Haven (27 page)

“What can I do?” she asked, sitting down beside me on the bed.

“Go on to the dance, and tell everyone I’m not feeling well. Tell them I’ve got cramps or something.”

She put her arm around my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Okay. But later tonight I’m going to want some answers.”

I just nodded, knowing full well that I could never give her the answers she wanted.

Cece stood up, straightening her dress. “And for the record, you’re a much better roommate than Allison was.”

“Thanks,” I murmured, my heart swelling with affection. “You look great, by the way.” It was the truth. Her slip dress was a deep shade of burgundy, perfect with her skin tone. She wore a little black shrug over it, and her hair was twisted into a knot on the back of her head. “Very sophisticated,” I added.

“Yeah, well, Todd better appreciate it.”

“You really like him,” I said, suddenly realizing that I’d been so caught up in my own crazy love life that I’d barely realized what was going on in hers.

Cece just smiled. “Yeah, I do. And my parents aren’t going to like it, not one bit. Because he’s white, you know? They’re old-fashioned that way. They’ll say there are plenty of black guys here at Winterhaven, and . . . well, anyway, I better go. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

“Okay, then. Good luck!”

“Thanks, you too.”

As soon as she left, I locked the door behind her, promising myself that I’d ask her later if she wanted to talk more about Todd and her parents. I had no idea she had that kind of conflict going on inside that head of hers.

But now . . . I had to deal with this. I picked up the miniature again and glanced at it one more time, hoping that maybe I’d been wrong, that I’d somehow exaggerated the resemblance in my mind.

But I hadn’t. The girl in the painting was still my long-lost twin.

I need to see you,
I called out in my mind.
Now.

I’m in the East Hall lounge,
came his reply.

I grabbed my key and left, the hateful thing still clutched in my sweaty hand.

As soon as I saw him standing there, my anger began to burn out of control. He looked so cool, so casual. I wanted
him to know how pissed I was—I wasn’t even bothering to block my thoughts. Anger, humiliation, rage—it all spilled out of me, and he just stood there, watching me, looking totally indifferent.

“Not here,” he said at last. “Follow me.”

For a full five minutes I trailed behind him, down several sets of stairs and unfamiliar corridors. He opened one door, then another. A light flickered on, and the door shut behind us as I looked around.

It was a tiny room with a desk in one corner, a computer on it, and a daybed against the wall. Opposite the bed were bookshelves, piled high to overflowing. There were no windows, no lights except one overhead fixture.

“This is your room?” I asked, shocked at how bare it was, how simple and cell-like.

“I keep a room in the dorms, too. But yeah, I mostly stay here when I’m not in class or the lab.”

Something dug sharply into my palm, and I remembered the reason I’d followed him there.
The miniature.
I opened my fingers, revealing it. If he was surprised to see it, he did a good job of hiding it.

“When were you planning on telling me?” I asked, my voice shaking.

Aidan shrugged, but it was clear he knew exactly what
I was talking about. “Never, if I could get away with it,” he said, and I wanted to slap him.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I was afraid you’d react just like this, that’s why,” he said, his arms folded defiantly across his chest.

“How else am I supposed to react? Look at this thing!” I thrust the miniature at him. “In case you didn’t notice, she looks just like me.”

He met my eyes, his gaze unwavering. “There’s a resemblance, yes.”

“A resemblance?” My voice rose a full pitch. “That’s what you call it? She looks
exactly
like me!”

“I think you’re exaggerating. Besides, what difference does it make?”

“Are you kidding me?” I sputtered. “What am I, like her stand-in or something? Do you pretend that I’m her
all
the time, or just when we’re making out?”

“I think you need to calm down, Violet,” he said, reaching for my arm.

I twisted out of his grasp. “Well, at least you got my name right. I am
such
an idiot. I actually believed that you . . . you . . .” I shook my head, unable to say it.

“I
do
love you, Violet. I know you don’t believe me, but my feelings for you have nothing to do with her. I admit, at first I
was intrigued. Listen to me, Violet—once I got to know you, it was obvious that you were nothing like her. Nothing. She was selfish and shallow—”

“Oh, yeah, so much so that you moved in with her. I don’t buy it, not for a minute. It’s been nothing but lies since the day I met you, hasn’t it? I don’t know what game you’re playing—”

“You really think that I’m . . . what? Using you? Pretending you’re her? C’mon, Vi, you can’t possibly believe that.” He actually had the nerve to laugh.

“What else am I supposed to think? I mean, you somehow forgot to mention that I look just like your ex? I’m supposed to think it’s just a coincidence?”

He looked away, toward the blank wall, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “Look, I don’t even know what it means, okay? I’ve been reading everything I can about
Sâbbats,
and I’ve found nothing to explain it.” He shook his head before continuing. “All I’ve got is theories, conjecture based on legend.”

“Like what?” I prodded.

“Reincarnation. For some sort of . . . I don’t know, retribution?”

I felt the blood drain from my face. I was suddenly cold, so cold. “So let me get this straight,” I said, struggling to keep the hysteria from my voice. “Now you’re saying I don’t just look like
her; I
am
her? And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s just one theory.” He paused. “I have another.”

“Go on.” After all, it couldn’t be any worse than the first.

“The other possibility is that somehow a
Sâbbat
is born with the face of a . . . of someone who was important to a vampire in his mortal life. As a form of bait.”

“What do you mean, a form of bait?” And then it dawned on me. “You mean, to draw the vampire in so that the
Sâbbat
can . . . can kill it?”

He nodded, his jaw tightening. “Exactly. But like I said, it’s all pure conjecture. I’m just cobbling together—”

“Forget it, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“So you’re just going to storm out instead, convinced that I’m some kind of asshole who only cares about you because . . . because what? Because you look just like my ex, one who’s been dead for more than a hundred years?”

“Yeah, something like that,” I muttered. I mean, if he’d told me from the start, if he’d come clean—okay, I wouldn’t have believed him. Or I would have thought he was crazy or something. And yet, he’d had months to tell me, and he’d decided to keep it from me—would
still
be keeping it from me if it wasn’t for Jenna spilling the beans.

Read my thoughts, Violet,
he said in my mind.
Read them, and you’ll know I’m telling the truth.

“I don’t want to get inside your head anymore,” I said, knowing it was cruel, trying to be cruel. “I’m through with this.”

“With me, you mean,” he said, his voice so calm, so cool that I wanted to scream. “Just like that, you no longer trust me?”

“Don’t you see?” I cried, pain tearing through my heart. “How can I ever be sure? How can I know it’s
me
you love,
me
you want, and not just the memory of . . . of
her
?” I couldn’t even bear to say her name.

He let out his breath in a rush. “Because I’m telling you so, Violet. Because I’ve never lied to you.”

“Oh, no. You don’t lie to me. You just omit things, important things. And you don’t seem to realize that that’s just as bad.”

He flexed his hands by his sides. “If I do, it’s just to spare you, to—”

“That’s not for you to decide! Don’t you get that?”

“This is stupid,” he said, his voice hard. “All you have to do is breach my mind, read my thoughts, and you’ll know I’m telling the truth. Why are you being so stubborn?”

I eyed him sharply. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you couldn’t manipulate your thoughts somehow if you wanted to? That you couldn’t make me see whatever you wanted me to see?”

He swallowed hard, and I could see the indecision flashing across his features.
He’s trying to decide whether or not to lie to me.

“I could manipulate my thoughts if I wanted to,” he finally said with a nod. “But I wouldn’t do that to you, Violet. You know I wouldn’t.”

“No, I
don’t
know that!” I cried. “I . . . never mind. I’m leaving now. I need some space, some time to think. I have to figure out what I’m going to tell my friends. How am I going to explain this? They know it isn’t me in the painting. How did Jenna get it, anyway?”

“I have no idea, but you better believe I’m going to find out. Just tell them I found it at an antique shop or something. I bought it because of the resemblance, that’s all.”

Actually, that wasn’t so bad. Jenna would know I was lying, but I didn’t give a damn.

And then I had a horrible thought—the vision I’d had, the one where I’d seen me and Aidan in bed together. The bed had seemed old, really old-fashioned. Maybe . . . maybe my visions were shifting. Maybe I wasn’t flash-forwarding to the future, but flashing back to the past. Maybe the girl I’d seen under him in that bed hadn’t been me, but Isabel.

I
had
to know. “Did you ever . . . you know, with Isabel, after you were turned?”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, though I could tell he knew exactly what I meant.

“Don’t make me say it, Aidan. Did you or didn’t you? Once you were turned.”

“I am not having this conversation with you. Not now” was all he said, and that was answer enough. I swallowed hard, trying to push the images out of my mind.

“Fine,” I bit out, meeting his gaze. For the first time, I didn’t feel that connection, that physical jolt I always felt when our eyes met. Instead his looked cold, distant—a pale, washed-out gray, totally empty of emotion.

It was happening, I realized. Just as he had warned, just as I had feared. Our feelings for each other were ebbing, replaced by the distrust of two natural-born enemies—vampire and
Sâbbat
. I no longer trusted his feelings for me, and he was willing to let me walk away.

This is what we’d come to.

And the worst part? I couldn’t even summon the energy to care.

I
sat at my desk, staring at the window, where gray sheets of driving rain pelted the glass. I had a paper due the next day in history class, and I was supposed to be doing the final edits on it. It was Sunday, and Cece had gone to an afternoon movie with Todd. Kate was with Jack, and Marissa and Sophie were off somewhere, surely having more fun than I was.

I dropped my head into my hands. I’d been sitting here for nearly three hours, and my paper wasn’t going to get any more polished than it already was. If it wasn’t for the rain, I’d go to the gym and do some practicing, but I didn’t feel like getting drenched, and besides, the damp weather made my shoulder ache like crazy.

So now that I was done with the paper, there was nothing to do—nobody to do anything with, unless I managed to track down Marissa and Sophie. Not an easy thing to do, considering our cell phones had to stay in our rooms.

Deciding to check my e-mail, I went online and found a message from Whitney—dated three days ago. Had it been that long since I’d checked my e-mail?

Hey, Violet! I know it’s been ages since we’ve talked, but I had to tell you the good news—I auditioned for a summer dance program in New York City, and I got accepted! Four weeks, starting in June. I’ll be living in the dorms, but I hope we can hang out some. Maybe I could spend a few days with you and Patsy before it starts? Let me know ASAP if you’ll be around!
Love, Whit

I stared at the screen, a little stunned. Whitney, in New York? I wanted to see her—I really did. But what if she wanted to meet my new friends? It’s not like I could introduce her to them—I mean, I
could,
but we’d all be hiding something from her, and that just didn’t seem right.

I’d have to figure something out. She’d been my best friend
for ages—the only close friend I’d had, really, for so many years. I felt like a total jerk even considering blowing her off. Of course, Gran had invited me to spend the summer with her in Atlanta, anyway, so it might not even be an issue. I hadn’t yet decided what I wanted to do, but I had no real reason to stay in New York.

My cell phone rang, startling me. I reached for it with shaking hands, glancing down at the caller ID.

Patsy.

“Hey, Mom!” I said, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.

“Hey, there. Just calling to say hi. Are you busy?” Since when did she just call to say hi?

“Just working on a history paper.” Which was the truth, more or less.

“Oh, yeah? How’s school?”

I twisted a lock of hair around one finger as I spoke. “The same. I’m doing really well.”

“Good. Are you still upset about Aidan? You sounded pretty down in your last e-mail. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

I’d told her that Aidan and I had broken up. I have no idea why, except that I knew she’d ask about him, and I didn’t want to talk about him.
At all.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll get over it.”

“I know it seems like a big deal now, but there’ll be other guys. Still . . . I don’t know, over Christmas the two of you seemed so into each other. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“I’m sure. How’s work? Are you finished with that big case?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Not quite.” I heard a doorbell ring in the background. “Uhoh, someone’s at the door,” Patsy said. “I’ve got to run, okay?”