind.
“Orpheus was overcome with grief, and he vowed he would not lose his love. So using his music as his weapon, he went into the underworld and convinced the Lord of the Dead to give him back his bride. His music was so sweet, so irresistible, that even death could not deny him. So Eurydice was returned to him, but on one condition. He could not look at her or touch her until they both reached the surface. Orpheus was patient, and he walked through the darkness until it started to turn gray, until eventually the sun shined down on him and birds chirped in his ear. He had reached the top. He was free. He turned to reach for his bride, to make sure she was still there. He needed to see her, to pull her close to him, but she was still shrouded in the mists of the underworld. In that instant, he realiz
ed his mistake, but it was too late. Orpheus grabbed for Eurydice, but she was already gone, a ghost disappearing into the ground.”
Kira looked at the sculpture, understanding it now. This man was the definition of lost hope, and the artist had perfectly captured the moment that someone’s life completely turned on itself.
“It’s so sad,” Kira mumbled, shaking her head.
“Is that what you really think?” Aldrich asked. Kira met his eyes and watched him studying her.
“It’s tragic,” Kira said and stopped herself from continuing. Aldrich narrowed his eyes.
“And…” He let the thought linger, suspecting Kira had more to say.
“It’s just, he was an idiot. A complete moron.” Kira sighed, getting frustrated. Aldrich’s eyes lit up, like this was the reaction he had expected. “Who is so stupid? You have your entire future hanging on one idea—do not turn around—and you can’t stop yourself? It’s just, it makes me angry. He not only ditched his happily ever after, he let Eurydice down. He basically killed her.” Kira stopped. She was getting way too impassioned by the story.
Aldrich laughed and smiled at Kira, as if she had passed one of his tests. “Ah, Kira, you are such a delight.”
“Why?” Kira eyed him wearily, not sure she really wanted an answer.
“Because you are the first person I’ve told that story to who has had the same reaction as me,” he said and placed a hand on her shoulder. Kira tried to hide her revulsion, at his touch and his words.
“I doubt that.” She shrugged free of his hold.
“It’s true. We are far more similar than you’d like to think.”
Kira retreated from the statue and started down another pathway. Aldrich followed closely behind.
“We’re both logical, we don’t let our emotions control us.”
“That’s not true,” Kira retorted. She couldn’t even count how many times she felt overwhelmed by her feelings, how many times they seemed to stifle her.
“Isn’t it? In the past few months, your entire world has turned upside down. Yet here you are, fighting. A lesser person would have given up, would have let the heartbreak overwhelm them.”
“That’s not because I’m ‘logical,’ it’s because I’m too stubborn to lose,” Kira said, glaring at Aldrich over her shoulder.
“To lose what?”
“Anything I care about,” Kira replied.
“But I see you, Kira,” Aldrich said and reached for her hand. He stopped her and forced her to turn around and look at him. “I see the wheels in your head spinning. I see the doubt circling. Dreamers would have already surrendered, would have been satisfied with the idea that all of their hopes could actually come true. But not you. You’re realistic and you need proof. You need the logic.”
“Tristan—” Kira started.
“Tristan is a dreamer. He’s always been ruled by his emotions. It’s why he is easy to predict, but you’re different.”
“What’s your point, Aldrich?” Kira asked. She was tired of talking in riddles.
“My point is that you don’t believe me yet. You don’t believe that I’ve changed. You don’t believe my motives are pure, that all I want to do is reunite two star-crossed lovers and make up for the sins of my past. My point is that you are Orpheus. The story is not about a man turning around out of joy, the story is about a man turning around because he couldn’t believe that all of his dreams were about to come true. He needed proof that Eurydice was following him, he needed her touch to confirm she was real. And Kira…” Aldrich looked down at her, his almost black eyes even seemed to warm for a second. “Sometimes the dreamers have it right. Sometimes, you can’t have proof. Sometimes, you just need to believe.”
Aldrich turned on his heel, walking away from her and out of the garden. Kira watched him leave. His movements were confident. Even in the maze of his garden, nothing slipped his control. He thought he had her. He thought he was starting to tame her, to trim her down like the hedges in his perfect garden. And as Kira watched his lean body and sandy brown hair retreat around the bend, Kira couldn’t help but feel defiant. Ever stubborn, Kira couldn’t help but doubt him.
That little story had done nothing but make Kira more confident that he was hiding something. Tristan was a dreamer and it was one of the reasons Kira loved him. But he had fallen into Aldrich’s trap without even thinking, without even pausing to breathe. His dreams and his love had become a drug that clouded his judgment. And even if it made her cold, Kira couldn’t be the same way. She couldn’t just believe in something when all of the signs were telling her it was a lie.
Aldrich had it wrong. Kira wasn’t Orpheus—she wasn’t giving all of her dreams up in the search of reality. She already had her proof. The look of hatred in that woman’s eyes was all she needed to see in order to know it wasn’t her mother. Aldrich might not have realized it yet, but his plan had already cracked, and Kira had already seen flashes of the truth.
What she needed now was not proof, but answers. What did Aldrich want? Why was he trying so hard to convince her that turning into a vampire was not only possible, but also the right choice?
Kira looked at the mansion. All the answers she needed were hidden in there somewhere. She just needed to find the right crack, the one that would bring Aldrich’s carefully constructed façade crumbling down.
Chapter Eight
It turned out that getting answers was hard—a lot harder than Kira initially realized. Almost a week had passed and Kira was no closer to finding out Aldrich’s real motives. Instead, the four of them had fallen into a strange sort of routine.
In the morning, Kira would call her parents and tell them fake stories about Florida. Thank goodness her smart phone had service, because she was basically living off of her weather application. A huge storm had blown through Orlando last week and her father wouldn’t stop asking about all of the gory details, so Kira had had to search for photos of downed trees to send him. Luckily, her mother was less nosy and instead asked only about Luke, something that was much easier for Kira to lie about. Maybe because she was already sort of lying to herself about it.
Luke was definitely still mad. At least, that was how it seemed to Kira. He finally bought a new phone, and she had tried calling him a few times during the half an hour she had before breakfast, but he never answered. Occasionally Luke texted her, to make sure she was still alive or to update her on his location, but nothing personal. So Kira was left to her own daydreams and imaginings. She’d gone over their reunion one hundred times in her head—exactly what she would say to apologize and make him understand. She envisioned all of his possible responses to ready herself, but it was starting to drive her crazy.
After Kira exhausted all of her phone calls and pointless fantasies, she would make her way downstairs for breakfast. She had gotten the timing down perfectly, so that when she entered the dining room, her food was still hot but all of the blood-filled glasses had already been emptied and taken out of the room. While Kira ate, an hour of pointless small talk would begin.
Then Tristan would disappear with Aldrich, who was helping him channel his mental abilities to make them stronger. Kira would go off with her "mother" to talk more about the process of changing into a vampire, and sometimes Kira would grill her for details about her father. After a few hours, when Kira knew her fake smile was no longer believable, she would leave her mother to wander around the castle.
In the past week, Kira had pulled on every book, looked behind every painting, and twisted any knob within reach, but still she hadn’t found anything that looked remotely like a dungeon or trapdoor. Kira was sure Aldrich was hiding something, and she was determined to scope it out, but she had come up completely empty.
Eventually, when Kira felt ready to put her happy façade back on, she would go find Tristan. Being with him tore her in two. One half relished his presence and let him soothe her into a peaceful happiness. The other half couldn’t fight the knot in her stomach, the one so tight
ly roped around her lies that they seemed to choke her. Kira wasn’t sure how much longer she could go without telling him the truth, without telling him that she would never turn into a vampire and would never give up her conduit powers.
So after a week of this strange balance, Kira woke up ready for things to change, ready for something to happen, because she wasn’t sure she could keep up the show much longer.
And then something did change. On the nightstand, a foot from her head, Kira’s cell phone was ringing. She reached for the device, ready to answer all of her parents’ questions for an eighth time, when she saw the caller ID. It was Luke.
Kira fumbled for the phone. She knew Tristan would be able to hear, and Aldrich too, but she didn’t care.
“Hello?” she answered and sat upright on the bed.
“Hey,” Luke said. Kira melted into the sound of his voice. It had been so long since she had heard the subtly deep but always warm lilt to his words.
“Hi,” she said lamely.
“So…”
“Yeah?” Kira asked, wanting to shake herself. Seriously? One-syllable sentences—was that really the best she could do?
“I’m just calling because I thought I should let you know that I’m at the airport and should be landing in England later tonight.”
“Really?” Kira asked. Clearly actual sentences were off the table for her right now.
“Yeah, I’ll be in London, staying with some conduits.”
“Where?” This was becoming ridiculous.
“I’ll text you the address.”
“Great,” Kira said. There was a slight silence on the line, and Kira knew it was up to her to break it. “Luke, I—”
“Don’t Kira,” he said, cutting off her apology. His tone wasn’t angry or mean, like Kira might have expected. It was oddly excited, like he was ready to hear what she had to say and wanted to hear it. So then why had he cut her off?
“Luke,” she tried again.
“Can you meet me in London?” he asked, cutting her off again. “I think we really need to figure some things out, talk in person.”
The Complete Midnight Fire Series Page 48