Page 24 of A Song in the Night

Swearing under my breath, I bend to retrieve the box, opening it gingerly.

Nestled on a bed of red velvet is a large conch. Something drives me to pick it up, and the strange object feels unnaturally cold. I turn it this way and that, admiring how the light bounces off its smooth, pearly sides. Even if the conch has no sentimental value, I have no doubt there’s monetary worth in it. So why did the nymph flee without it? Did she lose her nerve to speak with me when I came out? Did she forget the box in a burst of panic?

Her file. I recall the forms she’d had to fill out before her consultation with Sylvia and Noah. My cousin had mentioned there was no last name or address, but maybe there’s another piece of information I can use to find Ratha and get this conch back to her. I place it back in the box, then lift the entire thing with both hands—it’s heavier than it looks.

Then, holding the box as though it’s made of glass, I go back upstairs.

Once I reach the office, I set it on the couch and make a beeline for the filing cabinet. I soon discover that Ratha’s file yields no other information about her. There’s a single note toward the bottom that simply says in scratchy handwriting,The Barrens.Frowning, I put it back and walk over to the couch again. I stare down at the box for a moment, wondering what to do with it.

As the seconds tick past, another sound reaches my ears.

This time, the sound is coming from inside the box.

Again, I lift the lid. It’s undeniable—the conch is singing. My eyes are wide as I hold it to my ear and try to make out the words. The voice is high and lovely, the melody haunting, but I can’t decipher any lyrics or a language.

A sudden, inexplicable wave of protectiveness crashes over me. If I leave the conch here, Noah or Sylvia will find it, and who knows what they’ll do. Sell it, maybe, or shove it into the filing cabinet. The thought of one of them getting their hands on it… it’s not an option.

I carefully place it into my bag and head out the door.

I’ve only taken a few steps when the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Thoughts of bright knives and wolf-shaped masks fill my mind. But it could also be someone after my money or simply hungry for violence. I duck my head, looking for all the world like the beaten-down slaves and outcasts I used to feel such pity for, and I force myself not to run. In New Ve, running gets you noticed. Running makes you prey.

Only when the boardinghouse comes into view, its windows blazing with buttery warmth, do I finally break into a sprint.

Even now, nothing gives chase or comes out of the shadows. I rush up the rickety steps and wrap my hand around the doorknob, half-expecting something to grab hold of me. I look over my shoulder, searching the street. There are a few stragglers—one of them is clearly drunk, her steps halting and heavy. Sunlight streams through houses and buildings like gold-infused water. Am I becoming paranoid?

I linger on the porch for another moment, finding something about the scene strangely beautiful. Behind me, the sound of laughter drifts through the door. Suddenly I’m more interested in being inside, where there’s warmth and light and other people.

Turning away from the street, I step into the house and lock the door, sending Noah a quickI’m hometext.

He doesn’t answer.

Chapter Six

Hours pass. I lay on my narrow, lumpy bed and stare at the ceiling. From its wooden box, the conch continues to emit that strange music. All around me, the other tenants snore, shift, and talk in their sleep. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop worrying about the dreams waiting for me on the other side of consciousness.

Then there’s the thirst. It hasn’t fully returned yet, not so soon after feeding, but it feels like a tickle at the back of my throat. A tickle that gets agitated with every inhale and exhale. A constant reminder that I can’t go too long without taking something from another living creature.

I fill the minutes by holding my breath as long as I can, almost an experiment, of sorts. How long can a human-vampire hybrid survive without air? The answer, as it turns out, is about thirty seconds. Which doesn’t seem that impressive to me.

Then, between one breath and the next, the room goes dark. I raise my gaze to the window, expecting to see that a cloud has passed in front of the sun.

A leering face is pressed against the glass.

Even with his nose smashed and the maniacal gleam in his eyes, I recognize Henry. A scream tears from my throat at the same moment he draws his fist back and smashes the window. I hear glass sprinkle across the floor, but I’m already bolting out of bed, reaching desperately for the doorknob.

Henry beats me to it.

With a careless movement, he strikes my chest with the heel of his hand. I go flying backward and my spine slams into the opposite wall. The beams don’t crack, but all the air whooshes from my lungs. I land on all fours, wheezing—hopefully the noise we’re making will wake someone—and Henry saunters over to me. He’s wearing the same clothes as the masked person who attacked me. So itwashim.

At that moment, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that Henry is here to kill me.

“Hello, runt,” he says in his thin, reedy voice. “I’m glad I didn’t gut you in the parking lot. This way is going to be so much more fun.”

His eyes glitter in the dying sunlight pouring through the broken window. Tonight, the rays are more red than pink, and for a few seconds it looks as if the room itself is bleeding. Then I’m able to take a breath and it’s just sunlight again.

I start to push myself up, wondering if there’s still a butter knife beneath the floorboards. Not that it would do much good against a vampire. “Henry, it isn’t—”

“You cost me everything,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken. He plants his shoe on my back and pushes me down. I hit the wood with a grunt. “Everything. No more mansion. No more money. No more tasty morsels running to me at the ring of a bell. It’s all gone because of one half-breed who couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”

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