“What you used to be?” Tana echoed, frowning in confusion.
“I wasn’t born a girl,” Valentina said, shifting her long, elegant limbs to stand. “At least not on the outside. He knows I came here because I couldn’t afford surgery. If I was turned, I figured at least I could keep looking like I do now. At least my face wouldn’t change. But things haven’t exactly worked out.”
For a moment, in her mind, Valentina’s features took on a masculine cast. But then Tana blinked and saw only the girl in front of her.
It was a reason that Tana had never even considered for wanting to be young forever.
“I won’t say anything,” she promised. “I barely know him anyway.”
Valentina smiled, a little wryly. “Coldtown’s a small place, and it’s getting smaller all the time. You’ll know everybody soon enough.”
Tana wound up buying the long dagger, the jeans and leather jacket, three T-shirts, four pairs of underwear that Valentina promised had been bleached and then washed. She figured she’d need the clothes since although forty-eight hours were almost up, even if she didn’t go Cold, she’d have to wear something on her way out. She got the knife because she’d been wishing for one for a while. She also bought a big, ugly, rust-colored poncho that looked warm and would be easier to carry than a blanket; bolt cutters; a screwdriver; nylon rope; a solar cell phone charger; and a backpack to put it all in.
All of it together cost her $132. She still had money left—at least another hundred and maybe more—but she didn’t want to count it right then, in the shop.
Valentina looked down at the knife as she rang up Tana. “You know how to use one of these?”
“I’m hoping that it will look scary enough that if I wave it around, people will back off.”
Valentina raised her eyebrows wordlessly.
Then Ms. Kurkin came back with the locket necklace and its new clasp. Tana hid it away in her bag and went over to one of the large antique mirrors against the wall, braiding her hair tight to her head and tying it with a piece of string. She looked at herself in the wavy glass, trying to convince herself that she was tough enough to face whatever else was in the little room where Aidan waited. Then she said good-bye to Valentina and Ms. Kurkin and headed out onto the street, retracing her steps all the way back into danger.
Climbing up onto the roof was easy, but once Tana got up there, it was an unfamiliar landscape, especially in the dark. She went slowly, making sure to place each foot carefully on the asphalt shingles. Following Jameson, she’d been too preoccupied to notice, but now that she was alone above the city, she realized that someone had recently constructed much of what she was using to cross between buildings. Ladders and boards, soldered in place or nailed down, bridged the gaps, making a maze high above the streets.
It took her a while to find the skylight in the dark. As she searched, she was sorely tempted to stop looking and find a place to hole up for the rest of the night. Sleep a little more. Maybe that would give Aidan a chance to get used to his new self. Maybe by the time she showed up, a day or two later, he’d be able to control his hunger and eager to show off his new red eyes.
Of course, maybe he would have sold the marker by then, too. Maybe she’d have gone Cold.
Or maybe he’d be dead. The story of an infected kid in the Midwest had been all over the news a couple of months back. He’d confessed to his girlfriend who he’d been bitten and wanted her to lock him in an old shed on her family’s property to get through the infection. She’d promised she would, but instead she got together a bunch of friends from school to tie the boy up, carve him open, and drink his blood—not understanding that infection couldn’t be passed on like that, that because he wasn’t yet a vampire, his blood couldn’t make her and her friends go Cold.
But Midnight was smart enough to wait until Aidan was a vampire if she wanted to carve him up. She’d know she could bottle that stuff and sell it to the highest bidder.
Tana shuddered, wishing that she was like Jameson with his flamethrower, wishing that she had something better than a big knife, a pair of bolt cutters, and a tough-looking leather jacket. She wished she were a local legend.
Finally, by moonlight, she was able to make out the skylight she’d come through. It was still open, the chandelier as messed up as she’d left it.
A few bright green leaves spiraled down into the dark room.
The door was ajar, letting in light from the hallway. Light that showed the room was empty.
“Aidan,” she whispered, but there was no one to hear her.