Silence: Part Two of Echoes & Silence (11 page)

A shiver went up my spine. Someone was in here, while I was bathing, naked, in the bathroom, and I didn’t know.

My eyes shifted to the lock on the door as I walked to the bed and picked up the pyjamas. They practically melted around my fingers—the silk so soft and fine it was actually warm to touch. I smoothed the top gently down my face, reaching for the folded paper beside them:

Amara, or perhaps I should call you Ara, as you seem to prefer,

You will find, for your convenience, the top drawer in the chest by the door has been cleared out and laid with some clothes that I think will be to your liking. I have also taken the liberty of choosing some music for you. You will find an iPod and, as requested, headphones, in the nightstand. I will send your personally appointed handmaid to your room at precisely six-thirty pm with supper. Should anything not be to your liking, ring the bell on the bookshelf beside the bed and Fanny will come to your service.

I will be out of the castle until tomorrow morning, but I trust we can enjoy breakfast together.

And he signed it with “Drake”. Not “Uncle Drake”, like his previous communications.

I folded the letter and laid it back on the bed, then slipped my still-partially wet feet into the legs of the silk bottoms and pulled them up to my belly. I still wasn’t very round for how far along I was, but these pants had clearly been made for someone with a belly and a small bum. And the top, as I slipped my arms and then head through, not only felt like a baby’s face against powdered skin, it fit perfectly over Bump, giving me plenty of room to move freely.

Once I killed Drake and took over his faction of the monarchy, these pyjamas would be coming with me.

I wrapped my towel around my hair and wrung it out a few times on the way back to the bathroom, then tossed the towel in the empty bath and headed back out to find the iPod.

Beside the bed, in a nook that looked like it was once a doorway, was the bookshelf where Drake said I’d find the bell. It was also marvellously stocked with antique hardbacks that, in any other situation, I wouldn’t even dream of touching for fear I might damage a part of history. But, boredom and loneliness called for a good read.

Then again, I decided, drawing my hand back, it looked as though the books had fused themselves to the shelves, becoming a part of the dark wood—as if they might not come out when tugged. So, perhaps I’d just leave them alone.

I opened the nightstand drawer, found the iPod and headphones, and climbed up onto the newly made bed with a little leap. The mattress felt softer than it was when I touched it before and clearly not as ancient as everything else in here. My bottom sunk right down into the lush feather quilt until I tipped backward. Deciding to just go with it, I landed with my hair and arms sprawled out in the comfort of a place David used to sleep—before he met me. It fascinated me in an odd way to think he lived here before he was who he is today. I’d heard plenty of stories about how he changed after meeting me, but what could have been so different about him before. Surely he had to have had some resemblance to the man he is now.

With that thought, my determination to find those journals renewed. I left the iPod on the bed and rolled onto my side, slipping my feet onto the ground before standing up.

I knew they’d be well hidden. I knew he would never want me to read them—it was the ultimate invasion of privacy. But too bad. I would love for him to come in here and stop me. Besides, he changed, right? So what could it hurt to read about a man he no longer was?

Okay, I thought, as I ducked and leaned to read spines on books around the room, I’m justifying the invasion of privacy. But what else am I supposed to do tonight? I need to wait until everyone is asleep so I can locate Jason’s old room and get his journals, so that hopefully his past-self can help me figure out how to use my telekinesis for more than just pie throwing. I mean, I’m sure apple pie can be brutal when made by the wrong person, namely me, but not enough to kill a vampire. Kill some tastebuds, maybe.

As I sunk onto my hands and knees and angled my head to look under the bed, the chamber door swung open again and a petite young girl with mousy brown hair stepped in, carrying a tray of something that smelled delicious.

“Hello,” I said, springing to my feet with a little too much enthusiasm.

She stopped dead and her pale blue eyes moved up quickly to my face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

I offered a friendly smile. “I’m invisible usually,” I joked. She didn’t get it.

“I’m Fanny.” She curtsied, then cast her eyes downward and rested the tray on the chest of drawers. “I guess this supper must be for you, Miss. I hope it’s to your liking.”

“What is it?”

“Beef and red wine casserole with garlic potatoes.”

“That sounds great.”

“You can sit down,” she offered. “I’ll bring it to you.”

I sat on the armchair by the fire and Fanny positioned the tray on the small round table.

“Is that jelly?” I asked.

“Jelly?” She frowned at the tray then at me.

“Oh, right… um, jello?” I corrected, pointing to the bowl of dessert.

“It is, Miss. Do you not like jello?”

“Not really. You can have it if you like.”

“I…” She shuffled her feet nervously. “Vampires don’t eat human food so often, Miss—”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” I shook my head at myself, wondering then how offended she’d be if I asked for a bite out of her arm. Human food wasn’t really going to satisfy the beast in me tonight.

“I’ll just take this back down the kitchen for you.” She picked up the bowl of wobbly red stuff. “Can I bring you something else for dessert?”

“Do you have chocolate down there?”

Fanny smiled. “We do. I’ll be back soon.”

“Thanks.” I leaned slightly back to get comfortable and took the plate with me, resting it on top of Bump. I’d seen my mum do it hundreds of times when she was pregnant with Harry, except her bump was big enough to do it without the plate tipping downward. I was starting to think mine would never get that big.

Bump and I enjoyed the succulent beef as it broke apart in my mouth and filled my stomach, while the fire crackled pleasantly in front of me, pinching my face with its persistent heat. I finished quickly and laid the plate aside, looking then at the chair opposite me, imagining David sitting here—as he might have if he’d turned me into a vampire and brought me here to live among his Set. So many things would’ve been different. He would’ve been different. Maybe he’d have quit being a Set leader. Maybe he’d have brought me back here and continued his duty—talking to me at the end of the day about the torture he inflicted on his accused.

I could imagine this whole life we might have had, and none of it would’ve been bad. As long as we were together. I might have sat here on my first night and asked him about the painting—about who painted it and what that image of a house by a lake meant to him. I gathered, from a very small fragment of memory, that the little house with the tilted picket fence was the home he and Jason grew up in with Arietta before she died. The place she died. The place David found her that day. Perhaps Jason painted it to bring David fond memories of better times. Perhaps he painted it to taunt him. I knew very little of the complexities of their relationship after the death of Rochelle and before the revenge. But I also knew they weren’t always hateful. I knew they loved each other despite everything.

The clock on the mantle kept time for my wandering thoughts, and the deeper in thought I travelled, the heavier my eyelids became. They drooped and opened and fluttered as I fought off the call for sleep, but the warmth of the fire mixed with the excitement of the day and they both took my hand and led me away from the room and into the world of dreams.

***

An icy cold breath expanded my lungs. I jolted forward in the darkness, my heart racing, the echo of a shrill scream ringing in my ears before… nothing. Silence. Dead silence.

The fire had burned out and the nastiness of winter sneaking over autumn numbed the tips of my toes. Beside me the tray of leftovers had gone stale and stuck to the plate, and the last candle in the iron chandelier clung for life, raging and squirming as the flame touched the wax.

I scrambled up out of the chair and tiptoed to the door, placing my ear against it. All sounded perfectly still out there. No footsteps, no running, no swords.

No rescue.

Those were not screams from sleeping vampires, surprised by a sudden attack.

A part of me, I realised as I stepped away from the door, kind of wished David had stormed the castle to rescue me. That would ruin my plan to kill Drake, of course, but it would just be so good to hold him right now. After everything that happened with Arthur, I wasn’t sure if the fear in my gut was because I had to kill Drake and just felt a little out of my league, or if maybe a part of me feared that David would never touch me again. I needed reassurance. I needed it from him.

Across the room, the windows had blown
open
somehow, the curtains wavering apart every now and then with the cool breeze. And in the air the smell of mystery and death tarnished the sweet apple and cinnamon scent of fall.

Drake said the vampires here kill in the daylight hours as well as night, but old habits clearly meant that most of that killing occurred at night.

My mind did a quick count of the number of missing persons per year that were ever actually found—whose killers were ever actually charged—and a new agenda fuelled my blood. As soon as my people reinstated me, I would force the Pledge down everyone’s throats. Like it or not. No more killing.

Then again, that would never stick. As much as boys would be boys, the same could be said for vampires.

Perhaps we could come to some arrangement with the human government: they could sell us their terrorists and murderers and child molesters and we could do with them what we pleased.

I nodded, satisfied with that little arrangement. That way, everyone would be happy—vampires could kill; good humans would be safe, and we could rid the world of the bad people, not the innocent.

***

Drake sent a note to my room on a silver tray with a butler I hadn’t yet seen. He requested my presence at breakfast and asked that I dress for a meal with the King.

I screwed the note up, tossed it onto the fire and put some jeans on.

He needed to be reminded that
he
was dining with the
Queen
. The
only
true monarch.

“Amara.” He opened his arms, rising from his seat as I descended into the dining hall.

It was a grand space, with a double staircase, two chandeliers hanging above a long wooden table, a fireplace on each end, and large paintings of evil-looking men. One of them was Arthur, and another a man that I assumed, from the resemblance, might have been a family member. Maybe even his father.

“Perhaps you did not understand my request.” He appraised my attire.

I avoided his welcoming embrace and walked right past him. “Oh, I understood it all right. And you need to understand that I’m a guest here. Not a prisoner, and I’ll wear what I want.”

His jaw tightened as he sat down, his hateful eyes betraying the smile on his face. “Then perhaps I should clear out your wardrobe and remove all unsatisfactory garments.”

“You could do that,” I said, laying a napkin on my lap. “But then I’ll find your room and clear out all your stupid capes.”

“It’s a cloak.” He sat a little taller and ran a thumb down the shoulder of his gown. “And I like my cloaks.”

“I know.” I reached across the table and grabbed the sugar bowl. “They make you feel like a powerful little vampire, don’t they?”

Drake snickered, and a big part of me knew I was pushing it. Were it not for the fact that I was carrying the child he wanted, he’d have knocked me flat on my back in one strike. His pinkie was even twitching.

“Gosh,” I said, raising my brows playfully at him. “I’m joking, Drake. Haven’t you ever joked around with someone before?”

“I avoid playful relationships,” he said, stiff hands unfolding his own napkin. “They incite disrespect.”

“Well, among equals, respect is earned. Not forced.”

“Then, I must request, kindly, that we dine in appropriate attire henceforth.” He bowed his head. “If it pleases Her Majesty.”

I bowed my head in return. “Consider it my pleasure.”

“Much appreciated. Now—” He motioned to a plate in front of me. “Eat. Before it gets cold.”

I helped myself to a slice of toast, drawing a nice refreshing breath through my nose as I chose its topping: conserves, fruit, butter, eggs, bacon… just to name a few.

“Are you hungry for blood?” Drake asked. “I have a vampire on standby.”

My tongue moved involuntarily out over my lips as if the sweet, milky substance were against them now.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Drake raised a hand and motioned to the corner, where a person I hadn’t seen before moved, and a door opened to allow a man entry.