Cyrus smiles and stops midway through the parking lot. He pulls the shades off and hands them to me. “These are no ordinary sunglasses. See for yourself.”
With a wary look at him, I slip them on.
It’s darker. Like the sun was dimmed by half. But there’s a feeling…like my eyes don’t have to work so hard. Like the light has been uncomfortable all my life, and now they’re getting a sudden break.
“They filter out all UV light?” I take a guess.
“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” Cyrus says, reaching up and removing them from my face. He slips them back on. “But yes, that’s the very, very basic explanation of the science put into these.”
I realize as we stop in the parking lot that my car is nowhere to be seen. Same with Mina and Fredrick.
“Are you hungry?” Cyrus asks. And surprisingly, he walks to the driver’s door and holds it open for…me.
“Uh,” I struggle. “I guess.”
He smiles and I walk around and slip into the driver’s seat. “Then take me to your favorite restaurant.” He hands me the keys, and then walks around to get into the passenger seat.
I just look at him for a long moment after he sits and buckles in.
“You don’t know how to drive, do you?” I blurt.
That careful, composed façade slips for a moment. A little shade of embarrassment, of humiliation shows itself just for a second.
“There’s been little need for me to learn in my very long life,” he says, fixing his eyes out the window before us. “Do you think of me as less of a man, now?”
That is when he turns. His eyes bore into mine. As if daring me to say…no.
“It’s a basic life skill,” I say, swallowing once. I press the ignition button and the engine purrs to life. “You seem the type that could take care of yourself in most situations. Why not this one?”
I look over at him. And he seems…surprised. My answer was not one he expected.
“Would you like to teach me, Logan Pierce?” he asks. And I swear there’s a hint of vulnerability there.
Two faces, I think to myself. The vulnerable and sincere. Like this one, right now.
“Alright,” I say. I put the car into reverse. “Pay attention as we head to dinner. We’ll do the actual driving after.”
Words keep spewing out of my mouth as we cut back into Greendale. I rattle off anything and everything I can think of when it comes to driving. Explain the various road signs we see. Point to different parts of the car, explaining what they’re for. Even if he probably understands the basics, I talk it all over as if he’s never been inside a vehicle before.
By the time we pull into the parking lot of Carmichaels, my voice is tired.
But I think I talked some of the pent up energy out of myself.
We walk in, and the waiter seats us at a booth toward the back, in a darker corner.
“You favor Italian food?” Cyrus asks as we both look over the menu.
I shrug. “I like just about everything. But I am always in the mood for their chicken carbonara.”
“I know what I’ll be ordering, then,” he says, setting his menu down and looking over at me as I set down my own.
Which is good timing. The waiter shows up just then and we order.
“So, vampires eat normal food?” I question, keeping my voice low once he’s left. Even though no one is seated particularly close to us.
I think Cyrus slipped some money to the waiter.
“Yes,” he says, resisting a little smile. “We still require sustenance.”
“Not just blood?” I ask, warily.
“No, not just blood,” he answers.
He looks up at me, and he settles back into his seat. He looks more relaxed now than earlier. I see a burning desire in his eyes, something inquisitive.
“Your chosen profession is rather unorthodox,” he says, jumping right into something heavy. “Tell me. What made you choose it?”
The waiter brings Cyrus a glass of wine, and a glass of water for me.
I pull the glass toward me, running my thumb over the condensation gathering outside it. I look from his eyes to the ice floating in it.
“I’d prefer the real reason,” he says, his voice dropping to intimate levels. “Because I suspect there is a very purposeful one.”
I look back up at him. And I see that he means it. He wants me to be real and open.
I swallow once. And give it to him.
“When I was eleven, my family was on our way to go camping,” I say, letting the pictures float back into my brain. The way the car smelled. How full the back of the minivan was. The frazzled look in my mom’s eyes as she tried to remember everything we needed to pack. “My grandparents, my dad’s mom and dad, were coming with us.”
I take a sip of water. The glass slips through my hand, slick on the outside. But I clasp it harder at the last moment, preventing it from spilling into my lap.
I set it back on the table.
“It started raining just twenty minutes after we left the house,” I say. “We were going around this bend at the base of the canyon.” The water was coming down so hard. Dad had the wipers going full blast, back and forth, back and forth so fast. “This big truck pulling a trailer came flying down the canyon. He took the turn too wide.”
Cyrus leans forward, holding onto every word.
“Dad still blames himself for turning the wheel and sailing off the road, instead of letting that truck hit us.” I swallow. Every once in a while, it hits Dad. He gets real quiet for a day or two. He often just stares at the wall, numb and blank. “We started rolling. Smashing down the hill. Over and over. Glass everywhere. Everyone screaming.”
Blood. Snaps. Our things flying everywhere in the car.
“It all happened so, so fast,” I breathe. “But I saw it, just for a horrifyingly clear moment. We hit a tree. The branch came crashing through the car. It hit grandpa in the head. And I knew, just was absolutely certain, that he was instantly dead. I knew it, processed all of that, just a second before that branch got me, too.”
Whack.
Black.
I realize that Cyrus has reached across the table and is holding onto my wrists while I cling to my cold glass.
“I woke up in the hospital three days later,” I continue. My voice sounds rough. Tired. “They said I’d died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. But they’d pulled me back, and I’d been in a coma for a while after.”
I don’t remember anything of that time while I lay in that bed. Nothing at all.
“I’ll never forget that brief, split second of knowing that my grandpa was dead,” I say, looking up at Cyrus. “And since then, I’ve always wondered where in the world he breathed his next breath.”
“You believe in reincarnation?” Cyrus asks quietly.
I just stare at him for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction. I don’t know anyone who has accepted my profound belief. But he shows no sign of scoff. So I nod. “Do you?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. I see the thoughts churning behind his eyes. “In a way, absolutely.”
I don’t really know what that means. But I know I’ll never fully understand Cyrus.
“I guess you could say I’ve been fascinated by death ever since,” I say, letting my eyes drop. “After that, I just always had this comfort in being around it. So, being a mortician, it was just the natural course for me.”
Cyrus’ grip on my wrists tightens just a little. But I don’t look. Because I can’t stand the intense way he’s staring at me.
“Is there anything else I can get for you fine folks?”
The voice cuts between us and I pull away suddenly. The waiter sets our matching dinners down in front of us.
“No, thank you,” Cyrus responds, his voice holding a bit of an edge.
We eat. Cyrus doesn’t really say much of anything else. He’s quiet and I can tell he’s thinking about something, as if rolling it over and over in his head. So
mething I said, something from this morning, I’m not entirely sure.
But we finish and he pays. And together, we walk out to the parking lot.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask with a little bit of a smile.
He looks up at me, giving me this challenging look. “Give me the keys.”
I toss them to him. Feeling nervous, I climb into the passenger seat. Thankfully it’s a Monday, so the parking lot is quiet.
Cyrus starts the ignition. “Foot on the brake,” I say. “Put it into reverse, and slowly let off.”
He does as I say. And slowly, we back up.
With more than a few jerks and engine revs, we work our way through the parking lot, practicing circling the parking lot of the adjacent hardware store.
He’s really not that bad.
My neck is only slightly sore from being jerked a few times.
But after twenty minutes, I think he’s ready.
“Let’s head back toward the house,” I say, nodding my head in that direction. “It’s getting dark, the roads are quiet. Think you can handle it?”
He chuckles. A mischievous look comes into his eyes, and he smiles as he points us toward the main road. “Oh, I think I can handle it.”
He waits, looking for cars to cross the road.
And as soon as an opening forms, he slams on the gas.
I’m thrown against my seat, a little scream ripping from my lips. But Cyrus guides us between cars, and pulls into our lane of traffic.
He laughs, looking over at me, way too amused.
“Maniac,” I chide, righting myself in my seat. I shake my head, even though I smile.
He chuckles, obviously pleased with himself.
I look out at the darkening night, taking in a deep breath. What a strange, strange life I have now.
“You were angry this morning,” I say, pulling up conversation. “What were you so upset about?”
Cyrus adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “There are certain rules in our world. Some are clear, spelled out, written down. Others are unspoken. Some of the Royals in China have been taking advantage of those unspoken rules, and it poses a threat to all our kind.”
I consider that for a few moments. “You seem exceptionally involved in the affairs of all the Houses across the globe. What are you, some kind of worldwide ambassador?”
He smiles once more. “Something like that.”
“It’s really annoying how you do that,” I say, looking over at him. “Answering without answering. You like being vague, don’t you?”
His dark eyes slide over to mine. “It’s easy to become bored after living as long as I have. I find people to be…entertaining when you don’t give them exactly what they want.”
“So this is all a game to you?” I say, feeling a little hot flare ignite in my chest. “Just messing with me? Keeping me slightly in the dark at all times?”
His eyes dart over to mine. He studies me for another beat too long. Like he’s looking for an answer in my eyes. “Yes,” he responds. And this time I know he’s being honest.
“You know that playing with people makes you an asshole, right?” I bite, raising an eyebrow.
He only laughs, and for some unexplainable reason, I find myself smiling.
We arrive back at his house safely, and with a few too quick stomps on the brake, he parks the car in the garage.
“I hope you had an enjoyable evening, Logan,” he says as we walk inside. I see no signs of Mina or Fredrick. “I think I learned some very interesting facts about you today.”
My stomach tightens a little at that. He has pulled some personal information out of me today. I opened up to him far more than I expected. He is, in fact, keeping up to his promise to get to know me before he kills me.
“I actually enjoyed this today,” I say as I step into the living room. “You know, for not having much choice in my company.”
“Do you really find me so offensive to be around?” he asks. But it’s with mirth.
“I’m not going to further inflate your ego with a response,” I say. I turn and head toward the stairs. “Goodnight, Cyrus.”
Chapter 9
I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket, but my hands are currently covered in make-up, spreading lipstick over Dora Lenard’s lips.
Dora is an old woman. Ninety-eight years old. I already styled her snow-white hair. Dressed her in a simple but beautiful white gown that her family provided. Now I’m just finishing adding some blush to her cheeks, making her look a little more alive.
She died two days ago, on Tuesday. The family will bury her on Saturday, but Emmanuel, Craig, and Katie will take care of the service, giving me the weekend off.
I smile as I look down at her, satisfied that she looks great.
“You look beautiful, Dora,” I say as I put the makeup away. “Just like you’re ready for a night out on the town.” I turn, putting things in their cabinet. “I know you. You were such a party animal. Nobody could talk you into turning it in early. You were always the life of the party.”
I take my gloves off, throwing them in the trash.
“But all that changed when you met Brent,” I say, standing beside her coffin, looking down at her peaceful face. “Then you only had eyes for him. Everyone made fun of you guys, but that’s the story you guys stuck to.” I smile. “Wouldn’t that be nice? To have it be so easy?”
Love at first sight. Or really just any kind of love.
Everyone always talks about how teenage girls fall in love easily, how they fall for the wrong guys.
But I can honestly say I’ve never fallen for any guy.
I have no idea what love feels like.
“You look beautiful,” I say once more, patting Dora on the arm, giving her a sad, maybe slightly jealous smile.
My phone vibrates again, reminding me that I had a text come through. I walk toward the lockers where my purse hangs, ready to head home, and pull it out.
Bring me another $1,000 a week from today.
My body instantly goes cold. My knees shake just slightly.
Payment isn’t supposed to be due for another two weeks, I text back with shaking fingers.
Seven days, Shylock responds. Nothing more.
I look up, my eyes not really seeing anything as they scan the space.
I’m working long, crazy hours to earn the money to keep up with Shylock’s demanding payment schedule. But this? Pushing up the payment day by a week? There’s no way I can have that money in time.
I swallow once, blinking five times fast, and shove my phone back into my pocket.
It’s eight o’clock when I step out into the darkening evening. After four days of this, I hardly even notice when Mina steps out of the shadows and slips into my passenger seat.
My hands shake as they hold the steering wheel. I hardly even pay attention to where I’m going as I pull out onto the main road and head to the house.
I have five hundred, or rather I will have it by tomorrow. But payday won’t be for another two weeks after that, long after Shylock’s seven-day deadline.
Where am I going to come up with another five hundred?
I could sell my car. It’s probably worth two thousand. But then how am I supposed to get to work to continue paying him off? I don’t own anything else of value.
Borrowing it from my parents is out of the question. They’ll ask what I need it for, and there’s no way I’m dragging them into this mess.
The giant house looms up ahead, and I park in the last garage bay. Still completely ignoring Mina’s presence, I walk inside.
I look around.
Everything in this house is nice. Expensive.
My eyes scan the lamps. The artwork on the walls. The pottery in the kitchen.
Could I resort to stealing something from this house and pawning it to get the money?
My jaw clenches.
To protect my family, to protect Amelia, from Shylock, yes, I could.
I’m so absorbed in
my own neck-deep crap that I don’t even realize I’ve stopped, frozen in the doorway between the mudroom and the kitchen.
Cyrus stands at the dining table, his hands braced on its surface, looking at me expectantly.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his brows furrowing.
I realize he’s probably said something, but I didn’t hear a word of it.
“Of course I’m not alright,” I snap, defaulting to angry and pissed. “Everything in my world is wrecked and ruined and it’s all your fault.”
Cyrus’ brows raise, his lips parting just slightly.
“The idea of coming home from work every day and having to check in just makes my stomach turn,” I spit, crossing to the fridge and yanking it open. “But I can’t even really be mad, because this is just how my life goes. Everything goes from bad to worse. Maybe I ought to just get it all over with now and let you kill me.”
I grab a package of sliced meat and a block of cheese and slam the door shut.
To my surprise, Cyrus is standing just behind it, looking at me with concerned eyes.
“What happened today, Logan?” he asks.
I hate that his voice is so tender, so concerned.
The man is a psychopath. A kidnapper. A murderer.
But he sounds so genuine.
“Nothing out of my crappy usual,” I mutter, turning away from him and working on my sandwich.
“I’ll trade you problems,” he says, arching an eyebrow.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He turns, folding his arms over his chest. “I told you how one of the Houses in China was being a problem.”
I nod, recalling what he said about rules, written and unspoken.
“And you understand that whatever age a human dies at their first death, they’ll Resurrect and stay that same age for the rest of their immortal life.”
“Yes,” I say, trying to figure out where this is going.
“The Royals in China have seven children,” Cyrus says, and his tone grows harder. “Apparently, there’s been a feud between the two Houses in their country. It’s been a game of size and power. But the House of Hou is not a patient one.”
My brows furrow and my stomach feels sick. “How old are their children?”