Page 25 of A Song in the Night

He pushes down harder, grinding my face into the floor, and I release a strangled cry as my nose crunches. My nails make a scrabbling sound like a pinned rat. “I had no choice! Father threatened me. He knew someone was dealing venom, and if I hadn’t—”

“Slaves should be seen and not heard,” Henry interrupts in an admonishing tone. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. The terrible dilemma you’ve put me in. See, if I try to leave New Ve, I probably won’t survive the crossing to another city. I’m stuck within these walls, where my very ancient, very angry father won’t stop hunting me. I can’t show my face at any house or hotel. Guess where I’ve been squatting during the day, like some common bloodwhore? A warehouse. A fucking warehouse. I’m a prince, and because of you, I’m homeless and starving. The only reason you’re still alive is because it took me a few days to find you again.”

It was him, I think suddenly, his words bringing a memory to life. A prickling sensation at the back of my neck. Hurrying home with the dawn, my shoulders hunched like prey. I was being followed last night. By Henry.

Before I can attempt to speak, the disgraced vampire prince puts even more weight on his foot. Just as another burst of pain goes through me, I remember that I don’t want to be defenseless anymore. Noah didn’t want me to be, either, which is why he gave me a gun. It’s still under the bed.

I don’t let myself think about it or give the fear a chance to dig its claws deeper. Riding a surge of adrenaline, I wrench my body back, unbalancing Henry. I shouldn’t have been able to, but he underestimated me. Using the precious second it takes for him to recover, I dive for the gun.

I half-expect Henry to grab my leg and yank me toward him. But he just stands there while I twist onto my back, pointing the weapon at his face, finger on the trigger. When Henry sees what I’m holding, he goes still. His mouth tightens and his eyes darken.

You didn’t expect me to have the gun. After all, I’m the Quiet One. I shouldn’t know how to use weapons or fight back.

“Your move, maggot,” Henry says with a sneer. I hold the grip tighter, and his sneer vanishes. We both know that unless I shoot him in the head, a gunshot won’t kill him… it’ll definitely slow him down, though. Hurt like a bitch, too. As an added plus, it’ll probably draw attention, which is exactly what Henry doesn’t want.

But why shouldn’t I shoot him in the head? Why spare him at all? My mind flashes back to the bodies I used to encounter in the mansion. The trails of blood. The trembling servants. I harden my heart, and in the same moment, my finger starts to pull down on the trigger.

In a rush of preternatural speed, my brother-not-brother flies to the window. By the time my bedroom door bursts open, he’s gone.

Not my move after all, then.

Slowly, I lower the gun to my side. The adrenaline that had been racing through my veins has rapidly diminished, leaving me drained. I look toward the door and see there’s a crowd forming in the hallway. Several faces poke around Ada, trying to peer inside, as the tall vampire’s gaze calmly roams the room. Her nostrils flare, and I wonder if she recognizes her nephew’s scent. She must’ve been making breakfast downstairs, because she’s dressed and the smell of coffee rolls off her, evident even to my weaker senses.

“Jack, please go out to the alley and get some of that cardboard—you can use it to cover the hole, for now,” Ada instructs. She refocuses on me. “Charlie, go wash the blood off your face and change into something that won’t draw every starving vampire within the city limits. Whoever is currently signed up to use the washing machine will have to wait until tomorrow to finish.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” I ask faintly, raising a shaking hand to my nose. It’s tender, but the pain doesn’t make me see stars or bursts of light, so hopefully that means it’s not broken. I may heal at a slightly faster rate than the average human, but bones are another matter altogether.

The other tenants are already starting to lose interest. There’s no intruder here, no significant sign of a struggle—just a broken window. While most of them speculate in hushed murmurs and slip away, footsteps creaking in the hallway, Ada raises her brows at me. “Did you hit your head, girl? My brother doesn’t want this city to know about Henry’s dark dealings, or the fact that he’s been evading the Royal Guard and the police for days. Any report you try to make will be quickly destroyed or quietly lost.”

Guess that answers the question of whether she knew it was Henry. I tell my feet to move, but nothing happens. I stare at the bits of jagged glass still clinging to the window frame, and a new realization shoots through my mind like a meteor.

“He knows where I live now. I can’t stay here,” I say slowly. My stomach sinks more and more with each word.

“No,” Ada agrees. Her expression reveals nothing about how she feels about this. After a moment, I realize that I’m searching for relief—it seemed too good to be true, that someone was extending kindness to me without expecting anything in return. Then Ada surprises me by saying, “Once Henry is killed, you’re welcome to return, of course.”

“What makes you so sure the king will kill him? Henry, I mean,” I clarify. My voice sounds as weary as I feel. “He had mercy on me, and I’m not even his daughter.”

Ada tilts her head, her lips pursing in consideration. “You may not be his daughter, but he loved you like one. Before I saw the way he looked at you, I didn’t think my brother was capable of love.”

Then, as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me, Ada slips away without another word. I know I should pack and wash my face, but I still don’t move.

Sounds drift through the air, coming from the other bedrooms, the bathrooms, the dining room downstairs. Shouts and laughter. The night is beginning, and if I’ve learned anything since my Awakening, it’s that time doesn’t stop even when it feels like it should. I heave a sigh and squat to pick up the broken glass. Once the mess has been cleared away, the glittering pieces dropped into a small garbage can in the corner, I finally move toward my backpack. There’s not much to pack—I haven’t been here long enough to make a mess—and within a minute, I’m reaching for the box that contains the conch, which remained unscathed during the confrontation with Henry.

The moment my fingers touch it, the conch begins to sing again from within the box. I jump and hurriedly set it back down, unnerved. That sweet, high voice croons through the small room, making the dust motes tremble. I find myself listening, just as every sailor listened when they heard that sound on the high seas, in the days of old. I still can’t make out any words, though.

After a few more seconds, I put the box gently into my backpack, and the song goes silent. I sling the bag over my shoulder and leave the fast-dimming room that still reeks of terror.But you survived, I remind myself, heading down the stairs.You fought back and you survived.

By the time I reach the kitchen, I’m almost reluctant to wash the blood away. It feels like a badge. A mark of strength.

A tattoo of my own choosing.

* * *

I spend another night at the office digitizing files.

After the constant danger of my last job—if that’s what it should be called—the mundane repetition of my work at the office is something I’ve come to somewhat enjoy. There are few hazards or dangers, save for paper cuts and burnt coffee. It’s a nice change of pace, especially with a deranged vampire prince on the hunt for me.

I still haven’t fully healed from the confrontation with Henry, and I try to ignore the bursts of discomfort I feel with every movement.Feed, feed, the monster urges throughout the night. But then I think of my last visit to the feeding unit, how close I came to losing control, and I imagine hitting the monster’s cage.

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