such as the ability to make people do as you wished? I was an archaeologist. If I had a tool that could help me uncover the historical treasures on a site faster, without any harm to the location or the objects . . . why would I get out the brushes and tweezers?
Dove opened her mouth again, probably to comment on Karn’s IQ or perhaps just say something snarky about his fangs—and I hissed, “Shut up!”
She pressed her lips together, and her eyebrows dipped into one of her patented frowns, but the girl stopped talking.
Karn offered me one of his thin-bladed smiles. “I don’t know how you put up with her.”
I said nothing, offering only a half shrug. He didn’t seem to care that I didn’t want to engage with him. He was the coldest man I’d ever met. Were all vampires like him?
“We only have a few hours before dawn,” said Mr. English Vampire.
“I only need a few minutes. But you are correct. Getting off the campus is wise,” said Karn. “If that bitch mermaid alerted anyone to our presence, we may have to deal with unwanted visitors.”
“Mermaid?” asked Dove.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Doriana is apparently a creature of the sea.”
Dove stared at me to gauge my seriousness, and then she nodded. “That actually explains a lot.”
“You two do natter on,” said Karn. “Gag them, and then make sure their bonds are secure.”
A god-awful shriek filled the room. The sound was so sudden, so horrific, we were all startled by it . . . even the vampires. My skin prickled with unease, and even stoic Dove looked unnerved.
The vampires’ expressions turned wary, and they spread out, apparently looking around for the source of the tortured wails. I couldn’t see well beyond the creepy green glow of the electric lantern, but I wondered how well vampires could see. One of their supposed powers was excellent vision
. The better to hunt you with, my pretty.
The screams were loud and endless.
As one faded, another would rise.
The shrieks made my skin crawl. I didn’t have the luxury of putting my hands over my ears, and I could see that Dove might have been wishing for the same ability. Instead, we endured the tormented cries because we had no choice.
The temperature plummeted. Jeez! It felt like someone had turned the air-conditioning to an Arctic setting. I could see little clouds form as I puffed out panicked breaths. I glanced at Dove; she looked like she was struggling to maintain her composure.
I swallowed the knot in my throat. I could no longer dismiss the idea of ghosts as ludicrous. I’d met three vampires and a mermaid tonight. And hey, what was a visit from the spirit world on top of that three-layer hell cake? Still . . . I couldn’t fathom the idea of hearing—much less seeing—the ethereal form of my murdered mother.
A memory flickered. It was so rare for me to think about those times, about what had happened. My grandfather had been the buoy in a raging, bloody sea. I remembered him, and all that he did for me, but before that . . . it was a dull gray area. The color bled away and all that remained was the dark.
And yet, I remembered her. Snippets, really. Just enough to remember the shadows of grief, and just enough to miss her. Only her. I had never known my father.
I didn’t want to remember now. I’d spent nearly three decades not thinking about my mother.
But the memory was insistent, and it unfurled like a sail propelled by the wind. I could not stop it. Dodge it. Brush it away. I had to ride it out, all the way. And damn it all, I could only watch . . .
• • •
I’m lying in a bed, cowering under a thick comforter. The lights are on in the room, because the darkness scares me. I am in my grandparents’ bedroom. I do not feel safe. I will never feel safe again.
My gaze is riveted on the open door, on the shadows on the wall that echo the people standing in the hallway.
Two shadows.
Grandfather. And the nice man with eyes like shiny
Dove opened her mouth again, probably to comment on Karn’s IQ or perhaps just say something snarky about his fangs—and I hissed, “Shut up!”
She pressed her lips together, and her eyebrows dipped into one of her patented frowns, but the girl stopped talking.
Karn offered me one of his thin-bladed smiles. “I don’t know how you put up with her.”
I said nothing, offering only a half shrug. He didn’t seem to care that I didn’t want to engage with him. He was the coldest man I’d ever met. Were all vampires like him?
“We only have a few hours before dawn,” said Mr. English Vampire.
“I only need a few minutes. But you are correct. Getting off the campus is wise,” said Karn. “If that bitch mermaid alerted anyone to our presence, we may have to deal with unwanted visitors.”
“Mermaid?” asked Dove.
“Oh, yeah,” I said. “Doriana is apparently a creature of the sea.”
Dove stared at me to gauge my seriousness, and then she nodded. “That actually explains a lot.”
“You two do natter on,” said Karn. “Gag them, and then make sure their bonds are secure.”
A god-awful shriek filled the room. The sound was so sudden, so horrific, we were all startled by it . . . even the vampires. My skin prickled with unease, and even stoic Dove looked unnerved.
The vampires’ expressions turned wary, and they spread out, apparently looking around for the source of the tortured wails. I couldn’t see well beyond the creepy green glow of the electric lantern, but I wondered how well vampires could see. One of their supposed powers was excellent vision
. The better to hunt you with, my pretty.
The screams were loud and endless.
As one faded, another would rise.
The shrieks made my skin crawl. I didn’t have the luxury of putting my hands over my ears, and I could see that Dove might have been wishing for the same ability. Instead, we endured the tormented cries because we had no choice.
The temperature plummeted. Jeez! It felt like someone had turned the air-conditioning to an Arctic setting. I could see little clouds form as I puffed out panicked breaths. I glanced at Dove; she looked like she was struggling to maintain her composure.
I swallowed the knot in my throat. I could no longer dismiss the idea of ghosts as ludicrous. I’d met three vampires and a mermaid tonight. And hey, what was a visit from the spirit world on top of that three-layer hell cake? Still . . . I couldn’t fathom the idea of hearing—much less seeing—the ethereal form of my murdered mother.
A memory flickered. It was so rare for me to think about those times, about what had happened. My grandfather had been the buoy in a raging, bloody sea. I remembered him, and all that he did for me, but before that . . . it was a dull gray area. The color bled away and all that remained was the dark.
And yet, I remembered her. Snippets, really. Just enough to remember the shadows of grief, and just enough to miss her. Only her. I had never known my father.
I didn’t want to remember now. I’d spent nearly three decades not thinking about my mother.
But the memory was insistent, and it unfurled like a sail propelled by the wind. I could not stop it. Dodge it. Brush it away. I had to ride it out, all the way. And damn it all, I could only watch . . .
• • •
I’m lying in a bed, cowering under a thick comforter. The lights are on in the room, because the darkness scares me. I am in my grandparents’ bedroom. I do not feel safe. I will never feel safe again.
My gaze is riveted on the open door, on the shadows on the wall that echo the people standing in the hallway.
Two shadows.
Grandfather. And the nice man with eyes like shiny
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