Page 5 of A Song in the Night

“You did this,” he whispers, his gaze latched onto mine so firmly I can’t look away, even though I want to. “You killed me. I wouldn’t have even been in this tunnel if it weren’t for you. If I hadn’t met you.”

I shoot upright, a gasp lodging in my throat. My eyes dart around me and drink in the sight of Noah and Sylvia’s office. It takes a few seconds, but eventually the tension seeps from my body. I’m not back in the sewers. I’m not watching an innocent boy die because he was stupid enough to befriend me.

Burnt streams of eventide pour through the wall of windows. Noah and Sylvia should be here soon. For once, I’m not tempted to try sleeping a little more—not now that I know what sort of dreams are waiting for me. I turn and move my feet to the rug, noting how the fibers are so worn and faded that the colorful pattern is hardly visible now. I study the space anew, taking advantage of the fact that I’m alone, without any distractions or eyes on me.

With every second, the light pouring through the windows fades. Shadows stretch toward me. As the silence starts ringing, my attention wanders to Noah’s desk and stays there. I consider what might be in the drawers. Will the contents be tidy or chaotic? Is Noah the sort of person to have keepsakes? Despite all the time we’ve spent together, it feels like I know next to nothing about him.

You know what his mouth tastes like, the monster croons, and I scowl at the empty room now, a rush of heat filling my cheeks.

Seeking a distraction, my attention moves to the other desk in the room.

The haphazard pile of papers and folders seems to have grown since yesterday. Staring at the mess, it occurs to me that I know even less about Sylvia, my mysterious cousin… but the thought of going through her desk is more terrifying than alluring.

I can’t say the same for Noah’s.

With a glance toward the clock over the door, I stand and fold the blanket, then drape it over the back of the couch. The silence feels more prominent as I cross the room, heading for the kitchenette and the hand towel hanging on the oven door handle. After I’ve wrapped it around my hand, I head for the unassuming desk, which rests in a slant of weak moonlight.

If I touch Noah’s things with my bare hands, he may be able to pick up my scent, but the towel will negate that.

Hopefully.

I’m disappointed to find there isn’t much to snoop through. The first drawer contains nothing but pens and pads of blank sticky notes. The second drawer holds a gun, which, if I had any money left, I would bet is loaded. I hurriedly close it and reach for the next. There’s a single object inside this one—a handheld mirror.

“Figures,” I mutter, picking it up through the towel. I flip it over, looking for an inscription, maybe, but the back is black and smooth.

Just as I start to put it back, I catch sight of my reflection and pause.

When was the last time I really looked at myself? The face staring back is so changed from the one I saw the night of my Awakening, and it’s not just because of my eyes. My hair hasn’t been cut in weeks. The ends are ragged, most of the layers grown out. I wistfully remember the stylist King Alexander kept on staff during my time at the mansion. And there’s a haunted, hollow cast to my face that wasn’t there before, as though what little innocence I had left has been sucked away.

I let out a long sigh, staring at myself a moment more, then force myself to place the mirror back in its drawer.

I’m about to head to the bathroom when I notice the appointment book on Sylvia’s desk—I see it now that I’m closer, a leather-bound volume, black with gold letters along the front. She must’ve bought this off a supply runner, who found it in the world beyond New Ve. The Vampire King’s city doesn’t make beautiful things like this. Well, beautiful things that don’t benefit him or his descendants. The towel is still wrapped around my hand, and I use it to open the book in an idle movement. Absent curiosity.

Sylvia’s handwriting is like the person herself—hard and no-nonsense. She writes with deep, brief strokes and none of the frills my cousins and aunts use. I scan today’s appointments, wondering if I’ll be present for them. There are four names written along the row, each one unfamiliar. Looks like Sylvia and Noah’s clientele aren’t of the elite variety. Losing interest, I close the book and start toward the door. I need to brush my teeth, if there’s any toothpaste to be found, and do something about this hair.

The door opens a moment later. I falter, still halfway across the room. Sylvia comes through first, followed by Noah. Both of them hold coffee cups. The former is wearing a skintight white shirt beneath a leather jacket, accompanied by jeans and knee-high black boots. The latter looks like he rolled out of bed and pulled on the first clothes he could find—which turned out to be stylishly ripped jeans and a black T-shirt—but Noah’s mussed appearance only lends a roguish quality to his beauty.

“You look like shit,” Sylvia says tonelessly, her ruby eyes scanning me from head to toe.

“I didn’t sleep well.” I try not to let my gaze linger on the tall vampire at her side, but something in my lower stomach stirs when his cologne reaches me. This is followed instantly by guilt, and I picture Drew’s blood-flecked face.Don’t forget me too quickly.I lower my gaze, and that’s when I notice something dangling from Noah’s other hand—a backpack.

“I picked you up some clothes.” He tosses it on the floor at my feet and goes to his desk. His dark hair gleams, still wet from the shower he must’ve just taken.

I know I’m staring again. I didn’t expect Noah to do something so… considerate.

He sets his coffee cup down and drops into the chair with a single, fluid movement, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. The vampire focuses on his computer screen as he says, “Don’t get too choked up. You’re representing Skye Investigations now, and we couldn’t have you looking like… that.”

The flutter in my stomach goes still. My voice is notably cooler as I stand and say, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t. Are there extra towels in the bathroom?”

Neither vampire turns their head, but Sylvia spares me a glance. “There should be one under the sink.”

“Thank you.” I grab the backpack and stalk from the room. But, polite to the last, just as my father taught me, I don’t slam the door. It closes softly behind me.

The bathroom is at the other end of the hall. The narrow space is dimly lit, and there are three other doors. Moving forward, deeper into the darkness, I strain to hear anything beyond them. But the only sounds come from the office, and I hear the low rumble of Noah’s voice. Are they the only tenants in this building?

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. Hopefully, in a few weeks, I’ll be free of this place and these people who clearly don’t want me here. I put my head down and hurry into the bathroom. The light turns on with a buzzing sound. I set the backpack down on the counter and move to turn on the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking back through the office door. I feel better than I have in days. The jeans and sweater I’m wearing smell new—certainly better than what I’d been wearing—and my skin is slightly pink from scrubbing it beneath a hot stream of water.

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