Vampirates 6: Immortal War (31 page)

“I’m sorry,” Connor said, his own eyes still on the floorboards. “Could we just talk for a bit?”

She didn’t answer, and, after a short wait, he turned to face her. He realized she was out cold. Connor felt a sweep of panic. He had been beside himself with hunger tonight. Had he taken too much blood? They didn’t usually pass out after only a pint.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, leaning closer and taking the girl’s pulse. To his relief, it was still beating, albeit slowly. She’d come back to life soon enough. He decided to wait here until she did—for his sake as much as hers. His own pulse was racing now. The new energy he had drawn from her was fizzing and snapping through him.

What was her name? Had she even told him? Names were of little importance here, especially at the outset of an urgent transaction. But now, seeing her properly for the first time, rather than through the red mist of his hunger, he wished that he’d paid more attention. Noticing the almost dry puncture wounds on her thorax, he drew the sides of her shirt back together to protect her modesty. As he did so, he saw that a tarnished gold necklace hung around her neck. The chain was askew and he reached forward and carefully straightened it. Suspended on the chain was something he first assumed to be a random pattern. Then he saw that it was a name.
Petra
. He smiled.

His attention was diverted by the old clock, ticking on the mantel. The light in this room, like all the others, was meager. Lilith kidded herself it was all in the cause of “mood-lighting,” but more likely it was a matter of simple economics. Connor squinted to read the clock face through the gloom. As he did so, he smiled with wry recognition.

“After midnight,” he said. “You know what that makes it, Petra?” He turned back toward her. “My birthday. Not much to celebrate today, however.”

He gazed at Petra, wishing that she would respond. He experienced another wave of panic and guilt and reached for her wrist again. The pulse was stronger than before. Good. But he was in no doubt now. He’d fed too hard. Just how much
had
he taken to bring her to this state?

He kept hold of her hand, reluctant somehow to let her go. “Of course, I don’t know if birthdays really mean anything
to me anymore,” he mused. “Now that I’m a dhampir, that is. Now that I’m immortal, do birthdays even count? Maybe next year, I won’t even bother marking it.” He paused, aware once more of the ticking of the clock. “Does time have any meaning at all now?” He squeezed Petra’s hand for comfort, but the cool limpness of her hand made him feel lonely and he released it, placing it back on her diaphragm.

“Birthdays are a time for friends,” he said now, eyes seeking out the clock face once more. “I should get back to
The Tiger
. Maybe Jasmine will make a fuss over me.” He smiled at Petra. “Jasmine’s my girl,” he said. “The thing is, she doesn’t know about me. About me being a dhampir, I mean.” He suddenly smiled. “Maybe it’s time I just sat her down and told her. That could be my birthday gift to myself. Jasmine’s a really amazing girl. If anyone would understand, she would. It’d be such a weight off my mind. That really
would
make it a birthday to remember.”

“Birthday? Whose birthday?” Petra’s speech was slightly slurred.

“Petra!” Connor turned to face her and saw life blooming in her eyes once more. It was a huge relief to see that she was all right. She began drawing herself up straight on the chaise.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Some water, maybe?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Well, then.” He stood up. “I think I’d better go. I’ve
taken up enough of your time.” He couldn’t wait to get out of this dingy room. He strode toward the door, then, having second thoughts, returned to the chaise, reached into his pocket, and took out a roll of notes. He placed them in Petra’s pale hand.

“Here’s some extra,” he said. “I may have taken more than I paid for, but Lilith doesn’t need to know, does she?”

Petra smiled softly and shook her head again. “Whose birthday is it?” she asked once more.

“No one that matters,” Connor said, then turned and slipped out through the door.

There was a spring in Darcy Flotsam’s step as she made her way along the passageway. In her hands was an old guitar she had found in the Corridor of Discards. She realized she must have walked past it a hundred times or more but today it had seemed to be calling out to her, winking beneath the light of the butter lamps. The guitar would make the perfect present for Jet now that he was firmly on the road to recovery. It might not be the Fender Strat ’54 he talked about with the fondness of a lost love, but he could certainly make music on this, and, as one musician to another, Darcy felt sure this would be solace enough. She would give it a good cleanup and then surprise him with it when she visited him again that night.

As Darcy turned the corner, she found Grace striding
toward her. It took Darcy only an instant to notice the familiar bag in Grace’s right hand.

“So,” Darcy said. “This time you’re really leaving.”

Grace nodded, pausing before her friend. “You know that I have to.”

Darcy nodded, too, her eyes already wet. “Yes, but weren’t you even going to say good-bye to me?”

Grace placed the bag on the floor and reached out her hand to Darcy. “I was just coming to find you,” she said.

Darcy looked at her askance for a moment, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, Grace. It’s just I’m going to miss you so much. We’ve been through so much together, especially these past few months. You’re the one who’s gotten me through.” Tears began to fall. “It’s selfish, I know, but I just don’t know how strong I am on my own.”

Grace gripped Darcy’s arm tightly and pulled her friend toward her. “You’re so much stronger than you realize,” she said. Then they hugged, holding each other tightly for a time, as if their very lives depended on it. When they finally broke apart, both young women had tears in their eyes.

Darcy, of course, was equipped with a lacy hankie. “I guess I hoped you’d change your mind about leaving,” she said as she blotted away her tears, then passed the hankie over.

“I’ve been torn,” Grace said. “If I had left the other day, I wouldn’t have been here to heal Jacoby or”—her voice dropped lower—“Johnny. I know someone else would
have done the job perfectly well. It’s just that everyone is being pushed to their limits right now. The thing is…” She paused, handing the hankie back to Darcy. “The thing is, my father paid me a visit last night.”

“Sidorio!” Darcy exclaimed. “Here at Sanctuary?”

Grace nodded, shrugging. “It’s no surprise really. He comes and goes as he pleases now. Whatever we may want to believe, his powers only seem to be growing. He knows no bounds.”

“You say he came to see
you
?” Darcy asked.

“Yes.” Grace nodded. “And to bring me this.”

She unzipped the bag and retrieved from within it the canvas, which she held up in front of Darcy.

“Hmm,” Darcy said, clearly none too taken with it. “It’s not my kind of artwork, though I suppose it’s a reasonable likeness of you and Connor.”

“I don’t think I’ll be getting it framed anytime soon,” Grace said, folding it up again and putting it back in her bag. “But the portrait is unimportant, Darcy. You remember the prophecy: that one of us, Connor or me, must die?”

Darcy nodded, shuddering. Of course she remembered that prophecy, though she had hoped never to hear of it again.

“I think…” Grace began. “Or, it would be more accurate to say, I
feel
, that the time is drawing near.”

Darcy’s eyes were riveted to Grace. “Has the book said something to you?”

Grace nodded. “Today is my birthday. Connor and I
turn fifteen today, though to be honest, I feel about a century older.”

“Oh, Grace!” Darcy said. “I wish I’d known. I’d have gotten you a gift. Though I don’t know what exactly.”

Grace smiled. “Well, whatever it was, it would have been better than Sidorio’s. That horrendous painting was his idea of the perfect present.” She shuddered. “Sidorio had to go back to
The Vagabond
because Lola was in labor with their twins. Strange, don’t you think, that a second pair of twins should be born on the very same day as me and Connor?”

“And when the twins are born,” Darcy said, “the end of the war is near—and either you or Connor will…” She could barely get the words out. “One of you will die?”

Grace nodded. “Yes,” she said, her voice a barely discernible whisper. She drew herself together and looked straight into Darcy’s eyes. “I haven’t told Mosh Zu I’m leaving. In fact, we’re barely on speaking terms at the moment.”

“What should I say if he asks about you?” Darcy said.

Grace shrugged. “I was hoping you’d find a way to cover for me,” she said. “Buy me some time. But you can just tell him the truth if you prefer. I’m really past caring what he thinks.” She bit back fresh tears. “Darcy, I’m really scared and I need to get to
The Nocturne
right away.”

Darcy reached out and gripped Grace’s hand. “I can see how frightened you are,” she said. “But have you taken
time to think this through? If you are potentially in danger, isn’t Sanctuary the very safest place for you? Aren’t you placing yourself in far graver danger by leaving?”

Grace’s voice emerged stronger and more determined than she felt. “I have to get to Lorcan,” she said. “You, better than anyone, must understand that.”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Of course, I understand. I’ll do my best to cover for you here.” The two young women hugged again, then Grace stepped back and smiled. “Darcy Flotsam, what exactly are you doing with that guitar?”

“I borrowed it,” Darcy said, grinning. “For Jet. I thought it would raise his spirits to be able to make music again.”

“I see,” Grace said, still smiling through the tears, and, though it was hard, she looked straight into Darcy’s eyes. “I hope things work out between you and Jet,” she said. “I really hope he’s the one you’ve been waiting for.”

Her words awoke fresh alarm in Darcy’s face. “You’re talking as if you’re going away a lot longer than a night or two. Grace, the way you’re talking, it’s as if we’re never—”

Grace lifted her hand. “Don’t say it, Darcy. Please! Just let me go.” She turned and walked along the corridor, and, despite the temptation, she did not glance back once.

In Grace’s mind, the path down the cliff and onto the ambulance boat had grown more and more tortuous, with fresh obstacles arriving at every turn. In reality, it
was straightforward enough to get where she needed to simply by lying. At the gates, she told the guards lie number one. “I’m going to fetch some supplies.” Such was their trust in her that no one objected. Instead, they smiled and opened the gates, wishing her a safe trip. Then she had the good fortune to coincide with an ambulance vehicle about to set off down the mountain and told the second lie. “Mosh Zu has sent me on an important mission. Can you take me down to the harbor?” The crew asked no further questions. They were only too happy to help. At the harbor, she found one of the ambulance boats idling and plucked a third lie from thin air: “I need to get to
The Nocturne
. There’s a badly wounded Nocturnal on board who I’m going to treat.”

So it was that, barely thirty minutes after Grace and Darcy had parted, Grace found herself racing across the sleet-gray ocean, on her way to
The Nocturne
and to Lorcan. It was strange after all this time to find herself traveling in daylight, in the open air, with crew members bustling all around her—albeit at a discreet distance. A shame, perhaps, that it wasn’t better weather so she could appreciate the now alien sensation of the sun on her face. But, in many ways, the dreary day suited her mood. Even the sting of the rain on her cheeks was no trouble to her.