“Right?” I say softly.
“But the rest of this place is weird, Jules,” she points out. “I mean really weird. Skeleton Dons and demon bazaars and blood magic? Not to mention the fact that curvy women are so desired we’re outlawed. We have to get out of here and go home.”
“I know. I know,” I say, letting my head rest back against the seat.
But inside, a treacherous thought takes root.
Why? Why should I want to go home?
It’s not like I love my awful job or my crappy apartment. The only thing truly pulling me back to the Human Realm—now that Mr. Mittens is here, washing his paws somewhere back at the Spires—is my Book Club friends. My people…my life as it was.
And suddenly… that feels thinner than it used to.
I open my mouth to say something to Hanna—something honest and probably dangerous—but the carriage slows, and the driver pulls the reins gently.
We roll to a stop in front of an antique barn that’s been lovingly converted into a store and I’m instantly in love with it.
It looks like something straight out of Vermont during leaf season—the one time I went with my Grandma, years ago. Weathered wood siding is painted a deep red that’s faded to a soft wine color. Wide doors are thrown open to reveal warm lamplight inside. A hand-painted sign hangs above the entrance, carved with curling letters that read, Pomme de sang. Below the words are an image of a fruit that looks like a red apple but darker, almost bruised looking.
Vines with blood-red flowers trail along trellises nearby, leaves rustling softly in the breeze. The whole place smells like apples, earth, and old wood.
Like I said—I’m in love.
Our bodyguard-slash-carriage driver opens the door for us but before I can even move, an older couple steps out from the barn.
They’re vampires—I can tell, because when they smile, the sharp points of their fangs show just beneath their upper lips—but otherwise, they look like any elderly farming couple. The man is tall and stooped, wearing worn boots and a flannel shirt. His wife is bundled in a knitted shawl, her silver hair pulled back neatly into a grandmotherly bun.
The farmer vampire bows deeply.
“You must be our new queen! Lord Lucian sent word that you and your friend were coming.”
I blink, startled at this welcome.
“Welcome, Your Majesty! You are most welcome at our humble orchard,” the old lady vampire says, dropping into a deep curtsy that makes me want to dive out of the carriage and catch her.
“Oh! Oh no, please don’t do that,” I blurt, worried for her knees. “I’m just an accountant.”
“The Lord Lucian said you would be modest, my Lady,” the old lady says kindly as she rises, smiling at me. “Come—please. We are to give you and your esteemed friend a tour of our orchard, where you may pick as many Pomme de sang as you wish.”
“And after that,” the farmer adds, “perhaps you’d like to peruse our store. We’re proud to have you on our premises.”
“Oh—thank you,” I say, still flustered. “That would be great.”
Hanna and I exchange a glance.
This is weird…but it’s also kind of nice. A private tour of a beautiful place and people who seem genuinely pleased to meet us. I mean, what’s not to like?
I step down from the carriage, my boots crunching on gravel, and follow the old vampire couple toward the orchard—my heart lighter than it has any right to be.
49
Jules
We follow the old vampire couple around the side of the antique barn, crunching over gravel that gives way to soft earth as the land opens up behind it.
The orchard stretches out before us in neat, gently sloping rows, disappearing into the distance like something out of a dream.
At first glance, they all look like apple trees—with gnarled trunks, spreading branches, and glossy leaves—but the fruit hanging from them is anything but ordinary.
