Darkness Becomes Her (11 page)

Daniel handed me the phone. On the fourth ring, Casey picked up. “Sanderson Bail and Bonds, this is Casey.”

I walked to the far wall. Sebastian waited by the door, leaning his back against it, arms crossed over his chest and impatient as hell to leave.

“Casey. It’s me.”

“Jesus Christ, Ari. Where are you? Bruce keeps trying your cell and all he gets is voice mail. We thought you’d be driving back by now.” She paused, and I could picture her—the two lines between her eyebrows deepening with worry, tucking her shoulder-length red hair behind one ear. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. I met someone who knew my mother. She wants me to stay for a few days.
I
want to stay for a few days.”

“Oh. Well …” Her long pause told me I’d completely thrown her. “You know I want this for you, Ari. And I won’t stand in your way if this is what you want. But I am responsible for you. Is she there? Can I speak to her?”

I winced. “Sure. But before you freak out …”
Deep breath.
“I’m in New 2. And I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want me going alone, but I had a lead, and it was just a quick trip and then I met Josephine and …” I paused for air, suddenly not knowing what to say next, only knowing that I’d blown it and lied, lied to the first set of foster parents who actually gave a damn.

Silence on the other end.

Finally Casey’s exhale wafted through the phone. “I guess I had a feeling you might go after finding out about the hospital. Look, I get it, I really do. But you can’t go running off without letting us know where you are. You’re not eighteen yet. Bruce and I, we care what happens to you. I know that’s probably hard to believe sometimes, but—”

“No,” I cut her off. “I know you care. I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

“Well, besides Bruce making you clean the office bathroom and do some sparring, I think we’re okay. You know how he is about hard work making one think. Just … don’t shut us out, okay? It doesn’t solve anything, doesn’t help anything.”

“Okay.”
I’m sorry. So sorry.
Didn’t matter how many times I told her, or told myself, I knew I’d never be able to relate how bad I felt inside.

“I’ve got an appointment in five. Let me talk to this Josephine person.”

Sebastian was right behind me on the stairs, yelling at me to wait, but I didn’t wait. To hell with him.

Anger and humiliation coursed through my blood. Anger at him, at Josephine, and at myself for lying. I was shit. Smelly, stinking shit, but what other kind was there really? Bruce was going to freak out when he found out. And Casey, her disappointment … God, that stung. I’d rather have her scream at me than just accept what I’d done, be understanding, and try to move on. I didn’t deserve it. And the worst part about it, I’d broken their trust.

By the time I burst through the ground-floor door and out into the wet street, I was so mad I could’ve screamed.

A fine drizzle fell. The musicians had retired and the street was empty. Lights from the ground-floor stores of the Pontalba apartments glowed warm in the gray mist, making the area seem totally desolate.

I paced in the middle of the street, grateful for the chill, wondering if the steam coming off me was from body heat or pure, white-hot anger, which I turned on Sebastian. “What the hell are you? And don’t change the fucking subject, or offer one of your vague-ass replies. I’m serious, Sebastian; I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

I waited, hands on hips, watching him as his stiff posture gave way. “My mother was an Arnaud,” he said. “But no matter
what they say, I am more like my father.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “The nine families are divided into three groups. The Cromleys, Hawthornes, and Lamarlieres are witches of great power.” He winced at the word “witches,” looking like he’d rather have his teeth pulled without an ounce of Novocain. He tilted his face to the rain and took one more deep breath. “The Ramseys, Deschanels, and Sinclairs are all some form of demigod or shape-shifter. And the Arnauds, Mandevilles, and Baptistes are what you might call … vampires.”

A slow blink was my only reaction.

The rest happened on the inside, the sink in my stomach, the cold freeze in my veins, and the realization that every word he said was true.

Really. It all fit. People beyond The Rim just laughed and shook their heads at the reports of paranormal activity, at the crazy claims of vampires and ghosts and other sightings in New 2. And me, with my curse. The kids on First Street. Sebastian and his ability to make those two women complete robots …

“You’re a vampire.” I laughed.

Yeah, and you watched a guy disappear into smoke, Ari.

“Half,” he came back, as if there was a huge difference. “My father wasn’t a vampire. He was a Lamarliere. I’m not some three-hundred-year-old pervert who kisses teenage girls, okay? I’m the same age as you. Born just like you.”

He threw his hands up, gave me a look that said,
I know you think I’m crazy
, and then turned and marched down the middle of the street. Raindrops trickled down the side of my face. Ahead of him the French Quarter seemed lost in clouds and mist. Then suddenly he spun around, walking backward for a few steps, throwing his arms wide and shouting in frustration, “Welcome to New 2!”

He was in pain, and I didn’t know why. He turned once more and hunched his shoulders against the drizzle. My heart worked overtime. My body was trembling uncontrollably, from the cold and from his words.

It shouldn’t surprise me. It shouldn’t. Especially after living with my own weirdness, and hearing all the theories and stories that had gone around about the Novem. And the curse. The kids in the Garden District.

What are you going to do, Ari? Run away? Act like you’re all normal and can’t handle weird shit like this? Or stay and cope and figure out what you are?

I paced in the street like a caged lion, back and forth, my eyes on Sebastian’s form blending into the mist. I bit the inside of my cheek until blood hit my tongue and stung some humanity into me, some
realness
. These people still bled. They still died. They still loved, hurt, and wanted to survive. And so did the
doué
, the gifted ones. So did the Novem.

“Sebastian!”

I sprinted down the street.

He walked a few more steps before turning around, the rain coming down hard now. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing or why. But I launched myself into him, wrapping my arms around him and holding on tight.

At first he remained stiff, through shock or anger, I didn’t know, but then he squeezed me back, pulling me even closer, tighter, until his nose was buried against my neck.

Finally, after we were soaked through, he lifted his head and stared down at me, his hands cupping my face. “I thought you’d tell me to fuck off, and you’d leave. I thought every word I spoke was the last time I’d see you.”

“Please. I can deal. Do you have any idea how screwed up I am?”

His crooked smile transformed his face. “Yeah. I’ve got some idea.”

My belly went warm again. Sebastian kissed me, his lips wet from the rain.

“W
E’VE MADE THIS AREA HOME SINCE THE BEGINNING.
W
HEN
the hurricanes came, the families put their differences aside, combined their power, and protected as much of the city as they could. The Vieux Carré. The Garden District. The business district took a pretty big hit, which is why most of it is still in ruins. After it was all over, the heads of each family formed the council and began putting old grudges aside and talking. And once it was obvious the government didn’t have the capacity to rebuild, they pooled their resources and bought the land. The city has been theirs ever since. They control everything—banking, real estate, tourism, trade … everything.”

I listened, sipping on hot tea from a to-go cup as Sebastian
spoke. After the rain had turned heavy, we’d raced to the sidewalk and found a small bookstore and café.

Sebastian’s voice was quiet and his face pale, the gray eyes a stark and silvery contrast against his wet black hair and dark red lips. I could look at him forever. But that was something he’d never,
ever
know.

“There are other things living in this city and the outskirts,” he continued. “The Novem offers refuge to anyone or anything so long as they stick to their laws and don’t draw attention to themselves. Not everyone who lives here is different. Regular people live here too.”

My fingers cradled the hot cup, and my stomach clenched. “So your mom was …”

“A vampire?” he answered with a laugh that sounded like he didn’t believe it himself. “Yeah. And Josephine’s only daughter.”

“I always thought vampires were made, not born. That they couldn’t have kids.”

“That’s what most people think.” He smiled and gave a small shrug. “We don’t exactly see the need to enlighten the outside world. It’s pretty basic. We’re not an entirely separate species or anything; we just branched off the human evolutionary tree a long time ago and evolved differently. You’d be surprised how many branches there are. But yeah, vampires can be made or born. The made ones are called Turned—basically humans turned into vampires.”

“And the kids?”

“Kids are pretty rare. It’s not easy for vamps to have children, but it happens sometimes. The kids grow up normally, but when they reach adulthood, their bodies stop aging. That’s why most Born vamps look to be in their early twenties.” He went to say more, but then hesitated and shook his head. “You sure you want to know all this?”

“Yeah. It’s interesting.” I gave a small laugh. “In a mind-blowing sort of way.”

“Just be glad you didn’t have to take Mr. Fry’s molecular biology class, wherein all things human and
doué
are explained, all the way down to the genome level.”

“Total snooze-fest, huh?”

“Yeah.” He grew quiet.

I bit my lip, thinking over Sebastian’s words for a moment. “But you’re only half vampire?”

He propped his elbows on the table and leaned in. “I’ll give you the short version. You’ve got full-blooded children, who are called Bloodborn. They’re seen as nobility; they’re the most powerful and the most annoying. I’m talking egos the size of Mount Everest. The children of a human and a vampire are called Dayborn. There are different traits among them, different strengths and weaknesses. Dayborns don’t need blood to survive like Bloodborns do. Though there is a moment as they hit
adulthood where the urge is there. If they take blood,” he added, shrugging, “they’ll need it from then on just like a Bloodborn would.”

“Do they usually? Take it, I mean?”

Sebastian nodded, his expression going dim and the volume of his words lowering. “Blood is hard to resist for any vampire, no matter their birth.”

The weight of his admission sat between us for a long moment. I cleared my throat. “And that’s what you are, Day-born?”

He glanced away. His Adam’s apple moved with a tight swallow. “No. My other half is Lamarliere. So not quite human, either. A witch’s DNA is slightly different, just like vamps and shifters, but they only tend to pass their power down maternally, through the female line.”

“So … that would make you what, then?”

“I’ve always been partial to freak of nature.”

“Ha,” I shot back, smiling. “That one’s mine.”

He dipped his head, as though giving up his claim on the title. “Seriously, though, when I was little, my dad snuck me to a hidden library in the Presbytère, one that the students never see. One that houses some
really
old shit. He took out this stone tablet and said it told the story of a child like me. My dad called her Mistborn.”

“Mistborn,” I repeated.

“Yeah. Because mist hides what’s inside. And that’s sort of how I am. A big question mark, see? No one can say what traits, curses, or needs I’ll have until they manifest themselves. Some have needed blood to survive. Some never need it. Some can control it.”

“Oh.” Warmth crept up my neck, and I shifted in my chair. “So, um, which type are you?”

He shook his head and then stared beyond my shoulder, his gaze unreadable. “I don’t know. No telling if or when the need will strike.”

Well, that was comforting. My grip on the cup increased. “How many of you are there?”

He held up both hands and sat back. “You’re looking at it.”

“One. You’re the only one.”

“In North America, yeah. There are a couple more in the world, I think. Like I said,
we
don’t happen very often.”

“But what about Crank? She’s your sister.”

“Jenna isn’t my sister, Ari. Not by blood.”

“But …” I frowned.

He paused, thinking of the right words. “This place kind of makes you band together. You find others like yourself, others you know you can trust with your life, and you become family. That’s what Violet is learning. That’s why she stays now more than she goes.” He shrugged, seeming uncomfortable with sharing so much
and showing that he had a heart. “Jenna lost her parents and then her brother. It damaged her a little. When I found her, she was still sitting by his body. She thought I was him, and she went with me. I never tried to reason with her. Never saw the need to hurt her more. This is how she copes. She makes up things.”