He pulled me closer, wiping tears away with a glove. “What did you think would happen, darling? You would bring her to Sang, and I would turn her, and she would remain a happy old woman content to bake cakes for you? She was a corpse, and now she’s a predator. She’s been dying for years. Maybe she wants to live a bit now.”
“But I miss her.”
The corner of his lip lifted. “So join her. If you truly want to know what she feels like, let me blud you. You’ve always said she was the only thing that kept you human.” He leaned over, and the rasp of metal on wood brought my attention to my locket, where he dragged it around on the bedside table. The bright-red stone was gone, just a curled black smudge twisting the metal where it had been set. “You can’t go back now, you know. It took me years to find that ruby and bewitch it, and we both paid dearly for our happiness. I believe I can say with confidence that your world is permanently closed to you. The witch’s magic always takes its price. So whatever’s left to hold you back from being bludded is merely . . . fear.”
“No, it’s . . .”
He waited, patient as ever. I racked my brain. As was my tendency, the worst images pushed to the fore: Bludmen stoned in the ghettos of large cities, the violence and mess of my grandmother’s recent bludding, the thought of putting aside coffee and ice cream and rabbit dumplings and chocolate mousse and ingesting nothing but human blood for the rest of my life. I’d never wanted it, never longed for Eric Northman and glittering eyes and Gothic sensibilities. Perhaps, faced with terminal cancer and trapped in a frail body, I would have seen it as Nana—sorry, Ruby—had. But even here, in my rapidly aging body that ached and wrinkled more than it should have, I wasn’t done being human.
Criminy held my bare hand up, turning it to show me the age spots speckling the back before he kissed it. “Think about it, pet. The process is different between lovers. You’ll enjoy it. I promise.”
But still, I wasn’t ready.
I found her in the dining car—after I’d cleaned up the tears and picked my guts up off the floor. She’d raised me to have a spine, and I wasn’t going to turn tail just because she’d hurt my feelings. I had to try seeing things from her point of view: she’d been given a second life, and it wasn’t reasonable to expect that her first priority would be her granddaughter’s desire to take her to the fair.
The wagon smelled of stew and was mostly empty, as the carnivalleros had acts to practice, props to maintain, and a ringmaster who wouldn’t hesitate to excoriate them in public if they spent too much time being lazy. My friends Imogen and Jacinda shared a table, both writing furiously as a small swarm of butterflies floated lazily around their hats. Eblick the lizard boy was stretched out in a booth, asleep, tongue flapping. My grandmother sat with Catarrh and Quincy, the two-headed Bludman, her head thrown back in an unselfconscious laugh. Although I’d come here intending to bond with her and didn’t want to say anything negative, I couldn’t help disapproving of her choice of friends. Catarrh and Quincy were unpredictable, dangerous, and constantly in trouble with Criminy, who refused to fire them, as they were the only known conjoined twins currently on the caravan circuit. As Crim put it, we needed them but didn’t need to like them.
As I approached, the twins glared at me over my grandmother’s shoulder, and Quincy hissed. My grandmother turned around, her face set in a snarl that disappeared as soon as she saw me. Not that she smiled, but at least she put away her teeth.
“Oh, sugar. It’s just you.”
She relaxed and sat back, her elegant fingers toying with the delicate porcelain of her teacup. Blood vials littered the table, some empty and some full, far more than the daily allotment for the three of them. Her eyes didn’t leave mine as she tossed back the dregs of her cup and poured in another vial, as if daring me to say something. She’d always been proudly frugal, back home.
“Can I sit?” I asked.
She smirked and slid over to make room. Catarrh muttered something rude under his breath, and Quincy chittered. They both gulped and went silent when my Nana kicked them under the table.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
Nana cocked her head at me, and I fidgeted with the wedding ring she’d never seen before. It had once fit perfectly; now it spun freely on my bony finger. Feeling silly and more fragile than ever, I dropped my hands under the table, to my lap.
“I think you know how I feel, sugar. I was dead, and now I’m alive.” She sipped her blood, drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and smiled that same old smile I remembered, the one that meant the pie had set just right or her Christmas present was perfect. A rare smile of satisfaction. “Haven’t felt hope or hunger in twenty years. This new world of yours is mighty fine, you know.”