Page 9
There is the sound of a bolt being undone, a key in the lock, the beep beep of an alarm being turned off. And then there he is… Professor Lucien Thornfield.
He says nothing, just looks past me to the empty space where Nova, Kole, and Kim should be.
He narrows his eyes.
He is impossible to read, and searching his emotions brings back nothing but a beating black hole. Not because he’s shielding – hiding his true nature from me – but because there truly is very little there.
Like the remnants of chalk on a blackboard, his emotions are so faint he really doesn’t feel them.
I push the darkness aside and try to latch onto something — anything — that will tell me what he is thinking.
A whisper of annoyance catches at the corner of my mind. But it is gone again before I can take hold of it.
“Inside, quickly,” he says. Then, waving his hand at the raindrops above our heads, he adds, “And stop performing party tricks out in the open. People aren’t as accepting here as they are where you’re from.”
“Accepting?” I scoff loudly, but stop the shield and step inside. “You’ve heard of the AMA, right? The ones who were trying to get their hands on your scepter?”
Lucien doesn’t reply, simply re-bolts the door and hurries to the steps that will lead us through the centre of the museum.
We are slower than him, but he doesn’t care. Nor does he offer Mack any assistance.
By the time we reach his office, my arms burn with the effort of carrying Snow, and Mack is practically panting. Beads of sweat cling to his forehead. He collapses into a chair before Lucien has had a chance to close the door behind us.
Walking over to the desk, I gesture for Lucien to clear some space.
His eyebrows arch and he taps his foot on the floor. But he does as I’ve asked. Sweeping some paperwork into a draw, he carefully lifts his laptop and some books out of the way and allows me to settle Snow on the desk.
“First aid kit?” I ask, gently moving the fur around the wound so I can examine it properly. It is damp, and thick with blood, and Snow huffs at me when I touch him.
In less than a few seconds, Lucien flits out of the room then returns with a green first aid box. Metal. Old.
The tin opens with a creak, and I take out some antiseptic wipes and some ointment. “It needs stitching.” I look at Mack instead of Snow. “I can do it here. It’ll hurt without pain meds but…”
Mack rises from his chair and walks over to us on unsteady feet. Leaning against the desk, bracing both hands on its shiny mahogany surface, he meets Snow’s eyes and says, “You okay with that?”
Snow moves his head and makes a noise that might be a yes and might be a no.
“He’s fine with it.” Mack says. “Stop the bleeding.”
“Yes.” Lucien is pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “Please stop the bleeding so we can discuss what happened to our friends.”
“Our friends,” I snap, my stomach twitching with annoyance. “They are not your friends. If they were, you’d show a flicker of concern instead of just base curiosity.”
Lucien takes a long sip from his glass. Again, he raises his eyebrows. “Yes,” he says. “I suppose you’re right about that.”
4
TANNER
Although he clearly doesn’t feel the cold, Lucien lights a fire. Anyone else, I’d think they were doing it to be nice. Him? He’s doing it because he likes the way it crackles, or because he thinks he looks suave standing in front of it, or just because he’s got some logs to use up and doesn’t want them to go to waste.
There is not a glimmer of compassion inside this vampire.
He is, without doubt, the least empathetic creature I’ve ever come across.
Okay, so he’s not brimming with evil either. But the lack of any kind of warm or kind emotion reminds me why I hate vampires so much.
And why I make an effort to avoid them.
