Page 48 of Roses & Ruin

I squeeze my eyes shut, wondering if perhaps an answer will come to me. Some inkling, some clue. I search deep inside, wondering if, somehow, there’s a part of the old me that knows the old knowledge, deep in the recesses of my soul.

But all I see, all I ever see, is the artful sculpt of cheek and jaw, the sweep of black hair across dark brows, eyes filled with fathomless midnight fire.

Hayden.

All I see is Hayden.

Chapter 17

When I get back to my room, Delia’s waiting for me on my bed, playing with the ends of her perfect silvery hair, looking anxious. Knowing what I now know, it hurts to look at her.

“Hey, Ro.” She peeks up at me with her wide cocoa eyes. I stiffen, head to my desk, drop my bag on the surface. I don’t look at her as I grab a messy stack of lit notes, pretend to straighten them.

“Let me guess,” I say. “You came up with that nickname for me during Prohibition. Or, what? Were we, like, closer than sisters during the war?”

“Depends. Which one?”

“Oh my god.” I drop the papers to cover my eyes. I can hear them scatter across my desk, fall to the ground. “God, I…I meant everything I said to you, Delia. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. Only friend. And this whole time, you’ve just been playing Babysit the Dumb Human, lying to me to keep my dumb mortal brain quiet.”

A faint, violet-scented swoosh brushes my face. I open my eyes to find all my lit notes picked up off the floor and stacked neatly on my desk, my bag hung on the little rack by my bed. I wonder if that will ever get old.

Delia’s chin slides over my shoulder, her arms wrapping around me in a tight hug. I try and hide my sniffle.

“I’m so, so sorry, Rose,” she says softly. “It was all to keep you safe. Besides…it wasn’t all a lie.”

I disentangle myself from her to sit on my bed. “Like what?” I say, feeling petulant.

“This is the first time I’ve given you a nickname,” she admits. I meet her eyes, surprised. “In fact, this is the closest we’ve ever gotten. I…” Delia looks down at the loose piece of thread she winds around her finger. “He used to say you made him feel more human. I never got it.” She looks up at me. My heart softens at the flash of vulnerability in her eyes. “Now I do.”

This feels like a rare thing for a vampire to admit. “That…seems like a big deal,” I concede. Delia snorts, crossing her arms.

“Yeah. Yeah, you could say that.” Her eyes dance with amusement for a moment before she sighs and plops on the bed beside me. I swallow hard, fiddling with the sleeve of my sweater.

“When you say he…you mean Hayden? How…What’s the deal with you two?”

Delia exhales, claps me on the thigh. “I’ll answer all your questions. But over a pot of tea and plate of vanilla scones. Come on, my treat.”

—

The Alchemist’s Study is quiet today. We ask for a table tucked far into the corner, by a large window with a perfect view of a copse of oaks and maples. The trees are nearly bare now. I watch the last few shriveled leaves tremble on the skeletal branches twisting in the cold mist.

Our waitress brings us a steaming pot of Irish breakfast and a plate of four blueberry-vanilla scones. Delia grabs one and takes a large, lusty bite.

“It doesn’t hurt you to eat human food?” I ask, bewildered. Delia snorts, spraying me with crumbs.

“No. It doesn’t do anything, though. No nourishment, no energy. If I were locked in a vault for a million years with fruits and vegetables but no animals to drink from, I’d starve till I was a dormant husk.”

“Then why do it?” I watch her grab another. “I’ve seen you destroy a stack of cookies at the dining hall.”

“Why do you think? I have a devastating sweet tooth. Sugar was a luxury good when I was a human, so I eat my fill now.”

I have a burning, slightly mortifying question. But I have to ask it.

“Where does all that food go?” I squint an eye at Delia. “Do, um, vampires…use the bathroom?”

Delia stops chewing, shoots me a withering look. After a thick swallow, she takes a breath.

“Just watch,” she says, rolling her eyes. She leans close to the cold window and blows gently. A wide patch of fog spreads where her breath touches the glass.