‘No.’ I silently beg my parents’ forgiveness for the lie. ‘However, they asked Kyle to look after me.’ That’s true, at least.
‘Hm.’ She doesn’t look at me. ‘And he’s good to you?’
‘Yes.’ Another truth.
‘Good.’
We reach an intersection, Ruth taking the left turn, the road widening. Another car passes, string holding the door closed, cardboard covering one of the side windows. I think of the deserted dark roads I used to travel, soft leather and curving glass keeping me safe, of the cars I’ve seen in movies, shiny and bright, filled with laughing people.
We need sunlight.Ruth’s words roll through my mind, along with anger. My mother tried her best, I suppose. But the fact is that I’ve been kept in the dark my entire life, in more ways than one.
‘Where are we going?’ The buildings are becoming larger, like square boxes with large windows. Some of the windows are cracked. Behind one, a group sits around a large table while a man stands at the head, his arms out as he addresses them. I can barely take it all in. It’s as though the films I used to watch, alone in the library, have come to life. Sunlight dapples through bare branches, the buildings with their signs and people moving to and fro, even the cars, old and worn as they are, adding to the illusion.
For that’s what it is. I’m becoming uncomfortably aware that these people are trapped, that this isn’t the sunny life of freedom I’d imagined. Where else can they go? With each step I take, my anger builds. I feel as though I understand their desire for rebellion a little more.
‘I thought I’d take you to the beach,’ says Ruth, cutting into my thoughts.
I stare. ‘The beach?’
The road has been rising as we walk, the blue sky arcing above. We reach the crest of the rise and I gasp. The sea.
I saw the sea, once, on the way home from a Gathering. My parents had stopped the car, letting me out to see. It was dark, of course, only a sliver of moon, the sea like lace and velvet, endlessly moving. I still remember the smell of salt, the way the wind stung my face and tangled in my hair, the pull of water in my own blood, echoed in my heartbeat.
Standing at the top of the hill, I feel that same pull again. Houses cluster along the seafront, coloured dots of people moving along the streets and on the golden curve of sand. I push my glasses back on my head, taking it all in. Nothing has prepared me for the vastness, the blue stretching to the horizon, sprinkled with a thousand moving points of glitter. I smell the salt-tang again, freshness on my face. My eyes fill with tears.
Why has this been kept from me? Resentment blooms, twining around my anger, snaking beneath my joy to be here.
‘Are you all right?’ Ruth touches my arm.
‘I’ve just never seen it like this,’ I whisper.
‘Well, then,’ she says. ‘Let’s take a closer look. If you’re lucky, I might even get you an ice cream. Doesn’t matter what time of year it is, you always have ice cream at the seaside.’ She laughs. I smile. I’ve tried ice cream, of course. But a wandering human, tied to a vampire, probably would never have.
We start down the hill, white and grey birds circling above us, their cries plaintive in the cold salty air. The large square buildings give way to a row of smaller shops. I pause at one, taken by a brightly coloured dress hanging in the window.
‘That’s nice.’ I turn to Ruth.
She smiles. ‘Geneva’s clothes are about the nicest around here. She’s very good at making the most of what she gets in.’
‘What she gets in?’
‘Well, it’s like everything. We just get bits and pieces, you know? Nothing like it used to be. Clothes used to be made all over the world, right? Big factories, lots of shops. I hear in Old London some still remain, though they only open at night, of course.’
I nod, slowly, as it dawns on me. ‘Because the?—’
‘Vamps keep everything for themselves. Oh, I’m sorry,’ she goes on, twisting her mouth. ‘I know you care for him.’ She jerks her head back the way we came.
I bite my lip, anger an ache in my chest. My family. They’re the reason why humans, like this nice lady, live the way they do. Why nothing is like it’s supposed to be.
‘Perhaps we could ask them?—’
‘Huh!’ Ruth barks out a laugh. ‘What – our high lords of Raven? No—’ she shakes her head ‘—we’re lucky to have what we have.’
I don’t say anything, moving along to the next shop. This one has toys and children’s books in the window, colours bright against crumpled tissue paper. On closer inspection it’s obvious the toys aren’t new. They’re clean, but the stickers decorating one small car are worn, while the books are tattered along their cardboard edges, obviously having been through many small hands. My throat closes and the ache in my chest grows stronger.
A small voice says, ‘I like that one.’ I look down to see a little girl standing next to me, a young woman nearby.
‘Wh-which one?’ My vision is blurry.
