Chapter 2
2
Ashley
T he witch had the audacity to raise a brow at her. Like finding a witch in vampire territory was perfectly normal and perhaps it was her reacting incorrectly.
“Yeah, I had a feeling you’d make a scene.” He leaned out the door, checking if Esther had exited before turning back to Ashley. “Listen, how about you leave her alone and we’ll forget we saw each other?”
He backed slowly out the door and turned in the opposite direction of Esther’s exit.
Ashley knew she should pretend this hadn’t happened and continue on her way as though someone with the ability to ruin her life—someone who instinctively knew what she was, and was apparently close with her newest project partner—wasn’t out there bending the rules.
She stood in the classroom doorway listening to the shush of the main entrance closing behind Esther and their romantic comedy in one direction and the brisk step of retreating witch feet in the other.
Go home and pretend this didn’t happen—or make sure nothing happened.
This year—the year she’d finally succeed and join the Family—was meant to be more Dawson’s Creek and less Buffy. She couldn’t just go around as the heroic blond destroying paranormal bad guys. That should have been rule number one, now that she thought about it—no destroying. She’d add it later. But this witch didn’t have to know that. She could run in, huffing and puffing, and scare him off.
After all, she was a vampire.
Scary was their thing. Being scary and sexy. Or so sexy it’s scary. She smirked before remembering she was in the middle of something important. Right.
Ashley took off, following the hall deeper into the building. The lingering trail of his magic bubbled in her throat as she passed rows of empty classrooms, listening. Her ankle boots clipped against the tiled hallway. A bat squeaked and fluttered around the insect-laden streetlight by the western entrance, and…a lone heart beat in a lab to the right. She took the corner, following the thud thud to the second door. Her hand stilled over the doorknob.
This had better be her year.
She turned the knob and flashed inside. Her face smacked into something cold and slimy and stinking of formaldehyde.
It dropped to the floor in front of her with a wet smack.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t take the let’s part ways amiably plan,” he said, “so if you’ll give me a second to explain.”
Ashley bent in half and dry heaved over the crumpled carcass on the floor. A dead frog. The damn witch had levitated a dead frog knowing she would run into it. Oh god, she still felt it on her face. Was her mouth open? She tasted its salty chemical-soaked skin on her tongue. She needed a hot shower and toothbrush, stat.
The witch stood by the far window silhouetted by a streetlamp. “Long story short, she’s my aunt, so there’s this sort of general agreement.”
“The frog?” Ashley looked down at the sad, disgusting creature. Witches were gross. It made sense they were related to frogs.
“Not the frog.” The witch scoffed. “Were you even listening to me?”
She checked her top, making sure frog goo hadn’t ruined it as well. There, at the right shoulder, was a pea-sized wet spot that would forever stink of dead frog and embalming fluids. “This was one of my favorite tops!”
Screw Dawson’s Creek.
Buffy was back on the table.
Two rows of sturdy and sterilized lab desks separated them. Not enough to stop her. Her fangs dropped from her gumline as she stepped toward him.
He muttered something, and a sick sucking sound drew her attention to the side.
The frog squelched, limb by limb, off the floor and back into the air.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she growled. “I can have you in the lake with the rest of the frogs before you take your next breath.”
She took another step.
“Hannah!” The witch’s hands shot out in front of him like he was calming a wild animal but dropped the frog back to the floor. “Hannah Comstock.”
That stopped her. “How do you know Hannah?”
“Like I was saying, she’s my aunt.”
Ashley burst out laughing, gripping her side and forgetting about the frog on the floor as she nearly fell over with this ridiculous claim. The laugh surprised her almost as much as the witch’s comment. The witch thought Hannah, head of the Plattsburgh vampire Family, was his aunt.
“Hey,” his tone came out grumbly. “I’m not lying. She’s just a very great aunt. I’ve lost count of the number of greats. What is she now, two hundred?”
Ashley wiped tears from her eyes. “Are you serious? She’s over two-fifty.” She looked him up and down. “She never mentioned any living relatives. And certainly not any…”
“Of course she wouldn’t mention me.” He laughed without humor. “My dad married a witch and made another one. Why would she share that kind of information?”
Ashley squinted at him, trying to see anything to connect him to Hannah, but nothing obvious stood out aside from them both being white. The hair was all wrong, he was much too tall and bulky, and she couldn’t recall what color eyes Hannah had so there was no way of knowing if his hazel eyes matched Hannah’s until Ashley saw her next. She wouldn’t let a chance run-in with, and subsequent disposal of, a secret nephew ruin her chances of joining the Family—even if he was a witch.
She took a step toward the door. “If you’re lying, I’ll be back.”
“Tell Hannah August said hi. She’ll hate to hear from me.”
August. Of course. She hadn’t fit it together until now. He was August Platt , as in Plattsburgh Platts, town legacy. And apparently nephew of one of the oldest vampires in Plattsburgh.
Ashley
The Family lived in the old part of town in a gothic Victorian straight out of a slasher film. When she first came to Plattsburgh ten years ago, Ashley was convinced this was a mistake. The house was obviously full of vampires, and everyone must know it. But she quickly learned post-transformation—humans were very good at rationalizing away the odd or unexplainable. The old house also blended in among other paint-chipped Victorians, so it wasn’t entirely out of the ordinary.
Forgoing the peeling railing, she hopped up the steps and paused with her hand at the doorbell and took a deep breath in the twilight. Ashley had lived here for years before her banishment and been back for two months. She pulled her hand back from the bell. Yes, today she’d enter unannounced.
The door swung open before she could properly grab the handle.
“Ash, darling. I thought I heard you lurking. Come in, come in.” Claribel materialized from the shadows in a full, black-velvet-and-taffeta contraption from a seamstress she’d found on Etsy. She had a hard time with the idea of a girl named Ashley but loved the idea of ashes—hence the nickname.
Ashley let it pass. She needed to fit in, and it wasn’t a big deal.
A pure Victorian, lover of poetry, and wild storyteller, it was hard to tell if anything Claribel said was true. Supposedly, as a child, she took a nap under an ancient cemetery oak and inspired Lord Alfred Tennyson to write a poem about her. Later, as a new vampire, she sought to extract the essence of Edgar Allan Poe and instead ended up draining him in a gutter.
“University was well, I hope,” Claribel said.
“It was fine. Is Hannah still in?” Ashley’s skin felt tighter the longer she didn’t notify Hannah of a rogue witch gallivanting through town.
“She should still be in her chambers.” She passed Claribel and entered the foyer, its vaulted ceiling painted midnight blue and spangled in gold stars. Carved oak arches traced from the center of the vault down to the four corners, finishing in spiraled columns. From the center of the vault hung a curling, iron chandelier decked with five globes, their warm glow enough to make the gilded stars pop but not near enough to drown the shadows lurking in the corners.
Claribel took up her post on the settee, an open mystery novel in hand. Her black gown and updo blended with the rich damask walls and heavy wood accents of the house giving her face an extra ghost-like pallor.
Through the columned entryway into the front sitting room, Gus hung from the ceiling, his small, furry body nestled among the blood-toned velvet curtains. He preferred his bat form to human, so all she knew of him was his name and that he preferred the southeast corner of the front sitting room.
Ashley ran to the curved, double stairs at the back of the foyer, taking the steep steps two at a time.
“We don’t need another girl,” a male voice said on the other side of the door to Hannah’s room.
Ashley stopped, her fist poised to knock. Her chest squeezed as she recognized the voice as John’s and the complaint to be her greatest fear.
“Where is she going to go?” Hannah’s voice was short and clipped. She had a brisk, no-nonsense way about her that carried into her speech. “We have the room, and she’s done her time.”
“Five years is hardly any time.”
They were definitely talking about Ashley. This was her third attempt to pass the trial to officially join the Family. After her last slip-up, she was sent from the house for five years while they cleaned up her mess, erasing the memory of her from everyone she’d ever come in contact with. It was the longest five years of her life.
“We don’t need to be taking in charity cases,” John said. “I can?—”
“You can leave her be.” Hannah enunciated each word.
“Woman, I am the man of this household and over a hundred years your senior.”
“Old man, this is my house, and you may leave if it no longer suits you.”
John huffed. “You regency women and your liberal views. In my day, a woman knew her place.”
“Your day is long past, John Proof-of-Christ’s-Everlasting-Love Peters.”
Hannah and John’s on-again, off-again vibe—which currently sounded off again—was Ashley’s favorite form of entertainment at the house. This was basically Dark Shadows . She would watch the box set with her mom after dinner when her dad worked night shifts. Her mom would love to hear about the Family. Not that she could tell her anything. She did her best to ignore the tightening in her chest.
“Hey there, chickadee,” a voice whispered, inches from Ashley’s ear.
Ashley nearly jumped out of her skin.
Cynthia, the fifth and last of the core vampire Family, stood so close she nearly smacked Ashley in the face with the gold hoop earrings cutting through her straight, blond hair. She let out a cackle at Ashley’s flinch.
“Shh,” Ashley hissed.
Changed sometime in the 1970s at twenty-three, Cynthia was the closest in both apparent age and actual age to Ashley.
Ashley turned back to the door, answering in a hushed voice. “I’m waiting for them to finish.”
“Oh, sure. No worries,” Cynthia said. “We still on for this weekend?”
She couldn’t hear Hannah and John anymore, which meant they’d probably heard her and Cynthia out in the hall. She tried pulling Cynthia away from the door, anything to look less suspicious.
“Yes. I got the flyer you left.” Ashley wasn’t sure what else to add to make Cynthia get the hint and leave. “Looks good.”
“Cool beans.” Cynthia shot her a finger gun, jumped onto the stair banister, and shot out of sight as Hannah’s door squeaked open behind Ashley.
She took a moment to contemplate that, if they’d accepted the lawless Cynthia into the Family, surely Ashley could make it in too, before turning to find John glowering down at her.
“H-hi, John.”
He was in his usual costume—starched white button-down and black slacks purchased presumably a half-century ago and meticulously maintained for longevity. During a speech about the “frivolity of modern dress,” she learned that he possessed an excessive six sets of this outfit and a “finer” one reserved for Sundays and important guests. Not that they ever had guests.
“Are you in need of assistance?” he drawled.
Ashley was not short, but John and his lean frame towered over her. Weren’t people short back in the 1600s? John must have come from the same stock as Lincoln.
“I was just looking for—” Ashley started.
“Is that the new child?” Hannah said from behind John.
Ashley cringed at the label but schooled her expression when Hannah pushed her way past him. It was impressive how much space such a small person could take up. Hannah came to Ashley’s shoulder and John’s chest. Her yellow hair was parted in the middle and fastened into a low bun in the back. What she lacked in height and adventurous hair, she made up for in loud, floral prints. Today was a high-waisted, cobalt maxi dress with a matching blue blazer covered in bold red poppies.
“I need to speak with you.” Ashley sneaked a glance at John. “In private.”
Hannah squinted at her. Maybe she didn’t think Ashley’s comment was worth the effort of privacy, but she turned to John and nodded him away before gesturing for Ashley to follow her into her room and closing the door behind them.
The original dark oak accents and walls of the master bedroom had been painted a pale, pea-soup green. Their steps faded in the truly horrendous hunter green-and-gold floral carpet. The four-poster bed, which dominated half the space, sported another pattern and a slightly different shade of green, and Ashley again marveled at how Hannah could be so fastidious and so gaudy at the same time. Was there some spark she couldn’t see that drew Hannah to the stiff and colorless John, or was it just a lack of better options? What did that do to their sex life?
Nope. Not going there. Ashley shook the thought out of her head and turned back to Hannah. Best to get this over with.
“I met someone claiming to be your nephew,” Ashley said.
Hannah didn’t answer but gave a small huff of disapproval or acknowledgment that Ashley had spoken. After five years apart, she’d lost her ability to read people in this house. She wasn’t even sure Hannah and John were still doing the will-they, won’t-they thing.
So, Ashley kept talking. “And I know what he is. I told him his kind wasn’t allowed in vampire territory, but he seemed to know this and felt exempt.” It wasn’t a question, but her sentence curled up at the end.
“He is an exception.” Hannah’s response started slowly then picked up to her usual clip as her thought finalized. “And we do not talk about him.”
That was an answer. Not a satisfying one, but at least she was getting somewhere.
“I guess that’s all I really had to say.” Ashley regretted bringing up the topic. She’d just jeopardized her precarious position over a witch. “Just wanted to make sure everything was cool and all. I’ll just…”
She backed slowly toward the door.
“Wait.”
Crap. There went her third and final chance. And she was so sure she’d done the right thing this time. What happened when she ran out of second chances? Would they kick her out of the house? Leave her to find her own source of blood, figure out ever-changing and more necessary government documents, and evade vampire-hunting witches by herself? Or would it be something more permanent? What were the chances they let a lone and clueless vampire out into the world with the chance of exposing their existence to the humans? They might as well hand her over to the witches.
“He’s attending the university?” Hannah picked at invisible lint on her sleeve.
“I think so. He was on campus.”
Hannah nodded slowly, her gaze distant, and Ashley assumed her fate was at the end of whatever mental gymnastics were going on in Hannah’s head. This could be very good news or very bad, and she honestly didn’t know what either option would look like.
“I’d like for you to check on him,” Hannah said at length.
Ashley blinked. Okay. She wasn’t getting kicked out, but Hannah knew her nephew was a witch. This felt like a trap.
“Now?” Ashley asked. “He seemed fine when I left him.” She didn’t mention her previous threat to drown him.
“I’ll give you his address.” Hannah went to her secretary and pulled out a sheet of paper and quill. These old vampires and their reluctance with new technology.
The only reason Ashley had found them was that Cynthia was fascinated by “the World Wide Web” and had made a site only accessible through hearsay channels and links. Ashley had lucked out and found a business card with the address when she was most desperate. She’d hitchhiked halfway across the country to show up on their door with nothing but the clothes on her back and a slight hunch they could help her.
Hannah scratched out a few lines on the page, her calligraphy perfect, and gently shook the paper a few times to dry the ink before handing it to Ashley.
Ashley had so many questions but was too relieved that she wasn’t being flung from the house or worse, so she kept them to herself. She noted the address before folding the page and cramming it in her back pocket.
“I expect regular updates—nightly if you can,” Hannah said. “Just that he is well and how he’s spending his time. He’ll know you’re there on my behalf, but…don’t be explicit.”
Again, Ashley wanted to ask why. He was a witch and a liability. Was this a test? Hannah must have heard the witch was up to something. Ashley would be sure to figure out what it was.
“All right.” Ashley nodded and left the room. One more thing to add to her list of Things to Not Screw Up. Now she was babysitting the world’s most annoying witch and trying to uncover his secret plot. This was going to be a long year.