Jealousy

I was weak as a newborn kitten. I felt like one, too—blind and making little noises. I was still trying to ask him all the questions I so desperately needed answers to when he shushed me gently and half- carried me away.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

White light, smell of lemon polish, dust, fresh air. And baking apple pie. Little slivers of sunlight peeked under my eyelids.

But I couldn’t just lie there. I had things to do. So when I turned over and groaned, opening my eyes slightly for the umpteenth time, I found myself staring at the plaster ceiling. Diamonds and roses stood out in sharp relief. My eyes were grainy, so I blinked and rubbed at them. My arms didn’t hurt, and neither did my face.

I felt muzzy-headed, sure, but still pretty good. I yawned and sat up, found out I was in Christophe’s sweater and my panties, and made a mental note to stop waking up minus some of my clothes. My jeans, crusted with blood and other stuff, lay on the floor next to the bed with my socks.

The room was still the same. Sunlight flooding in through skylights and the window, the vanity dresser glowing, every inch of it spic-and-span. The books on the stripped-pine shelves regarded me, their spines blank closed faces. Had my mother ever sat here, clutching the covers and rubbing at her eyes, and wondered what the hell to do next?

I could smell Christophe, but he was nowhere in sight. The sweater covered most everything, so I gingerly slid my bare legs out of bed. It was neither too warm nor too cold, the air just perfect for rolling out of bed on a lazy Saturday morning before you stumble down to the caf and get something to eat. Then it would be time to attend a couple of classes, but when you were free, you could meet the wulfen in the park and run with them. Like you belonged.

Good luck with that, though. Instead, I pushed myself upright, ready to drop back down on the bed if my legs got squidgy on me.

They didn’t. They held me up like they always did.

I bounced a little bit on my toes, testing them even more. I felt . . . strangely good.

Except for everything that was looming over me. Graves disappeared. Ash and Augustine lying in the infirmary. And Anna . . .

I shook my head, my hair slithering against Christophe’s sweater. I didn’t want to think about that.

I made it over to the dresser, found a fresh pair of jeans and underthings. Made it to the closet and picked a black T-shirt and a charcoal hoodie. Stood there for a few seconds. There was one red T-shirt I’d grabbed on clearance at Target, a splash of color against the dark fabrics I preferred.

I carried it into the bathroom, stuffed it into the trash basket. Eased myself under some hot water, the cast- iron bathtub a little slippery and the curtain on its hoop bolted to the wall rustling every time I moved under the water. Had my mother stood here? Soaped herself and marveled at vanished bruises? My skin was pretty perfect, only a ghostly shadow remaining where the worst had been, if you knew where to look.

Had she been raised djamphir, or had her dad kept it a secret? I touched the locket’s warm curve, rinsed myself off. She wanted a “normal” life. What would she have taught me to do if she hadn’t been murdered?

It kept ending up with Anna. How could you hate someone so much? It didn’t even seem human.

Yeah. I liked sucking blood. How human was that?

I still felt okay when I got out of the shower and dried off, treating my body like it was a wild horse that might throw me at any moment. I felt morning-hungry, and I wanted coffee, but maybe not a banana latte. Most of all I wanted to make sure Ash and August were okay and get started on finding Graves. I didn’t know what I’d say to him because . . .

Christophe.

The memory of lightning went through me again. The healed-up fang marks on my wrist gave another heatless twinge. How would I explain that to Graves?

Did I even need to? Would he care? Would he be relieved?

If I left here, what would Christophe do?

I braided my hair. It felt like my hands were shaking, but they weren’t. My canvas bag was still sitting on the counter next to the pretty leaf-bowl of the sink. I scrounged a ponytail holder and thought about the roll of cash hidden in there. It was no big trick to get more. Dad taught me how.

I’d never done it alone before. But if I’d survived all this, maybe it would be no big deal.

I held onto the counter and breathed. In, out, steady. Careful. Until the weird nauseating pain in my middle went away. The skylight let in blind sunshine, touching my hair and face. It didn’t burn me or hurt my eyes. Sunlight was deadly to nosferatu. At least, nowadays.

I’d sucked blood, and the sun didn’t hurt me.

When I opened up the bathroom door, ducking through the strap of my bag and settling it against my hip, Christophe looked up from the window seat. The light fell over him again, making him into another kind of statue. He had one of the books in his hands, and his blue eyes took me in and warmed.

But he didn’t smile.

“Good morning.” He closed the book, laid it carefully aside. “The Council’s called a meeting. As soon as you’re ready, they want to see you.”

I swallowed hard. “What if I don’t want to? I want to see Ash and August and . . .” And I’m leaving.

I couldn’t say it to him.

“I checked the Broken and Augustine not half an hour ago. Augustine is awake and eating breakfast; the Broken is on the mend. Samuel says he’ll make it.”

I grabbed at the doorjamb. Searched Christophe’s face for any sign of a comfortable lie, found none. “Really? He’s sure?”

He nodded. Eased off the window seat and took a few steps toward me. “One hundred percent certain, he says. Benjamin and his crew are fine, too; you’ll see them at sundown.”

It was hard to tell if the weakness had come back, or if it was just relief so deep and wide I could drown in it. It took work to open my mouth and ask the more important question.

“Graves?” I croaked. Please. Please tell me he’s come back.

Christophe’s expression didn’t change. “The entire Schola Prima has been searched. He’s not here, and nobody saw him leave the grounds. I’m . . . sorry, Dru.” He even sounded sorry, though a flicker of something passed through his blue gaze. It was there and gone before I could figure out what it was.

Disappointment crashed through me. “What does the Council want?”

“I don’t know. Only that it’s important. And I can guess they are eager to make amends to you.”

Oh, yeah, I’ll bet. “What about you? You’re the one they put on Trial!”

“Some of them probably already suspected, though they could not move without proof. It’s of little account, Dru. You’re safe. Anna is on the run. Sergej’s bid to divide and conquer has failed.”

“Sergej.” I didn’t flinch when I said his name, though it did make my head hurt. “He . . . But Anna . . .”

“I suspect she thought she could control and manipulate him, too. They are both very, very good at that.” A shadow crossed his perfectly proportioned face. “Though he has somewhat more practice. Please, Dru. Come see the Council. Soothe their fears.”

Just who the hell is going to soothe mine? But I shrugged. “Okay.”

After all, he was the one I was trusting now. Right?

But I didn’t take my bag off, and he didn’t ask even though I saw him looking at it. I wasn’t sure how this thing with the Council was going to go. But I knew I wanted my cash and my emergency stuff with me.

Really, if no place was safe and I wanted to find Graves, why stay here? Why stay anywhere?

The only answer I could come up with to that question was heading across the room. He checked the hall, then nodded. I followed him.