Vampires.
A ripple of fear passed through her. She reminded herself that there was nothing they could do to her. She was already like them. Already dead.
The Festival of Sinners was being held at a church with stained-glass windows painted black on the inside. The door, papered with pink-stenciled posters, was painted the same thick tarry black. Music thrummed from within and a few people sat on the steps, smoking and talking.
Matilda went inside.
A doorman pulled aside a velvet rope for her, letting her past a small line of people waiting to pay the cover charge. The rules were different for vampires, perhaps especially for vampires accessorizing their grungy attire with so much blood.
Matilda scanned the room. She didn’t see Julian or Lydia, just a throng of dancers and a bar that served alcohol from vast copper distilling vats. It spilled into mismatched mugs. Then one of the people near the bar moved and Matilda saw Lydia and Julian. He was bending over her, shouting into her ear.
Matilda pushed her way through the crowd, until she was close enough to touch Julian’s arm. She reached out, but couldn’t quite bring herself to brush his skin with her foulness.
Julian looked up, startled. “Tilda?”
She snatched back her hand like she’d been about to touch fire. “Tilda,” he said. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”
Matilda flinched, looking down at herself. “I …”
Lydia laughed. “She ate someone, moron.”
“Tilda?” Julian asked.
“I’m sorry,” Matilda said. There was so much she had to be sorry for, but at least he was here now. Julian would tell her what to do and how to turn herself back into something decent again. She would save Lydia, and Julian would save her.
He touched her shoulder, let his hand rest gingerly on her blood-stiffened shirt. “We were looking for you everywhere.” His gentle expression was tinged with terror; fear pulled his smile into something closer to a grimace.
“I wasn’t in Coldtown,” Matilda said. “I came here so that Lydia could leave. I have a pass.”
“But I don’t want to leave,” said Lydia. “You understand that, right? I want what you have—eternal life.”
“You’re not infected,” Matilda said. “You have to go. You can still be okay. Please, I need you to go.”
“One pass?” Julian said, his eyes going to Lydia. Matilda saw the truth in the weight of that gaze—Julian had not come to Coldtown for Matilda. Even though she knew she didn’t deserve him to think of her as anything but a monster, it hurt savagely.
“I’m not leaving,” Lydia said, turning to Julian, pouting. “You said she wouldn’t be like this.”
“
“Who cares about some mortal girl?” Lydia tossed back her hair. In that moment, she reminded Matilda of Lydia’s brother, pretentious Dante who’d turned out to be an actual nice guy. Just like sweet Lydia had turned out cruel.
“You’re a girl,” Matilda said. “You’re mortal.”
“I know that!” Lydia rolled her eyes. “I just mean that we don’t care who you killed. Turn us and then we can kill lots of people.”
“No,” Matilda said, swallowing. She looked down, not wanting to hear what she was about to say. There was still a chance. “Look, I have the pass. If you don’t want it, then Julian should take it and go. But I’m not turning you. I’m never turning you, understand.”
“Julian doesn’t want to leave,” Lydia said. Her eyes looked bright and two feverish spots appeared on her cheeks. “Who are you to judge me anyway? You’re the murderer.”
Matilda took a step back. She desperately wanted Julian to say something in her defense or even to look at her, but his gaze remained steadfastly on Lydia.
“So neither one of you want the pass,” Matilda said.
“Go to hell,” spat Lydia.
Matilda turned away.
“Wait,” Julian said. His voice sounded weak.
Matilda spun, unable to keep the hope off her face, and saw why Julian had called to her. Lydia stood behind him, a long knife to his throat.
“Turn me,” Lydia said. “Turn me or I’m going to kill him.”
Julian’s eyes were wide. He started to protest or beg or something, and Lydia pressed the knife harder, silencing him.
People had stopped dancing nearby, backing away. One girl with red-glazed eyes stared hungrily at the knife.
“Turn me!” Lydia shouted. “I’m tired of waiting! I want my life to begin!”
“You won’t be alive—” Matilda started.
“I’ll be alive—more alive than ever. Just like you are.”
“Okay,” Matilda said softly. “Give me your wrist.”
The crowd seemed to close in tighter, watching as Lydia held out her arm. Matilda crouched low bending down over it.
“Take the knife away from his throat,” Matilda said.
Lydia, all her attention on Matilda, let Julian go. He stumbled a little and pressed his fingers to his neck.
“I loved you,” Julian shouted.
Matilda looked up to see that he wasn’t speaking to her. She gave him a glittering smile and bit down on Lydia’s wrist.
The girl screamed, but the scream was lost in Matilda’s ears. Lost in the pulse of blood, the tide of gluttonous pleasure and the music throbbing around them like Lydia’s slowing heartbeat.
Matilda sat on the blood-soaked mattress and turned on the video camera to check that the live feed was working.
Julian was gone. She’d given him the pass after stripping him of all his cash and credit cards; there was no point in trying to force Lydia to leave since she’d just come right back in. He’d made stammering apologies that Matilda ignored then he fled for the gate. She didn’t miss him. Her fantasy of Julian felt as ephemeral as her old life.
“It’s working,” one of the boys—Michael—said from the stairs, a computer cradled on his lap. Even though she’d killed one of them, they welcomed her back, eager enough for eternal life to risk more deaths. “You’re streaming live video.”
Matilda set the camera on the stack of crates, pointed toward her and the wall where she’d tied a gagged Lydia. The girl thrashed and kicked, but Matilda ignored her. She stepped in front of the camera and smiled.
