The Urban Fantasy Anthology (Peter S. Beagle) (Kitty Norville 1.50)

da?”

She snatched back her hand like she’d been about to touch fire.

“Tilda,” he said. “What happened to you? Are you hurt?”

Matilda flinched, looking down at herself. “I …”

Lydia laughed. “She ate someone, moron.”

“Tilda?” Julian asked.

“I’m sorry,” Matilda said. There was so much she had to be sorry for, but at least he was here now. Julian would tell her what to do and how to turn herself back into something decent again. She would save Lydia and Julian would save her.

He touched her shoulder, let his hand rest gingerly on her blood-stiffened shirt. “We were looking for you everywhere.” His gentle expression was tinged with terror; fear pulled his smile into something closer to a grimace.

“I wasn’t in Coldtown,” Matilda said. “I came here so that Lydia could leave. I have a pass.”

“But I don’t want to leave,” said Lydia. “You understand that, right? I want what you have—eternal life.”

“You’re not infected,” Matilda said. “You have to go. You can still be okay. Please, I need you to go.”

“One pass?” Julian said, his eyes going to Lydia. Matilda saw the truth in the weight of that gaze—Julian had not come to Coldtown for Matilda. Even though she knew she didn’t deserve him to think of her as anything but a monster, it hurt savagely.

“I’m not leaving,” Lydia said, turning to Julian, pouting. “You said she wouldn’t be like this.”

“I killed a girl,” Matilda said. “I killed her. Do you understand that?”

“Who cares about some mortal girl?” Lydia tossed back her hair. In that moment, she reminded Matilda of her brother, pretentious Dante who’d turned out to be an actual nice guy. Just like sweet Lydia had turned out cruel.

“You’re a girl,” Matilda said. “You’re mortal.”

“I know that!” Lydia rolled her eyes. “I just mean that we don’t care who you killed. Turn us and then we can kill lots of people.”

“No,” Matilda said, swallowing. She looked down, not wanting to hear what she was about to say. There was still a chance. “Look, I have the pass. If you don’t want it, then Julian should take it and go. But I’m not turning you. I’m never turning you, understand.”

“Julian doesn’t want to leave,” Lydia said. Her eyes looked bright and two feverish spots appeared on her cheeks. “Who are you to judge me anyway? You’re the murderer.”

Matilda took a step back. She desperately wanted Julian to say something in her defense or even to look at her, but his gaze remained steadfastly on Lydia.

“So neither one of you want the pass,” Matilda said.

“Fuck you,” spat Lydia.

Matilda turned away.

“Wait,” Julian said. His voice sounded weak.

Matilda spun, unable to keep the hope off her face, and saw why Julian had called to her. Lydia stood behind him, a long knife to his throat.

“Turn me,” Lydia said. “Turn me, or I’m going to kill him.”

Julian’s eyes were wide. He started to protest or beg or something and Lydia pressed the knife harder, silencing him.

People had stopped dancing nearby, backing away. One girl with red-glazed eyes stared hungrily at the knife.

“Turn me!” Lydia shouted. “I’m tired of waiting! I want my life to begin!” “You won’t be alive—” Matilda started.

“I’ll be alive—more alive than ever. Just like you are.”