to cry but I was too dead for it.
They exchanged an old world greeting- kisses on the cheek, a brief hug totally devoid of anything that even mimicked affection. Vincent stepped back and bowed slightly and a glance told me to do the same. I almost did, but instead I curtsied, which I knew how to do for some reason even though it was incredibly awkward in my slutty dress. Vincent’s eyebrow quirked up. He almost seemed impressed by the gesture.
“Lady Elizabeta, my thrall… name?”
“Christine,” I murmur.
“Yes, that’s it. Christine.”
She took my hand. Her fingers were as cold as ice and I could have sworn I felt something move under her skin, like her fingers weren’t jointed quite the right way. Her eyes were worse than him. I could feel her paging through my mind, like someone leafing through a book they found on the subway.
“My, you’ve been brutal with this one. I find myself surprised she remembers her name. May I?”
She was not asking me. Vincent nodded and she took my face in her hands, tipping my eyes up to meet hers. She tilted my head this way and that, patted my side, slapped my butt.
“This one has a lot of potential. I would ask where you found her, but I already know.”
“Quite.”
“It is rather an insult bringing her here. Brazen, I must say. I would be impressed if I didn’t feel bound to eat your heart. I see no gift. By what right do you claim protection as guests?”
“My gift is this,” said Vincent. “My thrall to use as you will on the condition that she be returned to me unharmed at the conclusion of festivities.”
“You’re learning,” said Elizabeta, nodding in approval. “I am as impressed as I am enraged. Get out of my sight.”
Vincent nodded to her and stepped off into the party, if that was what it was. I moved to follow.
“Not you,” she said. “You heard him. You’re mine.”
Chapter Ten
I didn’t speak. I wasn’t that stupid, I hoped.
Turns out I didn’t need to.
It wasn’t like when Vincent did it. When Elizabeta picked through my head I could feel it like, a bug walking on my scalp. I trembled as she went through my memories, what was left of them. She was actually shorter than I was by an inch or two. Her hair was a wig. Beneath it her skin was as pale and smooth as an egg. It wasn’t a good wig. She didn’t seem to particularly care. I know she knew what I was thinking but she ignored it.
“He hasn’t taught you anything. These youngsters don’t understand the finer points of their gifts. What has he told you?”
“To obey,” I said.
“There are formalities when speaking to me, but you don’t know them, so I will forgive you. Vincent hopes you’ll anger me and I will lash out at you.”
She eyed me. There was something voracious in her gaze. She was utterly alien in a way that even Vincent wasn’t. I didn’t dare look her in the eye.
“I can read your mind, but I prefer that you give voice to your thoughts. It pleases me to converse. Speak.”
“Yes. Should I call you master?”
“No, I am not your master. Just speak.”
“What hasn’t he told me?”
“The most elementary facts of your nature,” she said. “You seem to be laboring under the false impression that you were a human being. You were no such thing.”
“I don’t understand.”
She smiled. I shuddered at the sight. She touched my shoulder.
“You think you are a woman named Christine. You believe it. You are not. This is the first lesson wise undead teach their progeny. You were born the night he turned you. Nothing more, nothing less. The feelings and memories that disturb you are like hairs left on borrowed clothes. They mean something to one who wore them first, not you. You have this Christine’s body, but you are not her. You are new to the world. That woman is dead.”
I stopped walking and stood there, mounting dread flooding through my body.
No. No, that wasn’t true. I was Christine. I had to be.
The little voice
They exchanged an old world greeting- kisses on the cheek, a brief hug totally devoid of anything that even mimicked affection. Vincent stepped back and bowed slightly and a glance told me to do the same. I almost did, but instead I curtsied, which I knew how to do for some reason even though it was incredibly awkward in my slutty dress. Vincent’s eyebrow quirked up. He almost seemed impressed by the gesture.
“Lady Elizabeta, my thrall… name?”
“Christine,” I murmur.
“Yes, that’s it. Christine.”
She took my hand. Her fingers were as cold as ice and I could have sworn I felt something move under her skin, like her fingers weren’t jointed quite the right way. Her eyes were worse than him. I could feel her paging through my mind, like someone leafing through a book they found on the subway.
“My, you’ve been brutal with this one. I find myself surprised she remembers her name. May I?”
She was not asking me. Vincent nodded and she took my face in her hands, tipping my eyes up to meet hers. She tilted my head this way and that, patted my side, slapped my butt.
“This one has a lot of potential. I would ask where you found her, but I already know.”
“Quite.”
“It is rather an insult bringing her here. Brazen, I must say. I would be impressed if I didn’t feel bound to eat your heart. I see no gift. By what right do you claim protection as guests?”
“My gift is this,” said Vincent. “My thrall to use as you will on the condition that she be returned to me unharmed at the conclusion of festivities.”
“You’re learning,” said Elizabeta, nodding in approval. “I am as impressed as I am enraged. Get out of my sight.”
Vincent nodded to her and stepped off into the party, if that was what it was. I moved to follow.
“Not you,” she said. “You heard him. You’re mine.”
Chapter Ten
I didn’t speak. I wasn’t that stupid, I hoped.
Turns out I didn’t need to.
It wasn’t like when Vincent did it. When Elizabeta picked through my head I could feel it like, a bug walking on my scalp. I trembled as she went through my memories, what was left of them. She was actually shorter than I was by an inch or two. Her hair was a wig. Beneath it her skin was as pale and smooth as an egg. It wasn’t a good wig. She didn’t seem to particularly care. I know she knew what I was thinking but she ignored it.
“He hasn’t taught you anything. These youngsters don’t understand the finer points of their gifts. What has he told you?”
“To obey,” I said.
“There are formalities when speaking to me, but you don’t know them, so I will forgive you. Vincent hopes you’ll anger me and I will lash out at you.”
She eyed me. There was something voracious in her gaze. She was utterly alien in a way that even Vincent wasn’t. I didn’t dare look her in the eye.
“I can read your mind, but I prefer that you give voice to your thoughts. It pleases me to converse. Speak.”
“Yes. Should I call you master?”
“No, I am not your master. Just speak.”
“What hasn’t he told me?”
“The most elementary facts of your nature,” she said. “You seem to be laboring under the false impression that you were a human being. You were no such thing.”
“I don’t understand.”
She smiled. I shuddered at the sight. She touched my shoulder.
“You think you are a woman named Christine. You believe it. You are not. This is the first lesson wise undead teach their progeny. You were born the night he turned you. Nothing more, nothing less. The feelings and memories that disturb you are like hairs left on borrowed clothes. They mean something to one who wore them first, not you. You have this Christine’s body, but you are not her. You are new to the world. That woman is dead.”
I stopped walking and stood there, mounting dread flooding through my body.
No. No, that wasn’t true. I was Christine. I had to be.
The little voice
Similar Books
