The penthouse felt like a tomb of light. Clara paced the perimeter of the living room. The marble was cold under her bare feet. Vane had taken her boots. He had taken her communication device. He had left her with a silk robe and a view of the world she could no longer touch.
She approached the floor-to-ceiling glass. The Underbelly was a different world. From this height the misery looked like art. The neon lights blurred into ribbons of violet and electric blue. She could see the smoke rising from the district where she lived. Somewhere down there her father was waiting for a daughter who would never come home.
She turned her attention back to the room. Vane was behind the heavy oak doors of his suite. The tower was silent but it was not empty. She could hear the hum of the building. It sounded like a heartbeat.
She walked to the desk where the Blood Ledger sat. Her name was still there. It seemed to pulse on the page. She reached out to touch the ink. It was cold. It felt like ice against her fingertip.
"It will not let you leave."
Clara jumped. Vane stood in the doorway of his room. He had removed his suit jacket. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked less like a god and more like a man. A tired man.
"Every door in this place is locked by my thumbprint," Vane said. He walked to the kitchen island. He picked up a silver carafe. "The elevators will not move for you. The stairs are blocked by steel shutters."
"You can't keep me here," Clara said. Her voice was steady. She refused to show him the fear.
"I am keeping you alive," Vane replied. He poured water into a glass. "My father is currently scouring the Underbelly. He thinks you escaped the vault. If he finds you before I am ready he will skip the ritual. He will just take what he needs."
"What do you mean skip the ritual?"
Vane walked toward her. He stopped three feet away. "The ritual is a ceremony. It maximizes the power. But blood is blood. If he kills you in the street the tower stays standing. But I lose my seat. He becomes the master of the ledger again."
Clara looked at the book. "This is all about a chair? You are holding me hostage because you want to keep your office?"
Vane's eyes flashed gold. "I am holding you because if I lose control the city falls. I am the only one who keeps the hunger of the pact in check. Silas would drain the Underbelly dry in a week. He doesn't want a kingdom. He wants a feast."
Clara didn't believe him. He was a billionaire. He was a predator. They always had a justification for their greed.
She waited until he turned his back. She saw a heavy crystal decanter on the side table. It was solid. It was enough to knock a man out. She moved. Her hand closed around the glass neck. She swung with every bit of strength she had.
Vane didn't even look. He caught her wrist mid-air. He didn't look at her. He looked at the decanter.
"Expensive choice," he remarked. He gently took the glass from her hand. He set it back on the table. "You are fast. But I am two centuries older than you. My nerves react before you even think of the move."
"Let me go," she hissed.
"No."
"Then kill me. Get it over with."
Vane stepped closer. He placed his hands on her shoulders. He forced her to look at him. His face was inches from hers. She could see the faint gold rings in his pupils.
"I have spent two hundred years watching people die," Vane whispered. "I have watched empires rise and turn to dust. I have never cared. But when I saw your name in that book I felt something. A crack in the ice."
"That's not love. Vane. That's guilt."
"Maybe." He let go of her. He looked at the moon. It was larger now. More purple. "But I need you to trust me. I am looking for a way out. A way to break the link without the sacrifice."
"Has anyone ever done it?"
"No. Everyone who tried ended up as a footnote in that ledger."
A loud chime echoed through the penthouse. It was a deep. resonant tone. It came from the elevator.
Vane's face went pale. He grabbed Clara by the waist. He hauled her toward the hidden passage behind the bookshelf.
"Hide," he commanded. "Do not make a sound. Do not breathe loud."
"Who is it?"
"My father."
Vane pushed her into the dark crawlspace. He hit a button and the shelf slid back into place. Clara was plunged into total darkness. She pressed her eye to a small crack in the woodwork.
The elevator doors opened.
A man stepped out. He looked like Vane. but he was withered. His skin was gray. He walked with a cane made of bone. He moved with a predatory grace that sent a shiver down Clara's spine. This was Silas Vesper.
"Vane," the old man rasped. His voice sounded like sandpaper on stone. "The moon is hungry. Where is the girl?"
Vane stood in the center of the room. He looked calm. He looked like the CEO of the world. "She escaped. Silas. She went back into the Underbelly."
Silas stopped. He sniffed the air. He turned his head toward the bookshelf where Clara was hiding. A cruel smile spread across his thin lips.
"You were always a terrible liar. my son. I can smell her. She smells of mud and fear."
Silas began to walk toward the bookshelf. He lifted his cane.