Chapter Nineteen
Chapter
Nineteen
I stare at Aliz’s number. I’ve never been away from Penny this long, and I have a feeling she’s monitoring all my devices. Even if she isn’t, I can’t risk it. I need a burner phone, and luckily enough, the campus village has a couple of charity shops, each with a collection of phones and SIM cards.
I head into one of Tynahine’s many cafés, one filled by only humans, and send her my first text. Hi, this is Cassie. Then a moment later, I add, Cassie Smith, because I don’t know how many other Cassies she might have on her phone.
Hi, this is Aliz. Aliz Astra.
My lips betray me, twitching into a smile. I pinch my skin. How old am I? I order a flat white with three shots of espresso, and the student working behind the bar smiles, too. I wonder if he’s seen me with Aliz.
It’s already dark outside. When I open my chat with Aliz, I see her typing, but she doesn’t send a message. So, I write to her instead.
I’m searching the tunnels till midnight.
You can search after class.
Don’t get lost
Also, Faust says the med depart’s library will have the best anti-thirst options for me
I want to see her. The itch from the mark has spread down, across all thorns and lines, and all I can do to soothe it is dig my nails into my skin, but not scratch, because that’ll only make it worse.
Once I’ve finished my coffee, I head into the underbelly of the campus, notebook in hand.
As I walk along the Cat’s Tail, I remember my first meeting with Elia.
She had blood on her hands. Tiny little wounds that vanished shortly after.
Now I know she’s immune to garlic. And may or may not know that I’m a vampire hunter.
My steps echo on the curved walls. The lamps perched on the stone become sparse, further and further apart, and after I’ve turned a dozen corners I realise I have no idea where I am. For all I know, I could be directly beneath Tynarrich Hall, or all the way out at the hunting lodge.
I feel panic climbing up my throat as the realisation hits me.
I’m lost.
But it’s not just that. Something about these tunnels feels different. It’s only when I turn a third time, noticing the perfect arch of the ceiling, that I realise the floor is completely flat.
The meandering staircases and dusty classrooms are missing, and when I pull out my notebook to scribble the names of the tunnels, I realise they don’t have any. There are no scratches, no cracks. And most important, they don’t have electric or gas lamps.
All they have are candles, in perfect alcoves, dotting the way. All of them are lit, but the wax doesn’t seem to be melting, as though they’re frozen in time.
I don’t know what it is about this place that unsettles me, but my gut tells me something sinister happened down here, eons ago. Goosebumps cool the back of my neck, and I turn, trying to follow my makeshift map back to the Cat’s Tail. But the more I walk, the less sense my map makes.
I pick up speed, ignoring my racing heart, until I turn and come face-to-face with a dead end.
For a split second, I expect a hand to reach through the stone and grab me, just as Aliz did in our shared dream.
I breathe out, forcing myself to remain calm.
And that’s when I see it, so light it’s barely visible.
Vines with intricate leaves, roses and thorns. It’s an engraving, but there’s something so lifelike to it that I can’t quite believe someone was able to craft it. I run my finger over the stone, and the dream haunts me again. I see the rosebush at the centre of the maze, flanked by four statues.
Another chill. The sensation that I’m being watched, even though there are no audible footsteps near me. I should get out of here.
Just as I think this, the engraving on the wall changes, thorned vines shifting into words:
A phiuthar ghràdhach,
Tha m’ fhuil agad.
Ach tha thu fhathast nad chadal.
“What—”
The stone moved.
And I think my eyes may be tricking me, that perhaps it’s a screen, but when I reach out to touch it, the words are solid.
I swallow hard and scribble it down, trying not to think of how this is possible.
I don’t know Gaelic, but I recognise it enough from the cursive words they put under the names of train stations.
I’m only halfway through the engraving when the words disappear, twisting into vines again.
“Wait,” I protest, but the wall doesn’t care.
I stand there for a minute, waiting for the impossible to happen again. But it doesn’t. I peer down at my notebook, at the half-finished inscription and the new, oddly even lines of the last few tunnels, then start making my way back.
Twenty minutes later, I find myself standing right in front of the dead end again. A shiver runs through me. What if I can’t get out?
Sweat dots my forehead. I’ve always assumed that if I died, it would be at a vampire’s hands. Not lost in a maze. I keep walking, the ground still too flat. I wait to hear a student, or even an animal, anything that will tell me that I’m heading in the right direction.
Finally, the ground gains an incline. I find a staircase I haven’t seen before and rush up it, terrified it might just vanish. When I reach the top, I sit back down, catching my breath. I open a translator on my phone, quickly typing the words.
Dear sister,
you have my blood,
but—
I clench my teeth, trying to remember what the last line was. I scribble this into my notebook, beneath the Gaelic, hoping it’ll suddenly make sense. What was that?
The sound of footsteps draws me away from the notebook.
I shove it into my satchel and turn to the tunnel behind me.
The silhouette of a woman comes into view, barely illuminated by the scarce lamp, and as she approaches, she covers her mouth and nose.
“Cassie?” Julia’s voice is muffled as she looks around.
“Yeah, it’s me,” I say, and she coughs. “What is it?”
“Something smells weird.”
I sniff the air. “I can’t smell anything,” I say, getting up. “What are you doing down here?”
Julia points at a sign on the wall, an arrow above the words Traquair Hall.
“Just finished class,” she says and takes a step back.
Her pale blue eyes gain a sudden red tinge, but she blinks, and it disappears.
“Is that your blood?” She pulls up the collar of her jumper until it covers her nose.
A sharp pain pierces my chest for a second as I realise what this means.
The garlic has left my system. I swallow hard.
“Aye,” I say.
“But your blood didn’t have a scent before,” she says, confused. She stays at a safe distance, and I nod.
“I was taking garlic supplements,” I say. “It neutralises the smell.” She still hasn’t moved, tense. “But I had to stop.”
“Why?” she asks, her voice tight. This isn’t good.
Vampires like Julia, treaties-abiding vampires, have never tasted human blood.
They’re used to the synthetic, fragrance-free stuff that keeps them healthy and full, but doesn’t indulge their desires the way my blood would.
But if she attacks me, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to knock her out without hurting her.
Julia remains tense, slowly walking towards me.
“It was upsetting my stomach,” I say.
She takes a deep breath, then lowers her jumper. “Sorry,” she says, trying to calm her voice. “I was just a bit shocked. I don’t mean to be rude.”
I gawk at her, watching as she inhales slowly, as though she’s trying to get used to my scent. “Maybe I should have warned you,” I say.
“It’s fine; it’s not your fault your blood smells like this,” she says, and I stare at her.
My throat tightens.
Type-S blood doesn’t only smell good. It makes all those who smell it thirsty, and depending on the vampire, that thirst can become all-consuming. But despite the tension in her features, Julia’s eyes are no longer red. She’s controlling herself.
I follow her as she makes her way along the so-called shortcut. Julia is incredibly thin, her cheeks sunken. As years pass, she’ll start to fill out, blood will rush to her cheeks, and she’ll build muscle. But I’ve heard it can take a Convert vampire decades to regain their strength.
“With that kind of blood you’re a target for blood parties,” Julia says. I hide my reaction. Blood parties aren’t exactly a secret, but they’re certainly not something that most civilised vampires would openly admit knowing about.
“Have you ever been to one?”
“No,” she says, and she steps further towards the wall, keeping her distance.
She was probably quite pretty when she was alive.
What if Julia was a blood party victim? And instead of getting drained at that party, she was sired?
I’ve had a few vampires offer me immortality before I revealed I was a hunter. Perhaps they do keep their promises.
“Well, almost,” she says, breaking the silence.
“Almost?”
“I almost went to one, back when I was human. But they turned me instead.”
Her words are light, but I can feel all the broken pieces behind them. “You were turned against your will,” I say, and Julia looks back at me. After a short pause, she nods.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” she says.
“Of course,” I say. Who is they? I understand her not wanting to talk about it, but now it’s all I can think of. The sketch of the Tube colours my mind. She said that was the last thing she saw with human eyes.
I want to ask more. Four years ago, my parents were killed.
Four years ago, Julia was sired. I’ve heard that a dozen vampires are created each year.
I know I shouldn’t search for a connection between these two events.
But I can’t help it. I need a thread to pull on, something to bring me closer to the truth.