She licks her lips and speaks in a warbly voice, almost whispered, as if in reverence. “Vis sanguinis.”
At first, I don’t understand, the words foreign to my ears and slurred together. Then I make sense of what she’s said.
Vis sanguinis. VS.
“That’s what the symbol stands for,” I say. “The one Grégoire Marteau always wore. The one on his tomb.”
Dora nods. “Latin. It means the power of blood. You see, my great-grandfather understood the properties of human blood. He understood the power, the advantages he could gain with its consumption. It is the essence of life, the spirit of all that we are. Blood strengthens the body and the mind.”
“That’s insane.” A breath of shock explodes from my lungs. “You murder people, because you think their blood makes you powerful?”
“Not murder, dear. Sacrifice.”
She says it with such conviction, and I can see by the softness of her smile that she’s trying to convince me.
“No. You don’t kill people to take some mystical, made-up power. You kill people because you enjoy it.”
“Oh my, dear. Such a simplistic view.” Dora speaks in a pleasant voice, but her smile slips, and I can see the hate. The condescension. “My family has known this truth for generations, and the ones living at Maison Marteau accept this reality. They understand that we do what we do because we are special. We are chosen.
“Sadly,” Dora continues, “the occasional family member refuses to go along. And anyone who threatens our bloodline must be removed.”
“Bloodline?” I think of Luci’s parents, their bodies rotting in the family crypt. Shock spreads through me like a fungus. “Did you kill your own son?”
Dora’s expression flickers, a flash of sadness in her eyes, but only for a moment. “His death was quick. He and his wife were in a plane crash. Those tiny, private planes.” She lifts a shoulder. “So many things that can go wrong.”
Her gaze drifts back to me. “Not everyone believes in the power. Not everyone is suited for the gift. Grégoire Marteau was the first. Then his son, then my father, then me.” She smiles up at her grandson. “And now my sweet Lyam.”
With a shrug, she speaks to me again. “Not everyone can be special. Sometimes the gift skips a generation.”
That’s when it hits. “You said something similar to me before, about how some things run in families. When we spoke about Luci.”
Now I’m the one to laugh, but the sound is harsh and scornful. “I thought you were talking about mental illness, that you were telling me Luci was depressed or, or . . . bipolar. But you meant she wasn’t like you. Luci is the one whogot skipped.”
I glare at Dora. “You and Lyam, you’re the sick ones. You’re bothpsychopaths.”
For the first time, her mask slips. Her top lip curls and her face twists with anger, giving me a glimpse of the real Dora.“Psychopath,” she all but spits at me. “An ugly word for ignorant peasants. What would you know of the power we have?”
She waves an arm around, indicating everything above us. “Just because you were brieflyallowedto occupy our space, don’t think you understand our world.”
“And what about Luci? Does she understand?” I flick my gaze to Lyam and back to Dora. “Or is she in danger? Will she have to be removed from the family line?”
“No,” Lyam says quickly, stepping forward, drawing his grandmother’s sharp gaze. He notices and looks at the ground.
“Luci is precious to me,” Dora says, her tone softer, mediated by the apparent love she has for her only granddaughter. “One day, I will tell her the secret, and she will understand. She’s smart, she’s strong?—”
“She’s damaged.”
Dora recoils, but then she carries on, ignoring what I said. “Luci will come to accept the truth of our family. She’s like me in so many ways. I had hoped her father would carry on the bloodline, but he was weak.”
She glances fondly at Lyam. “No matter. I have my heir. One who values the Marteau legacy.”
“You made him your heir?” I can’t hide my revulsion. “After what he did to Luci?”
Now I have her attention. Dora rolls close again, her mouth pinched. “What are you talking about? Lyam has always guided and protected Luci, like an older brother.”
“What kind of brother?—”
“Enough.” Lyam grabs my hair, pulling hard enough to stretch my neck. “We know what you’re trying to do. You think others haven’t tried to lie their way out of this room?”
