Page 9 of A Whisper in the Dark

After a few more seconds of standing in an ice-laden wind, I shove the paranoia away and force my legs forward. Brittle leaves crunch underfoot as I climb the few stairs onto the porch, praying with each step that my foot won’t go through the rotting wood. Once I make it to the door, I reach for the brass knocker and lift it, letting it go. The sound reverberates, and I suck in a breath.

Approaching footsteps sends my heart rioting in my chest, fighting to get free.

The lock flips and, seconds later, the door opens a crack to reveal an old woman. She looks to be in her sixties, with graying hair and wrinkles etched into her face. When her bright eyes land on me, her thin lips pull back in a grimace. “What do you want?” she snaps.

I clear my throat. “Ada?”

“Who wants to know?”

“Oh, I’m—” I cut myself off. Amongst the citizens, I’ve never been all that well-known. My chances of survival will go up exponentially if no one connects me to the royals. I swallow hard before I say, “My name is Anna. I was told you might be able to help me.”

The woman’s eyes—lavender like mine—narrow, but still, she opens the door a little wider. “Talk fast.”

I blow out a soft breath. Everything in me is screaming to sink my teeth into her throat and rip it out. My gums ache with a new ferocity and my throat burns. I attempt a polite smile and pray my fangs don’t extend. “I need a place to stay,” I tell her.

She doesn’t hesitate. “No.”

Her tone is so matter-of-fact, so final. The light in her eyes shines hard as an amethyst. Seeing that, my stomach plummets. “Why not?” I ask, hoping my instincts are off, that the faint voice saying there won’t be any swaying Ada is wrong.

Her nostrils flare. “Because no one in this house has a death wish, Lavender—news spread faster than the Weeping Virus. Your face is on every screen, Charlotte of House Travesty, and now the entire world knows one of those pretty wives made a fool out of our benevolent king.”

My throat has gone dry. It shouldn’t surprise me the stations are running my story—there are only six cities left on the planet, and nothing this dramatic has happened since two princes killed each other last year in a fit of bloodlust and testosterone.

“Who are you tormenting now, Penelope?” a new voice says from behind the old woman. Something about it seems familiar, a sensation akin to a feather trailing over my skin. I try to place it. A moment later, a vampire appears in the doorway, and I’m so surprised that my head empties of all thought. Striking golden eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes assess the situation with laser focus. She leans against the doorframe, making the wood groan with protest as she crosses her arms. “What do we have here, then?”

The old woman, who is apparentlynotAda, scowls at me. “Some bad luck, that’s what.”

The vampire doesn’t move or speak. She stares at me with an expression that I can’t interpret. Her eyes are like darkened windows with the curtains drawn. I stare back, trying to smother the hope flickering through me—she hasn’t slammed the door in my face yet. “I’m not going to hurt anyone,” I tell her firmly. “You have my word. Please. The sun is coming up and I’ve been walking all night.”

The real Ada appraises me for several more beats. Feeling as if this is a test, somehow, I stare back at her without flinching. Then, slowly, she opens the door and steps aside. I hurry over the threshold before she can change her mind.

Once I’m inside, Ada closes the door and flips the lock back over. Penelope walks away, grumbling something under her breath.

I cast a tired gaze around me, a breath of relief escaping as the warmth of shelter makes my chilled skin tingle. Half-vampire or not, spending hours in the cold is uncomfortable. Just another bitter reminder that I’m not completely immortal.

Oh, god, does this mean I’ll have the lifespan of a human?

Don’t think about that right now, Charlotte.Rubbing my hands together, my eyes trail along the wood-paneled walls that run the entire length of the long foyer. Aged water-color paintings hang everywhere, and a deep red afghan rug covers the floor. At the end of the hall is a wide bookcase filled with faded spines and encased by glass doors.

Halfway down the foyer are wide doorways on either side, and I follow Ada into a parlor, decorated with old furniture. There’s a faint smell of mothballs in the air. A fire crackles in the large fireplace, spreading light and warmth through the room, and on either side are floor-to-ceiling windows framed with heavy crimson drapes.

Glancing toward the flames, I yearn to curl up on the couch in front of it and forget everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.

Sudden movement draws my attention away from the fire. I turn to see two humans, males who appear to be about my age—in human years—sitting on either side of a chessboard. Instead of playing, they both stare at me. It’s obvious from their expressions they aren’t thinking kind thoughts.

Ada follows my gaze and her lips turn down. “It should go without saying that if you spill a single drop of human blood in this house, I’ll put you out on your ass.”

“I won’t,” I whisper, turning my attention back to her. As starving as I am, as close as the sun is, I’m desperate for shelter. I can fight the monster that demands to be fed for a little while longer.

Without another word, Ada walks out of the room. She pauses to bend over and pet a calico cat, murmuring a greeting to it. The cat complains as she moves away, and when I attempt to inch closer to pet it, too, the creature recoils and lets out a spittle-filled hiss. I drop my hand immediately. Some things you just can’t force—especially when there’s a cat involved.

I edge past and, not sure what else to do, trail after Ada. We go across the hall and into a kitchen. My footsteps are heavy on the old linoleum floor. “Who brought you here, girl?” Ada asks as she walks to the stove and sets a kettle on the burner, igniting the flame underneath. Every movement is deft and graceful.

I stand a few yards away, uncertain of what to do with my own hands. Eventually I clasp them in front of me. “Humans who work for my family. I mean, where I came from.”

She stops to meet my gaze. “I hope you realize those humans risked their lives for you,” she says.

A chill races down my spine. I’d been in shock last night, partially numb to everything that was happening, so it hadn’t really sunk in then. How badly things could’ve gone wrong for the four humans that helped me.

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