He called from the doorway, “Valeria, do you not want to guess my name?”
I marched down the hallway, passing ghost residents less than thrilled when I stomped through their bodies rather than move around them.
I gripped the door, screaming, “No, you prick!” into the void, and slammed it closed.
I awoke to the boom of the main castle doors and to the dark room filtered by the soft moonlight. Drenched in sweat, I shucked the covers off, feet hitting the cold floor.
What could have made such a noise at this hour?
I opened the door and slinked down the hallway as the dawn crept across the horizon and into the castle. The structure echoed the harsh steps off its dark walls, and a cool wind blew in from the early morning, the scent of blood twining sharply with the dying summer.
“Ebony!” Silas strode across the main floor, his cape flapping behind him. Under the pale rays, his suit was covered in blood. “Dammit, Ebony!”
Ebony appeared, swirling about the main floor as a white wisp, her white dress billowing as she floated over Silas. “Shush, you’re waking up the dead!” Ebony hissed. Dark pools peeked past Silas to the foyer covered with a thin blood trail. “You really did it this time.”
“I had to. They are getting harder to handle the more unstable things become.” Silas tossed the coat, slugging up the stairs.
I scrambled back into my room, leaving the door ajar enough to see him walk past. Heels clicked along the long corridor, then disappeared. I crept out of my room, tiptoeing down the hall before coming to rest outside the library study. Muffled clattering of bottles and Silas’s grunts came from behind the thick oak doors. Ebony’s soft, sweet voice shifted with worry, words inaudible, but her tone fluctuating as Silas’s grunts became worse.
As I pressed my ear against the door, the only word I could make out wascursed. The word had an implication—this, Iwas sure of.
Silas’s voice wavered with intensity, accompanied by shattering glass. Footsteps came to the door, and I scurried back to my room.
I shut the door behind me and rushed into bed before pulling the covers over me.
Moments later, the bedroom door creaked open. I feigned sleep, moving my chest against the terrifying ache and shifting my forehead closer to the cool stone wall.
The floorboards creaked underfoot, approaching the bed until I was sure he loomed over me. I didn’t dare to acknowledge my fright. To do so could’ve very well been a death sentence. Instead, I continued to fake sleep, maintaining those deep, consistent breaths. The space next to me dipped as if the person had taken up residence in watching me sleep. I did not dare look or touch. I kept my eyes firmly closed and let my imagination wander as I prayed they would leave. The pressure lessened after a while, but the burning acuteness of suspicious eyes still lay upon my sleeping form.
I’d stayed like that for what seemed to be an eternity until sleep beckoned, and I slowly drifted off to the plane in between sleep and wakefulness.
When I awoke to the fullness of the morning sun, Silas was gone.
Book after book, I shifted through the stacks and found little to nothing on Silas other than less-than-crediblevampire lore. For one, Silas walked in sunlight, when the sun wasn’t at its highest. Two, he didn’t seem to have an aversion to garlic, seeing as it was in a few of the dishes for the last couple of nights. Three, I do not assume a church would have me believe that a crucifix or any religious idol would affect him. Which left me with little idea of what he was and how to deal with him.
I groaned, tossing the book onto the growing pile before me. I went to the lower shelf I had been pulling from, trying to find a simple title. My finger traced the ancient spines of the books, wiping dust off a few. I doubt Silas had enough time in the world to finger through all of these volumes.
Europe’s Mythology.
History of the Dark Ages.
The Meaning Behind the Veil.
After pulling out a book, I flipped it to a random page, rolling my eyes. I didn’t know why I expected my answer to be here among his stacks. I shoved the book back when I was met with resistance. Moving others out of the way, I tried to find the source when a small leather-bound book fell out of the small crevice.
The leather-bound book lay on the dusty floor. Wound around it was a single thick strap from its worn cover.
Carefully, I turned it over, afraid it would fall apart. The book was delicate, its thinning worn spots and strap holding the little book together. I undid the tie, greeted by dust as I opened the first page. Thepage covered with scrawls of cursive were faint and illegible.
Great, I found nothing again.
I turned the page, finding bold traceable script as if the writer was trying to capture much more than simple words.
I am the — I will not be afraid, not after ——. I fear if I do not write my story then I will be nothing more —. —be a puppet to the wills ——— a war, to be able to show how strong our country is——I told them no.
I told them no-not since —.
Look —— I’m writing this on the eve—
