Aliz promised we’dfind the library, but during our first trip to the tunnels, I already feel like tearing my hair out. “It’sthisway,” she argues, pointing at a narrow hallway we walked down barely ten minutes ago.
I snap my black notebook open, the web of tunnels a little hard to make out. I shove it in her face, keeping one finger pressed over the tunnel she wants us to take. “It leads to a class. We wereinthat class.”
“When did you get the time to draw all this?” she says, flicking through the pages. “It’s a mess.”
“Before class,” I say, snatching it back. “And if it’s such a mess, we should work separately.” Before she can protest, I add: “We’ll cover more ground that way, won’t we?” I’m used to working alone. And plus, if I’m not walking down narrow hallways with her, I won’t feel the urge to grab her hand, either.
Monday arrives, myseventh night with the Familiar’s mark, and the different halls and cafés of Tynahine all seem to be hosting a party of some kind. The only quiet place, aside from my room, is Tynarrich’s dining hall. My neck itches incessantly, and I dig my nails into it over the red scarf, swallowing breath after breath.
My stomach burns, and the Scotch pie in front of me seems terribly unappetizing, the mutton filling taking on a greyish hue as it spills over the porcelain plate. I’ve been able to keep it together so far. But beneath the surface, cracks are forming.
Julia walks into the dining hall, pulling me out of my stupor. Her long hair is tied up in a messy bun. There’s a gauntness to her, the residue of death. I try to picture her when she was eighteen and human, just like me, with full cheeks and maybe her almost-white hair a shade darker. I do know that some Converts take after their sires.
“You’ve been busy,” she says, sinking into an armchair at the other side of the fireplace. Flickering candles cover the mantelpiece, their wax creating a film over the scratched-up mahogany. As always, she has a sketch pad under her arm and wastes no time in openingit.
“Busier than I expected,” I say. I’m unable to add humor to my voice.I want to see Aliz.This thought slips into my mind as if it belongs to someone else. And in a way, it does. It’s the mark, twistingme, telling me this time in the company of another vampire is time poorly spent. “How’s the…” I gesture at her sketch pad, unsure what exactly Julia does in class. She smells like paint and turpentine, but all I can see right now is paper and two pencils. “Art?”
She lets out a short laugh, a breath caught at the back of her throat. “I’m working on a set of murals,” she says. “Scenes of Adolescence.I can show you it once it’s done, if you ever feel like visiting Traquair Hall.Theseare just to keep my hands busy.” She opens the sketchbook at a random page, revealing a crowded train cabin. “The Tube,” she says, running her fingers across the shadowy silhouettes. “Last thing I saw with human eyes.”
I stare down at the drawing. The windows of the train are completely black. Some parts of the cabin are drawn and shaded with near photo-realism. Others are completely abstract, as though the paper itself is glitching. Just as I’m about to ask her about that fateful day, and what made her decide to leave her humanity behind, Julia tenses, looking across the hall.
I follow her gaze and see Aliz’sfriend.The strange vampire I saw a few weeks back, with cuts on her hands. That encounter feels like months ago already.
Her hair is half up, half down, silken waves picking up the warm glow of the surrounding lamps. A tartan coat, pink and cream, just about covers her miniskirt. The vampire catches my gaze and smiles. On the surface I could mistake it for kindness or curiosity. But there’s a coolness in her flawless features that makes me shiver.
“Who’s that?” I ask, before turning back to look at Julia.
“Elia.”
I falter, suddenly remembering the Red Ribbons’ conspiracy. “Elia Tamarit?” I whisper, and Julia nods.
“You’ve heard of her?”
“I’ve seen her with Aliz a few times.” Only after saying her name, I realise I should have saidAstra,instead. But Julia doesn’t seem to notice this new familiarity.
“I’d be careful around her,” Julia whispers. “She’s not like the rest of the students here.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are rumors that she used to bring humans to campus, years ago. Assnacks.”
I swallow. A chill spreads across my arms, and I breathein.
“Then again, I would tell you to be careful around Astra, but you seem to like her just fine.”
“No, I don’t,” I say, far too quickly.
Julia doesn’t dignify me with a response. She continues to work on a memory, occasionally biting her pencil. Her sharp canines are whiter than the rest of her teeth.
Aliz is inour room. I know it even before opening the door, because the tight itch in my neck starts to soften, as though the mark can feel her proximity. I steel myself, a slow breath, before unlocking the door.
“Cassie,” she says, slamming a book shut the moment I step inside. “Fancy seeing you here.” There’s a black velvet blazer splayed over her coffin. She’s more dressed up than usual, wearing a tailored white shirt and velvet waistcoat. Her white hair is combed back, damp.
“Are you going to the opera or something?” I ask.
“No,” she says. She spins her chair so she’s facing me. A chain hangs from her collar, lopsided. “Elia’s hosting a soiree at her place. I’d bring you along, but it’s invite-only.”
“Have fun,” I say, dropping my bag on my desk. I take off my glasses and sit down on my bed, trying to ignore the itch as it continues to tighten, burning my skin. I need her fingers on the mark again to soothe it. I catch her looking at me, and her gaze leaves me a moment later. Even if the soiree wasn’t invite-only, I wouldn’t be caught dead going to a vampire party. Not unless I was going to kill someone.
