Charlotte’s son. Tessa’s twins.
My Laurel.
“He’s a—” I hesitate. If I tell them what he is, will they believe he swayed me? Or that I’m pretending, really here to harm their babies?
I want to believe they won’t, but they’ve only known me for a few weeks.
What ifI’mthe danger? What if I can’t fight it for much longer, just like Blase said?
What if the first time Laurel does something naughty on purpose, I—
I let out a sob and sink to my knees, both hands covering my mouth. This position is so familiar. I cannot count how many times I sobbed in silence as a child, hoping no one would hear and make it worse.
“Oh, God. Tess, call her husband.” Charlotte digs my phone out of my coat pocket and wraps her arms around me.
“He’s on the Night Watch phone chain. I’ll text the group. You stay with her. Call Libby! Call Libby and Milo.”
Fear is trying to crush me, but I am strong. I’m stronger than Blase or all of the foul monsters clinging to “tradition” know. “He said I was dangerous. That I’m a killer inside. That he’s coming back,” I choke out.
Charlotte and Tess exchange looks. Charlotte keeps rubbing my back.
“Well. I guess we’ll have to get ready for him,” Tessa says, and her hair is suddenly shimmering, and her eyes are opal white. “Don’t worry, Imogene. They say that stuff aboutall the monsters in the world. Witches, succubi, werewolves, vampires... Around here, they’re not right.”
I nod, still sobbing, but I don’t tell them what else I’m thinking. I wasn’t raised here. I never had people to teach me to love and do things right. I had jailers. Books and hope, and no knowledge of who or what I was. Never met another of my kind.
Sure, Blase mentioned there are rebellious ones, ones who don’t follow this horrible “tradition” of harming or killing humans. Dr. Vaughn didn’t seem worried when he met me, or about my ability to be a parent.
Maybe because I’m here, a place where monsters who want to live peacefully thrive.
Or maybe because we’ve lied to everyone here. Laurel isn’t really my baby. Or Artie’s. Does that make me more or less likely to hurt her?
“Did he hurt you?” Charlotte’s whispering in my ear, her hands flying over the screen of her phone. “You can tell us what happened. No one is going to judge you, honey. We know it can only take a second, and it doesn’t always matter how fast or strong you are.”
I nod. “Worse than I can tell you.”
Chapter Fifteen: November Twenty-fifth
November 25th, 2025
Pine Ridge, New York
AKA Situation Room Central
“We should get some cheese and crackers. Chips and dip. Should I wear my dress?”
My wife isn’t acting right. And yes, I’m calling her my wife. She needs that. Imogene needs to know that what happened a few hours ago doesn’t change anything between us—even if she clearly thinks it does.
Right now, she’s wandering around the house, shaking, empty-eyed, and pulling out all the glasses and cups we own. Ten of them, if you count all the free plastic ones that random restaurants send to the members of MenuGenius.
“We don’t have any juice, only Pedialyte. It’s after midnight, so the Fresh Market isn’t open. I’ll make some ice. Ice water isn’t fancy, but it’s what we have. Do you know I never had cranberry juice until I met you? Only frozen orange juice mixed with water. Sometimes.” She stops and stares into the freezer, and I wonder if she’s wandering down a bad, dark memory lane, back to a lifetime of pain and cold.
I rush to put my arms around her and shut the freezer door. “Sweetheart. Sit down. People are coming to help us, not to have snacks.”
“Other than having Libby over for coffee that one time, we’ve never had company. I don’t know what to...”
I take Immy’s shoulders, steer her to the sofa, and kneel in front of her. “Imogene. We’ll have a big party here. On Krampusnacht, if you want. A wonderful, joyful celebration for all our friends and neighbors, okay? A way to tell them all that they never need to be afraid of you, if you think that’s necessary. I don’t think it is. No one who knows you would ever think badly of you.”
“Bu-but I think badly of me. I wanted to hurt him,” she whispers, lips trembling.
