"Not that early," I said, sitting on the overstuffed couch behind him. "What's with all the lamps?"
"Cate lit them all when she woke up." He pulled on his shirt, grabbed a bottle of water off the oak coffee table, and flopped back in an armchair. "She said it reminds her of what it was like when she used to live here."
I glanced around for her. "Cate's up?"
He took a long swig of his water before answering. "She's out in the back garden, weeding tomatoes or something."
I pulled my knees up to my chest, considering Cate and Elise and this house. "How does everything feel to you here?"
"It feels... different."
"This isn't how I expected it going," I admitted.
Bobby snorted. "Yeah, me neither. This is not at all the impression I got from her in Prague. I know I didn't spend as much time with her as you did, but it feels like a total 180."
"No, you're not wrong," I agreed.
We might have spent more time debating Cate's behavior, but I heard Peter's footsteps upstairs. A minute later, he came down the steps, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater, and surveyed the living room with his somber green eyes.
"How are you doing today?" I asked him.
"Good. Better," he said, then added, "I think."
Peter sat on the couch beside me, slumping down in the overfilled cushions. His shoulders had a slight sag to them, and his expression was pensive. But he still didn't look as bad as he had last night, when he'd been crying outside Elise's grave.
"Did you have any dreams?" I asked, thinking that perhaps Elise hadn't visited me because she'd been too busy with him.
He shook his head. "No, my sleep was soundless and dreamless."
The backdoor slammed shut, and I heard Cate whistling. When she came into the living room, her hair hung in a loose braid, and dirt darkened her fingers and the knees of her jeans. She smiled broadly, and there was a bright twinkle in her eyes.
"It's so quiet in here," she announced.
Without asking if any of us wanted to listen to anything, she put a Delia Murphy record on the old phonograph, and soon, a crackling Irish folk song played softly out of the speakers. She settled back on the bench beside it, across from Peter and me, and she pulled her legs up underneath her and chatted amicably with all of us about how we slept and how we were enjoying Ireland.
Finally, after the pleasantries had been expended, she turned to Peter and asked, "How long are you planning to stay on?"
"I don't want to out stay my welcome, so I was thinking we'd leave tomorrow," he said.
"You can never overstay," she insisted jovially. "This is sort of your home, too."
"I suppose it is," he said, and there was a subtle tense undercurrent to his words. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about."
"And what's that?" she asked, still chipper and light.
"Were you Elise's maker?" Peter asked her directly, and her smile faltered.
"I mentioned to him what you told me," I said, hoping to suppress a possible conflict before it arose. "I hope that's okay."
Her smile stayed frozen in place, but it lacked any real joy or happiness. "No, it's fine," she said. "Yes, I am Elise's maker. I thought you knew."
"How would I have known?" Peter asked in dismay.
"You saw the bond we had," Cate insisted, and now her tone had taken on an unpleasant condescending edge. "She hated being away from me."
Peter waited a beat before countering her carefully with, "I know she was very fond of you, but she loved travelling. She just felt guilty leaving you and Ezra behind to tend to the farm in our absence."
Cate toyed with a loose tendril of her and stared at Peter evenly. "Maybe that's what she told you, but that wasn't the truth."
"I think I knew the truth about my wife," he replied through a tight smile.
She shrugged. "You didn't know I was her maker, so I guess you didn't know everything."
I looked to Bobby, who was slowly sipping his water while watching their exchange in rapt attention. This was a lot more like how I'd anticipated the conversations to go between Cate and Peter.
"I didn't know because you didn't tell her," he said, and he wasn't even trying to hide the irritation in his voice anymore. "You should've told her. She had a right to know."
"It wasn't never the right time to tell her," Cate elaborated. "But I think she did know. Eventually, after she saw you with Ezra, I think she realized that our bond was something far more than just friends."
"Perhaps, but I think she would've told me if she suspected," he continued arguing. "I don't think she knew."
"She didn't tell you everything, Peter," Cate snapped, and her smile had disappeared entirely. "Like the real reason she didn't want to go to America with you. She didn't want to leave me."
"She didn't want to leave her family!" he shouted in exasperation. "Everyone she loved was buried here. She was afraid of what would become of them and the farm without her."
"Come on, Peter," she said with a dramatic eye roll. "You don't need to play games anymore."
"What games?" he asked.
"I know you were jealous of our relationship," she replied matter-of-factly. "That's why you insisted on taking her away from me, to America."
"I was never jealous," he said through clenched teeth. "She made it very clear to me that she cared for you, but I always came first. And besides, it was her idea to leave."
Cate looked at him like he was a moron. "What are you talking about?"
"We were getting looks from locals, and I knew we had to move out of the area," he explained. "I planned on staying in Ireland or maybe England, for her. But she's the one that suggested we go to America."
Cate appeared dumbfounded, then she shook her head and insisted, "She would never have said that."
"Yes, she did," Peter argued. "The last year before we left, she had grown depressed missing her family and wishing for children that we could never have. And she came to realize that she needed a new life, a new change of scenery. She was excited for our life in the New World. And you could've joined us. Ezra even asked you to come along, but you refused."
"That's all a lie," Cate said, and her voice was trembling with barely contained rage. Her mask of rationality and happiness was starting to slip. "She begged me to stay here and care for her family. She said she didn't want to go, and that I had to stay behind since she couldn't. That's why I refused Ezra."
"I'm not lying, Catherine," he said calmly. "But it sounds to me like Elise didn't want you to go with us."
"No, that's not true." She shook her head fiercely and stood up, pointing her finger at Peter. "You're a damned dirty liar! She could never leave me! She'd rather die than part with me!"
And that was the moment when it felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. No one said anything, with the scratched old record groaning on behind Cate, like the soundtrack in a horror movie right before the monster revealed itself.
"What do you mean by that?" Peter asked, doing his best to keep his voice even, as not to set Cate off even further.
"She didn't love you, not the way she loved me, and she didn't want to go with you," Cate said, growing shriller as she spoke. "But you wouldn't leave her be. You kept writing her all those letters."
"If she didn't want to go to America, then why did she ask to?" he countered reasonably. "And I was already gone. I left months before her. If she wanted me to leave her alone, she simply had to stay behind."
"No. She couldn't," Cate insisted. "She'd made a promise to you. You know how seriously she took her faith, and she wouldn't step out on her marriage vows, and she couldn't kill herself either."
Peter exhaled slowly, and in a shockingly calm voice he asked, "What are you saying?"
"I did what she wanted, Peter. I did what I had to do." Her eyes were wild and crazy, with tears standing in them.
"What did you do, Catherine?" Peter repeated, growing more insistent and less calm. "What did you do?"
>
"We were so bonded, she didn't even have to ask. But I knew," Cate kept insisting. "I knew that deep in her heart, she'd rather die with me than go off with you. I knew it."
Peter leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. "Oh my god, Catherine. You killed the love of my life."
"No!" Cate screamed. "I killed the love of my life, and I did it for her! It killed me to do it, but I did it, because it's what she wanted!"
Peter stood up and roared at her, with so much rage and contempt in his voice, that both Bobby and I flinched, but somehow Cate remained unmoved.
"It's not what she wanted, you lunatic!" he yelled. "She wanted to be rid of you! She loved me! And you took her from me! All these years, you stole from her. For what? To watch over her corpse?"
Cate just smiled up at him. "She's mine, Peter. She was always mine, and you can never have her now."
With that, she picked up a kerosene lamp and threw it at the wall, causing sparks and flames to erupt around us.
PETER PAID NO MIND TO the flames that sprouted everywhere, growing terrifyingly fast on the walls and furniture. His eyes were locked on Cate, who had realized much too late that Peter would be more than happy to help her join Elise underground.
She screamed like a banshee as he dove at her, and within seconds, the living room had dissolved into a burning, smoky chaos. Bobby dove off the chair and ran toward the stairs while Peter and Cate fought.
"Bobby!" I called after him.
"The stakes! Peter needs the stakes!" he yelled as he bounded up the stairs.
I ran after him, but hesitated when I reached the bottom of the stairs, just as Cate slammed Peter into a now-crumbling wall. I was torn between staying down here to help Peter combat Cate, should he need it, and running upstairs to drag Bobby back down.
Cate was clearly insane, and I wasn't sure what she was capable of, but Peter had fought in enough wars that he should be able to handle himself without a stake. And the fire was spreading at an alarming rate, and as happy as I would be for Peter to stake Cate, my main priority at the moment was making sure that Bobby, Peter, and I made it out of here alive.
With the fire crackling through the walls and the sounds of Cate and Peter battling, I raced up the stairs to the room Bobby was staying in. The second floor was already filling with smoke, and I didn't know how much longer his human lungs would be able to handle it.
"Bobby!" I shouted and discovered him, crouched on the floor pulling stakes out of his bag. "Bobby, we gotta go."
He coughed hard and nodded. "I'm ready."
I grabbed him by the arm and yanked him to his feet, preparing to drag him out the door if need be. My feet were bare, and I could feel the floorboards heating up underneath me, like asphalt on a hot day. The paint on the walls had begun bubbling and peeling, and the house itself seemed to creak and groan.
We'd barely made it out of the room when I felt the boards giving way. They cracked and snapped, and I tried to lunge forward, but it was all happening so fast. We collapsed through the floor into the fire, raging below.
Bobby was knocked unconscious in the fall. I stood over him, preparing to throw him over my shoulder and escape from the inferno, when I heard a loud crack - louder than the one when the floor gave way.
Before I could react, pain shot through me as a flaming beam fell right on my back. It knocked me down, and I fell on top of Bobby. I used my own body to shield him as best I could, as agonizing heat spread over me. The scent of my own burning flesh and hair filled my nostrils.
Using all my strength, I pushed myself to my hands and knees, knocking the beam back. I grabbed Bobby and started trying to make my way through the flames and smoke.
"Alice!" Peter was shouting and I ran to the sound of his voice. "Alice!"
I couldn't see him. My eyes were watering too hard, so I could only listen for him. And then he was shouting my name more excited, closer, and I felt his hand on mine, leading me out of the house.
The cool evening air stung against my burns, I dropped Bobby into the grass. He coughed several times, and I collapsed beside him, even though it hurt like hell to touch anything.
"Alice, are you okay?" Peter asked.
"Take care of Bobby," I mumbled, looking over at him, lying beside me. Blood and soot stained his clothes. "He's bleeding. You have to save him."
"Alice, that's your blood. Bobby will be okay."
I looked up at him through watery eyes, and I saw the abject horror in his expression. The pain I felt was absolutely excruciating, but it wasn't until I lifted my arm that I realized how bad things were. Holding my hand in front of me, I could see the skin was completely gone, revealing burnt and bloody muscles and bones.
"Oh, fuck," I breathed. "Am I going to heal from this? Is this too bad?"
"Alice," Peter said, and I could hear how desperately he was trying to sound calm. "You need to feed."
I shook my head, sending fresh pain through my body. Every single nerve ending felt like it was on fire, scorched and agonizing. I screamed, and the dry horrified sound of my own voice terrified me.
"Bobby's injured. I can't... I can't..." I sobbed, and it even hurt to cry.
"Alice. Drink," Peter insisted, and I wanted to argue, but then I smelled the blood.
Even over the scent of the fire, I could smell him, and somewhere deep inside me craved it desperately. When I felt the first drops of blood hitting my lips - cool and wet - I grabbed onto the wrist and pressed it mouth, sinking my teeth in.
It was one of the most wonderful things I'd ever tasted, like wine and chocolate, only sweeter and more delectable. It felt cool and wonderful down my throat, healing all my scorched flesh that it touched.
As soon as my pain subsided, as the pleasure of feeding took over and blocked out everything else, I realized that this wasn't Bobby I was drinking from - this was Peter.
Drinking from another person was like drinking them, and I felt all his pain and anguish, all his tortured guilt over Elise masking so much else underneath. Beneath all his hurt, it was only love. Love and love and love and love...
For Ezra, for Jack, even for Bobby. For the first time, I could actual feel how much he loved me - the intensity of it was overwhelming. And it was absolutely undeniable.
He didn't taste the same as Jack, and his love didn't feel the same. Jack felt constant and unstoppable, like a continuous avalanche rolling over everything. Peter's was... hot and fiery, burning like an explosion before destroying everything around it.
And then all that was left was his incredible loneliness. I'd drank from beethoers before, and I'd never tasted anyone that felt as lonely as Peter did. He'd created a world of isolation for himself, trying to protect himself from the pain of lost love, but it only left him hurting more than ever.
"That's enough," Peter said, pulling his arm back. "That should be enough for you to heal."
His blood intoxicated me, leaving me weak and drowsy, and I already felt the tingling spreading out over my skin as my body hurried to heal up.
"Peter," I murmured as I felt my consciousness begin slipping away. "Stop fighting it all. You must let people love you. You can let me love you."
WHEN I WOKE UP, I was curled up in the back of the VW Polo, using Peter's rolled up jacket for a pillow. The scent of smoke still filled my nostrils, but I quickly realized that it was coming from my singed hair and tattered pants. My shirt must've been in too much disrepair, because I was wearing Peter's sweater, leaving him only in a tee shirt as he drove through the night.
I stretched as much as the space would allow and sat up slowly. Drinking fresh blood from a vampire meant that I'd healed up extra fast, on top of having a light buzz which made the world feel softer and filled me with a subdued contentment
"Hey, you're awake!" Bobby turned to look back at me, and I noticed remnants of my shirt wrapped around his arm, presumably covering a burn. "How are you feeling?"
"Better," I said, which was an understatement, but I wanted to downplay
it, because of everything that happened to Peter and Bobby because of Cate. "How about you?"
"No major injuries, although it would be nice if I had some magical vampire healing powers," he replied with a lopsided grin.
"I'm sure Milo would be more than happy to arrange that for you," I pointed out.
He looked away from me. "You know that's not the life I want."
"Then don't be an ass. You can't pull that crap ever again, Bobby," I told him firmly. "You're mortal. You need to protect yourself first. Vampires like me and Peter can handle ourselves."
In reality, Bobby took his duty as a hunter too seriously. He was good at his job - both in taking on vampires and in supporting me as backup - but there were times when he needed to step back and let those of us that couldn't so easily be mortally wounded take over. He never wanted to let me down or let a bad guy escape, which led to him taking risks that he shouldn't.
He lowered his eyes and shook his head. "I just didn't want her get away. After what she did, it didn't seem right."
"So you got Cate?" I asked hopefully and turned my attention to Peter.
Peter stared straight ahead, his one hand on the wheel gripping it tightly. "No. I had to make a choice - avenging Elise or making sure you got out of the house. I did what I had to do, and I don't regret it."
"I'm sorry," I said, because there was nothing more I could say.
A heavy silence fell over the car, and Bobby could only stand it for so long before he started talking. He filled me in on the parts of the night that I'd missed - after Peter made sure we were out of the house, he'd hurriedly patched Bobby up and threw us in the car before the emergency services came. There was no sign of Cate, and the house was totally engulfed in flames by the time we left.
Fortunately, Bobby's gear bag had been saved (it had gotten caught on his arm, and when I carried him out of the burning house, the bag had come with). In it, he had cash, spare credit cards, and our IDs, along with his cell phone. My phone was still in my pocket, and other than a partially melted phone case, it seemed to have survived the fire.
Which led to us driving through the night back toward Dublin, back to the airport, since Peter hadn't the slightest idea where Cate would've gone. I'd slept through most of the car ride, and as we approached the city limits, Bobby asked if we could stop at a petrol station for him to get something to eat and use the bathroom.