The Coldest Girl in Coldtown (36 page)

Besides, she’d killed Midnight. She’d already done those things, already learned she could.

“Before you go, just tell me one thing,” Tana said. “Tell me why you’ve been so nice to me. I know you’re the reason Lucien let me live. He wasn’t planning on giving me any saline drip or putting me in some fancy bed before I said your name. And I’m not anybody special. I’m not saying that I’m not smart or a perfectly nice person or anything, but I’m not—”

He’d been halfway across the room when she started speaking and he’d frozen, his face turned away from her. Then he moved to the footboard of the bed, his hands gripping the brass railing, his face a mask. Finally, he cut her off. “Tana. In all my long life, though there were many times I prayed for it, no one has ever saved me. No one but you.”

He was watching her with an expression so intense that she had to look away from it. She could think of no reply. She felt a little bit stupid that she’d asked and a little bit embarrassed by his answer. Maybe it would be better if he left and came back; maybe if she was less sick and less tired, she would feel less vulnerable.

Gavriel walked toward the bed. Tana flinched at his approach, suddenly nervous. He seemed like a stranger again. His eyes looked black instead of red in the dim light of the room, and she thought of what he must have been like under gas lamps in a city across the sea.

He took her free hand and lifted it to his mouth, kissing the back as though he were that courtly gentleman again.

“Sleep, Tana,” he said, placing her hand back on her stomach, his fingers only a little cooler now than hers. “Sleep while you can.”

He looked as though he wanted to say something else but then rose. He walked to the door and this time she didn’t stop him. She heard a lock turn on the other side of the wall.

Great, she thought. Perfect. Shackled to a bed in a locked room. But at least a locked door might keep out everything else in Lucien Moreau’s house. And at least if she was shut in here, no matter how bad the infection got, she wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone.

She flopped back with a groan, trying to make her mind blank. Soon she would be sick and then what? She’d scream and cry and beg, and either Lucien would kill her out of annoyance or Gavriel would give her blood. It took eighty-eight days to sweat the venom out. No one was going to protect her from herself during that time. If she wanted to avoid becoming a vampire, she had to get out of there and find someplace to hole up. And to do that she needed to be less tired and sore. Gavriel was right. She needed to sleep, heal, and let the saline work.

She couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes, she thought she could feel the chill of infection creep across her skin. She couldn’t stop wondering if she was already going Cold, couldn’t stop worrying
that when she woke up, she’d already be too crazy to make any plans that didn’t involve attacking the first person who came through the door. And when she managed to put that thought out of her head, she thought of Gavriel. It seemed impossible to believe that he’d pressed her back against a wall and kissed her, his body straining against hers, her hands tangled in his hair, his expression that of a man thoroughly lost.

To distract herself, Tana studied the room she’d been imprisoned in.

There were too many things in it for it to be a guest room. The side tables were stacked with books and a glass goblet with a ring of some dark liquid dried at the base. There was a makeup table of burled wood littered with open jars and brushes. Long, shimmering golden earrings set with pieces of jade had been thrown haphazardly into an open drawer, along with a large amulet.

The door to the closet was partially open and the skirt of a black dress was visible. Turning her head, Tana tried to get a better look at the painting that had been set on the floor so that her saline bag could hang in its place. If she strained against the cuff, she could just make out the shape of a beautiful saint pierced through with arrows that still stuck from his sides. Blood ran down his pale body, and his face was turned up toward the sky in a pose of ecstatic suffering.

So, a woman’s room and probably a vampire’s. Someone who wasn’t using it and wasn’t going to use it. Elisabet. This had to be Elisabet’s room, Elisabet’s painting and jewels and dresses. Lucien had let Tana be chained up in the bedroom of the vampire he’d loved and also murdered.

It was a creepy discovery, made creepier by the feeling that she’d somehow replaced Elisabet. As though one girl chained to a bed was much the same as another girl sleeping in one. And however she felt around Gavriel, she would be stupid, no matter what he said or she felt, to count on his kindness. He was crazy and changeable, not to mention bloodthirsty.

Climbing up onto her knees and ignoring the rush of light-headedness, she pulled on the cuff, squeezing her thumb in tight against her palm to see if she could pull through the metal loop. She pushed with the other hand, hoping that whoever had locked it around her wrist had done so carelessly.

No luck. She was still held tight.

Regrouping, she felt along the chain and around the bracelet of the cuff with her free hand, checking to make sure there was no mechanism to take them off, the way there were on joke cuffs. Nothing. She thought that idea was a long shot, but she figured she’d have felt pretty stupid if there had been one and she hadn’t at least tried.

Then she considered the brass headboard. Now that she was sitting up, she might be able to slide off the bed and land on her feet, so long as she shoved the bedside table over a bit. And from there, she could use her free hand to twist the ball off one pole and slide the cuff from the bed without bothering to remove it. At least she could try.

The night table slid over easily, only a few books slipping to the floor. Then her bare feet followed. She took a moment to catch her balance, then, bracing herself, threw her weight against the brass ball, attempting to unscrew it. It came off with a whine of metal grinding against metal.

Then, hopping up onto the frame of the bed, Tana was able to lift the other cuff off the end of the tall brass pole. She was still caught by the plastic tubing that connected her IV to the bag on the wall. Looking it over, she then decided the only thing she knew how to do was unscrew the piece that connected the tube to the crook of her arm. As soon as she did, it began to leak saline onto the bed, dripping over the wooden planks of the floor.

Staggering to the lion-headed purse, she opened it and found the marker. Then, reaching for the locket around her neck, she jammed the quarter-size metal inside, pressing the locket closed around it. At least she wouldn’t lose it again.

As she crouched down over her bag, she saw a polished wooden box under the bed. Pulling it toward her, she realized there was no lid. The box was lined in blue velvet and held a crossbow and several daggers with wooden blades. Basically stakes. Stakes with hilts. The smell of rose oil floated up from them. Elizabet must not have trusted any of the other vampires she lived with any more than they deserved. It was tempting to take one, but if she snuck around with one of those in her hand, she was unlikely to be able to explain it. Tana pushed herself to her feet.

She tried not to slip in the widening puddle as she walked over to the door. Dizziness flooded her, and she looked down to see that her new white dress was covered in dirt and dried blood. Her sandals were gone.

It was almost funny, the way she couldn’t wear a single outfit without ruining it.

It was almost funny, but not quite.

Looking at the knob and the lock, Tana realized with surprise that although Gavriel had turned a key on the outside, the locking mechanism was on the inside. All she had to do was turn the bolt and the door opened. Which made sense, since this had been Elisabet’s room. She might have locked herself in at night, but no one would have imprisoned her here. Which meant that Gavriel never meant to imprison Tana; if anything, the lock was to keep other things out.

With that thought in mind, she stepped into the hallway.

Dimmed daylight streamed in through the heavily tinted windows—it looked like the same glass at the top of the Eternal Ball, the kind that filtered light safely for vampires. The party had mostly died down, although there were some humans left, sleeping on the steps or leaned against a bench. Tana walked past them, and the few that were awake didn’t even blink at the sight of her gore-smeared clothes.

Her stomach lurched. She could smell rich, dark blood pumping under human skin, could feel the heat rising off people as she passed. She drew in a breath and shuddered with hunger.

CHAPTER 30

On this side of the grave we are exiles, on that citizens.

—Henry Ward Beecher

O
nce upon a time there was a little girl, and she told a lie to her friend’s brother so that her friend’s brother drove her to the bus station.

She brought with her a bottle of orange soda, fifty dollars (half in change), sparkly slippers, and her cell phone.

He thought he was helping.

So did she.

CHAPTER 31

For I know that Death is a guest divine, Who shall drink my blood as I drink this wine.

—William Winter

W
alking through Lucien Moreau’s house reminded Tana unnervingly of the morning after Lance’s party. Like then, she was the only one moving. Music was still playing somewhere, distant as the television had been that day. And looking at all of the sleeping bodies brought to mind the corpses of the kids from her school arranged on the floor. But these kids were just passed out, and now she was the monster walking among them.

She found her way through the ballroom with the high glass ceiling, where food was still lying out on a table, rotting in the
shadowed sunlight. The remains of cakes and half a tart covered with glistening fruit. Sliced cuts of meat and spiky baguettes, half-peeled oranges buzzing with flies. Overturned bowls of sugared rose petals. Despite not having eaten for many hours, the sight of it made her feel sick.