Page 5 of Feathers From the Sky

I move the picture frame hanging by her front door back the way I found it, crooked. I fix it every time I get there and then undo it by the time I leave. Bill and his daughter are all smiles in the photo, both grinning as they crouch in front of the Chevelle. Angela stands in the background, a towel over her shoulder as she frowns at her husband and step-daughter. I imagine Sasha is the photographer, the picture taken a few months before two of the people in it died, and I wonder why the fuck this man taught Gwyn how to build a car instead of something fucking useful.

It makes no goddamn sense, and that is why I am furious.

Irritated by yet another circular thought pattern, I’m about to let myself devolve into that rather than think about my brother. Instead, I slip my sunglasses on and step outside, Zuul watching me with a cocked head. I’m about to lock the door as my phone goes off again, and I breathe deep before answering.

“Roman,” I answer as I slink around the side of the building to the back lot where I’ve parked my bike. My eyes water from the bright morning light, and I stay in the shade to minimize the throbbing in my head that begins the moment the warm rays hit me.

“Boy,” my father starts, and I roll my eyes. “You did not phone me as you promised,” he says, his crisp accent as biting in my ears as Zuul’s bark. I shake my head. This fucker is angry I didn’t call back, not in agony over Remy.

“I’ve been busy,” I reply, voice cold. I put my helmet on to deal with the sun on my face, hooking up my phone to the speaker inside it.

“Mmm,” he mumbles. “Busy failing to do the one thing you set out to do.” There is a slight slur to his words, and I wonder if he’s blood drunk. “It seems your brother found us before you found him.”

“It would seem.”

“I’ve been busy too, Roman.” He waits, clearly wanting me to ask what he means. I don’t rise to the bait. “Gwyn Parsons?”

I freeze, instantly cautious, but my voice doesn’t waver when I reply. “I’m surprised it took you this long to meddle.”

“The hunter didn’t have your brother, so bring me her heart.”

“Not yet,” I say, bracing myself for the rage I’m sure to have ignited.

“You have been gone too long, son. It’s been six months since you set out to bring your rapscallion of a brother home, and he met the end we all knew he would.”

“Don’t start with that. Remy had been doing just fine until—”

“Until the human died. I know. A shame, since I was considering letting him come back. But we all knew this would be his outcome,” he says, and I don’t understand how he can be so nonplussed.

“Kill her and put an end to this. It is time for you to take your place here.” He sounds oddly patient, and that’s when I realize Victoria must be in the room with him.

“She isn’t the one who killed him. Her father had something to do with Remy’s death, and I can’t compel her for answers if she’s dead.”

Every vampire sent after the hunters either returned with no memory or never returned at all. Not once did we have any evidence of what happened. Until someone bled Remy like a pig. And with Bill dead, I don’t know what to think. This was different. Bill must have done something to Remy before he died—struck a deal or a bargain with someone. Either way, Gwyn holds the answers I need.

“Victoria tells me you don’t think the girl even knows what she is.”

“Victoria can go fuck herself,” I reply against my better judgment. I immediately regret it when he laughs, loud and boastful.

“Bring me her heart. Don’t make me come after you.” When he hangs up, I hit the kickstand with more force than necessary and start the engine, still warm from the trip here.

* * *

I am flying downthe freeway that evening, high on unearned confidence from the conservative think tank puppet I’d fed from, weaving in and out of traffic like I have a death wish. Perhaps I do. I hadn’t been careful when I disposed of him, leaving him to rot in the alley where I’d stashed him. I’d been waiting for a motorcycle spot nearby, and he took it with one of those shitty little rental scooters, giving me the finger when he swooped in. Dick move.

Footage of Gwyn from the last day had been fruitless, as I knew it would be. The person she slept with is surprising, but a cursory check by Margot didn’t give me anything promising. In a fit of annoyance and heartbreak and the need to fuckingdo something, I had headed north to Washington, DC. I don’t feel like being discreet right now, and I fed sloppily, like a newborn vampire. I don’t want any demons or other coven’s attention while I figure out what the fuck happened here, so going up to that pit of hell seemed like my best bet. Plus, I was able to open up the throttle on the road.

About to go through the tunnel, I wonder why I did this to myself. I hate driving through it, the pressure of the ocean above adding to the pressure I feel in the rest of my life. It gives me anxiety. And yet, I drove through it to head north and am now forced to drive through it a second time. My phone starts ringing though, and I pull off the last exit before the tunnel to take the call.

“What’s up?” I ask my best friend, hopeful she’s been able to get me something of value.

“It’s gotta be the demons. The coven is too young. Their leader is only two hundred years old. And he’smade, Roman.” I sigh.

“You’re right. No fucking way they took him down.” If their highest ranking vampire is a two hundred-year-old made vampire, they are no match for a natural born vampire like me or my brother. “What about the Richmond coven I found?”

“Roman,” she says, trailing off, and I can imagine her twisting a strand of blonde hair between her fingertips. “There is no shame in addiction. It’s really sad, and I don’t blame him for trying to numb—”

“I know,” I snap, irate. “You’re telling me shit I already know. I’m not trying to find an explanation to make his death more fucking palatable. You know I don’t give a flying fuck about that. I want retribution. My brother wasmurdered.”

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