As time ticked by with no sign, Genevieve’s stomach sank. She licked her lips and looked away.I am going to have to break it to the children that she is not coming home,she thought.But at least we have a body to bury. There is some relief inknowing, at the very least…She swallowed and wiped her eyes, her own unquiet grief that she had thought she had set aside rioting within her.
“Do you think we should lay her out for the children to see, or should we find a coffin first?” she whispered to Kendrick. “I don’t want them to think?—”
“Wait,” Dominic barked harshly.
Genevieve and Kendrick both swung towards him. Dominic hovered by the bed, his gaze fixed on the body.
The room was still. None of them moved.
Evangeline Hartshorne’s head twitched.
She jerked upright with a gasp, her eyes flying open. She stared around the room in a confused panic, her eyes flaring ruby red.
Dominic was by her side in a moment, but she shrank away from him.
“W-Who are you?” she forced out, coughing as her throat muscles fought to work. “W-Wheream I?—”
“Evangeline.” Genevieve approached the bed, extending a hand to the frightened woman. “You are safe. Do you remember me?”
Evangeline stared at her, and recognition slowly dawned. “Miss Dryden. My children?—?”
Dominic said, “They are safe. They are upstairs, in my house, and you can see them soon.”
She shrank away from him. “Who are you?”
“This is Dominic Penrose,” Genevieve said hastily. “And this is my husband, Kendrick.” She indicated the men. “He is correct. August and June are well. They are upstairs.”
“What happened? I thought—” Evangeline wet her lips. Her hand crept up to her neck. “I was sure…” Her fingers trembled. She pressed a fluttering hand to her chest but did not find what she sought. She looked between them, searching for answers.
Genevieve sat carefully on the edge of the bed. “I’m so sorry. Let me explain…”
Elspeth huddled in the corner of the house in Chelsea where Laurent had gone to ground. In the middle of a bustling artist community, no one paid much attention to nocturnal comings and goings. The terraced house was sparsely furnished, with thick shutters over the windows. Oxley still snored in his chair, though the sun had gone down and vampires had no need of breath. Some habits were too ingrained to break, it seemed.
Laurent had gone out to feed as soon as dusk had fallen, but he had commanded her to stay and wait for his return. He felt secure and confident in venturing out, since it had rained all night and day. They had seen no sign of their pursuers.
Elspeth scrubbed at her chest as Oxley rolled over and snorted, coming awake. With much smacking of lips and muttering, he fought to a sitting position.
“What are you looking at?” he asked, catching sight of her. “Where the devil’s Laurent?”
“Gone out,” Elspeth said curtly.
“Out? With searchers out looking for him? Is he completely?—”
“What? Off his rocker? Mad? Stark-raving?” Laurent loomed in the doorway.
Oxley jumped. “O-Of course not. I only thought?—”
“I’ve spoken to you about thinking before, Oxley,” Laurent drawled. “Elspeth, find some water for washing,” he added casually.
Elspeth waited for the command to bang against her eyelids and force her to her feet. Instead, there was a curious ripping sensation in her chest, as if old, rotten threads had parted ways from their stitching. She touched her fingers to her gown’s neckline, as if perhaps some of the stitchinghadripped and that was what she had felt.
“Well?” Laurent demanded. “What are you waiting for?”
Elspeth got to her feet jerkily, nodded, and walked out the door. In the hallway, she paused, touched her breastbone, waited for the compulsion.
It didn’t come.
Not daring to breathe, Elspeth walked to the house’s door and stepped out into the freezing drizzle. She looked both ways down the street and then began to walk, slowly at first, and then faster. When no invisible leash pulled her back, her rapid walk turned into a run.
