Elsie’s face warms, her deep coloring flushing ever so slightly as she starts to giggle. But she recovers quickly, dishing it out as well as she can take it.
“Says the woman holed up withElliot Cross.”
She passes me a pointed stare, cocking her head in challenge.
Oh, that’s low.
“I was notholed upwith him!”
“Right.” Her eyes roll. “Then whatwereyou doing all night exactly?”
I open my mouth, prepared to defend myself against such a heinous accusation, before I remember Elliot’s direction and his very clear instructions to Bloodsoe.
All night.
I smile and shrug, doing my best to look embarrassed. Which, honestly, isn’t that difficult.
“Okay, maybe I was holed up. But sue me, the man tastes good.”
Elsie laughs, kicking off her shoes and wandering into her room.
“Good enough to keep?” she calls out.
“I wouldn’t go that far!” I call back.
There’s a moment of silence as I listen to her rustling around, and when she returns, she’s no longer wearing the little red dress she’d stepped out in last night. Instead, she’s swapped it for a pretty yellow skirt and a soft blouse.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“To the library. I told Kitty I’d help with her enchantments essay.”
She sighs as if it’s a heavy burden, and I nod, though I’m now frowning.
“Oh, okay, tell her I said hi.”
She mutters some form of acknowledgment as she wrestles with her sneakers, but all I catch is “Bye!” before the door shuts and she’s gone again.
I try my best to keep my eyes off the rug as I sink onto the sofa.
Elsie just lied to me. And I’m not sure why.
She never lies to me. I know everything, every secret, from the name of her first crush to the real reason she tutors on Tuesdays. What could possibly be so serious as to warrant lying?
I sit frowning at the black TV screen until the sky turns a pinky shade of orange, and the pit in my stomach is so gaping I feel like it might swallow me whole from the inside out.
I consider calling Elliot. He’ll answer; he always does. But after what he did for me last night, I can’t bring myself to trouble him again. Besides, it’s been a while since I’ve had a good hunt.
I used to hate hunting. Mostly because my mother never taught me how.
She took a more “respectable” approach to satisfying her hunger, relying on men’s generosity to offer themselves, rather than seeking what she needed. She assumed I would do the same.
For a while, I did. But I was naive then. And there’s nothing like the honest truth of the matter to show you just how naive you are.
Sometimes I wonder what she would say if she saw me now.
She probably wouldn’t approve of my methods or my tastes.
I don’t even think she’d approve of my hunger. Not that she ever did.
