Page 17 of A Memory in the Flame

Just as I open my mouth to respond, a cool draft whispers past. “Human, stop talking before I eat you,” Noah growls. But he sounds more annoyed than angry, as though a broken heart is like a mosquito bite on his arm.

“Oh, look, it’s the almighty hunter! Let’s talk, Forrest. Starting with the way you watch her,” Drew says through his teeth, glaring at Noah with red-rimmed eyes. “If you lay a hand on Charlie, I’ll—”

“You don’t want to finish that sentence, boy.” Noah’s eyes are half-lidded, his voice lazy, and yet all my nerves stand on end at his response. Once again, the monster inside me stirs.Danger,she purrs… but she likes it. She’s drawn to it. Shame coils in my stomach.

“Are you threatening my brother?” someone asks sharply. Nina, of course, who chooses that moment to appear, and her small stature fills the space beside Drew with the force of a dragon. Her cheeks flare with color and her eyes snap with bright, lavender fire. Every muscle in my body tenses, readying for violence.

But what side will you be fighting on?a faint, inner voice whispers.

Sylvia materializes next to Noah, then, holding a margarita in one hand. She tilts her head, the gesture making her curtain of dark hair fall over one shoulder, and appraises Drew. “This one is cute. Can I keep him?”

Noah flashes a wicked grin. “As long as you promise to share. No, wait, never mind—I can always snack on Charlie.”

Moving unnervingly swift for a human, Drew draws his arm back and punches the vampire in the face.

Everyone in the room hears thecrackof his hand breaking. Conversations stop and the ever-moving crowd goes still.

“For fuck’s sake!” Nina snarls as Drew falls to his knees, clutching his fist and shouting in agony. The tendons in her arms stand on end as she hauls him to his feet. Still cursing, she slings his good hand over her shoulders, then straightens to meet Noah’s gaze. The green-eyed vampire is smiling, and there’s no sign of a bruise on his jaw. While the blow obviously didn’t harm him, his fangs are extended and they gleam starkly in the multi-colored lights of the bar. Slowly, Nina says, “Apologize to the vampire, Drew.”

Drew just barely manages to lift his head. His voice is a pain-filled slur as he mumbles, “All right, all right, I’ll apologize for hitting him in the face. But he’s got to apologize for existing, m’kay?”

Whatever else she may be, Nina isn’t a fool. She grabs hold of Drew, probably intending to yank him away, but he’s so drunk that he stumbles. She rights him, rough and impatient, and succeeds in pulling her brother toward the bathrooms.

Two humans move to follow her, and after a moment, I recognize them as Clarissa and Benjamin. The blond glances between me and Noah with raised brows. “Didn’t take you long, huh?” she asks. She gives me no chance to respond—she turns her back on me and goes after her companions.

“What are we, if not the unfortunate slaves of our own mortality?” I hear Drew moan as they vanish down the hallway.

He always was a philosophical drunk.

The moment they’re gone, the silence shatters, and dozens of voices begin to speak at once. As their words and speculations surround me, it feels as if my heart restarts, and it beats aggressively in my ears. It’s too hot in here. The walls are shrinking. Breathing hard, I rush toward the front door, slam my palms against the long, silver bar, and step into open air. I can feel the bouncers looking at me, or maybe it’s just in my head, but suddenly being outside isn’t enough—I need to put some distance between me and everything happening inside that bar. Holding my elbows against my stomach, seeking any warmth I can find, I start walking toward the brightening horizon.

Then something knocks me off my feet.

I barely have time to put my arms out to break my fall. The stench of rotting flesh fills my nostrils as my attacker flips me over, smacking my head against the pavement. Stars dot my vision, and when it clears, the disintegrating face of a weeper snarls at me, spraying maggots everywhere. I gag, clamping my mouth shut as I buck my hips. This weeper must be newly infected—it’s still strong enough to hold me down. I thrash hard against it, the monster eager to destroy this creature above me.

As our struggle escalates, some part of me is aware of pounding footsteps. Someone shouts my name. I finally manage to get my feet between me and the weeper, and in the next instant, I kick with all the strength left in me. As the weeper goes flying, my knuckles scrape against the gun at my hip. Without giving it a second thought, I fumble with the safety on the holster, pull the pistol out, aim, and fire with a speed untraceable by human eyes.

Brain matter sprays everywhere, and the weeper’s strange, disturbing sounds go silent. Dark blood spreads across the parched asphalt. A thin trail of smoke rises from the gun, remnants of its destructive burst of flame. Staring at my hand, I have a flash of realization, a memory of lightning-hot truth.

When I was a child, fourteen-year-old Henry managed to get his hands on a gun, and he bid one of our cousins to do target practice with him. They didn’t know that I lurked in the garden, too, watching them with longing. When I found the courage to ask Henry if I could shoot the pistol, he laughed in my face. That laughter slowly died when a shadow fell over us. In the next moment, pale, long-fingered hands plucked the weapon from Henry and gently placed it within mine.

The Vampire King adjusted my arm so it aimed at the target. That terrifying, familiar voice whispered in my ear, “I have given you a world in which you can be whatever you want, Charlotte. If you want to shoot a gun, shoot a gun. If you want to hit the target, hit the target. If you decide to miss, that’s fine, too. The choice is yours.”

Standing there, I felt the heat of Henry’s resentment. I basked in it, just as I basked in our father’s attention. I took a brief, fortifying breath.

And I pulled the trigger.

Those words echo through my head again, making the years feel insubstantial as mist.The choice is yours. I may not feel like Charlie yet, and I’m not completely Charlotte anymore, but maybe it’s okay to be a bit of both. To be both the dream-filled princess and the angry slave.

And as I stare at the dead weeper—the second one I’ve killed on my own—I don’t mourn how much I’ve changed. Because the person I was would probably be dead right now.

Cool hands wrap around my arms and help me up. Dimly, I’m aware of Noah and Sylvia, talking to each other quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice figures in shining, black suits carrying the weeper corpse away.How long was I trapped in the past?They move so quickly that I don’t get a glimpse of their faces. “Who were those people?” I whisper, staring after them, even after they’re gone.

Noah’s voice floats on a dawn-filled breeze. “When you’re in the business of killing regularly, you make friends with the folks who know how to clean up.”

“She’s not one of your groupies, Noah,” Sylvia puts in with a roll of her vivid, red eyes. “You can just tell her they’re from the undertaker sector.”

At this, the other vampire turns, making it impossible to see his expression. But there’s a distinct challenge in his voice as he counters, “Why do you care what I tell her?”

---