I wasn’t sure I cared at this point.
“I do.” Christophe pulled me away from the bedside. “He’s survived worse, and he’s bandaged and medicated. Now all he needs is rest.”
I went reluctantly, glad I was holding onto him. The all-right-but-shaky part of the feeling was going away, and I was beginning to crash big-time. My head felt like a pumpkin balanced on the too-thin stem of my neck, my arms and legs kept doing weird little shaking-away things, and dark little speckles started dancing around the edges of my vision.
“Christophe?”
He got me out through the door, closed it quietly. Braced me, and started heading across the infirmary, my feet dragging against the stone floor. “What?”
I wanted to tell him I needed to see Ash, too. I wanted to tell him I was going to start looking for Graves, since we had time now, right? I also wanted to ask him to sit down and explain Anna from the beginning. I wanted—no, I needed to know how she ended up like this.
But the warm spot in the middle of my stomach was shrinking steadily. The hurts had mostly gone away, but 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.
The Schola Prima felt empty, but I knew better. I couldn’t tell who was watching as I followed Christophe through the halls.
He paused in front of the door with the carving of a leering face. “Dru . . .”
“What?” I put my hand down, away from my mother’s locket, with an effort.
“I just want you to know something.” He indicated the door with a brief sketch of a movement, but said nothing else.
“What?” I repeated nervously. The hall looked just the same as it always did. Velvet, old wood, marble busts. It really wasn’t the kind of place I belonged. I shifted my weight, and the funny idea that the bruises might change their mind and come back floated through my head for the twentieth time.
“Whatever happens in here, whatever they offer me, my loyalty is to you. Don’t doubt that.” His chin tipped down slightly, the aspect brushing over him, slicking his hair down and making his eyes glow.
I swallowed hard again. “That loyalty thing . . . isn’t that Anna’s thing?”
He cocked his head. “Loyalty’s all we have. The nosferatu have used us against each other many times. Anna isn’t the first to turn traitor. She won’t be the last, either.”
“That’s really comforting, Christophe.” I didn’t mean to sound snide. “Let’s get this over with. I want to look for Graves.”
He looked about to say something else, but visibly decided not to bother and pushed the door open. I wiped my sweating hands on my hoodie surreptitiously and hoped this wouldn’t take too long.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Four old djamphir standing to attention. The chair at the head of the table was empty. Alton, Ezra, Bruce, Hiro, all stood ranged in front of the table like a firing squad. There was no breakfast laid out this time.
Christophe closed the door. I folded my arms self-consciously, trying not to wonder if any of them had stolen a peek while my T-shirt was torn. My hair was behaving for once, but I was still glad I’d braided it back tightly and drenched it with conditioner to keep the frizzles down. Not that it was frizzing much lately, but habits die hard.
Bruce clasped his hands together. His face was set and white under his coloring, and it didn’t do him a lot of good. His eyes were burning coals. “Milady.”
Outside the sun was shining, and the birds were chirping. But in here there was no daylight. I shifted my weight uncomfortably. Kept my hands in fists so I wasn’t tempted to touch my mother’s locket. “What? I mean, what do you want?”
“I think this would go better if you sat down,” Hiro said gently. But I looked past him, and there was a dent of darkness on the table’s mellow polished shine.
My heart crawled up in my throat. “God.” I sounded half-strangled. “No. Oh, no.”
I shoved between Hiro and Alton and grabbed the black thing. It was a long black canvas trench coat. It would go all the way to my ankles, but it would hit him at midcalf. It smelled like cigarette smoke and healthy young male loup-garou.
It was torn all to pieces. Another piece of it was in my bag right now. I’d fished it out of my other jeans and stowed it carefully.
There was an envelope, too, heavy cream linen paper with a wax seal on it. The seal had already been broken. “We wanted to make sure—” Hiro began.
I dropped the coat and snatched the envelope. Ripped it apart.
“When?” Christophe was right behind me. “Exactly when? After he disappeared? And where?”
Alton’s face was set and ashen. “We don’t know. A box was delivered a half-hour ago, containing the coat and the envelope.”
One piece of that heavy expensive paper. Spidery but firm antique handwriting, good enough to be called calligraphy. You could almost see a fountain pen scratching at the paper, its nib scraping along like a busy little insect.
Since you have taken my Broken, I will break another.
“No.” My mouth kept saying it. “No. No.”
Christophe subtracted the letter from my nerveless fingers. Scanned it briefly. “Dear God.” He didn’t sound horrified. Only . . . thoughtful.
I was horrified enough for both of us.
I picked up the coat again. It was torn, one sleeve almost severed, and there was drying mud splashed all over it. Mud, and another darker fluid that had dried to a crust.
I didn’t want to think about it.
A scream was rising in my chest. I shoved it down as hard as I could. It didn’t want to go. Think, Dru. Think.
I looked up, my fingers turned into claws in the ruin of the coat. Met Christophe’s steady, icy gaze. “What are you going to do?”
Even though I already suspected the answer. He was just loup-garou . They wouldn’t care.
Not the way I did.
Come find me. Oh, God.
“There’s precious little we can do.” Bruce picked up the ripped envelope. A silent snarl drifted over his handsome face, his proud nose wrinkling. “The boy might have left school grounds; nobody saw them take him. It’s been long enough—he could be anywhere by now. Sergej hopes we will be drawn into a rescue attempt because of your attachment to—”
“Anna,” Christophe said flatly.
Hiro gave him a dark, eloquent glance. “We cannot lay every misfortune at her door.”
“Dru ‘stole’ me; Anna said as much. Why not ‘steal’ the one person Dru trusts absolutely? It has a certain symmetry, and it’s how the Red Queen operates. She knows no other way. We find Anna; she will help us find the loup-garou. And answer every question we have about her activities, from eleven years ago to today.” Christophe’s shoulder lifted, dropped. “Simple.”
“Now hold on,” Ezra piped up.
“We can’t risk—” Hiro, again.
“This is madness,” Alton weighed in.
“There’s no guarantee—” Bruce began, but I tipped my head back and let out a sound halfway between a strangled scream and a growl, and everyone shut up.
“You assholes.” This time the aspect didn’t feel like warm oil. It felt like a crackling cloak of lightning settling over me, and I had to work to pronounce the words the way I wanted them. “I’m out of here.”
I spun on my heel, my bag bumping my hip, and pushed past Christophe. Or tried to.
“Dru!” He grabbed my arm, and I seriously had to work to throttle the instinct to punch him. “Don’t. Please.”
“It’s Graves!” Tears blurred my eyes. “He’s got Graves! I have to find him!”
“We will. But you cannot help the loup-garou by running out of here without a clear idea of what to achieve. Sergej won’t kill him. Not yet.”
“Let go of me!” My voice broke like a little boy’s. “It’s Graves! He’s got Graves!”
It was like a nightmare. Something else kept happening. And I suppose that ever since I’d picked that piece of fabric off the thorns, this was what I’d been dreading. I just hadn’t said as much to myself.
Because I was turning out to be a coward. I’d rather accuse Graves of leaving me behind, even if it was inside my own head, than face the fact that I’d gotten him into this. And that he was probably paying for it right now.
I knew what they did to break werwulfen. I’d learned as much at the other Schola.
&nbs
p; Sergej was going to do that to Graves.
Oh, God. I struggled against Christophe’s hands.
“He will have you too if you run out of here screaming.” His fingers bit in. “Listen to me, Dru. We’ll get your loup-garou back. I swear it on my blades and my bloodline. But there’s nothing you can do right this moment.”
I knew he was right, but it didn’t help. The numbness was over, and my entire chest was cracking open. Hot water slicked my cheeks. Was I ever going to stop crying? Jesus.
“I swear it.” Christophe stared me down like we were the only two people in the room. “The rest of the Council will swear, too. Won’t you?”
A long, tense-ticking quiet moment went by. I couldn’t look away from Christophe. He stared like he had X-ray vision and was checking out my brain folds.
“Because,” he continued inexorably, “they are offering me a seat on the Council, since two of their members are, to put it kindly, unfit. And they were about to tell you that you, dearest one, are the head of the Order now.”
“Screw their Order.” And I meant it. “They can put their Order where the sun doesn’t—”
He lifted his hand, and I subsided. It was just like having Dad give me the Meaningful Look. Bite your tongue, Dru.
“The Order is a massive organization, well-funded and—once we finish rooting out Anna’s holdouts—well-trained and loyal. You stand a much better chance of finding your friend and surviving with them on your side.” He paused, and the next thing he said held no shade of businesslike mockery. It was the gentle tone he’d never used around anyone but me before. “And if you do not trust them, skowroneczko moja, try to trust me.”
“I—” But the protest stopped before I could even find words. His blood was still tingling through my veins, whispering to me. I knew what it was like to have fangs in my wrist and to feel the awful, horrible, draining and ripping sensation. He’d done that for me while I lay dying on an operating table. Anna had been shooting with an assault rifle, for God’s sake, and Christophe had hunched over me. Protecting me with his own body.