Chapter 22 #2
“No.” She looked out the window so she didn’t have to face Sylvia, or by association, her emotions.
But she ended up ramming headfirst into them anyway – “But I do sort of feel bad for the kid. I don’t exactly take pleasure in taking away someone’s mother.
” She paused, and emotion lodged uncomfortably in her throat.
“He’s not even a vampire. He doesn’t understand this world. ”
Like herself, those many years ago. Before she’d been dragged by the teeth into immortality.
Sylvia didn’t reply for a moment, and Aster worried she might have said something to anger her, but then she felt a soft hand clasp around her own.
“I’d never force you to do something you don’t want to do,” Sylvia said quietly, almost sweetly, and Aster felt her heart flutter. But then, because Sylvia was still Sylvia, she added, “Even if Yasmine has a very killable face.”
Aster smiled despite herself. “I believe the expression is punchable, Sylvia.”
Sylvia waved her off. “Language evolves.”
Aster chuckled. “Does it evolve, actually? Or do you just strangle it into submission?”
Per usual, that was only half a joke — Sylvia had spent the better part of the 17th century Suggesting peasants into learning completely made-up vocabulary. Fop doodle was her proudest work. Well, her proudest work until she eventually replaced it with nincompoop.
“Hm. If last night was anything to go by,” Sylvia squeezed her hand, then said breathily, “Strangling things into submission feels like your forte, not mine. Wifey.”
It took everything inside Aster to prevent her mouth from falling clean open.
This woman will eventually kill me. This woman will eventually kill me, and I’ll have seen it coming the entire way, until the knife is in my mouth, and I’m thanking her for putting it there.
The driver cleared his throat loudly, and turned up the music. Sylvia smiled like a witch.
Outside the window, the cathedral began to crest over the horizon. Hundreds of well-dressed guests peppered courtyards protected by tall stone fencing.
“Well. If we’re not going to take the Yasmine route,” Sylvia said, effortlessly gliding through topics as if she hadn’t just sent a full-body shiver down Aster’s spine. “We’re going to have to come up with an alternative way to deal with Ashcroft.”
Aster eyed the GPS, then the traffic in front of them. The street was clogged like cholesterol in arteries. “Well, we have two minutes until we arrive. You’ve carried out a coup d'etat in less time. So, chop chop.”
Aster could see Sylvia’s brilliant smile in the reflection of the window, and she couldn’t resist anymore, turning to look at her — she was nothing if not a naive fish to a worm, ready as ever to wrap her mouth around the hook.
Especially when that hook was as pleasant to look at as Sylvia Maroven, suit blouse ruggedly undone on her collarbones, wild hair tamed with a sweet-smelling curl cream.
Sylvia hummed. “Thirty seconds is all I need.”
“Oh, now we’re getting cocky.”
“It’s not cocky if it’s true. Put on a timer.”
“I’m not putting on a timer.”
Sylvia pouted. “Hey Siri, put on a timer—”
Aster’s phone began to vibrate in her pocket. “You’re so—”
“—put on a timer for thirty seconds.”
“I’ve set a timer for thirty seconds,” Aster’s phone, the traitor, responded.
“Thank you Siri,” Sylvia said, giving Aster a shit-eating grin, then brought her leg up into the seat, wrapping her arm around it so her chin could sit on her kneecap, as she often did when she needed to think hard on something quickly — it was devastatingly endearing.
“Well, if he is her thrall, then the only other way to sever their connection is to put as much distance between them as possible. It’ll make it a lot easier for me to unwind his thoughts that way. ”
Aster squinted at her. “As in, kidnap Richard in broad daylight? Not sure about that one. He’s probably protected by half a dozen ex-military.”
“That’s where Wallace comes in.”
“The kid?”
“Mm. We tell him we have a lead in the case,” Sylvia snorted. Because she was, well, evil. “But it requires us talking to Daddy Dearest. He’ll introduce us to the big man, get us past his security, then I think — hmm — oh. Oh, oh god. That’s good. God, I’m good.”
Aster rolled her eyes. “What is it?”
The timer went off the same time that the door opened on Sylvia’s side. The driver turned his head to them, and with the most grim expression Aster had ever seen, said, “Please leave.”
Sylvia laughed, then tugged Aster by the hand out into the broad sunlight, and as the rays stung her skin, Aster wasn’t sure what pain was worse — the bright, eviscerating light, or knowing Sylvia would eventually let go of her.
***
For the fifth time in fifteen minutes, Sylvia was sobbing.
Which, normally – Aster would be concerned. Very concerned.
But this was Sylvia Maroven. And Sylvia Maroven, when placed in a situation where she could make fun of as many people as possible, could simply not resist the pleasure.
“He was so,” Sylvia sniffled. “So kind. Such kind eyes. Those little baby blues.”
Sylvia’s current victim, or rather, victims, were a nicely dressed lesbian couple.
An Asian woman in a suit and high heels, and a black woman wearing a form-fitting green dress.
They had introduced themselves as Alice and Jen, but Aster was positive Sylvia had no idea what their names were, and would continue to not know, even if they repeated them to her.
“...And how did you know the deceased?” Alice asked softly.
“Oh, you know.” Sylvia wiped her eyes, which were flush with tears that Aster frankly did not understand how she could produce on command. “Support group.”
“Support group?” Jen said. “Support for… what?”
Sylvia cleared her throat. Which Aster knew was a sign that she was about to say something incredibly stupid.
“Porn addiction,” Sylvia said solemnly. “It’s what killed him in the end.”
Yep. Bullseye.
“Luckily,” Sylvia sighed. “My wife has been incredibly supportive.”
She felt Sylvia’s hand tighten around her waist, but no matter how desperate Aster was, she was not desperate enough to play a prop in this joke.
“Sorry. You’ll have to excuse her,” Aster said, smiling tightly. “She’s diagnosed with chronic attention-deficit disorder. As in, she constantly needs attention, or she’ll die.”
Sylvia pouted, as if to say You’re no fun.
Alice and Jen just stared at them, speechless.
“We’ll be leaving now,” Aster said. “Nice to meet you both.”
Jen squinted. “Nice to – uh – sure.”
Aster paraded the two of them away, tugging a reluctant Sylvia behind her.
“You are a complete disaster,” she said, lips twitching upwards despite herself as she led them towards where the service would actually take place.
They’d been lingering at the outskirts of the party for too long, and Aster was growing desperate for this whole charade to end.
Human funerals were no fun. Everyone was so miserable, reciting the same bland stories about a man they could have cared less about while he was alive, and worst of all – no one let you inspect the corpse.
Sylvia protested, “Sue me for keeping myself entertained. Rich people are so boring. I can only talk about stocks for so long without wanting to pull someone’s eyes out.”
As Aster dragged them forward, Sylvia nabbed another shrimp cocktail from a wayward waiter.
Aster rolled her eyes — only mildly impressed at her dexterity for being able to grab it without spilling.
The other woman swallowed it down in two gulps, then tossed it to the grass, like they were at a college rager, not a funeral for the son of a billionaire. They received several looks.
And truthfully, it wasn’t that Aster was annoyed. There was nothing she enjoyed more than watching Sylvia bother people. It was more that she was… concerned? Because even when Sylvia got like this, she still knew how to keep the attention off her.
But she was acting… messy.
So, she pried. “Really? Littering? Aren’t you supposed to be playing a character?” Aster asked. “Like, a sophisticated aristocrat type? Not a melodramatic frat boy?”
Sylvia rolled her eyes. “I’m very familiar with sophisticated aristocrats. There’s nothing more aristocratic than making the help’s job harder. Hell froze over if Catrina picked up her own dishes.”
Aster sighed. “Point taken. But still — are you okay? You seem off.”
Sylvia’s frown deepened for a moment before she pursed her lips, then seemed to don a new mask — she gave Aster one of those smiles that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.
I’m feeling positively glorious. I just had free steak tartare, three free martinis, a new complementary suit from Zara, and the hottest piece of ass this side of the Atlantic chaperoning me around.
Not to mention we’re about to steal the wealthiest pig in all of North America.
Just keeping my eyes peeled for that lanky farm boy. ”
By which she meant Wallace, who they had yet to find. He’d gotten them on the guest list, so they didn’t need his help to get inside, but he’d all but vanished in the mobs of guests.
“Oh shit,” Sylvia whispered.
Sylvia’s hold on Aster’s hand tightened.
But before Aster could check in with her again, ask what had her so spooked, Aster froze — went stock still, fear reaching into her chest and gripping around her heart in a death vice.
Because in the middle of the crowd, looking at her with a wide, eerie smile, was a man dressed in a black suit.
Tan leather shoes. A face as pale as snow.
His teeth — fangs — were exposed. His eyes were bright red. He was tall, so tall.
Aster felt like a child again. She felt small, helpless, so afraid she couldn’t move. Her breaths started to come in harried spurts. Her lungs were constricting.
It was him again. The man from far away. He should be dead. He had tricked her parents into letting him stay. He had prayed on their charity. I killed him. I watched him die.
And yet he was here, alive. Alive and so terrifying. He was going to change her again. He was going to make her into something even worse. A monster beyond recognition. A beast so ugly even Sylvia would shudder.
“Aster.”
Aster distantly heard Sylvia’s voice, but it was so far away. Wilhelm came closer. The crowds seemed to part like tides around him. His feet were so sure, steady, confident. Aster couldn’t move.
“Aster. Snap out of it.”
Sylvia’s voice rose steadily. Aster started to cry.
“I killed him,” she said. “He should be dead.”
Faintly she felt something warm cup her face. “Honey, he is dead. He’s not real.”
Aster’s eyebrows furrowed. Wilhem took another step. She noticed something strange at the edges of his pants—a frayedness, a distortion. But still, her body was paralyzed.
“But I see him.” Aster’s entire body trembled. “He’s right there.” More tears fell from her eyes; she found it difficult to speak, her throat closing. “He’s going to do it again. He’s going to —”
But before she could finish her sentence, Sylvia stepped in front of her. Obscured everything behind her, so she was all Aster could see, and Wilhem was gone. And it felt like Aster had been wrenched from the ocean, like she’d been drowning and suddenly she was gasping for breath.
Then Sylvia’s hands wrapped around Aster’s neck, her eyes blinking quickly, her mouth wrapped in concern, and she leaned in. She leaned in and pressed her mouth to Aster like she couldn’t help it, making the smallest, most desperate sound as their lips pressed together.
“You’re okay, baby,” Sylvia whispered against her mouth. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Baby. Aster’s ears rung. In one swift moment all the fear in her body had slipped down the drain, replaced instead with an aimless need.
With a whimper, she cupped Sylvia’s face back.
And they kissed just like that — unhurried, simple, sweet; a kiss that wasn’t a pretense to anything — and when Sylvia finally withdrew, Aster missed her lips with an ache she’d never felt before.
When their gaze met, Aster could tell it was doing something to Sylvia, too. Because she had that unmoored, distant expression again. The one that looked like fear mixed with a memory.
“It’s Yasmine’s magic,” Sylvia said, her hand still wrapped around Aster’s neck. “It wasn’t real. She casts these — these illusions. Makes you see whatever you fear. It’s very annoying.”
She was still fixated on Sylvia’s lips. On the fact that she’d kissed her for a reason that had nothing to do with sex. “Wait, what? She knows we’re here?”
Sylvia shook her head. “Not necessarily. Her magic works passively. Defensively.” Sylvia licked her lips. She was still looking at Aster’s. They were equally entranced. “But now that you’ve broken out of it once, it’ll be harder for it to trick you again. You’re okay. It’ll be okay.”
Aster nodded slowly. They were still completely attached, limb to limb — Sylvia’s hands around her neck, softly playing with the hair there; their bodies pressed together.
And because Aster was still high on the adrenaline of the nightmare, she felt brave.
“You kissed me,” she said, quietly.
Sylvia blinked, and whatever fearful illusion she must have seen made her dizzy, too, because she replied before her could defensives could come back online — “I did.”
Aster inhaled sharply. I’m going to say it.
“It made me feel better.” Say all of it. “Kissing you… makes me feel better.”
Sylvia swallowed roughly. Aster could hear her heartbeat pick up relentlessly in her neck. When she spoke, her voice was small. Like it barely escaped her throat at all.
“It makes me feel better, too.”
Aster bit down on her lip, feeling blood pump deliriously in her veins, making her feel insane and naive and optimistic — because maybe this was the cliff, and maybe she was teetering precariously above it, but maybe Sylvia was the chasm, calling her name with open arms, open hands, maybe she had been afraid for no reason at all, maybe Sylvia loved her, really loved her, maybe she didn’t have to pretend anymore. She was so very bad at pretending.
“Sylvia,” she said shakily, her hands massaging the back of Sylvia’s neck, in small circles that she hoped communicated the words she was afraid of saying. “I lo—”
And then, for the second time that day, Sylvia said, her voice wrecked with terror, “Don’t.” She shook her head, pleading. “Please. Don’t.”