Лиза Смит - Bloodlust

“You thought you’d steal from me?” The girl stepped forward. Her hair tumbled in flaming curls down her back, and she wore what looked suspiciously like a vervain wreath on her head. She had on a white nightdress, but she was wearing men’s boots, and I could see calluses on her hands. Though she was clearly from a wealthy family, this was no coddled city girl.

“No. No! I wasn’t stealing, I was just looking for the vampire,” I said.

She knit her eyebrows together. “To steal him . . . ?” she asked leadingly, hands on her hips.

“No!” I said again, my arm jerking involuntarily. One of the men holding me dropped my arm in surprise. “No,” I said again, forcing myself to remain still. “I saw the poster for the show down by the lake, and, well, I guess my curiosity got the best of me.” I shrugged.

A rooster crowed. Sunlight slowly spilled over the backyard. I glanced down at my gleaming ring, thankful that Lexi had left.

“Okay, then,” the girl said. She snapped her fingers, and the two large men dropped my arms. “If you are new to town, then where do you come from?”

“Mys . . . Mississippi,” I fibbed. “Right across the river.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it. “Well, welcome to New Orleans,” she said. “I don’t know what things are like back in Mississippi, but you can’t go sneaking into people’s backyards looking at their livestock. And the next time you may not meet someone as friendly as me.”

I fought my urge to snort at her idea of friendliness, given my brother’s wretched state.

“So, what’s your name, stranger?”

“Stefan,” I said. “Are you Miss Gallagher?”

“Smart,” she observed sarcastically. “That I am. Callie Gallagher.”

One of the large men stepped toward her protectively.

“Leave us,” she commanded. “I’ll escort Mr. Stefan out.”

“Thank you,” I said contritely as I followed her around the long gravel path, past the sun-room of the house, and toward the gate. “Thanks for trusting me,” I said.

“Who says I trust you?” she asked sharply, but an amused smile flitted across her lips.

“Well, then, perhaps I should thank you for not letting your brutes kill me.”

She smiled again, wider this time. Her teeth were pearly white, and one of her front teeth was slightly crooked. Freckles dusted her upturned nose. She smelled sweet, like oranges. I realized it had been a long time since I had found a woman beautiful for more than the sweet smell of her blood. But cruelty lay behind her beauty, because this woman was responsible for my brother’s imprisonment.

“Maybe you’re too handsome to be killed. And everyone deserves a little kindness, don’t you think?”

I gazed at her callused hands, a thought entering my mind. “Would it be too forward of me to ask for more of your kindness?”

Callie narrowed her eyes. “Depends on what you ask for.”

“A job,” I said, straightening my shoulders.

The girl shook her head incredulously. “You want me to hire you? After you trespassed on my property?”

“Think of it as an expression of my drive and my enthusiasm for . . . freaks,” I said, the lies now floating easily from my tongue. “Being new, I’ve had trouble finding work, and to be honest, I’ve always wanted to be part of a circus.”

She set her jaw, and I was worried she’d suddenly call her henchmen on me. But then she looked up and down at my faded trousers and sighed. “I have a feeling I’ll regret this, but come down to Lake Road tomorrow night. We do need a new ticket taker—our last one ran off with one of the fat ladies. You’ll need to arrive early—and stay late. It’s going to be busy tomorrow night because of the fight.”

“Right. The fight,” I said, once again clenching my fists and biting back words of anger.

“Yes.” She smiled somewhat ruefully. “Then you’ll have the chance to see your vampire in action.”

“I suppose I will,” I said, turning on my heel and exiting the wrought-iron gate. But if I had my way, no one would see the “vampire in action” because Damon and I would be long gone before the fight ever commenced.

October 7, 1864

Something has changed. Maybe it is merely age, a sort of hyper-maturation into the role of an adult vampire. Maybe it is Lexi’s tutelage. Or the fact that I am faced with an actual challenge, a death-defying challenge, and I simply know I can’t expend my energy killing for sport. Whatever the cause, the result is the same. Though the scent of blood is still everywhere, I no longer feel compelled to hunt for sport. Hunting is distracting. My hunger is something to be sated quickly rather than enjoyably. Of course, the question is, how will I free Damon? Attack everyone in sight, creating a melee of destruction? Convince Callie to shed her vervain wreath so I can compel her to do my bidding? But Callie seems to have a power all her own. That much is clear to her henchmen, and to me. Of course, my Power is stronger. I have no doubt that I’ll persevere. I’ll save Damon, and then I’ll reward myself with a drink from Callie’s neck.

I spent the entire day pacing my room, cutting a path through the dust that lined the wooden floor. Plans to free Damon flitted through my head one by one, but just as quickly as they came, I shot them down for being too daring, too risky, too destructive. I’d already learned from the siege on the vampires in Mystic Falls that one false move can cause a domino effect of violence and despair.

“You look like a caged animal,” Lexi said, appearing at my doorway. Her voice was light, but worry lines creased her forehead.

I let out a low growl and raked my hands through my hair. “I feel like a caged animal.”

“Have you thought of a plan yet?”

“No!” I exhaled loudly. “And I don’t even know why I’m trying. He hates me.” I looked down, suddenly ashamed. “He blames me for turning him into what we are now.”

Lexi sighed and closed the distance between us. She took my hand. “Follow me.” She led me out of the room and walked slowly down the stairs, running her pale fingers along the portraits that lined the walls. All the paintings were covered with a layer of grime. I wondered how long they’d been hanging on the walls, and whether any of the subjects still roamed the Earth—alive or undead.

At the very bottom stair, Lexi stopped and pulled a portrait off the wall. It was newer than the others, with a gold frame and the glass polished to a gleam. A young, serious-looking blond boy stared out at me. His blue eyes contained a hint of sadness, and his cleft chin jutted in defiance. He looked incredibly familiar.

My eyes widened. “Is that your—”

“—brother,” Lexi said. “Yes.”

“Is he . . .” I trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.

“No, he’s not with us anymore,” she said, tracing the cleft of the boy’s chin with her index finger.

“How did he die?” I asked.

“Does it matter?” she said, her voice sharp.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” I touched the edge of the photo. “Why do you keep it?”

She sighed. “It’s a connection to the past—to who I used to be before I was”—she gestured down the length of her body—“before I became this . It’s important not to lose that final thread of attachment to humanity.” Her gaze grew serious.

I knew what she meant: Remaining connected to her humanity was how she maintained control and why she made the choice to feed only from animals.

“So, are you ready to save him?”

As usual, Lexi didn’t wait for an answer, and I had to hustle out the door behind her. Together, we walked in silence toward Gallagher’s place under the cover of the inky night.