“What’s the plan with the vampires tonight, do you think we should wait outside The Bite and kill them in the alleyway to make a statement?” Monique said casually.
The food turned to lead in my stomach. I put my fork down and took a sip of wine.
“Really, Monique!” Michael said with that faint accent. When he spoke her name the ‘ique’ was emphasised. “I think the dinner table is not the time to make plans, especially when we have guests.”
Her bitter gaze hit mine.“Oh, I’m sorry Michael, I was unaware our plans to keep them safe would upset the fragiles.”
I glanced at Dahlia. She was unconcerned, she ate with gusto. I spoke quickly to change the subject. “Where are you from, Michael, I thought I could detect a faint accent—English, maybe?”
Dahlia arched her brows. “He crawled out of the sewers in Transylvania.”
His lips quirked up. “Not quite, Dahlia, you have good ear Amelia, I was born in England. My father was English, he was a professor of the arts, and my mother was French. We moved to Michigan when I was seven.”
“It’s a nice accent, I like it,” I said, “did you get any of his artistic talents?”
“I like to dabble on canvas.”
“He’s extremely talented, I have a few in the house,” Karson said, raising his glass to him.
“Perhaps you could show me sometime, Michael.”
“It would be my honor to show you,” he seemed pleased.
Monique sighed. I knew I’d inadvertently annoyed her again. I would have asked more questions about his parents, but I knew it would lead to vampire questions I didn’t want answered.
“And you, where were you born?” he asked as he sawed through the meat.
It was always an uncomfortable question for me to answer. If you told people you were a foster child, they would inevitably look at you differently; either with sympathy or as if something might be wrong with you. I wasn’t sure which look was worse, both were unpalatable, so I stopped telling people about that part of my life.
“I’m not sure, I was adopted, and I moved around a lot. I spent the last few years in Ohio.” A cotton-candied version of the truth, maybe, but there was no harm in that. Karson wasstudying me, like he often does, searching for the truth in my face. I dropped my gaze away and kept eating.
“Could you pass the salt please, Michael,” Dahlia asked after a few minutes of silence.
Michael held his hand to his ear and cocked his head to the side.“Sorry, can’t quite hear you from all the way up here.”
“Fine,” she said. With an arch of her eyebrows and the casual lift of one hand, the salt rose from the table and sailed through the air, like someone had it on a string to her fingers.
Startled, I dropped my fork—it landed with a clatter on my plate—carrot rolled off the end and splattered small pieces across the table.
Monique shot her chair out from the table and leapt to her feet. Breathing rapidly, she glared at Dahlia. “She’s a fucking witch! Seriously, Karson, why is that thing in your house?”
Dahlia raised her chin and didn’t take her eyes from Monique.
Confused, I glanced at Karson—there was no surprise in his eyes.
“Really, Monique,” Michael said with a disbelieving tone, “how did you not realise before now, you are slipping in your old age!”
“You knew, you both knew!” She threw up her hands in bewilderment.
“Yes, of course, Monique,” Karson said, taking a sip of his wine. “And need I remind you again, this is my house, and you will be polite to my guests.” He sat his glass down, danger radiated off him.
“Vampires and now witches. What else do I not know?” I croaked.
Michael gave me a curious look. “Suffice to say, Amelia, a fair bit.”
“Eat,” Karson said, waving his hand with an air of dismissal. “We need to go soon.”
“Karson,” I appealed, “you can’t just let me know there are vampires and witches in this world and then expect me to eat dinner and not ask questions.”
