Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter
Twenty-Three
I sit on her coffin, scribbling into the black notebook in which we are supposed to record our dreams. The chase through that strange palace, the painting coming to life—all of it feels more like a memory than a dream.
After what Nocth told me, regarding proximity, I’ve decided to stick closer to her.
So I study in our room, instead of the library, and so far, my neck has barely itched at all.
I continue writing my description of last night’s dream until I get to the end of it.
I can’t write any of what happened next.
Aliz’s breathing changes, the sound muffled by the wooden lid of her coffin. Then a gasp.
I stay still, with my legs folded, and stare at the notebook. Then I feel her trying and failing to open the coffin. I jump down, stepping past the saltward, in case she’s overcome by thirst again. The lid creaks open, and I find myself staring at her family’s emblem, the moon surrounded by thorns.
I hear short breaths, and then her voice, thin:
“Cassie?”
“I’m here,” I say, waiting for her to climb out and face me. “Are you all right?”
She doesn’t reply, the only sounds coming from her are the breaths, deeper now.
A minute later, she clears her throat, and says, “I think Marcus’s blood worked.
” The lid of her coffin raises the rest of the way, and she gets out, more disheveled than she’s ever let me see her before.
Her white hair sticks up in every direction, and one vest strap has fallen off her shoulder.
“That’s good, then,” I say, playing with the notebook.
“Your blood still smells really good.” She clears her throat, leaning on her coffin as she stares at me. “But Marcus’s blood was different. I always thought synthetic blood was filling, but it has never hit like this. I feel”—she glances down at her hands—“strong.”
“I’m glad,” I say, looking up at her again.
Her eyes pause on the saltward. After everything that happened last night, she must have forgotten its presence, and now she seems confused. “What is that?”
“A barrier,” I say. “I found instructions on how to make it in a grimoire.”
“You’re a witch now. Fun,” she says, before heading into the bathroom.
After a few minutes, I hear the shower switching off, and Aliz peeks out the door, damp hair sticking to her forehead. We stare at each other. “Did you have another weird dream?” I ask.
Her lips part. Colour rises to her cheeks.
“I’ve already written mine down,” I say, walking towards her.
Her shirt is only half buttoned, and her damp hair smells like mint.
I glance up at her and hand her the notebook.
She opens it, flicking through to the last page I wrote in.
She bites her lip as she reads, sharp fang almost piercing through her skin.
Her gaze pauses on mine, silence a beat too long. “Did you omit anything?”
“A few details,” I whisper.
She walks past me, heading back to her coffin. She leans on it, scribbling into the notebook. Her face remains neutral, not a hint of embarrassment. She prepares her breakfast, mixing Marcus’s blood with her usual synthetic liquid. I wait for her to drink, twisting my sleeves as she tastes it.
“Does it taste spoiled?” I ask as she gulps the crimson down. Then she tosses the notebook across the room.
“Not as nice as last night. But filling.” She wipes her lips and stares at her notebook, now on my lap. “I wasn’t as prudish as you.”
I keep it clasped shut, cheeks burning. I can’t make myself read it. “Did you see your sister climbing out of a painting?”
“Yeah. That was pretty terrifying,” she says. Then she sighs. “Though I imagine for you, it must have been even scarier.”
My curiosity gets the best of me, and I open the notebook.
Even when she wrote in a rush, her handwriting is still perfect, lines thin and curled.
“These dreams must mean something,” I whisper.
“Your sister’s palace, the maze…” My eyes skim down to the bottom of the page, and I regret it instantly.
I slam the notebook shut, glaring at her.
“You could have spared me the details,” I hiss, and Aliz feigns offense. She folds her arms.
“I’m just being thorough, Cassie. Our dreams are clues. What if we miss something?”
“And what part of ‘I took off your nightgown’ is a clue?”
“I don’t know. Maybe there’s a secret message in the fabric.”
My skin burns. “We should only write what matters,” I say, gritting my teeth. “I’ve got to get going. I have Integration.”
“There are only humans in that class, right?” she asks, and I nod.
Aliz seems relieved, until I add: “But all my other classes are with vampires. Last time I checked, Tynahine was still a vampire university.”
She looks around the room, and I see worry creasing her features. “You need to be careful. Tynahine is no longer safe for you.”
“I’m always careful,” I say. “And I’m stronger than you think.” I expect her to argue. But instead, she just sighs.
I spend the hours between Integration and Gustavsson’s class down in the maze.
I’m better prepared this time. I’ve redrawn the messy map in my notebook onto a larger sheet of paper, which I keep folded.
Several chunks are still missing, though I have an idea of what those might be.
I find my way back to the flat labyrinth with the curved walls and candle alcoves.
Unlike last time, I have more than my unfinished map.
Chalk, and if that fails, a ball of wool.
As soon as I trace the first white line on the wall, it moves, turning into stone, sprouting leaves and hardening with thorns, before vanishing completely.
“This is normal,” I say in a small voice.
I draw another line, and it happens again, my attempt at keeping track of my steps swallowed by the wall.
And as soon as I drop the first inch of wool onto the stone slabs, it dissolves.
So despite being so well prepared, I run back the way I came, breathing out as soon as I’m on the stairs and slopes of the more familiar tunnels.
When I look at my watch, it’s already time for Gustavsson’s class.
The odd cough interrupts his lecture on leitmotivs. Julia warned Ife in advance, but still, when I sit down beside her, her full lips part, a flash of crimson appearing in her eyes before she blinks it away. “Are you serious?” she whispers. “This is what you really smell like?”
I mutter a small apology, but just like Julia said last night, Ife whispers that it’s not my fault. “I’ll get used to it,” she adds. “Can I tell my brother about you? He’s a doctor, and I’m pretty sure he’d love to study your blood.”
“I’m not sure if I want to become a lab rat,” I whisper. “But thanks.” She elbows me. I try to imagine her brother. Before meeting Ife, I wasn’t aware that vampires could be doctors. That implies the existence of vampire hospitals, too.
During class, more and more of my fellow students turn to stare at me, and their thirst is familiar. I stare back, my gaze hard. Eventually, they all look away. No one reacts as badly as Aliz.
“Smith?” a voice calls. It takes me a moment to remember my false surname.
I peer towards the end of the dimly lit classroom.
Gustavsson’s lecture is already over, students filing out, their eyes turning crimson as they walk past me.
Ife is putting her things in her bag, but she stops to glance at the professor, then back at me.
“Will you come here a moment?”
I clasp the buckles of my satchel. “Head along without me,” I whisper to Ife.
She stares at me, uncertain, but nods and slips out from the bench.
I wait until she’s out of the class before I walk down the aisle.
Gustavsson glances up at me. A glint of crimson flashes in his eyes.
He blinks it away in an instant and clears his throat.
“Faust was not lying about your blood,” he says.
My lips part. How much has the Night Dean told him about me? I clench my fists behind my back and remain calm. “He warned you?” I ask, cocking my head. The classroom is empty. Gustavsson doesn’t have a Familiar here to protect him.
The record player is still crackling in the corner, and Gustavsson snuffs out the candle closest to him, just as the wax drips into a metal dish.
“The Red Ribbons’ trial ended last night. They’ve all had their fangs removed.” I press my lips together, hiding my shock. “Some will be going to jail—including the girls who ambushed you—and the rest have been fined.”
He knows what I am, doesn’t he?
“Why are you telling me this?” I whisper, keeping my hand close to my satchel’s clasp.
“Because you did something incredibly dangerous,” he says, voice as low as mine. “I may not have been at Tynahine long, but even I know that if you come upon a secret club of vampire supremacists, the most reasonable thing to do would be to run the other way.”
“That’s exactly what I did,” I say defensively.
“But you still got hurt.” He rests an arm on his desk. I could swear that he looks worried. “At least that is what Faust told me. It’s a miracle Tynahine hasn’t been shut by the Council yet.”
“I suppose so,” I say. The record stops playing, leaving the hall far too quiet. “Did you call me here to talk about the trial?”
Gustavsson grimaces at my sharp tone.
“Yes.” He touches a narrow, black velvet box on his desk. “When Faust told me about your blood, I thought it would be wise to give you this.” He pushes the box across the wood. “Though don’t let me see its contents, if that’s all right.”
I frown and pick it up. Keeping it out of his line of sight, I unclasp it.
Inside is a silver cross, plush against a red cushion.
“These are forbidden,” I say, clasping it shut again. It’s practically identical to the first cross Penny gave me, back when I was shadowing her missions and wasn’t allowed a gun or stake yet.
“I know,” says Gustavsson, brushing his pale blond hair out of his eyes. “But with that sort of blood, you’re better safe than sorry.”