Real Vampires Don't Sparkle (60 page)

Fletcher ignored the question. The door popped out with a click. She gestured Matheus inside, the lock resetting as the door shut.

“Subject 162 agitates the others,” she said. “We’re still not sure why.” She pressed a button on the panel by the door. Light flooded the hallway.

“Christ,” Matheus said, shading his eyes. “Warn me first, yeah?”

“Sorry.” Fletcher dimmed the lights. “Is that better?”

“It’s tolerable.”

The containment unit matched the one Matheus had seen earlier. Three cells on either side, with glass fronts. Only the last cell, on the left, held an occupant. Matheus shuffled forward, trying to ignore the calls of
Dead man walking
echoing through his head. Fletcher followed a step behind him. Her heels rapped on the tile floor, reminding Matheus of a Hitchcock movie.

“Quin,” he said, pressing his palms against the glass.

Quin sat in the corner of the cell, left leg bent, foot flat on the bench, the other stretched out before him. One arm rested on his knee, fingers hanging loose and limp. At Matheus’ approach, he tilted his head up, giving him a cool look. He still wore the clothes he’d taken off the man he’d killed.

“You have to use the intercom,” Fletcher said.

“I know,” said Matheus. He cleared his throat, leaning toward the speaker. “Um, hey.”

Quin’s fingers twitched, but his expression didn’t change.

As a teenager, Matheus went on a school trip to the London Zoo. Not a bad way to get out of classes, but the addition of a double hit of acid meant Matheus spent most of the time in the Reptile House, convinced the black mamba stared back at him. He didn’t say anything at the time, but he knew—the snake had marked him as dinner. For days after, Matheus jumped at every shifting shadow. Standing in Quin’s gaze, Matheus had the strongest feeling of déjà vu.

“Are you all right?” he asked, wishing his voice didn’t sound so thin in the sterile air. The edges of the intercom button indented themselves onto his fingertip.

Quin still didn’t move.

“See?” said Fletcher. “No response. At least this one is quiet.” She tapped the glass like a child trying to get the attention of a goldfish. “Let’s—
aah
!”

Fletcher stumbled backward, tottering on her heels before regaining her balance.

From his new position at the glass, Quin grinned at her. His fangs curved over his lower lip.

A visible shudder ran through Fletcher’s frame. Matheus didn’t blame her.

Quin leaned against the side of the cell, crossing his arms. He looked Matheus up and down. Matheus tried not to shudder himself.

“Another ex?” Quin asked, inclining his head toward Fletcher.

Fletcher started. She took a step forward, then hesitated. After a beat, she straightened her spine and walked up to the glass, her hands held behind her back. Her breathing came quick and harsh.

“My sister,” said Matheus.

“You don’t look alike.”

“Stepsister. Her mother married my father.”

“Fascinating,” said Quin. “It’s a regular family reunion.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“It’s talking,” Fletcher said. Her hands twisted around each other.

Quin ignored her.

“I’m the one betrayed and locked in a cell,” he said. “So I think I’ll be as big an ass I want to be.”

“This…isn’t possible.”

“…quidquid ero, Stygiis erumpere nitar ab oris, et tendam gelidas ultor in ora manus. Me vigilans cernes: tacitis ego noctis in umbris excutiam somnos visus adesse tuos. Denique quidquid ages, ante os oculosque volabo et querar, et nulla sede quietus eris. Verbera torta dabunt sonitum, nexaeque colubris, Conscia fumabunt semper ad ora faces. His vivus furiis agitabere, mortuus isdem, et brevior poena vita futura tua est.”

Fletcher glanced at Matheus, her eyebrows drawn together. Unlike him, she’d managed to escape the torturous Latin classes.

“It’s from
Ibis
,” said Matheus. “By Ovid.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like a translation?” Quin asked, grinning his barracuda smile.

“No,” said Matheus before Fletcher could speak.

“It’s very educational,” said Quin.

Fletcher opened her mouth.

Matheus released the intercom button, and stepped between her and the glass. He repressed a yelp as silver skated over skin.

“Fletch, can you give us some space?” he asked.

“Would you like me to unlock the cell as well?”

“I’m chained. What do you think is going to happen? Just go stand by the door or something?”

With a longsuffering sigh, Fletcher moved a total of two feet away.

“Thanks,” said Matheus. “Very helpful.”

“You are not in the position to make complaints,” Fletcher said. “Hurry up and finish.”

“She seems delightful,” said Quin as Matheus turned to face him.

“Stop it,” said Matheus.

“Oh, dear me, am I being rude? So sorry. I’d offer you both some tea, but unfortunately I’m all out of cyanide.”

“Cyanide wouldn’t kill me,” said Matheus.

“I know,” said Quin. “But don’t fret, I’m
very
creative.”

Matheus wished Quin would stop grinning.

“It wasn’t me,” he said.

“And yet, there you are, roaming around with your darling sister.”

“I didn’t know!”

“Bullshit,” said Quin. The word snapped out like a sonic boom speeding after a jet. He stopped grinning.

“I didn’t,” Matheus said. He changed his mind. He wanted the grin back; the alternative held depths much, much worse. Quin had moved past Scary Look #9 straight into uncharted territory. The part of the map marked with sea serpents and islands full of cannibals. “You never said who you were looking for, remember?”

“Apparently, I didn’t need to. Was this Daddy’s plan, or did you come up with it all by yourself?”

“You think I deliberately offered myself up to be murdered?” Matheus asked. “Are you insane? What the hell kind of plan is that? How would I even know you’d turn me and not just dump my corpse in the alley? You contacted me. You asked for my help.”

“Yes,” said Quin slowly. “And wasn’t that convenient? A remarkable coincidence, you being Schneider’s son.”

“It is a coincidence, you jackass!”

“Bullshit.”

“Stop saying that!”

Quin shifted, turning toward the other side of the cell. He rolled his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

“What I don’t understand is why you are here now,” he said. “What else is there you want?”

“I want you to stop being an idiot,” Matheus said. “It’s the same thing I always want.”

“And why that rescue attempt?”

“Will you listen to me?” Matheus shouted.

“Like Zeb listened to you?”

Matheus slammed his hands on the glass.

“I’m not the traitor!” Behind him, he heard Fletcher take a step forward.

Quin tilted his head toward Matheus. Ice smoothed over his features.

Matheus pushed his palms against the slick glass to keep his arms from shaking. He wondered how much force Quin needed to break through. He’d gotten through with a tire iron. Quin had nothing, and still Matheus resisted the urge to pull away. In Quin versus safety glass, Matheus didn’t know which one would win. The continued union of his neck and head relied upon a single piece of glass.

Matheus bit his lower lip. Given the way Quin stared at him, he’d be lucky to escape with just a beheading.

“I didn’t betray you,” Matheus said in a low voice, leaning into the speaker. He had to arch his neck to look at Quin while he spoke. “Just think about it. Please. I know…I know it looks bad, but I didn’t.” He glanced over his shoulder at Fletcher, then edged closer to the intercom. “My father…my father is developing a cure.”

The expression on Quin’s face offered decades of nightmares.

“Is that what Daddy told you?” he said. “Too bad it doesn’t work like that. You don’t get to go back.”

“I didn’t know before!”

“He’ll turn on you, too,” Quin said. “You’ll never be human, Matheus.”

“Jesus.” Matheus rested his forehead on the glass, and closed his eyes. Quin sounded almost kind, soft words soothing the raw edge in his voice. “I’ll try to convince him…maybe you can—”

“No.”

The glass shook with the force of Quin’s strike.

Matheus jumped back, stumbling into Fletcher. He flinched as she grabbed his arm, jerking the silver cuffs across his skin.

“Don’t you
dare
,” Quin yelled, loud enough push the syllables through the glass.

“That’s enough,” said Fletcher. She yanked on Matheus’ arm. “We’re leaving.”

“Wait—Just let me—”

“No, Mattias!”

Matheus stretched, reaching for the intercom. Fletcher slid across the floor after him, her hands still wrapped around his arm.

“I’m sorry,” Matheus said. “I have to try, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Quin, please. Please understand.”

“Mattias!

Quin didn’t move as Fletcher dragged Matheus away.

Matheus twisted his head, keeping Quin’s lean frame in sight as long as possible. With quick jabs, Fletcher unlocked the door, and shoved Matheus into the hall. He slumped against the wall, sliding onto his heels. He bent down, staring at the tiles through the gap between his legs. He heard the door bolt slam home.

“Did you get what you wanted?” Fletcher asked.

“No,” said Matheus. He pushed himself upright, using the wall for balance.

“So the whole thing was a pointless exercise?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Matheus shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Fletcher pulled out a slim phone, and illuminated the display.

“It’s late,” she said.

“Not for me,” said Matheus, and laughed bitterly. “Can you take me back to my room now? These chains are killing me.”

“Of course,” said Fletcher. They walked in silence to the elevator. Another group of guards passed, but Matheus kept his gaze on his feet. The stomp of combat boots and the clank of weaponry disappeared around the corner. When the elevator binged, he shuffled inside. Fletcher’s hand hovered over the third floor button, but she withdrew without pressing it.

“What?” Matheus asked.

Fletcher touched his cheek, dragging her palm down to cup his jawline. Her warmth sank into Matheus’ bones. She tilted his head up and down, side to side, her dark eyes flicking back and forth.

“What?” repeated Matheus.

“Are you gay?” Fletcher asked.

Matheus jerked out of Fletcher’s reach. “Jesus Christ,” he said. “What is it? Is there a little rainbow that appears over my head?”

“You were rather intense, speaking to Subject—him.”

Matheus heard the effort behind the pronoun. He scowled. “My wrists hurt,” he said.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Fletcher blocked the control panel as Matheus reached for the buttons.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe. Am I disqualified for saving now?” Matheus scowled harder, doing his best to summon a portal to the netherworld beneath Fletcher’s feet.

“Of course not.” Fletcher pushed the third-floor button. She stepped back to stand next to Matheus. “However, I’m not sure Father needs to know.”

“You think? I guess I’ll cancel the singing telegram then.”

Stubbles of rough grass dotted the rocky ground, poking through his clothes, blades shaking with tight vibrations as the stars above burnt his skin with cold. The grass extended into icicles, piercing into him and he couldn’t move, couldn’t run away as they rose above him, winding and unwinding into shimmering, icy knots, spaces revealing faces that stared down at him, mouthing words, colors drifting, his father, and Fletcher, and Quin and Bianca and Alistair, all talking at him, drowning him in their silence as he strained to hear them, until the light turned gold and the ice melted in a burst, raining upon him, the sun rising, beautiful and deafening, purple and crimson, streaking orange, warming him, dancing over, under his skin, and he inhaled, pulling the light into his lungs, filling his body, burning more and more until his skin bubbled and blackened, crumbling into fine ash that caught the wind and—

Matheus bolted out of the bed, then doubled over as lightning zigzagged through his body. With a gasp, he landed on his knees. He curled around himself, the carpet like sandpaper on his bare skin. The salt from his tears scored rivulets over his face. Matheus whimpered. The whisper of his clothing boomed and deafened. He folded himself tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. The afterimage of the sun still burned in his retinas.