Redlisted (15 page)

“The first
Governor of the British East India Company.”

I still wasn’t
sure what he was talking about.

“He had no
other living heirs, and she was hoping to use me to blackmail him.
She was getting desperate, I suppose, given how badly things were
proceeding with the Wardens. She wasn’t known for choosing her
progeny on such disreputable terms.

“She forced
herself on me to make me what I am, and then she forced me to drive
my mortal father into ruin.” His mouth twisted into an
expression of disgust. “Once my father was finished, she
intended to kill me, as I was of no further use to her. She would
have gone through with this plan, I’m certain, if it hadn’t
been for the intervention of my elder brother Lucien, my mentor and
confidant.”

I felt a wave of
heartbreak so potent and raw that at first I mistook it for my own.
Then I realized it was coming from Julian.

“I won’t
elaborate about what happened between the three of us. I can’t
stand to think about it,” he said. “In short, Lucien
distracted her until he could broker my escape to New York. Then,
about a century later, when she found out what he had done, she
murdered him.”

He paused for a
moment. Aya closed her eyes and nodded her head.

“By that
time I had defected and was working with the Wardens. I gave them
whatever information I could, did whatever I could to aid their
cause—not because I believed in the Consensus, not really, but
because I hated her so much. In turn, they taught me how to cultivate
the ability to shield my mind from her grasp.

“All of that
is common knowledge at this point, but what no one else knows save
myself and a tiny council within the Watchers of the Americas is
this:

“Like most
of my siblings and cousins, my memory is flawless. It’s the
hallmark of our lineage. I remember everything since the moment of my
second awakening, save a few months I lost to starvation while
crossing the Atlantic. All with the exception of a single year: the
year eighteen ninety-three. When I look back, the entire year is
missing. Erased completely.”

“What
happened during that year?” I asked.

“Well, in
short, I beheaded Mnemosyne and took control of our House.” He
smiled somewhat sheepishly. “Or so I’m told. I don’t
remember any of it.”

///

“But why
does that matter?” I asked Aya later that evening on our walk
through the grounds. “Why does it really matter whether or not
he can remember what happened a hundred years ago? Especially given
the Wardens have records of it all.”

“They can’t
possibly have records of anything. And it’s not like he just
forgot. An entire year—a year exactly—has been burned out
of his memory. Someone must have done it to him, and it must have
been family.”

I frowned.

“Speaking of
family, Julian’s daughter, Mirabel, will be visiting next week.
I can’t help but wonder if that’s not part of the reason
he told us about this now.” She tucked a strand of hair behind
her ear. “I doubt she’s the culprit, though. The two of
them are too close.”

“That’s
nice,” I replied, not even pretending to be interested. “It
sounds like any number of his relatives would have had both means and
motive, though. Don’t most of them hate him, anyway? Why does
it really matter which one of them did it?”

Aya glared at me
with a disdain I’d never seen from her before.

“In any
case, whatever happened, there’s nothing we can do about it
now,” I continued.

“How can you
be so cold?” she snapped.

I must have made a
face. Suddenly I felt embarrassed, which meant she felt mortified.
She turned away, too flustered to even attempt to apologize.

“Look,”
I said. “I’m sorry, I’m probably not being fair.
I’m just... he expects me to solve this mystery for him, and I
don’t think I can.”

“I can
understand why you would feel that way,” she said, her voice
faint. “But I know you’ll be able to do it. So does
Julian. He wouldn’t have told you about any of this if he
didn’t think you could help.”

After
all
,
she realized,
he
never told any of the others—

Her eyes went
wide.

“Oh God. No.
You didn’t hear that,” she whispered to herself.

I watched,
confused, as she turned away from me. Moving as if in a trance, she
walked to the double doors with the stained glass windows. I watched
her walk inside without me, oblivious to my absence. I waited for
several minutes, assuming she’d realize her mistake and come
back out to revive me. She didn’t.

For once, I was
truly alone.

I looked out into
the grounds. They seemed to extend for miles, far past the horizon
into a vast wilderness. What would happen if I just kept walking out
into the trees? It was impossible to tell whether or not I’d be
able to find shelter before sunrise, and it was getting late.

I walked around
the perimeter of the building, through a grove of magnolia trees to a
paved driveway that terminated in a huge loop in front of the main
entrance. In its center was a marble sundial set into the ground,
perhaps twelve feet in diameter. I laughed, shaking my head. What use
could a vampire possibly have for a sundial?

I couldn’t
see where it led, but the driveway seemed promising. Certainly it
would empty out into a road, a passage back to the twentieth century,
to normal human civilization, maybe even to Atlanta. I didn’t
have any money, nor any identification. Nor did I have any idea what
I would do if I could find my way to a human settlement.

I didn’t
care. This was my chance, maybe the only one I’d get.

I set out at a
brisk pace. The driveway was straight as a ruler and lined with
perfectly manicured bushes and trees. I passed row after row of
identical landscaping, row after row after identical row. Soon it had
been fifteen minutes, maybe more, since I’d set off through
this unchanging landscape. Certainly I’d covered at least a
mile, but I had yet to find my way to a road.

I choked down my
anxiety and kept walking, increasing my pace as I went. I discovered
that I could accelerate even to a sprint without feeling winded, but
it didn’t seem to matter; I continued for at least another hour
without ever finding a road. The only part of the scenery that was
changing was the horizon: it was slowly shifting from black to blue.

A dull dread crept
in to the back of my mind. I had been so determined to move forward,
so single-minded about my attempt to escape that all this time I
hadn’t looked back towards the estate, not even once.

The horizon grew
brighter.

I began to feel
the presence of the estate looming behind me, following me, as if the
buildings were tethered to my shadow. When I could see a streak of
pink at the edge of the sky, I turned to look. There was the estate,
no more than a few hundred yards away. I looked back down the
driveway, towards the warm horizon. I couldn’t have more than
minutes left before sunrise.

I raced back past
the sundial to the main entrance. As I arrived at the massive wooden
doors, the left-side door swung inwards. Standing there, waiting
inside the foyer, was Julian. He smiled at me warmly, and continued
smiling even as I could feel my own face contort into an expression
of disgust.

“I was
wondering what you would decide,” he said. “I’m
glad you chose to return on your own.”

“What do you
mean? Would you have forced me to if I hadn’t?”

He closed the door
behind me.

“What would
you rather hear?” he asked. “That I would have let you
kill yourself, or that I wouldn't have?”

I didn’t
know how to respond.

“Come,”
he said. “I’ll show you back to your rooms.”

{Anonymous}

I wake up in the
converted bathroom at Tara’s estate. I crawl out of bed and
walk to the sink, splash some water on my face and take a good look
at myself. Dirt-smudged, raccoon-eyed, greasy-haired and yet still
clearly the spitting image of severe, sterile Mirabel. I don’t
dwell on the image; instead I put a stopper in the bathtub drain and
start running the water while I scrounge for breakfast.

I eat some beef
jerky, then some Pop Tarts. The combination of the two is vile. I
fill up my canteen at the tap, then take a sip, swishing it around,
trying to wash the taste out of my mouth. I brush my teeth without
toothpaste—how did I remember to buy a toothbrush but no
toothpaste?—then grab a bar of soap, cut off the water and get
into the tub.

The bathwater is
lukewarm and has an unpleasant greenish tint to it—perhaps just
a result of the light in the room, but who knows. It’s odd and
I don’t feel like soaking. I scrub myself down fast, including
my hair, mashing the bar soap into my scalp in vigorous circular
motions, then rinse myself off and get out.

I dry myself off
and wrap a towel around my hair. My head is throbbing. I wonder if
there were any painkillers in the first aid kit that Adam bought?
Maybe I can get them out of his stuff.

I pull on
underwear, black jeans and a black T-shirt—an exact duplicate
of Haruko’s outfit from yesterday, only one size up—and
pick up my canteen. I peek out into the room with the two cots.
Inside Haruko and Aya are sleeping, or something. They’re still
as statues. I guess vampires don’t need to breathe unless
they’re talking...

I cross through
the room on tiptoe and open the door to the living room a crack. The
light is on. Slowly I open the door enough to slip inside sideways.

Adam looks up.
He’s sitting on the couch, an open notebook in his lap and a
pencil in his left hand. “Are you all right?”

I close the door
behind me.
I’m
fine. It’s just a headache. Can I have some ibuprofen?

“Of course.”
He places the notebook on the floor and walks over to his suitcase,
producing a white plastic bottle and handing it to me.

I twist off the
cap, pop three of the little pink pills into my mouth, and wash them
down with water from the canteen.

“How did you
sleep?”

Fine, I guess.
What time is it?

“Seven-thirty
P.M.”

Shit—I
slept all day again?

“You’re
still healing. You need rest. Have a seat.”

I sit down on the
couch, holding my forehead in one hand and clutching the canteen in
the other. Adam rummages through his things.

So what’s
going on?

“With
Vincent and Tara?”

No,
just... things. How are things?
I think, rolling my eyes.
Of
course I mean Vincent and Tara!

“I’m
really not sure. He’s been down there for... what, twelve?
Thirteen hours now?”

Are you asking
me?

He gives me a flat
look. “He’s been down there for a while.”

What do you
think is going on?

“He’s
probably force feeding her his blood. Depending on how long she’s
gone without... well, she could need a lot in order to wake up. It’s
going to be rough for him.”

I feel a twinge of
guilt.

“Don’t
feel bad. It’s his decision.” He takes out his folding
knife. “Speaking of which, how do you want to do this?”

Same as always.

He sits down next
to me on the couch. Something about his expression—the tension
around the eyes, maybe—makes me think of my dreams of him, of
the drinking, the death of his girlfriend, the brief but abject
shocks of misery...

He gives me a
look—not annoyed, but embarrassed.

Sorry. I just
can’t help it. I can’t get away from it.

“That makes
two of us, then.”

I smile slightly.
What’s
the real difference between you and a human, anyway?