Mortals. Even thinking about it caused a squidgy sensation behind her breastbone, though she hadn’t eaten anything in what felt like forever. Her biology was all whacked-up now.
“How long is this going to go on?” She kept her voice down, hoping she wasn’t about to piss him off.
“A little over four hours. Are you uncomfortable?” Now there was a faint hint of worry, just the slightest shading to his tone. He was sounding a lot less weirdly robotic, that was for sure. “There’s a diner car; mortal food might?—”
“No, I mean this. One empty house after another, with you all over me and having to...to feed.” The last word was a hateful, bitter-tasting little syllable, but at least she kept her voice down. Yelling would probably be a bad move. “Is this what your life’s like?” Because it sounds like hell.
“These are rather exceptional circumstances. There are a few matters to clear up tonight, then we can go wherever you like.” He gazed at the front of the train car as if lost in thought, his profile familiar from brooding nightmares, yet the invisible sense of his attention was firmly on her, and almost, kind of, very nearly comforting. “Abroad, if you prefer. Choose a house, and you may fill it with whatever you wish. There are some necessary precautions—new covers every half-century or so—but it is more than possible to pass unnoticed. You have not seen the more pleasant aspects of sanguinant existence; I very much wish to introduce them to you.”
Lots of promises. “Anywhere I want?”
“Name the place, kitten.”
It wasn’t the worst nickname she’d ever had. “I want to go back to school.” Try that one on for size. She’d been so close to finishing her degree, but she’d probably have to start over again. You couldn’t get transcripts for a woman who didn’t exist anymore. “Night classes would work, right?”
“Or private tutors, certainly.”
See what else he’ll tell me. “What’s this meeting we’re going to?”
“Housekeeping.” A ghost of a smile, and for a moment he looked incredibly human, not to mention flat-out anticipatory. Which should have been jarring, but instead was somehow both strange and even a bit intriguing.
“If you won’t tell me, just say so.” Bea couldn’t help adding a little bit of bitchiness. “God knows I shouldn’t believe anything you say.”
“I have vowed never to lie to my leman. Tonight may be unpleasant, but will swiftly be over. I would have you remember…” Now he looked fully awake, dark eyes uncomfortably sharp and direct, though he still stared at the front of the car, the door to the next carriage closed tight and secretive.
Is he going to threaten me? “Remember what?”
Lukas was silent for a long moment full of train-rhythm and scattered human heartbeats, all working together in symphony. His own unhurried pulse blotted both out, each slow beat providing a moment’s worth of respite. “That you bear no responsibility for what may occur. What I do tonight began long ago, and is necessary.”
That...does not sound very comforting at all. “Okay.” There was no good answer, really, so she decided to shut up. A faint itch ran under her skin, the sound of the iron wheels growing by increments, though thankfully the thumping human heartbeats remained drowned out by his.
At least she could look at the stars. So she did, turning as far toward the window as the seat permitted, wondering if she would ever see sunlight again.
Theirs was the last train into the station, and of course Lukas looked like he knew where he was going. He even acted like a solicitous boyfriend, rising first, offering his hand to help her to her feet, stepping down from the carriage and turning to help her debark, settling an arm over her shoulders and drawing her close. It might have been nice to stroll with someone like this, especially someone tall and broad enough in the shoulder to discourage unwanted attention.
But all she could think of was what other passengers, or the hurrying figures on the street in front of the station, would do if they knew something so old and strange stalked among them.
The snow thickened, drifting lazily down, and despite the hour there was a great deal of activity. A low grumbling drowsed in pavement and buildings; she wondered if it was the city itself, masses of heartbeats all stacked together. The streetlights didn’t seem to interfere with the stars, and she might have walked right out into traffic trying to look upward, marveling.
The sidewalks glittered with small stacked ice crystals, bits of mica, a crazyquilt of cracks. The flood of detail was overwhelming—she could lose herself in the shape of a stranger’s coat-buttons, the crystalline flakes settling on fabric or concrete, the rough pitted surface of bricks, traces of corrosion on lampposts, the tiny reflective particles in sign-paint. Once off the train, it was as if some fog-grimy lens had been whisked from the world. Color, noise, and sensation swamped her afresh.
Tiny cold kisses against her cheeks. Traffic humming by, each car a glowing jewel, diamond-sword headlights cutting thin swirling sheets of individual snowflakes. A musical note of wind sliding between buildings, a dim whisper-lapping accompanied by metallic tang shouting a river was nearby. Even the thick clotting reek of exhaust was borderline pleasant.
She wished her teeth weren’t so sensitive, though. Even the pressure of her lips was irritating.
Am I high? But he didn’t feed me. Bea stared at a discarded plastic bag skipping along the street, dancing with the snow-laden wind. Her hair felt alive, every individual strand buzzing like the streetlights, the traffic lights, the golden windows behind which people were going about their nightlives.
It was weird, but no weirder than anything else lately. Bea blinked as a concrete monster swallowed them—no, it was just a parking garage, its shell filling with echoes of her footsteps. The soundwaves broke and reformed, and she had the idea if she listened carefully she could tell where everyone was parked.
Is that echolocation? Huh.
The entire concrete wedding-cake felt deserted. Buzzing fluorescents, a stairwell not nearly so nice as the Everly building’s, and Lukas’s arm around her was warm and constant, a gently guiding rope as they descended. Even the necklace was making a low noise, singing to itself in a thin reedy whisper.
They passed through an open archway into the long-term parking section. Lukas slowed, glancing over the shiny metal beetles crouched obediently between painted lines. Bea shivered, settling back into her body with an entirely internal thump. The sensory flood swirled and receded, losing no intensity but becoming far more manageable. It was like crossing the invisible tipping-point during a college all-nighter or a long shift at the meatpacking plant, from I wish I were in bed to might as well stay up.
Crisp and clear, the world was still in hi-def, and the echoes still packed with information. But she could handle it a lot better now.
“Silly,” Lukas murmured. The parked cars became sparser—of course, everyone wanted to cluster near the stairwells. They seemed to be heading for a black SUV, parked all by its lonesome at the far end of this level—at least, they were until he stopped, which meant she had to as well. He guided her to the side of a support pillar, placing her very gently. “Stay here for a moment, please.”
