“Underage drinking—” Christophe began.
“He makes my stomach hurt.” Graves interrupted flatly. “Jesus, Dru. Give me some space.”
“Space?” Fine. “I’ll give you all the space you want, Edgar.”
The instant it was out of my mouth I regretted it.
The arrow turned green, Christophe hit the gas. He was wearing a very slight smile. The golden light of late afternoon was kind to him.
Graves said nothing. I didn’t dare look back now. I was already kicking myself.
But the anger had my mouth, and it wasn’t backing down. “They had a file on you back at the Schola Prima.” There. An explanation, to smooth things over. Maybe.
He wasn’t looking for explanation. “Must’ve been good reading.”
“I didn’t read it. I just heard your first name.” I felt defensive, and I deserved it.
“You were at school with me, you must’ve heard it before then.”
It was official. He was looking for a fight. I was about half-tempted to give him one, too. “I didn’t pay attention.”
“Yeah.” Now he sounded vindicated. “I know. Still don’t.”
I pay attention when you say you love me. Then I pay attention when you get all rejective on me. I pay plenty of attention, Graves. You just can’t make up your stupid little mind. It took a monstrous effort to keep the words behind my teeth.
“Be the bigger person,” Gran was always saying. But she’d never had to put up with this.
“That’s enough.” Christophe slowed down, getting a little closer to the back bumper of the Ford Explorer in front of us than I liked. “There’s a good hotel around here. Be quiet so I can find it, children.”
“We’re not children.” Graves bristled.
“Compared to me, you might as well be, psychological standards for djamphir trapped in teenage bodies notwithstanding.” Christophe could’ve sounded more dismissive, maybe. If he tried. He glanced up at the signs around us, sighed.
Just like Graves could’ve sounded nastier, maybe. If he’d tried. “Including Dru?”
“Milady Dru is startlingly mature.” Christophe hung a right. Concrete rose up around us, and we slid into welcome shade. Air conditioning doesn’t help sometimes when it’s really humid. “And she has plenty of time.”
“What, to grow into dating you?” Graves actually laughed, a bitter little bark both like and unlike the sarcastic half-snort he’d used before. When he was a normal kid. Or at least a human kid.
Even I couldn’t believe he’d said it. I sucked in a breath. Christophe slowed down, changed lanes, and the air inside the car was even more tense. Ash was completely silent, and I would’ve bet anything he was watching Graves and Christophe with bright interest, tipping his head back and forth like he was observing a tennis match.
“I’m not—” I began.
“That’s really none of your business, loup-garou. Milady Dru does as she pleases, and owes us no explanation.”
I really wish you wouldn’t call me Milady. How the hell had this gotten so serious all of a sudden? “Look—” I began.
“I’d say it’s my business.” Graves exhaled smoke again. I smelled exhaust, concrete, and anger; my head began to hurt. “I’d say it’s most definitely my business.”
“And I would say you’re lucky to still be breathing, dog.” Christophe took another turn, left this time, stamping on the gas like it’d personally offended him. “After what I caught you doing.”
“What?” I twisted in my seat, stared at Christophe. “Come on, both of you. This isn’t the time—”
“Go ahead.” Graves’s cigarette was fuming and his eyes were dark again. Tension rippled under his skin, the Other shining through. “Tell her whatever you want. God knows half the shit that comes out of your mouth is a lie by omission anyway. Maybe I should tell her what I know, huh?”
“Certainly. Tell her what you think you know.” Christophe simply checked the street signs. Traffic started closing around us. The air conditioner blew a steady stream of chill at me, but it wasn’t helping with the hot tension in here. “And I shall tell her that you were preparing to leave her to the tender mercies of Sergej’s assassins. Running away with your tail between your legs—”
I lost my temper. “Both of you shut up!” The car actually rocked on its springs, as if Christophe had touched the brakes. Ash let out a whimper. My mother’s locket was a spot of soothing heat, and I found out I was outright clutching it. Like a maiden auntie with a string of pearls.
Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, they both shut their fool mouths. I couldn’t even feel good about it.
Tense-ticking silence. My stomach revolved, acid eating through me. We crept through traffic. “This has to stop,” I said, finally. “Or I’ll ditch both of you and go on the run alone.” Or with Ash. He shoplifts, but at least he keeps his mouth shut. “You’re making it easier for the vampires every goddamn time you do this. I’m tired of it. Both of you can just go to hell as far as I’m concerned.”
Something occurred to me just then. We had a whole continent to drive across. This was only the first day.
The Schola Prima was looking better and better all the time. At least there I had tutors and occasionally some time to myself. When I locked my door and hid under my bed, that is.