Marisol gave her an appraising look, as though something in Tana’s whole manner had changed. Frowning, she walked to the door, her movements fluid as she turned the ornate knob. Barefoot, Tana padded down the stairs with Marisol.
The scent of blood and sweat was sharp in her nose and sharper still once the door to the basement opened. No one seemed to notice them passing, especially when Marisol’s hand clamped tight around Tana’s upper arm. “Act like a prisoner,” the vampire said, hauling her along like a piece of baggage, a crossbow bolt pressed into her back in a way that suddenly felt all too realistic.
At the bottom of the stairs, she saw the cages, lit by a dim bulb in the center of the room. Valentina sat against the back wall, next to a boy in smudged white pants and black suspenders over no shirt, and the dark-haired girl Tana had spoken with before. They pushed themselves to their feet. Valentina slipped her fingers around the bars, squinting into the gloom. Tana could see perfectly. She could hear the prisoners’ hearts speed, too, could hear the warm tide of their blood lapping against the edges of her mind. She thought of the crowd of people standing in the theater in front of Gavriel, all the people he’d bitten, and wondered if hunger like hers could ever be sated.
“Tana, you found her!” said Valentina, looking at Marisol. “It’s her! How did you—”
“This is Jameson’s mom,” Tana said quickly, ignoring her red vision, ignoring the answering drum of her own heart. “And she’s going to help get us out of here.”
Marisol frowned, clearly confused by the emphasis Tana had put on the word mom.
Valentina stared at Marisol and couldn’t seem to stop staring.
Tana knelt down and slid one of the keys into each lock, jiggling it around. After a moment, it turned with a heavy metallic clank.
“Hey,” one of the prisoners, a hollow-chested boy, said. “What are you doing? You’re not supposed to do that!”
As Tana fumbled to fit the second key in, someone started down the stairs.
“Who’s there?” a guard called. “What’s going on?”
“They’re letting us out,” called one of the girls before Valentina grabbed hold of her, pressing a hand against her mouth.
Tana leaned back against the wall, slipping Elisabet’s long wooden dagger into her hand. She could picture the way it would sink into the guard’s skin if he came down the stairs, the way she would rip it through his heart. Killing Midnight had been hard, but she thought of the other vampire she’d stabbed in this very place and wasn’t sure it would ever be hard again. Her lips pulled back from her teeth in a silent snarl.
Marisol gazed up the stairs at him, tossing back her hair and smiling. “I’m taking a few of the prisoners out back to hose them down. You can’t expect Lucien to serve them up covered in dirt.”
Tana looked at Marisol’s smile. She was disturbingly good at faking her feelings. Tana wondered what had happened that had made Marisol abandon her son years before? Was it that she was afraid she’d drain him? Turn him? Was it easier to glut herself on blood and give up on everything else?
I have a friend who lives in Lucien’s house, Jameson had said. He hadn’t called her his mother, not once, not even in the note telling Tana to trust her.
They’re not human, Tana reminded herself. I am not wholly human anymore.
The guard seemed to swallow the explanation, but he took another step closer. “Need some help?” he called to Marisol.
Tana braced to swing. She tried to concentrate on the place to one side of his breastbone where his heart would be.
“No,” Marisol said. “But find me someplace to put them upstairs. Couches or—I don’t know—a table that’s long enough to display them lying across it.”
“Sure, okay,” he said. “But we’re supposed to be out of here before the Spider arrives. Lucien wants just a skeleton crew—servers and a guard or two. Charles is going to be the only one manning the cameras. So, if you’re going to get them ready, you don’t have a lot of time.”
“Time is the only thing any of us do have,” Marisol said with a shrug.
“Suit yourself,” the guard told her, and Tana heard his footsteps retreating. A skeleton crew? Lucien had promised Gavriel that his people would be there to take down the Spider’s Corps des Ténèbres. Not only must he have been lying, but it seemed clear that everyone in the house knew Gavriel was being set up. Even Marisol must have known it.
Tana wanted to slam the wooden knife into Lucien’s heart, wanted to watch the bubbling of deep blue blood. How was she going to warn Gavriel?
And what was Gavriel thinking, letting Lucien chain him and drag him back before the monster who’d imprisoned him for a decade? Did he think that nothing could touch him now? Did he believe in the power of his own madness to carry him through? Was his head so foggy with poems and plans that he had no room for doubts?
She had to tell him before the Spider got there, before it was too late.