At least Jolie was having an attack of conscience. “Nothing happened. What’s to forgive?”
Nathacha remained with her feet propped on the ottoman, un-ruffled by our drama. She gestured for the parchment. Of course, I had to walk to her so she didn’t have to budge from her chair. She held up a finger and shushed us to stay quiet while she read.
Nathacha pushed the ottoman out of the way. She sat up, handed the parchment back to me, and nodded to the window. “I regret any misunderstandings.”
Misunderstandings? She had almost gotten me killed. Her apology meant little; she might as well have written the words in yellow snow.
My aura must have been a banner of indignation. Phyllis made a palms-down calming motion and I tried to Zen out as best I could.
I forced the window open and threw the parchment outside. The parchment tumbled through the sunlight and exploded into flames. A cloud of gray smoke brought the odor of charred meat.
I shut the window.
“We still have other business,” Phyllis said. “Where are Phaedra and Nguyen?”
Nathacha pointed her icicle-dagger eyes at me like that problem was my fault.
“Why are you looking at me?” I asked. “Send a crow to find them.”
“We’ve tried,” she said. “None have come back.”
Phyllis stood. She took the cylinder from Jolie and screwed the cap back on. She dropped the cylinder into her windbreaker pocket and unclipped her dog from the chair. “Felix, we’ll get back to you.”
Nathacha came to her feet. She and Phyllis locked eyes. They shot words back and forth in French like broadsides from frigates. They abruptly came to a mutual cease-fire and let their animosity fade behind calm faces.
Phyllis opened the door. She took my hand and squeezed it. “Take care of yourself.” She gave a parting nod to Jolie and followed her dog into the hall.
Nathacha buttoned her coat and put on her sunglasses, her imperial demeanor unscathed.
Jolie said, “Nathacha, I know what you need.”
“What’s that?”
“A good fuck. Might do wonders for your attitude.”
She smiled grudgingly. “You would know. Au revoir.”
I returned to my apartment. I needed a drink. I made a manhattan and sipped from it as I wandered through my place.
Everything around me felt small. I didn’t feel bigger, I think it was that I was aware how my world had shrunk around me. I was boxed in.
I examined the hawthorn stake. The phallic design was someone’s idea of a black joke. Final words to a vampire: Screw you.
This stake was the one souvenir I never wanted but was the only item I had to remind me of Phaedra. I put the stake on the table next to my coffin.
I darkened my apartment and prepared to go to sleep. Usually, I like a snack-half a bag of blood-before I lie down.
I didn’t feel like eating; I only wanted to close my eyes and let time soften the sharp edges of what happened today.
I thought about all the occasions, as a human and as a vampire, that I tried my best and came up short. If it was only me who bore the consequences, then I could make peace with myself. But I had caused others to suffer and I would always be to blame.
I rested against the satin lining of my coffin. I needed to relax, but my mind wandered back to the meeting with Phyllis and Nathacha. It felt like a cue ball cracking hard during a break. My thoughts ricocheted and scattered across my mind.
I’ve given my best to the Araneum and yet they were willing to sacrifice me.
What did it mean to be loyal?
The question burned heavy and hot where my heart used to be.
My kundalini noir tensed, like it expected another blow.
My mind grasped at the one remaining lifeline, a blind faith that all would work out.
Give it time. You have an eternity.
I lay in the dark stillness, a serene quiet like the calm surf after a storm.
I heard my name and the familiar echo.
Phaedra was alive.
I sat up.
The echo became siren loud.
My kundalini noir twisted upon itself, the siren shriek stabbing with needlelike pain.
The shrieking filled my head. I put my hands over my ears though I knew the noise came from inside my brain.
My psychic column trembled like a jet of water pulsing through a narrow hose. The straight lines and right angles in the room twisted and bent. I tried climbing out of the coffin, lost my balance, and collapsed to the floor.
Up, down, left, right, the directions tumbled in dizzying randomness while the shrieking bounced against the inside of my skull.
Nausea crawled up my throat.
I backed against the table where my coffin laid.
I put my hands flat on the floor and tried to regain my bearings. A table leg pressed against my back and I faced the front door of my apartment.
The cascade of noise fed the nausea and I convulsed with dry heaves.
The door shook and it flung open, splintered wood flying where the dead bolt broke through the jamb.
Phaedra stood in the threshold, backlit by the streetlamps.
Her aura blazed like the exhaust fire from a rocket engine. A burr of malevolent thorns quivered across her penumbra.
Her eyes shone bright as electric arcs. Long fangs glistened from a mouth bent into a cruel smile.
She wore a long black dress covered in black lace. A black sash wound across her thin waist. A necklace of small black shapes swung over her bodice. Each velvety shape had a shiny spot-an eye-and a black point. A beak.
It was a necklace of crow heads.
In her left hand she carried a leather bag weighed down with an object the size of a bowling ball.
Phaedra kept her fierce gaze locked on me. She swaggered in. Flip-flops slapped her feet. She grabbed my wrist with her free hand and dragged me from the table.
I lay powerless, limp with nausea.
Phaedra kicked off her flip-flops and put a bare foot on my throat. She raked her talons across my scalp to grasp a handful of hair. Blood trickled from my skin.
She shook my head. The motion made me want to retch. I closed my eyes to keep from vomiting.
“Look at me.” She yanked my hair.
I opened my eyes. Phaedra appeared huge and menacing, grotesque, like a giant’s reflection in a funhouse mirror.
Bile filled my throat. I pleaded, “Make it stop.”
Slowly the shriek faded to a hum, then silence. The nausea passed and the bile receded down my throat.
She let go of my hair and cupped my chin with her knife-like talons. Her eyes probed mine and I could feel her thoughts slither into my brain and slither back out.
Phaedra’s eyes glistened with an amused twinkle. “So the Araneum knows about me? Good.” Her face regained its youthful appearance.
The lines in my room became straight and my sense of balance returned.
Phaedra released my chin and pulled her hand away with a slap. “I’ve come to thank you, Felix.”
“Much obliged.” Blood oozed from the stinging wound on my cheek. “You didn’t have to trouble yourself. A phone call would’ve been sufficient.”
“Always with the jokes.”
“I’m not laughing,” I said.
“Then laugh at this. I chose you because of your weakness. Your guilt. That weakness would let me pry into your head and bring you to me. You were the vampire hero and I beat you.”
I felt raw and exposed, more than I would if naked. I felt used. Violated.
Shame washed over me.
I couldn’t live with the disgrace. But I could live with vengeance.
Phaedra would die.
My mind clearer, I thought about what weapons I had close by. My aura could signal my intentions, and if I sprang at Phaedra, by the time my feet were off the ground, she’d cripple me with another psychic mind blast. When I attacked, it would have to be sudden and thorough.