Chapter 28 #3
“I think I want to have sex in a graveyard,” I say. “Like all-the-way sex.” Hayden’s head jerks back like I’ve just flicked ice down his collar. He turns from his millionth scan of the perimeter to shoot me a bemused look.
“O…kay? I mean, yeah, of course.” A moment of heat passes over his eyes. “Not that we didn’t give it a decent go already.”
“And I’d really like to visit Florence with you. And Disney World. Do you like roller coasters? Does Delia?” I can feel my throat starting to ache from the effort to hold back tears.
“I…She loves EPCOT, but, Rose—”
I drop my eyes down to Winston’s little black nose. I press a kiss to his miniature forehead.
“It’s usually, like, in the high sixties on Christmas in Irvine—can we go somewhere very cold for the holiday break?
Maybe take my parents and Delia? I just…
I want to sit on the carpet in front of a fire on Christmas Day while Winston makes a mess of the torn wrapping paper and Mom and Dad teach you and Delia how to play gin rummy. ”
“Delia and I know how to play gin rummy. We were there when it was invented,” he says dryly.
“Great,” I say, swallowing hard. “That’s fantastic. We’ll— Can we have a tournament? My parents would like that. I…” I bite my bottom lip. I’m quiet a long moment. “You’d think I’d be used to this. But knowing the future and all the terrible ways in which it might arrive only makes it worse.”
Hayden’s eyes flicker with something like agony, and he slips a tight arm around me.
Winston stretches in my arms, his little claws peeking out and tucking back between his toes, and he buries his face between his paws.
“Just in case…” I begin.
“Nope.”
“But on the slim chance I…”
“Rose,” he warns.
“Buy him the good wet food,” I say firmly. “Promise, Hayden.” With a deep, pained exhale, Hayden drops his eyes to the kitten in my arms. His jaw works a moment before he shakes his head.
“Goddammit, Rose.”
Somehow, I know that’s a yes.
Before we know it, there are only five minutes left until midnight.
Time stretches, the excruciating pain of the precipice.
I barely feel the icicle-sharp wind, the snow clumping at my lashes and in my nose.
I can’t feel Hayden’s hand pulling me painfully tight to his hip, the little purring snores of Winston against my chest.
I can barely breathe through the terror and nausea in my stomach.
One minute left.
“Hayden,” I choke.
“I know.” His voice sounds inhuman. Scared. I close my eyes, start counting, trying to keep it slow.
I reach sixty, and nothing happens. I hold my breath, keep my eyes closed, never daring to hope. I start over, count up from zero.
I reach sixty again.
When I open my eyes, Hayden’s looking at me. His eyes are a shocking, glistening purple. It takes me a few tries to find my voice.
“Have we ever made it this far?” I whisper. Hayden licks his lips, eyes intense. He opens his mouth, but maybe he can’t find his voice, because he slams it shut and shakes his head.
I turn back out to the view. The snow falls softly. The wind has died down. It even seems like, out on the open ocean, the waves have gentled a little. My vision blurs. I blink, watch as Winston’s ear twitches from one of my fallen tears.
“Did we…did we do it?” I ask.
In a burst of movement and shrieks, a flock of bats swoops at us from above. Hayden and I startle back from each other, and I yelp. Winston shoots out of my arms, landing on the snowy stone, all bottlebrush tail and arched, frightened back.
The bats turn away last minute, disappearing quickly around the bend, leaving us panting and wide-eyed.
“That was weird,” Hayden says, disturbed. After a minute or so of silence, I let my shoulders fall.
Winston only looks more freaked out. His head is twitching this way and that, as if he hears something I don’t.
Hayden’s frown is deep as he watches Winston’s movements with sharp eyes.
I’m about to stoop to pick him up when he hisses, long and loud, and sprints back into the bedroom and out the bedroom door.
“Winston!” I yell, about to chase after him.
The power goes out. The only light in the room is the dying fire, a weak orange glow. Hayden snatches my hand, pulls me close.
“Grab your go bag,” he says, and dread bubbles like tar in my chest. I slip my backpack on, filled with essentials and, just in case, my ancient copy of Frankenstein from the vault.
“We can’t assume these are coincidences,” he says. “Let’s head to the music room exit.”
“But—”
“Winston’s scrappy. I’ll get you safe, then I’ll track him down. He’ll be fine until—”
Hayden stops, suddenly rigid in the bedroom doorway.
“What?” I gasp. “What is…”
But then I smell it. And as soon as I do, it occurs to me that we’d been so worried about me dying that it hadn’t occurred to me to be worried about this. Why would I have? Because, of course, there are only three things that can kill a vampire: A stake through the chest. Decapitation. And…
A draft cuts through the hall, and I start to cough from the unmistakable smell of thick, black smoke. Hayden sounds like a ghost.
“Fire.”