Page 46 of Bishop's Flight
“Mommy!”
“It’s okay, baby!”
She’d said Jason before she died. She’d said it again after the car crashed into the overpass. Then his mother was silent because she died.
Lucas knew heaven existed because on the worst day of his life, in the last moments before his mother died, she was talking with his dad.
He looked at Zasha with pity. “They’re not going to give you the city. And I don’t think you’re strong enough to take it on your own, otherwise you would have done that instead of taking me.”
Zasha stared at him intently.
“Checkmate.” The corner of Lucas’s mouth turned up. “I mean, the game is still going, but you’ve already lost.”
Fifteen
It was near dawn when they finally wrapped up at Gary Preston’s house. Agnes had arrived with a team of secretaries and clerks, packing up every scrap of paper from Preston’s office they could find in hopes of discovering some tie or clue that would lead back to Zasha or the Ankers.
Brigid didn’t have much faith. She suspected that Gary Preston’s house had been chosen for a few reasons: easy access to vampire-friendly cars, isolation, and a large and comfortable basement. It was also likely that the man had a large stash of cash since they’d found an open, empty safe in a second-floor bedroom.
She sat on the edge of their borrowed bed and tried to imagine where Lucas was sleeping that night. Could he sleep? Was he too afraid? Brigid could imagine how the young man was feeling. He had to be terrified.
Putting herself in Lucas’s shoes was easy enough. She might be a powerful vampire now, but the first years of her life had been spent sleeping fitfully, listening for a quiet footstep and watching for a narrow beam of light at her bedroom door. Even years later, she remembered that sliver of light, the pad of feet on plush carpet, and the near-imperceptible whine of door hinges that her stepfather was so careful to oil so her mother wouldn’t know.
Can’t have these old doors creaking all times of the day, Mammy.
Her mother knew; her mother had always known.
If Brigid closed her eyes, she could still see the unnatural angle of Richard’s neck, hear the quiet pop of his spine snapping, his death coming at the hands of the very vampire she fell in love with decades later.
I’m not angry he died. I only wish he hadn’t killed him because I wanted to do it.
Sometimes when she missed the rush of heroin in her veins, she thought about what Richard’s blood would have tasted like—hot, sour, and dripping down her chin. She wouldn’t have swallowed any part of that monster, not even to kill him. She would have spat his blood in his own face as he lay dying.
She sat on the edge of the bed, her elbows resting on her knees, and imagined his face. Imagined the terror and the delicious spite. Her skin heated as she ruminated on the idea of killing him over and over again. Maybe she should dig him up just to see if he was still dead. Hopefully he was rotting.
Her stepfather was laid to rest in a very respectable cemetery in the Southside of Dublin, his headstone readingBeloved Son; Loving Husband.
Not father. Never father. Aunt Sinéad had put her foot down.
“Darlin’ girl.” Carwyn’s hand fell on her shoulder, and she heard the sizzle as his skin touched her flesh.
“Carwyn!” She sat up and reached for his hand, pulling back when she realized what had happened. “I’m sorry.” She stood and rushed to the bathroom. “Tá brón orm.”
“Brigid, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.” She flipped on the tap and stuck her hands under the water. “I’ve scarred you for a year, dammit.” She could feel the tears well up in her eyes, spill over, and sizzle as they reached her cheeks.
She took a deep breath, grabbed a washcloth, and brought it to Carwyn, pressing the cold cloth to his hand. “Should ya put it underwater? Maybe a bath. There’s a shower—”
“What are you thinking?”
She shook her head and took a deep breath, trying to dissipate the heat. “Nothin’.”
“Nothing doesn’t make your skin sizzle.” He grabbed her shoulder. “You’re still burning up. Shower.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”
Carwyn turned her around by the shoulders and pushed her toward the luxurious marble-clad bathroom in their rental house. “Shower.”
