by Kate Martin
“Almost. You’ll change your mind. You’ll want what we have. And when that time comes, one of my people will contact you. Then you’ll know what we want.”
“I won’t get it for you.”
“We’ll see. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
“I’m not desperate.”
“Not yet.”
“Well,” I said, knowing our time was almost up, “let me tell you something you may not know. You used me once before, it won’t happen again.”
“If you say so, darling.” She drew back from the door, hands still around the bars so she could bend back a bit.
Swiftly, already hearing Cade moving at the door to this floor, I flicked her fingers free of the bars, and she fell flat on her back against the stone.
I met Cade halfway, pleased with the groan of discomfort coming from Tabitha’s cell.
“What did she want?” he asked within the darkness of the staircase.
“She thinks I’m the weak link,” I said, my lips catching on my fangs. “I think she just wanted to gauge how desperate I am.”
“And how desperate are you?” He studied me, even in the dark. Where was all that trust I’d been given before?
“Not desperate enough.” Not yet, at least. I had no doubt they would try to force the situation to their favor, which would be undeniably not in mine.
“Good.”
It took a while for me to get my anger under control. Thankfully, the need for concentration while navigating the prison steps helped. By the time we reached the bottom I had only one question.
“Why is she in such better shape than Rhys?”
“That’s what I would like to know myself.” Cade pushed open the large door at the end of the stairs and I stepped through into the main hall first. We walked to the front desk in silence. Katya rose to greet us.
“Have a pleasant visit?”
Cade stepped up ahead of me. “Give him his due, Katya.”
Her smile faded to a frown. “No special treatment.”
“Lesser treatment is special treatment. Give him the standard or I will have the Council in here to review your performance as Warden.”
“I don’t tell you how to do your job, Executioner. Don’t presume to tell me mine.”
“The standard, Katya.”
“And what if that is the current standard? What if you simply think it harsh because it’s your brother this time? Take a look in the other cells. I think you’ll find things equal. Really, he’s a model prisoner.”
“Just do your job. Return Kassandra’s dagger.”
The guard who had taken it from me grabbed it from somewhere behind the desk and held it out. I had completely forgotten about it, and would have left without it. By the expression on Katya’s face, my forgetfulness had been her intention. Once I had it back, a bit of that physical ache receded, as though having this other gift from Rhys made me that much closer to whole. I touched the sixpence around my neck, wanting desperately to be gone from this place—but also wanting never to leave.
Cade took me by the arm and led me out. The night air had begun to warm, and I could see the first rays of sunlight peeking over the tops of the trees. The doors of Infragilis slammed shut.
“He’s not himself,” I said.
Cade gave me a funny look as he walked, expecting me to follow. “He has been incarcerated for the better part of a month, how did you expect to find him?”
“That’s not what I mean. I expected most of that. I knew the gold would have made him sick, but there’s something else. He’s very much not himself. There’s no fight in him. He barely argued with you over bringing me here, and when I told him to stop saying things like he deserves this he gave in too quickly. Rhys argues. He argues everything. What did they do to him?”
“We had been hoping you wouldn’t notice that.”
“Well, I did. So cough up the information. I’m sick of secrets.”
“Sheep’s blood.”
“What?”
“Sheep’s blood. It’s what we feed the inmates.”
“We can drink animal blood?” Dammit! “All this time you’ve been forcing human blood down my throat when we can drink animal blood?”
“It is not common practice. Nor is it the optimal choice.”
“And why is that?”
“We are what we eat, Kassandra. Quite literally.”
“What are you talking about? What does that mean?”
“We drink human blood because it preserves our humanity. You can drink the blood of a cat if you wish, but you will find yourself more given to climbing, sleeping, and stalking lesser creatures. There are some of us who maintain a diet of more aggressive animals, but those who do usually end up in that prison we just left. You will take on the characteristics of the creature whose blood you drink. Remember that.”
“Have you ever done it?”
“At times of great need I have consumed animal blood so as to survive when the humans were not my best choice. The only other time has been before battle.”
“What? You drink the blood of the lion so you can be strong and fast?”
“Yes. Those two instances are the only times that drinking the blood of animals is not frowned upon by our culture. But even then, those who consider themselves civilized will look down their noses at the practice.”
“So, it’s like doing drugs for vampires?”
“I suppose that is an accurate comparison, yes.”
“But it’s okay to give sheep’s blood to inmates?”
“It makes them more tractable, less aggressive. It keeps order in the prison.”
I clutched the sixpence tighter. “That’s why all the fight is gone from him. Because he’s had nothing but sheep’s blood?”
“Yes. You see now the effect blood has on us?”
I nodded. “What did you mean when you told Katya you wanted Rhys to have the standard?”
“Human blood is to be given every few weeks, to prevent a complete deterioration of the personality.”
“And you think Rhys hasn’t gotten his?”
“I know he has not.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, hoping that would be enough to keep me together. “I hate this.”
“The system works well, but no, it is not pleasant to have a family member caught up in it.”
“What did Rhys say to you? Before we left.”
“He wanted me to promise him something.”
Oddly enough, despite all that had happened, my initial response was the same as it always was when I knew Rhys had asked something ridiculously over protective of me. Annoyance. The normalcy almost made me feel better. “And did you make this promise?”
“I told him I would do what I could.”
“He didn’t like that, did he?”
“It would have been worse had he been feeding on human blood.”
Ah, the small silver lining. I would have wiped it away for a chance to hear Rhys fight stubbornly. “What did he want?”
“For me to promise that you will not attend his dismemberment. He does not want you to see that.”
The images from my dreams ran rampant through my mind. The blood, the pain, my horror. The cold of the stone room and the clang of the chains enveloped me, threatening to pull me into the nightmare completely. I held myself more tightly. “I’ve already seen it.”
Chapter Seventeen: High Society
“I think Olivia might kill me for bringing you as my date.”
Warren took another sip of champagne and waved my concern off. “Don’t worry about her. I explained my reasoning, as well as the fact that I begged you to let me come.”
I watched him sample the expensive spread that had been set out in the limo for us. He had promised to try everything, so that I would vicariously try it later. “I don’t think she heard that part. She is now convinced that I live to take away all her boyfriends.”
“She said that, huh?” A cracker covered in brie disappeared into his mouth.
/> “Well, no, she didn’t say as much. But I’m pretty sure that was the message attached to the death glare she attempted to bore through my back.”
“You’re always so overdramatic.”
“You’re dating a jealous psycho.”
“You promised to be nice.”
“I promised to try.”
“This food is so good, Kass. You should really try some.”
“Jerk.”
He laughed and kept eating. I stared out the tinted window, watching the world pass by, disappearing and changing, morphing into something completely different. The drive took near three hours, and soon enough the rural areas of western Connecticut gave way to crowded streets below towering buildings and monuments. I had always loved New York City. My mother had taken me to see the tree at Christmas when I was younger, and every summer we would see a Broadway show. But I hadn’t been back since her death. Dad was too busy, and going by myself with friends had been out of the question. Carter Enterprises Incorporated always held their annual company gala at The Georgian Hotel in Manhattan, but since I had never again been invited that fact hadn’t helped me out much.
Until now.
The limo pulled right up to the front door where the valet graciously helped me out. I straightened the skirt of my cotton dress—I knew better than to show up in jeans—and craned my neck back to take in the entire sight of the grand hotel before Warren and I were ushered inside by the Manager himself.
As we stepped through the front doors, we were greeted by old twenties elegance. Pristinely polished banisters marked each pathway along mirror-smooth floors. The burgundy rugs and curtains accented the gold and ivory walls and pillars, and the ceiling opened up into a beautiful sky blue dome. A warm glow cascaded over us from expensive chandeliers and other impressive lighting fixtures.
Being a Carter definitely had its perks.
A silent elevator took us up to our rooms on the tenth floor; suites complete with flat screen televisions, wireless internet access, Jacuzzi tubs, and king size beds. When the bellhop brought my suitcase and set it by the bed, I thanked him and shut the door.
The aloneness of the room settled on me like a thick blanket. I felt both relieved and abandoned. Cade had followed us here, but would remain out of sight. I was safe, so-to-speak. My grandmother’s plans lay across the room on the large bed, making my back prickle with excitement, and dread.
Emerald green silk draped elegantly across the gold bedspread, the skirt tumbling over the side like some fantasy waterfall. I bravely ran my fingers along the fabric, delighted by the coolness and the flawlessness. Grandma had really outdone herself. A little note lay by the dress, the paper gilded and signed in Emmaline’s perfect calligraphy.
My stylist will be arriving at your door promptly at four o’clock to do your hair and makeup. Be ready. Love, Grandma.
I had almost three whole hours to myself. The Jacuzzi called.
After soaking in the tub for the better part of an hour, watching about five minutes of every movie and every show on television because I couldn’t stand the romantic nonsense, and the hack and slash action flicks only reminded me of too many nights of my own, and then finally taking a nap for lack of anything better to do, I dragged out my thermos and had dinner. Couldn’t feel like the cold undead once the stylist came. It wasn’t Warren’s blood, we had decided that his standard donation would only have interfered with his ability to enjoy the party, but it was enjoyable nonetheless. Which surprised me. Normally I didn’t like stock blood as much as fresh, but Aurelia had kindly gone into her special stash for me, claiming that a fancy party demanded fancy food. I didn’t know where she had gotten it, or what was in it, but fancy wasn’t a good enough word. Gourmet probably would have worked better.
As the note said, the stylist arrived promptly at four. She did my hair first, curling my natural waves before twisting them up and pinning them in place with something like ten thousand bobbie pins.
I didn’t get to watch the transformation of makeup, but I knew by the feel of her hands and precise brushes that I wouldn’t look anything like my normal round of blush and eye shadow. A gasp alerted me to the discovery of the locket-shaped scar on my shoulder. But a few ‘tsks’ and taps of makeup brushes lead to a satisfied ‘hm’ and there was no talk of it. When all was finished, and the stylist had left, I slipped into my dress and shoes, and went to the mirror.
The girl in the reflection couldn’t possibly have been me. She looked more like a smaller version of Aurelia. My hair had been done up, with a silver double headband glittering against the full curls. A few curls bounced against my bare neck, contrasting with the paleness of my skin. The silk dress hung from thin straps at my shoulders, covering my chest with a generous, yet elegant neckline before hugging my waist and falling flawlessly to the floor. The back dipped low, almost to my waistline, and laced up to my shoulder blades, creating a lattice affect on my bare skin. My scar was practically invisible at first glance, and upon closer inspection looked like some kind of colorless tattoo. The makeup was simple; a little color on my lips and liner around my eyes.
I caught myself smiling.
A camera flash startled me though, causing me to stumble in my three inch heels.
Warren closed the door to my room and muttered an apology. “I’m under orders. People want to see.”
“What?”
He looked handsome in his tux, with his hair combed and his glasses centered on his face. Guys had it so easy when it came to getting dressed, but that night, I wouldn’t have traded.
“Millie and everyone else. They want pictures of you ‘all dolled up.’ All any of them could talk about was how much they wished they could see this.”
Immediately I thought of Rhys, locked away in that cold cell, starving and sick—not here in a tuxedo, escorting me down to the party, dancing with me, smiling at me . . .
Warren must have seen something in my face. “What’s wrong?” He hurried towards me, tossing the camera on the bed. “You don’t like pictures? I won’t take them.”
“It’s not that.” I held my breath, trying my damnedest not to cry, turning away from the mirror so I couldn’t see myself.
“Then what is it?”
“Rhys.”
Warren seemed confused for all of two and a half seconds, then he caught on. “Oh! Oh, god. Kass, sorry. Uh, we’ll show him the pictures too. Please, don’t cry. You’ll mess up your makeup.” He grabbed a tissue from the dresser and offered it to me.
I took it and fanned my face with my free hand. My grandmother would kill me if I messed up my face now. “Talk about something else. Get my mind off it.”
Poor Warren scrambled for an idea like it was a physical thing he could find in the room. “I, uh . . . Olivia! Olivia and I made out for hours last night. Her idea and everything.”
I dabbed at my eyes with the tissue. “That’s gross.” The lump in my throat didn’t seem quite so large. “It’s working though. Keep going.”
“I think she actually really likes me. We’re going to try a few real dates next week. Out in town, in public.”
“I can’t believe you can stand her,” I said, then sniffed once, really hard and unattractively, but it seemed to get most of the tears out of my eyes. “How do I look? Okay?”
“Your nose is a little red.”
I went back to the mirror and was almost relieved to see myself in the reflection, rather than the Aurelia clone that had been there before. Amazing what a little momentary breakdown could do for one’s appearance. “The stylist left me some touch up powder. There, on the dresser.”
Warren handed me the little compact and I quickly buffed my nose with the little pad. It did the trick. My paleness was returning.
And just in time. A knock on the door preceded my grandmother’s voice, and she entered without waiting for an invitation.
She was perfect. Age did nothing but make her more refined, and her once youthful beauty shone through as though she were stil
l twenty-something. Her dress was silver and beaded—most likely by hand—and the overall effect made her sparkle even in the basic room lighting. She would stand out once she got within the grand ballroom. And where my dress showed a fashionable amount of skin, her dress covered her with sleeves and a high neckline that did nothing to retract from her elegance. Her short, still rich brown hair had been styled and sculpted, revealing diamond earrings and a matching necklace. Old Hollywood Glamour, through and through.
“Oh, Kassandra,” she said, opening her arms to me as she walked in. “You are a vision.”
I smiled, hoping my tears no longer showed. “You too, Grandma.” She took my hands in hers rather than hug me. We couldn’t risk wrinkling each other before the party.
Grandma beamed at me. I couldn’t remember ever seeing her so happy. “I knew that dress would be perfect. It was actually tailor made for you, you know. One of a kind.”
“It’s gorgeous. I almost can’t believe it’s mine.”
“Only the best for us, my darling.” She took my face in her hands and sighed happily one more time. “Now, introduce me to this young man of yours.”
Her all-knowing gaze had already settled on Warren. I suddenly remembered that I hadn’t told her that Rhys wouldn’t be coming.
“Oh, yes, sorry. Grandma, this is my friend, Warren. Warren, this is Emmaline Carter Thomas.” I stepped back so they could shake hands. “Warren is a huge fan of yours, Grandma.”
“Is that so? Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Warren. But I must ask, where is this Rhys you have been going on and on about?”
On and on? We’d had one phone conversation. “He couldn’t come. He’s sick. So, since Warren loves all things business and especially all things CEI, I invited him to come along and meet you. I hope you don’t mind.” Kudos to me. I said Rhys’s name without bursting into tears.
“Certainly not,” Grandma said with a smile—one that looked particularly pleased with the absence of my boyfriend. “Well, Warren, we will have to make time to discuss a few things before you and my granddaughter depart tomorrow. It’s always nice to see a young person so interested in business.” She had started off looking at Warren, and ended looking at me.