Page 20 of Kept 4
My mind races. What can I tell him that he will understand? How could I confess I had been plotting the ancient’s downfall, his downfall, with people he thought of as enemies, people he had tracked and murdered for centuries.
“Nicholas,” I say quickly, my conscience pricking, my desire to warn him going against all that I saw and heard today, “I don’t think Elsbeth sent the vampires to kill me, Gerald did. Gerald is the ancient vampire, I just know it. He is trying to kill me too.”
“Josephine, please,” he growls, shaking his head, “Gerald is not your enemy. Elsbeth is your enemy. And now you have my blood coursing through your veins. Now you are technically a Kept; the Hunters are your enemy too.”
I ignore his last comment, focus on the point at the forefront of my mind.
“Really? Then why is Gerald counselling you to kill me and marry again?”
“He wants what is best for me, he always has,” he sighs, “and I think he tires of his Kept, it’s making him short-tempered.”
“Tires?” I say slowly, my mind racing at the implications of this one word, “do you mean to say he doesn’t want Margarita anymore?”
“Josephine, please,” he sighs, “I don’t need to spell out to you the role, the life of a Kept. You have read my journals.”
“You mean he is going to kill her?” I screech, stopping mid-step and spinning to face him. “He’s going to pop off my best friend’s head after a little more than a year?”
“Josephine, calm down….”
“No, you calm down, buddy. I will not stand by and allow my best friend to be murdered.”
“Josephine, do not interfere,” he says, his voice deep, ominous, “she made her choice the day she agreed to be his, she knew the consequences.”
“Nicholas he is evil, I tell you, he has powers, I think he istheoriginal,theancient.”
“Josephine, we have discussed this before. He doesn’t like your influence over me, true, and you certainly hold no love for him, but he ismybest friend; if he had powers don’t you think I would have seen evidence of them in the past 500 years?”
“No.”
We have reached the stairs to my hostel, and I stride ahead of him and begin to mount them.
“Wait, Josephine, please. Let us not part like this.”
“Maybe this is the only way wecan part,” I turn to glare down at him, “stop calling me, Nicholas. Stop running to my rescue, stop sending me your journal entries – I need to live my life now, as we agreed, and you need to live yours. Help me get over you, please, leave me be.”
I turn back and reach the top of the stairs. My hand is on the door handle when I hear him whisper.
“And who will help me get over you?”
I enter the door as though I haven’t heard, lean my back against it, and begin to cry, but seeing the concerned look of the man on the front desk, I lurch from the door and make my way to the stairs.
By the time I make my room, one sobbing stair at a time, I pull out my phone, frowning, as my plan, half-baked though it may be, formulates, and I dial Margarita’s number.
As soon as I see her, I hide behind a column and watch.
She is not being followed, not yet, but I know I’d be the world’s biggest idiot to think Gerald wasn’t aware of exactly where she is and hadn’t let her go for some nefarious reason of his own. My phone conversation with her had done nothing to dispel my suspicions about him and everything to raise them.
At first, she had refused to believe he planned to kill her.
“Jerry? Don’t be stupid, Josie. Jerry loves me.”
“Margarita,” I tried again, “just listen to me, please, for once in your life. Nicholas says Gerald tires of you. He said he is going to ‘dispense’ with you soon. You must know what that means. You must have heard him talk of other women he has kept in the past.”
“Jerry was looking for love,” she says firmly, “he looked and looked and couldn’t find it. He found it with me.” She adds the last sentence somewhat smugly, and I roll my eyes and blow my hair loudly out of my face.
“Margarita, heisgoing to kill you. But,” I would have thrown my hands into the air if I wasn’t holding the phone, “if you absolutely refuse to trust me in this, all well and good, forget it; forget I even mentioned it. Come and have a holiday with me, get away from him for a little while, take a break – that’s all I’m asking.”
“A break?” her voice sounds confused, a little tremulous, like she is listening with one ear while being distracted somehow, and I have the distinct impression Gerald is talking to her, quietly, outside of the range of my hearing. “Uh, yeah, OK, a break might be nice,” she says, her voice still uncertain, “where are you?”
