Run, he thought, but didn’t say aloud. You know you ought to run. Please run.
He pointed toward the back of his apartment and watched her as she lifted the box and walked slowly toward the tin bath in his bedroom, the jug of water he’d left there along with a square of lye soap. She moved lightly, and there was a sway to her step that made him think of the dancer he’d seen just days before. He imagined pressing his mouth to her neck, her heartbeat fluttering like a bird’s wings, and shuddered.
“Why is she here?” Gavriel asked.
“Oh, don’t be tiresome,” said Lucien. “Surely, you can guess both her provenance and her purpose. There is no mystery.”
“Lucien,” Gavriel said, cautioning him, “what do you mean to do with her?”
“She’s not for me,” Lucien said. “My blood has made you ready, but the final transformation is before you. Tonight is your last night as a living man. Drink from her and be born anew. Her death buys you life eternal.”
Gavriel shook his head, backing away.
“Oh, come now. You can’t pour wine back and forth between two vessels forever.” Lucien smirked.
“I have enough innocent blood on my hands,” Gavriel said. “Enough and more than enough.”
Lucien laughed. “So that’s what you’re running from, is it? Oh my dear boy, very soon it will be as nothing to you, I promise. There will be rivers of blood to drown in, and one single drop will be as meaningless as a single star in all the tapestry of the sky.”
“I won’t do it,” Gavriel told him, stalking toward the door. Lucien grabbed for his arm, but Gavriel pushed him away with all the stolen strength of his blood. “I don’t care what I do to myself, but I won’t be the cause of suffering for another.”
“You will,” Lucien said, red eyes shining, lips curled into a mocking smile.
Gavriel escaped into the night, the echo of Lucien’s laughter following him.
Lucien found him a week later. Gavriel had taken the stagecoach away from Paris and found himself a small hostelry outside Marseille. He had lain down the night before, sweating and shaking, hearing the heartbeats of humans like drums through the walls. Cold crept deeper and deeper into his skin until it finally froze his heart.
When Lucien opened the front door and saw the common room streaked with scarlet, the bodies of the innkeeper and his wife, the barely grown children who worked in the kitchens and stables, he smiled. Gavriel, crouched over a body, looked up at him with a despair so deep that it was barely a feeling at all.
Of course, Lucien had killed the girl Gavriel had tried to spare. He told Gavriel all about it on their ride back to Paris.
CHAPTER 23
Death has made
His darkness beautiful with thee.
—Alfred Tennyson
The streets after dark were stolen by vampires. They strode along, their ruby eyes flashing and their coats flapping. Some had Mohawks and nose rings, making faces at everyone they passed; some ran through the streets, arm in arm, flowing white dresses fluttering behind them; some twirled ebony walking sticks, strutting in velvet jackets, with long, dandyish hair; some were surrounded by a crowd; and some strolled alone.
Tana stuck close to the buildings, ducking under awnings to stay out of their way. Her heart raced, and she couldn’t tear her eyes from their unnatural pallor and easy grace, couldn’t stop staring at their hellish eyes.
“You get used to them,” Jameson said, but she noticed that if a vampire got too close, he’d crouch and his hand would twitch toward something in his boot.
Finally, Jameson stopped at a metal-barred window displaying earrings in the shape of scarabs, a purple raincoat with a matching umbrella, and several wigs in bright colors. A sign over the door crafted from glass beads and broken bits of mirror read: ODDMENTS & LOST THINGS.
The door had a metal speakeasy grille set into it. Jameson pulled a bell.
A few moments later, a girl opened the grille. The moment she spotted Jameson, she broke into a wide grin, although her smile dimmed slightly at the sight of Tana.
She flipped the locks on the door and opened it, letting them into the dimly lit building.
The girl was tall, with long, tawny hair, like a lion’s mane, loose around her shoulders, and eyes the bright green of bottle glass. Gold was dusted over her cheeks and painted on her eyelids. She was wearing a kimono-style robe, looking as though she’d just gotten up.
“Hi,” Jameson said, smiling shyly. He looked a little dazzled by her beauty.
“Hi,” she said back. She seemed to be holding her breath, waiting for him to do or say something. Whatever it was, he didn’t do it.
Gone was the breezily confident boy who’d taken Tana to breakfast and explained Coldtown politics. “You can get most anything here,” he said to Tana. “Valentina’s got a magical power to recall where an old box of the exact thing you’re looking for was put a year ago.”