8. Jacks
Jacks
The Hollow was not fond of vampires. For centuries, vampires had been forbidden from entering, and clearly the Hollow wished that it had stayed that way. It made its displeasure known whenever Chaos paid Jacks a visit. Candles flickered. Drawers rattled. Doors slammed open and shut, hinges grating.
“I think this place has gotten crabbier in its old age,” said Chaos.
They were currently in the cellar, the darkest part of the Hollow. There were no outside windows to let in the light that was toxic to vampires. There were just lots of red jams and purple jellies and barrels of ale that kept rocking side to side.
“Or it just really doesn’t like you,” Jacks replied. But he did think the Hollow was being particularly irritable. It sometimes got like this when Evangeline left. Jacks’s other, earlier visitor probably hadn’t helped the Hollow’s mood either.
It definitely had not helped Jacks’s mood. The visitor had affected him so much that when Evangeline had left with LaLa earlier, he’d had to fight the urge to follow. But if he had followed, he would have needed to tell her why. He still probably would have done it, if Chaos hadn’t shown up.
Chaos eyed a row of wobbly plum jams, as if they’d somehow offended him. “Is this what you’ve been up to?”
“It’s one of Evangeline’s hobbies.” Jacks gave the vampire a look that warned him not to insult her if he valued all of his body parts.
Chaos lounged back in his leather chair with an amused smirk. “Seems as if the Hollow isn’t the only one who’s prickly today.”
“I’m not prickly.” Jacks was indeed very prickly; he just would have preferred that Chaos use a better word. Prickly made him feel like he was a needle that could barely do damage.
“If you’re not prickly, then why are you scowling?”
“Why are you?” Jacks asked. Even though Chaos wasn’t currently scowling, he had been when he’d first arrived. He’d been all stompy boots and brooding stares, which was the other reason the Hollow had not been happy about his appearance.
“I want to murder my brother,” Chaos said.
“Which brother?”
“Dane.”
“What did he do?”
Chaos worked his jaw, as if he were fighting the urge to show his fangs. “He’s planning on proposing to LaLa.”
If Jacks were Chaos, he probably would have wanted to kill his brother, too. But he also knew Chaos well enough to know that his friend would forever regret it if he hurt anyone in his family.
Chaos was not quite as noble as he had been when he was human—it was difficult to stand on high ground when your existence depended on drinking human blood—but no matter how much time had passed, Chaos still wanted to be the person he had been.
It was part of the curse of being a vampire.
Most people knew that vampires lusted for blood, but few knew that they longed for their former humanity with nearly the same intensity.
“Why don’t you just tell LaLa the truth?” asked Jacks.
“You know why I can’t,” Chaos said tightly.
“You can. You just don’t want to.”
Chaos growled. “I made a vow.”
“This is why vows are always bad ideas.” Jacks kicked his legs up, resting them on the barrel between them.
Chaos made a sound that might have been another growl, or simply an expression of annoyance.
He looked as if he wanted to argue with Jacks and tell him that he didn’t understand the deadly consequences.
But Jacks was the one person who did understand.
He had tried to stay away from Evangeline because he didn’t want to kill her, and he had far better control than Chaos, which was why he never wanted Chaos near Evangeline.
LaLa was not nearly so breakable as Evangeline. But—
Jacks felt it then.
An emptiness.
An absence.
He swung his legs from the barrel and jumped to his feet, as if this would somehow fix it. But the feeling didn’t change.
Evangeline was gone.
The sudden loss was like forgetting how to breathe and then remembering again, only to feel as if the air was too thin, insubstantial, the oxygen sucked out of it. For a second, Jacks felt horribly, painfully human.
“What’s wrong with you?” Chaos asked.
“Evangeline … something has happened to her.”
“How do you know?”
Jacks shot him a dark look. “I know things.”
Chaos replied with a look of his own that seemed to say I’ve used that line before.
“There’s a mark on her wrist that lets me know where she is,” Jacks said. Sometimes, when she was farther away, it was barely there. It felt more like a string than a rope that tied them together. But it had always felt like something. Until now. “I can’t feel it anymore.”
And he knew that it was all his fault.