Chapter 50 Arabella
Arabella
“YOU,” I GASP.
Sinead smiles down at me as she steps forward and kicks me in the ribs. It’s a pitiful human kick that barely registers after Astor’s brutal blow, but I recoil from her because suddenly I know where I’ve seen her before.
She was Lord Astor’s maid back in Cairo. The night I killed him, he’d sent her away to be played with by one of his friends. She must have returned to the mansion and found the coffin burning. She helped him become this… this thing.
I’d been so obsessed with my ascent through the ranks of Cairo’s elite, and after Astor turned me, with my escape, that I’d barely noticed the faces of the people who worked for him.
“Of course, me.” Sinead tosses her hair over her shoulder, tugging down her collar to reveal the fresh fang marks on her neck.
She’s impossibly old for a Thrall. But drinking the blood of such an ancient vampire must keep a human youthful for…
“I’ve been Thralled to John for over two hundred years.
The things I’ve had to do to keep us alive would melt your pretty little eyeballs right out of their sockets.
Not the least of which was planting a body in John’s grave to throw off that gormless detective you hired.
This job at Sanctus was supposed to be our chance to get close to the uncourted community and establish Astor back into public life, but then I discovered something better. The ultimate gift for my master. You.”
“Sinead is quite brilliant,” Astor says proudly, as though her deceptions are his own.
“She made Gideon trust her, so he gave her access to Sanctus’ secrets.
She siphoned off treasure from the vaults so I could rebuild my fortune.
She dropped the security system to let me in and found me an unused maintenance shed to hide in during my dreamless sleep.
She copied your lock code so that I could leave you my little gifts.
She made sure that we silenced anyone who asked questions. ”
“You’re the husker?” I gasp.
Astor laughs. “No. Those deaths were far too theatrical for us. Especially your vampire friend. The killer took quite a risk with her. I was watching through the bushes beside your home when I saw her hurry up the stairs, and when you didn’t answer, I followed her through the sculpture garden, where the killer leapt out and attacked her.
Although I took advantage of the situation to leave you a little note. ”
Mine, Arabella.
“You didn’t kill her?” Even in my fear, something of the Nevermore Coven takes over. “But you saw who did?”
“Who, my love?” Sinead peers up at Astor. “If someone at Sanctus is killing, I should know.”
“Now, what’s the fun in telling?” Astor coos, licking another cold, wet trail down my cheek, drinking the tear that’s escaped my eye.
“It’s more fun to know that Sanctus has a killer with a flair for the dramatic, and none of you can see the truth.
You think this is a husker, but you’re so delightfully wrong. ”
What?
“My darling.” Sinead folds herself around his arm. “You should at least tell me—”
“You’ll not speak back to me, Thrall. Not when you haven’t done your duty and found my necklace.”
His tone never changes from whimsical delight, but Sinead steps back as though he’s slapped her.
I remember all too well the cruelty of him – how he would pull you close with extravagant gifts and poetic promises, and make you feel like you were his most precious possession, but then he’d snatch his affection away and you’d see that you were less than nothing.
I don’t want to be Sinead’s BFF, but I do recognise a piece of myself in her.
“I searched her whole house while she slept. It’s not here.
” Sinead turns back to me, and her hurt is masked by sadistic glee.
“It was my brilliant idea to turn Gideon against you, but you made him hate you all on your own, and he won’t be flying in to rescue you.
He’s not even on the property tonight. We have you all to ourselves, don’t we, John? ”
“We do, my love. I have such invigorating plans.”
I scream as Astor grabs me by the arm, bending it at an angle no arm should bend as he drags me into the living room. I know, academically, that screaming is pointless. The house is designed to be soundproof. But I’m a mess of terror and agony. Screaming is what you do in this situation.
Astor throws me into the corner. I hit the wall, cracking the plaster and another few ribs before knocking over a Pierre-Auguste statue sitting on a plinth beside the television. The marble shatters.
I want to be angry. I’m good at being angry, especially when a man invades my sanctuary and wrecks my shit. But I’m too busy being afraid.
I can’t fight him. He’s too strong. My body is already singing with pain, and he’s barely even started. In the corner of my blurry vision, I see Sinead shoving aside my fashion magazines to unroll a leather case filled with silver blades.
I could run. The front door is only in the next room. If I can get outside and down the steps, I can scream for help.
I try to stagger to my feet, but a sharp heel in my back shoves me down again.
“Don’t even think about it,” Sinead growls.
I squirm beneath the heel in my back. She’s strong, too, much stronger than a Thrall should be.
It must be all those centuries of Astor’s blood.
“I’ve given the security team the night off.
The only Thrall working is on the gates, and he’s so gorged on John’s blood that he won’t help you even if you beg. ”
“Mmmm. I’d like to see her beg. I think she will, once I’m done with her.” Astor holds up one of his knives. “You could tell us where the necklace is now, but this way will be more fun.”
“My friends were coming over tonight,” I choke out. “I’m directing the variety show, and they want my help with their stupid dance.”
“That doesn’t sound like my Arabella.”
“It’s true. That’s why my picture was on that pole studio poster.”
“I revoked their visitor passes. They won’t get through the gates,” Sinead says. “And they’re human – hardly worth worrying about.”
“Not all are human. Do you think your Thrall on the gate is a match for a werewolf?”
Sinead pales. “John, she’s right. The werewolf could be a problem.”
Astor tosses my phone at my feet. “Send them a message. Tell them not to come. Sinead, watch her. Make sure she doesn’t try anything clever.”
With trembling hands, I pick up the phone, click on the Nevermore Coven group chat, and hit the record button.
“Hello, ladies.” I fight to keep my voice light. “I know you were all coming over tonight to help me organise the program for the variety show. But I’ve decided to do it on my own. That’s the only way it will be done right. I’ll see you all at the next book club meeting, okay?”
Slick with my blood, my fingers slip as I click send message. A tick appears beneath it.
Delivered.
“Good. Don’t look so terrified, sweet Arabella. It will be just like the old days.” Lord Astor cracks his knuckles. “We’re going to have fun.”