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“I am sorry about your grandfather,” I say. “Your loss is shared by all.” Words are not enough; they can only do what words can do. Lawrence was more than a friend; he was a mentor, an ally. I grieve his loss deeply.
When the news came—that Corcovado had broken, that Leviathan walks the earth once again—I did not react as many of us did, with shock and fear. Instead I felt the old blood in these veins stir with vengeance. We will avenge each of our lost brothers and sisters. Worldbreaker is waiting. We will not despair or retreat. We will fight. And we will win. War has come to us once again, and this time we will vanquish our foes for eternity. I am almost looking forward to it.
“Do not worry, my love, we shall have our vengeance. I promise it. Lawrence will not have died in vain.”
Her eyes become bright. She nods curtly. “He died because of me.”
“He died to protect you. It was his duty.”
She stands so still at the doorway, as if she doesn’t know what to do or what to say. And yet I know already. She will tell me we must stop meeting because the
Coven will need me now, and that she will be saving me by taking herself away.... She could not be more wrong. Everything in my life depends on her being part of it.
When we first met, I was struck by her resemblance to her mother. But contrary to what many thought about my relationship with Gabrielle, we had a deep and affectionate friendship, nothing more. I loved her as an ally, and because she was our queen. I love her daughter in a completely different way. I love her because she has become something more to me. She has become my life.
“Come here,” I say gently. “Sit down.”
She shakes her head. “No. I... I can’t stay.”
“You want us to stop meeting.” I have to say it because she will not.
“Yes.”
“Because you think it is dangerous for me. Someone has told you something—my sister, perhaps.” I cannot say Mimi’s name in her presence, and vice versa. I cannot think of Mimi without thinking of the pain I am bringing her, and therefore choose the easier path: to not think of her at all. I am a coward.
“No.”
“No?”
She walks over, closer to the fire, and addresses her words to the flames. “I can’t meet you anymore, Jack, because I would be lying to myself for the reasons I’m here.”
“And what is that reason?”
“That I love you.”
“And that reason no longer exists, is that it?” My voice is light, playful. She is not a natural flirt; she is so serious always, my love, it amuses me a little. Of course she loves me. She is doing this precisely because she loves me.
“Yes.”
“Another of my sister’s ideas, isn’t this? ‘Tell Jack you no longer love him. It is the only way to set him free.’ As if I were a caged bird or a pet lion.” I smile. Schuyler is so brave and full of courage, my darling. She will lose me to save me. She is ready to make that sacrifice, but I want her to know it is not necessary. I can fight for both of us, and I will.
“No.” She looks at me, and her face is full of anguish. “No, that’s not it.”
It has been centuries since I have felt fear. I do not know fear. I do not have this weakness, and yet something in her face, in her voice—frightens me. This is no girlish deception, no halfhearted attempt. I marvel at my fear, at the novelty of it. It is like ice in my throat. It is lodged there; I cannot breathe. I cannot swallow.
Before I can say anything, she speaks, and the bluntness of her words strikes me as nothing has struck me before.
“I don’t love you anymore because I haven’t been honest with myself. And I haven’t been honest with you. I love someone else. I always have.”
A cruel joke. I want to laugh but I don’t. I want to crumple to the ground but my pride will not let me. I have never heard these words before. I do not understand them. Someone else? There is someone else? This is a trick. Another deception. Another excuse Mimi has planted... Surely she cannot be... She is lying....
Schuyler is telling the truth.
Of all the vampires in the world, I should know. I do not need the blood trial to find out. I can sense it—the truth is written all over her face. Her sadness. She is sad for me. She feels sorry—for me! I find her pity more disturbing than her words. It is ghastly and unimaginable.
How did she have time for someone else? I know our meetings were too few and far apart. But it was necessary, to keep her safe. If I’d had a choice—but I did not—we would have been together always. I lived for those moments when we were together, those few times in my life that I actually felt alive. Centuries I have slumbered until we met. And I had a plan for us. I had a future in mind. I wanted to share it with her and was waiting for the right moment. But the best-laid plans of mice and men...
I am not too proud to ask. “Who?”
