This man was there the night the town attacked the Conraths.
A member of Elijah’s house had fathered a child. The mother hid the child’s existence for three years. Until the child died—and resurrected days later. It bit and drained its mother. In front of several witnesses.
They killed the “abomination.” That’s what spurned the attack.
Everything I’ve learned is mortifying. But worst of all is what happened after.
Henry Conrath, my father, broke. The town tried and succeeded in burning him out of his home. But he came to town. He found his dead brother hanging in the tree.
He broke.
In all, he slaughtered thirty-two people in town. Drained them. Tore their limbs from their bodies, snapped their necks.
For all to see.
And when he was done, he returned to his estate and was never seen again.
NOW I KNOW WHY HENRY’S staff look at me with fear. Now I know why so many townspeople fear the night and know about the vampires. Their descendants know what happened that night in 1875. Now I know why the few people I’ve talked to in this town seem afraid of me.
They know what my father did.
And they know what I might do someday.
THE EVENING BEFORE I PLAN to head back to the Estate, Ian and I jog up the driveway. He’s put me through a hellish seven-mile run and only let me stop once every three miles. I’m so not a runner.
“Think you’re going to puke again this time?” Ian teases as we slowly jog up the driveway. I just look over at him and flip him the bird because I’m too out of breath to say screw you. “That’s my girl.”
I don’t know what he means by that, but I smile all the same. I smile even more when his shoulder bumps mine, and the back of his hand brushes against my knuckles.
It’s clear there’s something wrong the second the house comes into view. The front door is wide open, and everything is unnaturally quiet.
“Elle!” Ian immediately shouts and darts toward the house. Even I find an extra store of energy to sprint forward. “Lula!”
When we burst through the front door, the living room is ransacked. Lamps on the floor, pillows everywhere, broken bits of now unidentifiable objects crunch under my feet. “Elle!” Ian yells and darts toward her bedroom.
She’s lying on the floor, unconscious. “Elle!” Ian yells again as he drops to her side. He’s immediately checking for a pulse. Next he checks her pupils.
“Is she okay?” I ask. My throat is tight, and I’m looking over my shoulder for the attacker. My knees bend slightly, and my fingers automatically curl into fists.
“No concussion, so I don’t think she was hit,” he says, looking her over and slipping into EMT mode. “I’m guessing she inhaled something.”
“Like chloroform?” I ask. My hands shake slightly. I’ve read and been told stories, and yes, I was attacked myself, but this? This is right in front of me. This is tangible and real. I’m in way over my head.
“Something like that,” he says. He gathers her up in his arms and lays her gently on the bed.
“I think they got what they were looking for,” I say as my eyes settle on the cabinet in the corner.
The lock is busted to hell. It’s a tall cabinet, about six feet tall and three feet wide. The doors swing open, half ripped off their hinges. The top shelf contains a few random scattered vials. Glass is shattered across the carpet right below it, the carpet wet.
“Shit,” Ian hisses. “Those are Elle’s toxins. There were at least fifty doses in there.”
“Who is ballsy enough to break into your house and steal something to hunt down a House of vampires?” I hiss quietly.
“Someone completely bat-shit crazy,” Ian growls. He pulls a handgun from the drawer in Elle’s nightstand and steps around me into the rest of the house.
I follow him, just as silent. Quietly, he steps into Lula’s bedroom.
She’s snoring like an overweight hog.
“Lula,” Ian says, shaking her shoulder. “Grandma.”
She suddenly opens one eye, glaring death at her grandson. “What the hell you waking me up fo’?” she demands. “I was havin’ a nice dream about Winston. Why you gotta’ go and drag me back from that?”
“Sorry, Lula,” Ian says. “You didn’t hear anything in the last hour or so, did you?”
“Boy, get out of my room and let me go back to sleep.” She grunts as she rolls onto her side, her back to us.
We both step outside, and Ian closes her bedroom door quietly. “Lula could sleep through a hurricane these days and still not wake up when the house came down on top of her.”
Ian checks his cabin and comes back three minutes later with word that it hasn’t been touched. Whoever broke in is long gone.