Page 32 of Kept 3
“James.”
“Josephine, you made it,” he sighs, waking forwards and shaking his head at me.
He is wearing grey sweatpants and a heavy brown rain jacket. He looks older and more world-weary than he did when I knew him at the school, even though it was not that long ago, a year at most.
I am just about to say, ‘yes, obviously I made it,’ when he puts his hand into his pocket and pulls out a knife, and before I can move, slashes me across the forearm in a long, shallow cut.
“Argh, motherfucker,” I scream, kicking at him, as he grabs my leg and twists, and I fall, hard, onto my side on the floor. Before I can move, he jumps astride me and pins me down; my face pressed into the dirty floorboards. “James, what the hell?” I shout, squirming, as he pulls my wounded arm back behind me painfully and sits silently, ignoring my shouts of retribution and efforts to dislodge him.
Finally, just as I’ve started winding down my death threats, and begin to try reasoning, I hear him let out a deep breath.
“Thank God,” he sighs, springing off me and leaning down to offer me a hand up.
Turning over, I bat his hand away and painfully rise, backing away from him, towards the front door.
“Josephine,” he raises his empty hands to me, palms up, his voice coaxing, “I’m sorry. I had to ensure you weren’t Kept, that you were not here on his behalf.”
“What?” I hold my arm tight to staunch the bleeding. It is not a deep cut, but it stings like a bitch.
“Your arm,” he nods to where I hold it, blood just starting to seep through my fingers, “if you were Kept, you would have healed instantaneously. Here,” he pulls a bandage out of his pocket and advances towards me, “let me wrap it.”
“Fuck off, James,” I scowl, still backing towards the door as I tear the rest of my damaged sleeve off to use as a makeshift bandage.
“Josephine for Christ’s sake,” he frowns, “you’ve been living with a vampire for months, cut me some slack.”
I frown and take a deep breath. My rational brain understands his motives, but still, he hurt me.
“Just stay back,” I growl “and explain how you are going to rescue me.”
“Here,” he withdraws the knife from his pocket and places it on the floor in front of him, backing away, “if it will make you feel safer, keep this.”
I nod and, not taking my eyes off him, pick up the knife.
“Come, let’s find a place to sit,” he sighs, motioning for me to enter the little parlour I had just investigated.
“Not here,” I shake my head, turning to walk further down the hall. If Nicholas’ journal is correct, I know we will come to a small sitting room fronting the back garden, and I’m relieved when I find I’m right.
“Here?” I point to the deep rock windowsill overlooking a walled garden now overgrown with weeds, the window long bereft of glass.
He nods and sits on the ledge, and I follow suit, still keeping a healthy arm-distance between us as I press the sleeve material to the cut on my arm.
“I’m not here to rescue you, Josephine,” he says, getting straight to the point.
“What?”
“I’m here to ask for your help.”
“Jesus, James, are you for real?”
“I know this might sound strange,” he holds up his hands in supplication.
But I don’t let him finish.
“You used me as live bait for a goddamned vampire, James, youcutme. You owe me a rescue.”
“That was before,” he whispers.
“Before what?”
