Chapter 14
IF THIS IS AN EGO THING
CORA
Isit at the stone table long after Elliot and Henry leave. I planned to walk them back to neutral territory, or at least through the manor. Instead, I watched them leave. Watched Elliot leave with that horrible look on his face.
Shame.
He was mortified that he could like someone like me, and I don’t blame him.
Even as a kid, I was used to people reacting that way to me.
Disgust. Horror. Hatred. The thing is, Elliot never reacted that way.
He’d only ever been kind and gentle with me.
Witnessing the opposite felt like years of trauma, all packed into one anguished look.
“Are you planning to sit out here all day?”
I startle at the voice. Vampires are notorious for their stealth, but after living with them for so long, I’m typically good at detecting them. I’m too distracted sitting out here, and that, more than anything, means it’s time to return to my quarters.
“I was just leaving,” I say. I loop my bag over my shoulder and stand, finally looking at Amelia.
She’s wearing skin-tight black pants and a sheer black top. As usual, she has bold red lipstick and her thick curls are loose around her face. She’s one of the youngest vampires in physical appearance. Maybe twenty. Twenty-two at most. It’s only her eyes that make her seem older, wiser.
When she looks at me, I get the unsettling feeling she sees everything.
“You’ve been out here for hours,” she says. She strides into the courtyard, the soft afternoon sun gleaming off her dark skin.
There’s only one way she’d know that.
“Master should mind his own business,” I grumble.
“In his mind, you are his business, Cora,” she says. Her voice is gentle, but there’s an edge of concern in her words. “Perhaps you should tell him of your…relations with the Lyrie boy.”
“I’m not sleeping with him,” I say. I brush past Amelia, striding into the manor with the confidence of a king. This time, I’m paying enough attention to hear Amelia follow. “We were friends in school. That’s all.”
“Do friends steal each other’s memories?” she asks. Her voice is low, mockingly sweet.
I stop so abruptly she has to step backward to avoid hitting me. She’s not much taller than I am, but I still have to tilt my chin to look at her. My chest heaves as I glare at her, as I try to keep my magic from spiraling out of control.
“Sebastian had no right to eavesdrop,” I snap. My voice shakes, trembles so hard it beats in rhythm with my racing heart. “Elliot has nothing to do with the sunwalker spells. And what…what happened in the past is none of his—or your—concern.”
Amelia doesn’t immediately respond. She stares at me for an uncomfortably long pause, dark eyes wide and full of knowing.
“I’ve never heard you call Sebastian by his name,” she says.
It’s not the comment I expect. I reel backward, only now realizing she’s right. I never call Sebastian by his name. He’s always been Master. He’s always been some high, untouchable figure in my life. My savior in more ways than one. I’ve never doubted, never challenged him, not really.
“It slipped,” I say. Then, with a shake of my head, I add, “It doesn’t matter, Amelia. Just…let it go. All of this. Please.”
“I’m worried about you,” she says. Her voice is still low, but the curiosity has mostly evaporated. Now, there’s just pure, raw worry. And I hate that even more. “Elliot was clearly more than a friend—”
“Amelia,” I snap. “Let it go. I’ve got it under control.”
With that, I spin on my heel and march the rest of the way to my quarters. I keep my ears on high alert, but thankfully, Amelia doesn’t follow.
I am horridly drunk. I have no idea what inspired me to be such a disastrous moron, but for the first time in my twenty-seven years, I am hopelessly intoxicated. I have slipped far past the point of numbing my mind, and that had been the reason for the first drink. Even the second.
Now, I’ve had five drinks and everything is spinning. I’m stumbling around my room like a toddler learning to walk, tears streaming down my face and an unpleasant nausea settling in my gut. I am, inevitably, going to puke.
“Fuck you, Amelia,” I say.
She’s not here. I’m not drunk to the point of delusion—yet—but the words feel satisfying all the same. Maybe even more satisfying, seeing as she can’t defend herself.
“You’re stupid,” I declare to my empty quarters. “You don’t know anything.”
I stumble over to my wall of dead but thriving plants. Stick my finger deep into the soil. Dry. I forgot to water them.
“Stupid plants,” I say. I stagger to the kitchen, fill a pitcher of water, then stagger back. By the time I reach the wall, I realize I’ve lost a good amount of water on the floor. That’s a problem for tomorrow. “Here, drink your stupid water.”
I hiccup.
“Elliot was a friend,” I say. I don’t know if I’m telling imaginary Amelia or the plants. “Elliot was a stupid friend. And…and just because…If you saw the way he reacted now…Stupid.”
I hiccup. My stomach twists, and I briefly consider running for the toilet.
“No vomiting,” I instruct myself. Then, because I’m sloppy drunk, I start to laugh. My words are slurring. I hardly sound like myself, and though it’s probably not, it feels hilarious.
I laugh as I return to the kitchen, leaving the empty pitcher on the counter. Then, I go to my bedroom and glare at the jars and jars of memories.
“Stupid,” I tell them. “All of you.”
I sit on the end of my bed and wrestle my tights off until they’re in a tangled heap on the floor.
My entire body feels like it’s on fire, like I’m roasting from the inside out.
I have no idea if this is supposed to happen when you drink alcohol.
For all I know, I’m having a horrific allergic reaction and I’ll die before morning comes.
Here’s to hoping.
I peel my dress over my head. I’m in nothing but my underclothes, and I’m still hot.
I shove from the bed, run my fingers delicately over Elliot’s memories.
I should watch each and every one of them.
That way, I’d know which to show Elliot.
If he even wants to see more. Maybe, hopefully, he’ll be scarred enough from today’s session that he’ll never want to see another memory.
He’ll help me with sunwalker spells, and we can pretend our past never happened.
I assumed if I stuck to his twelve-year-old memories, we’d be safe. I didn’t know he liked me back then.
I wasn’t lying when I told Elliot I hadn’t watched his memories since the day I stole them. I haven’t watched my own memories in nearly as long.
“Fuck.” I stumble past the jars around the doorway and move to the final wall of memories. These are mine. Dozens of them, silver-lidded. Detailed with ink. “I’m going to have to watch you, aren’t I? I’m going to have to take you back.”
Memories of every color thrash in their jars. Purples. Reds. Oranges. Blues. Greens.
They’re all desperate for escape, and right now, in this drunken stupor, I see them for what they are. Protection. The only way to protect me and Elliot, is for me to remember what I’ve forgotten.
“Fine,” I tell the jars. I stumble along them, reading the labels until I find the one I want.
In the morning, I’ll be ashamed of what I pick. Maybe I feel the shame even now, but alcohol is nothing if not stubborn. It demands I pick this one, the same one I eye all too often.
Cora Reed
age 14
Astoria Lake*
This was a terrible idea. I knew it when Margot invited me.
I knew it when I attempted to say no, and I knew it even more when I reluctantly agreed.
There was never a point I thought this was a good idea.
As I put on this stupid dress. As I let Margot apply goopy makeup on my eyelashes and sparkles on my cheeks.
As I followed her and her friend group down to the shores of Astoria Lake.
Still, it’s never felt like a worse idea than it does right now.
Margot Blake is an absolute angel. She’s only ever been kind to me, only ever done her best to include me, to chase away those who are mean to me. She broke up with Harrison because of me, even though she won’t admit it.
I wonder if he’ll be here tonight.
I don’t see him. I’m sitting back at the trees, leaned against the wide base of one.
It’s only a matter of time before Margot notices I’m back here and begs me to join the party.
I hope she doesn’t. I hope she has the best birthday of her life and is too busy with her friends to realize her spare sister is in the shadows, lurking like an uninvited guest.
Margot’s friends tolerate me. I’m not delusional enough to believe they like me, though they pretend. There’s only one person in our school who seems to enjoy my presence, and I’ve spent too much of tonight hoping he’ll appear.
He probably won’t come. I know Harrison wasn’t invited, so maybe they’re off doing something together.
It’s strange knowing they’re friends. Best friends.
Close enough that it’s been years since Harrison openly tormented me.
At first, I assumed it was to win back Margot, but even once that door fully closed, Harrison kept his distance.
Because of Elliot, I’ve realized, not Margot.
I settle deeper against the tree. I’m comfortable enough I could fall asleep—not that I’m stupid enough to do that. Just because Harrison isn’t here, doesn’t mean none of my tormentors are. If they think they can get away with kicking dirt in my mouth while I sleep, they will.
I scan the shoreline, looking. There are nearly fifty people here, most people from our class, but some are older. They showed up with large jugs of dark liquid. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize they’d brought alcohol. And now, the majority of guests are drunk.
If they’re worried an adult might stumble upon this party, they sure don’t show it.