Chapter 43
The Gift
There was a text from a number I didn’t recognize.
I clicked on it and stared down at the screen, the letters were still blurry. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust.
‘I have a surprise at the front door for you. D.’
I groaned, annoyed she’d sent the text so early and because she had my number.
It was a new number, hardly anyone had it.
What else had this girl found out about me?
The thought was disturbing. I laid there for a long moment, debating whether to go down and look.
It was probably something witchy. She was deluding herself if she thought she might suddenly change my mind and miraculously awaken some dormant powers.
If I had those powers, I’d know and I would’ve used them long before now.
When I was about ten, I had the misfortune of ending up in a foster home run by Penny and Gerald Smyth.
Gerald was a drunken bum. He enjoyed slamming his fists into my stomach, arm, or whatever limb I couldn’t get out of his way fast enough.
I remembered one night hurtling down the corridor with him thundering after me in a blind rage.
I locked the door. He’d bellowed and pounded on the door.
It’d rattled so badly I was terrified he’d break through.
I’d never been so scared. If I had powers, I would’ve used them then.
Instead, I climbed out the second-floor window, scaled down the rickety latticework and fled into the night.
I’d sheltered in an old shed by a playing field, in the freezing cold, until the cops found me the next day.
One of them noticed the bruises, and I was taken to live with another family.
I sat the phone on the dresser, yawned and climbed groggily out of bed.
I’d slept in last night’s clothes, my skirt was crumpled and my top looked like I’d been in a wrestling match.
I didn’t have to look at my hair to know it was a mess, I could see it poking out from the sides of my head.
I twisted my top back into place as I opened the door.
The hallway was coffin dark. I froze. For a moment, I had a feeling as chilling as a soothsayer’s reading.
My blood ran cold, and the hairs rose on my skin.
I flicked the bedroom light on. It spilled out into the hallway lighting the way just enough so I could see.
I padded barefoot down the hall. I noticed with relief someone had left a few foyer wall lights on.
I crept down the stairs with the stealth of a robber, clinging to the balustrade with one hand, so I could place my steps softly, trying not to wake anyone.
If they made it home late, they’d be tired.
Suddenly I was hit with another blast of cold dread.
What if this was some trick to get me out of the house?
But that was silly, the message was from Dahlia.
I was just unsettled, who wouldn’t be unsettled, staying in a vampire’s house.
And yet with each step I took, my feet began to slow and my heart thumped in my chest. I glanced around at the walls, the foyer lights glinted softly in the dark.
The images on the paintings stared out, hazy as poltergeists in the night.
I was safe here, Karson had assured me, hadn’t he? Yes, I reiterated.
Still. I paused at the front door, debating on whether to open it. A cold draft leaked from under the door frame and seemed to climb up my legs, like a rash, freezing everything as it went. My throat felt tight and dry. I was cold, yet hot at the same time.
“There’s nothing there,” I whispered, “just open the door, Amy, and prove it.” I reached out, pulled open the door and stepped onto the porch.
The first thing I noticed was the sun, it was just emerging and had not yet prevailed over the long shadows of night.
It seemed to cast a bloody, eerie glow over the landscape.
I shivered and wrapped my arms around my waist. The air was crisp, and the ground was damp, the scent of wet grass and roses lingered in the air.
Karson’s car was back, so he was here, somewhere.
There was nothing on the steps, but there was something pale-colored on the ground in the driveway.
I edged down the stairs. Was it a rug? Had she brought me some magical carpet—could she sail on it like Aladdin?
Perhaps modern witches didn’t fly on brooms but carpets these days?
I smiled wryly at the thought. I took a few more steps, squinting into the faint light.
It was cream—not a rug, a teddy. A giant one.
I took another step. Shock and horror roared up my spine and froze my legs, mind and lungs. The depletion of air forced tears to invade my eyes. It took a moment for my brain to comprehend what I was seeing.
Not a teddy. A dog. A golden retriever. Or what was left of it anyway.
The dog’s head was smashed in, like someone had hit it with a sledgehammer.
The force had left a grotesque, cavernous hole in his skull and completely crushed his eye socket.
I could see bits of bone and flesh through the broken skin, like cracked teeth.
His jaw was open, like he’d cried out on his last breath.
The dog’s coat was caked in blood. His stomach had been slashed open.
A deep gash, travelled from below the rib cage, stopping just before his undercarriage.
There was blood everywhere. It oozed from the tear and swelled out onto the ground in a large pool, crawling forward sluggishly, turning everything a demonic red.
Steaming entrails hung out like raw sausages.
His liver, bright red and perfectly formed, lay detached a meter away.
Someone had ripped it out and tossed it to the side like trash.
The raw, sickening smell of meat and blood enveloped the air and clogged my throat. A cry uttered from my throat. I felt dizzy. A sea of dark red and gray wavered before me.
The dog had been mutilated.
Strong hands wrapped around my waist hoisting me up and away. Stricken, I turned to Karson. He pulled me into his strong, muscled arms and cradled my head to his chest.
The stench of death clung like bat claws to my nostrils, my stomach rolled. “I’m going to be sick,” I murmured. I pivoted and ran towards the garden and retched, bile scorched up my throat and my head boomed against my skull.
“Monique!” Karson roared with such intensity it catapulted my body upright in fright. I forgot about the nausea and spun to see Karson with his hands around her neck. He had her hard up against the pillars of the house. “What did you do?”
Monique looked suitably terrified, her eyes wide and glassy. “What—nothing, it wasn’t, I didn’t—”
His grip tightened on her throat. He lifted her, one-handed, off the ground. She cried out, a hoarse strangled sound. I couldn't stand it, she was either a good actress or she wasn’t lying, but it didn’t matter even if she had done it, in that moment I thought he was going to kill her.
I ran as fast as I could and yelled, “Karson, stop! You’re hurting her.”
“Karson, don’t be rash,” Michael said calmly, although I could hear concern in his voice. “We do not know it was her.”
“Who else could it be!” he snarled, a sound like a feral wolf.
“Stop it,” I said vehemently, clasping his arm.
It was not the arm of a human I held beneath my fingers, it felt nothing like the arm I’d linked mine through in the alley.
This arm was as hard as iron. And splattered with blood, vivid as garnets strewn across the snow.
“Karson, please,” I pleaded, “she’s a female . . . you can’t.”
He grimaced, lowering her to the ground but kept his hand around her throat.
“If I find out it was you, Monique . . .” He left the threat dangling, his lips curled up.
I caught a glimpse of his fangs. They were snow white.
Razor sharp incisors. Designed to pierce effortlessly like a surgeon’s scalpel.
If they were to slice into an artery the damage would be catastrophic.
He released her.
She straightened her blouse, flicked her head indignantly and moved away. She was still dressed in last night’s clothes, all three of them were, they must have only just gotten home.
“It wasn’t me, why would I hurt a dog?” Anger had replaced the fear. She threw me such a look of hatred I had to look away.
“What’s going on?” Dahlia commanded, still dressed in short blue cotton pyjamas. Her hair was out and fell like silk down over her shoulders.
“Did you send me a message?” I asked, knowing she didn’t, but asking for no reason other than I didn’t know what else to say.
She eyed me cautiously and shook her head. “No, why?” Her eyes trailed past me toward the drive to the dog. Her hand flew to her throat. Her mouth dropped open and she paled. Then she scanned the landscape, seemingly searching for threats.
Suddenly, the fall I’d taken yesterday slammed back into my mind, right before I fled. I’d heard the voice, and I felt like I’d been pushed.
Pushed.
At the time I’d dismissed it as a trick of my mind.
In the depths of the trees, from deep in the shadows, I thought I’d seen a figure, but it was gone so fast, I thought I’d imagined it.
Had I not? I closed my eyes and replayed the moment like a video recording.
Beside a tree trunk, standing in the shadows, was a thin figure dressed in black, a hood cloaked their face.
My whole body erupted in goosebumps. Adrenaline rushed through my head. My eyes sprung open.
“Someone was watching me yesterday before I . . . fell,” I blurted, twisting to Karson.
“What—how?” He ran this hand roughly through his hair. “And you only thought to tell me now!” His anger flashed.
Suddenly I doubted myself. It seemed so real in my replay. Was it possible to remember something my mind constructed and relive it as if it were fact?
“I wasn’t sure. It was gone so fast . . . I didn’t think it was . . .” I trailed off, unsure myself of what I thought. Maybe there wasn’t anyone there at all. How many times had I made up visions in my head.
Karson and Michael exchanged concerned glances.
“Did you see a face?” Karson’s voice was still alarmingly loud.
My heart boomed in my chest. “No, they were wearing a hood. I couldn’t make out details.”
Karson made a sound of annoyance in the back of his throat and looked like he was on the verge of ringing my neck.
“Was it a male or female?” Michael asked, kindly, “anything you can remember may help.”
Frustrated, I shook my head. “I don’t know. Not largely built, not your size. Tall, but could be either.”
“I can see if I can pick up a scent,” Monique said, seemingly unaffected by Karson’s outburst. “But the rain last night may have washed it away.” She threw me an accusatory look.
Karson nodded and in a flash Monique disappeared.
“Surely it was one of the vamps you disposed of last night,” Dahlia said. She had her head turned toward the inside of the house.
“No,” Michael answered solemnly, “the dog is a fresh kill.”
“Go back inside, Amelia,” Karson said in a much softer tone.
When I hesitated, he popped his hand around my back and ushered me inside.
“Get changed, we’ll leave for Church Heights as soon as you are ready.
” He removed his arm and the space it left felt empty.
He was looking at the door, frowning, and his eyes were dark and brooding.
By the time I reached the top of the stairs I heard a scraping sound. I knew a shovel was being used to clean up the dog’s remains, followed by a jet of water.
My stomach churned. I located the phone on the bedside table. I knew it was a long shot, it was probably a cheap mobile discarded after the text was sent. But I dialled the number that’d sent the text. It didn’t ring. Defeated, I sighed and sat the phone down on the bed.
A whisper-soft tap landed on the door.
“Amy?” Dahlia’s voice was so faint I strained to hear it. “Can I come in?” She didn’t wait for me to answer, she walked in and closed the door behind her. “You need to know that it’s all an act.”
I frowned. “What is, Dahlia?”
“Karson, the way he treats you, like he cares. It’s not genuine, if you believe it is, you’re going to get hurt." She moved over to the window stared out into the yard. "He probably killed the goddamn dog himself.”
I was in no mood for her irrational thoughts, I didn’t think for a second he’d killed the dog. I snorted. “For what reason would he kill a dog?”
“Think about it, Amy.” She stepped towards me and threw out both hands. “You just found out he’s a vampire, but if you’re in danger and he protects you, suddenly he comes off as the good guy. Vampires will do anything to get what they want.”
It was the most absurd thing I’d ever heard. This girl was paranoid and reconfirmed my suspicions she was crazy. “And what exactly do you think he wants?”
She lifted her eyebrows. “Even you can’t be quite that na?ve.”
I laughed but I wasn’t amused, it came out bitter and annoyed.
“So, he just wants sex? Perhaps I should invite him upstairs now and get it over and done with then.” I threw her a cold glare. I’d already practically thrown myself at him and he’d rejected me, hardly the move of a guy who just wanted sex. “Is that it, Dahlia?”
“Yes.” She frowned. “I will leave you be.” She turned to walk out.
“Dahlia, you better call your people and tell them they have it wrong, I’m not a witch, or whatever the hell you are.”
She paused, didn’t look back. “They don’t have it wrong, Amy, I will see you tomorrow.”
They had it completely wrong, or she did at least. Strange, strange girl.
But was she dangerous?