Page 74 of To Vanquish Darkness

Nothing.

The wind whispered against her cheeks as she pushed through the door. There was no one there guarding the entrance, because why would they have to? Anyone who wandered in here would be a welcome guest.

Her foot sank as she stepped onto the sand flats. There was nowhere to hide, no way to make this less conspicuous. She gripped the strap of her bag on her back and made a run for it. Thanks to her training with the Pourfendeurs, her lungs and heart were strong. If she kept a steady pace, she’d be able to make it to the trees without stopping to rest.

The soft sand shifted under her boots, but she maintained her balance. As her breathing quickened, she searched for something to distract herself.

Her mother. Bethany. Uncle Oren. Not helpful to think of them, but she couldn’t keep their faces out of her head. They were tied by blood.Oren had secrets. She’d lived before, she’d been a warrior.Theo had secrets.There was a sword, but the books?—

A flash of a memory surfaced—her mother and Uncle Oren in hushed conversation. She focused harder, but it was like grasping at smoke. The words were just out of reach, slipping away before she could piece them together.

They were always talking. Every day when her mother came in from the gardens. They laughed together, argued about whether it was best to butter the bread before or after baking, and played games of stones in the garden at sunset.

That was how Amalie had learned to be a sister. She wanted a friendship like that with Bethany, and she’d earned it.She had to get to her before another vampire did.

Amalie pushed harder, and when she finally entered the cover of trees, her breath came in short bursts. She dropped to the ground, resting her back against the trunk of an oak.

And like a crack of lightning, the words from her memory surfaced.

Amalie was a child crouching at the top of the staircase, peering through the gap in the stairs. Her mother’s voice floated up to her . . .

“That wasn’t my goal, Oren.” Her mother paced, her long skirt brushing against the stone floor.

“Then what is it? Please, Rachel. I’m all ears.”

Her mother dropped a book with a frayed black cover and gold lettering on the table. “We’ve broken our bonds. It says so right here!”

Oren placed his spectacles on his nose. He stood near the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “I don’t need to read it.”

“Oren—”

“They kept that record from us for a reason! It’s dangerous.”

“Or they were afraid.” She planted a hand on her hip.

Oren shook his head. “Maybe we should be afraid.”

It had been almost twenty years since that night. How had she never thought of it? She replayed the dialogue, searching for anything she’d missed. It was like hunting for coins scattered across the damn flats.

Her mother’s books. Where had they gone?

Amalie forced herself up. She needed more than half-remembered conversations and cryptic phrases. She needed concrete information—something tangible she could use to find this relic Theo had spoken of. If Uncle Oren was turned, he wouldn’t help her, would he?

Her fingers brushed something cool and sticky as she stood. Sap. It was all over the arm of her shirt. And in her hair. She groaned, opening her satchel. At least she’d thought to bring an extra pair of clothes.

She stripped off her shirt and pulled the new one from her sack.

“I’ll give it to you Amalie, had I not been watching, I wouldn’t have heard a thing.”

Amalie whirled at the voice, her heart leaping into her throat.

Ren stepped out from behind a tree, his eyes gleaming. He tsked. “Where are you headed, little bird?”

31

1824 BLOIS, FRANCE

Rachel laughed, the sound bubbling up from her chest. "Do you ever take a break? Let loose?" Her breath clouded the stars overhead.

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