Chapter 2
Two
The next evening, at the crack of sunset, the room’s phone pulled me from sleep with its raucous chirping. I ignored it, eyes still closed, body in its mimicry of death. But once it seemed to tire itself out, it was less than a split second before it picked up its cry again.
Groping a blind hand up and behind my shoulder, I grabbed the offending device.
“Breakfast?” wheezed through the line before I could growl my displeasure.
“William.” I sighed. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Breakfast,” he said in a confident answer. I hung up. Then, pulled the phone back off its cradle and left it lying on the nightstand.
I’d earned a few more hours at least, a bone-deep weariness pulling me back into sleep.
What seemed like moments later, there was a loud, insistent knocking on the door.
“Go away.”
But the knocking persisted, louder and more insistent than before, like a stampede of armored elephants thundered across a cement field. I transported myself from my coffin to the door in less than a human blink, flinging the door wide and glaring down at the fangling with his silver service tray.
“Breakfast.”
I put an arm out, blocking his entry. “Before you come in here with your infernal breakfast, you must prove you can say at minimum three other words.”
He squinted at me, wan face wrinkling in thought. He held up a few fingers, ticking the count silently before flashing me a fanged grin. “I brought toast, too.”
William pushed past me, feet hovering just above the ground as he set the tray on the coffee table. He whipped the cover off with a flourish, revealing a strange array beneath.
There was a tea service, complete with identical cubes of sugar, thick cream, and thin steam slipping from the pot’s spout.
He’d also brought toast, as promised, a slab of butter slipping in a greasy pool down the front, and there, in the middle, was a promising soup bowl filled nearly to the brim with blood.
I sat with a tired groan on the sofa, picking up the bowl and bringing it to my lips, all too aware of William staring. It was still warm, and I closed my eyes in contentment, anticipating that first, revitalizing sip.
Instead, a taste like sewer filth seeped over my tongue and down my throat. I sputtered and coughed, spewing the toxic mess across the table and over William’s work uniform. “What is this?” My voice was more animal than human, my very core vibrating with rage.
“Rat,” William said with glee, shoulders straight, chest puffed. “Caught them myself.”
Well, at least we were up to a full four different words every time now.
“When I requested my meals from a live supply, I did not mean from rodents.” My stomach threatened to empty, twisting on itself in painful clenches.
“What, then?” Confusion pulled his proud grin down at the corners.
“Human, you . . . ” I let the insult sizzle on my tongue, swallowing it before it could find its target. “Human. Human is preferred.”
“Billy said—”
“Billy isn’t here. I am here.”
“We have hospital bags . . . ?” William’s unsaid question dangled between us.
I waved him away with an exhausted gesture. “Alright then. Bring me that.” As the fangling turned to go, a sudden thought had me stopping him again. “Tell the others our first lesson will begin early. Meet me in the lobby at eleven.”
It was time to teach the nest how to properly hunt.
As if the fates themselves were conspiring against me this evening, my cell rang as soon as William clicked the door closed.
“What,” I hissed in answer.
“Good evening to you, too, friend.” Billy’s cheery voice lilted through the phone.
He’d been turned in Ashbourne some two hundred years ago and chose to maintain his accent.
My mind flashed briefly to the punishing boots in my ribs that night in Boston, angry, stilted American voices telling me to go back to my own country, not knowing I’d helped to found what they claimed as theirs.
They thought I was just another Italian trying to steal their life from under them, not stopping to consider the oppression we all suffered before the invention of labor unions.
Not for the first time, I wondered what my long life could’ve been had I come from a colonizing country.
“Pat?” Billy asked again, dragging me back to the present.
“I heard you.” I ran a hand over my face, trying not to flinch anew at my flat intonation, the complete loss of musicality that once ran through my very veins. “How can I help you, Billy?”
“I wanted to see if the fanglings won you over yet.” He chuckled. “Sounds like you’ve met William.”
“I have. What’s wrong with him?” I considered the tea, deciding it wouldn’t be the worst thing to hold and smell a strong cup until I could feed.
“No one’s sure. The boys tell me he was a chatterbox before, and they think something happened in his brain when he was turned.” The sound of a car door slamming came through the line, and Billy gave muffled directions to someone on his end. “I was hoping maybe you could get through to him.”
“That’s not my expertise.” I chose Earl Grey, letting the bag steep as I reclined on the sofa. Maybe a little softness for these ancient bones wasn’t so painful after all. “I’m here to instruct the fanglings in vampiric basics only. I’m not a speech therapist.”
“Pete says you were a teacher once—”
“In the colonies, Billy. And somewhat against my will. I doubt those years will apply here.” I shuddered at the memory of the squalid conditions we arrived in, the years of infected blood and starvation as the pilgrims fell to disease and famine. All because I got on the wrong ship.
“I forget how old you are,” Billy said with reverence. “I’d like to know more about that part of your life someday.”
“I’d rather forget it.” We both knew that was part of our curse—to remember in clarity all of our long lives, regardless of the violence, regret, and despair they contained.
“Well, I’m assuming this doesn’t dampen your agreement to lend us your research efforts?
” A cork popped on his end, and I rolled my eyes, relieved he couldn’t see me.
Billy was one of those vampires who flaunted his amassed wealth and refused to leave behind human vices.
He claimed he could at least enjoy the bubbles in a fine vintage even if it tasted of little more than ashen air.
I picked up my tea, pleased with the warmth in my palm, inhaling deeply of the bergamot scent.
“I am eager to begin.” In all the tumult of the last twelve hours, Billy’s other request had slipped my mind—to learn more about the man formerly known as Alexander Huxley and how his ghoulish state led to the fanglings’ creation.
In all our shared knowledge, only a vampire should be able to create another vampire.
And yet, there were six untended fanglings running amok and one very dead ghoul to blame.
“I’m glad to hear it. I sent my lawyer to help—the boys must’ve told you.”
“Yes, Miss Amato. I doubt I’ll need legal clearance to pull town records.
” I wished I could taste the tea, feel its herbal warmth infuse my throat as it slid into my body, warming from the inside—I wished I could be warm again.
I set the cup down, pushing the thought away as I rubbed my hands on the sofa, as if I could dissipate desire with sensation.
“You’ll like Rye. She spends her vacation in records vaults across the world, and she’s a total hard ass. Last time she was in Ashbourne, she even bullied Reggie into bringing her coffee in the morning.”
“Which one is Reggie?” I counted the boys in my mind, not finding a Reggie in the list.
“You probably won’t meet him. He’s the day manager for the hotel and the boys’ Renfield.”
I didn’t stop the gasp that slipped free at the antiquated term. “You call him that?” I pressed the phone closer to my ear, as if I could stop anyone else from hearing.
“No, we call him Reggie.” Billy seemed unfazed.
“I’d continue to do so,” I urged. “And in the future, don’t refer to him as anything but.”
I could practically hear Billy shrug. “If you say so. Anyway, good luck tonight. Rye said she’d come by your suite before it gets too late.”
“You’re sending a human woman to my room unescorted?” Any more shocks from Billy, and my dead heart would kick back to life.
Billy laughed. “I’ll see you soon, Pat.” The line clicked before I could respond.
As if on cue, a sharp rap came at the door. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I realized I was simultaneously dreading and hoping it was William with yet another attempt at “breakfast.”
“Enter,” I called.
The door swung confidently open to reveal a sharply dressed American woman with an attractive haircut slicing along her jawline.
Her dark eyes seemed to challenge the world around her with a glance, and the crook of her nose spoke of a more sinister life belied by her expensive taste in accessories.
In a few quick steps, the woman closed the door behind her and joined me in the sitting area, sinking easily into the plush chair across from me.
She swung one leg over the other, reclining lightly, and produced a silver cigarette case from her breast pocket.
“Good evening, Patrick. I’m Rye, Billy’s lawyer and your hired assistant.” She snapped the case open. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
Stunned into silence, I shook my head slowly, unable to tear my gaze away.
“Your kind usually doesn’t.” She selected a cigarette, tapping it lightly on the case before setting it gently between her ruby lips.
In another single, fluid motion, she tucked away the case and produced a silver lighter.
It gave a pleasant “ting” as she flicked it open and lit her smoke, the same bright metallic sound signaling the disappearance of the flame.
With one satisfied inhale, Rye leaned forward in her seat, spreading her legs like a man and leaning her elbows on each. She steepled well-manicured hands in front of her face.
“Now, Patrick, let’s set a few ground rules before we get to know each other.
” She said my name like we were fast friends already, but with an edge of command—as if I was both her confident and employee.
It was unsettling, but I felt myself pulled into her sphere despite myself.
There was something about this human . . .
“First, you will not feed off me or attack me in the night like some Gothic horror. I have a gun and use it freely.” She held up one finger, the maroon lacquer glinting in the low light. Smoke curled lazily around her in a hazy halo.
“Very American.”
She ignored me, continuing with a second upheld finger. “I’m fluent in Latin, Sanskrit, and Aramaic, and I speak Italian, Hebrew, and Turkish like I was born to it. You will not get anything past me, so you may as well be straightforward from now on.”
Something in my core pulsed, heat flaring deep within parts of me I’d long since considered dead.
“How does a modern American woman come by these languages at such a young age?” It was a rude question, but I couldn’t stop it tumbling free.
Rye granted me a dangerous half smile that thundered through my blood. She glanced briefly at the coffee table between us as if the question landed there with a physical thud. “I’ve been told I have a knack.”
Sharp eyes meeting mine again, locking me in place, she held up a third finger.
“Finally, we are partners in this research. That means I tell you what I know.” She jabbed all three fingers at herself before pointing them at me, “and you tell me what you know.” Her thin brows arched high across her forehead, mouth in a thin line. “Sound good?”
“You’ll get no argument from me.” I held my hands up in nonchalant peace. “I look forward to our partnership, Miss Amato.”
She leaned back to her original repose as a fresh knock came at the door.
“Enter,” we called in unison. Rye tilted her head, considering me through the lilting smoke.
William arrived with yet another silver tray. This time, I was relieved to see a steaming bowl of blood, the hospital bag with its remaining contents in a warm towel to the side. The fangling also produced a crystal ash tray, setting it ceremoniously on the arm of Rye’s chair.
“Breakfast,” he said with a deep bow before leaving the room in respectful silence.
I realized it was the easiest interaction I’d had with William yet, and I didn’t wonder if the glowering woman had something to do with it. There, again, was that pulsing heat.
“Don’t let me keep you,” Rye waved. “I’d rather you’re satiated for both our sakes.”
I took a cautious sip this time, relieved at the familiar if slightly stale taste of human blood.
I drank deeper, careful not to slurp or spill as that ancient, unearthly hunger rose to meet my offering.
This was the compulsion that called to our baser natures, that lengthened our fangs and sharpened our talons, pushing us into the shadows in search of our next sacrifice—our next temporary gift to immortality.
When I was done, Rye stubbed out her cigarette, releasing a final exhale.
“Now,” she said. “Let’s catch each other up.”