“What do you mean?”
“You’ll become the very thing they believe you to be.”
It sounds ridiculous at first. Kate’s idea. She spends the rest of the morning explaining it to me. How we’ll rehearse. Costume ourselves. The ruse will begin with a letter to the papers announcing the arrival of the renowned Dr. Ezra Winthrop, scientist and vampire expert.
“It will be perfect, Lil. You saw for yourself how intimidating Winthrop is. He’ll be convincing, don’t you think?”
A shiver runs through me, remembering the coldness in Kate’s eyes when she transformed into Winthrop the first time we rehearsed together. How badly she frightened me. “Yes, very.”
She paces through the costume room, pulling out dresses and examining them. “You, on the other hand, are far less convincing. Remember how I told you that your anger is your best tool?”
I sit back on the chaise and sigh. Sometimes, when Kate is in a mood like this, all creative passion and frenetic energy, she exhausts me. “Yes.”
“You must tap into it. Our audience won’t want to see a meek, submissive vampire. They’ll want to see a fight.” She snarls, showing all her teeth. Tosses her headful of dark curls. “Gnash your teeth. Growl. You must leave every trace of modesty behind and become their monster of myth.”
“All of this is well and good. But say we’re successful. Say the real killer comes to this spectacle and realizes his game has run its course. Even if the audience is convinced the vampire is vanquished and their daughters are safe once more, what about the authorities? How are you going to remove my body, without suspicion? And what dowedo after? Just come back here, to Angel’s Rest, and hide away forever? I’ll havediedtwice at that point. I can hardly resurrect again.”
“You underestimate my persuasive abilitiesandthe level of corruption in the city,” Kate says. “I have it on good authority that the coroner is debt-ridden. He’s old. Disinterested. He’ll be easy to pay off.”
“I’m not so sure about that. He certainly seemed interested in what happened to poor Sally. And having a real live vampire to study? If I were a doctor, I’d be fascinated.”
“Trust me, Lil. Nothing talks louder than money.”
“Just how much are you thinking?”
“Including the jewelry and money you stole from the party, we have well over five thousand dollars, by my estimate.”
I turn away, considering. I intended at least some of the stolen money to go toward helping fugitive slaves. Not to line the pockets ofan already corrupt coroner. “I thought ... I thought we were going to give that money to the maroons to aid in their escape. Or for them to buy their freedom.”
“Well, we won’t give all of it to the coroner. But ...” Kate bounces on her heels. “Don’t you think it’s worth it? You deserve freedom, too, sweetling. To have the sun on your face again, without fear.” She comes to my side, takes my hands in hers. “Have you ever been to England?”
“No. I have not.”
“Nor have I.” She laughs. “My mother despised the English. But for an actress ...” Kate sighs wistfully. “There’s no better place. I could make it big in London, Lil. I know I could, with my talents. We have more than enough money to get by until I find my feet, even with paying off the authorities. We could leave here by autumn. In another country, you’d be truly free.”
I consider her words. How wonderful they sound on the surface. But just like everyone else in my life before me, she’stellingme what we’ll do. Not asking me. Just like Mother. All my life, I’ve been soft, compliant. Uncomplaining. In the hopes that my mother’s love was as unconditional as my own, I stood by and allowed her to slowly kill my sister, too, didn’t I? Her motives might have been loving, initially, but her obsession over Rebecca’s health drove her to do the unthinkable. And I did nothing to stop it. My sins were those of omission, but all the same, I lacked the fortitude to stand up for myself or Rebecca ... I never once stopped to consider the consequences of my inaction. I could punish myself for my mistakes forever, or I could change, and take agency over my own life.
I pull my hands from Kate’s. “I hear it gets dreadfully cold in England. I’m not sure.”
Her face falls for a moment, then brightens again. “You’ll come around, darling. Just think about it. I certainly won’t go without you.” She pulls me close and kisses me, biting my lower lip. “If we rot and grow old here, with golden dreams unmet, then at least we’ll rot in bliss together, won’t we?”
She draws me down onto the chaise, and while I revel in her kisses and caresses as I always do, I consider the fact that I’m almost as much of a prisoner here as I was at City Jail. Even though Kate’s heart makes for the loveliest prison I’ve ever inhabited—and one I’m not entirely sure I want to be free of, it’s a prison all the same.
Twenty-One
In the days that follow, Kate works me to exhaustion with rehearsals. She chooses a scarlet gown for me out of Lucrezia’s wardrobe and alters it with a clever pocket above my left breast, where we’ll hide a sheep’s bladder filled with blood on the night of our performance. An actor’s trick, she says, to make my “murder” look more convincing. She also carves two sharp teeth out of the ivory handle of a serving spoon and attaches them to my own with gum arabic. The false teeth are uncomfortable but effective. Their sharp points are menacing. Wickedly realistic.
I’ve grown more comfortable with my vampire persona. When we rehearse, I growl and slink and roll my eyes. But I never become quite comfortable with Ezra Winthrop, my would-be slayer. It’s uncanny, how much Kate transforms within his role. Everything, from the way she walks to the contemptuous sneer she takes on as Winthrop, fills me with dread ... and an undeniable frisson of sensual attraction. Winthrop is dangerous, cunning, and coolly intelligent—like a snake coiled to strike. But there’s an appeal to his salaciousness all the same. One that sends my heart tripping over itself when I feel his arms go around me, his breath on my neck.
Kate has made me fall in love with every one of her characters. Even this one. They’re all a part of who she is. Her darkness and her light.
We rehearse my death scene again, though the afternoon heat in our rehearsal room has grown feverish. Winthrop stalks toward me, a sharp oakwood stake in one hand, a mallet in the other. I crouch and growl, like a cornered wildcat, rolling my eyes dramatically. Winthrop tackles me, dragging me to the center of the room, his arm hooked around my neck. I struggle in his arms, but he holds me fast. My heartbeat races. “Fight all you like, little one,” he sneers. “Your fate is sealed.”
He wrestles me to the ground and crouches over me, the stake held high. He plunges it downward, and I instinctively flinch. Even though we’ve rehearsed this scene countless times, my trust is still tenuous. The stake is real—twelve inches of solid wood Kate has honed to a point sharp enough to kill. But our props, our costumes, this final act, must be thoroughly convincing.
Winthrop hovers the stake a hairbreadth from my bosom, then brings the mallet down. This too requires trust. Because the stake must be driven with enough force to penetrate my clothing, then pierce the sheep’s bladder, without piercingmein the process.
I cry out, thrash in place for a moment, and then still.
