Page 150 of Cherish

“I’m not the vampire king.” He inclines his head toward me. “I’m actually the gargoyle king.”

“Are you now?” She isn’t looking at him when she answers, though. She’s looking at me.

The fact that a god asks that question rhetorically has the bite of apple I just took turning to cardboard in my mouth. Especially since the same question’s been chasing itself around and around in my head ever since I talked to my grandparents.

Am I wrong in taking the Crown? In becoming the head of the Circle, running the Gargoyle Court? Would our world—and our people—be served better by us taking up the vampire throne?

My stomach twists into knots as I wait to see what Hudson is going to tell her, but he remains still. In fact, he doesn’t say anything at all, and that only makes the knots in my stomach worse.

“The Bittersweet Tree is never in the same place twice,” the Curator says after several uncomfortable beats of silence. “As soon as someone comes looking for it, it moves again.”

“When’s the last time someone came looking for it?” I ask.

She responds without missing a beat “1966. That’s when Frank Sinatra’s cover of ‘Yes Sir, That’s My Baby’ came out. Have you ever heard it?”

She’s looking straight at me when she says it, which I’m pretty sure means she already knows the answer. “My father used to sing me the chorus when I was little.”

Hudson looks back up from his phone, surprised. Which must mean that somehow he never ran across that memory when he was in my head. I don’t know how he didn’t—my dad used to sing that song to me a lot.

But the Curator must be satisfied because she finishes her mimosa with a flourish. Then says, “The Bittersweet Tree is currently in South America.”

“South America?” Flint repeats. “As in, like, below North America?”

“That is generally where South America is,” Heather comments.

“I’m just saying. Jules Verne’s got nothing on this trip.” When Jaxon turns to look at him, obviously surprised, Flint makes a face. “What? Grace isn’t the only one who knows how to read, you know.”

The Curator pushes her chair back from the table and stands. “And on that note, if everyone’s finished breakfast, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

“Our rooms?” I say, confused. “We weren’t planning on staying. We would never dream of imposing—”

“Not an imposition,” she answers with a smile. “I love having company.”

“Oh, well…” I glance at the others for help, but they’re all looking anywhere but at me.

Except Hudson, who says, “We’re not sure we have the time to spare. Mekhi’s not doing very well—”

“Yes, well, South America is quite large. If you want a more precise location, you’ll come along. I don’t have a lot of time to waste. I have waitedeonsfor today.” And with that, she turns on her very cool white sneakers and walks right out of the room.

81

Head Over

Vamp

“What the hell was that all about?” Flint mutters to the room in general.

Macy shrugs as she gets up to follow the Curator. “She may be the coolest god we’ve met so far, but she’s definitely a god.”

“Truer words,” Hudson says as he scratches his chest.

Heather looks at them, confused. “What does that mean?”

“It means gods like to have their own way,” I answer as we follow Macy out of the room and down a hall lined with playbills. Everything fromHamiltonandKinky Bootsto writing-only playbills forThe ElvesandThe Black Crook, which date back to the 1800s.

Hudson stops in front of one forHadestown. “And they’ve all got their own agendas.”

I think of the chess game my grandmother spent nearly a thousand years putting together—much to the detriment of a lot of people I care about, including myself. “True freaking story.”

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