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I didn’t answer, but I didn’t have to. I felt him flip through my memories, like someone paging through a book. Scene after scene of failure, of watching lovers leave, friends flee—
“Even the other part of yourself,” he murmured. “Cut off. Walled away.”
I turned on him, impotent, furious. “Why are you doing this? Does your kind take pleasure in the pain of others?”
“Some do,” he admitted. “But I am not among them.”
“Then why?”
“I needed to understand you. To know why you wanted the child. And I am satisfied that it was not for a weapon, or for your Senate. But for family, connection…loneliness.”
“What does it matter?” I asked harshly.
“Because you may be the only one who can help me find her.”
I woke in another sumptuous bedroom, judging by the feel of the linens. But it wasn’t Louis-Cesare’s. I could feel the pressure of the consul’s house holding me down, like a dozen hands trying to push me through the bedding, even
before I opened my eyes. And then I blinked the room into view and had it confirmed.
It was a nice room, blue and brown and beige, with lots of iridescent satins and thick velvets and a few furs warming up the ever-present marble. All of which my eyes glossed over because they were busy looking at something else. But I didn’t feel like getting up, or even moving, so for a few minutes I just lay there.
And watched E.T. float around in my wall.
The expanse opposite the bed was mostly unadorned, except for subtle striations in the marble. And a few pieces of museum-quality art. And some glowy blobs that, yes, kind of looked like E.T.
I turned my head—slowly, because it made the room do some convoluted spinning thing otherwise—to look at the wall to the left. The blobs sort of reminded me of reflections, like people passing in front of stained-glass windows. And having their shadows distorted before being cast on the opposite wall.
There was only one problem: there were no windows.
Not too surprising. Regular old vampires had to make do with regular old houses and modify them to suit. But the consul didn’t have to put up with that crap.
I hadn’t had an opportunity to do much exploring last time I was here. But from what I’d been able to tell, her house was built like an onion, with an outermost skin that opened onto long, shallow hallways that kept it from looking strange to anyone who might happen by and wonder why anyone would build a house with no windows. But that’s essentially what it was after you penetrated the first layer.
And I guess I was past that. Because all I saw was some shelves and a table-and-lamp combo. None of which could be throwing light shadows, including the lamp, which wasn’t on.
I turned my head back again—slowly, slowly—and looked at the wall. But E.T. must have found me pretty boring, because he was gone now. Or maybe my brain had decided not to go schizo right at the moment, although I didn’t know why. It had done everything else.
Including possibly killing Mircea.
That whole horror scene came back to me in a rush, hard enough to leave me gasping. I abruptly sat up, and just as quickly regretted it when the room telescoped and threatened to collapse. But I wasn’t going to lie back down.
Not until I found out what had happened.
I threw off the covers and went almost a yard before my knees gave way, throwing me onto a very nice carpet that probably didn’t need any puke stains. I stayed down for a moment, breathing, waiting for my head to accept the idea that, yes, we were doing this. And then I got to my feet and stumbled toward the door again.
And got halfway there before I realized I was naked.
Of course I am, I thought angrily, and went back to the bed for a sheet. God forbid I actually wake up dressed anymore.
I made a sixteen-hundred-thread-count sarong and wobbled back to the door. And poked my head out. And was immediately glad that I’d had enough working brain cells to think of the sheet. Because there were no fewer than six huge vamps outside, all spit and polish in shiny faux Roman gear, eyes expressionless pools of disapproval even without being exposed to a naked dhampir.
But one of them wrinkled his nose anyway, as if he smelled something bad.
Yeah, well, fuck you, too, buddy, I didn’t say, because I wanted to see Mircea more than I wanted to piss them off.
I started out the door, only to have two long spears crossed in front of my face, one from each of the guys framing the door. I looked at them, but they didn’t even bother to look back. They were staring straight ahead, just like the two on the opposite side of the hall, who apparently found something fascinating on the door over my head.
“Really?” I croaked, not gesturing at my sheet-covered form or the dried blood flaking off my upper lip or the fact that my eyes kept trying to roll up in my head. Because I was afraid if I let go of the doorframe, I was going to end up on my knees again.
