in a single moment, I hadn’t realized how much of my life in the past year had been built on the false foundation of Bill’s love and regard.
“I saved his life,” I said, amazed. “I went to Jackson and risked my life for his, because he loved me.” One part of my brain knew that wasn’t entirely accurate. I’d done it because I had loved him. And I was amazed, at the same moment, to realize that the pull of his maker, Lorena, had been even stronger than the orders of his queen. But I wasn’t in the mood to split emotional hairs. When I thought of Lorena, another realization socked me in the stomach. “I killed someone for him,” I said, my words floating in the thick dark night. “Oh, my God. I killed someone for him.”
I was covered in scrapes, bruises, blood, and dirt when I looked up to see a sign reading CHLOE STREET. That was where Hadley’s apartment was, I realized slowly. I turned right, and began to walk again.
The house was dark, up and down. Maybe Amelia was still at the hospital. I had no idea what time it was or how long I had walked.
Hadley’s apartment was locked. I went downstairs and picked up one of the flowerpots Amelia had put around her door. I carried it up the stairs and smashed in a glass pane on the door. I reached inside, unlocked the door, and stepped in. No alarm shrieked. I’d been pretty sure the police wouldn’t have known the code to activate it when they’d left after doing whatever it was they’d done.
I walked through the apartment, which was still turned upside down by our fight with Jake Purifoy. I had some more cleaning to do in the morning, or whenever . . . whenever my life resumed. I went into the bathroom and stripped off the clothes I’d been wearing. I held them and looked at them for a minute, at the state they were in. Then I stepped across the hall, unlocked the closest French window, and threw the clothes over the railing of the gallery. I wished all problems were that easily disposed of, but at the same time my real personality was waking up enough to trigger a thread of guilt that I was leaving a mess that someone else would have to clean up. That wasn’t the Stackhouse way. That thread wasn’t strong enough to make me go back down the stairs to retrieve the filthy garments. Not then.
After I’d wedged a chair under the door I’d broken, and after I’d set the alarm system with the numbers Amelia had taught me, I got into the shower. The water stung my many scrapes and cuts, and the deep bite in my arm began bleeding again. Well, shit. My cousin the vampire hadn’t needed any first aid supplies, of course. I finally found some circular cotton pads she’d probably used for removing makeup, and I rummaged through one of the bags of clothes until I found a ludicrously cheerful leopard-patterned scarf. Awkwardly, I bound the pads to the bite and got the scarf tight enough.
At least the vile sheets were the least of my worries. I climbed painfully into my nightgown and lay on the bed, praying for oblivion.
16
I WOKE UP UNREFRESHED, WITH THAT AWFUL FEELING that in a moment I would remember bad things.
The feeling was right on the money.
But the bad things had to take a backseat, because I had a surprise to start the day with. Claudine was lying beside me on the bed, propped up on one elbow looking down at me compassionately. And Amelia was at the end of the bed in an easy chair, her bandaged leg propped up on an ottoman. She was reading.
“How come you’re here?” I asked Claudine. After seeing Eric and Bill last night, I wondered if everyone I knew followed me around. Maybe Sam would come in the door in a minute.
“I told you, I’m your fairy godmother,” Claudine said. Claudine was usually the happiest fairy I knew. Claudine was just as lovely for a woman as her twin Claude was for a man; maybe lovelier, because her more agreeable personality shone through her eyes. Her coloring was the same as his; black hair, white skin. Today she was wearing pale blue capris and a coordinating black-and-blue tunic. She looked ethere ally lovely, or at least as ethereal as you can look in capris.