The city was a frigid wasteland when I stepped out of the Way that emptied out into Uptown, Chicago.
According to the calendar that I'd only recently deigned to consult, it was November, very near Thanksgiving. It was no wonder that Chicago was firmly nestled in the grip of Winter. It seemed worse than usual, though. Snow easily came up to my knees. My corset jacket was built for defense, not warmth, so the wind cut through me easily, like a thousand little needles tearing into my skin. The lace trim camisole I wore beneath didn't help matters. I hadn't even bothered to change into something decent before storming from Nicodemus' Boston home. I shivered, cold and miserable and trudged forward aimlessly.
I was still hours away from home on foot. I could make it there in about forty minutes if I called a cab or rented a car. I could save myself the trouble by locating a payphone and dialing home. Dad would come to get me, wherever I was.
But I didn't. I continued to trek forward without any clear goal in mind. Just...kept my body moving. It was the only thing I could do to keep myself from crumbling like a house of cards.
It felt like I'd lacked solid footing from the moment Lasciel's coin had touched my skin two years ago. I'd traded a half-dozen homes, trying to find someplace where I fit, someplace where I would hurt the least amount of people. I'd tried to find a home where I could right the wrongs of the world. And everywhere I went, things got worse. It wasn't the world that was wrong. It was me. I was the walking cataclysm that came in and wrecked lives. Nixon, Thorn, Salem, and Anna were dead because I'd failed them. I'd slaughtered Red Court thralls, ripped apart the minds of vampires and humans. I'd killed Father Russo on a whim. Jordan might die because I'd become attached to him. I'd practically thrust him like a gift beneath Nicodemus' nose.
I was a plague ship, filled with nothing but pestilence. I had nothing to offer anyone but pain and death. And I was dragging myself back home to inflict it on my family. They didn't even get the mercy of a flag to let them know about the corruption within. Maybe I should just sit out in the cold for a bit. See if I could die of hypothermia first.
"That's being a bit sensational, Molly," Lasciel chided, appearing beside me. She was appropriately bundled for the weather, unlike me. "Allow me to alter your perception. It does not have to feel cold."
"You've done enough, thanks," I spat.
"Molly-"
"You let him do that to me, Lasciel! You had to know it was coming after he gave the coin to Jordan. You knew and you lied to me."
"It was a possibility. I hoped it wouldn't come to that."
"And you didn't fucking warn me! I could have-"
"Done what?" she said, placing a restraining hand on my elbow as I tried to march past her. She couldn't actually touch me, but I felt the firm pressure of her touch anyway. "Left? And what would that have accomplished? This plan would go forth in any case and you would reap no benefit. The meeting went as well as could have been expected. Better, in fact. Nicodemus is extending a hand of mercy."
"More like delivering a sucker punch. When my father finds out..."
And he would find out. I was sure of that. There was no way to hide it from him forever. This was the reason I'd left for good, damn it. Nicodemus had put me in the position I'd been trying to squirm out of for years.
"A punch, yes. But not a killing blow. It is still mercy."
"I need a big piece of fuck off pie, Lash, why don't you let me enjoy one in peace, okay? I don't want to talk to you until tomorrow. I want to work through things alone."
Her shoulders drooped, eyes went distant with sorrow (damn it, I did not want to feel sorry for her at the moment) and she popped out of sight and vanished from my mental awareness. She'd still be there, operating in the background like any of my other autonomic functions, as present as my heartbeat or breath. But it was a relief to not feel her for a time.
I shoved my hands into my pockets again and paused when my fingers brushed something in the interior. It was flat and a little weathered and had been pressed against the back of my pocket, which was the only reason I hadn't felt it until now. I drew it out and mulled over the word on the front, printed in shiny silver letters.
Zero.
It seemed like an eternity ago that I'd stuffed the invitation into my pocket. It had been something novel I'd wanted to try. I'd never gotten to go to a nightclub, never had the thrill of dirty dancing beneath multicolored lights. I'd never been to a party or drank to excess. I'd never gotten to be a normal teenager.
Well, carpe noctem. I had hours before morning. It was probably better that I turn up tomorrow anyway. It was fixing to turn into a blizzard. Even Lasciel couldn't save my stupid ass from the elements if I went blundering into the white void and got lost. I'd worry about my mission tomorrow.
Tonight, I wanted to dance.
The invitation got me through the black velvet curtain that blocked the entrance to Zero and past the burly bouncers. But from the looks on their faces? I probably hadn't needed to use it.
I'd learned during my tenure with the other Denarians that Lasciel's coin imbued the user with a sort of...effortless charm. A certain je ne sais quoi that drew people in. Dialed up to its full power it could probably draw as much attention as the Hunger of a White Court vampire. But I wasn't here to draw attention to myself. I wanted to get lost. I wanted to disappear into the thudding beat and dance until my knees buckled and every fiber of my being was too exhausted to continue.
The room beyond fit the bill perfectly. The interior of Zero instantly fugged the brain, overloading it with intense sexual energy, buffeting the body with battling hungers. It wasn't just White Court influence. A lot of it was human. There were so many broken people here. Even with my empathic senses dialed down, I could feel it. Fear and desperation were a big, choking mass. The figures that ground against each other on the dance floor might as well have been rats scrabbling to escape a burning building. Everyone here feared they'd die alone and unloved.
Take me, they said. Want me. Love me.
They'd come to the wrong place for that. This was a place that devoured the desperate, consumed the needy, and left husks behind.
Emptiness called to emptiness and I realized too late that I was hollow too. This was the place I belonged. This was what I deserved. Zero couldn't do anything more to hurt me. I smiled and crossed to the bar, ordering an Appletini. Bring it on, Zero. Do your worst.
Four Appletinis and a few suspicious substances later and I was on the dance floor, trading partner for partner. It didn't really matter whose arms were around me. Man or woman, black or white, human or not. Just so long as someone was touching me. I was tripping on that high-octane joy I'd experienced once during the heat of battle. Maybe the happy chemicals were coming from the tab of Molly I'd taken. Ha. I was high on myself. Or maybe it was Lasciel trying to curb the crushing weight of depression that had settled onto my shoulders the second I'd left Boston.
I didn't really care either way.
I brushed a man as I returned to the bar for my fifth drink. He was handsome. Dark-haired, gray-eyed, and pale. Supernatural allure radiated off of him. A vampire. One of the Raiths, most likely.
His eyes swept the length of me. My hair was down, my corset jacket open to reveal the low-cut camisole. It had slipped during my many dances and revealed the violet bra I wore beneath. His eyes darkened to the color of polished chrome when he spoke.
"Hello, beautiful." The voice was sexy as hell, designed to tickle a woman's libido. "You look...positively delectable. What should I call you, little doe?"
"I'm Molly," I said with more bravado than I felt. "But I suspect you want to call me dinner."
The man actually threw his head back and laughed. The sound made desire coil tight like a spring in my belly, aided by the Molly and alcohol. I was pleasantly foggy. I didn't really have the presence of mind to pull my hand back when he reached for it. Warm, silvery pleasure sank deep into my skin and tried to liquify my bones. It was a touch. A threat. A promise of sweet nothingness afterward.
"Not a blushing virgin, then," he mused. "You want...hm. Very nice. I can make it all stop. Would you like that?"
"Yes," I croaked. I wasn't even sure what he felt when he touched me. I just wasn't in any mood to say no.
The vampire leaned in with a smirk, about to kiss me, I thought. Then I was being jerked backward off my stool, cradled into a chest that belonged to a professional athlete. When I craned my neck to look at my would-be savior, I found...another vampire. Impossible more handsome than the first, with longish-hair swept up to the nape of his neck. On anyone else, it might have looked feminine. But his face defied the word. He was pure, predatory, masculine grace.
"Madrigal," the new vampire said in a furious warning tone. "I told you to get the fuck out."
Madrigal Raith gave him an insolent stare. "Family business coz, I can do what I want. The doe is willing."
The vampire had me out the door and through the velvet curtain seconds later and I made a soft sound of protest. Madrigal called after us, told the man-Thomas-to take his fucking hands off of me.
"Stop struggling," he said, voice a taut whisper. "You'll thank me when you're alive in the morning. He's not a good time, trust me."
The air outside the club was cold and doused some of the drugging numbness I'd been clinging so desperately to. I didn't want to be out in the cold. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be saved.
The tears I'd been battling all day finally escaped, falling hard and fast. A moan of pure, tortured agony wrenched itself from my chest and I all but collapsed. The vampire let me go, taken off guard. My knees hit the concrete hard. I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd cracked one of them. But the physical pain was secondary at this point.
Thomas stood above me, a silent voyeur to my pain. I dragged my gaze up to meet his, noting as I did that they were almost completely silver. I sank into them, grateful to be in anyone's mind but my own at the moment. Or...so I thought.
The inside of Thomas' head was as much a shambles as mine. A beautiful but austere place, with nothing and no one he felt he could really care for. Not without hurting them. He was acutely aware he hurt people. Tried to minimize it, box it away. Touched without being touched, helped without being helped in return. He was a great sucking black hole of need. And I was a crumbling planet within his pull.
He flinched when the soulgaze broke. He crouched near me, extended a hand, letting it hover helplessly over me, afraid to touch me and make things worse. I didn't see how they could be at this point.
"Christ, kid," he muttered. "No. No, it is not worth that. Whatever it is, it's not worth that. You need help, not judgment."
"Then help me," I whispered, leaning up, pressing close to him. Our lips almost touched. "Help me, please."
He snarled a word. It might have been no. It may have been yes. Or maybe, like me, it was beyond words.
His arms went around me. His lips crushed mine. And my mind spiraled into peaceful, silver oblivion.