Chapter 8
Eight
Staring at the gathered upturned faces in my hotel room, I tried to put on my professor persona but quickly found it too constricting for what I truly wanted to say.
“I received a phone call from your employer this evening,” I said.
“The Madame?” Ford asked. He and the others were arranged in the sitting area as they’d been before, scattered across the floor and on the plush chairs.
The sofa remained empty but for me and Rye, who had lit a trembling cigarette.
She’d said nothing since I explained what Madame Laveau told me on the phone, chain-smoking in silence the entire second half of our walk back to the hotel.
It seemed I was right in my assessment that she, too, had grown fond of the nest.
“What’d she say?” Benedict poised his pen at his pad, ready for feedback.
“I bet she’s proud of us,” Freddie chirped, adjusting his tie.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Alfred added, cupping his chin in his hand.
“Could be.” William floated in his usual crisscross seat to my right. Alex remained silent, leaning against the far wall, hands in his pockets, hair in his face. It was his thoughts I wanted most—his fears I wanted to soothe more than the others.
But I resisted, turning to each fangling for a moment.
“She wants more progress than we’ve made,” I said, choosing my next words carefully without dulling their edge. “Or there will be unfortunate consequences.”
“What does that mean? We’ll get fired?” Freddie sneered.
“Just you, ya muppet,” Alfred shot back.
“I like this job, Professor, I don’t want to get fired.” Benedict’s face pulled down, bottom lip already trembling.
“I wouldn’t say firing is exactly the threat.” I floundered, unsure how to tell the room full of young men that their promised immortal lives were already in danger of being cut much too short—that it would be my fault at the end if that were to pass.
“She’ll kill us.” Alex’s words hushed the room like the flickering of lights at a matinee. “We’re too dangerous to leave out here if she can’t trust we know how to control ourselves.”
“You mean you’re too dangerous.” Ford shot out of his seat, rounding on Alex. “You’re the one shredding your mum’s—”
“The fuck did you just say to me?” Alex was off the wall and at Ford’s throat, the two tumbling to the ground in a mess of flailing limbs. They rolled in a rapid blur, appearing solid for a split second before disappearing again, then reappearing in a bloodied mess on the far side of the room.
Voices collided from around me, egging them on, warning them to stop, screaming in shock.
Somewhere in the chaos, a door opened and closed.
Rye stubbed out her cigarette just in time for the tussle to nearly land in her lap.
This was a mistake for which no one anticipated the outcome, as the American snatched each fangling from seemingly midair, reducing them to bent, whining children doing their best not to let her tear their ears from their heads.
“That is enough, gentlemen,” she hissed, releasing them each with a sharp twist. Chastised, Alex and Ford returned to their original spots, tenderly guarding their ears.
“I see one of us is adjusting to her duties.” Billy’s voice barely had time to chirp from the far corner of the room before my rage took hold.
This smooth-talking braggart had endangered us all with no thought for the consequences of his Laissez-faire attitude.
I had him by the throat, slammed into the luxurious wallpaper before I could even blink.
“You.”
“Pat, please,” Billy sputtered against my grip, hands scrambling at his throat.
“We’re not fanglings.” Technically, vampires didn’t need to circulate air—we didn’t necessarily breathe the same way as humans.
But the throat is still a tender part of the body, one we instinctively seek to protect, and one that drops us into submission immediately when attacked.
“And yet your naivete says otherwise.” I squeezed tighter. “When were you going to tell us of the Madame’s deadline? Of the true danger waiting for this nest and all involved?”
“Patrick,” Rye warned. I ignored her.
“Or were you going to watch us fail from a distance before setting off on your private jet?”
“What are you talking about?” Billy wheezed.
“He can’t talk to you like this, Patrick. Let him go.” Leslee this time. I brushed her off.
“Tell me why Madame Laveau called me tonight, demanding progress on the fanglings and threatening to handle the matter herself if I couldn’t.” I slammed him into the wall again for emphasis.
“I didn’t know,” Billy choked out, voice rasping over the press of my hand.
“I’m expected to believe you made a deal with a colony lead and didn’t check the fine print?”
The smell of pine and yew filled my nose as my arms yanked back of their own accord. Billy dropped to his knees, rubbing a protective hand over his neck.
“Patrick.” Leslee commanded my attention with no more than my name.
Her halo of brown curls sparked at the ends, as if conducting a magical current from the air around us.
Her fingers danced in strange, impossible positions through the air as crackling branches swarmed me, seemingly from nowhere. “Get it together.”
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, a small voice pointed out that for the second time in so many hours, a powerful woman had demanded I get a grip. Perhaps it was best to heed the warning before a third and final encounter.
I met Leslee’s heated gaze, nearly flinching at the barely suppressed rage there.
I could only manage a nod. The branches released me as suddenly as they restrained, slithering away with the sickening sound of cracking bones before vanishing out the windows.
Alfred and Frederick, each standing next to a sill, slammed them closed before saluting the hedge witch.
“Now.” Leslee clasped her trembling hands together, clanking crystal necklaces swinging against her chest as she turned to the gathering.
“I’m going to make us tea, and we’re all going to sit and talk this through—like grown-ups.
” She fixed Billy and me with a final glare before turning on her heel.
“William.” Rye nodded for him to follow. “You know Reginald will interrupt, and I can’t imagine she’ll spare him this evening.” William floated from the room, latching the door behind him.
Silence stretched over the room like a thick fog, smothering us with our thoughts. Finally, a choked, pitiful sob broke through.
“We’re going to die,” Benedict rasped from the floor, head in his hands, notepad and pen forgotten.
“No, Ben, we’re gonna be alright.” Ford knelt next to him, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulder. “If we were gonna die, we would’ve, right? Remember?”
The first fangling shook his head violently, flecks of bloody tears landing on his white work shirt. “We’re being punished for cheating death the first time. We were supposed to be ghoul food.”
I glared at Billy across the room, and to his credit, he cleared his throat and stepped closer to the group, eyeing me nervously. “Look, boys,” he started, stopped, swallowed loudly. “I’m sorry. This has all become a giant mess.”
The fanglings looked at him, waiting for more. Even Rye paused lighting her next smoke.
Billy looked to me, helpless, but I wasn’t bailing him out this time. No one had taught him the finer points of vampiric promises. Worse, he hadn’t thought to ask. And now here we were, the formerly suspended haunt of time now pressing in on all sides.
“The Madame wanted to have you all sentenced to ash,” Billy started again, voice barely more than a whisper. “And I couldn’t let that happen, so I opened my big mouth and promised I’d take care of it. I didn’t know she expected results on a tight turnaround. I thought she understood.”
“Yes, because a woman known as The Voodoo Queen must be famous for her endless compassion,” Rye snipped, rolling her eyes and lighting the suspended cigarette. “You dumb fuck.” She blew the smoke in his direction as if it would strike.
“What did you give her in exchange?” I asked, dropping heavily onto the sofa.
“What do you mean?” Billy looked frantically from me to Rye and back again.
“Oh, Billy.” I dropped my head into my hands, trying to clear the pulsing pain behind my eyes.
“She gets a well-trained staff for her luxury vampire hotel, and the fanglings are safe. It seems straightforward to me.” Billy wrung his hands in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture.
“It’s amazing you’ve made it this far unscathed,” Rye said on another smoky exhale.
“Is there a contract?” Silence from Billy told me there wasn’t.
No, the Madame dealt largely in the heavy weight of words.
For a ruler such as her, there was little else needed.
With too many unknowns hanging in the air—too many anxieties buzzing between those gathered—and each tick of the clock slicing away precious seconds, we couldn’t afford to continue chasing one another in circles.
Leslee finally returned, her presence greeted with palpable relief at the sight of the silver tea service, William floating behind her with an identical set.
The two set about the silent room, distributing cups and saucers, pouring the fragrant, scalding liquid, and Leslee tutting quietly at each of the fanglings.
When she reached me, I didn’t miss the cold shift in her demeanor, the hard edge to her stare. I thanked her anyway.
I let myself sink into the warmth in my hands, trying and failing to pull at the flurry in my mind. Somewhere, just beyond the overwhelm, an idea was asking to be heard.
After a few more moments in tense silence, the only other sound quiet sipping and slurping, Billy finally spoke. “I think we’re going to need backup.” He looked to all of us meaningfully. “I’m clearly no help, and we can’t ask Patrick to do everything alone on an expedited timeline.”