Chapter 4
Four
The next evening, I woke to the sounds of a small, well-trained army descending upon my room. I rubbed sleep from my eyes, peering blearily at the flashing shadows moving in a blur around the imposing figure of Miss Amato.
A cigarette smoldered in one hand, the other clutching a tidy stack of yellowed papers to her chest. She’d chosen a double-breasted suit with a smartly flared leg for the day, glittering gold chains glinting at her neck like an inviting threat.
Not a hair dared stray from her ever-sharp bob cut, dark eyes surveying her command.
I was embarrassingly underdressed for the sight.
The fanglings moved in smart unison around the American, William, unloading another warmed blood bag at the table next to the distinct wafting smell of a coffee service. I remembered what Billy had said about Miss Amato bullying Reginald into giving her coffee instead of tea.
But as I slipped into a pair of slacks and a fisherman’s sweater, completely unnoticed by the moving bodies in the sitting area, I noticed it wasn’t fear that Miss Amato commanded. It was respect—and, incredibly, camaraderie.
“The mares looked much healthier, Alex,” she said, one hip popped casually as she accepted a crystal ashtray from the named fangling.
“Aye, Miss.” He nodded. “You were right about the feed. We’re sourcing it from a farm just outside of the village, and it’s made all the difference.”
“Good work,” she said, flashing a full smile that made Alex duck his head into one shoulder, then the other. “You’re really shaping into a high-class horseman. Give it another year or two, and you’ll be able to show Billy up.”
“Oh, no, I don’t ken—”
“I do. I ken very well.” She nudged Alex playfully.
“Where is the man himself?” I asked, inserting myself into the scene.
I noticed how the fanglings stiffened at my presence, the full breakfast spread suddenly clanging and banging where it’d seemed to simply appear before.
More, I noticed the work desk that Bradford hefted in the corner, Benedict fluttering nearby with stacks of boxes, a pen tucked behind his pointed ear.
Miss Amato shrugged, not bothering to glance at me. “He shows when he shows.”
“You seem nonchalant at his lack of timeliness.” I raised the blood bowl to my lips, pausing to nod gratefully to William, who dropped his shoulders and gave me a thin smile.
“He doesn’t pay me to keep his calendar.” Then, to Alex, “Did you still want to stay today?”
Alex glanced from me and back to Miss Amato—or I assume he did, the barest shift in his eye-covering bangs the only indication he seemed to be looking at anything at all.
“Stay?” I asked, glancing between the two.
“It’s alright if you’d rather another day. We’ll be here awhile.” Miss Amato’s tone softened as she tapped her cigarette in the ashtray with a single expert flick. Her nails were the same maroon as yesterday, but the early evening light made them seem sharper, brighter, more in focus.
I’d have to figure out this woman’s pull on me if we were to work together safely.
“I welcome any questions or concerns,” I said, setting my breakfast down and settling into the sofa with what I hoped was an easy repose. I’d have to reassess my approach to the fanglings if they felt they couldn’t come to me as their teacher. “Sit, please.”
The others hovered, various trays, empty boxes, and carts in their hands.
“Do you all have questions?” Three heads nodded in unison.
I noticed the redheaded brothers were absent.
I gestured to the remaining sofa cushions, the seat to my right, the floor around the table.
“Please. I am stern but not cruel. Ask.”
Miss Amato handed Benedict her stack of papers before settling into the same plush seat she’d perched in the night before, stubbing her cigarette out.
Alex remained standing, leaning against the dark wallpaper.
Bradford settled easily in the remaining plush seat, Benedict opting for the floor between him and Miss Amato.
William crossed his legs midair and hovered to my right.
The assemblage stared at me in silence as I sipped from my blood bowl, focusing on the way my hunger softened at the offering.
I would need a live meal soon enough—the blood bag would only hold for so long.
But better now, I realized, to show satisfaction at the meal than disappointment.
It was, after all, what the fanglings could offer me.
And anything was better than the sewer rat sludge William brought that first day.
Miss Amato poured herself a coffee, swirling a single sugar cube into the delicate cup with a tiny spoon clutched between her sharp fingers. I watched a little too closely as she raised it to her rouge lips, the scalding liquid sliding down her graceful neck.
“I’ll start then,” she said, glancing meaningfully at each fangling in turn. “It’s no secret you and I are here to investigate the ghoul that turned these boys.”
I nodded. “An anomaly that shouldn’t have been possible.”
“We don’t know what any of this means, Professor.” Benedict peered up at me from the floor, fiddling with the hem of his trousers. “Sires, ghouls, turnings. No one’s had time to explain any of it, and it seems unfair we don’t know anything about our own circumstances.”
“Well, we can’t have that, certainly.” I straightened, brushing my hands down the front of my sweater more out of habit than anything. “Where are the brothers? Tonight’s lesson will be academic in nature, and they should join.”
“They’re helping Billy and Leslee,” Bradford answered, glancing uneasily at the others.
“Fetch them, then. I’m sure the happy couple will appreciate some time alone.” But none of the fanglings moved. “Now is preferred.”
“It’s a surprise, Professor.” Benedict looked to Miss Amato, who nodded encouragingly. “For you.”
A smile split my face, cracking my cheeks in aching joy.
It was all I could do not to touch it in wonder—what a strange and fleeting thing.
“Then someone better take good notes for them.” I gestured to Benedict, who pulled the pen from behind his ear, producing a small tablet pad from seemingly nowhere.
“Let’s begin, then, with the expected sire-vampire relationship. ”
I won’t bore you with the detailed lecture I presented the fanglings that evening, as you are most likely already aware of the basics.
A vampire sires another, traditionally, by drinking the human’s blood when they’re at the brink of death (or drinking until they reach that point), then offering their own blood to the human to drink.
The alchemy of this exchange results in a fangling—a freshly turned vampire.
This is not to be confused with the lesser creation of a thrall, wherein a vampire drinks of a human so long that they become addicted to the venomous bite.
They are so consumed by the thought of their next dose that they’ll blindly follow any order, grant any request, until they are entirely lost to the bids of their new master.
You’ll note there is no alchemy in creating a thrall, only manipulation.
“But what about ghouls?” Benedict paused his pen, looking up at me expectantly.
“That is where my lesson becomes less history and biology, and more theory.” I steepled my fingers together, tapping a restless foot on the carpet.
“We’ve understood ghouls to be a type of vampire, but lost entirely to their appetites, all human attributes vanished in their monstrous slide to darkness. ”
“Like you warned us about.” Bradford barely breathed, face waxy in the low light, eyes sharp with hurt. “We can turn into a ghoul?”
“It’s nothing to worry about.” Miss Amato gave him a comforting half smile. “It takes a very long time, and that’s why we’re teaching you as much as we can. Education keeps you safe.”
I slammed my teeth down on my tongue hard enough to taste my own sour blood, contradiction building an offensive against my lips. There was no point in coddling these children any further—there was a violent world closing in on them, and half-truths would do nothing to arm them against it.
And yet.
I could not bring myself to break the silent trust as Bradford took Miss Amato’s outstretched hand and squeezed it, light returning to his handsome gaze.
And as much as I wanted to remind everyone that part of their education was understanding consequences, that you cannot study only the hypothesis but also the outcome of the experiment, the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, I ground out a solitary, middling, “Quite.”
Miss Amato sensed my displeasure, eyes darting briefly to mine before she stubbed out yet another cigarette.
“Alright, gentlemen, that’s enough for now.
Head down to the ballroom, and we’ll join you shortly.
” Incredibly, the fanglings filed out in a quiet line, clicking the door shut behind them.
What spell did this woman have over them?
“They’re just kids,” Miss Amato said, as if in answer to my unasked question. “There’s no point in scaring them.”
“Their circumstances come with risks,” I snapped. “There’s been too much soft stepping around them. How are they supposed to protect themselves if they don’t know the dangers they face?”
“Oh, so telling them they’re all going to turn into monsters if they—”
“They are monsters, Miss Amato. We all are.” Her eyes narrowed at my interruption.
“Yes, you’re all so scary with your big teeth and night shift hours.” She crossed her arms, fixing me with a look. “What is it that defeats you again? A little sunshine?”
“They’re part of a world more bloodthirsty than you will ever—”
“Don’t pretend you know the world I come from.” This time, Miss Amato sliced through my thought, eyes flashing, mouth tightening to a thin line. She leaned forward, shoulders shifting like a jungle cat on the hunt. “I’ve seen more horrors at mortal hands than your centuries could hold.”
Heat spiked through me, gone as quickly as it came, leaving ice in its wake. “Spending Daddy’s money on international research trips doesn’t make you equipped to teach fanglings about their own kind, Miss Amato. I don’t care how your family came to its fortune.”
She launched the crystal ashtray at my head in a single fluid movement.
Even my reflexes only had the barest moment to catch it before contact, ash flitting over my lap like foul-smelling snow.
Rage thundered in my ears, and before I could take a breath, I pinned Miss Amato to her seat.
Barely withholding violent urges, I pierced my grip through the fabric, fangs flashing as if I were about to feed, every muscle taut and primed to catch her slightest breath.
The American didn’t so much as flinch, dark gaze trained on mine.
“What?” she asked, jutting her chin up in a challenge.
“You going to teach me a lesson? You wanna show me what a big bad monster you are?” She quirked a brow, an infuriating smirk curling her lips.
This close, it was all I could do not to huff her scent—something expensive layered over the gentler notes of the lotions she used.
Small downy hairs fluttered along her cheek and neck, too light to be noticeable except at such an intimate distance.
Her earrings hung close to the sensitive place where her neck joined her chin, and I noticed the extra piercings up her cartilage were slightly crooked—as if done hastily or by an amateur.
Slowly—maddeningly, glacially, intoxicatingly—so very slowly, Miss Amato tilted her head to the side, exposing her neck to me.
The smell of her wafted up uninhibited now, and just as I watched the muscles work to swallow her coffee, now I could see the blood just beneath her skin, pulsing, fluttering, beckoning.
Drool pooled in my mouth, my hunger tearing free like the beast it was, rising to wrestle the controls from my now trembling hands.
Feed, it commanded. Feast.
It had been too long since my last live meal, and now this brazen woman was offering me her throat. Not in invitation, but challenge, goading my hunger into a frenzied thing, a red-eyed beast too starved to do anything but answer.
I gripped the chair harder, tearing my gaze away from her soft, unprotected flesh. And in that brief flash of admitted defeat, Miss Amato twisted her metaphorical knife.
She reached one well-manicured hand to my face, cupping it gently as she brought her lips to my ear. “I’m not afraid of you,” she murmured, stirring the delicate hairs along my chin so that I shivered despite myself, planting a chaste kiss to my cheek.
Before I could respond, the American woman—the stupefying force I was somehow now stuck working alongside—twisted from beneath me, freeing herself from the cage of my presence.
She dusted annoyed hands over her clothes before stepping smartly through the door, calling over her shoulder as she did so.
“And don’t be late. You’ll disappoint the nest.”