I switch over my music from the ’90s XM station I usually listen to and turn on a local radio station. Just in case anyone calls in to say they saw something large flying through the sky.
I’ve never been more thankful for my heated seats than I am right now, and I peel off the soaked raincoat and toss it in the back before I head to my apartment. It’s a good thirty minutes from here and I know as soon as I walk through the doors I’m not going to want to leave.
Ever.
Because leaving means dealing, and dealing means accepting that everything I’ve fought for my whole life has been a lie. It’s more than just that, and I’m working hard to keep the thoughts from rising to the surface. Though no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep their faces from flashing before me.
Mom.
Dad.
Blood. Screaming. The horrible smell that until today I described as rotten eggs.
Sulfur.
The same way the vampires smelled. My parents weren’t killed in a way that would make me think vampire—not even now—but I can’t help but wonder, if vampires smell like sulfur, do other monsters?
* * *
Exhaustion hitsme when I step out of the shower. Finally warm, I twist my wet hair into a bun on top of my head and sit on the foot of my bed, resting my sore body for just a moment. It’s nearing two AM and I got up yesterday at five-thirty for a run.
I pull on black leggings, tall socks, my favorite gray sweater, and then shove a blanket and clothes for tomorrow in a duffle bag. I zip it up, then decide I’d better bring extras just in case I get soaked again.
I fill another bag with snacks and bottles of water and wonder what the hell gargoyles eat. I myself am starving, and you can’t go wrong with pizza, right? I phone in an order and head out.
I’m not sure what to expect when I pull up at the estate. The gargoyles showed up to help me, but does that make them trustworthy? I spend the entire drive thinking about it, as well as fighting a battle to steal a piece of pizza while driving. It smells so good and I haven’t eaten since lunch.
My heart speeds up when I turn onto the gravel road and continues to beat rapidly the closer I get to the house. My hands threaten to tremble as I pull into the driveway and park near the house. I don’t know what to expect, and I can’t decide what I want.
The gargoyles back in their places, cast in stone once again?
The four of them sitting around the house, waiting for me?
I want one almost as much as I want the other, though I can’t ignore the nagging inside of me, the part wanting the gargoyles to be there. I kill the engine, toss my keys in my bag, and get out. My gun is on my hip, and I’ve left my right hand free—just in case.
Smoke rises from the chimney and a soft glow from the fireplace emanates through the house. An odd sense of welcoming spreads through my chest, and suddenly it’s like I can’t get in the house fast enough.
I strap my bags over my shoulder and pick up the pizzas. Unsure of how many pizzas to get to feed four regular men, let alone four I-just-woke-up-from-a-thousand-year-curse types, I got four larges, figuring one for each. I’ll steal two or three slices from someone.
The front door opens before I’m up the steps of the porch, and Gilbert’s blue eyes glisten under the moonlight.
“What is that?” he asks, sniffing the air.
“Pizza.”
“Can I eat it?”
“Yes,” I laugh. “You can.”
He steps aside, letting me through, then shuts and locks the door behind me. The same unexplainable sense of familiarity washes over me. I set down my bags in the foyer and carry the pizza into the large living room, then sit on the floor by the fire and set the boxes of pizza on the coffee table. This old house is drafty, and the small fire does little to warm it.
Hasan is standing across from me, looking out the window. A vision of him picking up the vampire like it was nothing flashes before me, and I can’t help the wave of heat it brings pulsing through my body.
Thomas is standing near the fire, holding his hands out to the flames. He turns, looking at the boxes of pizza curiously.
“It’s pizza,” I explain, and scoot the coffee table closer to me. I don’t want to move too far from the fire. “I assume you’re hungry, right?”
“It’s been so long since I felt hunger,” Jacques says, crouching down next to me. I try not to stare at his ornate wings.
