Chapter 11
Avrum
My eyes roll up to the coal-gray sky, and then to the building across the street. The falling snowflakes seem to hover in the air before me, as if frozen in time, before fluttering to the stones at my feet. I walked on, wondering why I’d agreed to come here in the first place.
Haven’s face appears in my mind, her midnight-blue eyes shining with tears and her cheeks rosy as she pleads with me to check on her father. My heart constricts just at the memory. How could I deny her? I can’t. Not after everything I’ve done to her.
And those lips… Those soft, rose-petal lips that lay over one another begging to be kissed.
I just couldn’t ignore them anymore. Before I knew it, I was kissing her.
She hadn’t pulled back like I’d expected.
I’d felt something inside me stirring, wanting more, but then came the doubt.
The nerves. I never want to upset her in any way.
It was the only reason I pulled away. Otherwise…
Even as I enter the alleyway and stand under the window where I’d found Haven before, I can’t help but daydream about her. Could it be the craving drawing me to her? The need for human blood? Or is it something more? Something beyond the blood lust.
I want her. Only her.
I have to clear my head. Deep down, I know the truth.
I care about Haven more than I have ever cared for anyone, but I can’t act on my feelings.
It is too dangerous. Helping her escape should be my priority.
Henri still owns her. That much hadn’t changed.
If we are going to have any chance at sneaking away, we will have to do so right under Henri’s nose.
I look around for a way inside Haven’s home.
Every door of the building is boarded shut.
I could climb through a window. I look up at the small, circular window I had found Haven standing underneath.
No light shines through the stained glass.
All I can hear is the quick pattering of the hearts of nearby rodents.
Spotting a large wooden crate a few steps away, an idea forms. I push it over until it sits just under the window’s ledge and haul myself up.
Before the weak wood can give way, I reach up and feel around the ledge until my fingers brush against the smooth metal of the window latch.
I flick it, and the stained glass swings out.
Digging my nails into the wood, I hoist myself up and climb through the small space.
The moment I stand up, a pungent, sickening smell hits me like a blow.
I stagger back, pressing the back of my hand to my nose.
Through the shadows, I can see a single mattress near the opposite wall.
As my vision focuses and sharpens against the darkness, I can make out a large mound upon it, covered by a tattered quilt.
Carefully, I move forward. The closer I get, the harsher the smell becomes. My eyes begin to water and my stomach twists with repulsion. There are no sounds—no heartbeat, no breathing, except for my own.
With the toe of my boot, I nudge the blanket. There’s no movement from underneath.
I lift it.
Bile rises up my throat. A wrinkled, sunken face looks back at me with closed eyes.
With every similar feature I find of Haven’s, my heart sinks a little more—the small, round-tipped nose, the full lips.
I have a sickening feeling that if his eyes were open, I’d see that they were a dazzling shade of blue.
Haven’s father. And he is dead.
“You said you found him that way?” Lysander says as he pulls out a sword from the rusted trunk at the other side of the attic.
“Yes,” I reply. “The only thing in the room was a mattress, and he was laying there. Seemed to have passed in his sleep.”
“Or from the cold.” Lysander examines his blade, twisting it in his hand and running his finger over the edge to test its sharpness. When he pulls his hand away, dark red liquid drips down his skin.
Within seconds, his pale skin is mended. Satisfied, he smirks and tosses the sword to me. I manage to catch it, but for some reason it feels a bit heavier in my hand.
Lysander pulls another out of the trunk and swipes it a few times through the air, pleased with his choice. “Are you going to tell her?” he asks me.
After returning from the city, I’d walked right passed Haven’s bedroom door, too afraid to give her the news. It’s going to devastate her, and I don’t know if I have the heart to do that to her.
“Well?”
I sigh, shaking my head. “I don’t think I can.”
“And why not?”
“She loved her father.” When Lysander gestures for us to begin the training, I raise my sword. Dueling is the last thing I want to be doing right now. My head’s not in it. “This would break her heart.”
“Yes, that’s true, but you won’t be able to lie to her forever.”
I know he’s right, but how to tell her something so terrible? I don’t want to be the one to tell her that the only person she loves is now dead.
“I will tell her, but not now. Not yet.”
I roll my aching shoulders as the stress of everything presses down on them. This news can even jeopardize our escape. Haven needs to be at her strongest if we’re going to make it out of here alive.
Lysander stands there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting.
Unlike me, he doesn’t care about the emotional aspect of what I’d discovered.
He focuses on what must be done next, and right now, it’s getting me trained to fight, just in case things come to that. Just in case I have to defend us.
Sighing, I stand the way I’ve been told to, with my legs shoulder-length apart, right foot slightly placed in front of my left, knees bent, elbows relaxed, wrist stiff.
“Study your opponent before, during, and after your duel,” Lysander instructs, his tone hard.
“Find a weakness that you can play on. It may be a limp in their step, putting all their weight on their heels while they are attacking, or, in Cornelius’s case, talking instead of thinking.
” He takes a step forward. I dance back.
“The littlest of flaws can destroy the greatest of men.”
As I study Lysander’s form, I find no flaws, no weaknesses. From the limited information I know about technique and form, he appears to have perfected this art.
I clear my throat, hoping to steady my rising nerves.
“For instance,” Lysander begins as he walks in a circle, dodging the sun streams and missing floorboards with ease.
I move, too, keeping the same amount of distance between us.
“I can tell just by your posture that you put all your weight forward, and so your strikes will be clumsy. You will depend on your strength in your blows, and therefore you will go into it blindly, without a strategy.”
I pause. Can he really tell all of that just from the way I’m standing?
Panicked, I straighten my back.
“Ah, and now you’re sitting on your heels and your knees are locked,” he says. “You will be slow in your attacks and will have no choice but to move backwards to avoid my blows.”
“Then what is the correct way?” I ask.
“You must stay centered. Bend your knees and plan your moves before you make them. Never depend just on your strength to win your fight. It is a mistake many make, and they rarely win.”
Studying my stance, I try to position my legs in a way that wouldn’t get me killed. Everything Lysander is saying is easier said than done, and he doesn’t seem to have the patience to explain himself further.
On cue, he gives an annoyed grunt. “Ready?”
No.
He lunges forward, sword raised, and I practically trip over my own feet to block his blow.
“Come on, Avrum! Think! Position! Strike!”
I do my best to keep up with his strikes and throw some of my own. When the time comes for me to use these skills outside this attic, there will be no room for errors.
A mistake will only end in death.
Haven
Iwait a while after Henri leaves before testing the door handle. I praise my luck. It’s unlocked.
Opening the door slowly, I step out into the hallway on quiet feet and glance up and down the corridor for anyone passing by. Luckily, I’m completely alone.
On my tiptoes and with my heart pounding, I hurry down the hall toward where I know Avrum’s room is. I tap on the mahogany wood and listen for any movement inside. When I hear nothing, my heart sinks. I knock again, this time harder.
“He isn’t in his room.” A heavily accented voice makes me whip around. At the opposite end of the long hall, the vampire named Lysander watches me with amusement in his cloudy gray eyes. The rest of his expression, however, remains emotionless.
Fear rushing through me, I step away from the door. He may be someone Avrum considers a friend, but would he get me in trouble for leaving my room and wandering alone? I hope not.
He strides over to me, a long, sheathed sword swaying at his hip. My body tenses. He must be part of the Henri’s guard. They are the only ones allowed to carry a weapon.
There’s no way he wouldn’t be loyal to him.
I instantly regret leaving my room. This could ruin everything.
“You are looking for Avrum,” he says as he approaches. He towers over me, and when his hard gaze locks with mine, I feel even smaller.
“Y-Yes, I am. He wanted to see me.” The way he’s staring at me now, as if he’s studying me under a magnifying glass and picking at my flaws, makes me shift uneasily on my feet.
Then, he lets out a bored sigh and gestures the same way he had come. “He’s down the hall there. At the end, there are a set of stairs. Climb them and you will find him.” Stepping around me, he walks away.
What an odd man. Or, should I say, vampire. I still don’t know if he’ll tell Henri about finding me out of my room, but I can’t seem to focus on that anymore. All I’m thinking about is Avrum and how he’s back from seeing my father but hasn’t come to see me at all.