19 | Silver
Ieye the guy in the long, blue robe in front of me and smother a grin as he pets his overlong beard for the tenth time in an hour. I’m trying my hardest to concentrate on the book in front of me. It’s one from under Victor Blackthorn’s bed and so far, it’s another bunch of massacre stories. I’m struggling to keep my attention on it, though.
“Can you quit molesting that cat attached to your chin, man? It’s distracting as fuck,” Zeph grumbles.
“You’re just jealous. You wish you had a robe as snazzy as this,” Cosmo Maverick—I mean, Roscoe—says as he throws his beard over his shoulder.
He came back from his meeting with the Archarcans the other day and he was so damn proud of his illusion and the idea behind it. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I think he’s flogging a dead horse.
We’re all dotted in the living room of The Spire apartment, each of us wearing our Pretty Princess jewelry to protect us from Ember’s unwanted snooping. So far, all of our research has been a bust and I have a feeling we’ll be making another trip to the library soon.
Zeph is sprawled out, taking up half of one couch while Roscoe’s lying on his back on another. I’m on a cushion on the floor so that I can reach more of the books without having to lean too far, and Dante sits beside me, his shoulder against mine, providing a quiet sense of comfort.
It’s... surprisingly nice. No one is at each other’s throats, no one has made a dickish comment all day, and we’re all just getting our heads down, digging deep to find the vamps’ secret weaknesses.
“This one has a story all about a vamp that somehow gained more power than a hundred other vampires,” Dante comments. “No word on how he developed that much power.”
“Anything about what happened to him?” I ask, tilting my head to the side so I can observe the powerful jaw that’s within touching distance. I fight the sudden urge to run my thumb from cheek to jaw and down his neck, enjoying the slight involuntary shudder that goes through him before he turns his amber eyes to meet mine.
“Not really. One day, it sounds like he just... disappeared. It was rumored that he grew tired of nothing in his life being real. He was propped up by sycophants wherever he looked, so he changed his identity and moved to another part of the world.”
“Huh. I doubt that would work with Simpson. He seems way too into owning people and having them fawn all over him for that.”
I ignore the stab of disappointment that hits me. The same one I get every time we come up with jack shit from any of these books. We’ve read so many from cover to cover, and there just doesn’t seem to be an answer.
“Maybe vamps don’t have a magic button we can press to end them.”
“Beheading’s good,” Zeph replies. “Pretty sure nothing and no one can get far without a head.”
“We’d just need to get close enough to Simpson for us to chop his head off.”
And there lies the problem.
We fall silent, all contemplating the massive undertaking in front of us with a vague hopelessness.
Luckily, before we get too disheartened, we’re distracted by Hanna flying in through the door with Rook at her heels.
“Woah, where’s the fire?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes, careening a stop and almost tripping over Dante with the force of her momentum. “Funny,” she pants. “So, some news. We bumped into Ember.”
“You... what? What do you mean, you bumped into him?”
She shakes her head impatiently, barely getting her breath back before she replies, “That doesn’t matter. Anyway, he looks like shit at the minute.” Another shake of her head. “But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. He said that there’s something he wants us all to see. And seriously, Silv, you’re gonna want to see it.”
“Helpfully cryptic,” Zeph replies and Hanna flips him her middle finger.
“Where were you to run into him accidentally?” I ask. When Hanna waves off my question, I decide then that I don’t really want to know the answer for the sake of my blood pressure.
If she and Rook have taken it upon themselves to spy on Simpson and his cronies, like I think they have, I don’t want to know. The two of them aren’t made for spying. Rook’s so big, he stands out even in a crowd. And Hanna doesn’t have the personality to fade into the background. The two of them would be spotted and have their throats slit before they even knew they’d been discovered.
My gut swirls. Fuck, that makes me want to be sick. But I can’t exactly chain them to my wrist or keep them indoors because I’m terrified of something happening to them.
Our lives have never been what you’d call safe or comfortable. But it’s not like we’ve ever actively courted danger, either.
“Anyway, let’s go,” Hanna says, looking expectantly around the room.
Dante is the first to react, standing and offering me his hand, which I take gratefully.
“So we’re all just following the mini dictator’s instructions, are we?” Zeph grumbles under his breath.
“Better had, I dunno about you, but she scares me,” Roscoe whispers back. I cover my grin with my hand as we all head out, following the mini dictator herself.
Hanna leads us downtown, and within minutes, were on the same stretch of road where the zombies had a field day. The same road where Ro nearly bled out in the snow. He stiffens beside me and I clutch at his hand on one side, while gripping Zeph on my other side. I’m not sure which of us is least happy to be here. My heart’s pounding and my feet are sweating uncomfortably and I can’t tell out of me and Ro, whose palm is clammier.
In an alleyway, part way along the road, there’s a figure standing hunched in on themselves, a hood pulled up. It’s only when we’re barely five feet away. I realize it’s Ember.
I step closer, not sure whether to pull him into a hug or punch him in the face. He looks terrible. While I was expecting him to look a little worse for wear, but he looks... barely recognizable as my brother. His red hair is limp and dirty, he looks like he hasn’t washed in weeks, and his face is horribly pale. There’s no twinkle in his eye, no joy in his face. It’s like all the parts of him that made him Ember have been taken away.
The thing that really pulls me up short, though, is the bruises. They’re all along the bare skin on his arms. And when he catches me looking, he pulls down his sleeves and covers them up.
“Ember,” I croak through a tight throat. “What the hell are they doing to you? You need to get out of there. It isn’t safe.”
He shakes his head. “No, Silv. Look, I don’t have long before they’ll wonder where I am, so just hear me out. Please.”
I nod, feeling shaken and wobbly.
“All right then. So, the vamps aren’t trying to make the Archarcans look shitty anymore. They’re now going for a total control and fear vibe. They want to control the city any which way, and they don’t have any scruples.”
None of this sounds like news to me, but he looks so damn hopeful as he relays the information. I just wind up nodding encouragingly.
“Do you know what they’re planning next?”
“Not really. I listen in as much as I can, but it’s difficult.”
That has me really, really wanting to ask follow-up questions. He’s a telepath, so I have no clue how they can stop him from listening, unless they’re able to block him out in the same way we are.
“They’re sowing seeds of fear in the city that they’re hoping will grow. That way, they won’t have to persuade people to come onside because they’ll all be too scared not to.”
“Show her the creepy statue,” Hanna says from behind me.
Ember then leads us along the main street until we reach a bench that has Roscoe stiffening even further. He wraps his arm around my waist, tugging me close like my presence is tethering him to the here and now.
“Hey, I’m here with you. If you need to leave, just say the word,” I tell him.
He gives me a shaky nod that’s so far away from being his usual cocky self. It makes me want to punch Ember in the face again. Or tear the heads off Simpson and the other asshole vamps that nearly got Ro killed.
“I’m all right. Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Focus on your brother right now.”
I press a kiss to his cheek, my insides growing warm from his selflessness.
We head a little further along, closer to the bench. Which is the point when I see him.
There’s a guy standing stock still, like he’s frozen in place. When I step even closer, I can barely tell if he’s breathing, and it’s only through my blood magic I can sense that he’s even alive. His face is a rictus mask of anguish. Eyes wide and unblinking, skin bloodless and sallow.
His heart is beating. It’s sluggish, but it’s there. But his blood is barely flowing.
“What is this?” I ask.
“A living statue,” Ember says. “There are a few just like him, all over the city. And there are soon to be more. I thought to begin with, they were easy snacks for the vamps to come back to. But I don’t think that’s what they’re for at all.”
“They’re a bunch of sick fucks,” Zeph says.
Ember nods. “True enough. Look, I just wanted to keep you aware of what was going on. I need to go.”
I step closer to him, putting my hand on his arm. “Don’t go back.”
I’m not suddenly going to forgive him or start trusting him with my thoughts again, but there’s no way I want him going back into the lions’ den.
“I have to, Silv. In the house, I’m useful. I can listen in to what they’re planning and I can warn you all, right? Then this entire thing hasn’t been for nothing.”
“It’s dangerous, Ember.”
“You look like shit,” Hanna adds. “Are you even sleeping or eating?”
He just shakes his head and brushes my hand off his arm. “I won’t change my mind about this. It’s something I have to do.”
Before I can argue any more, he turns on his heel and heads off down the street. His pace is slow, but determined. And while any of us could easily catch him up, we just watch him go until he heads down an alley and disappears from our sight.
“Well,” Roscoe says. “I’m pretty sure I’ve added something new to my nightmares. Turning into a living statue, trapped inside my body.”