Darkness Becomes Her

Nine

“WE’VE MADE THIS AREA HOME SINCE THE BEGINNING. WHEN the hurricanes came, the families put their differences aside, combined their power, and protected as much of the city as they could. The Vieux Carre. The Garden District. The business district took a pretty big hit, which is why most of it is still in ruins. After it was all over, the heads of each family formed the council and began putting old grudges aside and talking. And once it was obvious the government didn’t have the capacity to rebuild, they pooled their resources and bought the land. The city has been theirs ever since. They control everything — banking, real estate, tourism, trade. . everything.”

I listened, sipping on hot tea from a to-go cup as Sebastian spoke. After the rain had turned heavy, we’d raced to the sidewalk and found a small bookstore and cafe.

Sebastian’s voice was quiet and his face pale, the gray eyes a stark and silvery contrast against his wet black hair and dark red lips. I could look at him forever. But that was something he’d never, ever know.

“There are other things living in this city and the outskirts,” he continued. “The Novem offers refuge to anyone or anything so long as they stick to their laws and don’t draw attention to themselves. Not everyone who lives here is different. Regular people live here too.”

My fingers cradled the hot cup, and my stomach clenched. “So your mom was. .”

“A vampire?” he answered with a laugh that sounded like he didn’t believe it himself. “Yeah. And Josephine’s only daughter.”

“I always thought vampires were made, not born. That they couldn’t have kids.”

“That’s what most people think.” He smiled and gave a small shrug. “We don’t exactly see the need to enlighten the outside world. It’s pretty basic. We’re not an entirely separate species or anything; we just branched off the human evolutionary tree a long time ago and evolved differently. You’d be surprised how many branches there are. But yeah, vampires can be made or born. The made ones are called Turned — basically humans turned into vampires.”

“And the kids?”

“Kids are pretty rare. It’s not easy for vamps to have children, but it happens sometimes. The kids grow up normally, but when they reach adulthood, their bodies stop aging. That’s why most Born vamps look to be in their early twenties.” He went to say more, but then hesitated and shook his head. “You sure you want to know all this?”

“Yeah. It’s interesting.” I gave a small laugh. “In a mind-blowing sort of way.”

“Just be glad you didn’t have to take Mr. Fry’s molecular biology class, wherein all things human and doue are explained, all the way down to the genome level.”

“Total snooze-fest, huh?”

“Yeah.” He grew quiet.

I bit my lip, thinking over Sebastian’s words for a moment. “But you’re only half vampire?”

He propped his elbows on the table and leaned in. “I’ll give you the short version. You’ve got full-blooded children, who are called Bloodborn. They’re seen as nobility; they’re the most powerful and the most annoying. I’m talking egos the size of Mount Everest. The children of a human and a vampire are called Dayborn. There are different traits among them, different strengths and weaknesses. Dayborns don’t need blood to survive like Bloodborns do. Though there is a moment as they hit adulthood where the urge is there. If they take blood,” he added, shrugging, “they’ll need it from then on just like a Bloodborn would.”

“Do they usually? Take it, I mean?”

Sebastian nodded, his expression going dim and the volume of his words lowering. “Blood is hard to resist for any vampire, no matter their birth.”

The weight of his admission sat between us for a long moment. I cleared my throat. “And that’s what you are, Day-born?”

He glanced away. His Adam’s apple moved with a tight swallow. “No. My other half is Lamarliere. So not quite human, either. A witch’s DNA is slightly different, just like vamps and shifters, but they only tend to pass their power down maternally, through the female line.”

“So. . that would make you what, then?”

“I’ve always been partial to freak of nature.”

“Ha,” I shot back, smiling. “That one’s mine.”

He dipped his head, as though giving up his claim on the title. “Seriously, though, when I was little, my dad snuck me to a hidden library in the Presbytere, one that the students never see. One that houses some really old shit. He took out this stone tablet and said it told the story of a child like me. My dad called her Mistborn.”

“Mistborn,” I repeated.

“Yeah. Because mist hides what’s inside. And that’s sort of how I am. A big question mark, see? No one can say what traits, curses, or needs I’ll have until they manifest themselves. Some have needed blood to survive. Some never need it. Some can control it.”

“Oh.” Warmth crept up my neck, and I shifted in my chair. “So, um, which type are you?”

He shook his head and then stared beyond my shoulder, his gaze unreadable. “I don’t know. No telling if or when the need will strike.”

Well, that was comforting. My grip on the cup increased. “How many of you are there?”

He held up both hands and sat back. “You’re looking at it.”

“One. You’re the only one.”

“In North America, yeah. There are a couple more in the world, I think. Like I said, we don’t happen very often.”

“But what about Crank? She’s your sister.”

“Jenna isn’t my sister, Ari. Not by blood.”

“But. .” I frowned.

He paused, thinking of the right words. “This place kind of makes you band together. You find others like yourself, others you know you can trust with your life, and you become family. That’s what Violet is learning. That’s why she stays now more than she goes.” He shrugged, seeming uncomfortable with sharing so much and showing that he had a heart. “Jenna lost her parents and then her brother. It damaged her a little. When I found her, she was still sitting by his body. She thought I was him, and she went with me. I never tried to reason with her. Never saw the need to hurt her more. This is how she copes. She makes up things.”

My chest tightened at his words. “How did he die?”

“Not sure. I found them in Midtown, the business district. The ruins. You should never go there at night, or alone no matter what time of day it is. That place is a haven for predators. I think that’s why the Novem leaves it alone. They’d rather let the bad among us have the ruins than run the risk of them branching out into the Quarter or the Garden District.”

He gazed out the rain-streaked window. “Looks like the rain has stopped.” I didn’t press him, and part of me knew it was because I didn’t want to answer his questions when the time came. Maybe he’d show me the same courtesy. “You want to go to the market? I told the others I’d pick up food for dinner.”

“Sure.”

It was a short walk from the cafe, across the square, and to the French Market near the river. The sun came out as we entered the covered space. Tourists and locals had taken refuge from the rain, and the inside teemed with shoppers. The bright colors of vegetables and fruits, meats and cheeses, plants and garden ornaments occupied the space. Sebastian seemed to know what he was shopping for, but I chose a slower route, taking things in, browsing, looking at everyone and wondering who was human and who was not, wondering if — because I was doue—I could somehow tell the difference.

But no one stood out. New 2 was also a haven for pagans, Wiccans, and alternative lifestyles, so the cut of one’s clothes or the jewelry pierced into one’s skin didn’t mean anything.

Giving up on my detection attempts, I browsed the stalls, taking in the scents of coffee and bread, of freshly cut flowers, and even the smell of the river, which wound through the market on an occasional breeze.

Mardi Gras booths had been set up to sell beads, masks, and costumes. Soon I found myself lost in a rainbow of colors and tight spaces, leaving Sebastian behind as he haggled over a bag of potatoes. The Mardi Gras beads