34. The Fall
The Fall
Icount each of the gems on my bracelet. I don’t remember when I took it back from Zora, but it is mine once more. It will be a beacon of my rage, a reminder of the debt that is to be paid.
Caterina took my only friend, and I will destroy her. I will destroy her printing press, her secrets, her everything. It won’t be enough to kill her, no. There is much else to do first.
First I will find her little informants, the moths and butterflies that whisper the secrets of the city to her.
They must be who informed her of Zora, who followed her where we could not.
I would catch them one by one and drain them.
Then I would string their bodies up where she could see them, so she would know they did not just disappear.
They were taken, just as she took Zora from me.
Then I will go after her businesses. I will break the printers, I will melt them down to nothing. I will burn the buildings and the humans inside them.
Next, I’ll go to her home. I will sneak in when she is not there and destroy things. I will dig through all her effects to find what she loves most, and I will take it as mine. She will be afraid to leave her home for theft, but afraid to remain within her walls and confront her assailant.
Will I tell her it’s me? Will she know?
Do I return to Le Sang Bleu so I can watch her fall apart as her life crumbles? Yes—I will turn a sympathetic ear to her sorrow. I will find other things to destroy, other ways to hurt her.
And then, when she has nothing, when she begs for death, I will finally kill her.
I plot this as I move through the streets to our home. I count each gem, blood flaking off my fingers as I go.
One—moths and butterflies.
Two—printers and businesses.
Three—safety.
Four—her.
One, two, three, four.
Perhaps I don’t need your help. I have devised this plan myself, entirely free of your influence. I can execute it myself as well.
The humans stare as I pass under the lights of the street. I don’t care, let them see me. I do not care for caution when my only goal is to return home to you and tell you of what transpired.
I pause just inside the window I crawl through on the second floor. I have not been here for days. You must be so worried. You must have looked for me in the streets. Why would you think to go below ground? Would you trace my scent through the streets, losing it to the endless tide of humans?
You must be worried.
I will set aside my anger if you do. I will lay at your feet. I will place my head in your lap as I have so many times before, and you will brush my hair with your fingers, and I will confess why I was so angry.
I will apologize. I will grovel. I will do what needs to be done.
These thoughts loosen something in my chest. There’s a weight there, heavy and heated. It’s my anger, festering, rotting me. But it is no longer for you. That anger was displaced, I realize now. Now I have somewhere useful for the anger to go, to someone who deserves it.
You never deserved it. You love me.
I take the stairs two at a time.
There are voices in the sitting room.
You laugh. I haven’t heard that laugh in so long. Who are you speaking to? Surely not a compelled servant?
I descend the stairs, quiet so as not to alert you to where I am. I am not sneaking, I just do not wish to tell you I am here yet. I want to see who you’re speaking to, who you’re sharing laughter with.
I kneel before the door to the sitting room and peer through the lock.
Your blonde hair is all I see at first, falling over the back of the chair you sit in. You are not speaking, someone else is. A woman. A human woman, I realize. Her heart flutters a nervous rhythm. Not compelled, then.
Dinner? A meal you’d brought home for when I returned?
Why weren’t you out looking for me?
The woman is French. Her accent is posh, some sort of aristocrat. Is she a victim, someone whose home you want to take for your own?
I’ve wondered how you run these schemes. I press my eye to the keyhole to see better and strain my ears to hear. I want to know how you do it, how you’ve amassed such a list of properties.
You reach out to touch the human’s hand. It’s a delicate gesture, friendly but intimate. She does not shy away. You know this woman. Have you been growing this interest for some time? Is that part of your game?
I understand this hunt, it is like what Zora and I do—did—in the streets. Sometimes it is more fun than the stealing.
“Yes, kardia mou,” you say, and my mouth goes dry.
My heart.
The weight in my chest expands, pressing against all my organs. There is no space for anything else, no space for my heart or my lungs or my intestines. I am consumed by the expansiveness of this feeling.
The pain that follows is unlike anything I’ve felt before. It hurts worse than inhaling water in that box. It hurts worse than the sun that seared my flesh.
It hurts in ways I cannot describe.
I want to scream, but that’s all I’ve done for days.
I want to sob, but my body does not respond.
The pain grows and grows until my vision is white around the edges and I am sure I will faint. Can vampyrs faint? What does it mean if we do?
When I think the pain cannot grow any more, it stops. My ears ring. I can no longer hear your words, even as I watch the woman blush and fawn over you. She laughs at something you said, her soundless mouth open in joy.
In the wake of the pain is…nothing.
Emptiness.
I am unmoored by the feeling. All I’d known for so long was rage and hatred and anger. I’d been so angry with you, pushed you away, forced a wedge between us.
Then Zora’s death and…
Zora’s dead.
You are whispering to another woman.
I stand and sway. The human’s blood sits heavy in my stomach, like it might come back up. The buzzing feeling in my veins and ears amplifies, multiplies, until my vision tunnels to what is before me.
You’ve replaced me.
You’re replacing me.
You’ve found another human you like better, one you will turn and make love to. You will bury her in our grave and worship her as you did me.
I did this. This is my fault.
I trace the gems.
One—I need to leave.
Two—I did this. It’s my fault.
Three—I want to die.
Four—What have I done? This is my fault. What have I done?
My hands shake as they reach for my necklace. I’ve only removed it to repair it, otherwise it remains around my neck always. A symbol of your hold on me, of our closeness, of what I am to you and you are to me.
I hang it on the knob to the sitting room.
And I leave.