A Beautiful Evil
Page 25

My neck throbbed. I turned my head a tiny bit, enough to see that Sebastian was gone. The sounds of footsteps were amplified a million times, and I cringed at the clang of keys in the metal lock. I didn’t get up or move. I couldn’t. A hand gripped my arm. I raised my middle finger and laughed: a dry, raspy, abrupt sound. Another hand grabbed me, and I was hauled up by my armpits and dragged out of the cell. My head fell forward, dirty hair falling around my face, and my stomach rolled.
Jesus.
Blackness began to bleed into my mind and I let out a grateful sigh before passing out.
I woke to the smell of fresh air and grass. Ah, the garden. The guards released me and I fell forward, sinking into the soft ground and turning my head to rest on the spring-scented pillow. So nice.
I lay still, flat out and immersed in goodness. After the heat and hardness of the prison, this was heaven. My hand curled into the grass as a cherry blossom landed on my dirty skin. I grabbed it between two fingers and brought it slowly to my nose, breathing in deeply, about to close my eyes when the sound of laughter and the random melody of a guitar made me hesitate.
I didn’t lift my head, just looked at everything from my prone position, processing the flowering trees, the grass, the wall, the bird that sat perched there with his wings folded back, his head cocked as it studied me.
Henri. The hope that ballooned in my chest actually hurt. I went to rub my eyes to get a better look at the bird, but voices drew my attention to the white marble gazebo.
There were figures there, relaxing, draped over the lounges. Athena’s laughter rang out over the garden. A deeper voice followed. I frowned, concentrating hard on the sideways picture until it became crystal clear.
Athena was reclining on one of the chaise lounges, propped on her elbow, her head resting on the palm of her hand. Her feet curled under her.
Sebastian sat on the end of her lounge, plucking at the strings of a guitar. He said something over his shoulder to her and she laughed again. His black hair fell over his brow. He wore a clean white shirt open at the collar and dark pants, and his feet were bare.
The vampire Zaria, who had drunk him repeatedly to the brink of death, reclined on the other lounge. The woman whose wrist Zaria had cut sat on the floor while Zaria played with the woman’s hair.
Trying to process the scene was like trying to convince myself that the tooth fairy existed; it just didn’t compute. This was a dream, a lie, a reality that could never, ever be. . . .
I didn’t care what I was seeing. It wasn’t fucking real.
My heart knocked hard against my rib cage. Why was he there? Why was he with them?
I pushed my stiff, weak body up to a sitting position. I weaved back and forth, setting my hands in the grass to stop myself from falling. I stayed like that until my balance returned and the dizziness passed. Then I crawled inch by inch to the garden’s fountain.
The dribbling water sounded so lovely and bizarre and ridiculous. The marble was cold, wonderfully cold. I pulled myself up, balancing my chest on the rim of the fountain, and dipped my hands into the clean water. My lips were cracked, and the liquid felt so good on them that I let out a sigh.
I drank greedily; that first hit of cold water sent spasms of pain through my empty stomach, but I kept on drinking.
After I’d had enough, I splashed the water on my dry, dirty face and then patted some onto the bite mark on my neck. The pulsating heat ebbed. God, it felt so good.
Feeling stronger, I pushed the rest of the way onto the wide rim of the fountain and sat down. It was difficult to keep my head up since it felt as heavy as a bowling ball.
A breeze went through the garden, the gentle current carrying white blossoms from the trees. They swirled around me, falling on my knees and hands, floating on the water in the fountain. I stared at the petals on my hand. So pretty and clean and fragrant.
Unlike me. Unlike the cell. Unlike last night—or whenever the hell it was—which had been raw and intense. And life-changing for Sebastian.
Offering him my blood when I knew he’d rather die than become a blood-drinker for the rest of his life . . . I wasn’t sure how to feel about it now. I’d done it because I didn’t want him to die, couldn’t let him throw his life away. I’d done it because he was starving and not thinking straight.
I’d taken the decision away from him.
I’d thought it was the right decision, thought I was saving his life. But now I didn’t know what to think.
I don’t want it, he’d said. I’d rather die.
Damn it. I put my head in my hands. What had he expected? I’d done the only thing I could. And if anything, I had to stand by that decision. I’d make it again if I had to.
With a fortifying breath I finally looked toward the gazebo, no longer able to ignore the music and the soft voices, no longer able to tell myself it wasn’t real.
The scene hadn’t changed. And my emotions fell like dominoes.
Sebastian was a true Arnaud. Like his mother. Like Josephine.
Why was he there, hanging with Athena and her vampire BFF, playing languid tunes on a twelve-string guitar?
He hadn’t cracked a smile or laughed the entire time I watched, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to hear his music or their giggles. As I withdrew my gaze it snagged on Athena. She was smiling at me.
The arrogance and triumph in her look shattered my soul. She made a smug little wave with her fingers, drawing Sebastian’s attention. His head shifted slowly in my direction. My breath held. His gaze went right through me. As though I didn’t exist. There was no flicker of . . . anything.
He went back to playing.
A long exhale blew from my lips, ending with a painful sob. I stood, took four retreating steps, and my legs gave out. The bastard had nearly drunk me dry and now he acted like I was a ghost.
I rolled onto my back, the crook of my arm resting against my forehead. Athena came into focus. She stood at my feet, looking down at me with a pleased expression. “He’s mine now,” she practically purred.
I started laughing. “Grow up, Athena. Or get a therapist. Maybe there’s a psychotic bitches support group you could join.”
She knelt down, arms draped over her knees. “Oh, I do like the challenge of you, Aristanae. You know, you might be able to kill me one day. But of course, I can do the same to you now, and trust me, I’m better at it. Perhaps by the time you are a real threat, I will have broken you.” She shrugged, toying with a blade of grass. “Or you will be dead. We’ll see. Until then I will take everyone you love, everyone you care about, and I will make them mine. Not because I want them, but because you do.”
She strolled away. I let my head fall to the side and watched as her feet and the hem of her gown drifted across the grass, the blades springing upright in her wake.
I laughed again, pressing my palms against my eyes as the sound turned to sobs.
The guards came at some point and took me down into the heat, the dirt, and the disgusting scent of my cell. Whatever. I lay on the hard ground and stayed there, letting the grief and despair and numbness consume me completely.
I had no idea how many days I spent there. No water, no food, just lying on the floor lost while somewhere above me Athena played with Violet and Sebastian.
I didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to imagine them together in my mind, but they crept into my dreams anyway—eating together, strolling in the garden, laughing. . . .
I’d saved his life. I’d given him my blood. And he’d deserted me, walked away from me. Hated me, most likely.
And Athena, she’d written me off, left me in the cell to die. I wasn’t immortal. Maybe she’d forgotten that, maybe she no longer cared about breaking me. I chuckled at that. What was I thinking? She already had.
Stupid Ari.
I dreamt of crazy things. My mother and father living in Memphis with me. The eels slithering and twisting around each other, their double jaws snapping. Lafayette Swamp Cemetery growing to cover all of New 2. Visions of Mardi Gras and the gowns and the music and the parades. The eerie stone garden.
When I did wake up, I hallucinated. I saw things—Sebastian in my cell; Violet dancing through the air in her Mardi Gras mask and purple skirt, dancing with Pascal; an alligator man dressed in a tuxedo. Milky snakes slithered on the ground of my cell, striking me in the face and neck, their tiny noses tunneling into my ears and up my nose, trying to force their way into my mouth.
I was dying; in those brief moments of lucidity, I knew it.
I saw Menai, the archer, come into my cell, her flawless face gazing down at me with impatience. I wanted to turn her into a fat cherub whose aim was so bad it’d be a miracle if she managed to hit the ass end of an elephant.
Bubbles of demented laughter rattled my chest.
Yep, that was me. Ari the Mad. Maybe my tombstone would read: THE GORGON WHO LOST HER MARBLES IN A REALM THAT SHOULDN’T EXIST.
“What the hell is she so happy about?” Menai’s annoyed tone echoed from far away.
“It is not happiness, I can assure you,” came a male voice.
A cloaked figure knelt down and placed a rough hand on my brow. He spoke in a low, urgent voice, deep and resonant. Greek. It was nice, that voice.
Death. Death had come for me. I laughed again. Figures.
“Oh, child,” the dark angel whispered in pity. “Menai, pick her up.”
Menai gathered me up and slung me over her shoulder. Blood rushed to my head. Maybe this isn’t a hallucination after all, I thought just before I tumbled gratefully into oblivion.
Twenty-Two
SHADOWS FLICKERED ON THE MARBLE WALL. THROUGH SLITS in my eyelids, I traced the shadows back to their source and found fires burning in basins around the outer edges of the tiled floor.
I didn’t realize I was lying on the floor naked until water hit me in the face and chest.
I sat up sputtering and choking, chest and lungs straining as water leaked down the wrong pipes. My eyes widened as I tried to get a grip on where I was and what was happening.
Menai stood over me with a bucket. A servant handed her another. She threw the water at me before I could react. It hit me square in the face.