Chapter 19
Florence | Edinburgh, present day
Damian is ghosting me. I message him three times on Monday, and he leaves me on read.
It’s driving me up the wall—literally. When I’m sick of pacing around my bedroom, I climb up the far wall and huddle in the dark corner like a sad spider, willing him to message me back.
But my phone stays silent. It’s a monumental crisis.
However, it’s my own fault. I should have hidden that damn album well out of sight.
Before he left, his mind was a whirlwind of confusion about the photos he’d seen in there.
On Tuesday, I cave under the pressure and call a flat meeting for that evening, knowing that Sadie is going to be mightily pissed at me for what I’m about to suggest.
We settle into our usual seats: Sadie in her revolving chair.
Hester and I on the bare leather couch, which smells slightly of bleach.
It’s usually covered in a tartan blanket, but that’s been removed because Sadie said it required heavy-duty dry-cleaning due to blood spillage.
Apparently, she had to give the entire dry-cleaning business a memory wipe in case they called the police.
‘What’s this about, Floss?’ She sounds tired, which isn’t surprising as memory-wiping ten people would take it out of you.
‘We have a mild crisis,’ I say, deciding to downgrade the situation from ‘monumental’.
‘If it’s about your dentist, you know my opinion—’
‘He found my photo album,’ I interrupt before she can say anything further.
Sadie’s eyes narrow. ‘Photo album? I thought we agreed not to have any photos since it was damning evidence of our immortality,’ she says in a low voice.
Hester nods in agreement.
I gulp. Little do they know, I used to have a whole lot more photos, and I did burn some of them.
But when it came down to it, I couldn’t get rid of all of them.
I wanted some proof of my existence. But I’ve broken a cardinal rule of our coven: when something has been decided by a majority vote, you have to adhere to it—and we agreed unanimously about the photos back in 1976.
‘How many photos are there?’ asks Sadie.
‘Three. Late nineteenth century before I was turned. One from Paris in the 1920s. That was a pretty bad photo, by the way. And one from the 1960s at our McLaren Road flat. I thought keeping those three would be OK as it looked generational—you know, great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother. But Damian wasn’t convinced.
He spotted my teeth are the same in the 1960s photo and was curious.
The last thought I picked up was that he wanted to check out my dental records.
I don’t know if he did or not as I’m out of range, but the fact that he ghosted all of my messages yesterday suggests he knows there’s something fishy going on. ’
Sadie stares at me. ‘You read his mind?’
I lift my chin, feeling chuffed with my new power that only works with one person. ‘Yes, I did.’
Hester claps. ‘That’s great, Floss!’
I grin. ‘Thanks. Uh, for complete transparency, I may have had a small issue with biting him on our first date and him running away. But I managed to give him a partial memory wipe. He remembered having a date with me, but not coming here.’
Hester whistles. ‘Go, Floss! At least you tried to fix it.’
But Sadie groans. ‘You stupid idiot. If you’d come to one of us, we could’ve done it properly.’
My smile falters.
‘Hey,’ says Hester sharply. ‘No name-calling. Floss fucked up, but it’s easily fixed. I’ll just memory-wipe him tonight, and she can change her dentist.’
‘No!’ I blurt out before I’m forced to take the safe route. ‘I-I’ve decided that I want to tell him about who I am … about all of us. He’s important to me. But you need to agree to that, hence why I called a flat meeting so we can vote on it. Mine’s obviously “yes”.’
Sadie’s cobalt eyes darken, and her lips thin. ‘My vote is “no”. You don’t tell him. I don’t want a human knowing about us—even if he is important to you,’ she says flatly.
I nod. No surprise there. ‘Hester?’
Hester doesn’t say anything and chews on her bottom lip.
My stomach clenches in fear. If she says no, then that’s it.
It will be like Damian and I never met. I’ll never get to talk to him or kiss that sweet mouth of his ever again.
And I’ll never know what it’s like to be in a proper caring relationship and to have him know the real me without this godawful secret hanging over my head.
I stare at Hester, pleading with puppy dog eyes. Please please please.
‘My vote is “yes”. Floss can tell him. But on one condition—that you offer him a choice: either be turned if he wants a relationship with you or a complete memory wipe if he doesn’t.’
I balk at that. ‘Neither of those is something I want to do.’
Hester shrugs. ‘It’s safer for him. If Alexander ever discovers our whereabouts, your dentist will be the first to die. Turning him will at least give him a fighting chance.’
I digest this in silence, knowing she’s right but hating that she is.
It’s bad enough that I have to reveal my true self to Damian.
But asking him if he wants to be turned?
Fuck. Who would willingly choose that? Neither Hester, Sadie, nor I was given any choice in the matter. He’s never going to agree to it.
‘Look on the bright side,’ says Hester, seeing my mournful face. ‘If he does agree to be turned, you’ll have a hot immortal boyfriend—and that’s loads better than having a hot thrall boyfriend.’
Sadie makes a growling noise deep in her throat and vacates the room in a blink of an eye. Her annoyed voice permeates my head: I’ll be in my room cursing both of you if anyone wants me.
‘You didn’t need to say that,’ I tell Hester. She’s looking amused, so she’s obviously been given the message too.
‘Oops,’ she says, not sounding sorry in the slightest. ‘The bleach she used on the couch must be addling my brain.’
I feel guilty for causing flatmate conflict. ‘Why did you say “yes”?’ I ask in a small voice.
‘Sadie has Elliott ... in some capacity ... If Damian’s your heart’s desire, I think you should be allowed a chance at love. It’s your life, Floss—and it’s going to be a long, lonely one without someone special to share it.’
‘Well, thank you ... I think,’ I say. ‘In a way, I wish I hadn’t met him. At least I wouldn’t be dealing with this.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Hester doesn’t quite meet my eyes, and I suddenly realise why she voted like she did.
‘Oh no, not you too! What’s his name?’
‘Will Knight. He’s in my drama class. He doesn’t know I exist.’
‘I don’t believe that for a second.’
Hester is striking: tall, flaming auburn hair, green eyes.
‘Let me rephrase that. He acts like I don’t exist. And since he’s pretty talented, he’s good at making me believe it.’ She huffs a laugh.
‘What do you know about him?’
‘Honestly, nothing much. I just ... listen and lurk—and drool from afar. It’s pathetic, really.’
‘Oh, Hester ...’ If anyone deserves to be happy out of the three of us, it’s her. She’s spent 500 years looking for the right man.
‘The weird thing is there’s something familiar about him. I feel like I’ve met him before. But from where, I have no idea. It’s really annoying.’
I grin. ‘Well, I’m sure you’ve run into a lot of people since the sixteenth century, so it’s not surprising he resembles one of them. Why don’t you read his mind and find out more about him?’
Hester shakes her head. ‘I tried that. Normally, I’d respect his privacy. However, I did get desperate once and tried to see if he had a girlfriend or a boyfriend. But I didn’t find out much, except that he was looking forward to having KFC for dinner.’
Sadness flickers across her face; then she collects herself.
‘Anyway, enough about me. More importantly, how are you going to tell Damian?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it. I was sure you were going to vote “no”.’
My stomach flips. This is it. I’m going to tell Damian I’m a vampire—a guy that I’m starting to develop serious feelings for. If he chooses the memory wipe, it’s going to crush me for years. I may never recover. My resolve wavers. Don’t be a coward, Floss.
‘Maybe invite him out for a drink and say you have something important to discuss?’ prompts Hester.
‘Yeah, a public place is best, I suppose.’
Hester nods. ‘You don’t want to make him feel like he’s in physical danger and that he can’t leave if he wants to. He might panic.’
I gulp and try not to imagine the worst: Damian skedaddling out of the bar as fast as his lovely muscular legs will carry him.