Now, as we trundled along the one-lane road into Ashbourne, Leslee switched from her narrative to playing tour guide.
“That’s the pub,” she said, pointing to a warmly lit building with the windows thrown wide despite the chill weather. Music poured out onto the cobblestone street, and I heard a few locals call to our driver.
“Alright, Alex!”
“Looking fit, Alex!”
“Wonderful work with Sally, mate!”
“I’m just down the street if you need me,” Leslee continued, gesturing to a slightly darker but no less charming stretch of avenue past the pub. “You’ll know it’s mine by the singing cacti. Oh, and the lonely aspen that whispers all the time. And I think the flowers in the window boxes might appreciate . . .”
Leslee continued about her intricate garden as we crossed over a small bridge, turning away from the village and toward the square monstrosity that was Clotswold by Litchfield. I pressed a comforting hand to my stomach as it flipped and roiled as we passed.
Another quirk of my condition: vampires were not particularly adept at crossing bodies of water. Billy had assured me that the oceanic flight wouldn’t feel nearly as physically assaulting as a voyage by ship. Something to do with the dispersed compartments specially built within his plane for grave dirt and the massive distance between the water and the plane. I’d found the flight largely comfortable, and I hadn’t lied to Leslee—Charles had been a wonderful attendant and conversation partner.
But even a bridge as small and brief as that one reminded me again how far from home I was—the farthest I’d been since leaving England the first and last time, setting sail for some promised land they called the New World.
That was before I was turned, so I hadn’t experienced the vampiric side effects of crossing water. But the journey had been troublesome regardless, racked by illness, unkind sailors, and fear.
I looked past Leslee to the looming luxury hotel just outside the town’s border, grounding my mind back in the present in an effort to shield myself from the worrisome past.
The hotel was a geometric monstrosity, all strict straight lines in tight squares from the shape itself to the windows dotting the various stories. Even the hedges were alarmingly square as we pulled up to the entrance, as if someone had drafted them on a machine and installed them like equipment.
As the carriage slowed to a stop, I could see a line of well-dressed young men standing at attention beneath a brightly lit awning. Classical music blasted from some hidden speakers, and I almost couldn’t hear Leslee as she stepped from the carriage, throwing her arms wide to the assembled crew. I noticed our driver, Alex, sprint effortlessly from his seat on the carriage to join the line. So, their physical powers had come in. Good.
“Welcome to the Clotswold by Litchfield, Patrick, and to your first-ever assembled class of Vampire Basics 101.”
“Welcome, Professor Aglio,” six voices chimed in obedient unison.
I clasped my hands behind my back, assuming the rigid posture of my former schoolteacher self. It wasn’t lost on me that for the third time that evening, my past was seeping back into my present. “Good evening, masters. I’ll expect this level of decorum in all interactions. You are to refer to me as Professor or Professor Aglio, only, and you will meet me at this very spot, in this very formation, every evening at midnight. Do not be late. I look forward to our time together. Dismissed.” I nodded, watching with satisfaction as their stances slackened, their shoulders dropping.
But then it was as if chaos herself dragged inciting fingers through our atmosphere. The fanglings chortled and teased one another, their alert stance dissolving into blurred limbs as they chased, tackled, and harassed in a whirlwind that quickly left me in a dazed state. In the blink of a human eye, they were gone, their voices carrying from somewhere on the far side of the hotel and one lone voice ringing out from the roof.
“Don’t! We’ll get in trouble!”
Leslee pushed rogue curls from her face, eyes dancing with laughter. “Forgive them,” she said. “You’re only their third guest ever. One moment.” Setting her hands on her hips and tilting her head back, she yelled into the night sky. “Gentlemen! Your guest has luggage!”
As quickly as they’d disappeared, the fanglings returned, zipping to the carriage and appearing only briefly as they snatched my things from the roof rack. One particularly burly fellow with shoulders like a seasoned rugby star piled my three suitcases onto one arm, as if they weighed no more than a sheet of paper. Another young man, willowy and practically engulfed in waist-length wavy dark hair, appeared with a rolling cart. When the burly one made it clear he would carry my luggage with no need for the cart, the long-haired one chased him inside, slamming the wheels into the backs of his ankles in protest.
One fangling with bright red hair and a polished nametag that called him Alfred appeared at my side with no warning, startling me for what may have been the first time in decades. I pressed a hand to my chest on reflex, knowing there would be no slamming heartbeat to soothe. “If you’d follow me, sir,” Alfred said, gesturing to the entrance.
But before I could go more than two steps, he appeared in front of me, blocking the path with a dramatically deep bow. “Bon séjour, monsieur,” he said in painfully flat French.
“Freddie, we’ve talked about this!” I glanced back to my side, where the same redhead—no. There weretwo. Pinching the bridge of my nose to quell the growing headache, I let out a slow breath.
“What of it?” The boy’s obvious brother didn’t move from his bow, hissing at Alfred through his teeth. “I told you, they love this French shit.”
“You just did this with Miss Amato, and that was embarrassing enough,” Alfred warned.
The other redhead straightened, clearly embarrassed. His nametag identified him as Frederick.
“Miss Amato?” I turned to Leslee, one brow quirked in question. I’d understood I’d be alone on the premises.
“Rye. She’s Billy’s lawyer—you’ll love her. Incredibly smart and apparently well-versed in ancient texts. She’s going to help you—”
“Ahuman?” I hissed despite myself. Sure, in this modern era of unusual creatures living alongside humans, I’d come to accept a few of them in our midst. But a human alone in a nest of untrained fanglings? With their hunger and unpredictability? It was a disaster waiting to happen. And if Billy had revealed himself to this woman—
“She figured it out for herself, before you go off about consequences and The Code.” Leslee put an imperious hand on her hip, staring down her freckled nose at me. “It’s why Billy invited her to help you. She knows more about vampires than he does.”
