Lailah (The Styclar Saga) (28 page)

“Listen, they don’t take Visa here! Pick some bits up for yourself for dinner, and anything else that takes your fancy, love.”

“Ahem!” Brooke huffed as I reluctantly took the paper from Ruadhan.

He handed her some cash, and she snatched it out of his hand so quickly a passerby might have thought it was a magic trick. Jonah had money; I’d seen him cleverly hit an ATM at the airport. I was starting to think I should have drawn some from the card Gabriel had given me. It was bad enough that I felt financially indebted to Gabriel; now I could add Ruadhan to that list. Fingering the notes in my hand, I felt awkward and I frowned knowing full well that he wouldn’t let me hand them back. Money that was not carefully earmarked for absolute essentials was not something I was used to possessing. Every penny I had ever earned had been spent with caution. I was not in the slightest bit comfortable being given money for nothing, and I was even less happy at being encouraged to spend it frivolously.

“Don’t you want to look around the cathedral?” Jonah asked, turning toward Ruadhan and cutting off my train of thought. He pointed in the direction of the grand building in the distance.

“I wouldn’t mind taking a look, in a little while,” he replied.

Jonah’s expression gave nothing away. I couldn’t help but think he wanted to snatch a few minutes on his own with me, but then I could be wrong.

We began traipsing around the market stalls. It didn’t take Brooke long to realize that this was not her type of shopping; there were no designer clothes anywhere to be seen. The only fabric on offer seemed to be that of 1970s-style vinyl tablecloths.

The market was alive and bustling with locals and tourists alike. We walked through the food section first. The meat counters made me want to gag; freshly slaughtered and nothing like what you’d find in the supermarket. As the coppery smell of blood drifted over me, I looked to my Vampire companions, anxious for a moment that the scent might have caused a reaction. Catching Jonah’s eye first, I was relieved to see that his irises were still hazel in color, and he tilted his head curiously at me in reply.

“Problem?” he asked as we continued to stroll.

“No. I mean, are you okay?” I said, darting my gaze between him and the meat dangling from the steel hooks.

“Please—”
he sneered, stopping. “Dead animal blood? Doesn’t work like that. Sorry, beautiful. Gotta be fresh, from the veins of a human whose heart is still beating.”

“Oh,” I said thoughtfully.

Picking up his pace again, he added, “Besides, you eat with your eyes. I need to like what I see first.” Jonah winked at me.

I wasn’t sure what to make of that, so I shrugged it off.

We moved on swiftly, eventually coming to a stop at a bread stand, where I bought a baguette and a couple of croissants. I stood in line to purchase some brie from the cheese stand.

We’d only been shopping for fifteen minutes and already Brooke was getting agitated. “Man, this place sucks! You’d think we’d gone back in time forty years. Oh, jeez, look at that stand! Old women’s nylon negligees! Ugh!”

I think she actually stamped her feet on the ground.

Ruadhan rejoined us, having done his perimeter check.

“We good?” Jonah asked.

“Aye, all tourists spilling out of the coffee shops. It’s safe.”

Apologizing to the Frenchman who was attempting to sell me a window-washing service, I joined the conversation. “No one knows we’re here. If they did, they would have hit the house by now,” I pointed out.

Ruadhan nodded.

“So, Ruadhan, go and see your cathedral. Market hopping is no place for a man.” I winked at him; I’m not sure why. Spending too much time with Jonah lately perhaps.

He considered my proposal for a few moments before agreeing. “You’ll stay with Brooke and Jonah, you won’t separate. Your word?”

“I promise, now go! We’ll come and find you when we’re done.”

“Jonah, make sure you take the little love to see the Maison des Consuls. The rafters are carved with some amazing portrayals of animals, monsters, all sorts! You can’t come here without seeing them. It’s just around the corner there.” Ruadhan gestured like a proper Irishman, giving directions that weren’t necessary.

His enthusiasm was genuine; I could tell he loved places like this, steeped in history and culture. He was in his element.

Before finally leaving, Ruadhan took Jonah off for a conversation, pointing at various points in the square—exit points, I imagined.

“Do you want to get a coffee or something before we drag ourselves around the rest of this dump?” Brooke was disheartened; it was obvious by the very fact that she was prepared to let me stop for a drink.

A few minutes later, the three of us were fighting for an outside table at one of the many overcrowded patisseries looking onto the market. Jonah ordered us all a coffee, though I would be the only one actually consuming the caffeine.

“Well, this is a total bust!” Brooke spat angrily as I sipped my latte.

“What do you think are the chances of Ruadhan letting us go up to Paris for the day to do some real shopping?”

“Not gonna happen,” Jonah said.

I looked out at the congested stalls and walkways, which were jazzed up by green and red holiday tinsel, brightening an otherwise drab, graying backdrop. As Brooke mounted a protest, I watched Jonah’s attention fall away from her, and from me. His eyes were scanning the market, and his body suddenly tensed. The checked tablecloth edged away from me as he dug his fingers down, pulling at it.

“Jonah?”

Nearly knocking his chair over, he was suddenly on his feet, his eyes tracing the pavement below. The Frenchman sitting behind him mumbled something; you didn’t need to speak the language to understand that Jonah jolting the back of his chair had irritated him.

“Stay here, don’t move. Brooke!”

“What?” she replied, oblivious to Jonah’s urgency.

“I said don’t move!” He bolted from the table and I lost him in the crowds within a matter of seconds.

“What’s his deal?” She was annoyed that he’d cut off her objections.

“I’m not sure.…”

I was trying to work out what had caught his attention when a looming darkness seemed to stretch itself over me. “You know what, I think we should maybe go and find Ruadhan.”

I got up and Brooke followed suit.

“Hang on, we need to go pay. Wait here.” She was up and in the shop before I had a chance to change her mind.

The moment she was gone, a haggard old woman appeared in front of me some distance away, gesturing at me to come to her. I hesitated and she willed me on again, more urgently this time. I could stay and wait for Brooke, or I could go and see what she wanted. She was human, I could tell. In her eighties and with a hunched back, she wouldn’t be able to harm me, so I ventured onto the cobbles; but as I neared she moved through the crowd. I called after her, but she just kept walking. So I followed. For an old woman, she walked fast. I briefly lost her among the many shoppers, but as I rose to my tiptoes, I found her fidgeting awkwardly underneath a sign for La Maison des Consuls. Well, at least I would keep my promise to Ruadhan of visiting the Council House; I’d accidentally broken the first one I’d made him.

As I approached, it seemed as though it was the one place in the square that no one else occupied. Drawing near to the old woman, the air stung me with its frost. And maybe it was because of the arches, but it looked darker than the open-air market.

As I reached her, the sound of a busker filled my ears. He was playing a violin of sorts; a sad and desperate tune freed itself from the strings across which his bow glided. Hunched over, the old woman grabbed my hands in her papery palms, and her yellowing, unclipped fingernails dug into my skin. Her odor was drenched in death; the stench was like rotten eggs and spoiled milk all tangled together, permeating my tongue. It was nauseating.

She spoke in French, not stopping for breath.

“Madame, I don’t understand. I never learned how to speak French!”

I wanted to cover my nose and mouth, but she still had my hands held captive in her own wart-infested grip.

Finally she let go of my hands and threw her own up in the air in annoyance. She reached inside her old moth-eaten cardigan and pulled out a velvet pouch, which she dangled in front of my face.

She spoke again in French and I shook my head.

In the end, she pushed the pouch against my chest and pointed her finger past me. “De-a-meo-n! De-a-meo-n!” Shouting in broken English, she knocked me as she scurried past.

I watched her leave, then turned my head back to where she had signaled; there was no one there. Scanning the rafters above me, I jumped as the garish carvings of deformed faces stared down, as though they were watching me.

I opened the pouch. A thick gold-banded ring with a coat of arms etched into the center dropped into my hand. A swan, with a castle above it, glowered at me. It took a moment, but I remembered it. I had seen it before. As I ran my finger along the curve, I felt dizzy. Stumbling forward, I found myself on the ground. The disfigured faces were screaming down at me, adding to my panic.

I lost myself. I was in my tunnel and images swirled and danced across my vision. Moments passed and eventually one came into focus.

A boy, maybe ten years old, was playing in a field. His long, browny-blond hair whipped past his face as he ran through the thick green grass. As I followed him I saw a young girl the same age, with blond curls down past her waist, making chase. As she caught up with him, they toppled to the floor, playing. It took me longer than it should to see that the young girl was, in fact, me. I was startled; I had never seen myself so young.

Then the summer disappeared, replaced by winter. Only now the boy and I were older, maybe fourteen. It was nighttime and we were snacking outside of a barn, the same barn in which I had seen myself with Gabriel playing chess.

Sitting with our backs against the wall, sharing a blanket, the boy was pointing up at the night’s sky toward the stars. I tugged the blanket away from him and he punched me playfully on the shoulder and we rolled around the floor giggling. He was my friend.

The scene was replaced by a series of still images depicting my childhood—our childhood.

Finally it rested on an image of him, older, maybe sixteen. I watched us as he read to me, his face partially hidden by the book. His stallion grazed on the land behind him. I had to look past him to see a familiar mare—pure white—lying on the ground: Uri. Moving the book from his face and placing it down beside him, he shuffled his hand in his pocket. The white of his flared cuffs emphasized his tanned skin. He produced a ring. It was my ring. The gem gleamed against the rays of the sun, which were cascading in strips. As he gently slid it down my finger, his own ring—a thick gold band with the crest of a swan and castle—came into focus. It was the same ring I was holding now.

Maybe my body jolting stopped the image, maybe it was my rising emotions, but it popped and dispersed. Instead, I watched the boy sob behind a dense green thicket. I strained to see what he was watching, what was upsetting him so much, and then I saw it: Gabriel and me picnicking, playing chess, laughing and smiling.

No!

I think I shouted it to myself. Either way they were gone. We were all gone.

I was back on the cobbles, my palms sweaty, causing my grip to fail as I tried to grapple to my knees.

For a second I thought it was one of the faces from above that petrified me, but he, although much like a statue, was living and he was standing right in front of me.

This time I didn’t have to consider it. The Vampire who came nose-to-nose with me when Jonah and I had come under attack; the same one I saw leaving Eligio and his clan; the very same Vampire who approached me in the airport.

He was once my fiancé.

Though his eyes now blazed with flames of red, and though his skin had changed to a porcelain milky white, they were one and the same. Only he had been human—mortal, when I had known him before—and now he was a Vampire.

Remaining poised, anger filled his expression. He knelt next to me and pulled my necklace out from under my blouse, cupping my ring. Tugging it toward him, the air rippled and the sound of the fiddler’s sad song faded into nothingness. Time was suspending itself and as it did, I felt the tug of the chain once more. But this time I was back in the barn and he was yanking it angrily away from my neck. I wasn’t watching; I was reliving.

The light at the entrance couldn’t have seemed farther away as I lurched forward, turning my back to him. But he pulled me backward, twisting me around to face him. I met the same eyes, only they belonged to him when he had been human. Streaming furious tears, his face flushed. He looked desperate. Gently I exerted some force against his shoulders, pushing him away, though I was hardly in control; I was merely trapped inside my body, my actions, and my choices in that pocket of time.

My legs scrambled, catching the inside of my underskirt, as I attempted to flee. The smell of the damp hay and the once familiar scent of horses filled me.

That’s when it happened: a deadly blow to the back of my skull. I heard the crack as I fell to the floor. I blinked my eyes so fast that my eyelashes were getting tangled up and he was there, lifting me up. Pure horror and regret lined his brow and he was shouting. Though it was muted, his lips shaped my name over and over again. Casting my eyes away from him, I noticed blood pooling from my body; it spilled down the sloping ground toward the entrance.

So this was how I had died.

There was no pain. I couldn’t feel any of it. Gabriel’s name floated around my mind; I must have thought of him in my final seconds.

Before everything fell into darkness—before I stopped breathing—the image became concave and popped.

I found myself breathing the same air as the Vampire again as he considered my gem sitting in his hand. The chords of the violin filtered back into my hearing, though they were slow, as though they were being sieved.

Automatically, I grabbed the back of my head. Crimson blood trickled through the lines in the palms of my hands.