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“Busy doing what?” I ask, ignoring the flip of my stomach at the mention of “sulfur.” Demons often smell of sulfur. And if Sultan was consorting with a demon, chances are it has something to do with Casey. Until Casey and Amy came to Nightfall, we hadn’t seen demon activity here since the 1700s.
Fighting the urge to run straight to Casey and warn her of the possible danger, I stay put, listening to Annabelle’s list of complaints about the way her master spent his time, knowing I need to get as much information out of her as I can. Never interrupt an informant on a roll—it’s one of the major rules of successful intelligence gathering—but I would be lying if I said I wasn’t distracted.
So distracted, I almost let Annabelle’s revelation that Sultan had a secret room, with a golden toilet in it no less, slip by without further investigation.
Thankfully, just as she’s nodding off on the carpet beside me, I remember to ask, “One more thing before I go, Annabelle, do you know how to get into Sultan’s secret room? I’d love to take a look at that golden toilet.”
“Through the clock by the fireplace,” she says sleepily. “But I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. Sometimes there are monsters in there.”
“Monsters? What sort of monsters?”
“Scary ones. At least they sounded scary when they growled. I never saw one for myself.” She yawns before adding, “Papa likes the monsters more than me, I think. That’s why he gave them a fancy toilet, and I had to use the fake grass on the patio. There’s no dignity in peeing on fake grass, Edmond.”
“No, I wouldn’t imagine so,” I say, my heart softening toward this clearly sad, neglected pup. “Would you want to take a walk on real grass tomorrow? In the sun?”
Annabelle’s head perks up. “In the sun? Won’t you burn?”
“I would, yes, but I didn’t mean with me. I thought my fiancée and her daughter could take you on an adventure around the grounds. Amy, her little girl, loves dogs. I bet she’d adore you, assuming you didn’t bite or bark too loud or scare her. She’s almost three.”
“A human child?” Annabelle begins to tremble, but when she speaks it isn’t fear in her voice, but excitement, “I’ve always wanted to meet one. I heard they love to run and play and don’t mind if you lick them right on the face where humans taste the very best.”
I smile. “Really? The face tastes best? I didn’t know that.”
She nods, sending her tongue lolling out again. “Yes, the face and the feet. They’re both special in their own way, but the face tastes most like love. Papa’s face was good, too, though he didn’t like it when I licked while he was sleeping.” Her head dips close to the floor. “Will I ever see Papa again?”
I debate for a moment, but decide I owe her the truth, “I don’t think so. He’s exposed us all to great danger, Annabelle. If he cooperates with the people questioning him, he may be granted freedom in exile on one of the islands reserved for vampires who have betrayed their people. But if he doesn’t…”
Annabelle’s quiet for a long beat before she finally whispers, “I’ll go back in my kennel where it’s safe, please. With the blanket on top. I’m tired.” She blinks up at me, adding in a shy voice, “But I’ll see the child tomorrow…if she wants to walk in the sun.”
“Of course,” I say, wishing her a peaceful sleep, tucking her in, and turning the light off as I leave the room.
It’s strange, that the beast feels safer in her cage than out of it.
But I suppose many humans and even vampires are the same. We come to crave the comfort of familiar things, even when those familiar things restrict our freedom and limit our choices.
I’ve started to wonder if the curse is like that for me.
Yes, it’s darkened nearly every day I’ve lived as a vampire, but it’s also made many difficult decisions much simpler than they would have been in its absence. Would I still be marrying Casey if I knew I’d live to see her age and die while I remained as I am? Would I promise her “until death do us part” knowing I could never give her another child, even if she insisted she was at peace with that sacrifice?
I don’t know the answer to those questions.
And thanks to my cage, I won’t ever have to find out.
Deciding to put off the exploration of the secret room until I’ve had a chance to appraise my sleeping brothers of the development, I ascend the thickly carpeted stairs, emerging into the long hallway on the second floor.
If I turn right, I’ll reach Casey and Amy’s room in just a few minutes.
Instead, I go left, telling myself it’s best if I don’t interrupt their morning routine, though deep down I know I’m hiding. I’m hiding from Casey’s keen gaze and from my own suspicions that perhaps I gave up on finding my freedom too soon. Maybe I’ve been tucking myself into the “safety” of my curse every morning and pulling a fuzzy blanket over the bars, embracing the steady certainty of doom over the terror of not knowing how my story ends.
I was only twenty-two when I was left for dead on a battlefield in the early days of the first world war. If Priscilla hadn’t found me, my story would have ended there in the mud with two bullets in my chest and flies buzzing around my soon-to-be corpse.
But as I lay there, my limbs going cold and my short life flashing before my eyes, it wasn’t the things I’d done that filled me with regret. It was the things I hadn’t done, the paths I’d avoided because society told me “boys from good families” didn’t take the road less traveled.
Do I really want to be in that same place come January, lamenting the chances I didn’t take? Especially now that I have so much to lose?
Or is letting hope in the door an exercise in pain and futility? I spent nearly forty years seeking a cure for my condition before I threw in the towel, and each and every mystic, witch, priest, and wise elder I consulted all told me the same thing—only the power that crafted the curse can tear it apart.
And Priscilla has made it clear she has no interest in mercy, for me or anyone else.
