“I had it under control,” I insisted.
“I didn’t want to take any chances,” Vail replied, her voice tinged with a hint of remorse as she gazed down at the lifeless form on the ground.
“Did you see her eyes?”
“No,” Vail replied, her own gaze still fixed on the woman’s body, a troubled expression etched upon her features.
“They were all white, like she was possessed,” I continued, my mind still reeling from the surreal sight.
“Yeah, she fought as though she had a spell on her.” Vail bent down and took out a long, thin knife. She pierced the woman’s flesh on her wrist, and a steady stream of crimson ran down her arm. Vail took out a small bottle of clear liquid from her purse. She placed the bottle next to the cut, letting the blood flow inside.
“What is that?” I asked her.
“A potion I’ve been working on. It detects the Retch once it’s in blood,” Vail explained. She extended the bottle toward me, its contents pulsing with a faint, iridescent blue glow. “It’s a good thing you didn’t bite her when she was attacking you because her blood is full of it,” Her words carried a solemn warning.
“Did the Retch make her attack us?” I asked her.
“I don’t think so. But I’d say you’re right about her being possessed,” Vail said.
“She was trying to kill me,” I told Vail.
“She sure was.”
“Do you think Sam sent her to kill us?” I posed the question, knowing that Vail was grappling with the same troubling thought.
“She had dark magic on her, blood magic, and Sam’s not a witch,” Vail replied quietly.
“Maybe he knows a witch? That’s who’s helping him make the drug?”
“You could be right about that,” Vail conceded, her gaze fixed on me with a newfound intensity. “Or maybe Sam sent her to see if we would kill her. So, if she doesn’t go back to him, he knows about us.”
“Oh, shit.” A sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach.
“Yeah, fuck,” Vail muttered.
“What do we do now? Should we skip town and leave?” I suggested, desperate for a way out of the danger that surrounded us.
“Rosalia.” Vail addressed me by my full name. “We can’t leave. If we leave, Retch will get out, and more Vampires will die. We have to end this.
THIRTY-FOUR
October 23, 1891
I sat alone in the dining room. It had been over a week since I last laid eyes on Draven, and the absence of his looming presence had brought a sense of peace to my troubled mind. Imalda had informed me that he had left days ago and had yet to return. I did not ask her about him, yet she still felt the need to keep me updated on his whereabouts.
My peace did not last long. The dining room doors burst open with a force that sent me reeling from my seat, and a scream clawed its way from my throat as I staggered to regain myself. Then, like a shadow of death, he stood there at the entryway; Draven, his presence twisted by madness, his hair disheveled, and he was once again drenched in blood.
Draven dragged two large sacks across the floor, their contents hidden, but their weight evident in the way they sagged. The stench of blood and dirt hit me. Draven looked at me. His eyes were a hollow gaze of a man lost to grief.
“Draven, what in the name of all that is holy is wrong with you?” I demanded, my voice trembling with a mixture of horror and disbelief.
He lifted one of the bags and emptied its contents on the floor before me. Four severed heads tumbled out, theirlifeless eyes staring into the abyss. I recoiled in horror and covered my eyes, unable to bear the sight before me. Even though I only looked for a moment, I could tell they were the heads of Blood Hunters, with their pallid skin and elongated fangs.
“Which one did it?” Draven’s voice pierced the silence, its tone devoid of emotion, lost in the depths of despair. “Which one killed your mother?”
My heart pounded against my ribcage, each beat echoing the chaos of my mind. How could he bring dead Blood Hunters here?
“Have you lost your mind?” I asked him.
