Page 6 of A Song in the Night

Once again, neither of the vampires look up or say anything. “The showerhead is pretty loose,” I comment. “Is there a way to tighten it?”

Silence meets my question. Deciding to follow their example, I stride to the couch and set my new backpack down. Sylvia types something, and the small sound of clacking keys fills the air like gunshots. Are they always this… boring? Or is their silence due to my presence? Swallowing a sigh, I flick my wet hair over my shoulder and squat to rummage for a hairbrush. As I reach for the zipper, I happen to glance up. My gaze meets Noah’s, whose green eyes look black in the lamplight.

Heat spreads through me, and I fight it. I’m about to look away when Noah beats me to it. He frowns at his keyboard, wearing an expression that makes him seem lost in thought. Apparently, the burst of attraction I’d felt was entirely one-sided. My cheeks feel hot as I stand again, brush in hand.

“What do you want me to do tonight?” I ask finally, pulling it through my hair.

Sylvia lifts her head and points at something with her pen. “See that stack of files over there? And that wall of file cabinets? Do the math.”

“Where’s the coffee?” Noah demands at the same moment she looks back at her screen.

I frown and toss the hairbrush back into my bag. “You’re holding some in your hand.”

The vampire raises the cup into the air and gives it a quick shake. A puzzled line deepens between his eyebrows. “No. No, I’m not, because this cup is empty, Charlie. I drink it on my way to the office, and then I refill it with the fresh pot of coffee that should be waiting for me here.”

“This is Noah’s way of telling you he’d like you to start making coffee in the evenings,” Sylvia cuts in.

For an instant, I’m blinded by a flash of temper, but the fresh blood surging through me makes it easy to blink it away. “I thought I wasn’t your slave,” is all I say.

“You’re not. You’re an employee,” Noah counters. “An employee who keeps the coffee pot full.”

His phone goes off just as I open my mouth to respond. Noah glances at the screen, and whatever name he sees there makes him leave his desk. The floorboards creak, much like the ones at Ada’s house do, as he moves toward the door. The moment he closes it behind him, his voice slices through the air, brisk and fast. His business voice.

Sylvia starts typing again. I hesitate for another moment, then head for the kitchenette to start the process of making a new pot of coffee. Suddenly I’m thankful for the time I spent working in Ada’s kitchen—a few weeks ago, if Noah had asked me to make his precious coffee, I would’ve had to tell him I didn’t know how. I scoop some grounds into the filter, subtly inhaling its rich aroma, then press a button that has worn letters on it. Judging from the ones that remain, it used to say BREW.

At the same moment the water starts to gurgle, Sylvia stands, as well. I notice the movement in my peripheral and lift my head. She rounds the desk, perches on its faded edge, and fixes her bright gaze on me. A nervous flutter in my throat prevents me from asking any questions, but I know there’s one in my eyes. For a few seconds, we stare at each other across the room, neither of us saying anything.

“What do you want?” the vampire asks without preamble. Her voice feels harsh in the stillness.

I frown and dart a glance to the door, wondering if Noah left us alone on purpose. “What do you mean?”

“What do you want?” Sylvia repeats, more forcefully. “You’ve gone your entire life following someone else’s plan. Alexander. Your master in the sewer sector. Even Noah. We didn’t buy you at that auction just to save you from a new master. We also did it to give you a real chance. For the first time, you have an opportunity to do something with your life. To become someone more than who they wanted you to be. To do more than survive. So I’ll ask you again—what do you want?”

The coffee pot continues to emit strange noises. As I ponder the answer to her question, I realize that I’ve never thought about it before.

Shame coils in the pit of my stomach and rattles like a snake. Am I truly so weak-minded? So devoid of individuality or ambition? All those years at the mansion, I’d only thought about the Awakening. Of opening my new green eyes and turning them toward Sul, then living out my immortal days surrounded by books and gardens. I didn’t think about how much I was taking from the people enslaved by my father. I didn’t concern myself about the costs of the luxuries I experienced every day.

“I want... to live on my terms,” I say slowly. “To pay my own way, without answering to a master or a tyrant, and build a life that’s entirely mine. Like Ada has.”

Sylvia’s only reaction is a single, jerky nod, as if we’ve completed a transaction. “Then that will be your focus. Your driving force, the motivation behind everything you do. I’ll help when I can, but most of the time, you’ll be on your own. That’s what it means to live on your terms—most of the time, it’s fucking terrifying and lonely as hell.”

My voice is weak. “Oh. Great.”

Before I can ask my cousin what her motivation is, Sylvia leans back and takes hold of her phone, which is resting on the desk behind her. She then pushes herself off and crosses the room, heading for the door. The floorboards creak beneath her boots and the hinges let out a whine. As the door swings shut behind her, slamming back into the frame, I swear the entire building shakes.

Silence settles over the room like dust. I stare at the place where Sylvia was just standing, completely nonplussed. From the moment I met her, the vampire had seemed strong and untouchable. But the conversation still ringing in my ears has the cadence of someone who isn’t as hard as she acts.

We also did it to give you a real chance.

My thoughts are cut short when Noah returns a moment later, wearing a distracted expression. He walks past without a word, and I pretend to be absorbed in exploring the cupboards. Every few seconds, though, I sneak glances at him from under my lashes. Noah’s eyes are fixed on the computer again. His elbow is propped on the desk, his hand cupping the back of his neck in a pose that’s strangely alluring. Sensual.

Damn it. I really, really need to get laid.

“How do you like your coffee?” I ask more curtly than I mean to, opening the cupboard I saw some coffee mugs in.

I’m half-expecting a response that’s sarcastic or suggestive, but Noah just looks at me, still frowning. There’s a line between his brows, and it’s obvious his mind is elsewhere. “Black. Also, you better get started. Before the phone starts ringing and people start showing up.”

He stands and circles the desk. I finish pouring the coffee, steam rising from the dark stream, and hold the mug out as he approaches. Noah accepts it and takes a drink, not bothering to thank me.

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