“I’m not afraid. ” But my voice trembled.
“Then go. ” He put a hand on my shoulder.
Desmond’s body was gone and Brigit’s ashes were no longer there. Instead of the gown, I once again wore my own clothes and a gun was in my hand.
We stood in front of an old movie theater, its façade worn down and grimy from lack of upkeep. The shadow of the marquee blotted out the sun. I could see everything better now. Lucas gave me a sad smile.
“You must go or it will all fall apart. ”
I was about to ask him what, when he too was gone, and the doors of the theater opened like a yawning mouth waiting to swallow me whole.
My eyes snapped open, and I took a moment to get my breath back.
I was lying on the carpet in my living room, which was an incredibly stupid and dangerous place for me to have fallen asleep. Next to me, snoring softly with his arm cast across my bare stomach, Desmond slept peacefully. On the other side of the room, rays of light were sneaking through the window, illuminating the chair below. It wouldn’t be long before the sun reached me.
I recalled the dream and Lucas asking if I was afraid of the daylight. There was no way to lie to myself now. Not only was I afraid of the sun, I was shaken to my core at the thought of what I had to do next.
Watching Desmond sleep, I couldn’t keep from seeing how good his olive skin looked in the natural light of day. What was he doing in my dark life?
Blinking at the bright window, I knew I didn’t have much time. The sun didn’t have the muted hue of early morning. Looking at the clock over the fireplace, I confirmed it was almost one in the afternoon. I was glad I’d fed at Calliope’s, because it meant I’d been able to rouse myself when I normally would have kept sleeping. Like a kid on Christmas morning, my anticipation was the only other thing that had gotten me up. The real miracle was that Desmond hadn’t awoken. I gently removed his arm from my belly, wishing I could stay with him longer, but knowing it was out of my control. I had to leave now before the urge to go back to sleep got too strong.
I got to my feet and padded naked through the apartment to my bedroom. Once there I was calmed by the comfortable darkness and set to work preparing myself. Donning my jeans from the day before and a long-sleeved black turtleneck, I dug through the closet looking for anything suitable to wear outdoors. Bless Grandmere for still being concerned about my health, even knowing what I was, because every Christmas she sent me sensible grandmotherly things like scarves, hats and gloves.
I had to be thankful for the cold season of the year too. In summer I would not have been able to encase myself so completely. Living in New York was a saving grace itself, because no one would wonder at me for traveling the sunlit streets under a black umbrella.
I wrapped a dark scarf several times around my face and pulled a hat low over my ears so only my eyes were visible. Leather gloves covered the exposed skin of my hands, and I added a long black peacoat over everything for an extra layer of protection. Under the coat I had two guns tucked into the back of my jeans, and the pockets were laden with extra silver bullets, the clips preloaded for me by my fae weapons dealer so I didn’t have to touch the bullets. I had on knee-high black boots over the jeans, not wanting to risk an exposed slash of ankle. And because I couldn’t feel too protected going into this situation, I slid a long, sheathed silver blade, the handle double taped for my protection, into one of the boots.
Back in the living room I stood next to my doorway, watching Desmond sleep. Part of me hoped he would wake up and try to stop me from going, but he only muttered something incomprehensible and stirred no more.
Bringing Peyton in alive would have been easier with help, but the job had been tasked to me and I wasn’t willing to risk anyone else’s life to get it done. I needed to do it alone, and the best chance I had to succeed was to attack in the daylight when he would be dead to the world.
I stooped and gave Desmond a delicate brush of a kiss. I hoped, if all went right, it wouldn’t be our last.
Then I was gone.
Chapter Thirty
Outside, daylight smashed into me like a fist. I felt discombobulated and dizzy. My vision swam, unaccustomed to the brightness of a sunny afternoon, and under the layers of clothing I broke out in a cold sweat. This was the kind of fear I didn’t know how to deal with. The sun was not an enemy I could fight. I’d spent my whole life hiding from the light, and now I was willingly walking out into it.
I opened up the umbrella, and the black material blotted out the worst of the light as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. Stumbling down the street like a burdened drunk, I kicked myself for not thinking about sunglasses. I’d never owned a pair—I’d never had a need for them before—but with the glaring shine of afternoon burning my nighttime retinas, I was blinded.
The urge to sleep was so incredible my body and feet felt like lead. I hoped Brigit hadn’t been mistaken about the theater, because if I could at least find myself somewhere dark, my body might regain enough strength to give me a fighting chance.
I tilted the umbrella to keep the light out of my eyes and continued my pathetic trek towards the only location that made sense. There was a place halfway between my apartment and Central Park that had once been a luxurious theater called the Orpheum. A fire in the 1980s had killed several people and led to its subsequent closure, but because it was considered a historical building debate raged on for decades as to what should be done with the place.
It was remiss of me to not think of it sooner as a perfect nest. Of course it would appeal to vampires—it was full of darkness, death and tragedy. Furthermore, the nasty appeal of the place would sometimes attract someone foolish enough to sneak in who would then find themselves as unexpected supper guests for a hungry clusterfuck of undead.
After a few blocks of lethargic progress, I stood on the corner opposite the theater. It managed to look foreboding in the bright light of day. The ph of the Orpheum’s sign had fallen down years ago so I read it as the Or eum, which was probably Latin for terrible fucking idea. Many small round bulbs that once lit the marquee had been smashed by vandals, so only those out of easy reach were still whole. The marquee itself had lost most of the letters that had once announced its closure, so instead of saying Closed for Business only a half dozen black block letters remained with no semblance of meaning. The windows of the main double doors were painted over with black, and through the shattered panes the boarded panels behind were visible.
I limped across the street and stood in front of the doors. Deep in my chest was a sensation I’d only experienced before a meeting with the Tribunal. Both there and here, my fate was in someone else’s hands. Beneath the marquee the sun was blocked out, as it had been in my dream, but I hadn’t yet begun to feel refreshed. Instead a chill seeped into my bones and unease spread like a dark shadow through my whole body.
No turning back now. I’d come this far and I had no choice but to continue. Touching my back, I reassured myself I still had my guns. What lay beyond these doors was the truest kind of get it done or die trying situation. If I didn’t take Peyton alive, he would see me dead. There was something comforting about knowing the outcome would be black or white with no room for gray.
With my own death at the forefront of my mind, I pulled on one of the handles, and it yielded, swinging out towards me. Part of me was expecting the squeal of angry hinges, some sort of loud announcement of my arrival, but the door opened with nothing more than a swishing sigh of air being sucked inward.
The atmosphere inside was that of stagnant darkness, and the air was cold and still. I entered the old lobby of the Orpheum, crossing the aged red carpet and moving past the empty ticket booths into the large arena of the movie theater itself.
It had once been a theater for stage productions and operas. The ceilings rose in high arches to amplify the acoustics and were painted in detailed murals depicting choirs of angels and devils combating over the souls of the patrons below.