After almost a week on the run, drawing attention to myself with a string of bodies was out of the question on my firstnight here. That meant I needed to feed on several people to feel satisfied without attracting suspicion.
I examined the crowd for my next meal and caught sight of Vail, tangled up with a woman with short black hair. A sharp ache pierced my chest at the sight of her, but I quickly averted my gaze. This wasn’t the time for distractions.
I saw the man with the blond hair I had noticed earlier. Our gazes locked once more, and his eyes sparkled with intrigue as he smiled at me. I returned the smile; a surge of excitement building and began moving toward him.
The night buzzed with energy, and the crowd swelled around me, and for a brief moment, I looked up, mesmerized by the fireworks. But then a sharp pain bloomed in my head, and my vision wavered.
I needed to slow down. I must have been drinking too quickly.
I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a long, steady breath. The scent of humans filled my lungs as I focused on regaining my composure. Just then, someone bumped into me. Without a second thought, I sank my fangs into the stranger’s neck, surrendering to the sweet, intoxicating taste of blood.
I started to pull back as my head throbbed more intensely, my vision flickering and becoming spotty once more. A wave of confusion surged through me, followed by a tight knot of panic.
Something was wrong.
I tried to steady myself, but my body refused to cooperate. I stumbled forward, desperately searching for Vail, but everything was distorted, moving in slow motion. The faces blurred and the sounds around me became a muffled hum.
My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the muddy ground. A cold sweat broke out across my skin, and I gasped,trying to force my limbs to move, but they felt heavy and unresponsive.
The last thing I saw before everything went black was the crowd, swirling like a vortex around me, the faces of strangers too far to reach, too out of focus to recognize.
FOUR
September 25, 1890
I hung the linens on the line outside, basking in the warm embrace of the golden autumnal sun. Summer’s remnants lingered in the form of freckles adorning my arms and face as I tended to the laundry. Inside the house, the aroma of a cake, freshly baked by my mother, filled the air. Today was a special day. It was my twenty-third birthday.
As I reached into the laundry basket, one shirt caught my attention: a blue button-up that once belonged to my father. My fingers traced the fabric’s familiar texture, stopping at the spot where my mother had meticulously patched a hole. She wore this shirt more than any other, and over the years, its fabric had grown almost translucent from constant use. I looked from the shirt to the weathered gravestone beneath a massive oak tree whose leaves had begun to blush with shades of red. My heart softened, longing tugging at my chest. I couldn’t help but smile tenderly as I made my way toward the grave.
My fingers traced the carved letters of my father’s weathered name. Moss grew along the stone we had placed under the tree many moons ago, when I was only seven years old. His body was never brought back after the incident, so this stone was all we had as a gravesitefor my father.
We were told he had been murdered by Blood Hunters while his troop was on a mission, protecting our town. I’ll never forget my mother’s face when they told her what had happened. I could feel the sting of tears welling up at the corners of my eyes as the memory played itself over and over in my mind.
She was never the same after. Everything about her changed. Once warm, carefree, and full of life, she became tense, almost rigid, always looking over her shoulder as though expecting something terrible to happen at any moment.
Shortly after my father’s death was confirmed, my mother withdrew. The lack of work, the absence of money, the daily struggles—it all began to gnaw at us. She thought leaving Elmcross and seeking solace elsewhere would help her. She needed to escape the relentless gossip of the town. Using the last of my father’s money, she bought us a small house across the river, a place where she could find peace. The house came with a magnificent garden: one she tended to every day. I often joined her, working the soil and tending to the rows of garlic, lettuce, and various other vegetables. This time of year, the autumn flowers were in full bloom, creating a vibrant display around our home.
Those moments in the garden, cutting and trimming flowers, and keeping the pests at bay, became sacred to me. It gave me a sense of purpose, a connection to the earth that grounded me amidst the chaos. It was my sanctuary from the harshness of the world. But it wasn’t enough to heal my mother.
I took a deep breath, staring at the gravestone before me. “I miss you every day,” I whispered to the stone. I rarely allowed myself to sit here, to linger with my emotions. But today was different. I’d never felt so distant from my father. I closed my eyes, trying to summon the memories of his voice,how his hair would tickle my knees when he carried me around the house on his shoulders.
A sudden movement emerging from the trees caught my attention. Vail’s long, blonde hair flowed in the breeze, shimmering like a halo of warmth and a wide smile bloomed across her face as she spotted me. My heart fluttered every time I caught sight of Vail, my beloved friend, whose presence illuminated even the darkest corners of my world. She quickened her pace, racing toward me, and playfully toppled me to the ground with an enormous hug.
“Happy birthday, Rosie!” Vail exclaimed as she planted a warm kiss on my cheek.
“Thank you,” I replied, rising to my feet. Vail and I had been inseparable since childhood, and it was her father who had delivered the news of my own father’s passing. Like mine, Vail’s father had worked with the Slayers, and he too eventually met his end.
Six years ago, an entire troop of Slayers from Elmcross set out on a mission and never returned. Since then, Vail had taken up residence with her grandmother, Agnes. Agnes was a frequent topic of town gossip, with rumours circulating about her coven and ties to a darker form of witchcraft. Vail, however, paid no mind to the baseless chatter. Instead, she embraced her grandmother’s teachings, feeling drawn to the mystical and arcane. She often invited me to join in the rituals her grandmother had taught her. Magic ran through her mother’s side of the family, though whispers claimed it was weak—too weak to save her from the complications of childbirth.
Vail reached into her bag and pulled out bundles of herbs twisted with dried flowers. “My grandmother prepared these for you,” she said, her voice soft. “She claims they will ward off ill spirits and keep you safe. If you wish, I can show you how to use them.” I took the gift from her and brought itclose to my nose, inhaling deeply, allowing the sweet scent to fill my senses.
“I have also made you this.” She pulled out a small vial with a wax-sealed top. “I found a recipe in my grandmother’s book. It claims to be a love potion. Perhaps you’ll find a nice man passing through town, one who will court you, and then you can settle down,” she suggested, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear with a shy smile.
“Oh, you know I will never settle down,” I responded. I thought about my fair share of fleeting romances over the years, but I had never desired anything serious. There was never a connection beyond the physical.
I had seen what love did to people. The way it hollowed out my mother when my father died, leaving her a ghost of the woman she once was. I never wanted to feel that kind of loss. If I kept my heart to myself, it would be better. Safer.
“Perhaps we might use it to helpyoufind a respectable man,” I suggested, poking at the fact that although we were the same age, Vail had never shown even a remote interest in anyone before.
