Jealousy sa-3 Read online

  I cracked the tab and took a long cold fizzing mouthful. Carbonation stung my throat. Everything wavered in front of me, the hall seen through a haze.

  Where’s Graves? He should be here. The reality of what had just happened hit me. I turned my head, rusty iron cords in my neck creaking. “God,” I whispered. There was a huge black stain in front of the door, still steaming.

  I just really, really wanted to see Graves. I wanted to see his face and hear what he’d make of all this. I wanted to have his arm over my shoulders because when he did that I felt like I could handle anything. Including this.

  Instead I sagged against the wall and took another mechanical slurp of Coke.

  “I’m serious,” Leon said urgently, and the commotion around the corner reached a higher pitch.

  “Svetocha!” It was Kir; I recognized the voice. “Where is the svetocha?”

  He skidded around the corner, and the hall was suddenly, magically empty. The older students disappeared, and I didn’t blame them. It felt like a thunderstorm approaching, or the weird calm after the sirens but before a tornado.

  Hiro was behind him, and Bruce completed the trio. All three of them stopped dead. Kir went red up to the roots of his hair, and Hiro surged forward.

  Bruce grabbed the Japanese djamphir. “Steady on, man.”

  “Yes, keep him back.” Christophe folded his arms. “I would hate to have his family seek to avenge him.”

  Hiro hissed something, fangs out and lips twisting. It didn’t sound like a polite hello.

  I couldn’t help myself. All the carbonation rose in my throat. and I belched. It was a nice long loud one. But it did settle my twisting, cramping stomach. The sugar in the soda would help stave off shock. I’d crash later, of course.

  Leon actually laughed, a chuckle behind his hand as if he wanted to trap it and keep it for posterity.

  Christophe smiled very slightly, but he was tense. And the aspect hadn’t left him. Hiro’s eyes had turned an odd amber color. His short black hair stood up, and his hands curled slowly into fists before they loosened—and curled up again like he was imagining Christophe’s throat under them.

  I didn’t care what they did as long I could go lie down somewhere. I was half-sick with wanting to see Graves again.

  I decided I’d better get some answers while I had everyone’s attention. “Graves. Where is he?” Because I’m blowing this town. I just can’t take any more of this.

  “I don’t know.” Leon’s hand dropped back to his side, but I noticed he was placed very carefully between Christophe and the three from the Council. “I thought he was with you, Milady.”

  “I haven’t seen him since . . . since gym.” That about took all the starch out of me. From one nasty fight to another, and Ash . . .

  There was nothing I could do. I just ran out of steam and stood there woodenly, the Coke half-lifted.

  “Is that where you gained those bruises?” Christophe didn’t even look at me. He was too busy staring Hiro down. “Love-taps, no doubt. Where was the Red Bitch during my little bird’s sparring practice, Kir? You are the one most likely to know, aren’t you? And Bruce. I see you’ve stopped drinking from the vein.”

  “The Lady Anna is on her way.” Bruce still held Hiro’s lapels. His own hair was standing up, the dark curls writhing against each other almost like the female vampire’s had, and I felt sick all over again. “When she gets here it will force a decision. I don’t want to arrest you, Reynard. You’d best leave.”

  “And leave moja księżniczko here to your tender mercies? When she’s already suffered this? The flower of the Order here, sworn to defend her, and a Broken werwulf has to do the job.” Christophe shook his sleek dark head. “I am sorely disappointed.”

  Kir turned a deeper shade of crimson, almost matching his hair. Bruce gave Hiro a meaningful, gauging look and released him. Hiro brushed the lapels of his gray suit, his long beautiful fingers moving with spiderlike precision.

  Leon finally moved. He slid behind Christophe, stepped in front of me. “You should drink more of that. You used your aspect, right? It’s getting stronger?”

  I nodded. “The . . . there were three of them, and Ash . . .”

  “Thank God they didn’t catch you in that cell. Even so close to blooming, you’d have been killed.” He pitched the words loud enough to make it clear he was trying to smooth the ruffled waters, or something. Nice of him.

  I searched for words. “Ash went nuts. I . . . I let him out. He led me this way.”

  “Away from the fighting.” An approving nod. Fine lank hair fell in Leon’s eyes. He looked just the same as he did every morning, and I was glad about that. If I just focused on him I could shut out all the rest of it. “More of them broke into your room, Milady. Tore it apart looking for you. These three were probably seeking to euthanize the Broken.”

  “Euthanize? Since when do you engage in euphemisms, Leontus? You mean murder.” Christophe hadn’t relaxed at all. I got the idea none of them dared to get any closer to him. “I trust I have shamed you all sufficiently for you to remember your duty?”

  Leon actually snorted. “I was where I was supposed to be, Reynard. Save your ire for whoever betrayed the exact location of this girl’s room to a cadre of nosferatu killers.”

  This girl. Like I wasn’t even here. I mean, that would have suited me just fine, not being here. I shut my eyes and leaned my aching head back.

  I felt her arrival like a storm front. Warm perfume clashed with the rot of vampires and a stray draft of Christophe’s apple-pie scent. The mix made me feel light-headed. It was like gas fumes just waiting for a spark.

  Leon steadied me. He didn’t grind his fingers into old or new bruises, and I was grateful for that. “She’s passing out,” he remarked calmly.

  “Is there anywhere here that qualifies as safe for Elizabeth’s daughter?” Christophe’s tone could have cut stone.

  “Christophe.” Anna, strangely breathless. “What’s going on? What are you doing here? Kir, why hasn’t he been arrested? He’s a traitor—”

  “Watch your mouth,” Christophe’s voice cut across hers. Leon was strong for someone so wiry, and I was really glad, because my knees buckled. The can of Coke hit the floor with a hollow chipping, sloshing sound. More mess to clean up. “I demand a full Trial, according to the Codes.”

  “You’re outside the Codes.” You could just see Anna’s self-satisfied smirk, the way she said it. It occurred to me that she never really had anyone argue with her. She couldn’t have, not when she sounded like that. “You’re a traitor, Reynard, and you’ve overreached yourself.”

  God. None of them even talk like kids. I kept my eyes shut tight. Material rustled. The temperature dropped, almost as cold as it had been a few minutes ago while the vampires were stalking Ash and me.

  Christophe’s fury was like a draft of air-conditioning against already-chilled skin. “If they come any closer, Red Queen, you will lose your pretty bodyguards.”

  Silence. Tense, ticking silence. I pried my eyes open and looked over Leon’s shoulder.

  Anna stood behind three slim dark-haired boy djamphir. All three had red T-shirts, and I had the not-so-nice idea she’d chosen them for their looks.

  Not twins, but brothers, maybe. And in red shirts? Not a good choice. Hadn’t any of them ever watched Star Trek?

  Two of them had 9mms pointed at Christophe. The one in the middle—I’d seen him before—just stood, hands loose and eyes empty, staring at him. Kir, Bruce, and Hiro stood aside, Hiro shifting his weight just a fraction forward. The idea that he might just throw himself at Anna returned, circled my pain-fogged brain.

  Anna’s blue gaze locked with Christophe’s. Her heart-shaped face was bloodless-pale, and her hair was a perfect mass of clustered red-tinted ringlets. She was in silk again, a tightly laced old-fashioned dress with snow-white lace around the square neckline, more lace fountaining from the cuffs.

  I got the idea she’d done her makeup up special
for this. Not that she needed much. She was utterly and completely beautiful, except for the hate shining in her eyes.

  It was like an old Western showdown. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there were tumbleweeds.

  Bruce cleared his throat. “Actually, he’s not outside the Codes.”

  Anna darted him a bright, venomous glance. “I am head of the Council, and—”

  “You’re svetocha,” Hiro said flatly. “The Codes are in the keeping of the princeps of the Order. Which is Bruce, as provisional head of the Council.” He paused. A ghost of nasty satisfaction tinted his tone. “A full Trial is within his purview to declare.”

  “Just a goddamn second.” Kir shifted his weight as if to step forward, thought better of it when Christophe’s cold attention settled on him. “How do we know he won’t vanish again?”

  “I have no intention of vanishing,” Christophe informed him. “If you want to find me, you need look no further than wherever Dru is. Her quarters are not kept secret as Anna’s are, her Guard not given class waivers as Anna’s are, her person in jeopardy”—here he elegantly tilted his head, and Anna’s lip curled for a fraction of a second before her face smoothed—“and while she’s in class, she’s in with the general population rather than being given tutors like Anna was. What, precisely, is going on here? Be so kind as to enlighten me, Kir.”

  “I am the head of the Order!” Anna surged forward, petticoats rustling, and pushed past the matched djamphir. “This is Reynard! He’s a traitor! He’s Sergej’s son!”

  God, she really hates him. I concentrated on beating back the dizziness threatening to swallow me.

  “He’s also within the Codes to request a full Trial, Milady.” Bruce’s tone was deceptively mild.

  “Council meeting, then. We’ll vote.”

  Bruce straightened, drawing himself up. His chin lifted a little. “It’s not a voting issue. But if you wish to call a meeting, by all means do so. We’ll have to wait until Milady Dru is able to attend or designates a proxy, though.”

  I had the idea I should protest this, but Leon shook his head. Just a little.

  I just wanted to see Graves. I got the idea he would help me sort this out. Or at least if he was here I could let go of consciousness and know that things would be okay when I woke up.

  If I had to, I would beg him to just lie on the bed next to me and breathe. So I could know things were all right.

  The realization hit me then.

  He’d probably left, the way I’d been wanting to. He probably got tired of all this, of me, and left me behind. I’d promised not to leave without him, but he hadn’t promised.

  “She’s not fit to be on the Council.” Anna’s teeth were clenched so tight the words had a hard time getting out. Red sparks danced in the back of her pupils, spinning. “Bruce, you cannot—”

  “I can and I will. She’s svetocha; she has a right. Remember? Your own words will come back to haunt you, Milady. I think you’d best be quiet. Especially since I intend to inquire fully into Christophe’s accusations. I did not sign a directive to put Milady Anderson into the general population.”

  “Traitors,” she hissed. “All of you. Traitors.”

  “You bandy that word about so frequently.” Christophe leaned forward, all his weight on the balls of his feet. I recognized that stance. Dad looked that way when he was picking out someone for a fight. “Why is that, I wonder?”

  “You and your little bitch—”

  I slid over to the side, losing the battle with the darkness. Leon caught me, and at least he didn’t bruise me. “Fight later,” he said over his shoulder. “Or at least let me get her out of here. For Christ’s sake, she’s not even bloomed yet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  For once, August showed no desire to leave when dusk came around. Instead, he settled down on the ancient flowered couch, smoking, loading clips, and staring at the television. He had it turned all the way down and a black-and-white movie played, the light flickering over every surface. I sat on the other end of the couch, folding laundry. He’d brought two big bags of it back from the laundry room downstairs, and while I was glad I didn’t have to trudge out to a Laundromat, I felt kind of weird about someone else washing my panties.

  August had gone from once or twice letting me go out with him on sunny days to not letting me out of the house at all. He got takeout, or we ate omelets. I was beginning to get itchy, and if Dad hadn’t told me to stay put I would have at least snuck out on the roof at night. Just to get some air. All the movie posters on the walls were watching me with blank eyes.

  There wasn’t even a plant in here. At least I could have talked to a philodendron or something. And the lack of natural light was really beginning to get me down. I’d taken to lying in front of the bedroom window, staring up and aching for some sun. But it was gray, the sky threatening snow. I was beginning to think sunshine was something I’d made up.

  I held up one of August’s T-shirts. Ragged claw marks sliced the thin fabric. It was a wonder there was any shirt left. “What was this?”

  “That? Oh. Just some trouble over in Manhattan.” He slid the bullets into the clip, each one going in smoothly. He didn’t have to look while he did it. His short Russian cigarette fumed in the ashtray, and I wrinkled my nose. On the screen, a very young Marlon Brando sat on a swing and fitted a girl’s white glove on his hand, looking up at a slim pretty blonde. “Got ’em cornered in a stairwell. Dark work.” August set the clip down, picked up an empty one. Muscle moved under the skin of his arm, left bare by a Rolling Stones T-shirt.

  Dark work. Which meant I didn’t need to know any more. I nodded, knowing he’d see the movement in his peripheral vision. Tossed the shirt into my mending pile. He had a truly ancient Singer machine, and I’d started patching any clothes of his I could reasonably expect to. Usually T-shirt material is too thin to really repair, but I’d give it a try. At least I never had to ask twice for any supplies—he brought home exactly what I asked for every time. Except bread. He would never bring back any damn bread.

  My hands moved without thought, too. I’ve folded so much laundry that I barely have to pay attention. August used a strange sort of fabric softener; it smelled lemony. “You gonna turn that up? I can’t hear it.”

  “In a bit. This is not a good part for an impressionable young girl.” The last word came out as “goil.” His lips stretched in a wide, unsettling grin. If I wasn’t so used to him, I might almost have felt a moment of unease. But that was just Augie. He seemed to delight in squinching up his face in the weirdest possible ways. Just to keep things limber.

  I folded a pair of his jeans. The blood had washed out just fine after some cold-water soaking. Even the greasy gunk ground into the knees had come out. Of course, it had been fresh when I got to it. “You want some coffee?” What I meant was, Are you going out tonight? But I didn’t dare ask, in case he decided to. Then I’d feel like I made him do it, and I’d wander around the tiny apartment cleaning things up or clearing a place to do some short t’ai chi. Wishing I could get out and run. Even just a trip to the corner bodega to get a pack of gum would have been fine. But no. August had stopped taking me anywhere, muttering something about smells. I was pretty sure I didn’t offend, what with a shower every day. So I didn’t ask any questions, just kept asking him to bring home a loaf of white so I could have a PBJ. I craved a PBJ like you wouldn’t believe.

  I was so fricking tired of omelets.

  “No thanks,” he said finally. “Staying in tonight.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I found a pair of my jeans and folded them swiftly. Then one of August’s flannel shirts. I’d offered to iron them, but he got a weird look on his face and told me not to. I did some anyway, but when he came home and saw them he took the iron and put it somewhere.

  Weird. But then, hunters are weird. Even Dad has his tics.

  There. I’d thought about Dad. I’d never asked August when he was coming back. Sometimes a job will take awhile, right? I w
as sure he’d come back.

  Wasn’t I?

  I tried not to think about it. He’d always come back before. But . . . I was never sure, way down deep, if each time he did would be the last.

  I looked at the television. For a guy with such a nice bit of plasma hardware, he didn’t watch a lot of it. When he did, it was always black-and-white movies. Why have a great TV if all you can see are shades of gray?

  Someone banged on the door. My heart jumped into my throat like a jackrabbit on speed. I would have leapt to my feet, but August was already rising, grabbing his cigarette and taking one last drag before grinding it out. “Steady, princess.” He looked amused. “If there was trouble I’d be outside, leading it a chase. This is good news. I can smell it.”

  Now I was folding a blue sweater. I carefully focused on the sleeves while August got the door. Please let it be him, I prayed. Please.

  And then, wonder of wonders, God came through. I heard my father’s voice.

  “Goddamn you, Dobrowski. Why do you have to live up three flights of stairs?” He stamped, as if his boots were full of snow.

  August sounded amused. “It’s safe up here. You look like hell. Did you—”

  Clipped and final. “I didn’t get him. Where’s Dru?”

  August sighed. “Safe and sound. She’s obsessed with toast, of all things. Move, so I can shut the door.”

  My eyes blurred. I let out a long breath, my shoulders sagging. My heart was thumping, a high hard gallop of happiness. I knew what luggage felt like at the airport the moment it was picked up, the instant familiar fingers closed on its handle.

  It was Dad. He’d finally come back. He was here, and we were going to move on. Happiness filled me until I thought I would burst, and I swiped the tears away angrily. If I broke down crying he’d get That Look, like I was a weepy girl and he didn’t know what to do. But I couldn’t stop leaking. Now I could admit that I’d been afraid I would be stuck here forever.