“Who was that?” Potter groaned from beneath the blankets. Then, snaking one arm around my waist, he tried to drag me back under the covers with him.
“Banner,” I said, taking his arm from around me. “The copper I spoke with at the police station yesterday. The one who couldn’t give a shit about what’s happening at Ravenwood.”
“What did he want?” Potter asked, poking his head from beneath the blankets.
“He reckons Emily Clarke is alive and well and buying chocolate in the local Seven-Eleven,” I told him, throwing on my dressing gown and heading for the door.
“How does he know that?” Potter mumbled, still half asleep but already reaching for his cigarettes and lighter.
“He doesn’t know for sure,” I said looking back at him. “But he’s too lazy to go and check it out.”
“Do you want to check it out?” Potter asked, peering at me bleary-eyed through a haze of blue smoke.
“Straight away,” I said, heading out of the room and across the landing to the bathroom.
I shut the door and ran a shower. As the water warmed, I dropped my dressing gown and stood naked in front of the mirror. I didn’t want to release my claws, fangs, or wings, but I had to know. With my wings fluttering behind me, and those little black claws rolled into three-fingered fists, I stared at my reflection. I felt sick as the cracks appeared around my eyes and the corners of my lips. They spread like wild ivory down my neck, over my shoulder, and across my breasts. They covered my stomach, my hips, and the length of my legs down to my toes. I looked like an ancient statue, like the one outside the summerhouse back at the manor. As I stepped closer to the mirror, I felt a slight relief to see that the cracks weren’t as deep and ragged as they had been. The blood I had sucked from Potter’s neck had worked in filling the cracks for a while, but now the effects were fast wearing off.
Then, from behind me, I heard a noise and gasping out loud, I spun around. Potter was standing naked in the bathroom with his back to the door. Without saying anything, he came towards me. He held his wrist up to my mouth. I looked down and could see the green and blue veins beneath his skin.
“I can’t,” I whispered, tears beginning to stand in my eyes. “I feel like some kind of drug addict.”
“Stop thinking of it like that, Kiera,” Potter said gently, holding out his arm. “Are the living addicts because they need air to survive?”
“But they’re not hurting anyone by breathing in air,” I said, looking into his black eyes.
“And neither are you,” he said back. “You can’t hurt me, Kiera, I’m already dead, remember?”
“But you might not always be here,” I said. “What happens then? I might have to hurt someone to survive.”
“Kiera, I’m never going to leave you,” he whispered, brushing his wrist against my lower lip, and the smell of blood was almost intoxicating. It made me feel as if I was losing control — losing my mind. He looked into my eyes and said, “Kiera, the cracks are back and they will only get worse. Then what? They become so bad that you crumble into a pile of dust. What happens to me? I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of eternity here without you. I couldn’t do that. I know taking my blood isn’t perfect, but until we figure this whole thing out, it’s the best that we can do.”
“And what if we don’t figure it out?” I whispered, the smell of his blood driving me half-crazy.
“Tiger, you have the knack of figuring everything out,” he half-smiled. “You’re Kiera Hudson.”
Then, unable to fight the urge anymore, I lunged forward, sinking my fangs into the fleshy part of his wrist. His blood exploded into my mouth and I gulped it down. It felt hot as it splashed over my tongue and down the back of my throat. I heard Potter making a hissing sound, as if in some small way he was in pain. But even though I knew that, I just couldn’t stop until I was full.
With my head feeling dizzy and light, I loosened my jaws around Potter’s wrist and withdrew my fangs. He gripped his arm with his free hand and held it high above his head to slow the flow of blood that oozed between his fingers.
“Did it hurt?” I asked, wiping his blood from my lips with my fingertips.
“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting a bit.”
“You didn’t say it hurt last time,” I said, feeling a little guilty.
Then looking at me, Potter smiled and said, “Sweetcheeks, the last time you did that to me, we were making love and I was so turned on, you could’ve ripped my freaking head off and I wouldn’t have felt a thing.”
“It didn’t hurt me, either,” I winked back at him.
Potter glanced at the shower then back at me. “Fancy having your back washed?” he asked me.
Then, pushing him gently in the chest and guiding him back to the bathroom door, I smiled and said, “I’d rather have a coffee.”
I closed the door and stood alone, those little black claws opening and closing at the tips of my wings.
Although what Banner had told me wasn’t conclusive proof that Emily Clarke was still alive somewhere, it did raise my hopes that she was perhaps safe and well. Perhaps she had rented a room? But what I couldn’t understand was why she hadn’t contacted her sister, Elizabeth.
With these thoughts clawing away at me, I took my shower and got dressed. Potter had made me a coffee and he sat at the kitchen table smoking. I took my iPod and checked it for any messages from Kayla. There weren’t any. Should I be worried? Not yet, perhaps. It was just short of ten o’clock, so maybe she had been in class all morning? Did these ‘Greys,’ as Kayla described them, even bother to teach the kids at Ravenwood?
Isidor came into the kitchen and waved away the smoke that lingered like a cloud above Potter and the kitchen table. “What’s the plan?” he asked me.
“I’ve got a lead I want to follow up in town,” I explained. “I thought Potter and I would go and check it out.”
“Okay,” Isidor shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”
“Use the laptop to Toogle for any information on Ravenwood School.” I said. “Find out its history. We all used to know Doctor Thaddeus Ravenwood and he was a friend of your father’s. See if you can’t find a connection between Ravenwood and this school.”
“Do you think it might be connected to my father in some way?” he asked me.
“I don’t know what to think,” I told him honestly. “But have a look and see what you can dig up on McCain.”
“No worries,” Isidor said, booting up the laptop.
“And if you come across any pictures of werewolves wearing sparkling gloves, try not to get too excited,” Potter said, getting up from the table and heading for the door.
“You’re so funny,” Isidor sighed.
“I know,” Potter smiled without looking back. “It’s one of my many charms.”
I crossed the kitchen, and pecking Isidor on the cheek, I said, “Keep safe.”
“Why, are you expecting trouble?” he asked, cocking the eyebrow with the piercing.
“That copper, Banner knows that we’re staying here,” I explained. “I’m not sure that I can entirely trust him.”
“Don’t worry about me,” Isidor said, suddenly brandishing his claws and fangs. “I know Potter thinks I wander around with my head up my own arse, but I can look after myself.”
“Want to know a secret?” I whispered.
“What?” he whispered back, his fangs and claws disappearing.
“Potter was cut up real bad when you were murdered back in The Hollows,” I told him, leaving the room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“I’ve never seen anything like that before,” Sam whispered as the Greys led us back through the maze of winding corridors to our rooms.
“Like what?” I whispered back, checking out the burns on the palms of my hands.
“The way you stood there and got zapped without even making a sound. I mean, you took some pain there!” Sam said, heading up one of the narrow, winding staircases.
I tried to hide my hands from him, but I knew he could see the inflamed skin and the liquid-fat, which had started to congeal and harden between my fingers.