“I should go, Mom. I need to get home.”
I love you, darling girl.
“I love you, too.” I got up and hurried through the big wooden doors into the warm golden evening.
“Bonsoir, Tosh.” Le Bec leaned against one of the tall wooden planter boxes in front of the church.
“Oh—” I squeaked. “Hi.” What was he doing here? He was smiling at me, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. Trying not to show fear, I scanned the street for allies. There was a busy commercial street just around the corner, but here, it was mostly apartment buildings, and residential streets can be eerily unpopulated at certain times of the day. Everyone was probably inside eating dinner. I took a breath.Be calm, I told myself.Think. And keep walking.
He fell into step beside me. “I did not know that you were religious.”
I shrugged, trying to keep it normal. “Oh, it’s a pretty church. I like the mosaics.”
“You are not worried about the vampire?” He smiled at me, big and insincere and full of teeth.
It made my skin crawl, but I tried to shove some confidence into my voice. “I mean, everybody’s worried about the attacks. But my building is super close by.” Especially if I cut through our block, between the park and the apartment buildings.
“You have not replied to my texts,” he said, “I made you a painting, and you did not even thank me. That was not polite. Do you know what happens to impolite girls?” There was an undertone of malice in his voice that sent adrenaline coursing through me like an electric current. A sick suspicion came over me, and my brain shouted,Run!
I ran.
Fear tunneled my senses. I saw only the sidewalk ahead of me. I pushed my legs to reach, to fly. I could feel him closing the gap between us, and I needed to be a few seconds ahead of him so I’d have time to punch in the entry code. I ran,flat out, for my life. Down the sidewalk, past the preschool, the bike rental place. Our park was on my left now, and our building was just ahead. Just a little farther, and I’d be safe. His boots beat the pavement behind me. One word pulsed in my head, over and over, keeping time with my pounding feet and my ragged breathing:faster.I was almost there. I heard a change in the tempo of his steps and felt a brief emptiness behind me before the full weight of him struck me to the ground, forcing the air out of my lungs. I gasped like a beached fish, unable to breathe. Pain. Everywhere. I writhed under him, wheezing, afraid I’d be smothered. He rolled me onto my back and straddled me, kneeling on my arms as I labored to pull air into my lungs. I thrashed and tried to throw him off. He hit me. There was a star of pain on my cheek, and then it went nova, engulfing my head in a wave of fire and knives. When it receded enough for me to focus on something besides pain, Le Bec’s grinning face hung above me, his teeth shiny in the light from the streetlamps.
“You should have responded to me,” he said. “You should have thanked me for the beautiful art I made for you.” He leaned closer, and his movement triggered a ripple of nausea. I whimpered, thinking,Please, no, don’t let me throw up. “Say it,” he commanded, shifting his weight on my arms so that I squealed with pain. “Say, ‘Thank you, Le Bec, for making me a beautiful painting.’ ”
“Thank you, Le Bec, for making me a beautiful painting,” I croaked, terrified. Somebody would be walking by soon. They had to be. If I cooperated, maybe I’d stay alive long enough for them to see me.
“That is better.” He stroked my cheek, and I tried to turnaway. My stomach roiled again. He paused for an endless moment, his eyes playing over my face and throat, his hand on my cheek. “No pretty silver necklace to protect you this time,” he said. Then he grabbed my jaw and wrenched my head to the side. His knees drove into my arms, grinding muscle into bone into concrete. It hurt so much, but I couldn’t yell. I was trying, but my body was an immobile lump. I couldn’t move, couldn’t fight back, couldn’t even close my eyes. He leaned close, and I felt his breath on my neck. I concentrated on the shadows of the trees against the sky. I tried to remember if I’d told Dad lately that I loved him. I wondered if Mom would meet me when this was all over.
Then pain made thought impossible.
Chapter 14
Eight Weeks Ago
I dreamed I was running so fast it felt like flying, like one long leap would send me airborne. Ahead of me was an indistinct figure, also running. I was chasing it, gaining on it. I’d overtake it in a minute, but right now I focused on the joy of the chase. On the way my prey ran away from me like a frightened little mouse. It was fun when people ran. I liked to chase them. I liked the smell of fear streaming off them as I gained on them. I liked the long, weightless moment when I leaped, and I liked the shock of collision when I landed on my prey and forced it to the ground. Best of all, I liked the bright fountain of blood—
My eyes flew open, and I stared around wildly. My body felt heavy, and my mind was full of dark mist. “What happened?” I said, but no sound came out. I tried again, my mouth making the shapes of the words, but not the sounds.I was alone, immobile and voiceless. Panic slammed into me with enough force to move my hand a few centimeters.
“Shhh,” a voice said, startling me. I felt my body attempt to jerk away and fail. “Calme-toi,” the voice soothed. It told me not to try to talk or move because I had stitches, and I needed to let them heal. I wanted to ask why I had stitches, but my voice didn’t work. Where had it gone? Who’d taken it?
Another voice joined the first. Dad’s voice. “Tosh? Are you okay?” Relief broke over me; I didn’t know where I was, but Dad was here, too, so I was safe. I tried to turn toward him. My head swam for a second, my stomach lurched, and then everything went away.
When I woke up again, I could move. I was weak, but my body responded when I asked it to. I lay in an unfamiliar bed, covered by a sheet and a thin blanket, in a sparsely furnished room. An IV fed into my arm.Hospital, I thought.Why?I rolled my head to the side and saw Dad, asleep in a chair near my bed, his head at an uncomfortable angle, his face gray and unshaven. Madame Dupuy sat nearby, reading on her phone. She glanced at me, saw I was awake, and took hold of my hand. I tried to speak, but she shushed me. She told me that I’d been hurt, and I had stitches, and I shouldn’t talk.
Where do I have stitches?I wondered. She must have seen the question on my face because she gestured to her neck. I put my hand up and felt the dressing taped there.
“You lost a lot of blood,” she said. “We were very worried.” She turned to Dad, still asleep, and raised her voice slightly. “Monsieur Reeves.” He started straight out of his chair, saw my eyes were open, and gathered me into his arms. I inhaled his familiar smell of cloves and soap, and memories of Mom’sfuneral washed over me. Then I’d been clinging to him; now it was the other way around.
“I thought I’d lost you,” he whispered, choking on tears. “You were—” He broke off.
“You were attacked,” Madame Dupuy said softly.
I remembered running, hearing another set of footsteps behind me. Being so scared. The rest of it came back to me like a blow, and I closed my eyes to try to keep myself from seeing Le Bec’s face again. I’d been sure he was going to kill me.
“Did you see who did this?” Dad asked when he finally let me go. I nodded. He turned to Madame Dupuy and asked her to call the police officer who’d taken their statements, but she was already tapping the number into her phone. He turned back to me. “Why were you out alone?” he demanded.
I tried to reply, but pain jabbed my throat, leaving me breathless and sweating.
