The Blood Ruby (The Arcane Artifacts #2)

Chapter 11 - A Trade

I slipped around the back of the house, waiting, listening. My back stayed flush to the wall. Zola's tennis shoes—I was shocked she owned any—painfully squeezed my feet. They were a size too small, but it was less painful than going barefoot. I listened for the sound of the delivery truck. It had come once more since I'd become a "guest" in Laurent's manor.

Five days had come and gone since our lovely little dinner party. Every time I thought about what Laurent had said, I seethed all over again. In the end, his words had made my final decision easier.

Laurent wanted me to believe I was in danger, that staying in his manor would keep me safe. What he'd failed to consider, was that I'd lived on my own for years. If his enemies were out to get me, they would have found me before now. No, this was just his way of exercising control. He wanted me scared. He wanted me to believe others would use me against him. Wanted me to believe the world wasn't a safe place for me.

It wasn't new—this idea. I recognized it for what it was. After all, I'd lived through it with more than one foster family.

After Laurent's dinner party, I'd constructed my plan. I knew that I couldn't simply run, as I had before. Laurent's vampire patrols would smell me, possibly even attack me as they had before. So instead, I devised a cleaner way, one that would safely take me outside Laurent's grasp. Then I'd go to the cops.

I carried on like everything was fine, like I'd accepted my captivity, devouring books from Zola's collection, innocently greeting each vampire I came into contact with. I even helped Vittorio around the kitchen when he allowed. The only thing I didn't do, was touch the piano again. I hadn't been brave enough to.

When I was alone in my room, I kept the news on, listening. It was my only window into the outside world. There had been no word on Daniel after the initial broadcast. A murder like that, at a prominent location, should have been the talk of the city. And yet, everything had gone quiet.

My only guess was that the Yoshiki family didn't want to be the center of attention. They had bribed the news stations to keep it from mainstream television. That only irked me. I knew nothing about what had happened. Was I still a suspect? Had they finally come to a conclusion about his death?

The good news was, my photo was no longer circulating—

An engine revved. The sound of the delivery truck made me exhale. Right on time. I slipped closer, hiding behind a hedge near the kitchen door. The truck rolled to a stop and the driver hopped out. Vittorio appeared. They discussed prices for several minutes before Vittorio handed over a wad of bills. The driver grabbed his handtruck and began unloading boxes.

Vittorio went back inside.

I waited just a moment, until they were both out of sight, before slipping from my spot and rounding the far side of the truck. I leaned against it, breathing.

The delivery driver emerged from the kitchen. I listened as he loaded more boxes. When he disappeared once more, I slipped around to the back of the truck. Glancing through the kitchen windows, I spotted Vittorio, his back to me, arranging things in the pantry.

I snuck into the back of the truck, plunging into its depths. I blocked out the oppressive fear building in my gut. I hated dark, enclosed spaces. Had hated them for years. Even now, a tiny bead of sweat materialized between my shoulder blades and slid down my spine.

The kitchen door opened and then closed. The rumbling handtruck meant I had seconds before the driver was here. I quickly shoved myself between several stacks of boxes, ignoring the claustrophobia that made bile rise in my throat. I threw my hand over my mouth to keep from breathing loudly.