Tana was horrified by how callous he sounded, even in her defense.
Lucien shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. She didn’t kill him. You did.”
A wide grin stretched across Gavriel’s face, making his fangs gleam. “You’re right. I killed him and then I tried to pin it on her, because I thought it would be funny. And it was funny, wasn’t it?”
“Cages and cages full of humans and you kill a vampire,” Lucien said, clearly exasperated. “I guess that’s what you’re used to, but it seems cruel to feed the girl cold blood.” He turned toward Tana. “Come with me, my dear. First, let’s get you cleaned up, and then I think we should talk.”
He looked back at Gavriel. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Gavriel was no longer smiling. “If the enemy of my enemy is my friend, then surely you should be friend to my friend.”
Which didn’t make sense. Not even the odd sense that he usually made, where the words came together like a riddle or a puzzle. Tana frowned. No, this was off, as though he was playacting some exaggerated version of himself.
“He wasn’t always like that,” Lucien rolled his eyes and extended his arm to her. It was a courtly gesture, as though she was used to Gavriel making it, and it reminded her that they’d been friends once and maybe, despite everything Lucien had done, they’d be friends again. She thought of Elisabet and of Lance’s party and how all those deaths were Lucien’s doing. She put her hand on his arm, smearing sticky, half-dried blood on his shirtsleeve with great satisfaction.
He curled his lip as they went up the stairs together.
“You’re awake early,” Tana said, pointing up at the glass ceiling of the ballroom. The blue sky was turned ashen by the tinted windows, but the glow of the sun was bright enough to make her flinch. She wondered how Lucien stood it, when she longed to cover her eyes. She wondered if the Colder she got, the worse her aversion to sunlight would become.
“I slept restlessly,” he said, surprisingly confessional. “All my dreams were of Elisabet.”
Then he waved over a vampire girl who seemed to be waiting for them by the large wooden staircase to the second floor. She had mahogany brown hair and black leather pants with a deconstructed suit jacket, sections of it sewn inside out with big red stitches. A leather jabot was tied at her throat, and her boots had knives where heels should have been. On her finger was a silver ring with a tooth set in it. As the woman got closer, she wiped the edges of her mouth, bringing up her hand, and Tana saw the tooth was a human molar.
“Marisol,” he said, and the woman nodded slightly in acknowledgment. “Get the girl cleaned up. Then I want you to bring her to me in my sitting room. She can wear anything of hers, just make her less ghoulish.”
The woman looked at Tana and gestured toward the steps. They went to Elisabet’s room together, Tana walking beside Marisol obediently. Her skin felt tight and her teeth sore. “The bathroom is through there. Just leave your ruined dress on the floor. I’ll find something for you in her closet.” Marisol pointedly didn’t mention the ball missing from the brass headboard or the pool of saline on the floor. She smiled with a closed mouth, like she was trying not to frighten Tana.
Tana looked down at the length of the silk gown she wore—grass stains and blood, so much blood. She sighed and picked up her clutch from beside the bed as casually as she could, then she went into the attached bathroom.
The mirror above the sinks reflected her in horrific detail. Dark red gore soiled her face and stained her hands so that she seemed to be wearing smeary opera gloves. She choked back a sob. She didn’t look human—she looked like a creature lurching from a grave.
She thought of the three vampires she’d seen in Suicide Square and of Aidan sitting alone in the room on Wormwood Court, mourning what he’d done and afraid of what he might do. She wondered if this was what they saw reflected in the mirror, over and over, drunks after a bender swearing never to let themselves get so out of control again. Drunks who were still thirsty.