A Shade of Vampire 43: A House of Mysteries(65)

It’s just your imagination.

I moved away from the mirror. I was tired, exhausted. My mind was playing tricks on me—having way too much fun in this creepy house. I made my way through the main hallway, heading toward the Druid’s room. Once again, I caught sight of myself in the reflection of a glass cabinet. The runes were still there—in my reflection at least. I moved to peer closer, checking it wasn’t just the grime on the glass surface that was making me think there were runes appearing.

It wasn’t.

As I stared, dumbstruck, my blood running cold, I thought I could see the runes seeping black blood. It reminded me of Draven earlier, when he’d carved them into his skin, but the tar-like substance that appeared to trickle down my arm was nothing like I’d ever seen before…

What is happening to me?





Phoenix





I’m dreaming.

I was back in the desert. It was cold, the middle of the night, with five different glowing spheres shining down above me like moons. The landscape was deserted, and there was no sandstorm behind me this time.

I knew the Daughters were coming. I wanted to wake up. It was almost like I could see myself from above—the real me yelling at my apparition to get out of there, to run, hide. They were coming.

Sand started to blow ferociously over the dried, cracked earth. I heard the sound of female laughter, low and cruel—the same way they had laughed at Draven when they took out his eyes.

They appeared suddenly, their limbs golden and toned, their white linen dresses moving provocatively in the breeze and their hair whipping up with the blasts of sand like shining cloaks.

“What do you want?” I asked them, my mouth as dry as the desert beneath me. The red-headed Daughter stepped forward, her golden chains and jewelry jangling as she moved. Her masked face was level with mine—close enough that I could see her violet eyes boring into my soul.

“You must wake her,” she whispered. “You must, or all will be lost.”

“I—I can’t,” I stuttered. “I don’t know how.”

The Daughter shook her head. Her fingers reached upward and she slid them gently down the side of my face. A soft hushing sound escaped her mouth, as if she was reassuring a small child.

“It will take one life to start another,” she whispered again. “One life to be sacrificed—yours, Phoenix.”

“No, that can’t be,” I gasped, my whole body tensing for the blow I suspected was about to come. Could they kill me here, in a dream? Did they have that much power, or was this just a nightmare, one I would soon wake up from?

“A gift,” the redhead soothed, producing a dagger out of thin air. It was crude, an ancient-looking weapon with the blade chiseled from stone and twine wrapped around the handle. She held it toward me, flat out on her palm.

“Take it,” she urged me. “Take it, and cut yourself on the full moon. Let your blood flow onto the soil beneath the magnolia tree so the roots can drink it, and the Last Daughter will be reborn.”

Hardly knowing what I was doing, I took the knife from her hand, holding it in my own. The stone was warm, and the edges were sharp despite its appearance.

“Your life will have not been in vain, seer,” she told me.

I nodded slowly. Perhaps the Daughters were right. What was one sacrifice to save the lives of so many others? If I could give this one gift to the Last Daughter, perhaps my life would have been worthwhile, short as it was.

“She will thank you for it,” the redhead whispered.

“Then it’s worth it,” I conceded, nodding in agreement as I stared into her violet eyes.