She didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t fair that Aidan had become a vampire. He wasn’t like Lucien Moreau or the kids who came here hoping to be turned. He shouldn’t have had to fight his impulses. No one at the farmhouse should have had to die. Whole pieces of cities shouldn’t be walled off like prisons ruled by their inmates. Children shouldn’t have to grow up trapped inside, with no way out. None of it was fair, and she couldn’t think of a way to fix any of it; and the helplessness was worse than anything else.
“Aidan, you’ve got to—” Tana started to say.
From one end of the room, from behind Elisabet and Lucien, a silvery knife came flying through the air.
The crowd parted, gasping in a single voice. The freckled vampire from the farmhouse shrieked, the curved dagger stuck deep in his chest. He clawed at it, then began to shrink into himself, like a balloon with all the air rushing out, his skin turning desiccated, dark, and papery.
His white-haired companion stretched a long-fingered hand as if he could possibly help. As if it wasn’t already too late.
The suited vampire was curling up, fingers clenching into dried out claws. He fell to the floor, pieces of him cracking off as if he were made from the fibers of a hornet’s nest, a liquid spilling out that looked more like amber than blood.
Every head was turned to watch the spectacle, including Tana’s. She’d never seen anything like this, not on YouTube or in documentaries or in Suicide Square. She’d never seen an ancient vampire withering away to his mortal remains before her eyes. They were careful and clever and almost never died, certainly not like this. She was so stunned that she almost didn’t catch the whisper-soft sound of an impossibly fleet footstep.
She was able to register Gavriel just before he reached the white-haired vampire. Gavriel had two more knives, one glittering in each hand. Short, cruel, curved blades. He threw his arms around the vampire from behind, pulling him close in what looked like an embrace—before he jerked his arms to the sides, uncrossing the blades, and scissoring off the vampire’s head.
Blood gouted, dark and thick as syrup, before he began to wither, too. Lucien’s white suit was splattered, the bystanders’ faces and elaborate clothing were dotted with blood as if it rained down from the sky like a summer storm in a nightmare. Tana felt it on her cheeks, wet and still warm, as though he’d just fed.
The white-haired vampire’s face remained frozen in shock or grief, his last expression preserved as his head spun from his shoulders. It hit Lucien’s shining marble floor and rolled into the crowd.
Gavriel spun on Lucien and Elisabet. It was only then that Tana realized Lucien had moved, seizing up the dagger from the body of the first fallen vampire.
Elisabet made a small sound of surprise.
“Good entrance, right?” Gavriel asked and then looked at Elisabet. “And what a delight to see you here with him.”
He was as beautiful as he’d ever been, features sharpened by anger. But it was impossible to look at him, spattered with gore, and believe that once his mouth had been on hers. He seemed like something out of a dark hallucination, now, something terrible and unknowable, a trickster god of murder.
“We wondered how long it would take you to arrive,” said Lucien, holding the dagger as though it were merely something to gesture with. “You took a circuitous path.”
Gavriel shrugged. “It was my own time to take.”
“That little feast of yours last night was quite something,” said Lucien. “Do you know what kind of chaos you’ve unleashed, infecting all those people?”
The corner of Gavriel’s lip rose. His eyes shone with mad delight. “No idea, but I look forward to finding out.”
At that, Lucien laughed. It might have even been an honest reaction. “You’ve changed.”
Gavriel acknowledged the words with a small bow of his head. “In a decade, how could I not have? And what a decade it’s been.”
Lucien flinched. “You’re angry that we betrayed you, and you have every right. That was my fault and my failing. I have regretted it often.” He swept his hand through the air. “But look at the world you made. How beautiful and vibrant it is. We were wrong to cling to the shadows and creep through the night. Your mistake has set us all free. Now, at last, you can see what the old vampires feared.”
“You left me to rot away in chains,” Gavriel said.
Gavriel and Lucien locked eyes.
Gavriel went on in a soft voice. “And you tried to recapture me for the Spider. Do you deny it?”
“My people were afraid. Elisabet worried he’d broken you and sent you to hunt us down. The ancient vampires hate any of us who adapted. They hate me most of all, broadcasting secrets. We tried to capture you, but not for the reasons you think.”
“You shouldn’t worry over me,” said Gavriel. “Not anymore. All the pieces were sewn back together in nearly the right places.”
“What can we give you, Gavriel?” Elisabet asked. “What can we do to show you how sorry we are? Whatever it is, we know that you’re owed it.”