Page 32 of A Song in the Night

“Okay,” I say seriously, “we’ll just have to figure out what he’s hiding, then.”

Noah shakes his head at me, wearing an expression that looks weary and bemused all at once. “Come on. I’ll walk you back to the office. And next time you think about sneaking off to the Barrens on your own, at least bring the goddamn gun.”

I exhale a heavy breath as Noah turns away. We continue toward the train station without another word.

Once we have our tickets, we walk over to the platform. I’m vaguely listening to Noah talk about the bounty Sylvia was chasing down last week when my eyes catch movement across the platform. A familiar form darts across the tracks and takes off toward the parking lot.

Nina?

“Charlie?” Noah’s voice pulls my attention back to him as the train rolls into the station.

“Sorry, I thought I saw…”

His dark brows pull together. “Saw what?”

I glance toward the parking lot, frowning. “Nothing.”

Chapter Eight

Sleep doesn’t come.

Not completely, at least. All day long, tucked beneath the orange throw blanket at the office, my attention is divided between the conch—which still won’t stop singing—and the window, where I keep expecting to see Henry’s face, despite being on the second floor and the fact that he’s never been here.

Even when I pull the pillow over my head, pressing it hard against my ears, what little sleep I manage is light and restless. I dream of my mother’s execution, her head thrown back in an agonized scream as the flames consume her. I dream of Drew’s death, reliving those wet sounds as the weeper tore into him. And I dream of the Vampire King, seeing that glint of cruelty in his gold eyes as he said,You’re lucky I’m not putting you on the wall.

By the time sunset arrives, I’m nearly frantic to escape this room. Feeling as if I was run over by one of those undertaker vehicles, I get dressed with hurried, jerky movements, pull on Noah’s coat, and ease through the door. I let out a breath and rush downstairs, then outside.

My nostrils flare as I step into the dusk-filled street. Even when I was working in the sewer sector, I didn’t wake up this early. Right now, New Ve almost seems like a peaceful city, its citizens safe and content. Nothing moves down the street save a lone piece of paper, blowing gently along the curb. The fading glow makes the dilapidated buildings and dirty concrete look less so.

If Henry makes an appearance, he’ll quickly learn about the gun in my pocket, which I now take with me everywhere after my ill-fated adventure in the Barrens.

On my left, the door to a florist shop opens, and a green-eyed vampire steps into the open. He must’ve been made, rather than born, because his hair is gray and there are lines in his face most vampires don’t have. He wears a white apron and an expensive-looking wool sweater beneath.

“Good evening,” he says cheerfully, smiling at me.

I’m so startled by his acknowledgment, by the fact he looked directly into my lavender eyes and didn’t immediately avert his gaze, that I jerk to a halt. “Good evening,” I say back, the words muscle memory more than anything else.

The vampire sets up a sandwich board partway onto the sidewalk, which declares a sale in neat chalk handwriting. “It’s going to be a lovely night, I think. No clouds to be seen.”

I follow his attention upward, where there’s the barest dusting of stars. They’re never completely visible because of the city air, but this is the clearest I’ve seen them in a long time. “I think you might be right,” I comment.

His footsteps retreat and the door opens again. When there’s no sound of the door closing again, I look back down. The vampire is paused on the threshold, and our gazes meet. In an unexpectedly gentle tone he asks, “Would you like to see some of the sale items?”

His kindness almost brings tears to my eyes. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it—being treated like a person. I nod to his invitation, not trusting myself to speak. With another friendly smile, the vampire stands aside and makes room for me to pass. My first instinct is to hunch my shoulders and duck my head, as all Lavenders have learned to do beneath Alexander Travesty’s rule. Thinking of the Vampire King, though, sends a small streak of rebellion through me. I lift my chin and enter the shop like someone who has nothing to be ashamed of.

I walk the aisles of the shop, taking my time to look over each item. I haven’t had the luxury of browsing as of late, so I allow myself this, refusing to feel anything but enjoyment as the plant-filled shelves call to me as if we’re friends.

I pause, reaching for an olive-colored ceramic pot, filled with a gorgeous, deep red flowering plant. Its leaves are dark green and shiny and its flowers are broad but delicate. It’s absolutely stunning.

“That’s a blood lily. It was created right here in New Ve.”

I turn to find the shopkeeper adjusting a line of pots a few feet away. “It’s the most beautiful flower I’ve ever seen,” I tell him.

He smiles. “It is quite attractive, isn’t it? May I prepare it for you?”

“Oh, well…” I glance at the price tag stuck in the pot with a tiny wooden stake. I’m pretty sure I have enough, especially after Valerie’s donation. “Yes, actually, I’d like that.”

Still smiling, the man takes the pot from the shelf, and I follow him back to the front of the store.

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