Larissa pushed herself to her feet, weeping openly, and stumbled out of her bedroom and into the bathroom. She had barely closed the door behind her when the hunger struck again, driving her to her knees. The vacuum in her stomach and chest reared open, spilling waves of agony through her body, and she shoved her fist into her mouth and screamed around it, a muffled shriek that tore at her throat. She flopped to the bathroom floor and writhed on the cold tiles, her body spasming, her mind emptied by the enormity of the pain. She twitched and convulsed and waited, desperately, pleadingly, for it to pass.

Eventually it did. She gripped the sink and pulled herself up in front of the mirror. It took her a few seconds to recognize the reflection in the mirror as her own; her skin was pale and beaded with sweat, her body was visibly trembling, and when she looked closely at her eyes, she jammed the fist back into her mouth and screamed again.

Dark red was spreading from the corners of her eyes, as though blood was being dripped slowly into them. The crimson was slowly diffusing through the white of her eyeballs and darkening her irises to a shiny black. Her vision was clear, and as she watched her eyes change, she wished it wasn’t; the red in her eyes seemed to be almost alive, swirling and spinning like an oil slick, darkening and pulsing in lazy motions that turned her stomach.

The hunger hit again, a sledgehammer of agony and emptiness, and she bit down on the fist in her mouth, involuntarily spilling blood into her mouth. And instantly, the hunger was gone, replaced by a pleasure so enormous it was heavenly. Her blood ran down her throat, and she felt her knees weaken as a feeling beyond anything she had ever felt overwhelmed her; she felt as though she could push down walls, run for a hundred miles, leap, and fly like a bird.

She felt like there was nothing she couldn’t do.

Then the feeling was gone, and she slumped back to her knees. She hungrily sucked more blood from her hand, but the pleasure did not return. But although she didn’t know what had happened to her, although the part of her that was still recognizably Larissa was frightened beyond measure, she realized she now knew one thing, knew it with great certainty.

Blood had taken the pain away. And if her own no longer worked, she would need some from somebody else.

Larissa staggered to her feet and stumbled out of the bathroom. Then she crossed the landing and turned the handle on the door to her brother’s bedroom. He had thrown the covers off during the night, and his skin was pale, bathed in a shaft of moonlight that was creeping in between the curtains above his bed. She could see the veins in his neck pulsing steadily, and the hunger screamed and thrashed in her head, driving rational thought almost entirely out of her, bellowing for her to feed, screeching and cursing in her reeling mind. She took a step toward him without even meaning to, then stopped.

It was Liam lying there; her annoying, infuriating, beautiful, funny little brother, who had never hurt her on purpose, never hurt anyone as far as she knew. She summoned up the last of her dwindling strength and ran from his room, slamming the door shut behind her. She heard him rise from his slumber, grumbling something inarticulate, then she was gone, sprinting down the stairs and through the front door, the street outside still dark, and she was running, away from the people she loved, away from the only home she had ever known.

29

A CALCULATED RISK

“ I just want to say again how unhappy I am about this,” said Morris.

“Do you really have to?” asked Jamie. “I think you’ve made it pretty clear already.”

Jamie had explained his plan to Morris on their way down through the levels of the Blacklight base; he had listened incredulously before telling Jamie that there was no chance that Admiral Seward would allow it. The two were standing in the corridor outside the cellblock, waiting for Frankenstein. The monster was making his way down and had ordered them to do nothing without him present.

“I just don’t understand why you trust this girl so much,” said Morris. “She tried to kill you, and she ran with Alexandru. I know she’s pretty, but—”

“That’s got nothing to do with it,” interrupted Jamie, anger flashing in his eyes. “And I don’t trust her, not really. But I think someone she knows has information that I need, and I think she’ll take us to them if we play along with her. I don’t know why, before you ask. I just think she will.”

Jamie was lying to Morris about one thing; he was starting to trust Larissa. When he thought about her, which was increasingly often, he was starting to see the teenage girl she had been, whose biggest problems had been her friends and her parents until she had wandered off on her own at the fair, and her life had been thrown into darkness.

“I hope you’re right,” said Morris.

“No you don’t,” snapped Jamie.

“Don’t what?” rumbled Frankenstein’s voice.

The huge man rounded the corner and stood, towering over Jamie and Morris.

“Nothing,” said Jamie. “Don’t worry about it.”

Frankenstein gave the teenager a long look, then turned his attention to Morris. “Why are you carrying that?” he asked, pointing to a belt slung over the man’s shoulder.

Morris slipped the belt down into his hands and didn’t reply.

“I told him to bring it,” said Jamie.

“And why would you have done that?” Frankenstein asked, his voice low and ominous.

“Larissa says she can take us to someone who will know where my mother is.”

“And you’re actually stupid enough to believe her?”

Jamie flushed a deep red and fingered the bandage on his neck. “I do believe her. And to be honest, I don’t see how listening to her could be any worse than listening to you.”

Frankenstein went very still, so still he appeared to be holding his breath. “Excuse me?” he said, in a voice like ice.

“You heard me,” said Jamie. “Following you got me nothing, apart from this burn on my neck and a lot of wasted time. I’m pretty sure wherever Larissa takes us can’t be any worse.”

Morris shuffled his feet and looked desperately from the teenager to the monster and back again. “Why don’t we just make her tell—”

“Shut up, Tom,” said Frankenstein, not taking his eyes off Jamie. “So. Even if I believed this vampire has any information that might be useful, which I don’t, you’re asking me to directly disobey Admiral Seward’s orders and take her off base? Or were you just planning to try and sneak her out?”

“I need to know what she knows,” replied Jamie. “If you won’t help me, then I’ll do it myself. You can try and stop me if you want.”

“This isn’t necessary,” said Morris, an anguished look on his face. “We can just—”

“Didn’t you hear me, Tom?” said Frankenstein. “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. Until then, be quiet.”

He turned back to the teenager. “This is how it’s going to be?” he asked.

Jamie shrugged. “I need to get my mother back,” he said. “Nothing else matters. I thought you understood that.”

For a long moment, no one said anything. Frankenstein appeared deep in thought, Jamie was standing defiantly, his head upright, his eyes wide open, and Morris was glancing furtively between them. Eventually, Frankenstein spoke again.

“Give me the belt,” he said, extending a hand toward Morris, who eagerly placed it in the huge gray palm. Frankenstein tossed it lightly up and down, then looked at Jamie.

“I’m going to help you do this,” he said. “On one condition: When she fails to tell you anything that helps us find your mother, you will take your lead from me for the remainder of this mission, without objection. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” replied Jamie. His face was twisted, as though the word had tasted bitter as he said it.