Page 31 of Fall into Place

Tess woke gasping for air—she was soaked in sweat, and tears were rolling down her face. She hadn’t had a nightmare like that in months. God, it felt so vivid—just like the dreams after Rick, back when she couldn’t stay asleep for longer than an hour or two, when exhaustion and delirium and constant terror made it almost impossible to discern what was real.

She slid out of bed and pulled open the heavy jacquard curtains—it was dusk, the sky pale and purple as stars began to appear. Dim light spilled into the room, illuminating walls made of enormous slabs of black marble shot through with veins that shimmered gold. The floors were smooth, polished wood, light with an almost pinkish hue, like maple. The furnishings were simple and elegant: black wooden dressers that seemed to melt into the walls, plush patterned rugs in soft grays, and the enormous bed Tess had slept in—a soft, thick mattress on a low platform, covered in silk sheets and woven blankets and scattered furs in various grays and blacks.

It was the most luxurious room Tess had ever slept in by several orders of magnitude, and she had a feeling it was far from the most impressive suite in Nantale’s compound.

“I thought I heard you wake up!” Tess whipped toward the door, immediately on edge, but it was the stout older woman who’d untied her the night before. She looked to be in her sixties, with frizzy silver hair that flowed past her shoulders, crinkly white skin, and an infectious energy. She wore an oversized button-down and soft linen slacks, and big eyeglasses with purple frames that kept sliding down her nose. She reminded Tess of her favorite librarian at Columbia, a woman who’d once literally jumped for joy upon receiving a box of rare science fiction magazines from the 1950s.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked. “Are you hungry? How about some coffee?”

“Good morning—I mean, um…” Tess trailed, not knowing exactly what to say. The woman laughed.

“That’s the Isle for you, hon.” She smiled warmly. “Good luck knowing what time of day it is, let alone the week or month or year. It’s just night for a while, then gray and cloudy like a stormy day, then night again. Who knows for how long!”

“So there aren’t seasons?” Tess asked.

“What you see is what we’ve got! I’m Sylvie, by the way. Are you sure you don’t want coffee? How about something to wear? Did you sleep in that dress you came in? Good lord, vampires make the worst hosts.”

Tess looked down at her dress, which was clinging to her body and sticky with sweat from her nightmare. Sylvie was right—it would be nice to change.

“Maybe a robe?” she asked. “And a shower would be lovely. And then I guess, something to wear afterward, if it’s not too much trouble?”

Tess watched Sylvie’s eyes change—they seemed to glow with a golden intensity as she placed her hand on the wooden dresser. After a moment, Sylvie stepped back and motioned for Tess to open the drawer: It was filled with pajamas, jeans, tees, sweaters, and dresses, all of which looked to be exactly Tess’s size. When Tess looked up from the drawer, Sylvie was holding out a thick terry robe, which Tess gratefully took and wrapped around her body.

“Now, how about that coffee?” Sylvie grinned, but Tess was dumbfounded. She knew from Blood Feud that vampires could glamour their surroundings on the Isle—it’s how they made places like this compound. But it was one thing to have read about it, and quite another to see Sylvie casually whip up an entire wardrobe.

“You can really?? Did you just glamour—how did you do that??”

Sylvie shrugged. “We’re not sure how it works. On Earth, we can look into the eyes of a human and bend them to our will. Here, we can do the same thing—except instead of humans, it’s objects. See?”

She put her hands on an armoire, and when she opened the doors, it contained a fully stocked kitchenette, including a small silver coffee maker, a platter of buttery pastries and loaves of hearty brown bread, and an ice chest filled with cheeses, cold cuts, fruit, and cream.

“We can make you anything you want, of course.” Sylvie nodded toward the food. “But this way you’ll always have a little nosh on hand if you’re in your room. Speaking of which—how do you like the room?”

“Are you serious?” Tess held in a laugh. “It’s unbelievable.”

“Sure, sure, but is it you? It doesn’t really seem like you.”

“But it’s beautiful! And really, you’ve done too much already, I couldn’t ask you—”

“Oh, pssh,” Sylvie scoffed. “I had seven children back in my human days. I love taking care of people.”

“Wow, seven.” Tess took this in. “And are they—here? I mean, are they…”

“Vampires? No. I met Alberto when I was in college, and we fell madly in love, but I knew I wanted a family—and he couldn’t give that to me. Forty years later, when my kids were grown and their dad had passed, he came back for me. Said he didn’t want to spend eternity without me. So here I am!” She laughed and shrugged a little.

“And Alberto?” Tess asked. “He’s here too?”

Sylvie shook her head. “No, he was killed about a year after we came to the Isle.”

“I’m so sorry,” Tess murmured, but Sylvie just shrugged, the way you do when a wound is old.

“There was a lot of fighting in those days, people scared, confused about how we ended up here, how long we’d be here, blaming each other for what happened,” she explained. “This was before we formed the clans and started living together for protection. I’m pretty young for a vampire—Alberto turned me only a few years before we came to the Isle. Once he was gone, I was vulnerable, to say the least.”

“So how did you survive?” Tess asked, spellbound.

“I spent a long time hiding at the northern end of the Isle,” Sylvie said. “There’s not much population up there, so it was safer—lonelier too. But after a year or so, one of Nantale’s clan members ran into me hunting up there, saw how hungry and afraid I was. They offered me company—and security—if I moved in here. Nantale was good to take me in and look after me. So I try to look after everyone around here in return. Including you. Which means it’ll be just fine for you to tell me how you’d like to decorate your bedroom.”

Tess frowned—Nantale and her hunting party helping a vulnerable old woman? That didn’t track with the vicious murderers August Lirio described them as in Blood Feud. Tess gazed at Sylvie, taking in the meaning behind her story. If she’d only become a vampire a few years before coming to the Isle, that meant her children—and, presumably, grandchildren—were still alive back home. And she was trapped here, without them, without the man who’d loved her so much he’d waited forty years to be with her, taking care of a compound full of vampires instead of her own family. Tess had to suppress a strong urge to rush over and hug her fiercely.