Page 18 of Because the Night

“Wait,” I say. “What?”

“Since when do I own a private jet?” asks Lucas, talking over the top of me.

“You don’t, old man. But I do. These are the sort of advancements you miss out on when you decide to snooze for a century. And I know you had your reasons. But still…very dramatic of you, wouldn’t you say?”

“Skye’s not going anywhere.”

“How possessive,” says Henry in a teasing tone of voice. “It’s not like you to be so territorial.”

“She hasn’t even adjusted to the change yet, you idiot. There’s no way I am letting her go flying around the world with you.”

My stomach, meanwhile, has sunk through the floor. “My funeral?”

“You hadn’t heard?” asks Henry, doing the preternaturally still thing. His gaze jumps to Lucas then back to me. “There was a fire in your apartment last night. A body was found. You’re officially dead, sweetie. Congratulations.”

“What?” My mouth hangs open. “Did you know about this?”

“I knew Helena was going to do something,” says Lucas. “Your vehicle has been taken as well. They would have been careful to make sure no one else was hurt in the fire and the body would have already been deceased. It’s for the best.”

“But my mom…” I don’t know how I feel about this. Numb, mostly. So much has happened in such a short amount of time. “I’m really dead. That life is over.”

“Yes,” says Henry, in a somber tone of voice. Though, it doesn’t last long. “You know what that means? It’s time for your wake!”

While we hid from the sun, the aboveground floors had been transformed. There’s no sign of the dust covers and everything is shiny. The scent of lemon cleanser fills the air. A large-screen TV has been hung in place of a painting in the living room, and there’s plenty of blood bags for me in the fridge. Even the piano has been tuned, as demonstrated by Henry banging out “Moonlight Sonata.” New cellphones and laptops wait on the dining room table.

Lucas, however, walks straight into the main bedroom on the upper floor and starts perusing the selection of modern clothing left for him.

“Shirley left instructions for a set of new suits to be made each year by that place you like on Saville Row. So you’re all up to date. These are only a portion of them.” Henry lounges on the king-size bed made up in charcoal-gray linens. “Let me tell you, the ones from the seventies were ugly as hell. Not even your precious tailors could salvage that decade. Shirl and I downed a bottle of Bollinger and burned them in her fireplace one night. We had a ball. However, you would have liked the punk era. Nowtheyknew how to have fun.”

“You were supposed to look after her,” says Lucas, in a low voice.

“Father.” Henry sighs. “She passed of old age in her own bed surrounded by a loving family. There was nothing to bedone. Humans die. No matter how much we sometimes wish otherwise.”

“She never changed her mind and asked you to turn her?”

“No. She remained wiser than all of us to the end.”

Lucas stares at the clothes with a blank expression.

“Enough of this depressing nonsense.” Henry jumps off the bed and grabs my hand. “Let’s go see what they left for you, little sister. Helena keeps a personal shopper with excellent taste on staff. I should know, we were shagging for a while. Me and the shopper, that is. She used to adore me when she was a little girl, but Helena would probably now stake me on sight. Her mother’s distaste for us was contagious, unfortunately.”

Given he appears to be in his early twenties, and I am a solid thirty, being called his little sister is odd, to say the least. I follow him into the next bedroom, which is also freshly cleaned with the bed made. An armoire is bursting with clothing, shoes, and accessories. “Holy shit. Is this all for me?”

Henry smiles and starts rummaging through it all. “I love a good makeover.”

“There’s a lot of black.”

“It’s just practical. Newborns have a tendency to make a mess and spill their food. Black is the only color that hides blood.”

It doesn’t look like any of my actual belongings are here, though. “Did they burn everything I owned in the fire?”

“Helena would have wanted it to look authentic, I suspect,” he says with a wince. “But I am sure she’ll see to it that your family receives a hefty life insurance payout, if that helps.”

“Money doesn’t fix everything.”

“No,” he allows. “But take it from someone who grew up without any, it’s better than the alternative.”

I sit on the bed and take a moment to pull myself together. My parents must be devastated. At least they still have my brother. The thought that Christmas was our last time togetheras a family hurts. Especially since we argued about me staying in L.A. and I cut the trip short by a day. All of those precious moments we wasted.

---