Avrum leans closer to me, his voice lowering to just a feathery whisper. “Lysander is being closely watched. He won’t be much help to us now.”
I can’t stop the fear tumbling inside me. Why do our chances feel like they’re already unraveling? “Emma issupposed to be waiting for me at the back door soon. I have to meet her there.”
When he glances Henri’s way again, he quickly says, “Smile.”
“What?”
He chuckles a bit, but it sounds false and too mechanical. “Keep smiling. We have to look like we are enjoying ourselves to not cause suspicion. Now, smile.”
Smiling is the last thing I want to do at the moment, but I stretch my lips and let out a short giggle to sell their ruse. It sounds a bit insane to my own ears, but hopefully it’s enough to convince the others.
“Do you have your sword?” Avrum mouths to me. “Malcolm hasn’t arrived yet, but Henri assures us it will be soon. I want you out of here before he comes. I think he may be the biggest threat to us, and I cannot risk—”
The ballroom doors swing open then, cutting him off abruptly. I jerk back and collide with Avrum with my heart hammering against my ribs.
A boy stands there, a child. He can’t have more than twelve years to him, but his pale skin glows unnaturally. His eyes shine. Although young and small, it’s clear this boy isn’t human at all. Not anymore.
A child vampire? What a cruel and horrifying thing to do someone so young.
He glides past me without a glance, his black eyes focused on Henri, and Henri alone.
When I glance at Avrum, his face matches my own in disbelief and revulsion. Is this the vampire we’ve been waiting for? Is this Malcolm?
“Is it…?” I start to ask, but his quick shake of his head stops me.
“Not him, but close to him.”
As I look over to the boy as he crosses the room, what I see has acid turning in my gut. Vicious scars crawl up the boy’s boney shoulder to his neck. They shine red, blue, and purple, the pattern reminding me of wild ivy vines from the way they cross and interlace over each other. It’s clear it’s been done on purpose. Someone’s scarred this child. Branded him.
“How did this boy get in here?” Henri demands. The Spanish man laughs, as if he knows something the others do not, and from the twitch of Henri’s lips it’s obvious he isn’t amused.
When Keagan hurries to stop he boy, he easily zigzags of his reach and strides over to Henri. He doesn’t bow when he approaches, which only seems to enrage Henri more, but when Keagan reaches to seize him, Henri holds up a hand to stop him.
“Who are you?” Henri cuts him with a piercing glare. The boy doesn’t answer, but when Henri sees the jagged marks on his shoulder, he straightens immediately, realizing the child is connected to Malcolm. “Where is your master?”
Instead of responding, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a sealed letter. With a growl, Henri snatches it from him, rips the paper in one quick swipe, and reads.
Avrum touches my hand.
As Henri’s eyes flicker across the words, his face drains of all emotion. Slowly, he lowers it and stares at the young man in front of him.
“He’s not coming?” he mutters, his hands shaking. The boy nods, turns quickly, and walks out, pushing past the guards. Henri doesn’t even look up, no longer concerned about him. “He’s not coming.”
“Who’s not coming, Henri?” the Viking-looking guest asks.
The trembling of his hands grows, traveling up his arms and down his spine until his entire frame is convulsing with anger. His eyes flash fully black, his thin lips curl back to expose pointed teeth, and blue veins pop out of his translucent skin as the rage builds and builds.
“He’s not coming.” His voice rises until he’s shouting it. The band stops playing their music, and his fury booms against the sudden silence. “He’s not coming! He’s not coming!”
Keagan tries to move closer, but Henri whirls on him, grabbing him by the arms and tossing him across the room as if he was no heavier than the letter he had ripped open. His skull slams against the marble wall with an audible crack, and he collapses, blood pooling within seconds.
I yelp as Avrum spins me around and seizes me roughly by the arms. His wide, panic-filled eyes have my pulse racing in an instant.
“Go!” He pushes me toward the doors. “You need to go now!”
I don’t hesitate. There’s a crash and more frantic shouting, but I don’t dare turn around. I rush through the ballroom doors as fast as I can, terror driving me now. Emma stands at the end of the hall, waiting for me, with the satchel over her shoulder. Booms and crashes soundbehind me. Glass shatters, and she waves for me to hurry up, holding the door to the courtyard open.
I take a second to reach into my skirts and pull out the sword. Just in case. It feels strange in my hand, but I hold on tight. I just pray I won’t have to use it.
