Jealousy

“You’re safe,” he said finally. And there it was again—the gentle tone, not his usual faint mockery. He never sounded like that with anyone else around. “North wing. This was your mother’s room. I had them bring your clothes up. Your computer and everything else will follow, as soon as they’re scanned and pronounced safe.”

I just kept clutching the covers stupidly and staring at him.

“At sunset, they’ll hold my Trial. You needn’t worry, though. Everything’s going to be fine.” He still didn’t move, except for his eyelids, a rapid blink. “And by the way, good morning. Would you like some breakfast? Lunch? I suppose it’s lunchtime. For daywalkers, anyway.”

I had the unsettling sensation that the world had shifted out from underneath me again. “Graves. Ash. Shanks, Dibs. Are they okay?”

“The Broken is in the infirmary, sedated and restrained. He might even live. Robert and Samuel are both well; Samuel’s in the infirmary, too. He has quite a gift for medical work.”

Samuel? Oh, yeah. Dibs. “Graves? And Benjamin, Leon, the guys?”

“Benjamin and his cadre are very well, all things considered, and standing guard at both ends of this hall. We’ll figure out a tutor schedule as soon as this unpleasantness is over, and—”

I didn’t care. “Graves. Where’s Graves?” Tell me you’ve found him. But I thought I knew.

I just wanted him to tell me I was wrong.

His mouth pulled down, just slightly, before the smile returned. It was a faint ironclad grimace this time. “Nobody’s seen him, Dru.”

My chest squeezed down on itself. “But . . .”

“Every teacher and student is on the lookout. Unless the wulfen are hiding him in the dorms somewhere, and Robert swears they’re not. We’ve accounted for everyone, wounded or whole, except him. No severe casualties from this attack, thank God.”

“Oh, God.” I found a word for what was boiling up in my throat.

It was the same old feeling. Abandonment. He’d left me behind, just like Mom and Gran and Dad. Where the hell would he go?

I realized with a jolt that it didn’t matter. Away from me, he was safe. I just never thought he would leave me behind. I honestly didn’t.

Except now I was horribly, awfully afraid that he had.

“Did something happen?” Christophe laid the question quietly in the sunshine-flooded room, and he sounded like he really wanted to know. “Between you two?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I guess. Look, I just . . . are those my clothes?” And who took my bra off? My cheeks were about as red as Kir’s hair, if the scorching in them was any indication.

Kir. Jesus. A cold shiver traced down my back. He was on the Council, and he was on Anna’s side. What if he’d—

Christophe was on his feet in an instant, the shotgun held loosely and expertly, pointed at the floor. I would have been worried about someone wandering around my room with a gun, but he was a professional. And to tell the truth, I was glad he was here.

He’d come back for me. Again. The intensity of the relief was pretty ridiculous. When you’ve spent your entire life being a piece of luggage for people to collect, even when you’re a helpful piece of luggage and you know they love you, you get to feeling like a golden retriever when someone comes home.

He swept the closet door open, laid the shotgun down carefully, and stepped inside. “Anything in particular, or just something to cover up? You had nosferatu blood on your clothes; Samuel cut them off so you could sleep a little more comfortably. I didn’t think you’d mind much.”

Did you look? But it wasn’t the sort of question I could ask him. I could have played it as a joke with Graves, but not Christophe. For one thing, he was in my closet. For another, there was that shotgun. And I was still blushing and feeling like I’d done something wrong by passing out. “Oh. Okay. I, uh, wondered about that.”

“Here.” He emerged with an armful of clothes. “One of these, I think. Is there something specific you’d like to wear? Or will . . . here, look.” He slid them off his arm onto the foot of the bed. Six T-shirts, two flannels, a hoodie —Jesus. That was a quarter of my wardrobe right there.

“Christophe . . .”

It was the first time I’d seen him even close to flustered. “Don’t worry, I won’t look. See?” He backed up two steps, turned as if he was on parade, and headed for the closet. Scooped up the shotgun and crossed to the window. Stood in the sunshine, the blond highlights in his shaggily cut hair lighting up.

I’d never seen him in full sun before. The blond streaks turned to gold, and the texture of his skin glowed. The light bounced off the metal of the shotgun’s sawed-off barrel. His head was down, like he was looking out the window.

Some of what he’d said sank in. My mother’s room. There were books on the stripped-pine bookshelves. Hers?

Do that again. . . . Go ahead, Beth. I’ll let you. The dream rose up in my head. Was it what Gran called a true-seeing? Dreams were slippery, best not to put any weight on them. What you wanted could turn into what you saw, not what actually was.

But I’d been dreaming more and more lately, about things I found out were true. Like Dad in a long concrete corridor, walking toward his death. Like my mother hiding me in a closet and going out to fight Sergej.

I grabbed a longer flannel and wrapped it around myself, buttoned up. “Where’s all my pants?”

“Check the dresser. Your other room was torn apart. Someone betrayed its location. You should be safer here.”

Gooseflesh rose hard and chill on my legs as I slid them gingerly out of bed. I was all over bruises, some yellow-green and some red-blue, and my palms were raw. There were also rough red patches like carpet burn wherever the vampire blood had splashed. It doesn’t eat through skin, but it is caustic. The muscles alongside my spine twitched and sent little we’re not happy messages all up and down.

After boys hit the drift, they heal up from just about anything in a matter of hours. I was using the aspect, but I wasn’t healing like they do. Sucks being a girl sometimes.

I shuffled over to the dresser, found out someone had just tossed my undies and bras in higgledy-piggledy in the top drawer on the left-hand side, and was relieved. Whoever had put them there hadn’t, well, lingered over them.

It’s the little things you end up being grateful for, Gran had always said.

I found a pair of jeans, too. About half my stuff was here. The other half, who knew? Bled on by vampires? Burned? Just left where it was?

And where were Graves’s clothes? I grabbed the edge of the drawer, my knuckles turning white.

My voice surprised me. “I hate this.”

Christophe didn’t turn around. “What?”

“Vampire attacks. I get used to something, and they come riding in and destroy everything. Then I have to get used to something else all over again. It’s . . . Jesus. It’s lame.” I couldn’t come up with a better word, for once, and felt completely inadequate, standing there with jeans and a fistful of blue bikini briefs.

“I’m sorry.” He sounded sorry, too. “It will be better now. I promise.”

Graves wouldn’t have said that. He’d have made an ironic little comment and I’d’ve laughed and felt better. My heart dropped another few inches. “There’s no making it better, Christophe. This is going to keep going until they kill me, or until—”

“They’re not going to kill you.” Hard and fast. His shoulders came up as if I’d hit him. “Not while I’m here.”

“But that’s just the point.” It was nasty of me, I know. It was also true. “You’re going to disappear again, and I’ll be dealing with it all on my own. Again.”

Mom putting me in the hidey-hole in the closet, telling me I was her own good girl. Gran in the hospital bed, sliding away hour by hour. Dad walking down that concrete corridor toward the door that would open onto