Now it’s 4:30 in the morning and the sun will be rising soon.
The building’s exterior is made of old wood and well on its way to rotting off. The handful of shingles left on the roof are covered in moss. Even from the street, I can smell all the humans inside. There’s at least half a dozen of them. Then there’s the house next door, which carries the familiar scents of an opium den. This is the place I’ve been trying so hard to find? This is where Gabriela thought I would find refuge? A bitter breath of laughter escapes me, fogging the cold air in front of me.
I could’ve gone to a hotel, of course, so long as I kept my eyes lowered. I’d subtly counted the money during my journey, and apparently the amount I grabbed earlier was just under three thousand dollars. Pocket change for a royal vampire.
A frown pulls down my mouth as it occurs to me… now that I’m not a member of the family, now that everything I know is forfeit, does taking the money make me a thief? Without it, though, I don’t stand a chance, so I suppose it doesn’t matter. New Ve isn’t kind to the homeless and the destitute. Bodies that aren’t mounted on the wall are simply burned.
I imagine it—one of the workers from the undertaker sector finding me and hauling my corpse into one of those eerie black vehicles. They’re completely square, move without a sound, and don’t appear to have any windows. Every time I saw one as a child, Gabriela refused to answer my questions. Instead, she averted her gaze and made the sign of a cross over herself.
The mental image makes my insides quiver. But the part that frightens me most, I think, is that those workers wouldn’t just be removing my body—they’d be taking away all of it. Every part that forms Charlotte Travesty. The flesh, the mind, the memory. I would be nothing but a story, and even that would eventually fade into the echoes of days past.
It would be as if I’d never been born.
Okay, done with that. I refocus on the boardinghouse and wonder what I’m about to walk into. What if a vampire hunter dwells within those walls? What if there’s a rebel living here, and they recognize me as a Travesty?
Gabriela must’ve had a reason for sending me to this place.
After a few more seconds of standing in an ice-laden wind, I shove the paranoia away and force my legs forward. Brittle leaves crunch underfoot as I climb the few stairs onto the porch, praying with each step that my foot won’t go through the rotting wood. Once I make it to the door, I reach for the brass knocker and lift it, letting it go. The sound reverberates, and I suck in a breath.
Approaching footsteps sends my heart rioting in my chest, fighting to get free.
The lock flips and, seconds later, the door opens a crack to reveal an old woman. She looks to be in her sixties, with graying hair and wrinkles etched into her face. When her bright eyes land on me, her thin lips pull back in a grimace. “What do you want?” she snaps.
I clear my throat. “Ada?”
“Who wants to know?”
“Oh, I’m—” I cut myself off. Amongst the citizens, I’ve never been all that well-known. My chances of survival will go up exponentially if no one connects me to the royals. I swallow hard before I say, “My name is Anna. I was told you might be able to help me.”
The woman’s eyes—lavender like mine—narrow, but still, she opens the door a little wider. “Talk fast.”
I blow out a soft breath. Everything in me is screaming to sink my teeth into her throat and rip it out. My gums ache with a new ferocity and my throat burns. I attempt a polite smile and pray my fangs don’t extend. “I need a place to stay,” I tell her.
She doesn’t hesitate. “No.”
Her tone is so matter-of-fact, so final. The light in her eyes shines hard as an amethyst. Seeing that, my stomach plummets. “Why not?” I ask, hoping my instincts are off, that the faint voice saying there won’t be any swaying Ada is wrong.
Her nostrils flare. “Because no one in this house has a death wish, Lavender—news spread faster than the Weeping Virus. Your face is on every screen, Charlotte of House Travesty, and now the entire world knows one of those pretty wives made a fool out of our benevolent king.”
My throat has gone dry. It shouldn’t surprise me the stations are running my story—there are only six cities left on the planet, and nothing this dramatic has happened since two princes killed each other last year in a fit of bloodlust and testosterone.
“Who are you tormenting now, Penelope?” a new voice says from behind the old woman. Something about it seems familiar, a sensation akin to a feather trailing over my skin. I try to place it. A moment later, a vampire appears in the doorway, and I’m so surprised that my head empties of all thought. Striking golden eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes assess the situation with laser focus. She leans against the doorframe, making the wood groan with protest as she crosses her arms. “What do we have here, then?”
The old woman, who is apparently not Ada, scowls at me. “Some bad luck, that’s what.”
The vampire doesn’t move or speak. She stares at me with an expression that I can’t interpret. Her eyes are like darkened windows with the curtains drawn. I stare back, trying to smother the hope flickering through me—she hasn’t slammed the door in my face yet. “I’m not going to hurt anyone,” I tell her firmly. “You have my word. Please. The sun is coming up and I’ve been walking all night.”
The real Ada appraises me for several more beats. Feeling as if this is a test, somehow, I stare back at her without flinching. Then, slowly, she opens the door and steps aside. I hurry over the threshold before she can change her mind.
Once I’m inside, Ada closes the door and flips the lock back over. Penelope walks away, grumbling something under her breath.
I cast a tired gaze around me, a breath of relief escaping as the warmth of shelter makes my chilled skin tingle. Half-vampire or not, spending hours in the cold is uncomfortable. Just another bitter reminder that I’m not completely immortal.
Oh, god, does this mean I’ll have the lifespan of a human?
Don’t think about that right now, Charlotte. Rubbing my hands together, my eyes trail along the wood-paneled walls that run the entire length of the long foyer. Aged water-color paintings hang everywhere, and a deep red afghan rug covers the floor. At the end of the hall is a wide bookcase filled with faded spines and encased by glass doors.
Halfway down the foyer are wide doorways on either side, and I follow Ada into a parlor, decorated with old furniture. There’s a faint smell of mothballs in the air. A fire crackles in the large fireplace, spreading light and warmth through the room, and on either side are floor-to-ceiling windows framed with heavy crimson drapes.
Glancing toward the flames, I yearn to curl up on the couch in front of it and forget everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.
Sudden movement draws my attention away from the fire. I turn to see two humans, males who appear to be about my age—in human years—sitting on either side of a chessboard. Instead of playing, they both stare at me. It’s obvious from their expressions they aren’t thinking kind thoughts.
Ada follows my gaze and her lips turn down. “It should go without saying that if you spill a single drop of human blood in this house, I’ll put you out on your ass.”