Page 22 of Snow

In the darkness of the doorway, Thornfield quirks a dark eyebrow and me and his large shoulders twitch beneath his suit jacket. For once, I wish he’d turn up in jeans and a sweatshirt, looking anything other than the suave mother fucker he is.

“In that case, I don’t need company,” he says slowly.

“I’m afraid you do.” I walk toward the main doors and fling them open. Dull evening light streams in. Not for the first time, I’m stunned by the fact Thornfield doesn’t flinch or shrink back like every other vampire. He simply walks to the edge of the shadow, toe just over the line, and inhales slowly – like he’s daring the sun to try and burn him.

“You do not trust me,” he says, staring out into the museum courtyard.

Behind us, the security guard tuts and makes a show of rubbing his arms against the chill in the air.

“You failed to get the scepter back. It was kind of your one job.” I lean against the doorframe, deliberately positioning myself in the light.

“I was outbid. There was nothing I could do. The Anti-Magick-Alliance⁠—”

“Must have found themselves a wealthy benefactor if they can outbid a Thornfield.” I turn and fix my eyes on him. “Your family has controlled this city for centuries. We all know the kind of wealth you have stashed away.”

“My family—” Thornfield stops. There’s a flash of irritation in his eyes, and a tiny speck of red that makes me want to keep pushing him. Through gritted teeth, he continues, “My family is none of your business.”

I turn back toward the courtyard. As soon as the sun dips below the horizon, we can leave. Any minute now…

“It bothers you, doesn’t it?” Thornfield says, taking a flask from his pocket and bringing it to his lips. He sips loudly, and the tang of blood fills my nostrils. “Not being able to read me?”

I shrug, but I’m pretty sure he can see from the look on my face that he’s right. “How do you do it? You don’t shield. So, is it just that you don’t have emotions?”

“I have them. I just choose not to lean into them. And I’m well practised at keeping them locked away.” Thornfield steeples his fingers and smirks a little. “I’m a lot older than you, remember. A lot older.”

I chew my lower lip and feel my jaw twitch. “Plus, you’re a demon.” I’m talking more to myself than to him. “Generally speaking, empaths can’t read the feelings of demons.”

Thornfield lets out a short sharp chuckle. “A demon, am I? Is that a fact?”

“It’s a theory.”

“A theory no one can quite agree on… are vampires demons? Soulless? Evil? Or are we just like you? Not human. More than human. But not demons. Just different.”

“That’s a question for a philosopher, not me.”

“I’m interested in what you think.”

“Bullshit.” I stand up straight and pace a little back and forth. I don’t know how he manages to rile me up like this, but I don’t like it. I’m used to being able to control my emotions, and the irony of the fact I can’t read Thornfield’s but he makes mine surge, is not lost on me.

“Sun.”

“What?” I snap.

“The sun has gone down. We can leave.”

* * *

It’s strange seeing Thornfield outside of the museum. In the half-light, his face looks different. Paler, somehow, yet the muscles are more defined.

For a brief moment, he stops and turns his face up toward the sky, as if he’s trying to catch the memory of the sun and hold it on his closed eyelids. A pang of sympathy hits me smack in the chest. I spent years in a concrete box when HEL had me in their clutches; I know what it’s like not to feel daylight. To feel like your entire body has become paper thin. Like it might waste away.

For Thornfield, it has been centuries. Exactly how many, I have no idea.

We’ve all heard the rumors about the vampire families that controlled England for so many centuries. How, slowly, they became like the supernatural mafia – grasping hold of the cities in which they lived and ruling with cruel fists in order to keep our kind protected. And to further their own desires, of course.

Legend says Thornfield’s family is the oldest of them all.

How many centuries is that?