Page 20 of House of Night (House of Night #1)

20

Recovered Journal of Dr. Georgia Clark

June 24, Year 1, Emergence Era

It doesn’t seem real. It can’t be real. Juno is in trouble, more trouble than I ever could’ve imagined. I didn’t know. Juno made sure I didn’t know because she’s kept me away. Was it for my safety like she said, or was it so I wouldn’t find out? Both? It doesn’t matter. I have to get her out before they kill her or worse. If I don’t, then we are all lost.

I ’m drawing a diagram of the castle into my journal when there’s a sharp rap on my door. Then it opens.

I slam my journal closed.

“If you’re done with your doodling, Whitbine is here for your examination.” Valen is cold, his haughtiness filling the air around him.

“Today?”

He only glares at me. Paler than usual, he looks particularly tired. Dark circles under his eyes and dried blood at his hairline. His or someone else’s? Besides mass murder, what does he do while he’s gone from this horrible place?

So, yes, today. Fuck . My mouth goes dry as I stand and toss my blanket over my notebook.

He sighs. “Come along. I don’t have time for your navel-gazing.”

I don’t argue. There’s no point. He can make me do anything he wants, and there’s no way I can stop him. He’s proven that again and again. The less time I have to spend with him, to interact with him, the better. Not that Whitbine is any better. In fact, my skin crawls at the thought of Gregor’s interrogator.

Valen walks beside me. I’m careful not to touch him, my arms wrapped protectively around my middle.

“Have you come up with any more clever ways to end your life?” he asks.

I glance at him.

“Not that jumping to your death was particularly clever. I expected more of you, little rabbit.”

I don’t know why he wants to goad me. Hasn’t he done enough? I try to ignore him as we reach the stairs, my apprehension growing with every step closer to Whitbine. Then I remember what Whitbine said at the ball. His change in methods.

I stop and press a hand to the cold stone wall for support. “You’re going to leave me alone with him?”

He smirks. “I didn’t realize you were desperate for some private time with Whitbine. I suppose if you insist, I?—”

“Stop!” I finally meet his gaze. “I know you get off on torturing me and being as cruel as possible, but I need you to tell me you won’t leave me alone with him.”

“You’d prefer to be alone with me?” he asks, still taunting.

I can only look at him, stare into his eyes as I try desperately not to fall apart. He stares right back, his icy exterior revealing nothing.

Regret fills my mind. Regret that he caught me before I could fall all the way to my death. In a way, I did. I’m at the bottom, slowly bleeding out what little life I have remaining. There is nothing else for me, only waiting to die and wishing for it sooner rather than later.

His jaw tightens for a moment, then he takes my elbow.

I yank away from him, and he lets me. With an aggrieved sigh, he gestures for me to continue down to the Green Flame Level. “I won’t leave you alone with him. In case you weren’t paying attention at the ball, you belong to me . I don’t let paunchy little bitches like Whitbine play with my toys.”

It shouldn’t be a relief, but it is. I’m still sick to my stomach, my forehead covered in clammy sweat. I could take issue with Valen treating me like property or calling me a toy, but I don’t. It’s not that I’m choosing my battles, it’s that I’m already beaten. I have no leverage, there is no play, there is only what scraps Valen throws me.

My feet become leaden the closer we get to the interrogation room, and I reach it all too soon. Whitbine is waiting. Dressed in clinical white, his light hair slicked back neatly, he greets me with a saccharine smile and reaches for my hands.

I cringe away from him, and he gives a jovial laugh. “Always so skittish with your friends.”

I swallow the sourness rising in my throat.

“Lord Specter.” He gives Valen a small bow. “Thank you for bringing her. I will get to the bottom of her memories, I assure you.”

Valen leans against the wall and crosses his arms. Letting his head fall back, he closes his eyes. “Get to it,” he intones.

Whitbine’s smile twitches away, his gaze going dark. “I believe High Lord Dragonis instructed?—”

“The high lord briefly entertained your never-ending excuses and pathetic attempts to undermine me. That is all. Now you can either do what you’ve been instructed to do, or this session is at an end.”

Whitbine scowls and pulls a pill from his pocket. Instead of handing it to me this time, he says, “Open for me,” with a clear expectation.

I shudder, hating every second of this, but I open my mouth as bidden. If I don’t, he’ll touch me and force me to take it anyway.

“There, isn’t that better?” he asks once I’ve swallowed.

“No.” I answer, his compulsion working its way through me, a silent command embedded in it. How I would love to look at this blood under a microscope, not that I’ve found a single scientific instrument anywhere in this underground mausoleum. Then again, I’ve already seen vampire blood under a microscope, haven’t I?

“Sit.” He leads me to the couch and settles in beside me, his leg against mine, his hands far too familiar with touching me.

I have no resistance. His blood has made sure of it. I’m a puppet again, simply serving a different master.

“I’d like to try something new,” he pushes my hair from my shoulder.

“What are you doing?” Valen growls.

“What the high lord has commanded,” Whitbine simpers. “As you’ve stated many times, my previous methods weren’t thorough enough.”

Without warning, Whitbine bares his fangs and strikes at my neck.

I scream.

He never makes contact.

Valen is standing over us, his hand around Whitbine’s jaw. Seething rage, the sort that lives in the heart of me, is writ large on his pale face. He jerks his arm to the side, and Whitbine lets out a yowl as half of his jaw folds inward. A complicated fracture dealt with nothing more than a twitch of Valen’s hand.

Valen lifts him, holding Whitbine as he screams, blood pouring from his mouth. “I told you never to take from her.”

Whitbine blubbers something, his voice gurgling and unintelligible. Eyes wide, he grabs onto Valen’s arm, but he isn’t strong enough to free himself.

“She is mine. All of her. Or perhaps I didn’t make myself clear?” Valen squeezes again, the other side of Whitbine’s jaw caving in, his entire mouth a mush of blood and protruding bone.

His screams send chills through my body, my skin crawling as I watch, unable to look away. The smallest sense of satisfaction twines with the horror, and I’m once again reminded that some part of me is becoming monstrous. When I silently gloated over Melody’s impending death—I didn’t know it was her, but I knew a creature was going to suffer, to die. And I delighted in it the same way I delight now at Whitbine’s torture. I am not the same person I used to be. No longer Doctor Georgia Clark, do no harm, help everyone no matter their situation. I’m something else, something that survives in the deep, deep dark.

A malevolent look of enjoyment on his face, Valen digs his fingers into the wounds, crushing Whitbine’s tongue into pulp. “Leave now or I will chain you outside to meet the day. It’s your choice.” Valen shoves him backwards, Whitbine tripping and almost falling into the green fire.

He holds his mangled face, a scream bubbling in his throat as he stares at Valen. Then, with supernatural speed, he tears from the room, his form disappearing as I sag against the couch.

Valen flicks the blood from his fingers, the fireplace sizzling as the droplets hit.

He’s given me a reprieve.

“Don’t look at me like that, little rabbit.” His tone turns snide again. “That wasn’t for you.” He turns his back to me, his gaze on the fire. “Whitbine has tried my patience for centuries. This was a lesson. Nothing more.”

I have nothing to say. I can’t thank him, can never thank him. And Whitbine will be back. But at least for today, for this moment, I was spared.

As I rise, something shiny on Valen’s back catches my eye. He’s dressed in his usual black, but his shirt is wet. Somehow, without even thinking about it, I know it’s blood.

“Is it your blood or someone else’s?” I ask quietly.

He looks at me over his shoulder. “Worried for me?”

“Glad to be rid of you.” The words come out unbidden, as if compelled. But they weren’t. Whitbine is long gone.

His black eyebrows rise, then he turns away from me, hiding whatever thoughts might be playing across his face.

“Do you …” I don’t know why I’m doing this. Maybe to recover some shard of the old me, whatever I can find that’s left. Or perhaps it’s simply to get a better idea of how to hurt them, maybe kill them. “Do you need medical attention?” I ask.

“No,” he says flatly, his back still to me. “I need to be left alone. You’re free to return to your room. Continue plotting suicide, writing sad poetry, or whatever it is you do in there.”

“I plot your death.” I glare at his back.

“Let’s hope you come up with a decent plan soon.” He sighs. “Run along now, little rabbit.”

I don’t ask any more questions, not when I can be free of this damnable room. Still, I hesitate at the door, my gaze returning to the blood on his shirt. If I could get closer, could examine his blood … But he doesn’t deserve my help. I know that, and I feel painfully foolish for even offering it in the first place. But it’s part of me, just like the darkness is now part of me.

“I can look at?—”

“Just go.” He doesn’t command, doesn’t yell. If anything, he sounds … exhausted.

I turn and leave, my steps quick as I escape Whitbine and the green flame room. No more questions, no more Whitbine, at least for today. I bask in the lightness of it and try to forget the sag of Valen’s shoulders, the weariness in his tone. He isn’t my concern and never will be. I have to remember that; my instincts to help be damned.

I’m sitting at the top of the stairs, my thoughts wandering to what might lurk on the lower floors of the castle. The problem with investigating is light. I could barely see when I went to the next lower level, the one with the husks. I swallow hard at the thought of them. Would they come after me if I went deeper along the staircase? Or could there be more of them below?

It’s an exercise in futility. I realize that. But I can’t just sit in my room any longer. I’m slowly going insane and find myself counting cracks in the stone ceiling and walls. I have to get out, even if ‘out’ means somewhere else in this dark cave.

I’ve yet to find whoever is leaving the meals outside my door. It would be nice to know, if only so that I didn’t feel so completely alone. I’d also like a chance to go outside again, but I suppose after my last escape attempt, Valen isn’t too keen on letting me out into the world. I groan at the thought of never seeing sunlight again.

I’m stuck in here. So here is where I have to focus my efforts. One thing in particular has been itching at my mind—how did all the vampires get to the ball? I didn’t have a chance to pay too much attention, but I doubt they arrived through the decrepit garden. It doesn’t seem fancy enough. Trudging through mud and weeds in their fine clothes? No way. So they had to have gotten here through some other means, and if they can get in, maybe I can get out.

I head down to the Green Flame landing, my ears pricked up for any sound. I don’t want to run into Valen during my snooping, but I have the feeling he isn’t here. He’s gone most of the time, out committing genocide in the name of his father. I shake my head at myself—why the hell would I even think about treating him? Even if it meant I’d get a chance to see how the vampires tick, it’s not worth it. Maybe it’s Stockholm Syndrome or simply a trauma bond. Or maybe I’m just lonely and pathetic.

The halls are silent down here, the rooms in their usual state—unoccupied and untouched. I hurry past the interrogation room and move deeper through the connecting rooms. I’ve been this way before, searching for the castle’s secrets. This time I move even slower, my body on high alert as I approach the doors that lead to the library. No voices this time, no hint of anyone inside.

Pushing the door slowly ajar, I peek inside. Nothing moves. No one’s here as far as I can tell. Still, I stay as quiet as I can, practically tiptoeing past the sitting area where Valen met with Coal. Beyond the fireplace, there are some glass cases filled with artifacts. I don’t know what they are, not specifically. One has a jeweled cup, another some sort of cross made of ruby and silver.

A table sits farther back, the top of it littered with books and scrolls. A single lamp burns beside a well-worn side chair, a book open on the arm. I ease closer to it, looking around for almost a minute before I dare to pick it up.

It’s heavy, the pages thick and the binding wide. There’s an illustration in gold on the front of a dragon, a snake, and a crow. I don’t recognize the language, and as I flip through the pages, I find notes scrawled in the margins. Most of them are in a foreign language, though here and there I can make out a word or two in English.

I sit and lay the book in my lap, turning the pages and inspecting the illustrations within. The first one is of a tree, a single fruit hanging from it. On the branch of the tree sits a black crow, on the ground beneath it slithers a green snake, and in the clouds above flies a crimson dragon. It’s almost like the Garden of Eden story, though I don’t recall any mention of a dragon in that one. I turn page after page, finding notes of “blood bond” and “compulsion” here and there with underlined sections.

This one book seems to contain a wealth of information, maybe a way for me to understand the vampires, a way to fight them. If only I could read it. I keep looking until I come to a page with the most margin writing. The image on the opposite page is of a child, a vampire child based on the look of it. She’s holding hands with what must be her mother, a beautiful vampire with a snake draped on her shoulder. Blood runs from where their hands are joined. “Blood bond” is written beside it.

Someone has made copious notes all over the pages, some of it in feverish foreign script, some of it in English. “Broken?” is scrawled next to an underlined passage. I scour the page for any more words in English, but the rest is unreadable.

A few more pages beyond that is another illustration. This one is of two black trees, some of their branches touching. A cross-section image, their roots go deep into the earth, blood seeping around them. The blood continues through the trunks and the limbs, as if through veins. The link is unbroken from one tree to the other, their bloodline shared where the branches touch.

More pages, more scribbling. The last illustration is of the trees again, though one is skeletal. Its leaves are gone, the blood around its roots a charred brown as is the blood in its ‘veins’. Where its branches join with the other tree, the same charred brown is spreading, polluting the veins of the healthy tree. What does it mean? If one tree dies, the other dies as well, but what do the trees represent? Family lineages or individuals or what? Or are there two magical trees somewhere in what, Transylvania? I snort a choked laugh at that idea. There are no answers, at least none I can read.

I close the book and sit with it for a while, my mind trying to parse the data. The book must be about the vampires, perhaps their history. Or maybe a book of legends or fables about them. There’s no way to know. But whoever had this book out—presumably Valen—was looking for information on blood bonds. Of course that leads me to the question of ‘what the fuck is a blood bond’? The only thing remotely like that is what Melody told me about Valen’s link to Gregor, but why would that be important to Valen right now?

Putting the book back where it was, I search the other tomes on the table. They’re similarly in a language I don’t know. The ones that are open have more notes in them, but nothing I can use to decipher the purpose of Valen’s research.

I move farther into the library, the dust in the air making me sneeze several times loudly. I cower between the stacks and peer out, hoping no one heard the noise. After long, tense moments of silence, I ease back toward the doors. If there are any more clues in here, I haven’t been able to find them.

Pushing through the doors, I feel a hint of relief. As if I ran the gauntlet and came out unscathed simply because I traversed the library. Small victories.

Instead of returning to the stairs, I opt to travel deeper into the rooms. I’ve never been this far, had barely made it to the library when I was caught last time.

The furnishings become shabbier as I go, not the glitzy glam of the rooms closer to the grand staircase. All the paintings here are destroyed much like the ones in the library, as if whoever did it couldn’t stand to look at the faces in the frames. When I exit a particularly bare parlor, I find myself in a short hallway that ends in a set of double doors, one of which is ajar.

I creep along, stopping every so often to listen. It’s quiet, not a sound ahead or behind me. Holding my breath, I push open the door and wince when it makes a high-pitched creak. Frozen, I wait for Valen to grab me and threaten me, but he doesn’t arrive. The black walls are silent as usual, and no one seems to notice that I’m snooping.

Finally exhaling, I keep going, entering what’s clearly a bedroom. Ahead, a large bed is covered with a dark blue blanket. No gold tassels or random bits of crystal hanging from it, the bed is quite plain compared to the rooms on my bedroom level. There’s a small sitting area in front of a fireplace, a couch and a coffee table that bears more than its fair share of scratches. A few books are piled here and there. I walk in a few more steps and stop when a particular scent hits me.

This is Valen’s room. I know it as soon as I catch the sandalwood and soap, along with something slightly minty and a deep edge of smokiness.

His room. I thought it would be bigger, grander. I thought … I guess I don’t know what I thought. I’ve been too busy trying to survive to wonder too much about Valen’s quarters, but now that I’m here, curiosity drives me onward.

There’s a dresser against the wall. I go to it and open the top drawer. Clothes. The next one is the same. No hidden compartments, no secrets. I whirl and go to the bed. Nothing special, and when I look beneath it, all I see are shadows. Standing, I go to what must be his closet. Inside, his scent is even stronger, the long room lined with mostly black clothes. Soft sweaters and smooth shirts. A section of crimson formal attire toward the back, and in the middle a bureau full of belts and a few ties. No jewelry. No watches. Nothing showy.

Bending down, I inspect his shelves. Shoes. Mostly black. No surprise there.

After his closet, I go through his bathroom. Again, nothing interesting. Not even a razor I could use as a weapon. When I’ve inspected every single inch of his rooms, I think about sitting on his bed for a moment. Then I realize what a bad idea that is and return to his doors. Backing out, I try to put it ajar in the same way it was when I found it.

“What are you doing here?”

I stifle a scream as I turn and find Gorsky in the hall behind me.

“Leaving,” I say, but I don’t move down the hall. I don’t want to get near him.

“Trying to get in Master’s good graces?” he asks as he moves closer. “You think you can trick him? Maybe seduce him?”

“I said I’m leaving.” I step to the side, keeping to the wall.

“Were you the belle of the ball?” He asks it conversationally, but his eyes are manic. His hair is on end, and in a few places, his skull is bare as if he’s been tearing away locks. “Did you dance with the prince, lose your glass slipper?” His odor hits me, the smell of filth and rot.

“I just want to leave.” I slide along the wall, keeping as far away from him as I can. “That’s all.”

“Melody didn’t come back.” He blocks the doorway, his hands on his hips, eyes flashing. “It’s your fault, isn’t it?”

“No.” I stop and meet his gaze. “I didn’t?—”

“Shut your mouth.” He grins. “I know it was your fault. Ever since you came here, everything’s been wrong. So fucking wrong. I don’t even see Master. Not anymore.”

“Because he’s out killing us all!” I snap.

He shakes his head, what remains of his black hair longer now, and greasy. “He watches you. Always making sure you’re all right. I see him in your room.”

“You’re insane. He’s never in my room.”

“Liar!” He gnashes his teeth. “You think you can tempt him? He’s mine!” He raises something in his hand. Long and wooden, the end splintered. A broken chair leg, perhaps.

I hold up a defensive hand. “Gorsky, don’t.”

“You won’t take him from me. He’s going to give me immortality. Me ! Not you.”

“I don’t want immortality! I just want out!” I take a step back.

He follows. “I’ll give you a way out.”

“Don’t!” I throw up both hands as he swings.

Pain explodes through my arm as he makes contact. I scream and fall back, landing on my ass.

“Mine!” he screams and brings the club down again, this time narrowly missing my head. Something in my shoulder cracks and I try to scoot away from him, my legs kicking against the rug as he swings again, this time catching me in the cheek.

My vision goes black for a second, and when I look up, I see him swinging again. I try to cover my head, but I can’t protect myself, not when he won’t stop swinging. I scream as he hits me furiously over and over.

“Please!” I cry, but he doesn’t stop.

I keep trying to push back, to crawl away from him. Blood runs down my face, my arms ruined, his blows landing on my head and splitting my scalp.

He rears back, and for a moment I think he’s going to leave me. Then he brings his foot down hard on my chest. I gasp, all the air knocked out of me, and something snaps. He brings his foot down again. I can’t breathe. At least one lung has collapsed. Blood runs into my eyes as I stare up at him, his face a mask of fury as he raises the club again.

I can’t beg for my life, can’t say anything, can’t do anything. Just watch as he swings at my head.

Then he’s gone, a pink mist fogging through the air. Or perhaps it’s the blood in my eyes. I still can’t draw in a breath, and a strange claustrophobic feeling sets in.

“No.” Valen is hovering over me, his face haggard and bloody. He tears his wrist open and presses it to my mouth. “Drink!” he yells.

I can’t. I look at him, at the seething blue of his eyes. The anger in them. The sort of raw emotion I thought he was incapable of. And stronger than anything else—fear. He’s afraid .

Panic grips me, but I can’t do anything. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get air. His blood pools in my mouth, going nowhere, doing nothing.

“Georgia! What do I do? What—” he smears his blood across my face. “Breathe!” He presses his hand to my chest. “Breathe!”

I spasm, my lungs trying to work but failing. They must be punctured, deflated and incapable of holding air. They can’t expand. No oxygen. I’m dying. I close my eyes.

“Georgia!” Valen howls, the sound fading. A low-pitched wail, or perhaps its wind rushing in my ears. Then I hear nothing. It hurts. See nothing. I can’t breathe. It hurts. I stop trying. It hurts. Darker and darker. It hurts.

There’s nothing else. No more. It’s pitch black.

The hurt stops.

I stop.