“Hey, want to hear a joke, Charlie?” Drew asks abruptly.
I swallow a ball of pain lodged in my throat. “A… a joke?”
“Yeah, you didn’t know? I tell the best jokes. So, okay, why don’t vampires make good artists?”
How many seconds had it been since the kitsune pulled that fucking trigger? I try to focus on the air going in and out of my lungs. Drew taps my knee with his free hand, an obvious bid for attention, and I look up at him through my lashes, unable to hide a flash of annoyance. “Yes?” I say through my teeth. Am I even halfway through the sixty seconds?
“Fine, I’ll say it again. Because you clearly weren’t paying attention the first time. Why is it, Charlie Travesty, that vampires don’t make good artists?”
It feels like acid is burning through every layer in my neck. “Considering Monet was a distant cousin to the Vampire King, this joke is off to a wildly horrible start.”
“Because they always like to draw blood,” Drew concludes, ignoring this. A bizarre sound bursts from me, and I think I meant it to be laughter.
A second later, Hideshi removes the gun, and my relief is so profound that I also let out a whimper.
It takes a moment to realize that I’m clutching Drew’s hand. Slowly, I loosen my grip. I keep holding on, though. Because at this moment, I’m terrified that Drew is the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart. When Hideshi does something to the tattoo gun that makes it open, then close around my wrist, I go rigid again. “Relax,” the kitsune says sharply, dark eyes flashing. “If you’re tense, it’ll hurt more.”
As I struggle to obey, Drew taps my nose, drawing my attention back to him. The moment our eyes meet he asks, “Why couldn’t Dracula’s wife sleep?”
But his jokes aren’t enough to distract me. Maybe the wrist mark is more painful because of the bone—all I know is that my entire arm is on fire. I turn away from Hideshi and Drew, scraping at my reserves of endurance to hold back an agonized scream. Drew says something that I don’t hear. There’s only the pain, the spots of color in my vision, the inferno spreading through me. Sixty seconds has never felt so long.
Finished at last, the needles retreat and the kitsune’s warm presence retreats. Visibly shaking, I turn on the cushion. I can’t stop myself from glancing down and looking at the new bands encircling my wrist. Do I look as drained as I feel? Drew offers an encouraging squeeze before pulling his hand away. Without a word to either of us, Hideshi removes his gloves and tucks the tattoo gun away into the leather bag.
“Oh, leaving already?” Ada asks him, reappearing with a teapot in hand. “I was just about to poison your tea.”
Hideshi just gives her a dead-eyed stare in response, and as I grit my teeth through the lingering pain, I wonder if they knew each other before this. “Are you okay to stand?” Drew murmurs, helping me up anyway. Hideshi quits the room without another word.
I take a breath—it feels like the millionth time I’ve done that already, since waking—and meet the human’s violet-colored gaze. “You’ll be there today? At our sector?”
He gives me a quiet sort of smile and squeezes my hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Ada breezes past, now holding a tea mug and a plate of toast. Once again, the cat is right on her heels, batting at them every step of the way. Ada pauses in the doorway and fixes her gaze on the boy beside me. “Don’t be a hero and get yourself killed,” she says to him abruptly, her grip tightening on the plate. Her eyes flick towards me and, just like that, her meaning becomes clear.
And if there was any doubt, Ada’s next words make any misunderstanding impossible. “If you need a good lay, I know an excellent brothel,” she adds.
Ada doesn’t spare me another glance as she glides into the dining room. I stare after her, feeling more curious than hurt—I grew up in a nest of vipers who made it a form of entertainment to be cruel. How do I know this creature? Something about her is so familiar…
Drew doesn’t seem bothered by Ada’s harsh words, either, and winks at me when she’s out of sight. “Thanks for the advice, doll.”
With that, he inclines his head toward the front door in a silent question. Are you ready?
All I can manage in return is a tight smile. Drew gives me a knowing grin before he backs out of the parlor and strides to the door. Strangely enough, in that moment, he reminds me of Cain. Though the two of them couldn’t be more different, they have the same walk. The same confidence. The same certainty of their place in this world. I envy that.
A cool breeze kisses my skin, then, coaxing me from my thoughts. The whisper of air grants a moment of reprieve from the throbbing pain. I note that, for once, it’s not raining. Drew stands on the porch, facing me, an expectant curve to his lips. I finally send an answer back with my eyes. Ready. Sort of. Maybe.
Why can’t I take that first step?
“Hey, Drew?” I venture, gripping the edge of the doorway with white fingers.
He faces me again, having turned to give someone—probably Nina—a reassuring wave. Even now, there’s no impatience in his eyes. He looks up at me from the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah?”
“Why couldn’t Dracula’s wife sleep?” I blurt.
Drew Hayes rewards me with a warm, beautiful smile. His hair lifts in another breeze. “Why, she couldn’t sleep because of that old bastard’s coffin!”
The joke doesn’t make me laugh, but I feel the start of one, glowing within my chest like a faint light. The pain emanating from the fresh slave marks seems to abate, just a little.
After a moment, Drew cocks his head. The movement reminds me of last night, when we first met. It’s another way he speaks without actually saying anything out loud. What are you waiting for?
This time, I don’t give myself another chance to rethink it.
In the next breath, I step out after my new friend, feeling terrifyingly unprepared to begin our night in the shadow world beneath New Ve.
Chapter Five
As we step into the twilight, the stars readying for another night of shining, I turn my face away from Drew to hide a wince as the tattoos throb. Clouds leave my mouth with every inhale and exhale. A garbage truck rolls past in a burst of sound, off to begin its evening route. The sun has gone down, but its lifeblood still seeps across the horizon. The sky is a stunning blend of blues, wisps of clouds in some places and clusters of faint stars in others.
But I barely see any of it as we walk. All I can think about is the new slave marks on my body. They’re hot and cold at the same time, two burning spots. Is this what getting stabbed feels like?
Drew says my name, and I turn to look at him. Angry tears have gathered in my eyes, and now they blur his solemn expression. “I’m okay,” I tell him. The words sound weak, even to my own ears. I swallow and try again. “Or at least I will be. Maybe.”
I wait for him to respond. Instead, Drew bows his head, drawing my gaze to his own tattoo. The mark is obviously older than mine, the numbers dull and faded. Oblivious to my scrutiny, Drew’s chin presses against his chest and his expression is thoughtful.
We pass the side of a building, its brick side covered in what appear to be anti-vampire flyers. Kill them with milk thistle! Then, farther down, a bible verse. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Ephesians 6:12.