By the time I come downstairs and walk out our front door, Bonnie is already sprawled across the back seat of the Bentley like a bored cat while Mom scrolls through emails on her phone beside her.
Our driver Loomis shuts my door with his usual quiet efficiency and pulls away from the house.
Bonnie makes my outfit the topic of discussion the second we pull onto the highway. “Wow. Nice dress,” she says flatly. “You sure you don’t want to save that outfit for the big sacrifice?”
Mom doesn’t even look up from her phone.“Bonnie.”
“What?” Bonnie shrugs, completely unrepentant. “That’s what it is, right? A very glamorous sacrifice.”
“If it were a sacrifice, that would involve death,” I retort, rolling my eyes. “This involves marriage.”
“And having a vampire’s baby,” Bonnie adds. “Sounds like a pretty big sacrifice to me.”
Mom finally looks up then, giving Bonnie the same warning look she’s been giving her since she turned into a teenage smartass.
Bonnie huffs out an annoyed sigh but sinks back into the leather seat. “Relax,” she mutters. “I’m just saying I’m thrilled the vampire dating show isn’t my problem.”
An hour later, we’re walking through the most expensive shopping district in Boston, the kind of fashion street where there are zero depressing-as-hell department stores and the sales associates greet my mother by name. Of course, Devney Windsor is in her element here. She moves through racks of designer labels like she’s my actual stylist.
And my smartass little sister trails behind us, offering running commentary that no one asked for.
“That dress looks like a tablecloth.”
“That one looks like a curtain.”
“That one probably costs more than my future therapy bill.”
“Bonnie.” I shoot her a look. “You’re supposed to be helping.”
“Iamhelping,” she says cheerfully. “I’m eliminating the bad options.”
Somewhere between the third store and the fourth, a strange feeling starts to overcome me every time we walk out of a shop. It’s just this faint pressure between my shoulder blades and reminds me of when someone’s standing too close behind you.
I try to ignore it, but it doesn’t go away.
If anything, it gets stronger.
I glance over my shoulder as we step out onto the sidewalk again, letting my gaze drift casually through the crowd.
But all I see are other shoppers, the occasional tourist, and businessmen with phones pressed to their ears, hurrying across the pavement.
Still… My pulse ticks up, and goose bumps pepper my arms and neck.
Bonnie bumps my arm as we walk. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I lie, even though the feeling—an odd, prickling awareness—is still there.
I have no idea who or what or why it would be, though.
Kane
I’m not where I’m supposed to be.
That’s not a moral statement; it’s a logistical one and, most likely, a big,bigproblem.
Calloway is in Concordia, ears open, doing what we agreed we’d do—watching for any sign the elites are looking for us and, most importantly, have clocked Worcester. That’s where Rook and Kylie are still holed up in the hotel room. The last I heard from Rook was yesterday evening, and I think Kylie’s at least willing to talk to him after we kidnapped her.
Prior to that, she’d locked herself in the bathroom and taken three showers.
