Envious Of Fire (Kissing With Teeth #2)

31. A Change of Heart.

—?—

It’s on a street behind the grocery store next to its loading bay doors that George takes Kyle to a parked limousine.

Kyle stops. “A limo?”

“And a hired driver,” says George, pulling open a door. “I’d expect champagne, wine, and an assortment of cheeses inside.”

“Cheeses?”

“I know they taste like nothing to our kind, but they came with the limo service, and I am not one to waste.”

Kyle glances at the closed grocery store, its dark back side, a stack of empty pallets next to two large dumpsters. “I need to change my clothes, don’t I? I’m not dressed for any kind of—”

“A change of clothing awaits you at the House of Vegasyn. Everything is taken care of. You need only come.” He holds the door open patiently.

After another moment of hesitation, Kyle finally slips into the limo. George closes the door, after which Kyle realizes the windows are completely blacked out. Nothing can be seen. The inside of the vehicle is traced with a strip of white-blue light, all the surfaces polished and smooth, a side couch facing a bar with bottles of iced beverages, wine, champagne, as well as crackers and cheeses, as promised. For as welcoming as the limo appears to be, Kyle enjoys none of it, staring ahead at the small window through which he sees the back of the driver’s head, and soon George’s when he sits in the passenger seat and mutters, “Go.”

The lights inside the vehicle dim. The limo moves.

“Please,” says George through the partition. “Have a sip of champagne. I would hate for it to go to waste. It is paid for.”

Kyle stares at the bottle, at the empty flutes lined next to it, rolls his eyes. “So if I don’t drink any, it’s wasting Markadian’s dime? Why should I care?”

“Insolent,” mutters George.

Kyle hears him, doesn’t care. “Forgive me if I’m not in the mood for fucking champagne.”

“It will ease your nerves,” says George, then gently closes the partition, ending their conversation.

Kyle sits in silence for a short time. He regrets leaving his phone at the house during the chaos that ensued the moment he returned from the desert with Drake and Mikey. He didn’t think he’d need it anyway. Their plan was just to hunker down in the church with Cade and Layna making fleeting use of that book Elias got from his mom. Now Kyle feels completely and helplessly disconnected from everyone. Did the vampires leave Nowhere after George forbade them from taking Mikey? Are they all safe now, just like they’re supposed to be?

Kyle pulls open the partition. “Who’s that Mance guy?”

“Who?” asks George, staring blankly ahead as they drive.

“Mance. The weird guy in the cowboy hat.”

A look of complete mystification clouds George’s face as he stares off like he’s in a dream.

Kyle frowns. “Uh, hello? George?” Still silence. Is George just refusing to answer? “I know you know him. You guys came together to collect me. He knew your name.” No answer, even still. It’s like he’s in a trance. Kyle sighs. “Earth to George?”

George’s head turns, as if just now hearing Kyle. “We will arrive shortly. Drink the champagne as the driver continues to direct our vehicle to the House of Vegasyn. One sip will do.”

After a brief pause of abject wonder, Kyle asks, “Is the … Is the champagne drugged or something …?”

“Yes,” answers George.

Kyle sits back, at a loss. “Why in the hell would I drink any of it, then?”

“The champagne contains a modified extract of Nymphaea caerulea that will put you to sleep, more commonly known as blue lotus flower, grown in our gardens. As you are still not a formal resident of the House of Vegasyn, it is important to me that you continue being ignorant of its precise location.”

Kyle stares at the champagne bottle.

The empty flutes next to it.

A totally different understanding in mind.

“Drink,” says George again, as calmly as the first few times.

Kyle only now glances at the driver’s face in the rearview mirror. And his Reach, ever so delayed in his distractions since entering the limo, suddenly picks up a braid of obedience and needle-like fear twisted tightly together inside the man. It is nearly impossible to distinguish whether he’s more obedient or afraid. Maybe the two feelings have been so deeply associated with each other throughout his life that he literally can’t tell the difference between the two—like a metal alloy made of the two, now becoming something entirely new, unable to be separated. He is both afraid for his life and completely loyal to George.

“You keep humans at the House of Vegasyn?” asks Kyle, breath sucked from his lungs after experiencing the unique fear cocktail within the driver, turning his eyes back to George. “Is that not against some laws you guys have? Protected Blood and all that? Do you keep … human slaves?”

“I am not a slave,” says the driver, and despite sounding at ease, Kyle instantly picks up a robotic undertone—something a soulless creature like George might quickly overlook. “I am an honorable servant to the House of Vegasyn.”

George turns his head once more, eyeing Kyle. “Drink.”

Kyle looks at the champagne again, sitting there, looking like a deadly threat. He feels so strangely alone. He wonders if this isn’t the stupidest thing he’s ever done in his life, to go with a person like George, to agree to any of this.

“If I die, I die,” he says to himself. “I was so close, anyway.”

“You will not die,” George states, hearing him, continuing to stare ahead blankly. “You will only sleep. When you wake, it will be in a lovely guestroom. There will be an outfit for you, in precisely your size, to each and every measurement. Tristan will then collect you and take you to the event. Despite all you have come to believe about the House of Vegasyn and its occupants, there is no harm intended to you this night. No harm at all. At the event’s conclusion, like I said in truth, you will be returned safely to Nowhere, alive and well.”

Kyle sighs, bored of hearing George talk. “Fine.” He opens the unsealed champagne, pours a flute, then brings it to his lips without further protest. It tastes just like champagne, not even the slightest bit off. He wonders for a moment if George didn’t make up all of that about the blue lotus extract.

Until the champagne bottle becomes two, then three, the lighting in the limo glows brilliantly bright and begins waltzing around him, and he decides quite suddenly to lay back his head.

???

The next thing Kyle knows is silk.

Silk sheets beneath him. A firm mattress. Scent of lavender and oak hanging in the air. Warm, amber lighting.

He sits up with a start. A bedroom, Victorian vibe, much like Markadian’s office—one of the only rooms in the House of Vegasyn Kyle remembers in vivid detail. Spacious and clean. He’s on a large bed, fingers curling around silk sheets. He rises, bare feet finding hardwood flooring that creaks softly. His eyes search around, blinking, as he takes in the room. He’s alone.

He spots a bronze clothing rack. Hanging from it: a suit. Black pants, white shirt, black vest, black bowtie, black jacket. After a quick moment of rubbing his eyes, he pads over to the clothing rack, fighting off drowsiness. He touches the material of the shirt. Surprisingly soft, luxurious, expensive.

He peers over his shoulder, spots a door. Next to it, a large archway leading into a bathroom. He stumbles there with his clothes in hand, squinting against his confusion, is startled to discover his reflection in a big mirror over the sink.

And he only now realizes he’s naked.

He tries not to wonder who undressed him. George. The driver. Someone else. He even smells fresh, like he was bathed. Again, tries not to overthink who possibly bathed him. Maybe some other terrified, brainwashed servant of this place.

Or Tristan.

Could it have been Tristan?

The prospect of Tristan bathing him isn’t so bad. After all, they bathed together for decades. They were intimate lovers, a married couple without the trouble of paperwork. Just two men in a secluded cabin, only trees for neighbors, only squirrels.

Kyle puts on the shirt. It fits perfectly, as if stitched to his precise size. The vest, too, hugging him exquisitely. He’s never worn or tied a bowtie, and after only four attempts, he gives up and sets it aside. After running water through his hair and fixing it as nicely as he can, he stands before the mirror and studies his striking new look.

Has he ever truly dressed up like this?

Not since he was a mortal, perhaps. The old days. School dances. A couple of his brother’s violin recitals. A neighbor’s wedding they went to once, the whole street so happy that she found herself another husband after the passing of her previous one, and Kyle’s mom made a fuss about her kids looking totally adorable in matching little suits. He was seven, maybe eight.

No reason to look fancy anymore, it seems.

But why not? He and Elias should do this sometime. Get dressed up. Go out to dinner. Do those gross couples things, feed each other bites of buttered linguini, clink pretty glasses of champagne that hasn’t been tampered with by chemistry.

It’s an emotional reaction, a strong one, standing here and studying his own reflection, like he forgot how fancy he can get with a little effort. How careless he’s been with his appearance over the years. How little love he’s shown himself.

You look beautiful .

Kyle turns. In the middle of the room, Tristan stands in a fine suit of his own, much like Kyle’s, only his shirt seems puffier, the sleeves lined with lace. His blond hair is swept upward, styled in such a way Kyle has never seen before, which shows his cute ears, both of them dressed with a sparkling stud earring. Tristan looks so different, yet totally himself. Kyle doesn’t know what to say.

Tristan smiles. May I?

Kyle lifts his eyebrows. “May you what?”

Your bowtie .

“Oh.” Kyle nearly forgot about it. “I was trying, but …”

Tristan approaches, takes the bowtie from the counter. He faces Kyle, then seems unsure whether he ought to proceed. I’ll do it from the back , he decides. Face the mirror, will you? This can become a lesson . The next time, you will be able to do it yourself .

“Thanks, Dad,” says Kyle.

An unnecessary but welcomed jab at my literal age , says Tristan with a smile. With Kyle facing the mirror, Tristan approaches from behind, brings the bowtie to his neck, and begins calmly tying it. Like this … and then around like this . With each gentle instruction, Kyle pays little attention in truth, his gaze lost on Tristan’s face and the memories just being in his presence calls back. It isn’t easy to resist them. Around this way . See? Simple .

When the bowtie is finished, the two remain in place for some time, quiet, watching each other’s reflections.

Kyle meets Tristan’s eyes in the mirror. “Why am I here?”

Tristan lingers by the mirror a moment, then steps away. I have been worried about you . For a while . Since your departure from this very place, actually .

“So you invite me back?” Kyle turns. “That doesn’t make a lot of sense. Last time you said … what did you say? … ‘ This is a place of endings ’ … that I should never come back here.”

You have excellent memory . 10 out of 10, no notes .

“That’s kinda hard to forget, the way you worded it.”

Tristan stops at the archway leading back into the room. I was somewhat forced to invite you here tonight, admittedly . Lord Marky has had … well … something we will call a change of heart . Oh, and you’ll recognize some of the other faces tonight, too . Thirsty Cindy from the Dallasade domain, for one …

“Why don’t you guys just call it Dallas? What’s with all of these stupid names?”

Never given it much thought . Perhaps it’s our way of taking back the world . Like children who rename their toys . I once knew a little girl who called her barbie doll “Candy Boobs” …

Kyle moves to Tristan. “And what do you mean Markadian had a change of heart, exactly?”

He wants to replace the deal we made before .

“The deal? You mean where you ‘laid down your immortal life’ or whatever?”

Yes, that one, no big deal, just my existence . I suppose he is tired of dangling my life over the fire pit that is yours . He has other plans . I have never been one to be … dangled . Tristan continues back into the bedroom, fetches the jacket off the rack, stops. Maybe this is why it’s important to remain in charge of our own destinies . We must remain smarter than the thirst … always resist the blood, stay as we are in our natural state … oh, how vital it is, especially now …

Kyle averts his gaze.

If Tristan only knew that mere hours ago, he and another named Drake were taking turns feeding off of Elias’s neck.

That Kyle spent a day in a den of full-blooded Them .

That Kyle has drank more blood in the past month than he has in the past twenty-seven years.

Would Tristan still be able to look him in the eyes? Still be able to respect him? Sweetly tie his bowtie and fetch his jacket?

Or does he already know?

“Why are you saying all of this about blood and destiny?”

Tristan stands there holding the jacket, thinking. I want you to remember that I always cared about you . Even when I … pretended to die … and left you . That I only did it because I wanted you to be safe .

“I know.”

And I am certain that it is the blood that differentiates us from monsters . Tristan lifts the suit jacket, as if to smell it. Well, that and our fashion choices .

“Tristan?”

He turns, peers at Kyle with his misty blue eyes.

“Am I safe?” He comes closer. “Be honest with me. Are my friends in Nowhere safe?”

Yes , says Tristan.

“The town was swarmed tonight by … well, by Them.”

I know .

“You know?”

It is a delicate situation, I understand . Much like this one . You and me, in a room, preparing for a special event … you as my date . This doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to . Really, it’s more of a formality . Tristan lifts the jacket. Left arm first, please .

“Why did George come and get me? Why didn’t you?”

I’m not allowed to leave the House . I think I wasn’t trusted with the task . I do have a history of making terrible choices regarding you . He gives the suit jacket a little shake. Lefty firsty .

After a pause, Kyle slips his left arm into the jacket, then his right, Tristan guiding him. It is a perfect fit. Kyle peers at himself once more in the mirror, his look complete.

Being in Tristan’s presence again, in such a calm state, with this simple act of dressing before him, prettying up, it is almost mundane enough to lull Kyle into a dream. The two of them, still out there in that cabin, undiscovered, away from the world, free from the burdens of their lives.

This doesn’t have to mean anything, Tristan had said.

What a cruel thing to say. Yet Kyle understands completely.

Suddenly he’s back in Texas, back in his old house, feeling his heart racing as he anticipated going to school the next day and seeing Tristan again. Standing before this mirror, he can almost see his parents behind him with pride in their eyes, like they’re about to send their son to prom. He sees his brother, too, thirteen-year-old Kaleb, wondering what his own prom will be like, if he will even have the courage to ask someone to be his date. Kyle looks at his family in the mirror, all of them.

And then Tristan, lurking there.

“Was coming to Texas one of your terrible choices?” asks Kyle, still imagining his family.

Tristan speaks to Kyle’s reflection. I suppose we may never know the answer to that question . I would like to think it wasn’t . But our happiness came at such a great cost, didn’t it?

“Were we happy?” Kyle turns away from the mirror, from his family, gazes at the very real Tristan.

Tristan appears to struggle for an answer. It is time , he says instead, then moves to the door. Kyle glances once more at the mirror. His family is no longer there. They never were. After a breath, he follows Tristan out of the room.

They walk down a long, beautifully furnished hall, Tristan ahead, Kyle close behind. It would be easy to peer around and be amazed, feeling like he’s walking the halls of a great palace or fancy mansion, but he knows better. Markadian’s talent is as an illusionist, tricking the mind into seeing what he wills it to. It has never been clear to Kyle how his ability works, only that it does, and quite strikingly. With each fixture Kyle passes, each expensive-looking chandelier he walks under, each work-of-art vase with an exotic plant spilling out of it, Kyle only sees more and more evidence of Markadian’s exceeding arrogance. He is a proud and terrible man. Kyle only needed to spend a minute in his presence to draw that conclusion.

“What is this new deal?” Kyle comes up to Tristan’s side, tired of following behind. “I think I deserve to know what I’m walking into.”

I do not know the details myself , confesses Tristan, but I am of the belief that it will be favorable to all parties involved .

“All parties?”

A wide archway looms down the hall. Kyle hears laughter, chatter, glasses clinking, the atmosphere of some upscale social gathering growing closer.

Just keep by my side . That will do you best . Keep by my side, and if you start to panic for any reason at all …

“This feels like the old times,” says Kyle.

Tristan peers at him, then catches on. Am I doing that thing I always do that annoys you? Am I being too protective? By the way, you are much too young to use words like “old times” …

Kyle smirks. “And now you’re doing that thing where—”

Where I seem to assert authority over you because of my age? I’m a creature of habit … terrible habits, the worst .

“I used to play a game with myself. I’d try to guess how old you are, how old you really are.”

It is unfair , admits Tristan, since I know your true age .

“I still think you were born in 1910.”

Why?

“Just a random guess. Something to do with the person you described who transformed you. Wasn’t he in a bowler hat?”

I don’t like to think of him much, or the wife he took me home to like a stray he found on the street .

Kyle finds himself thinking of Lazarus and Drake suddenly. All of their “aunts and uncles” at the Devil’s Mouth. Do Drake and Lazarus seriously consider someone like La-La to be a part of their family? Drake called him Uncle, but was it sincere?

“Are all vampire families created in such a way?” wonders Kyle out loud. “Bloodless bonds that keep these fake families together with figurative knives held at necks?”

Not always figurative , points out Tristan. Also, yes, most of our kind do find families in such a way . We are obsessed with threatening our loved ones into submission . Markadian has a sister named Ashara he does adore so much . You will meet her tonight .

“Do I want to?”

Tristan slows. I just realized you used the V word .

Kyle only now recalls how averse Tristan was to it. “Sorry. The vampires that found us—oh, shit, used it again, sorry—they use the word so freely, I guess it rubbed off on me or something.”

Now Tristan stops, turning fully to Kyle. And is that all that rubbed off on you?

Kyle stares back. “What do you mean?”

You’re … familiar with Them now? Are They your friends?

“Hardly.” Then he thinks of Drake.

Your eyes . I see it, like an unfinished sentence, invisible words … It’s as if Tristan notices every flicker of change on Kyle’s face, the tiniest indicators of falsehood. What aren’t you saying?

Kyle wonders how Tristan can act so concerned now. “We are completely on our own out there in Nowhere. Unprotected. I had to do something.”

So you aligned with Them for protection?

“Fuck no, they’re insane.”

Did They hurt you?

“Well, they tried, but I stopped them.”

You couldn’t have stopped Them with force alone . You reasoned with Them . You are more familiar with Them than you let on . Why are you lying to me?

“What the hell? I’m not—”

Did one of Them feed you Their blood?

Kyle opens his mouth.

Finds quite suddenly he can’t bear to lie.

Tristan’s misty blue eyes hover upon Kyle, seeing the truth in the silence. It isn’t often that Kyle has seen this particularly cold look in Tristan’s eyes. He normally seems so unshakable. Emotionally invincible.

And in this moment, all Kyle feels is fear in Tristan’s heart.

Fear.

Then comes an entirely different voice from the archway. “Oh my goodness and badness,” cries Cindy in her thick drawl, “if it ain’t the cutie-patootie in the flesh!”