Letters From New York [Blood Magic, Book 2]

Chapter 4: Dead Famous

Despite my unplanned all-nighter, I threw myself into my schoolwork twice as hard as usual; I'd thought myself around in enough circles over the last twelve hours that studying was the only thing I could do to shut my mind up. It wasn't like sleep deprivation was opening any doors for revelatory breakthroughs anyway.

This was what it was, and no matter how I spun it, there was little good to be found in any of it, beyond the knowledge that Keel was alive, of course. Everything else I'd been holding out for was gone, and my hope right along with it. Fate was cruel. And real. And utterly contemptuous of sappy Hollywood endings.

My sudden studiousness elicited a smart-ass quip from my tutor, Mr. Smith, a stout older man with a greying beard, generous laugh lines and a limitless penchant for teasing, who wondered what had happened to "coax forth the Mildred he'd always known was in there somewhere."

I rolled my eyes at him, and turned my attention back to the Civil War, as it was unfolding on the pages of my history text.

"No, I'm being completely serious here," he continued, but the glint in his eyes told me otherwise. "You have to divulge your secret. Was it aliens? Is this the real Mills or are you merely occupying her body? Tell me, what is your interest in American history?"

I laughed. His expression told me he expected me to. But it came out clipped and insincere. His jokes were hitting far too close to home for comfort.

Stupid thing was, I'd been that girl once, back when I wholeheartedly believed I was human. I just couldn't tell him that. I still remembered how important it had seemed to get good grades and make Fredrick and Estella proud. Now everything was different. The last time I was over at their house for dinner, I'd noticed they'd taken my awards off the wall. I was still in the family pictures, but it was like the educational stuff had lost significance for them too. What was the point of it, really? Of all the possible futures open to me, I couldn't think of one I wanted. Especially after last night. Nebulous, shapeless somedays didn't have quite the same potency as blood in the toilet and Nosferatu Keel.

What was I going to do about Keel? It felt like I'd been asking myself that question ever since the moment he introduced himself, but since that dream-that-clearly-wasn't-a-dream it had become a near-constant mental refrain. As Boras had reminded him, the blood contract forbade Keel from coming after me, but it didn't saddle me with the same restrictions. Still, if I acted against him – even to prevent the abduction of another sorcerer – I'd be squandering any protection the arrangement granted me. Catch-22. Even back in New York, I remained the queen of impossible situations.

I did my damndest to avoid any further non-academic conversation with Mr. Smith, and when he offered me a ride home at the end of the lesson, I politely declined. As his last student of the day, he occasionally gave me a lift back to the apartment, but I wasn't in the mood for company or more idle chit-chat. Humans were just too much work right now.

Even so, as I started towards home, I found myself stealing glances at the windows of the houses and apartments I passed – some were curtained, but others allowed me fleeting glimpses inside. What kind of lives did the people behind them have? Were any even half as screwed up as mine was? I doubted it. More than ever before, I envied their easy relationships and their painfully human problems, free of royalty and monsters and the ever-present marionette strings of the bond. No matter how optimistic Bruce and Ephraim were about my re-integration, there was no going back to that. Not entirely. There was no undoing the events of last ten months, and certainly no convincing Fredrick and Estella that it was safe for me to live with them and Mikey again.

I turned the corner onto another densely packed residential block. Here, some of the windows already had colourful strands of Christmas lights strung along them, heralding the upcoming holiday season; it was as if they'd been put there to taunt me, to remind me of what could be mine if I fully embraced the charade and left Keel – and his unnatural desires, however they may play out – behind, for good. It wouldn't be like before, but might it be enough? If Anna could flourish despite her absentee dad, why couldn't I? But what if I dared do that, dared to let go, only to discover that destiny and the bond still had other plans? How could I possibly plot my future when it seemed to hinge on everything and everyone else?