“I couldn’t leave a part of you behind. Secondly, here. It’s dated more than a week ago, but we were busy.” Matteo handed her a newspaper and waited for her to read the headline.
LIFE WAS LIKE A CUP OF TEA: THE END WAS INEVITABLE.
It was about Spindrift. About the Casimirs who ran it, and what a shame it was that an unattended teapot had caused the fire that brought it tumbling down.
Arthie read it again. An unattended teapot.Thatwas the story White Roaring would believe? That Arthie and her crew were reckless enough to let a teapot bubble over and burn down an establishment she had spent years nurturing? She read it a second time, each pass clearing the dust and grime to unearth the girl who she was on the date of the paper, rousing her anger and need for vengeance from a slumber until her mind was as clear as if she were a compass finally landing true.
“Inevitable,” she scoffed. If Arthie Casimir wrote for the press, she’d have fired herself for such a headline. One, it was a grotty way to speak of her prestigious tearoom. Two, this was White Roaring. The undead removed any such permanence from endings.
Spindrift would rise from the grave, just as everything the Ram stood for became buried in another. Arthie swore upon it. With a sigh, she tossed the newspaper aside, letting it seesaw to the rug knotted in varying shades of crimson.
It settled with a whisper of a rustle as resolution settled in her unbeating heart. If only she could show Jin, to grouse and mock it with him.
“Thirdly,” he said, and held out a glass. A flute, slender and crystal clear, filled to the brim with blood.
She looked away with a swallow. She hated that her stomach growled at the sight of it. She hated that she wanted it.Neededit.
“Drinking for your sustenance is not the same as what happened on that boat,” he said, because he understood. He knew.
It tasted the same. Arthie hadn’tdrunkfrom any of the poor souls she had slaughtered, but their blood had spattered. It found its way into her mouth, coated her lips. Arthie knew it was sustenance; she knew it was as simple as needing to fuel herself, but she’d lost a part of herself that day—and after, in Penn’s own house. She’d committed acts that defied her own logic, that ignored her own wishes. She had not been in control during those moments, and Arthie loathed not being in control.
“You drank from me,” he added softly. “This is no different.”
“But it was, and you know that,” Arthie said, flicking her eyes to his. She drank in the heat of the moment, in the throes of death. She stared at his extended hand and the glistening glass. She spoke her next words with a promise. “One day.”
He nodded, setting the glass on the cart beside him. “I would offer you coconut water, but I have none.”
She would survive. She was in control now, and if she refused to drink blood, to cling desperately to the shriveling shreds of her humanity, then so be it.
Someone banged their fist on the door. “Andoni!”
With a miffed expression, Matteo rose and opened it. “What?”
Arthie could see the Athereum hall, the wallpaper and the lacquered wood. It was hard not to be reminded of Penn wherever she looked. Framed in the doorway was a vampire, silver-haired and tall.
Sidharth. One of Penn’s closest friends.
He stepped inside without invitation, his grin overshadowed by the havoc in his dark gaze. “Arthie Casimir, you live!”
“Did you expect otherwise?” Arthie asked.
Sidharth sank into the armchair with a sigh. “Never. We brown-skinned folk are a tough bunch.”
“Why are you here?” Matteo asked, offering no niceties of his own. “She’s still recovering.”
“I know,” Sidharth said, looking as though he’d missed several nights of sleep, and vampires didn’t even need sleep. “It’s wretched. The streets are full of Horned Guard. The riots started badly enough, now it looks like the entire city is out there, and we’ve just learned it’s not only because of the press massacre. Humans are turning up missing too.”
“I wish I could summon surprise,” Matteo said.
Sidharth nodded. “As of yesterday. Of all the years for Penn to die.”
He spoke the words callously, but Arthie caught the crack in his voice at the end.
Matteo walked to Sidharth’s side and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “He wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to take the mantle.”
“You’re head now?” Arthie asked.
Sidharth nodded wearily.
